7 ' 
 
 &^ 
 
 '* C -*
 
 THACKERAY'S NOVELS. 
 
 HOUSEHOLD EDITION. 
 
 MESSRS. FIELDS, OSGOOD, & Co. announce that, in compliance with 
 what has long been a popular demand, they have prepared a uniform 
 HOUSEHOLD EDITION of THACKERAY'S NOVELS. 
 
 The universal approval and immediate success of their recently issued 
 HOUSEHOLD EDITION of CHARLES READE'S NOVELS have decided them 
 upon that form of book as best possessing the requisites of 
 
 CJieapness, Legibility, Compactness, and Elegance. 
 
 The edition as at present arranged consists of six volumes, comprising 
 
 Vanity Pair . . . . .One Volume, 
 
 Pendennis 
 
 The Newcomes .... * 
 The Virginians .... 
 
 The Adventures of Philip * 
 
 Henry Esmond ) 
 
 r " 
 
 Lovel the Widower) 
 
 Bound in green morocco cloth, with gilt back and sides, uniform with 
 CHARLES READE'S NOVELS. Price, per vol., $ 1.25. 
 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., Publishers.
 
 THE 
 
 ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD ; 
 
 SHOWING 
 
 WHO ROBBED HIM, WHO HELPED HIM, AND WHO 
 PASSED HIM BY. 
 
 TO WHICH IS NOW PREFIXED 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 BY W. M. THACKERAY. 
 
 HOUSEHOLD EDITION. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, 
 
 LATH TICKNOR & FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, & Co. 
 I875-
 
 UNIVERSITY PRBSS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & Co,, 
 CAMBRIDGE.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 Chap. Page 
 
 1 3 
 
 II. Ho-w MRS. GANN RECEIVED TWO LODGERS ... 10 
 
 III. A SHABBY GENTEEL DINNER, AND OTHKR INCIDENTS OF 
 
 A LIKE NATURE 18 
 
 IV. IN WHICH MR. FITCH PROCLAIMS HIS LOVE, AND MR. BRAN- 
 
 DON PREPARES FOR WAR 27 
 
 V. CONTAINS A GREAT DEAL OF COMPLICATED LOVE-MAKING 32 
 VI. DESCRIBES A SHABBY GENTEEL MARRIAGE AND MORE LOVE- 
 MAKING .......... 41 
 
 VII. WHICH BRINGS A GREAT NUMBER OF PEOPLE TO MARGATE 
 
 BY THE STEAMBOAT ....... 46 
 
 VIII. WHICH TREATS OF WAR AND LOVE, AND MANY THINGS THAT 
 
 ARE NOT TO BE UNDERSTOOD IN ClIAP. VII. . . 50 
 
 IX. WHICH THREATENS DEATH, BUT CONTAINS A GREAT DEAL 
 
 OF MABRYING 58 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 I. DOCTOR FELL 69 
 
 II. AT SCHOOL AND AT HOME 75 
 
 III. A CONSULTATION 81 
 
 IV. A GENTEEL FAMILY 86 
 
 V. THE NOBLE KINSMAN 9.5 
 
 VI. BRANDON'S 105 
 
 VII. IMPLETUR VETERIS BACCHI 114 
 
 VIII. WiLL BE PRONOUNCED TO BE CYNICAL BY THE BENEVO- 
 LENT 123 
 
 IX. CONTAINS ONE RIDDLE WHICH is SOLVED, AND PERHAPS 
 
 SOME MORE . . 127 
 
 X. IN WHICH WE VISIT "ADMIRAL BYNG " .... 134 
 
 XI. IN WHICH PHILIP is VERY ILL TEMPERED . . . 141 
 
 XII. DAMOCLES . 150 
 
 XIII. LOVE 'ME, LOVE MY DOG 162 
 
 XI V. CONTAINS TWO OF PHILIP'S MISHAPS 170 
 
 XV. SAMARITANS 182
 
 iv CONTENTS. 
 
 XVI. IN WHICH PHILIP snows HIS METTLK . . .187 
 
 XVII. BREVIS ESSE LABORO 200 
 
 XVIII. DKUM IST'S so WOHL MIR IN DER WELT . . . 207 
 
 XIX. Qu'ON EST BIEN A VlNGT A>"8 . . . .219 
 
 XX. COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 228 
 
 XXI. TREATS OF DANCING, DINING, DYING . . . 238 
 
 XXII. PULVIS ET UMBRA su.wus 250 
 
 XXIII. IN WHICH WE STILL HOVER ABOUT THE ELYSIAN 
 
 FIELDS 256 
 
 XXIV. NEC DULCES AMORES SPERNE, PUER, NEQUE TU CHO- 
 
 REAS 268 
 
 XXV. INFANDI DOLORES 275 
 
 XXVI. CONTAINS A TUG OF WAR 286 
 
 XXVII. I CHARGE YOU, DROP YOUR DAGGERS . . . 293 
 
 XXVIII. IN WHICH MRS. MACWHIRTER HAS A NEW BONNET 303 
 XXIX. IN THE DEPARTMENTS OF SEINE, LOIRE, AND STYX 
 
 i IM i':i:n.i i:; 312 
 
 XXX. RETURNS TO OLD FRIENDS 321 
 
 XXXI. NARRATES THAT FAMOUS JOKE ABOUT Miss GRIGSBY 331 
 
 XXXII. WAYS AND MEANS 342 
 
 XXXIII. DESCRIBES A SITUATION INTERESTING BUT NOT UN- 
 
 EXPECTED 350 
 
 XXXIV. IN WHICH I OWN THAT PHILIP TELLS AN UNTRUTH . 356 
 XXXV. RES ANGUSTA DOMI 368 
 
 XXXVI. IN WHICH THE DRAWING-ROOMS ARE NOT FURNISHED 
 
 AFTER ALL 377 
 
 XXXVII. NEC PLENA CRUORIS HIRUDO . . . . . 387 
 
 XXXVIII. THE BEARER OF THE BOWSTRING .... 395 
 
 IN WHICH SEVERAL PEOPLE HAVE THEIR TRIALS . 405 
 
 XL. IN WHICH THE LUCK GOES VERY MUCH AGAINST us . 409 
 XLI. IN WHICH WE REACH THE LAST STAGE BUT ONE OP 
 
 THIS JOURNEY 423 
 
 XLJI. THE REALMS OF BLISS 427
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 WHEN the " Shabby Genteel Story " was first reprinted with other stories 
 and sketches by Mr. Thackeray, collected together under the title of " Mis- 
 cellanies," the following note was appended to it : 
 
 It was my intention to complete the little story, of which only the first part is 
 here written. Perhaps novel-readers will understand, even from the above chap- 
 ters, what was to ensue. Caroline was to be disowned and deserted by her wicked 
 husband: that abandoned man was to marry somebody else: hence, bitter trials 
 and grief, patience and virtue, for poor little Caroline, and a melancholy ending, 
 as how should it have been gay '? The tale was interrupted at a sad period of 
 the writer's own life. The colors are long since dry; the artist's hand is changed. 
 It is best to leave the sketch, as it was when first designed seventeen years ago. 
 The memory of the past is renewed as he looks at it, 
 
 die Bilder froher Tage 
 Und manche Hebe Schatten steigen auf. 
 
 W. M. T. 
 LONDON, April 10, 1857. 
 
 Mr. Brandon, a principal character in this story, figures prominently in 
 " The Adventures of Philip," under his real name of Brand Eirmin ; Mrs. 
 Brandon, his deserted wife, and her father, Mr. Gann, are also introduced ; 
 therefore the " Shabby Genteel Story " is now prefixed to " The Adventures 
 of Philip."
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY.
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 AT that remarkable period when 
 Louis XVIII. was restored a 
 second time to the throne of his 
 fathers, and all the English who had 
 money or leisure rushed over to the 
 Continent, there lived in a certain 
 boarding-house at Brussels a genteel 
 young widow, who bore the elegant 
 name of Mrs. Wellesley Macarty. 
 
 In the same house and room with 
 the widow lived her mamma, a lady 
 who was called Mrs. Crabb. Both 
 professed to be rather fashionable 
 people. The Crabbs were of a very 
 old English stock, and the Macartys 
 were, as the world knows, County 
 Cork people ; related to the Sheenys, 
 Finnigans, Clancys, and other distin- 
 guished families in their part of Ire- 
 land. But Ensign Wellesley Mac, 
 not having a shilling, ran off with 
 Miss Crabb, who possessed the same 
 independence ; and after having been 
 married about six months to the 
 lady, was carried off suddenly, on the 
 18th of June, 1815, by a disease very 
 prevalent in those glorious times. 
 the fatal cannon-shot morbus. He, 
 and many hundred young fellows of 
 his regiment, the Clonakilty Fencibles, 
 were attacked by this epidemic on the 
 same day, at a place about ten miles 
 from Brussels, and there perished. 
 The ensign's lady had accompanied 
 her husband to the Continent, and 
 about five months after his death 
 brought into the world two remark- 
 ably fine female children. 
 
 Mrs. Wellesley'a mother had been 
 
 reconciled to her daughter by this 
 time, for, in truth, Mrs. Crabb had 
 no other child but her runaway Juli- 
 ana, to whom she flew when she heard 
 of her destitute condition. And, in- 
 deed, it was high time that some one 
 should come to the young widow's 
 aid ; for as her husband did not leave 
 money, nor anything that represented 
 money, except a number of tailors' 
 and boot-makers' bills, neatly docket- 
 ed, in his writing-desk, Mrs. Welles- 
 ley was in danger of starvation, 
 should no friendly person assist her. 
 
 Mrs. Crabb, then, came off to her 
 daughter, whom the Sheenys, Finni- 
 gans, and Clancys refused, with one 
 scornful voice, to assist. The fact is, 
 that Mr. Crabb had once been butler 
 I to a lord, and his lady a lady's-maid ; 
 and at Crabb's death, Mrs. Crabb 
 disposed of the " Ram " hotel and 
 posting-house, where her husband had 
 made three thousand pounds, and was 
 living in genteel ease in a country town, 
 when Ensign Macarty came, saw, and 
 ran away with Juliana. Of such a 
 connection, it was impossible that the 
 great Clancys and Finnigans could 
 take notice ; and so once more Widow 
 Crabb was compelled to share with 
 her daughter her small income of a 
 hundred and twenty a year. 
 
 Upon this, at a boarding-house in 
 Brussels, the two managed to live 
 pretty smartly, and to maintain an 
 honorable reputation. The twins 
 were put out, after the foreign fashion, 
 to nurse, at a village in the neighbor- 
 hood ; for Mrs. Macarty had been too 
 ill to nurse them; and Mrs. Crabb
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 could not afford to purchase that 
 most expensive article, a private wet- 
 nurse. 
 
 There had been numberless tiffs 
 and quarrels between mother and 
 daughter when the latter was in her 
 maiden state ; and Mrs. Crabb was, 
 to tell the truth, in no wise sorry when 
 her Jooly disappeared with the en- 
 sign, for the old lady dearly loved 
 a gentleman, and was not a little flat- 
 tered at being the mother to Mrs. 
 Ensign Macarty. Why the ensign 
 should have run away with his lady 
 at all, as he might have had her for 
 the asking, is no business of ours ; 
 nor are we going to rake up old 
 stories and village scandals, which 
 insinuate that Miss Crabb ran away 
 with him, for with these points the 
 writer and the reader have nothing tf 
 do. 
 
 Well, then, the reconciled motheic 
 and daughter lived once more togeth- 
 er, at Brussels. In the course of a 
 year, Mrs. Macarty's sorrow hd much 
 abated ; and having a great natural 
 love of dress, and a tolerably hand- 
 some face and person, sho was in- 
 duced, without much reluctance, to 
 throw her weeds aside, and to appear 
 in the most becoming and varied 
 costumes which her means and in- 
 genuity could furnish. Considering, 
 indeed, the smallness of the former, 
 it was agreed on all hands that Mrs. 
 Crabb and her daughter deserved 
 wonderful credit, that is, they 
 managed to keep up as respectable an 
 appearance as if they had five hun- 
 dred a year ; and at church, at tea- 
 parties, and abroad in the streets, to 
 be what is called quite the gentle- 
 women. If they starved at home, 
 nobody saw it; if they patched and 
 pieced, nobody (it was to be hoped) 
 knew it ; if they bragged about their 
 relations and property, could any one 
 say them nay ? Thus they lived, 
 hanging on with desperate energy to 
 the skirts of genteel society; Mrs. 
 Crabb, a sharp woman, rather re- 
 spected her daughter's superior rank ; 
 and Mrs. Macarty did not quarrel so 
 
 much as heretofore with her mamma, 
 on whom herself and her two children 
 were entirely dependent. 
 
 While affairs were at this juncture, 
 it happened that a young Englishman^ 
 James Gann, Esq., of the great oil- 
 house of Gann, Blubbery, and Gann 
 (as he took care to tell you before you 
 had been an hour in his company), 
 it happened, I say, that James 
 Gann, Esq., came to Brussels for a 
 month, for the purpose of perfecting 
 himself in the French language ; and 
 while in that capital went to lodge at 
 the very boarding-house which con- 
 tained Mrs. Crabb and her daughter. 
 Gann was young, weak, inflammable ; 
 I he saw aad adored Mrs. Wellesley 
 Macarty ; and she, who was at this 
 period all but engaged to a stout old 
 wooden-legged Scotch regimental sur- 
 geon, pitilessly sent Dr. M'Lint about 
 his business, and accepted the ad- 
 dresses of Mr. Gann. How the young 
 man arranged matters with his papa 
 the senior partner, I don't know ; but 
 it is certain that there was a quarrel, 
 and afterwards a reconciliation ; and 
 it is also known that James Gann 
 fought a duel with the surgeon, 
 receiving the JEsculapian fire, and 
 discharging his own bullet into the 
 azure skies. About nine thousand 
 times in the course of his after years 
 did Mr. Gann narrate the history of 
 the combat; it enabled him to go 
 through life with the reputation of a 
 man of courage, and won for him, as 
 he said with pride, the hand of his 
 Juliana ; perhaps this was rather a 
 questionable benefit. 
 
 One part of the tale, however, honest 
 James never did dare to tell, except 
 when peculiarly excited by wrath or 
 liquor ; it was this : that on the day after 
 the wedding, and in the presence of 
 many friends who had come to offer 
 their congratulations, a stout nurse, 
 bearing a brace of chubby little ones, 
 made her appearance ; and these rosy 
 urchins, springing forward at the sight 
 of Mrs. James Gann, shouted affec- 
 tionately, " Maman! maman!" at 
 which the lady, blushing rosy red,
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 said, " James, these two are yours " ; 
 mid poor James weilm.rli faintC'i at this 
 sudden paternity so put upon him. 
 " Children ! " screamed he, aghast ; 
 '' wliose children ? " at whieh Mrs. 
 Crabb, majestieally checking him, 
 said, " These, my dear James, are 
 the daughters of the gallant and good 
 Ensign Macarty, whose widow you 
 yesterday led to the altar. May you 
 be happy with her, and may these 
 blessed children " (tears) " find in you 
 a father, who shall replace him that 
 fell in the field of glory ! " 
 
 Mrs. Crabb, Mrs. James Gann, 
 Mrs. Major Lolly, Mrs. Piffler, and 
 several ladies present, set up a sob 
 immediately ; and James Gann, a 
 good-humored, soft-hearted man, was 
 quite taken aback. Kissing his lady 
 hurriedly, he vowed that he would 
 take care of the poor little things, and 
 proposed to kiss them likewise ; which 
 caress the darlings refused with many 
 roars. Gann's fate was sealed from 
 that minute ; and he was properly 
 henpecked by his wife and his mother- 
 in-law during the life of the latter. 
 Indeed, it was to Mrs. Crabb that the 
 stratagem of the infant concealment 
 was due ; for when her daughter in- 
 nocently proposed to have or to see 
 the children, the old lady strongly 
 pointed out the folly of such an ar- 
 rangement, which might, perhaps, 
 frighten away Mr. Gann from the 
 delightful matrimonial trap into which 
 (lucky rogue !) he was about to fall. 
 
 Soon after the marriage, the happy 
 pair returned to England, occupying 
 the house in Thames Street, City, 
 until the death of Gann senior ; when 
 his son, becoming head of the firm of 
 Gann and Blubbery, quitted the dis- 
 mal precincts of Billingsgate and 
 colonized in the neighborhood of Put- 
 ney ; where a neat box, a couple of 
 spare bedrooms, a good cellar, and a 
 smart gig to drive into and out from 
 town, made a real gentleman of him. 
 Mrs. Gann treated him with much 
 scorn, to be sure, called him a sot, 
 and abused hugely the male compan- 
 ions that he brought down with him 
 
 to Putney. Honest James would 
 l!>tcn meekly, would yield, and would 
 brniy down a brace more Mends the 
 next day, with whom he would dis- 
 cuss his accustomed number of bottles 
 of port. About this peri&d, a daughter 
 was born to him, called Caroline 
 | Brandenburg Gann ; so named after 
 a large mansion near Hammersmith, 
 j and an injured queen who lived there 
 i at the time of the little girl's birth, 
 i and who was greatly compassioned 
 and patronized by Mrs. James Gann, 
 i and other ladies of distinction. Mrs. 
 ; James was a lady in those days, and 
 gave evening-parties of the very first 
 [ order. 
 
 At this period of time, Mrs. James 
 j Gann sent the twins, Rosalind Clan- 
 j cy and Isabella Finnigan Wellcs'ey 
 Macarty to a boarding-school for 
 young ladies, and grumbled much at 
 the amount of the half-years' bills 
 which her husband was called upon 
 to pay for them ; for though James- 
 discharged them with perfect good- 
 humor, his lady began to entertain a 
 mean opinion indeed of her pretty 
 young children. The;- could expect 
 no fortune, she said, from Mr. Gann, 
 and she wondered that he should 
 think of bringing them up expensive- 
 ly, when he had a darling child of his 
 own, for whom he was bound to save 
 all the money that he could lay by. 
 
 Grandmamma, too, doted on the 
 little Caroline Brandenburg, and 
 vowed that she would leave her three 
 thousand pounds to this dear infant; 
 for in this way does the world show 
 its respect for that most respectable 
 thing prosperity. Who in this life 
 get the smiles, and the acts of friend- 
 ship, and the pleasing legacies? 
 The rich. And I do, for my part, 
 heartily wish that some one would 
 leave me a trifle, say twenty thou- 
 sand pounds, being perfectly confi- 
 dent that some one else would leave 
 me more ; and that I should sink into 
 my grave worth u plum at least. 
 
 Little Caroline then had her maid, 
 her airy nursery, her little carriage to 
 drive in, the promise of her grand-
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 mamma's consols, and that priceless 
 treasure, her mamma's undivided 
 affection. Gann, too, loved her sin- 
 cerely, in his careless, good-humored 
 way ; but he determined, notwith- i 
 standing, that his step - daughters 
 should have something handsome at j 
 his death, but but for a great 
 Bar. 
 
 Gann and Blubbery were in the j 
 oil line, have we not said so ? I 
 Their profits arose from contracts for | 
 lighting a great number of streets in j 
 London ; and about this period GAS 
 cara^ into use. Gann and Blubbery 
 appeared in the Gazette ; and, I am 
 sorry to say, so bad had been the ; 
 management of Blubbery, so great 
 the extravagance of both partners 
 and their ladies, that they only 
 paid their creditors fourteenpeiice 
 halfpenny in the pound. 
 
 When Mrs. Crabb heard of this 
 dreadful accident, Mrs. Crabb, who 
 dined thrice a week with her soa-in- 
 law ; who never would have been al- 
 lowed to enter the house at all had 
 not honest James interposed his good- 
 nature between her quarrelsome 
 daughter an 1 herself, Mrs. Crabb, 
 I say, proclaimed James Gann to be 
 a swindler, a villain, a disreputable, 
 tipsy, vulgar man, and made over her 
 money to the Misses Rosalind Clancy 
 and Isabella Finnigan Macarty ; leav- 
 ing poor little Caroline without one 
 single maravedi. Half of one thou- ! 
 sand five hundred pounds allotted to 
 each was to be paid at marriage, the 
 other half on the death of Mrs. James 
 Gann, who was to enjoy the interest 
 thereof. Thus do we rise and fall in 
 this world, thus doss Fortune shake 
 her swift wings, and bid us abruptly 
 to resign the gifts (or rather loans) 
 which we have had from her. 
 
 How Gann and his family lived 
 after their stroke of misfortune, I 
 know not ; but as the failing trades- 
 man is going through fh^ process of 
 bankruptcy, and for some months 
 afterwards it may be remarked that 
 he has usually some mysterious means 
 of subsistence, stray spars of the 
 
 wreck of his property, on which he 
 manages to seize, and to float for a 
 while. During his retirement, in an 
 obscure lodging in Lambeth, where 
 the poor fellow was so tormented by 
 his wife as to be compelled to fly to 
 the public-house for refuge, Mrs. 
 Crabb died ; a hundred a year thus 
 came into the possession of Mrs. 
 Gann ; and some of James's friends, 
 who thought him a good fellow in his 
 prosperity, came forward, and fur- 
 nished a house, in which they placed 
 him, and came to see and comfort 
 him. Then they came to see him not 
 quite so often ; then they found out 
 that Mrs. Gann was a sad tyrant, and 
 a silly woman ; then the ladies de- 
 clared her to be insupportable, and 
 Gann to be a low, tipsy fellow : and 
 the gentlemen could but shake their 
 heads, and admit that the charge was 
 true. Then they left off coming to 
 see him altogether ; for such is the 
 way of the world, where many of us 
 have good impulses, and are generous 
 on an occasion, but are wearied by 
 perpetual want, and begin to grow 
 angry at its importunities, being 
 very properly vexed at the daily re- 
 currence of hunger, and the impu- 
 dent unreasonableness of starvation. 
 Gann, then, had a genteel wife and 
 children, a furnished house, and a 
 hundred pounds a year. How should 
 he live ? The wife of James Gann, 
 Esq., would never allow him to de- 
 mean himself by taking a clerk's 
 place ; and James himself, being as 
 idle a fellow as ever was known, was 
 fain to acquiesce in this determination 
 of hers, and to wait for some more 
 genteel employment. And a curious 
 list of such genteel employments 
 might be made out, were one inclined 
 to follow this interesting subject far ; 
 shabby compromises with the world, 
 into which poor fellows enter, and 
 still fondly talk of their " position," 
 and strive to imagine that they are 
 really working for their bread. 
 
 Numberless lodging-houses are kept 
 by the females of families who have 
 met with reverses : are not " board-
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 ing-houses, with a select musical so- 
 ciety, in the neighborhood of -the 
 squares," maintained by such 1 Do 
 not the gentlemen of the boarding- 
 houses issue forth every morning 10 
 the City, or make believe to go thith- 
 er, on some mysterious business 
 which they have ? After a certain 
 period, Mrs. James Gann kept a 
 lodging-house (in her own words, 
 received " two inmates into her fam- 
 ily"), and Mr. G.onn had his myste- 
 rious business. 
 
 In the year 1835, when this story 
 begins, there stood in a certain back 
 street in the town of Margate a house, 
 pa the door of which might be read, 
 in gleaming brass, the name of Mr. 
 GANN. It was the work of a single 
 smutty servant-maid to clean this 
 brass plate every morning, and to at- 
 tend as far as possible to the wants 
 of Mr. Gann, his family, and lodgers ; 
 and his house being not very far 
 from the sea, and as you might, by 
 climbing up to the roof, get a sight 
 between two chimn ;ys of that multi- 
 tudinous element, Mrs, Gann set 
 down her lodgings as fashionable ; 
 and declared on her cards that her 
 house commanded " a fine view of 
 the sea." 
 
 On the wire window-blind of the 
 parlor was written, in large charac- 
 ters, the word OFFICE ; and here it 
 was that Gann's services came into 
 play. He was very much changed, 
 poor fellow ! and humbled ; and from 
 two cards that hung outside the blind, 
 I am led to believe that he did not 
 disdain to be agent to the " London 
 and Jamaica Ginger-Beer Company," 
 and also for a certain preparation 
 called " Gaster's Infants' Farinacio, 
 or Mothers' Invigorating Substitute," 
 a damp, black, mouldy, half-pound 
 packet of which stood in permanence 
 at one end of the "office " mantel-piece ; 
 while a fly-blown ginger-beer bottle 
 occupied the other extremity. Noth- 
 ing else indicated that this ground- 
 floor chamber was an office, except a 
 huge black inkstand, in which stood 
 i stumpy pen, richly crusted with ink 
 
 at the aib, and to all appearance for 
 many months enjoying a sinecure. 
 
 To this room you saw every day, 
 at two o'clock, the employe from the 
 ! neighboring hotel bring two quarts 
 of beer ; and if you called at that 
 hour, a tremendous smoke, and smell 
 of dinner, would gush out upon you 
 from the "office," as you stumbled 
 over sundry battered tin dish-covers, 
 which lay gaping at the threshold. 
 Thus had that great bulwark of gen- 
 tility, the dining at six o'clock, been 
 broken in ; and the reader must there- 
 fore judge that the house of Gann 
 was in a demoralized state. 
 
 Gann certainly was. After the 
 ladies had retired to the back-parlor 
 (which, with yellow gauze round the 
 frames, window-curtains, a red silk 
 cabinet piano, and an album, was still 
 tolerably genteel), Gann remained, to 
 transact business in the office. This 
 took place in the presence of friends, 
 and usually consisted in the produc- 
 tion of a bottle of gin from the corner 
 cupboard, or, mayhap, a litre of 
 brandy, which was given by Gann 
 with a knowing wink, and a fat 
 finger placed on a twinkling red nose : 
 when Mrs. G. was out, James would 
 also produce a number of pipes, that 
 gave this room a constant and agree- 
 able odor of shag tobacco. 
 
 In fact, Mr. Gann had nothing to 
 do from morning till night. He was 
 now a fat, bald-headed man of fifty ; 
 a dirty dandy on week-days, with a 
 shawl-waistcoat, a tuft of hair to his 
 great double chin, a snuffy shirt-frill, 
 and enormous breast-pin and seals : 
 be had a pilot-coat, with large moth- 
 er-of-pearl buttons, and always wore 
 a great rattling telescope, with which 
 he might be seen for hours, on the sea- 
 shore or the pier, examining the ships, 
 the bathing - machines, the ladies' 
 schools as they paraded up and down 
 the esplanade, and all other objects 
 which the telescopic view might give 
 him. He knew every person con- 
 nected with every one of the Deal and 
 Dover coaches, and was sure to be 
 witness to the arrival or departure of
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 several of them in the course of the 
 day ; he had a word for the ostler 
 about " that gray mare," a nod for 
 the " shooter " or guard, and a bow 
 for the dragsman ; he could send 
 parcels for nothing up to town ; had 
 twice had Sir Rumble Tumble (the 
 noble driver of the Flash-o'-light- 
 ning-light-four-inside-post-coach) " up 
 at his place," and took care to tell 
 you that some of the party were 
 pretty considerably " sewn up," too. 
 He did not frequent the large hotels ; 
 but in revenge he knew every person 
 who entered or left them ; and was a 
 great man at the " Bag of Nails " and 
 the " Magpie and Punchbowl," where 
 he was president of a club ; he took the 
 bass in " Mynheer Van Dunk," 
 " The Wolf," and many other morsels 
 of concerted song, and used to go 
 backwards and forwards to London 
 in the steamers as often as ever he 
 liked, and have his " grub," too, on 
 board. Such was J;imes Gann. 
 Many people, when they wrote to 
 him, addressed him James Gann, 
 Esq. 
 
 His reverses and former splendors 
 afforded a never-failing theme of con- 
 versation to honest Gann and the 
 whole of his family ; and it may be 
 remarked that such pecuniary mis- 
 fortunes, as they arc called, are by no 
 means misfortunes to people of certain 
 dispositions, but actual pieces of good 
 luck. Gann, for instance, used to 
 drink liberally of port and claret, 
 when the house of Gann and Blub- 
 bery was in existence, and was 
 henceforth compelled to imbibe only 
 brandy and gin. Now he loved these 
 a thousand times more than the wine ; 
 and had the advantage of talking 
 about the latter, and of his great 
 merit in giving them 'up. In those 
 prosperous days, too, being a gentle- 
 man, he could not frequent the public- 
 house as he did at present ; and the 
 sanded tavern-parlor was Gann's 
 supreme enjoyment. He was obliged 
 to spend many hours daily in a dark 
 unsavory room in an alley off 
 Thames Street ; and Ga^in hated 
 
 books and business, except of other 
 people's. His tastes were low ; he 
 loved public-house jokes and com- 
 pany ; and now being fallen, was 
 voted at the " Bag of Nails " and 
 the " Magpie " before mentioned a 
 tip-top fellow and real gentleman, 
 whereas he had been considered an 
 ordinary vulgar man by his fashion- 
 able associates at Putney. Many 
 men are there who are made to fall, 
 and to profit by the tumble. 
 
 As for Mrs. G., or Jooly, as she 
 was indifferently called by her hus- 
 band, she, too, had gained by her 
 losses. She bragged of her former 
 acquaintances in the most extraordi- 
 nary way, and to hear her you would 
 fancy that she was known and con- 
 nected to half the peerage. Her chief 
 occupation was taking medicine, and 
 mending and altering of her gowns. 
 She had a huge taste for cheap finery, 
 loved raffles, tea-parties, and walks 
 on the pier, where she flaunted her- 
 self and daughters as gay as butter- 
 flies. She stood upon her rank, did 
 not fail to tell her lodgers that she 
 was " a gentlewoman," and was 
 mighty sharp with Becky the maid, 
 and poor Carry, her youngest child. 
 
 For the tide of affection had turned 
 now, and the " Misses Wellesley Ma- 
 carty" were the darlings of their 
 mother's heart, as Caroline had been 
 in the early days of Putney prosper- 
 ity. Mrs. Gann respected and loved 
 her elder daughters, the stately heir- 
 esses of 1,500, and scorned poor 
 Caroline, who was likewise scorned 
 (like Cinderella in the sweetest of all 
 stories) by her brace of haughty, 
 thoughtless sisters. These young 
 women were tall, well-grown, black- 
 browed girls, little scrupulous, fond 
 of fun, and having great health and 
 spirits. Caroline was pale and thin, 
 
 j and had fair hair and meek gray eyes ; 
 
 ' nobody thought her a beauty in her 
 moping cotton gown ; whereas the 
 sisters, in flaunting printed muslins, 
 with pink scarfs, and artificial flow- 
 ers, and brass ferronnieres, and other 
 fallals, were voted very charming and
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 genteel by the Ganns' circle of friends. 
 They had pink cheeks, white shoul- 
 ders, and many glossy curls stuck 
 about their shining foreheads, as 
 damp and as black as leeches. Such 
 charms, madam, cannot fail of having 
 their effect ; and it was very lucky for 
 Caroline that she did not possess 
 them, for she might have been ren- 
 dered as vain, frivolous, and vulgar, 
 as these young ladies were. 
 
 While these enjoyed their pleasures 
 and tea-parties abroad, it was Carry's 
 usual fate to remain at home, and 
 help the servant in the many duties 
 which were required in Mrs. Gann's 
 establishment. She dressed that lady 
 and her sisters, brought her papa his 
 tea in bed, kept the lodgers' bills, bore 
 their scoldings if they were ladies, 
 and sometimes gave a hand in the 
 kitchen if any extra pie-crust or cook- 
 ery was required. At two she made 
 a little toilet for dinner, and was em- 
 ployed on numberless household darn- 
 ings and mendings in the long even- 
 ings, while her sisters giggled over 
 the jingling piano, mamma sprawled 
 on the sofa, and Gann was over his 
 glass at the club. A weary lot, in 
 sooth, was yours, poor little Caroline ! 
 since the days of your infancy, not 
 one hour of sunshine, no friendship, 
 no cheery playfellows, no mother's 
 love ; but that being dead, the affec- 
 tions which would have crept round 
 it withered and died too. Only 
 James Gann, of all the household, 
 had a good-natured look for her, and 
 a coarse word of kindness ; nor, in- 
 deed, did Caroline complain, nor shed 
 many tears, nor call for death, as she 
 would if she had been brought up in 
 genteeler circles. The poor thing did 
 not know her own situation ; her mis- 
 ery was dumb and patient ; it is such 
 as thousands and thousands of wo- 
 men in our society bear, and pine, and 
 die of; made up of sums of small 
 tyrannies, and long indifference, and 
 bitter, wearisome injustice, more 
 dreadful to bear than any tortures 
 that we of the stronger sex are pleased 
 to cry Ai ! Al ! about. In our inter- 
 1* 
 
 | course with the world (which is 
 
 i conducted with that kind of cordial- 
 
 j ity that we see in Sir Harry and my 
 
 J Lady in a comedy a couple of 
 
 painted, grinning fools, talking parts 
 
 that they have learned out of a book), 
 
 as we sit and look at the smiling 
 
 actors, we get a glimpse behind the 
 
 scenes from time to time; and alas 
 
 for the wretched nature that appears 
 
 j there ! among women especially, 
 
 ', who deceive even more than men, 
 
 having more to hide, feeling more, 
 
 Iking more than we who have our 
 
 j business, pleasure, ambition, which 
 
 i carries us abroad. Ours are the great 
 
 ! strokes of misfortune, as they are 
 
 1 called, and theirs the small miseries. 
 
 j While the male thinks, labors, and 
 
 | battles without, the domestic woes 
 
 and wrongs are the lot of the women ; 
 
 i and the little ills are so bad, so infi- 
 
 ! nitely fiercer and bitterer than the 
 
 I great, that I would not change my 
 
 j condition, no, not to be Helen, 
 
 ! Queen Elizabeth, Mrs. Coutts, or the 
 
 i luckiest she in history. 
 
 Well, then, in the manner we have 
 ! described lived the Gann family. 
 j Mr. Gann all the better for his " mis- 
 fortunes," Mrs. Gann little the worse ; 
 the two young ladies greatly improved 
 i by the circumstance, having been cast 
 | thereby into a society where their ex- 
 j pected three thousand pounds made 
 ; great heiresses of them ; and poor 
 Caroline, as luckless a being as any 
 that the wide sun shone upon. Bet- 
 : ter to be alone in the world and utter- 
 j ly friendless, than to have sham friends 
 i and no sympathy ; ties of kindred 
 I which bind one as it were to the corpse 
 of relationship, and oblige one to bear 
 through life the weight and the em- 
 braces of this lifeless, cold connection 
 I do not mean to say that Caroline 
 would ever have made use of this 
 metaphor, or suspected that her con- 
 nection with her mamma and sisters 
 was anything so loathsome. She felt 
 that she was ill treated, and had no 
 companion ; but was not on that ac- 
 count envious, only humble and de- 
 pressed, not desiring so much to resist
 
 10 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 as to bear injustice, and hardly ven- 
 turing to think tor herself. This tyr- 
 anny and humility served her in place 
 of education, and formed her man- 
 ners, which were wonderfully gentle 
 and calm. It was strange to see such 
 a person growing up in such a fam- 
 ily ; the neighbors spoke of her with 
 much scornful compassion. "A poor, 
 half-witted thing," they said, " who 
 could not say bo ! to a goose " ; and 
 I think it is one good test of gentility 
 to be thus looked down on by vulgar 
 people. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that the 
 elder girls had reached their present 
 age without receiving a number of of- 
 fers of marriage, an. I being warmly in 
 love a great many times. But many 
 unfortunate occurrences had compel- 
 led them to remain in their virgin 
 condition. There was an attorney 
 who had proposed to Rosalind ; but 
 finding that she would receive only 
 .750 down, instead of 1500, the 
 monster had jilted her pitilessly, 
 handsome as she was. An apothe- 
 cary, too, had been smitten by her 
 charms ; but to live in a shop was be- 
 neath the dignity of a Wellesley Ma- 
 carty, and she waited for better 
 tilings. Lieutenant Swabber, of the 
 coast-guard service, had lodged two 
 months at Gann's ; and if letters, long 
 walks, and town-talk could settle a 
 match, a match between him and Isa- 
 bella must have taken place. Well, 
 Isabella was not married; and the 
 lieutenant, a colonel in Spain, seemed 
 to have given up all thoughts of her. 
 She meanwhile consoled herself with 
 a gay younjj wine-merchant, who had 
 lately established himself at Brighton, 
 kept a gig, rode out with the hounds, 
 and was voted perfectly genteel ; and 
 there was a certain French marquess, 
 with the most elegant black musta- 
 chios, who had made a vast impres- 
 sion upon the heart of Rosalind, hav- 
 ing met her first at the circulating 
 library, and afterwards, by the most 
 extraordinary series of chances, com- 
 ing upon her and her sister daily in 
 their walks upon the pier. 
 
 Meek little Caroline, meanwhile, 
 trampled upon though she was, was 
 springing up to womanhood ; and 
 though pale, freckled, thin, meanly 
 dressed, had a certain charm about 
 her which some people might prefer 
 to the cheap splendors and rude red 
 and white of the Misses Macarty. In 
 fact, we have now come to a period 
 of her history when, to the amaze of 
 her mamma and sisters, and not a 
 little to the satisfaction of James 
 Gann, Esquire, she actually inspired a 
 passion in the breast of a very respect- 
 able young man. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HOW MRS. OANJf RECEIVED TWO 
 LODGERS. 
 
 IT was the winter season when the 
 events recorded in this history occur- 
 red ; and as at that period not one 
 out of a thousand lodging-houses in 
 Margate is let, Mrs. Gann, who gen- 
 erally submitted to occupy her own 
 first and second floors during this 
 cheerless season, considered herself 
 more than ordinarily lucky when cir- 
 cumstances occurred which brought 
 no less than two lodgers to her estab- 
 lishment. 
 
 She had to thank her daughters for 
 the first inmate ; for, as these two 
 young ladies were walking one day 
 down their own street, talking of the 
 joys of the last season, and the de- 
 light of the raffles and singing at the 
 libraries, and the intoxicating pleas- 
 ures of the Vauxhall balls, they were 
 j remarked and evidently admired by 
 I a young gentleman who was saun- 
 I tering listlessly up the street. 
 
 He stared, and it must be confessed 
 that the fascinating girls stared too, 
 and put each other's head into each 
 other's bonnet, and giggled and said, 
 " Lor' ! " and then looked hard at 
 the young gentleman again. Their 
 eyes were black, their cheeks were 
 very red. Fancy how Miss Bella's 
 and Miss Linda's hearts beat when 
 the gentleman, dropping his glass out
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 11 
 
 of his eye, actually stepped across the 
 street, and said, " Ladies, I am seek- 
 ing for lodgings, and should be glad 
 to look at those which I see are to let 
 in your house." 
 
 " How did the conjurer know it 
 was our house ? " thought Bella and 
 Linda (they always thought in coup- 
 les). From the very simple fact that 
 Miss Bella had just thrust into the 
 door a latch-key. 
 
 Most bitterly did Mrs. James Gann 
 regret that she had not on her best 
 
 fown when a stranger a stranger in 
 'ebruary actually called to look at 
 the lodgings. She made up, how- 
 ever, for the slovenliness of her dress 
 by the dignity of her demeanor ; and 
 asked the gentleman for references, in- 
 formed him that she was a gentlewo- 
 man, and that he would have peculiar 
 advantages in her establishment ; and, 
 finally, agreed to receive him at the 
 rate of twenty shillings per week. 
 The bright eyes of the young ladies 
 had done the business ; but to this day 
 Mrs. James Gann is convinced that 
 her peculiar dignity of manner, and 
 great fluency of brag regarding her 
 family, have been the means of bring- 
 ing hundreds of lodgers to her house, 
 who but for her would never have 
 visited it. 
 
 " Gents," said Mr. James Gann, at 
 the " Bag of Nails " that very even- 
 ing, " we have got a new lodger, and 
 I '11 stand glasses round to his jolly 
 good health ! " 
 
 The new lodger, who was remark- 
 able for nothing except very black 
 eyes, a sallow face, and a habit of 
 smoking cigars in bed until noon, gave 
 his name as George Brandon, Esq. 
 As to his temper and habits, when 
 humbly requested by Mrs. Gann to 
 pay in advance, he laughed and pre- 
 sented her with a bank-note, never 
 quarrelled with a single item in her 
 bills, walked much, and ate two mut- 
 ton-chops per diem. The young ladies, 
 who examined all the boxes and let- 
 ters of the lodgers, as young ladies 
 will, could not find one single docu- 
 ment relative to their new inmate, ex- 
 
 cept a tavern-bill of the " White 
 Hart," to which the name of George 
 Brandon, Esquire, was prefixed. Any 
 other papers which might elucidate 
 his history were locked up in a Bra- 
 mah box, likewise marked G. B. ; 
 and though these were but unsatis- 
 factory points by which to judge a 
 man's character, there was a some- 
 thing about Mr. Brandon which 
 caused all the ladies at Mrs. Gann's 
 to vote he was quite a gentleman. 
 
 When this was the case, I am hap- 
 py to say it would not unfrequently 
 happen that Miss Rosalind or Miss 
 Isabella would appear in the lodger's 
 apartments, bearing in the breakfast- 
 cloth, or blushingly appearing With 
 the weekly bill, apologizing for mam- 
 ma's absence, " and hoping that 
 everything was to the gentleman's 
 liking." 
 
 Both the Misses Wellesley Macartjr 
 took occasion to visit Mr. Brandon ifi 
 this manner, and he received both 
 with such a fascinating ease and gen- 
 tleman-like freedom of manner, scan- 
 ning their points from head to foot, 
 and fixing his great black eyes so 
 earnestly in their faces, that the blush- 
 ing creatures turned away abashed, 
 and yet pleased, and had many con- 
 versations about him. 
 
 " Law, Bell," said Miss Rosalind, 
 " what a chap that Brandon is ! I 
 don't half like him, I do declare ! " 
 Than which there can be no great- 
 er compliment from a woman to a 
 man. 
 
 " No more do I neither," says Bell. 
 " The man stares so, and says such 
 things ! Just now, when Becky 
 brought his paper and sealing'-wax, 
 the silly girl brought black and red 
 too, I took them up to ask which he 
 would have, and what do you think 
 he said ? " 
 
 " Well, dear, what 1 " said Mrs. 
 Gann. 
 
 " ' Miss Bell,' says he, looking at 
 me, and with such eyes ! ' I '11 keep 
 everything : the red wax, because it s 
 like your lips; the black wax, be- 
 cause it 's like your hair ; and the
 
 12 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 satin paper, because it 's like your 
 skin ! ' Was n't it genteel ? " 
 
 " Law, now ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Gann. 
 
 " Upon my word, I think it 's very 
 rnde ! " said Miss Lindy ; " and if he 'd 
 said so to me, I 'd have slapped his 
 face for his imperence ! " And much 
 to her credit, Miss Lindy went to his 
 room ten minutes after to see if he 
 would say anything to her. What 
 Mr. Brandon said, I never knew ; but 
 the little pang of envy which had 
 caused Miss Lindy to retort sharply 
 upon her sister had given place to a 
 pleased good humor, and she allowed 
 Bella to talk about the new lodger 
 as much as ever she liked. 
 
 And now if the reader is anxious to 
 know what was Mr. Brandon's charac- 
 ter, he had better read the following let- 
 ter from him. It was addressed to no 
 less a person than a viscount ; and 
 given, perhaps, with some little osten- 
 tation to Becky, the maid, to carry 
 to the post. Now Becky, before she 
 executed such errands, always showed 
 the letters to her mistress or one of 
 the young ladies (it must not be sup- 
 posed that Miss Caroline was a whit 
 less curious on these matters than her 
 sisters ) ; and when the family beheld 
 the name of Lord Viscount Cinqbars 
 upon the superscription, their respect 
 for their lodger was greater than ever 
 it had been : 
 
 "MARGATB, February, 1835. 
 "My DEAR VISCOUNT, For a 
 reason I have, on coming down to 
 Margate, I with much gravity in- 
 formed the people of the ' White 
 Hart ' that my name was Brandon, 
 and intend to bear that honorable 
 appellation during my stay. For the 
 same reason (I am a modest man, 
 and love to do good in secret), I left 
 the public hotel immediately, and 
 am now housed in private lodgings, 
 humble, and at a humble price. I am 
 here, thank Heaven, quite alone. 
 Robinson Crusoe had as much society 
 in his island, as I in this of Thanet. 
 In compensation I sleep a great deal, 
 
 do nothing, and walk much, silent, 
 by the side of the roaring sea, like 
 Calchas, priest of Apollo. 
 
 " The fact is, that until papa's 
 wrath is appeased, I must live with 
 the utmost meekness and humility, 
 and have barely enough money in my 
 possession to pay such small current 
 expenses as fall on me here, where 
 strangers are many and credit does 
 not exist. I pray you, therefore, to 
 tell Mr. Simpson the tailor, Mr. Jack- 
 son the boot-maker, honest Solomon- 
 son the discounter of bills, and all 
 such friends in London and Oxford 
 as may make inquiries after me, 
 that I am at this very moment at the 
 city of Munich in Bavaria, from 
 which I shall not return until mj 
 marriage with Miss Goldmore, the 
 great Indian heiress ; who, upon my 
 honor, will have me, I believe, any 
 day for the asking. 
 
 " Nothing else will satisfy my hon- 
 ored father, I know, whose purse has 
 already bled pretty freely for me, I 
 must confess, and who has taken the 
 great oath that never is broken, to 
 bleed no more unless this marriage is 
 brought about. Come it must. I 
 can't work, I can't starve, and I can't 
 live under a thousand a year. 
 
 " Here, to be sure, the charges are 
 not enormous ; for your edification, 
 read my week's bill : 
 
 ' George Brandon, Esq., 
 
 'To Mrs. James Gann. 
 
 s. d. 
 
 A week's lodging, 1 
 
 Breakfast, cream, eggs 9 
 
 Dinner (fourteen mutton-chops) 10 6 
 
 Fire, boot-cleaning, &c 3 6 
 
 230 
 ' Settled, Juliana Gann.' 
 
 " Juliana Gann ! Is it not a sweet 
 name ? it sprawls over half the paper. 
 Could you but see the owner of the 
 name, my dear fellow ' I love to ex- 
 amine the customs of natives of all 
 countries, and upon my word there 
 are some barbarians in our own less 
 known, and more worthy of being 
 known, than Hottentots, wild Irish,
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 13 
 
 Otaheiteans, or any such savages. 
 if you could see the airs that this 
 woman gives herself; the rouge, rib- 
 bons, rings, and other female gim- 
 cracks that she wears ; if you could 
 hear her reminiscences of past times, 
 ' when she and Mr. Gann moved in 
 the very genteelest circles of socie- 
 ty ' ; of the peerage, which she knows 
 by heart ; and of the fashionable 
 novels, in every word of which she 
 believes, you would be proud of your 
 order, and admire the intense respect 
 which the canaille show towards it. 
 There never was such an old woman, 
 not even our tutor at Christchurch. 
 
 " There is a he Gann, a vast, bloat- 
 ed old man, in a rough coat, who has 
 met me once, and asked me, with a 
 grin, if my mutton-chops was to my 
 liking ? The satirical monster ! 
 What can I eat in this place but 
 mutton-chops ? A great bleeding 
 beefsteak, or a filthy, reeking gigot a 
 I'eau, with a turnip poultice? I 
 should die if I did. As for fish in a 
 watering-place, I never touch it ; it is 
 sure to be bad. Nor care I for little 
 sinewy, dry, black - legged fowls. 
 Cutlets are my only resource ; I have 
 them nicely enough broiled by a 
 little humble companion of the family, 
 (a companion, ye gods, in this 
 family !) who blushed hugely when 
 she confessed that the cooking was 
 hers, and that her name was Caroline. 
 For drink I indulge in gin, of which 
 I consume two wineglasses daily, in 
 two tumblers of cold water ; it is the 
 only liquor that one can be sure to | 
 find genuine in a common house in 
 Engjand. 
 
 " This Gann, I take it, has similar 
 likings, for I hear him occasionally 
 4t midnight floundering up the stairs j 
 (his boots lie dirty in the passage) 
 floundering, I say, up the stairs, and j 
 cursing the candlestick, whence es- ] 
 cape now and anon the snuffers and 
 extinguisher, and with brazen rattle 
 disturb the silence of the night. 
 Thrice a week, at least, does Gann 
 breakfast in bed, sure sign of pri- 
 dian intoxication ; and thrice a week, 
 
 in the morning, I hear a hoarse voice 
 roaring for ' my soda-water.' How 
 long have the rogues drunk soda- 
 water ? 
 
 " At nine, Mrs. Gann and daugh- 
 ters are accustomed to breakfast ; a 
 handsome pair of girls, truly, and 
 much followed, as I hear, in the 
 quarter. These dear creatures are 
 always paying me visits, visits 
 with the tea-kettle, visits with the 
 newspaper (one brings it, and one 
 comes for it) ; but the one is always 
 at the other's heels, and so one can- 
 not show one's self to be that dear, gay 
 seducing fellow that one has been, 
 at home and on the Continent. Do 
 you remember cette cliere marquise at 
 Pan ? That cursed conjugal pistol- 
 bullet still plays the deuce with my 
 shoulder. Do you remember Betty 
 Bundy, the butcher's daughter? A 
 pretty race of fools are we to go mad 
 after such women, and risk all, 
 oaths, prayers, promises, long weari- 
 some courtships, for what ? for 
 vanity, truly. When the battle is 
 over, behold your conquest ! Betty 
 Bundy is a vulgar country wench ; 
 and cf-tle belle marquise is old, rouged, 
 and has false hair. Vanitas vanita- 
 tum ! what a moral man I will be 
 some day or other ! 
 
 " I have found an old acquaintance, 
 (and be hanged to him !) who has 
 come to lodge in this very house. 
 Do you recollect at Rome a young 
 artist, Fitch by name, the handsome 
 gaby with the large beard, that mad 
 Mrs. Carrickfergus was doubly mad 
 about? On the second floor of Mrs. 
 Gann's house dwells this youth. His 
 beard brings the tjamins of the streets 
 trooping and yelling about him ; his 
 fine braided coats have grown some- 
 what shabby now ; and the poor 
 fellow is, like your humble servant 
 (by the way, liave you a 500 franc 
 billet to spare?) like your humble 
 servant, I say, very low in pocket. 
 The young Andrea bears up gayly, 
 however; twangles his guitar, paints 
 the worst pictures in the world, and 
 pens sonnets to his imaginary mis-
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 tress's eyebrow. Luckily the rogue did 
 not know my name, or I should have 
 been compelled to unbosom to him ; 
 and when I called out to him, dubious 
 as to my name, ' Don't you know 
 me ? I met you in Home. My 
 name is Brandon,' the painter was 
 perfectly satisfied, and majestically 
 bade me welcome. 
 
 "Fancy the continence of this 
 young Joseph, he has absolutely 
 run away from Mrs. Carriekfergus ! 
 ' Sir,' said he, with some hesitation 
 and blushes, when I questioned him 
 about the widow, ' I was compelled to 
 leave Rome in consequence of the 
 fatal fondness of that woman. I am 
 an 'andsome man, sir, I know it, 
 all the chaps in the Academy want 
 me for a model ; and that woman, 
 sir, is sixty. Do you think I would 
 ally myself with her ; sacrifice my 
 happiness for the sake of a creature 
 that 's as hugly as an 'arpy ? I 'd 
 rather starve, sir. I 'd rather give up 
 my hart and my 'opes of rising in it 
 than do a haction so disAAMonorable.' 
 
 " There is a stock of virtue for you ! 
 and the poor fellow half starved. He 
 lived at Rome upon the seven por- 
 traits that the Carrickfergns ordered 
 of him, and, as I fancy, now does not 
 make twenty pounds in the year. O 
 rare chastity ! O wondrous silly 
 hopes ! motus animorum, atque 
 certamina tanta ! pulveris exigui jac- 
 tu, in such an insignificant little lump 
 of mud as this ! Why the deuce 
 does not the fool marry the widow ? 
 His betters would. There was a cap- 
 tain of dragoons, an Italian prince, 
 and four sons of Irish peers, all at 
 her feet ; but the Cockney's beard 
 and whiskers have overcome them all. 
 Here my paper has come to an end ; 
 and I have the honor to bid your 
 Lordship a respectful farewell. 
 
 " G. B." 
 
 Of the young gentleman who goes 
 by the name of Brandon, the reader 
 of the above letter will not be so mis- 
 guided, we trust, as to have a very 
 exalted opinion. The noble viscount 
 
 | read this document to a supper-party 
 in Christchurch, in Oxford, and left 
 it in a bowl of milk-punch ; whence a 
 scout abstracted it, and handed it over 
 to us. My Lord was twenty years 
 of age when he received the epistle, 
 and had spent a couple of years 
 abroad, before going to the University, 
 under the guardianship of the worthy 
 individual who called himself George 
 Brandon. 
 
 Mr. Brandon was the son of a half- 
 pay colonel, of good family, who, 
 honoring the great himself, thought 
 his son would vastly benefit by an ac- 
 quaintance with them, and sent him 
 to Eton, at cruel charges upon a slen- 
 der purse. From Eton the lad went 
 to Oxford, took honors there, fre- 
 quented the best society, followed 
 with a kind of proud obsequiousness all 
 the tufts of the University, and left it 
 owing exactly two thousand pounds. 
 Then there came storms at home; 
 fury on the part of the stern old 
 " governor " ; and final payment of 
 the debt. But while this settlement 
 was pending, Master George had con- 
 tracted many more debts among bill- 
 discounters, and was glad to fly to 
 the Continent as tutor to young Lord 
 Cinqbars, in whose company he 
 learned every one of the vices in En- 
 rope ; and having a good natural 
 genius, and a heart not unkindly, 
 had used these qualities in such an 
 admirable manner as to be at twenty- 
 seven ntterly ruined in purse and 
 principle, an idler, a spendthrift, 
 and a glutton. He was free of his 
 money ; would spend his last guinea 
 for a sensual gratification ; would 
 borrow from his neediest friend ; had 
 no kind of conscience or remorse left, 
 but believed himself to be a good- 
 natured devil-may-care fellow ; had a 
 good deal of wit, and indisputably 
 good manners, and a pleasing, dash- 
 ing frankness in conversation with 
 men. I should like to know how 
 many such scoundrels our universi- 
 ties have turned out ; and how much 
 ruin has been caused by that accursed 
 system which is called in England
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 15 
 
 " the education of a gentleman." Go, 
 my son, for ten years -to a public 
 school, that " world in miniature " ; 
 learn " to fight for yourself" against 
 the time when your real struggles 
 shall begin. Begin to be selfish at 
 ten years of age ; study for other ten 
 years ; get a competent knowledge of 
 boxing, swimming, rowing, and crick- 
 et, with a pretty knack of Latin hex- 
 ameters and a decent smattering of 
 Greek plays, do this and a fond 
 father shall bless you, > bless the 
 two thousand pounds which he has 
 spent in acquiring all these benefits 
 for you. And, besides, what else 
 have you not learned ? You have 
 been many hundreds of times to chap- 
 el, and have learned to consider the 
 religious service performed there as 
 the vainest parade in the world. If 
 your father is a grocer, you have been 
 beaten for his sake, and have learned 
 to be ashamed of him. You have 
 learned to forget (as how should you 
 remember, being separated from them 
 for three fourths of your time?) the 
 ties and natural affections of home. 
 You have learned, if you have a kind- 
 ly heart and an open hand, to com- 
 pete with associates much more 
 wealthy than yourself; and to con- 
 sider money as not much, but honor 
 the honor of dining and consort- 
 ing with your betters as a great 
 deal. All this does the public-school 
 and college boy learn ; and woe be to 
 his knowledge ! Alas, what natural 
 tenderness and kindly clinging filial 
 affection is he taught to trample on 
 and despise ! My friend Brandon 
 had gone through this process of edu- 
 cation, and had been irretrievably 
 ruined by it, his heart and his hon- 
 esty had been ruined by it, that is to 
 say ; and he had received, in return 
 for them, a small quantity of classics 
 and mathematics, pretty compen- 
 sation for all he had lost in gaining 
 them ! 
 
 But I am wandering most absurdly 
 from the point ; right or wrong, so 
 nature and education had formed 
 Mr Brandon, who is one of a con- 
 
 siderable class. Well, this young gen* 
 tleman was established at Mrs. 
 Gann's house ; and we are obliged to 
 enter into all these explanations con- 
 cerning him, because they are neces- 
 sary to the right understanding of 
 our story, Brandon not being al- 
 together a bad man, nor much worse 
 than many a one who goes through a 
 course of regular selfish swindling all 
 his life long, and dies religious, re- 
 signed, proud of himself, and univer- 
 sally respected by others ; for this 
 eminent advantage has the getting- 
 and-keeping scoundrel over the ex- 
 travagant and careless one. 
 
 One day, then, as he was gazing 
 from the window of his lodging-house, 
 a cart, containing a vast number of eas- 
 els, portfolios, wooden cases of pictures, 
 and a small carpet-bag that might 
 hold a change of clothes, stopped at 
 the door. The vehicle was accom- 
 panied by a remarkable young fellow, 
 dressed in a frock-coat covered over 
 with frogs, a dirty turned-down shirt- 
 collar, with a blue satin cravat, and a 
 cap placed wonderfully on one ear, 
 who had evidently hired apartments 
 at Mr. Gann's. This new lodger was 
 no other than Mr. Andrew Fitch ; or, 
 as he wrote on his cards, without th 
 prefix, 
 
 Preparations had been made at 
 Gann s for the reception of Mr. Fitch, 
 whose aunt (an auctioneer's lady in 
 the town) had made arrangements 
 that he should board and lodge with 
 the Gann family, and have the apart* 
 ments on the second floor as his pri- 
 vate rooms. In these, then, young 
 Andrea was installed. He was a 
 youth of a poetic temperament, loving 
 solitude ; and where is such to bo 
 found more easily than on the storm- 
 washed shores of Margate in winter? 
 Then the boarding-house keepers have 
 shut up their houses and gone away
 
 16 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 in anguish ; then the taverns take 
 their carpets up, and you can have 
 your choice of a hundred and twenty 
 beds in any one of them ; then but j 
 one dismal waiter remains to super- 
 intend this vast echoing pile of lone- 
 liness, and the landlord pines for sum- 
 mer ; then the flys for Ramsgate 
 stand tenantless beside the pier ; and 
 about four sailors, in pea-jackets, are 
 to be seen in the three principal 
 streets ; in the rest, silence, closed 
 shutters, torpid chimneys enjoying 
 ttieir unnatural winter sinecure, 
 no: the clack of a patten echoing over 
 the cold dry flags ! 
 
 This solitude had been chosen by 
 Mr. Brandon for good reasons of his 
 own ; Gann and his family would 
 have fled, but that they had no other 
 house wherein to take refuge ; and 
 Mrs. Hammerton, the auctioneer's 
 lady, felt so keenly the kindness 
 which she was doing to Mrs. Gann, in 
 providing her with a lodger at sucli a 
 period, that she considered herself 
 fully justified in extracting from the 
 latter a bonus of two guineas, threat- 
 ening on refusal to send her darling 
 nephew to a rival establishment over 
 the way. 
 
 Andrea was here then, in the loneli- 
 ness that he loved, a fantastic 
 youth, who lived but for his art ; to 
 whom the world was like the Coburg 
 Theatre, and he in a magnificent cos- 
 tume acting a principal part. His 
 art and his beard and whiskers were 
 the darlings of his heart. His long 
 pule hair fell over a high polished 
 brow, which looked wonderfully 
 thoughtful ; and yet no man was 
 more guiltless of thinking. He was 
 always putting himself into attitudes ; 
 lie never spoke the truth ; and was so 
 entirely affected and absurd, as to be 
 quite honest at last : for it is my be- 
 lief that the man did not know truth 
 from falsehood any longer, and was 
 when he was alone, when he was in 
 company, nay, when he was uncon- 
 scious and sound asleep snoring in 
 bed, one complete lump of affectation. 
 When his apartments on the second 
 
 floor were arranged according to his 
 fancy, they made a tremendous show. 
 He had a large Gothic chest, in which 
 he put his wardrobe (namely, two vel- 
 vet waiscoats, four varied satin under 
 ditto, two pairs braided trousers, two 
 shirts, half a dozen false collars, and 
 a couple of pairs of dreadfully dilapi- 
 dated Blucher boots). He had some 
 pieces of armor ; some China jugs and 
 Venetian glasses; some bits of old 
 damask rags, to drape his doors and 
 windows : and a rickety lay figure, in 
 a Spanish hat and cloak, over which 
 slung a long Toledo rapier and a 
 guitar, with a ribbon of dirty sky- 
 blue. 
 
 Such was our poor fellow's stock in 
 trade. He had some volumes of 
 poems, " Lalla Rookh," and the 
 sterner compositions of Byron : for, 
 to do him justice, he hated " Don 
 Juan," and a woman was in his eyes 
 an angel ; a Aangel, alas ! he would 
 call her, for nature and the circum- 
 stances of his family had taken sad 
 Cockney advantages over Andrea's 
 pronunciation. 
 
 The Misses Wellesley Macarty 
 were not, however, very squeamish 
 with regard to grammar, and, in this 
 dull season, voted Mr. Fitch an 
 elegant young fellow. His immense 
 beard and whiskers gave them the 
 highest opinion of his genius ; and 
 before long the intimacy between the 
 young people was considerable, for Mr. 
 Fitch insisted upon drawing the por- 
 traits of the whole family. He paint- 
 ed Mrs. Gann in her rouge and 
 ribbons, as described by Mr. Bran- 
 don ; Mr. Gann, who said that his 
 picture would be very useful to the 
 artist, as every soul in Margate knew 
 him ; and the Misses Macarty (a neat 
 group, representing Miss Bella em- 
 bracing Miss Linda, was was pointing 
 to a pianoforte). 
 
 " I suppose you '11 do my Carry 
 next ? " said Mr. Gann, expressing 
 his approbation of the last picture. 
 
 " Law, sir," said Miss Linda, 
 " Carry, with her red hair ! it would 
 be ojus."
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 17 
 
 ' "Mr. Fitch might as well paint 
 Becky, our maid," said Miss Bella. 
 
 " Carry is quite impossible, Gann," 
 said Mrs. Gann ; " she has n't a gown 
 fit to be seen in. She 's not been at 
 church for thirteen Sundays in conse- 
 quence." 
 
 " And more shame for you, ma'am," 
 said Mr. Gann, who liked his child ; 
 " Carry shall have a gown, and the 
 best of gowns." And jingling three- 
 and-twenty shillings in his pocket, 
 Mr. Gaun determined to spend them 
 all in the purchase of a robe for Carry. 
 But alas, the gown never came ; half 
 the money was spent that very even- 
 ing at the " Bag of Nails." 
 
 " Is that that young lady, your 
 daughter ? " said Mr. Fitch, sur- 
 prised, for he fancied Carry was a 
 humble companion of the family. 
 
 " Yes, she is, and a very good 
 daughter, too, sir," answered Mr. 
 Gann. Fetch and Carry I call her, or 
 else Carryvan, she 's so useful. 
 Ain't you, Carry ? " 
 
 " I 'm very glad if I am, papa," 
 said the young lady, who was blush- 
 ing violently, and in whose presence all 
 this conversation had been carried on. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, miss," said her 
 mother; "you are very expensive to 
 us, that you are, and need not brag 
 about the work you do. You would 
 not live on charity, would you, like 
 some folks 1 " (here she looked fierce- 
 ly at Mr. Gann ;) " and if your sisters 
 and me starve to keep you and some 
 folks, I presume you are bound to 
 make us some return." 
 
 When any allusion was made to 
 Mr. Gann's idleness and extrava- 
 gance, or his lady showed herself in 
 any way inclined to be angry, it was 
 honest James's habit not to answer, 
 but to take his hat and walk abroad 
 to the public-house ; or if haply she 
 scolded him at night, he would turn 
 his back and fall a-snoring. These 
 were the only remedies he found for 
 Mrs. James's bad temper, and the 
 first of them he adopted on hearing 
 these words of his lady, which we have 
 just now transcribed. 
 
 Poor Caroline had not her father's 
 refuge of flight, but was obliged to 
 stay and listen ; and a wondrous elo- 
 quence, God wot! had Mrs. Gann 
 upon the subject of her daughter's ill- 
 conduct. The first lecture Mr. Fitch 
 heard, he set down Caroline for a 
 monster. Was she not idle, sulky, 
 scornful, and a sloven ? For these 
 and many more of her daughter's 
 vices Mrs. Gann vouched, declaring 
 that Caroline's misbehavior was has- 
 tening her own death, and finished by 
 a fainting-fit. In the presence of all 
 these charges, there stood Miss Caro- 
 line, dumb, stupid, and careless ; 
 nay, when the fainting-fit came on, 
 and Mrs. Gann fell back on the sofa, 
 the unfeeling girl took the opportunity 
 to retire, and never offered to smack 
 her mamma's hands, to give her the 
 smelling-bottle, or to restore her with 
 a glass of water. 
 
 One stood close at hand ; for Mr. 
 Fitch, when this first fit occurred, was 
 sitting, in the Gann parlor, painting 
 that lady's portrait; and he was mak- 
 ing towards her with his tumbler, 
 when Miss Linda cried out, " Stop ! 
 the water 's full of paint"; and 
 straightway burst out laughing. Mrs. 
 Gann jumped up at this, cured sud- 
 denly, and left the room, looking 
 somewhat foolish. 
 
 " You don't know Ma," said Miss 
 Linda, still giggling ; " she 's always 
 fainting." 
 
 " Poor thing ! " cried Fitch ; " very 
 nervous, I suppose 1 " 
 
 " O, very ! " answered the lady, ex- 
 changing arch glances with Miss 
 Bella. 
 
 " Poor dear lady ! " continued the 
 artist; "I pity her from my hinmost 
 soul. Does n't the himmortal bard 
 of Havon observe, how sharper than 
 a serpent's tooth it is to have a thank- 
 less child 1 And is it true, ma'am, 
 that that young woman has been the 
 ruin of her family ? " 
 
 " Ruin of her fiddlestick ! " replied 
 Miss Bella. " Law, Mr. Fitch, you 
 don't know Ma yet ; she is in one of 
 her tantrums."
 
 18 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 " What, then, it is n't true 1 " cried 
 simple-minded Fitch. To which nei- 
 ther of the young ladies made any 
 answer in words, nor could the little ! 
 artist comprehend why they looked at ! 
 each other, and burst out laughing, j 
 But he retired pondering on what he 
 had seen and heard ; and being a very 
 soft young fellow, most implicitly be- : 
 lieved the accusations of poor dear 
 Mrs. Gann, and thought her daughter j 
 Caroline was no better than a Began j 
 or Goneril. 
 
 A time, how;ever, was to come when j 
 he should believe her to be a most 
 pure and gentle Cordelia ; and of this 
 change in Fitch's opinions we shall 
 speak in Chapter III. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL DINNER, AND 
 OTHER INCIDENTS OF A LIKE NA- 
 TURE. 
 
 MR. BRANDON'S letter to Lord 
 Cinqbars produced, as we have said, 
 a great impression upon the family of 
 Gann ; an impression which was con- 
 siderably increase.! by their lodger's 
 subsequent behavior: for although 
 the persons with whom he now asso- 
 ciated were of a very vulgar, ridicu- 
 lous kind, they were by no means so 
 low or ridiculous that Mr. Brandon 
 should not wish to appear before them 
 in the most advantageous light ; and, 
 accordingly, he gave himself the great- 
 est airs when in their company, and 
 bragged incessantly of his acquaint- 
 ance and familiarity with the nobil- 
 ity. Mr. Brandon was a tuft-hunter 
 of the genteel sort; his pride being 
 quite as slavish, and his haughtiness 
 as mean and cringing, in fact, as 
 poor Mrs. Gann's stupid wonder and 
 respect for all the persons whose 
 names are written with titles before 
 them. free and happy Britons, 
 what a miserable, truckling, cringing 
 race ye are ! 
 
 The reader has no doubt encoun- 
 
 tered a number of such swaggerers in 
 the course of his conversation with 
 the world, men of a decent middle 
 rank, who affect to despise it, and 
 herd only with persons of the fashion. 
 Tliis is an offence in a man which 
 none of us can forgive ; we call him 
 tuft-hunter, lickspittle, sneak, un- 
 manly ; we hate, and profess to de- 
 spise him. I fear it is no such thing. 
 We envy Lickspittle, that is the fact; 
 and therefore hate him. Were he to 
 plague us with the stories of Jones 
 and Brown, our familiars, the man 
 would be a simple bore, his stories 
 heard patiently ; but so soon as he 
 talks of my Lord or the Duke, we are 
 in arms against him. I have seen a 
 whole merry party in Russell Square 
 grow suddenly gloomy and dumb, be- 
 cause a pert barrister, in a loud, shrill 
 voice, told a story of Lord This, or 
 the Marquis of That. We all hated 
 that man ; and I would lay a wager 
 that every one of the fourteen per- 
 sons assembled round the boiled tur- 
 key and saddle of mutton (not to 
 mention side-dishes from the pastry- 
 cook's opposite the British Museum) 
 I would wager, I say, that every 
 one was muttering inwardly, " A 
 plague on that fellow ! he knows a 
 lord, and I never spoke to more than 
 three in the whole course of my life." 
 To our betters we can reconcile our- 
 selves, if we please, respecting them 
 very sincerely, laughing at their 
 jokes, making allowance for their stu- 
 
 f>idities, meekly suffering their inso- 
 ence ; but we can't pardon our equals 
 going beyond us. A friend of mine 
 who lived amicably and happily 
 among his friends and relatives at 
 Hackney was on a sudden disowned 
 by the latter, cut by the former, and 
 doomed in innumerable prophecies to 
 ruin, because he kept a foot-boy, a 
 harmless little blowsy-faced urchin, 
 in light, snuff-colored clothes, glister 
 ing over with sugar-loaf buttons 
 There is another man, a great man, 
 a literary man, whom the public loves, 
 and who took a sudden leap from ob- 
 scurity into fame and wealth. This
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 II) 
 
 was a crime ; but he bore his rise 
 with so much modesty, that even his 
 brethren of the pen did not envy 
 him. One luckless day he set up a 
 one-horse chaise ; from that minute he 
 was doomed. 
 
 " Have you seen his new car- 
 riage?" says Snarley. 
 
 " Yes," says Yow ; " he 's so con- 
 surnedly proud of it, that he can't see 
 his old friends while he drives." 
 
 * Ith it a donkey-cart," lisps Sim- 
 per, " th.it gwand cawwaige ? I always 
 thaid that the man, from hith thtile, 
 wath fitted to be a vewy dethent coth- 
 termonger." 
 
 " Yes, yes," cries old Candor, " a 
 sad pity indeed ! dreadfully extrava- 
 gant, I 'm told, bad health, ex- 
 pensive family, works going down 
 every day, and now he must set up 
 a carriage forsooth ! " 
 
 Snarley, Yow, Simper, Candor, 
 hate their brother. If he is ruined, 
 they will be kind to him and just, but 
 he is successful, and woe be to him ! 
 # * * * * 
 
 This trifling digression of half a 
 page or so, although it seems to have 
 nothing to do with the story in hand, 
 has, nevertheless, the strongest rela- 
 tion to it ; and you shall hear what. 
 
 In one word, then, Mr. Brandon 
 bragged so much, and assumed such 
 airs of superiority, that after a while 
 he perfectly disgusted Mrs. Gann and 
 the Misses Macarty, who were gentle- 
 folks themselves, and did not at all 
 like his way of telling them that he 
 was their better. Mr. Fitch was 
 swallowed up in his hart as he called 
 it, and cared nothing for Brandon's 
 airs. Gann, being a low-spirited fel- 
 low, completely submitted to Mr. 
 Brandon, and looked up to him with 
 deepest wonder. And poor little 
 Caroline followed her father's faith, 
 and in six weeks after Mr. Brandon's 
 arrival at the lodgings had grown to 
 believe him the most perfect, finished, 
 polished, agreeable of mankind. In- 
 deed, the poor girl had never seen a 
 gentleman before, and towards such 
 her gentle heart turned instinctively. 
 
 Brandon never offended by hard 
 words ; insulted her by cruel scorn, 
 such as she met with from her mother 
 and her sisters ; there was a quiet 
 manner about the man quite different 
 to any that she had before seen 
 amongst the acquaintances of her 
 family ; and if he assumed a tone of 
 superiority in his conversation with 
 her and the rest, Caroline felt that he 
 was their superior, and as such ad- 
 mired and respected him. 
 
 What happens when in the innocent 
 bosom of a girl of sixteen such sensa- 
 tions arise ? What has happened ever 
 since the world began ? 
 
 I have said that Miss Caroline had 
 no friend in the world but her father, 
 and must here take leave to recall that 
 assertion ; a friend she most cer- 
 tainly had, and that was honest Becky, 
 the smutty maid, whose name has 
 been mentioned before. Miss Caro- 
 line had learned, in the course of a 
 life spent under the tyranny of her 
 mamma, some of the notions of the 
 latter, and would have been very much 
 offended to call Becky her friend : hut 
 friends in fact they were ; and a great 
 comfort it was for Caroline to descend 
 to the calm kitchen from the stormy 
 back-parlor, arid there vent some of 
 her little woes to the compassionate 
 servant of all work. 
 
 When Mrs. Gann went out with 
 her daughters, Becky would take her 
 work and come and keep Miss Caro- 
 line company ; and if the truth must 
 be told, the greatest enjoyment the 
 pair used to have was in these after- 
 noons, when they read together out 
 of the precious greasy, marble-covered 
 volumes that Mrs. Gann was in the 
 habit of fetching from the library. 
 Many and many a tale had the pair 
 so gone through. I can see them 
 over " Manfrone; or the One-handed 
 Monk," the room dark, the street 
 silent, the hour ten, the tall, red, 
 lurid candlewick waggling down, the 
 flame flickering pale upon Miss fViro- 
 line's pale face as she read out, end 
 lighting up honest Becky's goggling 
 eyes, who sat silent, her work in lu-r
 
 20 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 lap : she had not done a stitch of it 
 for an hour. As the trap-door slowly 
 opens, and the scowling Alonzo, bend- 
 ing over the sleeping Imoinda, draws 
 his pistol, cocks it, looks well if the 
 priming be right, places it then to the 
 sleeper's ear, and thunder-under-under 
 down fall the snuffers ! Becky has 
 had them in hand for ten minutes, 
 afraid to use them. Up starts Caro- 
 line, and flings the book back into her 
 mamma's basket. It is that lady re- 
 turned with her daughters from a tea- 
 party, where two young gents from 
 London have been mighty genteel in- 
 deed. 
 
 For the sentimental, too, as well as 
 for the terrible, Miss Caroline and the 
 cook had a strong predilection, and 
 had wept their poor eyes out over 
 " Thaddeus of Warsaw " and the 
 " Scottish Chiefs." Fortified by the 
 examples drawn from those instructive 
 volumes, Becky was firmly convinced 
 that her young mistress would meet 
 with a great lord some day or other, 
 or be carried off, like Cinderella, by a 
 brilliant prince, to the mortification 
 of her elder sisters, whom Becky hated. 
 And when, therefore, the new lodger 
 came, lonely, mysterious, melancholy, 
 elegant, with the romantic name of 
 George Brandon, when he wrote a 
 letter directed to a lord, and Miss 
 Caroline and Becky together exam- 
 ined the superscription, such a look 
 passed between them as the pencil of 
 Leslie or Maclisc could alone describe 
 for us. Becky's orbs were lighted up 
 with a preternatural look of wonder- 
 ing wisdom ; whereas, after an instant, 
 Caroline dropped hers, and blushed, 
 and said, " Nonsense, Becky ! " 
 
 " /.< it nonsense 1 " said Becky, 
 grinning and snapping her fingers 
 with a triumphant air ; " the cards 
 comes true ; I knew they would. Did 
 n't you have king and queen of hearts 
 three deals running ? What did you 
 dream about last Tuesday, tell me 
 that ? " 
 
 But Miss Caroline never did tell, 
 for her .sisters came bouncing down 
 the stairs, and examined the lodger's 
 
 letter. Caroline, however, went away 
 musing much upon these points ; and 
 she began to think Mr. Brandon more 
 wonderful and beautiful every day. 
 
 In the mean time, while Miss Caro- 
 line was innocently indulging in her 
 inclination for the brilliant occupier 
 of the first floor, it came to pass that 
 the tenant of the second was inflamed 
 by a most romantic passion for her. 
 
 For, after partaking for about a 
 fortnight of the family dinner, and 
 passing some evenings with Mrs. 
 Gann and the young ladies, Mr. 
 Fitch, though by no means quick of 
 comprehension, began to perceive 
 that the nightly charges that were 
 brought against poor Caroline could 
 not be founded upon truth. " Let 's 
 see," mused he to himself. " Tues- 
 day, the old lady said her daughter 
 was bringing her gray hairs with 
 sorrow to the grave, because the cook 
 had not boiled the potatoes. Wed- 
 nesday, she said Caroline was an as- 
 sassin, because she could not find her 
 own thimble. Thursday, she vows 
 Caroline has no religion, because that 
 old pair of silk stockings were not 
 darned. And this can't be," reason- 
 ed Fitch, deeply. " A gal haint a 
 murderess because her Ma can't find 
 her thimble. A woman that goes to 
 slap her grown-up daughter on the 
 back, and before company too, for 
 such a paltry thing as a hold pair of 
 stockings, can't be surely a speaking 
 the truth." And thus gradually his 
 first impression against Caroline 
 wore away. As this disappeared, 
 pity took possession of his soul, 
 and we know what pity is akin to ; 
 and, at the same time, a correspond- 
 ing hatred for the oppressors of a 
 creature so amiable. 
 
 To sum up, in six short weeks after 
 the appearance of the two gentlemen, 
 we find our chief dramatis personce as 
 follows : 
 
 CAROLISR, an innocent young woman, in 
 love with BRANDOS. 
 
 FITCH, a celebrated painter, almost in love 
 with CAROLINE. 
 
 BRANDON, a young gentleman in love with 
 himself.
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 At first he was pretty constant in 
 his attendance upon the Misses Ma- 
 carty when they went out to walk, 
 nor were they displeased at his atten- 
 tions ; but he found that there were a 
 great number of Margate beaux 
 ugly, vulgar fellows as ever were 
 who always followed in the young 
 ladies' train, and made themselves in- 
 finitely more agreeable than he was. 
 These men Mr. Brandon treated with 
 a great deal of scorn : and, in return, 
 they hated him cordially. So did the 
 ladies speedily : his haughty manners, 
 though quite as impertinent and free, 
 were not half so pleasant to them as 
 Jones's jokes or Smith's charming 
 romps ; and the girls gave Brandon 
 very shortly to understand that they 
 were much happier without him. 
 " Ladies, your humble," he heard 
 Bob Smith say, as that little linen- 
 draper came skipping to the door 
 from which they were issuing. " The 
 sun 's hup and trade is down ; if 
 you 're for a walk, I 'm your man. 
 And Miss Linda and Miss Bella each 
 took an arm of Mr. Smith, and sailed 
 down the street. " I 'm glad you ain 't 
 got that proud gent with the glass 
 hi," said Mr. Smith ; " he 's the most 
 hill-bred, supercilious beast I ever see." 
 
 " So he is," says Bella. 
 
 " Hush ! " says Linda. 
 
 The " proud gent with the glass 
 hi " was at this moment lolling out 
 of the first-floor window, smoking his 
 accustomed cigar ; and his eyeglass 
 was fixed upon the ladies, to whom 
 he made a very low bow. It may be 
 imagined how fond he was of them 
 afterwards, and what looks he cast at 
 Mr. Bob Smith the next time he met 
 him. Mr. Bob's heart beat for a day 
 afterwards ; and he found he had 
 business in town 
 
 But the love of society is stronger 
 than even pride ; and the great Mr. 
 Brandon was sometimes fain to 
 descend from his high station and 
 consort with the vulgar family with 
 whom he lodged. But, as we have 
 said, he always did this with a won- 
 derfully condescending air, giving his 
 
 associates to understand how great 
 was the honor he did them. 
 
 One day, then, he was absolutely 
 so kind as to accept of an invitation 
 from the ground-floor, which was de- 
 livered in the passage by Mr. James 
 Gann, who said " It was hard to see 
 a gent eating mutton - chops from 
 week's end to week's end ; and if Mr. 
 Brandon had a mind to meet a devil- 
 ish good fellow as ever was, my friend 
 Swigby, a man who rides his horse, 
 and has his five hundred a year to 
 spend, and to eat a prime cutout of as 
 good a leg of pork (though he said it) 
 as ever a knife was stuck into, they 
 should dine that day at three o'clock 
 sharp, and Mrs. G. and the gals 
 would be glad of the honor of his 
 company." 
 
 The person so invited was rather 
 amused at the terms in which Mr. 
 Gann conveyed his hospitable mes- 
 sage ; and at three o'clock made his 
 appearance in the back-parlor, whence 
 he had the honor of conducting Mrs. 
 Gann (dressed in a sweet yellow 
 mousseline de laine, with a large red 
 turban, a ferrmnicre, and a smelling- 
 bottle attached by a ring to a very 
 damp, fat hand) to the " office, 
 where the repast was set out. The 
 Misses Macarty were in costumei 
 equally tasty : one on the guest's 
 right hand ; one near the boarder, 
 Mr. Fitch, who, in a large beard, 
 an amethyst velvet waistcoat, his hair 
 fresh wetted, and parted accurately 
 down the middle to fall in curls over 
 his collar, would have been irresisti- 
 ble if the collar had been a little, little 
 whiter than it was. 
 
 Mr. Brandon, too, was dressed in 
 his very best suit ; for though he af- 
 fected to despise his hosts very much, 
 he wished to make the most favorable 
 impression upon them, and took care 
 to tell Mrs. Gann that he and Lord 
 So-and-so were the only two men in 
 the world who were in possession of 
 that particular waistcoat which she 
 admired : for Mrs. Gann was very 
 gracious, and had admired the waist- 
 coat, being desirous to impress with
 
 22 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 awe Mr. Gann's friend and admirer, 
 Mr. Swigby, who, man of fortune 
 as he was, was a constant frequenter 
 of the club at the " Bag of Nails." 
 
 About this club and its supporters 
 Mr. Gann's guest, Mr. Swigby, and 
 Gann himself, talked very gayly be- 
 fore dinner ; all the jokes about all 
 the club being roared over by the pair. 
 
 Mr. Brandon, who felt he was the 
 great man of the party, indulged him- 
 self in his great propensities without 
 restraint, and told Mrs. Gann sto- 
 ries about half the nobility. Mrs. 
 Gann conversed knowingly about the 
 Opera ; and declared that she thought 
 Taglioni the sweetest singer ia the 
 world. 
 
 " Mr. a S wighy, have you ever 
 seen Lablache dance ? " asked Mr. 
 Brandon of that gentleman, to whom 
 he had been formally introduced. 
 
 I "At Vauxhall is he?" said 
 Mr. Swigby, who was just from 
 town. 
 
 " Yes, on the tight-rope ; a charm- 
 ing performer." 
 
 On which Mr. Gann told how he 
 had been to Vauxhall when the 
 princes were in London ; and his 
 : lady talked of these knowingly. And 
 then they fell to conversing about fire- 
 works and rack-punch ; Mr. Brandon 
 assuring the young ladies that Vaux- 
 j hall was the very pink of the fashion, 
 l and longing to have the honor of 
 j dancing a quadrille with them there. 
 Indeed, Brandon was so very sarcas- 
 tic, that not a single soul at table un- 
 derstood him. 
 
 The table, from Mr. Brandon's 
 plan of it, which was afterwards sent 
 to my Lord Cinqbars, was arranged 
 as follows : 
 
 Miss CAROLINE. 
 1. 
 
 MR. FITCH. 
 
 Miss L. MACARTY. 
 3. 
 
 MRS. JAMES GAN. 
 
 Potatoes. 
 
 A roast leg of 
 pork, with sage and 
 onions. 
 
 Three shreds Boiled haddock, 
 of celery in a removed by hashed 
 glasa. mutton. 
 
 3. 
 
 MR. SWIGBY. Mis 
 
 Cabbage. 
 
 4. 
 
 s B. MACARTY. MR. BRANDON. 
 
 1 and 2 are pots of porter ; 3, a | 
 quart of ale, Mrs. Gann's favorite 
 drink ; 4, a bottle of fine old golden 
 sherry, the real produce of the Uva 
 grape, purchased at the " Bag of 
 Nails " Hotel for 1 *. 9 d. by Mr. J. 
 Gann. 
 
 Mr. Gann. "Taste that sherry, 
 sir. Your 'ealth, and my services to ! 
 you, sir. That wine, sir, is given me ! 
 as a particular favor by my ahem ! \ 
 my wine-merchant, who only will 
 part with a small quantity of it, and 
 imports it direct, sir, from ahem ! 
 from " 
 
 Mr. Brandon. " From Xcres, of , 
 course. It is, I really think, the finest i 
 
 wine I ever tasted in my life, at a 
 commoner's table, that is." 
 
 Mrs. Gann. " 0, in course, a com- 
 moner's table ! we have no titles, 
 sir (Mr. Gann, I will trouble you for 
 some more crackling), though my 
 poor dear girls are related, by their 
 blessed father's side, to some of the 
 first nobility in the land, I assure 
 you." 
 
 Mr. Gann. "Gammon, Jooly my 
 dear. Them Irish nobility, you 
 know, what are they ? And be- 
 sides, it 's my belief that the gals 
 are no more related to them than I 
 am." 
 
 Miss Bella (to Mr. Brandon, con'
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STOKY. 
 
 tfdentiatty). " You must find that poor 
 Far is sadly vulgar, Mr. Bran- 
 don." 
 
 Mrs. Gann. "Mr. Brandon has 
 never been accustomed to such lan- 
 guage, I am sure ; and I entreat you 
 will excuse Mr. Gann's rudeness, 
 sir." 
 
 Miss Linda. " Indeed, I assure 
 you, Mr. Brandon, that we 've high 
 connections as well as low ; as high 
 as some people's connections, per'aps, 
 though we are not always talking of 
 the nobility." This was a douMe 
 shot: the first barrel of Miss Linda's 
 sentence hit her step-father ; the second 
 part was levelled directly at Mr. 
 Brandon. " Don't you think I 'm 
 right, Mr. Fitch ? " 
 
 Mr. Brandon. "You are quite 
 right, Miss Linda, in this as in every 
 other instance ; but I am afraid Mr. 
 Fitch has not paid proper attention 
 to your excellent remark : for, if I 
 don't mistake the meaning of that 
 beautiful design which he has made 
 with his fork upon the table-cloth, his 
 soul is at this moment wrapped up in 
 his art." 
 
 This was exactly what Mr. Fitch 
 wished that all the world should sup- 
 pose. He flung back his hair, and 
 stared wildly for a moment, and said, 
 " Pardon me, madam : it is true my 
 thoughts were at that moment far 
 away in the regions of my hart." 
 He was really thinking that his atti- 
 tude was a very elegant one, and that 
 a large garnet ring which he wore on 
 his forefinger must be mistaken by all 
 the company for a ruby. 
 
 "Art is very well," said Mr. Bran- 
 don ; " but with such pretty natural 
 objects before you, I wonder you were 
 not content to think of them." 
 
 " Do you mean the mashed pota- 
 toes, sir ? " said Andrea Fitch, won- 
 dering. 
 
 " I mean Miss Rosalind Macarty." 
 answered Brandon, gallantly, and 
 laughing heartily at the painter's sim- 
 plicity. But this compliment could 
 not soften Miss Linda, who had an 
 uneasy conviction that Mr. Brandon 
 
 was laughing at her, and disliked him 
 accordingly. 
 
 At this juncture, Miss Caroline en- 
 tered and took the place marked as 
 hers, to the left hand of Mr. Gann, 
 vacant. An old rickety wooden stool 
 was placed for her, instead of that 
 elegant and commodious Windsor 
 chair which supported every other 
 person at table ; and by the side of 
 the plate stood a curious old battered 
 tin mug, on which the antiquarian 
 might possibly discover the inscrip- 
 tion of the word " Caroline." This, 
 in truth, was poor Caroline's mug 
 and stool, having been appropriated 
 to her from childhood upwards ; and 
 here it was her custom meekly to sit, 
 and eat her daily meal. 
 
 It was well that the girl was placed 
 near her father, else I do believe she 
 would have been starved ; but Gann 
 was much too good-natured to allow 
 that any difference should be made 
 between her and her sisters. There 
 are some meannesses which are too 
 mean even for man, woman, lovely 
 woman alone, can venture to commit 
 them. Well, on the present occasion, 
 and when the dinner was half over, 
 poor Caroline stole gently into the 
 room and took her ordinary place. 
 Caroline's pale face was very red ; for 
 the fact must be told that she had 
 been in the kitchen, helping Becky, 
 the universal maid ; and having 
 heard how the great Mr. Brandon 
 was to dine with them upon that day, 
 the simple girl had been showing her 
 respect for him, by compiling, in her 
 best manner, a certain dish, for the 
 cooking of which her papa had often 
 praised her. She took her place, 
 blushing violently when she saw him, 
 and if Mr. Gann had not been mak- 
 ing a violent clattering with his knife 
 and fork, it is possible that he might 
 have heard Miss Caroline's heart 
 thump, which it did violently. Her 
 dress was somehow a little smarter 
 than usual ; and Becky the maid, 
 who brought in that remove of hash- 
 ed mutton which has been set down 
 IB the bill of fare, looked at her
 
 24 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 young lady with a good deal of com- 
 placency, as, loaded with plates, she 
 quitted the room. Indeed, the. poor 
 girl deserved to be looked at : there 
 was an air of gentleness and inno- 
 cence about her that was apt to please 
 some persons, much more than the 
 bold beauties of her sisters. The two 
 young men did not fail to remark 
 this ; one of them, the little painter, 
 had long since observed it. 
 
 " You are very late, miss," cried 
 Mrs. Gann, who affected not to know 
 what had caused her daughter's de- 
 lay. " You 're always late ! " and 
 the elder girls stared and grinned at 
 ench other knowingly, as they always 
 did when mamma made such attacks 
 upon Caroline, who only kept her 
 eyes down upon the table-cloth, and 
 began to eat her dinner without say- 
 ing a word. 
 
 " Come, my dear," cried honest 
 Gann, " if she is late you know why. 
 A girl can't be here, and there too, as 
 I say ; can they, Swigby ? " 
 
 " Impossible ! " said Swigby. 
 
 " Gents, " continued Mr. Gann, 
 " our Carry, you must know, has been 
 down stairs, making the pudding for 
 her old pappy ; and a good pudding 
 she makes, I can tell you." 
 
 Miss Caroline blushed more vehe- 
 mently than ever ; the artist stared 
 her full in the face ; Mrs. Gann said, 
 ' Nonsense ! " and " Stuff! " very ma- 
 jestically ; only Mr. Brandon inter- 
 posed in Caroline's favor. 
 
 " I would sooner that my wife | 
 should know how to make a pud- j 
 ding," said he, " than how to play the ; 
 l>est piece of music in the world ! " 
 
 ' Law, Mr. Brandon ! I, for my 
 ]> irt, wouldn't demean myself by 
 any such kitchen-work ! " cries Miss 
 Linda. 
 
 " A lake puddens, indeed ; it 's 
 ojous ! " cries Bella. 
 
 " For you, my loves, of course ! " 
 interposed their mamma. " Young 
 women of your family and circum- 
 stances is not expected to perform 
 any such work. It 's different with 
 Miss Caroline, who, if she does make 
 
 herself useful now and then, don't 
 make herself near so useful as she 
 should, considering that she 's not a 
 shilling, and is living on our charity, 
 like some other folks." 
 
 Thus did this amiable woman neg- 
 lect no opportunity to give her opin- 
 ions about her husband and daugh- 
 ter. The former, however, cared not 
 a straw; and the latter, in this in- 
 stance, was perfectly happy. Had 
 not kind Mr. Brandon approved of 
 her work ; and could she ask for 
 more? 
 
 " Mamma-may say what she pleases 
 to-day," thought Caroline. " I am 
 too happy to be made - angry by 
 her." 
 
 Poor little mistaken Caroline, to 
 think you were safe against three 
 women ! The dinner had not ad- 
 vanced much further, when Miss Isa- 
 bella, who had been examining her 
 younger sister curiously for some 
 short time, telegraphed Miss Linda 
 across the table, and nodded, and 
 winked, and pointed to her own 
 neck ; a very white one, as I have be- 
 fore had the honor to remark, and 
 quite without any covering, except a 
 smart necklace of twenty-four rows 
 of the lightest blue glass beads, fin- 
 ishing in a neat tassel. Linda had a 
 similar ornament of a vermilion color ; 
 whereas Caroline, on this occasion, 
 wore a handsome new collar up to 
 the throat, and a brooch, which looked 
 all the smarter for the shabby frock 
 over which they were placed. As 
 soon as she saw her sister's signals, 
 the poor little thing, who had only 
 just done nattering and blushing, fell 
 to this same work over again. Down 
 went her eyes once more, and her face 
 and neck lighted up to the color of 
 Miss Linda's sham cornelian. 
 
 " What 's the gals giggling and 
 ogling about ? " said Mr. Gann, in- 
 nocently. 
 
 " What is it, my darling loves ? " 
 said stately Mrs. Gann. 
 
 " Why, don't you see, Ma ? " said 
 Linda. " Look at Miss Carry ! I'm 
 blessed if she has not got on Becky's col-
 
 A SHABBY GEXTEEL STORY. 
 
 25 
 
 far and brooch that Sims tbc pilot gave 
 her!" 
 
 The young ladies fell back in up- 
 roarious tits of laughter, and laughed 
 all the time that their mamma was 
 thundering out a speech, in which 
 she declared that her daughter's con- 
 duct was unworthy a geutlewoman, 
 and bid her leave the room and take 
 off those disgraceful ornaments. 
 
 There was no need to tell her ; 
 the poor little thing gave one piteous 
 look at her lather, who was whistling, 
 and seemed indeed to think the mat- 
 ter a good joke ; and after she had 
 managed to open the door and totter 
 into the passage, you might have 
 heard her weeping there, weeping 
 tears more bitter than any of the 
 many she had shed in the course 
 of her life. Down she went to the 
 kitchen, and when she reached that 
 humble place of refuge, first pulled 
 at her neck and made as if she would 
 take off Becky's collar and brooch, 
 and then flung herself into the arms 
 of that honest scullion, where she 
 cried and cried till she brought on the 
 first fit of hysterics that ever she had 
 had. 
 
 This crying could not at first be 
 heard in the parlor, where the young 
 ladies, Mrs. Gann, Mr. Gann, and his 
 friend from the " Bag of Nails," were 
 roaring at the excellence of the joke. 
 Mr. Brandon, sipping sherry, sat by, 
 looking very sarcastically and slyly 
 from one party to the other; Mr. 
 Fitch was staring about him too, but 
 with a very different expression, anger 
 and wonder inflaming his bearded 
 countenance. At last, as the laugh- 
 ing died away and a faint voice of 
 weeping came from the kitchen below, 
 Andrew could bear it no longer, but 
 bounced up from his chair and rushed 
 out of the room, exclaiming, 
 
 " By Jove, it 's too bad ! " 
 
 " What does the man mean ? " said 
 Mrs. Gann. 
 
 He meant that he was from that 
 moment over head and ears in love 
 with Caroline, and that he longed to 
 beat, buffet, pummel, thump, tear to 
 
 pieces, those callous ruffians who so 
 pitilessly laughed at her. 
 
 " What 's that chop \vi' the beard in 
 such tantrums about ? " said the 
 gentleman from the " Bag of Nails." 
 Mr. Gann answered this query by 
 some joke, intimating that " per'aps 
 Mr. Fitch's dinner did not agree 
 with him," at which these worthies 
 roared again. 
 
 The young ladies said, " Well, 
 now, upon my word ! " 
 
 " Mighty genteel behavior truly ! " 
 I cried mamma ; " but what can you 
 expect from the poor thing ? " 
 
 Brandon only sipped more sherry, 
 
 | but he looked at Fitch as the latter 
 
 ; flung out of the room, and his counte- 
 
 nance was lighted up by a more un- 
 
 ; equivocal smile. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 These two little adventures were fol- 
 lowed by a silence of some few 
 minutes, during which the meats re- 
 mained on the table, and no signs 
 were shown of that pudding upon 
 1 which poor Caroline had exhausted 
 her skill. The absence of this deli- 
 cious part of the repast was first re- 
 | marked by Mr. Gann ; and his lady, 
 i after jangling at the bell for some 
 I time in vain, at last begged one of 
 I her daughters to go and hasten mat- 
 ters. 
 
 " BECKY ! " shrieked Miss Linda 
 
 from the hall, but Becky replied not. 
 
 j "Becky, are we to be kept waiting 
 
 I all day ? " continued the lady, in the 
 
 same shrill voice. "Mamma wants 
 
 the pudding ! " 
 
 " TELL HER TO FETCH IT HER- 
 SELF ! " roared Becky, at which re- 
 mark Gann and his facetious friend 
 once more went off into fits of laugh- 
 ter. 
 
 " This is too bad ! " said Mrs. G., 
 
 starting up ; " she shall leave the 
 
 I house this instant ! " and so no doubt 
 
 ' Becky would, but that the lady owed 
 
 her five quarters' wages ; which she, 
 
 at that period, did not feel inclined to 
 
 pay- 
 Well, the dinner at last was at an 
 end; the ladies went away to tea,
 
 26 
 
 A SHABDY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 leaving the gentlemen to their wine ; 
 Brandon, very condescendingly, par- 
 taking of a bottle of port, and listen- 
 ing with admiration to the toasts and 
 sentiments with wliich it is still the 
 custom among persons of Mr. Gann's 
 rank of life to preface each glass of 
 wine. As thus : 
 
 Glass i. " Gents," says Mr. Gann, 
 rising, " this glass I need say nothiuk 
 about. Here 's the king, and long 
 life to him and the family ! " 
 
 Mr. Swigby, with his glass, goes 
 knock, knock, knock on the table ; 
 and saying gravely, " The king ! " 
 drinks off his glass, and smacks his 
 lips afterwards. 
 
 Mr. Brandon, who had drunk half 
 his, stops in the midst and says, " O, | 
 ' the king ' ! " 
 
 Mr. Swigby. " A good glass of wine 
 that, Gann my boy ! " 
 
 Mr. Brandon. " Capital, really ; 
 though, upon my faith, I'm no judge 
 of port." 
 
 Mr. Gann (smacks). "A fine fruity 
 wine as ever I tasted. I suppose you, 
 Mr. B., are accustomed only to claret. 
 I've 'ad it, too, in my time, sir, as 
 Swigby there very well knows. I 
 travelled, sir, sure le Continowj; I 
 assure you, and drank my glass of 
 claret with the best man in France, 
 or England either. I was n't always 
 what I am, sir." 
 
 Mr. Brandon. "You don't look as 
 if you were." 
 
 Mr. Gann. "No, sir. Before that 
 
 gas came in, I was head, sir, of 
 
 one of the fust 'ouses in the hoil-trade, 
 Gann, Biubbery '& Gann, sir, 
 Thames Street, City. I 'd my box at 
 Putney, as good a gig and horse as 
 my friend there drives." 
 
 Mr. Swigby. " Ay, and a better too, 
 Gann, I make no doubt." 
 
 Mr. Gann. " Well, say a better. I 
 had a better, if money could fetch it, 
 sir ; and I did n't spare that, I warrant 
 you. No, no, James Gann did n't 
 grudge his purse, sir; and had his 
 friends around him, as he 's 'appy to 
 'ave now, sir. Mr. Brandon, your 
 With, sir, and may we hoften meet 
 
 under this ma'ogany. Swigby my 
 boy, God bless you ! " 
 
 Mr. Brandon. " Your very good 
 health." 
 
 Mr. Swigby. " Thank you, Gann. 
 Here 's to you, and long life and pros- 
 perity anil happiness to you and yours. 
 Bless you, Jim my boy ; Heaven bless 
 you ! I say this, Mr. Bandon 
 Brandon what 's your name there 
 ain't a better fellow in all Margate 
 than James Gann, no, nor in all 
 England. Here 's Mrs. Gann, gents, 
 and the family. MBS. GANN ! " 
 (drinks.) 
 
 Mr. Brandon. " MRS. GANN. Hip, 
 hip, hurrah !" (drinks.) 
 
 Mr. Gann. " Mrs. Gann, and 
 thank you, gents. A fine woman, 
 Mr. B. ; ain't she now ? Ah, if you 'd 
 seen 'er when I married her ! Gad, 
 she was fine then an out and outer, 
 sir ! Such a figure ! " 
 
 Mr. Swigby. ' You 'd choose none 
 but a good 'un, I war'nt. Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 Mr. Gann. " Did I ever tell you 
 of my duel along with the regimental 
 doctor ? No ! Then I will. I was 
 a young chap, you see, in those days ; 
 and when I saw her at Brussels 
 ( Brusell, they call it) I was right 
 slick up over head and ears in love 
 with her at once. But what was to 
 be done 1 There was another gent 
 in the case, a regimental doctor, 
 sir, a reg'lar dragon. ' Faint 
 heart,' says I, ' never won a fair 
 lady/ and so I made so bold. She 
 took me, sent the doctor to the ri<rht 
 about. I met him one morning in 
 the park at Brussels, and stood to 
 him, sir, like a man. When the 
 affair was over, my second, a leften- 
 ant of dragoons told me, ' Gann,' 
 says he, ' I 've seen many a man 
 under fire, I 'm a Waterloo man,' 
 says he, ' and have rode by Wel- 
 lington many a long day ; but I nev- 
 er, for coolness, see such a man as 
 you.' Gents, here 's the Duke of 
 Wellington and the British army ! " 
 (the gents drink.) 
 
 Mr. Brandon. " Did you kill th* 
 doctor, sir 1 "
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 27 
 
 Mr. Gann. " Why, no, sir ; I shot 
 in the hair." 
 
 Mr. Brandon. " Shot him in the 
 hair ! Egad, that was a severe shot, 
 and a very lucky escape the doctor 
 had of it ? Whereabout in the hair ? 
 a whisker, sir ; or, perhaps, a pig- 
 tail ? " 
 
 Mr. Swigby. " Haw, haw, haw ! 
 shot'n in the hair, capital, capi- 
 tal ! " 
 
 Mr. Gann, who has grown very red. 
 " No, sir ; there may be some mis- 
 take in my pronounciation, which I 
 did n't expect to have laughed at, at 
 my hown table." 
 
 Mr. Brandon. " My dear sir ! I 
 protest and vow " 
 
 Mr. Gann. " Never mind it, sir. 
 I gave you my best, and did my best 
 to make you welcome. If you like 
 better to make fun of me, do, sir. 
 That may be the genteel way, but 
 hang me if it 's hour way ; is it, 
 Jack ? Our way ; I beg your par- 
 don, sir." 
 
 Mr. Swigby. " Jim, Jim ! for 
 Heaven's sake ! peace and harmony 
 of the evening conviviality so- 
 cial enjoyment did n't mean it 
 did you mean anything, Mr. What- 
 d'-ye-call-'im 1 " 
 
 Mr. Brandon. " Nothing, upon my 
 honor as a gentleman ! " 
 
 Mr. Gnnn. " Well, then, there 's 
 my hand ! " and good-natured Gann 
 tried to forget the insult, and to talk 
 as if nothing had occurred : but he 
 had been wounded in the most sensi- 
 tive point in which a man can be 
 touched by his superior, and never 
 forgot Brandon's joke. That night 
 at the club, when dreadfully tipsy, he 
 made several speeches on the subject, 
 and burst into tears many times. 
 The pleasure of the evening was quite 
 spoiled ; and, as the conversation be- 
 came vapid and dull, we shall refrain 
 from reporting it. Mr. Brandon 
 speedily took leave, but had not the 
 courage to face the ladies at tea ; to 
 whom, it appears, the reconciled 
 Becky had brought that refreshing 
 beverage. 
 
 CHAPTEK IV. 
 
 IN WHICH MR. FITCH PROCLAIMS HIS 
 LOVE, AND MR. BRANDON PRE- 
 PARES FOR WAR. 
 
 FROM the splendid hall in which 
 Mrs. Gann was dispensing her hospi- 
 tality, the celebrated painter, Andrea 
 Fitch, rushed forth in a state of mind 
 even more delirious than that which 
 he usually enjoyed. He looked abroad 
 into the street : all there was dusk 
 and lonely ; the rain falling heavily, 
 the wind playing Pandean pipes and 
 whistling down the chimney-pots. 
 "I love the storm," said Fitch, sol- 
 emnly ; and he put his great Spanish 
 cloak round him in the most approved 
 manner (it was of so prodigious a 
 size that the tail of it, as it twirled 
 over his shoulder, whisked away a 
 lodging-card from the door of the 
 house opposite Mr. Gann's). " I love 
 the storm and solitude," said he, 
 lighting a large pipe filled full of the 
 fragrant Oronooko ; and thus armed, 
 he passed rapidly down the street, his 
 hat cocked over his ringlets. 
 
 Andrea did not like smoking, but 
 he used a pipe as a part of his pro- 
 fession as an artist, and as one of the 
 picturesque parts of his costume ; in 
 like manner, though he did not fence, 
 he always travelled about with a pair 
 of foils ; and quite unconscious of 
 music, nevertheless had a guitar con- 
 stantly near at hand. Without such 
 properties a painter's speciacle is not 
 complete ; and now he determined to 
 add to them another indispensable 
 requisite, a mistress. " What great 
 artist was ever without one ? " thought 
 he. Long, long had he sighed i'or 
 some one whom he might love, some 
 one to whom he might address the 
 poems which he was in the habit 
 of making. Hundreds of such frag- 
 ments had he composed, addressed to 
 Leila, Ximena, Ada, imaginary 
 beauties, whom he courted in dreamy 
 verse. With what joy would he re- 
 place all those by a real charmer of 
 flesh and blood ! Away he went, 
 then, on this evening, the tyranny
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 of Mrs. Gann towards poor Caroline 
 having awakened all his sympathies in 
 the gentle girl's favor, determined 
 now and forever to make her the mis- 
 tress of his heart. Monna-Lisa, the 
 Fornarina, Leonardo, Raphael, he 
 thought of all these, and vowed that 
 his Caroline should be made famous 
 and live forever on his canvas. While 
 Mrs. Gann was preparing for her 
 friends, and entertaining them at tea 
 and whist ; while Caroline, all uncon- 
 scious of the love she inspired, was 
 weeping up stairs in her little garret ; 
 while Mr. Brandon was enjoying the 
 refined conversation of Gann and 
 Swigbv, over their glass and pipe in 
 the office, Andrea walked abroad by 
 the side of the ocean ; and, before he 
 was wet through, walked himself into 
 the most fervid affection for poor per- 
 secuted Caroline. The reader might 
 have observed him (had not the night 
 been very dark, and a great deal too 
 wet to allow a sensible reader to go 
 abroad on such an errand) at the sea- 
 shore standing on a rock, and draw- 
 ing from his bosom a locket which 
 contained a curl of hair tied up in 
 ribbon. He looked at it for a mo- 
 ment, and then flung it away from 
 him into the black boiling waters be- 
 low him. 
 
 " No other 'air but thine, Caroline, 
 shall ever rest near this 'art ! " he 
 said, and kissel tlu lojket and re- 
 stored it to its place. Light-minded 
 youth, whose hair was it that he thus 
 flung away ? How in my times had 
 Andrea shown that very ringlet in 
 strictest confidence to several brethren 
 of ilia brush, and declared that it was 
 the hair of a dear girl in Spain whom 
 he loved to madness ? Alas ! 't was 
 but a fiction of his fevered brain ; 
 every one of his friends had a locket 
 of hair, and Andrea, who had no love 
 until now, had clipped this precious 
 token from the wig of a lovely lay- 
 figure, with cast-iron joints and a 
 card-board head, that had stood for 
 some time in his atelier. I don't 
 know that he felt any shame about 
 the proceeding, for he was of such a 
 
 warm imagination that he had grown 
 to believe that the hair did actually 
 come from a girl in Spain, and only 
 i parted with it on yielding to a superior 
 attachment. 
 
 This attachment being fixed on, 
 the young painter came home wet 
 through ; passed the night in reading 
 Byron ; making sketches, and burn- 
 ing them ; writing poems to Caroline, 
 and expunging them with pitiless 
 india-rubber. A romantic man makes 
 a point of sitting up all night, and 
 pacing his chamber ; and you may 
 see many a composition of Andrea's 
 dated "Midnight, 10th of March, A. 
 F.," with his peculiar flourish over the 
 initials. He was not sorry to be told 
 in the morning, by the ladies at break- 
 fast, that he looked dreadfully pale ; 
 and answered, laying his hand on his 
 forehead, and shaking his head 
 gloomily, that he could get no sleep : 
 and then he would heave a huge sigh ; 
 and Miss Bella and Miss Linda would 
 look at each other, and grin according 
 to their wont. He was glad, I say, to 
 have his woe remarked, and continued 
 his sleeplessness for two or three 
 nights ; but he was certainly still 
 more glad when he heard Mr. Bran- 
 don, on the fourth morninir, cry out, 
 in a shrill angry voice, to Becky the 
 maid, to give the gentleman up stairs 
 his compliments, Mr. Brandon's 
 compliments, and tell him that he 
 could not get a wink of sleep for the 
 horrid trampling he kept up. " I am 
 hanged if I stay in the house a night 
 longer," added the first-floor sharply, 
 " if that Mr. Fitch kicks up such a 
 confounded noise ! " Mr. Fitch's 
 point was gained, and henceforth he 
 was as quiet as a mouse ; for his wish 
 was not only to be in love, but to let 
 everybody know that he was in love, 
 or where is the use of a belle jmssion ? 
 
 So, whenever he saw Caroline, at 
 meals, or in the passage, he used to 
 stare at her with the utmost power of 
 his big eves, and fall to groaning most 
 pathetically. He used to leave his meals 
 untasted, groan, heave sighs, and stare 
 incessantly. Mrs. Gann and her
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY* 
 
 29 
 
 eldest daughters were astonished at 
 these manoeuvres ; for they never 
 suspected that any man could possibly 
 be such a fool as to fall in love with 
 Caroline. At length the suspicion 
 came upon them, created immense 
 laughter and delight ; and the ladies 
 did not fail to rally Caroline in their 
 usual elegant way. Gann, too, loved 
 a joke (much polite waggery had this 
 worthy man practised in select inn- 
 parlors for twenty years past), and 
 would call poor Caroline " Mrs. F." ; 
 and say that instead of Fetch and Carry, 
 as he used to name her, he should 
 style her Fitch and Carry for the 
 future ; and laugh at this great pun, 
 and make many others of a similar 
 sort, that set Caroline blushing. 
 
 Indeed, the girl suffered a great deal 
 more from this raillery than at first may 
 be imagined ; for after the first awe 
 inspired by Fitch's whiskers had passed 
 away, and he had drawn the young 
 ladies' pictures, and made designs in 
 their albums, and in the midst of their 
 jokes and conversation had remained 
 perfectly silent, the Gann family had 
 determined that the man was an idiot 
 and, indeed, were not very wide of the 
 mark. In everything except his own 
 peculiar art honest Fitch was an idiot ; 
 and as upon the subject of painting, 
 the Ganns, like most people of their 
 class in England, were profoundly 
 ignorant, it came to pass that he 
 would breakfast and dine for many 
 days in the.ir company, and not utter 
 one single syllable. So they looked 
 upon him with extreme pity and con- 
 tempt, as a harmless good-natured, 
 crack-brained creature, quite below 
 them in the scale of intellect, and only 
 to be endured because he paid a certain 
 number of shillings weekly to the 
 Gann exchequer. Mrs. Gann in all 
 companies was accustomed to talk 
 about her idiot. Neighbors and chil- 
 dren used to peer at him as he strutted 
 down the street . and though every 
 young lady, including my dear Caro- 
 line, is flattered by having a lover, at 
 least they don't like such a lover as 
 this. The Misses Macarty (after hav- 
 
 ing set their caps at him very fiercely, 
 and quarrelled concerning him on his 
 first coming to lodge at their house) 
 vowed and protested now that he was 
 no better than a chimpanzee ; and 
 Caroline and Becky agreed that this 
 insult was as great as any that could 
 be paid to the painter. " He 's a good 
 creature, too," said Becky, " crack- 
 brained as he is. Do you know, miss, 
 he gave me half a sovereign to buy a 
 new collar, after that business t'other 
 day ? " 
 
 " And did Mr. , did the 
 
 first-floor say anything?" asked 
 Caroline. 
 
 " Did n't he ! he 's a funny gentle- 
 man, that Brandon, sure enough ; 
 and when I took him up breakfast 
 next morning, asked about Sims the 
 pilot, and what I gi'ed Sims for the 
 collar and brooch, he, he ! " 
 
 And this was indeed a correct re- 
 port of Mr. Brandon's conversation 
 with Becky ; he had been infinitely 
 amused with the whole transaction, 
 and wrote his friend the viscount a 
 capital fiicctious account of the man- 
 ners and customs of the native inhab- 
 itants of the isle of Thanet. 
 
 And now, when Mr. Fitch's passion 
 was fully developed, as far, that is, 
 as sighs and ogles could give it utter- 
 ance, a curious instance of that 
 spirit of contradiction for which our 
 race is remarkable was seen in the 
 behavior of Mr. Brandon. Although 
 Caroline, in the depths of her little 
 silly heart, had set him down for her 
 divinity, her wondrous fairy prince, 
 who was to deliver her from her 
 present miserable durance, she had 
 never by word or deed acquainted 
 Brandon with her inclination for him, 
 but had, with instinctive modesty, 
 avoided him more sedulously than, 
 before. He, too, had never bestowed 
 a thought upon her. How should 
 such a Jove as Mr. Brandon, from 
 the cloudy summit of his fashionable 
 Olympus, look down and perceive 
 such an humble, retiring being as 
 poor little Caroline Gann ? Think- 
 ing her at first not disagreeable, h
 
 30 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 had never, until the day of the din- 
 ner, bestowed one single further 
 thought upon her; and only when 
 exasperated by the Miss Macartys' 
 behavior towards him, did he begin 
 to think how sweet it would be to 
 make them jealous and unhappy. 
 
 " The uncouth grinning monsters," 
 said he, " with their horrible court of 
 Bob Smiths and Jack Joneses, daring 
 to look down upon me, a gentleman, 
 me, the celebrated mangeur des caeurs, 
 a man of genius, fashion, and noble | 
 family ! If I could but revenge my- I 
 self on them ! What injury can I i 
 invent to wound them." 
 
 It is curious to what points a man ; 
 in his passion will go. Mr. Brandon ! 
 had long since, in fact, tried to do the ! 
 greatest possible injury to the young j 
 ladies ; for it had been, at the first j 
 dawn of his acquaintance, as we are 
 bound with much sorrow to confess, 
 his fixed intention to ruin one or the ! 
 other of them. And when the young 
 ladies had, by their coldness and indif- ; 
 ference to him, frustrated this benevo- ' 
 lent intention, he straightway fancied j 
 that they had injured him severely, ] 
 and cast about for means to revenge , 
 himself upon them. 
 
 This point is, to be sure, a very 
 delicate one to treat, for in words, 
 at least, the age has grown to be 
 wonderfully moral, and refuses to 
 hear discourses upon such subjects. 
 But human nature, as far as I am 
 able to learn, has not much changed 
 since the time when Richardson 
 wrote, and Hogarth painted, a cen- 
 tury ago. There are wicked Love- 
 laces abroad, ladies, now as then, 
 when it was considered no shame to 
 expose the rogues ; and pardon us, 
 therefore, for hinting that such there 
 be. Elegant acts of rouerie, such as 
 that meditated by Mr. Brandon, are 
 often performed still by dashing 
 young men of the world, who think 
 no sin of an amoiirr'tp', but glory in it, 
 especially if the victim be a person of 
 mean condition. Had Brandon suc- 
 ceeded (such' is the high moral state 
 of our British youth), all his friends 
 
 would have pronounced him, and he 
 would have considered himself, to be a 
 very lucky, captivating dog ; nor, as 
 I believe, would he have had a single 
 pang of conscience for the rascally 
 action which he had committed. 
 This supreme act of scoundrelisin has 
 man permitted to himself to de- 
 ceive women. When we consider 
 how "he has availed himself of the 
 privilege so created by him, indeed 
 one may sympathize with the ad- 
 vocates of woman's rights who point 
 out this monstrous wrong. We have 
 read of that wretched woman of old 
 whom the pious Pharisees were for 
 stoning incontinently ; but we don't 
 hear that they made any outcry 
 against the man who was concerned in 
 the crime. Where was he 1 Happy, 
 no doubt, and easy in mind, and re- 
 galing some choice friends over a 
 bottle with the history of his success. 
 
 Being thus injured then, Mr. Bran- 
 don longed for revenge. How should 
 he repay these impertinent young 
 women for slighting his addresses ? 
 " Pardi," said he; "just to punish 
 their pride and insolence, I have a 
 great mind to make love to their 
 sister." 
 
 He did not, however, for some time, 
 condescend to perform this threat. 
 Eagles such as Brandon do not sail 
 down from the clouds in order to 
 pounce upon small flies, and soar air- 
 wards again, contented with such an 
 ignoble booty. In a word, he never 
 gave a minute's thought to Miss Caro- 
 line, until further circumstances oc- 
 curred which caused this great man to 
 consider her as an object somewhat 
 worthy of his remark. 
 
 The violent affection suddenly ex- 
 hibited by Mr. Fitch, the painter, to- 
 wards poor little Caroline was the 
 point which determined Brandon to 
 begin to act. 
 
 " MY DEAR VISCOUNT," (wrote 
 he to the same Lord Cinqbars whom 
 he formerly addressed ) " Give me 
 joy ; for in a week's time it is my in- 
 tention to be violently in love, and
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 31 
 
 /ove is no small amusement in a water- 
 ing-place in winter. 
 
 " I told you about the fair Juliana 
 Gann and her family. I forgot 
 whether I mentioned how the Juliana 
 had two fair daughters, the Rosalind 
 and the Isabella ; and another, Caro- 
 line by name, not so good-looking as 
 her half-sisters, but, nevertheless, a 
 pleasing young person. 
 
 " Well, when I came hither, I had 
 nothing to do but to fall in love with 
 the two handsomest ; and did so, tak- 
 ing many walks with them, talking 
 much nonsense ; passing long dismal 
 evenings over horrid tea with them 
 and their mamma : laying regular 
 siege, in fact, to these Margate beau- 
 ties, who, according to the common 
 rule in such cases, could not, I 
 thought, last long. 
 
 " Miserable, deception ! disgusting 
 aristocratic blindness ! " (Mr. Bran- 
 don always assumed that his own high 
 birth and eminent position were 
 granted.) "Would you believe it, 
 that I, who have seen, fought, and 
 conquered in so many places, should 
 have been ignominiously defeated 
 here ? Just as American Jackson de- 
 feated our Peninsular veterans, I, an 
 old Continental conqueror too, have 
 been overcome by this ignoble enemy. 
 These women have intrenched them- 
 selves so firmly in their vulgarity, 
 that I have been beaten back several 
 times with disgrace, being quite un- 
 able to make an impression. The 
 monsters, too, keep up a dreadful fire 
 from behind their intrenchments ; 
 and besides have raised the whole 
 country against me : in a word, all 
 the snobs of their acquaintance are in 
 ftrms. There is Bob Smith, the 
 linen-draper; Harry Jones, who keeps 
 the fancy tea-shop ; young Glauber, 
 the apothecary ; and sundry other 
 persons, who are ready to eat me 
 when they see me in the streets ; and 
 re all at the beck of the victorious 
 Amazons. 
 
 " How is a gentleman to make head 
 against such a canaille as this ? a 
 regular jacquerie. Once or twice I 
 
 have thought of retreating ; but a re- 
 treat, for sundry reasons I have, is in- 
 convenient. I can't go to London ; 
 I am known at Dover ; I believe there 
 is a bill against me at Canterbury ; at 
 Chatham there are sundry quartered 
 regiments whose recognition I should 
 be unwilling to risk. I must stay 
 here and be hanged to the place 
 until my better star shall 
 rise. 
 
 " But I am determined that my 
 stay shall be to some purpose ; and so 
 to show how persevering I am, I 
 shall make one more trial upon the 
 third daughter, yes, upon the third 
 daughter, a family Cinderella, who 
 shall, I am determined, make her sis- 
 ters crever with envy. I merely mean 
 fun, 3'ou know, not mischief, for 
 Cinderella is but a little child : and, 
 besides, I am the most harmless fel- 
 low breathing, but must have my 
 joke. Now, Cinderella has a lover, 
 the bearded painter of whom I spoke 
 to you in a former letter. He has 
 lately plunged into the most extraor- 
 dinary fits of passion for her, and is 
 more mad than even he was before. 
 Woe betide you, O painter ! I have 
 nothing to do : a month to do that 
 nothing in ; in that time, mark my 
 words, I will laugh at that painter s 
 beard. Should you like a lock of it, 
 or a sofa stuffed with it ? there is 
 beard enough : or should you like to 
 see a specimen of poor little Cinderel- 
 la's golden ringlets ? Command your 
 slave. I wish I had paper enough to 
 write you an account of a grand Gann 
 dinner at which I assisted, and of a 
 scene which there took place ; and 
 how Cinderella was dressed out, not by 
 a fairy, but by a charitable kitchen- 
 maid, and was turned out of the room 
 by her indignant mamma, for appear- 
 ing in the scullion's finery. But my 
 forte does not lie in such descriptions 
 of polite life. We drank port, and 
 toasts after dinner : here is the menu, 
 and the names and order of the 
 eaters." 
 
 ***** 
 
 The bill of fare has been given al-
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 ready, and need not, therefore, be 
 a^uiii laid before the public. 
 
 " What a fellow that is ! " said 
 young Lord Cinqbars, reading the 
 letter to his friends, and in a profound 
 admiration of his tutor's genius 
 
 " And to think that he was a read- 
 ing man, too, and took a double 
 first," cried another ; " why, the man 
 is an Admirable Crichton." 
 
 " Upon my life, though, he 's a little 
 too bad," said a third, who was a 
 moralist. And with this a fresh bowl 
 of milk-punch came reeking from the 
 college butteries, and the jovial party 
 discussed that. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CONTAINS A GREAT DEAL OF COM- 
 PLICATED LOVE-MAKING. 
 
 THE Misses Macartv were exces- 
 sively indignant that Mr. Fitch should 
 have had the audacity to fall in love 
 with their sister; and poor < Caroline's 
 life was not, as may be imagined, 
 made much the happier by the envy 
 and passion thus excited. Mr Fitch's 
 amour was the source of a great deal 
 of pain to her. Her mother would 
 tauntingly say, that as both were beg- 
 gars, they could not do better than 
 marry ; and declared in the same sa- 
 tirical way, that she should like noth- 
 ing better than to see a large family 
 of grandchildren about her, to be 
 plagues and burdens upon her, as her 
 daughter was. The short way would j 
 have been, when the young painter's ! 
 intentions were manifest, whii-h they | 
 pretty speedily were, to have requested 
 him immediately to quit the house; or, 
 as Mr. Gann said " to give him the | 
 sack at once " ; to which measure the 
 worthy man indignantly avowed that 
 he would have resort. But his lady 
 would not allow of any such rudeness ; 
 although, for her part, she professed 
 the strongest scorn and contempt for 
 the painter. For the painful fact 
 must be stated : Fitch had a short 
 timo previously paid no less a sum 
 than a whole quarter's board and 
 
 lodging in advance, at Mrs. Gann's 
 humble request, and he possessed his 
 landlady's receipt for that sum ; the 
 mention of which circumstance si- 
 lenced Gann's objections at once. 
 And indeed, it is pretty certain that, 
 with all her taunts to her daughter 
 and just abuse of Fitch's poverty, 
 Mrs. Gann in her heart was not alto- 
 gether averse to the match. In the 
 first place, she loved match-making ; 
 next, she would be glad to be rid of 
 her daughter at any rate ; and, besides, 
 Fitch's aunt, the auctioneer's wife, 
 was rich, and had no children ; paint- 
 ers, as she had heard, make often a 
 great deal of money, and Fitch might 
 be a clever one, for aught she knew. 
 So he was allowed to remain in th 
 house, an undeclared but very assidu- 
 ous lover ; and to sigh, and to moan, 
 and make verses and portraits of his 
 beloved, and build castles in the air 
 as best he might. Indeed our hum- 
 ble Cinderella was in a very curious 
 position. She felt a tender passion 
 for the first-Hoor, and was adored by 
 the second-floor, and had to wait up- 
 on both at the summons of the bell 
 of either ; and as the poor little thing 
 was compelled not to notice any of 
 the sighs and glances which the paint- 
 er bestowed upon her, she also had 
 schooled herself to maintain a quiet 
 demeanor towards Mr. Brandon, and 
 not allow him to discover the secret 
 which was laboring in her little breast. 
 I think it may be laid down as a 
 pretty general rule, that mostromantic 
 little girls of Caroline's age have such 
 a budding sentiment as this young 
 person entertained ; quite innocent, of 
 course ; nourished and talked of in 
 delicious secrecy to the conjidante of 
 the hour. Or else what are novels 
 made for? Had Caroline read of 
 Valancourt and Emily for nothing, or 
 gathered no good example from those 
 five tear-fraught volumes which de- 
 scribe the loves of Miss Helen Mar 
 and Sir William Wallace 1 Many a 
 time had she depicted Brandon in a 
 fancy costume, such as the fascinating 
 Valancourt wore ; or painted herself
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 33 
 
 as Helen, tying a sash round her 
 knight's cuirass, and watching him 
 forth to battle. Silly fancies, no 
 doubt ; but consider, madam, the poor 
 girl's age and education ; the only in- 
 struction she had ever received was 
 from these tender, kind-hearted, silly 
 books : the only happiness which Fate 
 had allowed her was in this little silent 
 world of fancy. It would be hard to 
 grudge the poor thing her dreams ; 
 and many such did she have, and im- 
 part blushingly to honest Becky, as 
 they sat by the humble kitchen-fire. 
 
 Although it cost her heart a great 
 pang, she had once ventured to im- 
 plore her mother not to send her up 
 stairs to the lodgers' rooms, for she 
 shrunk at the notion of the occurrence 
 that Brandon should discover her re- 
 gard for him ; but this point had never 
 entered Mrs. Gann's sagacious head. 
 She thought her daughter wished to 
 avoid Fitch, and sternly bade her do 
 her duty, and not give herself such 
 impertinent airs ; and, indeed, it can't 
 be said that poor Caroline was very 
 sorry at being compelled to continue 
 to see Brandon. To do both gentle- 
 men justice, neither ever said a word 
 unfit for Caroline to hear. Fitch 
 would have been torn to pieces by a 
 thousand wild horses rather than 
 have breathed a single syllable to 
 hurt her feelings ; and Brandon, 
 though by no means so squeamish on 
 ordinary occasions, was innately a 
 gentleman, and from taste rather than 
 from virtue, was carefully respectful 
 in his behavior to her. 
 
 As for the Misses Macarty them- 
 selves, it has been stated that they 
 had already given away their hearts 
 several times ; Miss Isabella being at 
 this moment attached to a certain 
 young wine-merchant, and to Lieuten- 
 ant or Colonel Swabber of the Span- 
 ish service ; and Miss Rosalind hav- 
 ing a decided fondness for a foreign 
 nobleman, with black mustachios, 
 who had paid a visit to Margate. 
 Of Miss Bella's lovers, Swabber had 
 dissappeared ; but she still met the 
 wine-merchant pretty often, and it is 
 2* 
 
 believed had gone very nigh to accept 
 him. As for Miss Rosalind, I am 
 sorry to say that the course of her 
 true love ran by no means smoothly : 
 the Frenchman had turned out to be 
 not a marquess, but a billiard-marker ; 
 and a sad, sore subject the disappoint- 
 ment was with the neglected lady. 
 
 We should have spoken of it long 
 since, had the subject been one that 
 was much canvassed in the Gann 
 family ; but once when Gann had 
 endeavored to rally his step-daughter 
 on this unfortunate attachment (using 
 for the purpose those delicate terms 
 of wit for which the honest gentleman 
 was always famous), Miss Linda had 
 flown into such a violent fury, and 
 comported herself in a way so dread- 
 ful, that James Gann, Esquire, was 
 fairly frightened out of his wits by the 
 threats, screams, and imprecations 
 which she uttered. Miss Bella, who 
 was disposed to be jocose likewise, 
 was likewise awed into silence ; for 
 her dear sister talked of tearing her 
 eyes out that minute, and uttered 
 some hints, too, regarding love-mat- 
 ters personally affecting Miss Bella 
 herself, which caused that young lady 
 to turn pale-red, to mutter something 
 about " wicked lies," and to leave the 
 room immediately. Nor was the 
 subject ever again broached by the 
 Ganns. Even when Mrs. Gann once 
 talked about that odious French im- 
 poster, she was stopped immediately, 
 not by the lady concerned, hut by 
 Miss Bella, who cried, sharply, 
 "Mamma, hold your tongue, and 
 don't vex our dear Linda by alluding 
 to any such stuff." It is most proba- 
 ble that the young ladies had had a 
 private conference, which, beginning 
 a little fiercely at first, had ended 
 amicably : and so the marquess was 
 mentioned no more. 
 
 Miss Linda, then, was comparative- 
 ly free (for Bob Smith, the linen-dra- 
 per, and yonng Glauber, the apothe- 
 cary, went for nothing) ; and, very 
 luckily for her, a successor was found 
 for the faithless Frenchman, almost 
 immediately.
 
 34 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 This gentleman was a commoner, 
 to be sure ; but had a good estate of 
 five hundred a year, kept his horse 
 and gig, and was, as Mr. Gann re- 
 marked, as good a fellow as ever 
 lived Let us say at once that the 
 new lover was no other than Mr. 
 Swigby. From the day when he 
 had been introduced to the family 
 he appeared to be very much attract- 
 ed by the two sisters ; sent a turkey 
 off his own farm, and six bottles of 
 prime Hollands, to Mr. and Mrs. 
 Gann, in presents ; and, in ten short 
 days after his first visit, had informed 
 his friend Gann that he was violently 
 in love with two women whose names 
 he would never never breathe. The 
 worthy Gann knew right well how 
 the matter was ; for he had not failed 
 to remark Swigby's melancholy, and 
 to attribute it to its right cause. 
 
 Swigby was forty-eight years of 
 age, stout, hearty, gay, much given 
 to drink, and had never been a lady's 
 man, or, indeed, passed half a dozen 
 evenings in ladies' society. He 
 thought Gann the noblest and finest 
 fellow in the world. He never heard 
 any singing like James's, nor any 
 jokes like his ; nor had met with such 
 tn accomplished gentleman or man 
 of the world. " Gann has his faults," 
 Swigby would say at the " Bag of 
 Nails " ; " which of us has not ? 
 but I tell you what, he 's the greatest 
 trump I ever see." Many scores of 
 scores had he paid for Gann, many 
 guineas and crown-pieces had he lent 
 him, sim-e he came into his property 
 some three years before. What were 
 Swigby's former pursuits I can't tell. 
 What need we care ? Had n't he five 
 hundred a year now, and a horse and 
 gig ? Ay, that he had. 
 
 Since his accession to fortune, this 
 gay young bachelor had taken his 
 share (what he called " his whack") 
 of pleasure ; had been at one nay, 
 perhaps, at two public-houses every 
 night; and had been tipsy, I make 
 no doubt, nearly a thousand times in 
 the course of the three years. Many 
 people had tried to cheat him ; but, 
 
 ! no, no ! he knew wliat was what, and 
 in all matters of money was simple 
 and shrewd. Gann's gentility won 
 him ; his bragging, his ton, and the 
 stylish tuft on his chin. To be in- 
 vited to his house was a proud mo- 
 ment ; and when he went away, after 
 the banquet described in the last 
 chapter, he was in a perfect ferment 
 of love and liquor. 
 
 " What a stylish woman is that 
 Mrs. Gann ! " thought he, as he tum- 
 bled into bed at his inn ; " fine she 
 must have been as a gal ! " fourteen 
 stone now, without saddle or bridle, 
 and no mistake. And them Miss 
 Macartys. Jupiter ! what spank- 
 ing, handsome, elegant creatures ! 
 real elegance in both on 'em ! Such 
 hair ! black 's the word as black 
 as my mare ; such cheeks, such necks, 
 and shoulders ! " At noon he re- 
 peated these observations to Gann 
 himself, as he walked up and down 
 the pier with that gentleman, smok- 
 ing Manilla cheroots. He was in 
 raptures with his evening. Gann re- 
 ceived his praises with much majestic 
 good-humor. 
 
 "Blood, sir!" said he, "blood's 
 everything ! Them gals have been 
 brought up as few ever have. I don't 
 speak of myself; but their mother 
 their mother 's a lady, sir. Show me 
 a woman in England as is better bred 
 or knows the world more than my 
 Juliana ! " 
 
 " It 's impawssible," said Swigby. 
 
 " Think of the company we 've 
 kep', sir, before our misfortunes, the 
 fust in the land. Brandenburg 
 House, sir, England's injured queen. 
 Law bless you ! Juliana was always 
 there." 
 
 "I make no doubt, sir; you can 
 see it in her," said Swigby, solemnly. 
 
 " And as for those gals, whv, ain't 
 they related to the fust families in 
 Ireland, sir? In course they are. 
 As I said before, blood 's everything ; 
 and those young women have the best 
 of it : they are connected with the 
 reg'lar old noblesse." 
 
 " They have the best of everythink,
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 35 
 
 I 'm sure," said Swigby, " and de- 
 serve it, too," and relapsed into his 
 morning remarks. " What creatures ! 
 what elegance ! what hair and eyes, 
 sir ! black, and all 's black, as I 
 gay. What complexion, sir! ay, 
 and what makes, too ! Such a neck 
 (ind shoulders I never see ! " 
 
 Gann, who had his hands in his 
 pockets (his friend's arm being hooked 
 into one of his), here suddenly with- 
 drew his hand from its hiding-place, 
 denched his fist, assumed a horrible 
 knowing grin, and gave Mr. Swigby 
 such a blow in the ribs as wellnigh 
 sent him into the water. " You sly 
 dog ! " said Mr. Gann, with inex- 
 pressible emphasis; "you 've found 
 that out, too, have you ? Have a 
 care, Joe my boy, have a care." 
 
 And herewith Gann and Joe burst 
 into tremendous roars of laughter, 
 fresh explosions taking place at inter- 
 vals of five minutes during the rest 
 of the walk. The two friends parted 
 exceedingly happy; and when they 
 met that evening at " The Nails " 
 Gann drew Swigby mysteriously into 
 the bar, and thrust into his hand a 
 triangular piece of pink paper, which 
 the latter read : 
 
 "Mrs. Gann and the Misses Ma- 
 carty request the honor and pleasure 
 of Mr. Swigby 's company (if you 
 have no better engagement) to tea to- 
 morrow evening, at half past five. 
 l ' Maryareltfi Cottage, Salamanca Road 
 North, Thursday evening." 
 
 The faces of the two gentlemen 
 were wonderfully expressive of satis- 
 faction as this communication passed 
 between them. And I am led to be- 
 lieve that Mrs. Gann had been un- 
 usually pleased with her husband's 
 conduct on that day, for honest James 
 had no less than thirteen and sixpence 
 in his pocket, and insisted, as usual, 
 upon standing glasses all round. Joe 
 Swigby, left alone in the little parlor 
 behind the bar, called for a sheet of 
 paper, a new pen and a wafer, and 
 in the space of half an hour concocted 
 a very spirited and satisfactory an- 
 
 swer to this note ; which was carried 
 off by Gann, and duly delivered. 
 Punctually at half past five Mr. Jo- 
 seph Swigby knocked at Margaretta 
 Cottage door, in his new coat with 
 glistering brass buttons, his face clean 
 shaved, and his great ears shining 
 over his great shirt-collar delightfully 
 bright and red. 
 
 What happened at this tea-party it 
 is needless here to say ; but Swigby 
 came away from it quite as much en- 
 chanted as before, and declared that 
 the duets sung by the ladies in hideous 
 discord were the sweetest music he 
 had ever heard. He sent the gin and 
 the turkey the next day; and, of 
 course, was invited to dine. 
 
 The dinner was followed up on his 
 part by an offer to drive all the young 
 ladies and their mamma into the 
 country ; and he hired a very smart 
 barouche to conduct them. The in- 
 vitation was not declined ; and Fitch, 
 too, was asked by Mr. Swigby, in the 
 height of his good- humor, and ac- 
 cepted with the utmost delight. "Me 
 and Joe will go on the box," said 
 Gann. " You four ladies and Mr. 
 Fitch shall go inside. Carry must 
 go bodkin ; but she ain't very big." 
 
 " Carry, indeed, will stop at home," 
 said her mamma ; " she 's not fit to 
 go out." 
 
 At which poor Fitch's jaw fell ; it 
 was in order to ride with her that he 
 had agreed to accompany the party ; 
 nor could he escape now, having just 
 promised so eagerly. 
 
 " O, don't let 's have that proud 
 Brandon," said the young ladies, 
 when the good-natured Mr. Swigby 
 proposed to ask that gentleman ; and 
 therefore he was not invited to join 
 them in their excursion ; but he stayed 
 at hqme very unconcerned!)', and 
 saw the barouche and its load drive 
 off. Somebody else looked at it from 
 the parlor-window with rather a heavy 
 heart, and that some one was poor 
 Caroline. The day was bright and 
 sunshiny ; the spring was beginning 
 early ; it would have been pleasant to 
 have been a lady for once, and to have 

 
 3G 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 driven along in a carriage with 
 prancing horses. Mr. Fitch looked af- 
 ter her in a very sheepish, melancholy 
 way ; and was so dismal and silly 
 during the first part of the journey, 
 that Miss Linda, who was next to 
 him, said to her papa that she would 
 change places with him ; and actually 
 mounted the box by the side of the 
 happy, trembling Mr. Swigby. How 
 proud he was, to be sure ! How 
 knowingly did he spank the horses 
 along, and fling out the shillings at 
 turnpikes ! 
 
 " Bless you, he don't care for 
 change ! " said Gann, as one of the 
 toll - takers offered to render some 
 coppers ; and Joe felt infinitely obliged 
 to his friend for setting off his amiable 
 qualities in such a way. 
 
 O mighty Fate, that over us mis- 
 erable mortals rulest supreme, with 
 what small means are thy ends ef- 
 fected ! with what scornful ease and 
 mean instruments does it please thee 
 to govern mankind ! Let each mun 
 think of the circumstances of his life, 
 and how its lot has been determined. 
 The getting up a little earlier or later, 
 the turning down this street or that, 
 the eating of this dish or the other, 
 may influence all the years and ac- I 
 tions of a future life. Mankind walks 
 down the left-hand side of Regent 
 Street instead of the right, and meets 
 a friend who asks him to dinner, and 
 goes and finds the turtle remarkably 
 good, and the iced punch very cool 
 and pleasant ; and, being in a merry, 
 jovial, idle mood, has no objection to 
 a social rubber of whist, nay, to a 
 i>w more glasses of that cool punch. 
 In the most careless, good-hnmored 
 >A iv, he loses a few points ; and still 
 feel's thirsty, and loses a few more 
 points ; and, like a man of spirit, in- 
 creases his stakes, to be sure, and 
 just by that walk down Regent Street 
 is ruined for life. Or he walks down 
 the right-hand side of Regent Street 
 instead of the left, and, good Heav- 
 ens ! who is that <-hanning young 
 creature who has just stepped into 
 her carriage from Mr. Fraser's shop, 
 
 and to whom and her mamma Mr. 
 Fraser has made the most elegant 
 bow in the world ? It is the lovely 
 Miss Moidore, with a hundred thou- 
 sand pounds, who has remarked your 
 I elegant figure, and regularly drives 
 i to town on the first of the month, to 
 i purchase her darling Magazine. YO&. 
 drive after her as fast as the hack- 
 cab will carry you. She reads the 
 Magazine the whole way. She stops 
 at her papa's elegant villa at Hamp- 
 stead, with a conservatory, a double 
 coach-house, and a park-like pad- 
 dock. As the lodge gate separates 
 you from that dear girl, she looks 
 back just once, and blushes. Ertibuit, 
 salca est res. She has blushed, and 
 you are all right. In a week you are 
 introduced to the family, and pro- 
 nounced a charming young fellow of 
 high principles. In three weeks you 
 have danced twenty-nine quadrilles 
 with her, and whisked her through 
 several miles of waltzes. In a month 
 Mrs. O'Flaherty has flung herself 
 into the arms of her mother, just 
 having come from a visit to the vil- 
 lage of Gretna, near Carlisle ; and 
 you have an account at your banker's 
 ever after. What is the cause of all 
 this good fortune ? a walk on a 
 particular side of Regent Street. 
 And so true and indisputable is this 
 fact, that there 's a young north- 
 country gentleman with whom 1 am 
 acquainted, that daily paces up and 
 down the above-named street for 
 many hours, fully expecting that 
 such an adventure will happen to 
 him ; for which end he keeps a cab 
 in readiness at the corner of Vigo 
 Lane. 
 
 Now, after a dissertation in this 
 history, the reader is pretty sure to 
 know that a moral is coming ; and 
 the facts connected with our tale, 
 which are to be drawn from the above 
 little essay on fate, are simply the^e : 
 1. If Mr." Fitch had not heard Mr. 
 Swigbv invite till the ladies, he would 
 have refused Swigby's invitation, and 
 stayed at home. '2. If he had not 
 been in the carriage, it is quite cer-
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 37 
 
 tain that Miss Rosalind Macarty 
 would not have been seated by him 
 on the back seat. 3. It' he had not 
 been sulky, she never would have 
 asked her papa to let her take his 
 place on the box. 4. If she had not 
 taken her papa's place on the box, 
 not one of the circumstances would 
 have happened which did happen ; 
 and which were as follows : 
 
 1. Miss Bella remained inside. 
 
 2. Mr. Swigby, who was wavering 
 between the two, like a certain ani- 
 mal between two bundles of hay, was 
 determined by this circumstance, and 
 made proposals to Miss Linda, whis- 
 pering to Miss Linda : "Miss, I ain't 
 equal to the like of you ; but I 'm 
 hearty, healthy, and have five hun- 
 dred a year. Will you marry me ? " 
 In fact, this very speech had been 
 taught him by cunning Gann, who 
 saw well enough that Swigby would 
 speak to one or other of his daugh- 
 ters. And to it the young lady re- 
 plied, also in a whispering, agitated 
 tone, "Law, Mr. S. ! What an odd 
 man ! How can you ? " And, after 
 a little pause, added, " Speak to mam- 
 ma." 
 
 3. (And this is the main point of 
 my story.) If little Caroline had been 
 allowed to go out, she never would 
 have been left alone with Brandon at 
 Margate. When Fate wills that 
 something should come to pass, she 
 sends forth a million of little circum- 
 stances to clear and prepare the way. 
 
 In the month of April (as indeed 
 in half a score of other months of the 
 year) the reader may have remarked 
 that the cold northeast wind is prev- 
 alent ; and that when, tempted by a 
 glimpse of sunshine, he issues forth 
 to take the air, he receives not only 
 it, but such a quantity of it as is 
 enough to keep him shivering through 
 the rest of the miserable month. On 
 one of these happy days of English 
 weather (it was the very day before 
 the pleasure-party described in the 
 last chapter) Mr. Brandon cursing I 
 heartily his country, and thinking J 
 how infinitely more congenial to him 
 
 were the winds and habits prevalent 
 in other nations, was marching over 
 the cliffs near Margate, in the midst 
 of a storm of shrill east wind which 
 no ordinary mortal could bear, when 
 he found perched on the cliff, his 
 fingers blue with cold, the celebrated 
 Andrea Fitch, employed in sketching 
 a land or a sea scape on a sheet of 
 gray paper. 
 
 "You have chosen a fine day for 
 sketching," said Mr. Brandon, bitter- 
 ly, his thin aquiline nose peering out 
 livid from the fur collar of his coat. 
 
 Mr. Fitch smiled, understanding 
 the allusion. 
 
 " An hartist, sir," said he, " does n't 
 mind the coldness of the weather. 
 There was a chap in the Academy 
 who took sketches twenty degrees 
 below zero in Hiceland, Mount 
 'Ecla, sir ! E was the man that 
 gave the first hidea of Mount 'Ecla 
 for the Surrey Zoological Gardens." 
 
 " He must have been a wonderful 
 enthusiast ! " said Mr. Brandon ; " I 
 fancy that most would prefer to sit at 
 home, and not numb their fingers in 
 such a freezing storm as this ! " 
 
 " Storm, sir ! " replied Fitch, ma- 
 jestically ; " I live in a storm, sir ! 
 A true hartist is never so 'appy as 
 when he can have the advantage to 
 gaze upon yonder tempestuous hocean 
 in one of its hangry moods.' 
 
 " Ay, there comes the steamer," 
 answered Mr. Brandon ; " I can 
 fancy that there are a score of unhap- 
 py people on board who are not 
 artists, and would wish to behold 
 your ocean quiet." 
 
 " They arc not poets, sir : the glori- 
 ous never-changing expression of the 
 great countenance of Nature is not 
 seen by them. I .should consider 
 myself unworthy of my hart, if I 
 could not bear a little privation of 
 cold or 'eat for its sake. And besides, 
 sir, whatever their hardships may be, 
 such a sight hamply repays me ; for, 
 although my private sorrows may be 
 (has they arc) tremendous, I never can 
 look abroad upon the green hearth 
 and hawful sea, without in a rneas-
 
 38 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 ure forgetting my personal woes and | 
 wrongs ; for what right has a poor 
 creature like me to think of his affairs 
 in the presence of such a spectacle as 
 this ? I can't, sir ; I feel ashamed of 
 myself ; I bow my 'ead and am quiet. 
 When I set myself to examining 
 hart, sir (by which I mean nature), 
 I don't dare to think of anything 
 else." 
 
 " You worship a very charming 
 and consoling mistress," answered 
 Mr. Brandon, with a supercilious air, 
 lighting and beginning to smoke a 
 cigar ; " your enthusiasm does you 
 credit." 
 
 " If you have another," said Andrea 
 Fitch, " I should like to smoke one, 
 for you seem to have a real feeling 
 about hart, and I was a getting so 
 deucedly cold here, that really there 
 was scarcely any bearing of it." 
 
 " The cold is very severe," replied 
 Mr. Brandon. 
 
 " No, no, it 'a not the weather, 
 sir ! " said Mr. Fitch ; " it 's here, 
 sir, here " (pointing to the left side 
 of his waistcoat. ) 
 
 " What ! you, too, have had sor- 
 rows ? " 
 
 " Sorrows, sir ! hagonies, hago- 
 nies, which I have never unfolded to 
 any mortal ! I have hendnred hal- 
 most heverything. Poverty, sir, 
 'unger, hobloquy, 'opeless love ! but 
 for my hart, sir, I should be the most 
 miserable wretch in the world ! " 
 
 And herewith Mr. Fitch began to 
 pour forth into Mr. Brandon's ears 
 the history of some of those sorrows 
 under which he labored, and which 
 he communicated to every single per- 
 son who would listen to him. 
 
 Mr. Brandon was greatly amused 
 by Fitch's prattle, and the latter told 
 him under what privations he had 
 studied his art : how he had starved 
 for three years in Paris and Rome, 
 tvhile laboring at his profession : how 
 meanly jealous the Royal Academy 
 ivas which would never exhibit a 
 single one of his pictures ; how he 
 nad been driven from the Heternal 
 City by the attentions of an immense 
 
 fat Mrs. Carrickfergus, who absolute- 
 ly proposed marriage to him ; and" 
 how he was at this moment (a fact of 
 which Mr. Brandon was already quite 
 aware) madly and desperately in love 
 with one of the most beautiful maid- 
 ens in this world. For Fitch, having 
 a mistress to his heart's desire, was 
 boiling with impatience to have a 
 confidant; what, indeed, would be 
 the joy of love, if one were not 
 allowed to speak of one's feelings to a 
 friend who could know how to sym- 
 pathize with them ? Fitch was sure 
 Brandon did, because Brandon was 
 the very first person with whom the 
 painter had talked since he had come 
 to the resolution recorded in the last 
 chapter. 
 
 " I hope she is as rich as that un- 
 lucky Mrs. Carrickfergus, whom you 
 treated so cruelly ? " said the confi- 
 dant, affecting entire ignorance. 
 
 " Rich, sir ? no, I thank Heaven, 
 she has not a penny ! " said Fitch. 
 
 " I presume, then, you are yourself 
 independent," said Brandon, smiling ; 
 " for in the marriage state, one or the 
 other of the parties concerned should 
 bring a portion of the filthy lucre ? " 
 
 " Have n't I my profession, sir ? " 
 said Fitch, majestically, having de- 
 clared five minutes before that he 
 starved in his profession. " Do you 
 suppose a painter gets nothing ? 
 Haven't I borders from the first peo- 
 ple in Europe ? commissions, sir, 
 to hexecute 'istory - pieces, battle- 
 pieces, haltar-pieces ? " 
 
 "Masterpieces, I am sure," said 
 Brandon, bowing politely; "for a 
 gentleman of your astonishing genius 
 can do no other." 
 
 The delighted artist received this 
 compliment with many blushes, and 
 vowed and protested that his perform- 
 ances were not really worthy of such 
 high praise ; but he fancied Mr. Bran- 
 don a great connoisseur, nevertheless, 
 and unburdened his mind to him in a 
 manner still more open. Fitch's 
 sketch was by this time finished ; and 
 putting his drawing-implements to- 
 gether, he rose, and the gentlemen
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 39 
 
 walked away. The sketch was hugely 
 admired by Mr. Brandon, and when 
 they came home, Fitch, culling it dex- 
 terously out of his book, presented it 
 in a neat speech to his friend, " the 
 gifted hainateur." 
 
 " The gifted hamateur " received the 
 drawing with a profusion of thanks, 
 and so much did he value it, that he 
 had actually torn off a piece to light 
 a cigar with, when he saw that words 
 were written on the other side of the 
 paper, and deciphered the follow- 
 ing : 
 
 " SONG OF THE VIOLET. 
 
 " A humble flower long time I pined, 
 
 Upon the solitary plain. 
 And trembled at the angry wind, 
 
 And shrunk before the bitter rain. 
 And, oh ! 't was in a blessed hour, 
 
 A passing wanderer chanced to see 
 And, pitying the lonely flower, 
 
 To stoop and gather me. 
 
 " I fear no more the tempest rude, 
 
 On dreary heath no more I pine, 
 But left my cheerless solitude, 
 
 To deck the breast of Caroline. 
 Alas ! our days are brief at best, 
 
 Nor long I fear will mine endure, 
 Though sheltered here upon a breast 
 
 So gentle and so pure, 
 
 " It draws the fragrance from my leaves, 
 
 It robs me of my sweetest breath ; 
 And every time it falls and heaves, 
 It warns me of my coming death. 
 But one I know would glad forego 
 
 All joys of life to be as I ; 
 An hour to rest on that sweet breast, 
 And then, contented, die. 
 
 " ANDREA." 
 
 When Mr. Brandon had finished 
 the perusal of these verses, he laid 
 them down with an air of considera- 
 ble vexation. " Egad ! " said he, 
 " this fellow, fool as he is, is not so 
 great a fool as he seems ; and if he 
 goes on this way, may finish by turn- 
 ing the girl's head. They can't re- 
 sist a man if he but presses hard 
 enough, I know they can't ! " 
 And here Mr. Brandon mused over 
 his various experience, which con- 
 firmed his observation, that be a man 
 ever so silly, a gentlewoman will 
 yield to him out of sheer weariness. 
 And he thought of several cases in 
 
 which, by the persevering application 
 of copies of verses, young ladies had 
 been brought from dislike to suffer- 
 ance of a man, from sufferance to 
 partiality, and from partiality to St. 
 George's, Hanover Square. "A ruf- 
 fian who murders his h's to carry off 
 such a delicate little creature as 
 that ! " cried he, in a transport : " it 
 shall never be if I can prevent it ! " 
 He thought Caroline more and more 
 beautiful every instant, and was him- 
 self by this time almost as much in 
 love with her as Fitch himself. 
 
 Mr. Brandon, then, saw Fitch de- 
 part in Swigby's carriage with no or- 
 dinary feelings of pleasure. Miss 
 Caroline was not with them. " Now 
 is my time ! " thought Brandon ; and 
 ringing the bell, he inquired with 
 some anxiety, from Becky, where 
 Miss Caroline was ? It must be con- 
 fessed that mistress and maid were at 
 their usual occupation, working and 
 reading novels in the back parlor. 
 Poor Carry ! what other pleasure had 
 she? 
 
 She had not gone through many 
 pages, or Becky advanced many 
 stitches in the darning of that table- 
 cloth which the good housewife, Mrs. 
 Gann, had confided to her charge, 
 when an humble knock was heard 
 at the door of the sitting-room, that 
 caused the blushing Caroline to trem- 
 ble and drop her book, as Miss Lydia 
 Languish does in the play. 
 
 Mr. George Brandon entered with 
 a very demure air. He held in his 
 hand a black satin neck-scarf, of which 
 a part had come to be broken. He 
 could not wear it in its present con- 
 dition, that was evident ; but Miss 
 Caroline was blushing and trembling 
 a great deal too much to suspect that 
 this wicked Brandon had himself torn 
 his own scarf with his own hands one 
 moment before he entered the room. 
 I don't know whether Becky had any 
 suspicions of this fact, or whether it 
 was only the ordinary roguish look 
 which she had when anything pleased 
 her, that now lighted up her eyes and 
 caused her mouth to expand smil-
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 ingly, and her fat red cheeks to gather 
 up into wrinkles. 
 
 " I have had a sad misfortune," said 
 he, " and should be very much obliged 
 indeed to Miss Caroline to repair it." 
 (Caroline was said with a kind of 
 tender hesitation that caused the 
 young woman, so named, to blush 
 more than ever. ) " It is the only stock 
 I have in the world, and I can't go 
 barenecked into the street ; can I, Mrs. 
 Becky ? " 
 
 " No, sure," said Becky. 
 
 " Not unless I was a celebrated 
 painter, like Mr. Fitch," added Mr. 
 Brandon, with a smile, which was 
 reflected speedily upon the face of the 
 lady whom he wished to interest. 
 " Those great geniuses, " he added, 
 " may do anything." 
 
 " For, " says Becky, " hee 's got 
 enough beard on hees faze to keep 
 hees neck warm ! " At which remark, 
 though Miss Caroline very properly 
 said, " For shame, Becky ! " Mr. Bran- 
 don was so convulsed with laughter, 
 that he fairly fell down upon the sofa 
 on which Miss Caroline was seated, 
 How she startled and trembled, as he 
 flung his arm upon the back of the 
 couch ! Mr. Brandon did not attempt 
 to apologize for what was an act of 
 considerable impertinence, but con- 
 tinued mercilessly to make many more 
 jokes concerning poor Fitch, which 
 were so cleverly suited to the compre- 
 hension of the maid and the young 
 mistress, as to elicit a great number of 
 roars of laughter from the one, and to 
 cause the other to smile in spite of 
 herself. Indeed, Brandon had sinned 
 a vast reputation with Becky in his 
 morning colloquies with her, and she 
 was ready to laugh at any single word 
 which it pleased him to utter. How 
 many of his good things had this 
 honest scullion carried down stairs to 
 Caroline ? and how pitilessly had she 
 contrived to estropier them in- their 
 passage from the drawing-room to the 
 kitehen ? 
 
 Well, then, while Mr. Brandon 
 " was a going on " as Becky said, Car- 
 oline had taken his stock, and her 
 
 little fingers were occupied in re- 
 pairing the damage he had done to it. 
 Was it clumsiness on her part ? 
 j Certain it is that the rent took several 
 minutes to repair : of them the man- 
 geur de cceurs did not fail to profit, 
 conversing in an easy, kindly, confi- 
 dential way, which set our fluttering 
 heroine speedily at rest, and enabled 
 her to reply to his continual queries, 
 addressed with much adroitness and 
 an air of fraternal interest, by a 
 number of those pretty little timid 
 whispering yeses and noes, and those 
 gentle, quick looks of the eyes, where- 
 with young and modest maidens are 
 wont to reply to the questions of se- 
 ducing young bachelors. Dear yeses 
 and noes, how beautiful you are when 
 gently whispered by pretty lips ! 
 j glances of quick innocent eyes, how 
 charming are you ! and how charm- 
 ing the soft blush that steals over the 
 cheek towards winch the dark lashes 
 j are drawing the blue-veined eyelids 
 I down. And here let the writer of this 
 ! solemnly declare, upon his veracity, 
 j that he means nothing but what is 
 ! right and moral. But look, I pray you, 
 ! at an innocent, bashful girl of sixteen : 
 ' if she be but good, she must be pretty. 
 She is a woman now, but a girl still. 
 How delightful all her ways are ! How 
 exquisite her instinctive grace ! All 
 the arts of all the Cleopatras are not 
 so captivating as her nature. Who can 
 resist her confiding simplicity, or fail 
 to be touched and conquered by her 
 gentle appeal to protection ? 
 
 Al^this Mr. Brandon saw and felt, 
 as many a gentleman educated id this 
 school will. It is not because a man 
 is a rascal himself, that he cannot ap- 
 preciate virtue and purity very keenly ; 
 and our hero did feel for this simple, 
 tender, artless creature, a real respect 
 and sympathy, a sympathy so fresh 
 and delicious, that he was but too glad 
 to yield to it and indulge in it, and 
 which he mistook, probably, for a real 
 love of virtue, and a return to the 
 days of his innocence. 
 
 Indeed, Mr. Brandon, it was f.o 
 such thing. It was only because vice
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 41 
 
 und debauch were stale for the mo- 
 ment, and this pretty virtue new. It 
 was only because your cloyed appetite 
 was long unused to this simple meat 
 that you felt so keen a relish for it ; 
 and I thought of you only the last 
 blessed Saturday, at Mr. Lovegrove's, 
 " West India Tavern," Blackwall, 
 where a company of fifteen epicures, 
 who had scorned the turtle, pooh- 
 poohed the punc"h, and sent away the 
 whitebait, did suddenly and simulta- 
 neously make a rush upon - a dish of 
 betms and bacon. And if the assiduous 
 reader of novels will think upon some 
 of the most celebrated works of that 
 species, which have lately appeared in 
 this and other countries, he will find, 
 amidst much debauch of sentiment 
 and enervating dissipation of intellect, 
 that the writers have from time to 
 time a returning appetite for innocence 
 and freshness, and indulge us with 
 occasional repasts of beans and bacon. 
 How long Mr. Brandon remained by 
 Miss Caroline's side I have no means 
 of judging ; it is probable, however, 
 that he stayed a much longer time 
 than was necessary for the mending 
 of his black satin stock. I believe, 
 indeed, that he read to the ladies a 
 great part of the " Mysteries of Udol- 
 pho," over which they were engaged ; 
 and interspersed his reading with 
 many remarks of his own, both tender 
 and satirical. Whether he was in her 
 company half an hour or four hours, 
 this is certain, that the time slipped 
 away very swiftly with poor Caroline ; 
 and when a carriage drove up !ro the 
 door, and shrill voices were heard cry- 
 ing " Becky ! " " Carry ! " and Rebec- 
 ca the maid, starting up, cried, " Lor', 
 here 's missus ! " and Brandon jumped 
 rather suddenly off the sofa, and fled 
 up the stairs, when all these events 
 took place, I know Caroline felt very 
 sad, indeed, and opened the door for 
 her parents with a very heavy heart. 
 Swigby helped Miss Linda off the 
 box with excessive tenderness. Papa 
 was bustling and roaring in high 
 good-humor, and called for " hot 
 water and tumblers immediately." 
 
 Mrs. Gann was gracious ; and Miss 
 Bell sulky, as she had good reason to 
 be, for she insisted upon taking the 
 front seat in the carriage before her 
 sister, and had lost a husband by that 
 very piece of obstinacy. 
 
 Mr. Fitch, as ho entered, bestowed 
 upon Caroline a heavy sigh and deep 
 stare, and silently ascended to his 
 own apartment. He was lost in 
 thought. The fact is, he was trying 
 to remember some verses regarding a 
 violet, which he had made five years 
 before, and which he had somehow 
 lost from among his papers. So he 
 went up stairs, muttering, 
 
 " A humble flower long since I pined 
 Upon a solitary plain " 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DESCRIBES A SHABBY GENTEEL MAR- 
 RIAGE, AND MORE LOVE-MAKING. 
 
 IT will not be necessary to describe 
 the particulars of the festivities which 
 took place on the occasion of Mr. 
 Swigby's marriage to Miss Macarty. 
 The happy pair went off in a post- 
 chaise and four to the bridegroom's 
 country-seat, accompanied by the 
 bride's blushing sister ; and when the 
 first week of their matrimonial bliss 
 was ended, that worthy woman, Mrs. 
 Gann, with her excellent husband, 
 went to visit the young couple. Miss 
 Caroline was left, therefore, sole mis- 
 tress of the house, and received especial 
 cautions from her mamma as to pru- 
 dence, economy, the proper manage- 
 ment of the lodgers' bills, and the 
 necessity of staying at home. 
 
 Considering that one of the gentle- 
 men remaining in the house was a 
 declared lover of Miss Caroline, I 
 think it is a little surprising that her 
 mother should leave her unprotected; 
 but in this matter the poor arc not so 
 particular as the rich ; and so this 
 young lady was consigned to the 
 guardianship of her own innocence, 
 and the lodgers' loyalty : nor was 
 there any reason why Mrs. Gann
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 should doubt the latter. As for Mr. 
 Fitch, he would have far preferred to 
 be torn to pieces by ten thousand wild 
 horses, rather than to offer to the 
 young woman any unkindness or 
 insult ; and how was Mrs. Gann to 
 suppose that her other lodger was a 
 whit less loyal ? that he had any 
 partiality for a person of whom he al- 
 ways spoke as a mean, insignificant 
 little baby ? So, without any mis- 
 givings, and in a one-horse fly with 
 Mr. Gann by her side, with a bran 
 new green coat and gilt buttons, 
 Juliana Gann went forth to visit her 
 beloved child, and console her in her 
 married state. 
 
 And here, were I allowed to occupy 
 the reader with extraneous matters, I 
 could give a very curious and touch- 
 ing picture of the Swigby me'naje. 
 Mrs. S., I am very sorry to say, 
 quarrelled with her husband on the 
 third day after their marriage, and 
 for what, pr'thee ? Why, because he 
 would smoke, and no gentleman ought j 
 to smoke. Swigby, therefore, patient- | 
 ly resigned his pipe, and with it one 
 of the quietest, happiest, kindest com- j 
 pinions of his solitude. He \VMS a 
 different man after this ; his pipe was 
 asalimbot'hisbody. Having on Tues- ! 
 day conquered the pipe, Mrs. Swigby 
 on Thursday did battle with her hus- j 
 band's rum-and-water, a drink of an 
 odious smell, as she very properly 
 observed ; and the smell was doubly 
 odious, now that the tobacco-smoke no 
 longer perfumed the parlor breeze, and 
 counteracted the odors of the juice of 
 West India sugai-canes. On Thurs- 
 day, then, Mr. Swigby and rum held 
 out pretty bravely. Mrs. S. attacked 
 the punch with some sharp-shooting, 
 and fierce charges of vulgarity ; to 
 which S. replied, by opening the 
 battery of oaths (chiefly directed to 
 his own eyes, however), and loud pro- 
 testations that he would never surren- 
 der. In throe days more, however, 
 the rum-and-water was gone. Mr. 
 Swigby, defeated and prostrate, had 
 given up that stronghold ; his young 
 wife and sister were triumphant ; and 
 
 his poor mother, who occupied her 
 son's house, and had till now taken 
 her place at the head of his table, saw 
 that her empire was forever lost, and 
 was preparing suddenly to succumb 
 to the imperious claims of the mistress 
 of the mansion. 
 
 All this, I say, I wish I had the liber- 
 ty to describe at large, as also to narrate 
 the arrival of majestic Mrs. Gann ; 
 and a battle-royal which speedily took 
 place between the two worthy moth- 
 ers-in-law. Noble is the hatred of 
 ladies who stand in this relation to 
 each other ; each sees what injury 
 the other is inflicting upon her darling 
 child; each mistrusts, detests, and to 
 her offspring privily abuses the arts 
 and crimes of the other. A house 
 with a wife is often warm enough ; 
 a house with a wife and her mother 
 is rather warmer than any spot 
 on the known globe ; a house with 
 two mothers-in-law is so excessively 
 hot, that it can be likened to no place 
 on earth at all, but one must go lower 
 for a simile. Think of a wife who 
 despises her husband, and teaches 
 him manners ; of an elegant sister, 
 who joins in rallying him (this was 
 almost the only point of union be- 
 tween Bella and Linda now, for 
 since the marriage, Linda hated her 
 sister consumedly). Think, I say, of 
 two mothers - in - law, one, large, 
 pompous, and atrociously genteel, 
 another coarse and shrill, determined 
 not to have her son put upon, and 
 you may see what a happy fellow Joe 
 Swigby was, and into what a piece 
 of good luck he had fallen. 
 
 What would have become of him 
 without his father-in-law? Indeed 
 one shudders to think ; but the conse- 
 quence of that gentleman's arrival 
 and intervention was speedily this : 
 About four o'clock, when the dinner 
 was removed, and the quarrelling 
 used commonly to set in, the two 
 gents took their hats, and sallied out ; 
 and as one has found when the body 
 is inflamed that the application of a 
 stringent medicine may cause the ill 
 to disappear for a while, only to re-
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 43 
 
 turn elsewhere with greater force ; in 
 like manner, Mrs. Swigby's sudden 
 victory over the pipe and rum-and- 
 water, although it had caused a tem- 
 porary cessation of the evil of which 
 she complained, was quite unable to 
 stop it altogether ; it disappeared 
 from one spot only to rage with more 
 violence elsewhere. In Swigby's par- 
 lor, rum and tobacco odors rose no 
 more (except, indeed, when Mrs. 
 Ganu would partake of the former as 
 a restorative); but if you could have 
 seen the " Half-Moon and Snuffers" 
 down the village ; if you could have 
 seen the good dry skittle-ground which 
 stretched at the back of that inn, and 
 the window of the hack-parlor which 
 superintended that skittle-ground ; if 
 the hour at which you beheld these 
 objects was evening, what time the 
 rustics from their toils released trolled 
 the stout ball amidst the rattling pins 
 (the oaken pins that standing in the 
 sun did cast long shadows on the 
 golden sward) ; if you had remarked 
 all this, I say, you would have also 
 seen in the back parlor a tallow can- 
 dle twinkling in the shade, and stand- 
 ing on a little greasy table. Upon 
 the greasy table was a pewter porter- 
 pot, and to the left a teaspoon glitter- 
 ing in a glass of gin ; close to each of 
 these two delicacies was a pipe of 
 tobacco; and behind the pipes sat 
 Mr. Gann and Mr. Swigby, who now 
 made the " Half-Moon and Snuffers " 
 their usual place of resort, and forgot 
 their married cares. 
 
 In spite of all our promises of brevity, 
 these things have taken some space to 
 describe ; and the reader must also 
 know that some short interval elapsed 
 ere they occurred. A month at least 
 passed away before Mr. Swigby had 
 decidedly taken up his position at the 
 little inn : all this time, Gann was 
 staying with his son-in-law, at the 
 latter 's most earnest request ; and 
 Mrs. Gann remained under the same 
 roof at her own desire. Not the hints 
 of her daughter, nor the broad ques- 
 tions of the dowager Mrs. Swigby, 
 could induce honest Mrs. Gann to 
 
 stir from her quarters. She had had 
 her lodgers' money in advance, as 
 was the worthy woman's custom ; 
 she knew Margate in April was 
 dreadfully dull, and she determined to 
 enjoy the country until the jovial 
 town season arrived. The Canter- 
 bury coachman, whom Gann knew, 
 and who passed through the village, 
 used to take her cargo of novels to 
 and fro ; and the old lady made her- 
 self as happy as circumstances would 
 allow. Should anything of im- 
 portance occur during her mamma's 
 absence, Caroline was to make use of 
 the same conveyance, and inform 
 Mrs. Gann in a letter. 
 
 Miss Caroline looked at her papa 
 and mamma, as the vehicle which 
 was to bear them to the newly mar- 
 ried couple moved up the street ; but, 
 strange to say, she did not feel that 
 heaviness of heart which she before 
 had experienced when forbidden to 
 share the festivities of her family, but 
 was on this occasion more happy than 
 any one of them, so happy, that 
 the young woman felt quite ashamed 
 of herself; and Becky was fain to re- 
 mark how her mistress's cheek 
 flushed, and her eyes sparkled (and 
 turned perpetually to the door), and 
 her whole little frame was in a flutter. 
 " I wonder if he will come," said 
 the little heart ; and the eyes turned 
 and looked at that well-known sofa- 
 corner, where he had been placed a 
 fortnight before. He looked exactly 
 like Lord Byron, that he did, with 
 his pale brow, and his slim bare neck ; 
 only not half so wicked no, no. 
 ' She was sure that her her Mr. 
 
 B , her Bran , her George, 
 
 was as good as he was beautiful. 
 
 Don't let us be angry with her for 
 
 j calling him George ; the girl was bred 
 
 I in an humble sentimental school ; she 
 
 ] did not know enough of society to be 
 
 j squeamish ; she never thought that 
 
 I she could be his really, and gave way 
 
 in the silence of her fancy to the full 
 
 extent of her affection for him. 
 
 She had not looked at the door above 
 twenty-five times, that is to say, her
 
 44 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 parents had not quitted the house ten 
 minutes, when, sure enough, the 
 latch did rattle, the door opened, and, 
 with a faint blush on his cheek, divine 
 George entered He was going to make 
 some excuse, as on the former occasion ; 
 but he looked first into Caroline's face, 
 which was beaming with joy and 
 emiles ; and the little thing, in return, 
 regarded him, and made room for 
 him on the sofa. O sweet instinct of 
 love ! Brandon had no need of excuses, 
 but sat down, and talked away as easi- 
 ly, happily, and confidentially, and nei- 
 ther took any note of time. Andrea 
 Fitch (the sly dog!) witnessed the 
 Gann departure with feelings of ex- 
 ultation, and had laid some deep 
 plans of his own with regard to Miss 
 Caroline. So strong was his confi- 
 dence in his friend on the first floor, 
 that Andrea actually descended to 
 those apartments, on his way to Mrs. 
 Gann's parlor, in order to consult 
 Mr. Brandon, and make known to 
 him his plan of operations. 
 
 It would have made your heart 
 break, or, at the very least, your sides 
 ache, to behold the countenance of 
 poor Mr. Fitch, as he thrust his 
 bearded head in at the door of the 
 parlor. There was Brandon lolling 
 on the sofa, at his ease ; Becky in 
 full good-humor ; and Caroline, al- 
 ways absurdly inclined to blush, 
 blushing at Fitch's appearance more 
 than ever ! She could not help look- 
 ing from him slyly and gently into 
 the face of Mr. Brandon. That gen- 
 tleman saw the look, and did not 
 fail to interpret it. It was a confes- 
 sion of love, an appeal for protec- 
 tion. A thrill of delightful vanity 
 'shot through Brandon's frame, and 
 made his heart throb, as he noticed 
 this look of poor Caroline. He an- 
 swered it with one of his own that 
 was cruelly wrong, cruelly trium- 
 phant, and sarcastic ; and he shouted 
 out to Mr. Fitch, with a loud, discon- 
 certed tone, which only made that 
 young painter feel more awkward 
 than ever he had been. Fitch made 
 some clumsy speech regarding his din- 
 
 ner, whether that meal was to be held, 
 in the absence of the parents, at the 
 usual hour, and then took his leave. 
 
 The poor fellow had been pleasing 
 himself with the notion of taking this 
 daily meal tete-a-tete with Caroline. 
 What progress would he make in her 
 heart during the absence of her par- 
 ents ! DM it not seem as if the first 
 marriage had been arranged on pur- 
 pose to facilitate his own ? lie de- 
 termined thus his plan of campaign. 
 He would make, in the first place, the 
 most beautiful drawing of Caroline 
 that ever was seen. " The conversa- 
 tions I '11 'ave with her during the 
 sittings," says he, " will carry me a 
 pretty long way ; the drawing itself 
 will be so beautiful, that she can't 
 resist that. I Ml write her verses in 
 her halbum, and make designs hallu- 
 sive of my passion for her." And so 
 our pictorial Alnasohar dreamed and 
 dreamed. He had, erelong, estab- 
 lished himself in a house in Newman 
 Street, with a footman to open the 
 door. Caroline was up stairs, his wife, 
 and her picture the crack portrait of 
 the Exhibition. With her by his 
 side, Andrea Fitch felt he could do 
 anything. Half a dozen carriages at 
 his door, a hundred guineas for a 
 Kit-Cat portrait. Lady Fitch, Sir 
 Andrew Fitch, the President's chain, 
 all sorts of bright visions floated 
 before his imagination ; and as Caro- 
 line was the first precious condition 
 of his preferment, he determined forth- 
 with to begin, and realize that. 
 
 But disappointment ! on com- 
 ing down to dinner at three o'clock 
 to that charming tete-a-tete, he found 
 no less than four covers laid on the 
 table, Miss Caroline blushing (accord- 
 ing to custom) at the head of it; 
 Becky, the maid, grinning at the 
 foot ; and Mr. Brandon sitting quiet- 
 ly on one side, as much at home, for- 
 sooth, as if he had held that position 
 for a year. 
 
 The fact is, that the moment after 
 Fitch retired, Brandon, inspired by 
 jealousy, had made the same request 
 which had been brought forward by
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 the painter ; nor must the ladies be 
 too angry with Caroline, if'aftvr some 
 scruples and struggles, she yielded to 
 the proposal. Remember that the | 
 girl was the daughter of a boarding- | 
 house, ace ustomed to continual deal-! 
 ings with her mamma's lodgers, and j 
 up to the present moment thinking 
 herself as safe among them as the 
 young person who walked through 
 Ireland with a bright gold wand, 
 in the song of Mr. Thomas Moore. 
 On the point, however, of Brandon's 
 admission, it must be confessed, for 
 Caroline's honor, that she did hesi- 
 tate. She felt that she entertained 
 very different feelings towards him to 
 those with whieh any other lodger or 
 man had inspired her, and made a little 
 movement of resistance at first. But 
 the poor girl's modesty overcame 
 this, as well as her wish. Ought 
 she to avoid him? Ought she not 
 to stifle any preference which she 
 might feel towards him, and act to- 
 wards him with the same indifference 
 which she would show to any other 
 person in a like situation ? Was not 
 Mr. Fitch to dine at table as usual, 
 and had she refused him t So rea- 
 soned she in her heart. Silly little 
 cunning heart ! it knew that all these 
 reasons were lies, and that she should 
 avoid the man ; but she was willing 
 to accept of any pretext for meeting, 
 and so made a kind of compromise 
 with her conscience. Dine he should ; 
 but Becky should dine too, and be a 
 protector to her. Becky laughed 
 loudly at the idea of this, and took 
 her place with huge delight. 
 
 It is needless to say a word about 
 this dinner, as we have already de- 
 scribed a former meal ; suffice it to 
 say, that the presence of Brandon 
 caused the painter to be excessively 
 sulky and uncomfortable ; and so 
 gave his rival, who was gay, trium- 
 phant, and at his ease, a decided ad- 
 vantage over him. Nor did Brandon 
 neglect t>> use this to the utmost. 
 When Fitch retired to his own apart- 
 ments, not jealous as yet, for the 
 simple fellow believed every word of 
 
 Brandon's morning conversation with 
 him, but vaguely annoyed and dis- 
 appointed, Brandon assailed him with 
 all the force of ridicule ; at all his 
 manners, words, looks, he joked mer- 
 cilessly ; laughed at his low birth, 
 (Miss Gann, be it remembered, had 
 been taught to pique herself upon her 
 own family), and invented a series of 
 stories concerning his past life which 
 made the ladies for Becky, being 
 in the parlor, must be considered as 
 such conceive the greatest con- 
 tempt and pity for the poor painter. 
 
 After this, Mr. Brandon would ex- 
 patiate with much eloquence upon his 
 own superior attractions and qualities, 
 lie talked of his cousin, Lord So-and- 
 so, with the easiest air imaginable ; 
 told Caroline what princesses he had 
 danced with at foreign courts ; fright- 
 ened her with accounts of dreadful 
 duels he had fought; in a word, 
 " posed " before her as a hero of the 
 most sublime kind. How the poor 
 little thing drank in all his tales ; and 
 how she and Becky (for they now occu- 
 pied the same bedroom) talked over 
 them at night ! 
 
 Miss Caroline, as Mr. Fitch has 
 already stated, had in her posses>ion, 
 like almost every young lady in ling- 
 land, a little square book called an al- 
 bum, containing prints from annuals ; 
 hideous designs of flowers ; old pic- 
 tures of faded fashions, cut out and 
 pasted into the leaves ; and small 
 scraps of verses selected from Byron, 
 Landon, or Mrs. Ilemans ; and wi it- 
 ten out in the girlish hand of the own- 
 er of the book. Brandon looked over 
 this work with a good deal of curios- 
 ity, for he contended, always, that 
 a girl's disposition niijiht be learned 
 from the character of this museum of 
 hers, and found here several sketch- 
 es by Mr. Fitch, for which, before that 
 gentleman had declared his passion 
 for her, Caroline had begged. These 
 sketches the sentimental painter had 
 illustrated with poetry, which, I must 
 confess, Caroline thought charming, 
 until now, when Mr. Brandon took 
 occasion to point out how wretched-
 
 46 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 ly poor the verses were (as indeed 
 was the fact), and to parody them all. j 
 He was not unskilful at this kind of I 
 exercise, and at the drawing of cari- 1 
 catures, and had soon made a dozen ! 
 of both parodies and drawings, which 
 reflected cruelly upon the person and 
 the talents of the painter. 
 
 What now did this wicked Mr. 
 Brandon do ? He, in the first place, 
 drew a caricature of Fitch ; and, sec- j 
 ondly, having gone to a gardener's j 
 near the town, and purchased there a . 
 bunch of violets, he presented them to 
 Miss Caroline, and wrote Mr. Fitch's ; 
 own verses before given into her al- i 
 bum. He signed them with his own ] 
 initials, and thus declared open war 
 with the painter. 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 
 WHICH BRINGS A GREAT NUMBER 
 OF PEOPLE TO MARGATE BY THE 
 STEAMBOAT. 
 
 THE events which this history re- 
 cords began in the month of February. 
 Time had now passed, and April had 
 arrived, and with it that festive sea- 
 son so loved by school -boys, and called 
 the Easter holidays. Not only school- 
 boys, but men, profit by this period 
 of leisure, such men, especially, as 
 have just come into enjoyment of 
 their own cups and saucers, and are 
 in daily expectation of their whiskers, 
 college men, I mean, who are 
 persons more anxious than any oth- 
 ers to designate themselves and each 
 other by the manly title. 
 
 Among other men, then, my Lord 
 Viscount Cinqbars of Christchurch, 
 Oxon, received a sum of money to pay 
 his quarter's bill, and having written 
 to his papa that he was busily engaged 
 in reading for the " little-go," and 
 must, therefore, decline the delight he 
 had promised himself of passing the 
 vacation at Cinqbars Hall, and hav- 
 ing, the day after his letter was de- 
 spatched, driven to town tandem with 
 young Tom Tufthunt, of the same 
 
 University, and having exhausted 
 the pleasures of the metropolis, 
 the theatres, the Cider-cellars, the Fin- 
 ish, the station - houses, and other 
 places which need by no means be 
 here particularized, Lord Cinqbars, 
 I say, growing tired of London at the 
 end of ten days, quitted the metropo- 
 lis somewhat suddenly : nor did he 
 pay his hotel bill at Long's before his 
 departure ; but he left that document 
 in possession of the landlord, as a 
 token of his (my Lord Cinqbars's) con- 
 fidence in his host. 
 
 Tom Tufthunt went with my Lord, 
 of course (although of an aristocratic 
 turn in politics, Tom loved and re- 
 spected a lord as much as any demo- 
 crat in England). And whither do 
 you think this worthy pair of young 
 gentlemen were bound ? To no less 
 a place than Margate ; for Cinqbars 
 was filled with a longing to go and 
 see his old friend Brandon, and deter- 
 mined, to use his own elegant words, 
 " to knock the old buck up." 
 
 There was no adventure of conse- 
 quence on board the steamer which 
 brought Lord Cinqbars and his friend 
 from London to Margate, and very 
 few passengers besides. A wander- 
 ing Jew or two were set down at 
 Gravesend ; t!ie Kev. Mr. Wacker- 
 bart, and six unhappy little pupils 
 whom the reverend gentleman had 
 pounced upon in London, and was 
 carrying back to his academy near 
 Herne Bay ; some of those inevitable 
 persons of dubious rank who seem to 
 have free tickets, and always eat and 
 drink hugely with the captain ; and 
 a lady and her party, formed the 
 whole list of passengers. 
 
 The lady a very fat lady had 
 evidently just returned from abroad. 
 Her great green travelling - chariot 
 was on the deck, and on all her impe- 
 rials were pasted fresh large bills, 
 with the words INCE'S BRITISH HO- 
 TEL, BOULOGNE-SCR-MER ; for it is 
 the custom of that worthy gentleman 
 to seize upon and plaster all the lug- 
 gage of his guests with tickets, on 
 which his name and residence are in-
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 47 
 
 cribed, by which simple means he 
 keeps himself perpetually in their rec- j 
 ollection, and brings himself to the 
 notice of all other persons who are in 
 the habit of peering at their fellow- 
 passengers' trunks to find out their 
 names. I need not say what a large 
 class this is. 
 
 Well ; this fat lady had a courier, a 
 tall, whiskered man, who spoke all 
 languages, looked like a field-marshal, 
 went by the name of Donnerwetter, 
 and rode on the box ; a French maid, 
 Mademoiselle Augustine ; and a little 
 black page, called Saladin, who rode 
 in the rumble. Saladin's whole busi- 
 ness was to attend a wheezy, fat, white 
 poodle, who usually travelled inside 
 with his mistress and her fair com- 
 pagnon de voyage, whose name was 
 Miss Runt. This fat lady was evi- 
 dently a person of distinction. Dur- 
 ing the first part of the voyage, on a 
 windy, sunshiny April day, she paced 
 the deck stoutly, leaning on the arm 
 of poor little Miss Runt ; and after 
 they had passed Gravesend, when the 
 vessel began to pitch a good deal, re- 
 tired to her citadel, the travelling- 
 chariot, to and from which the stew- 
 ard, the stewardess, and the whiskered 
 courier were continually running with 
 supplies, of sandwiches first, and 
 afterwards of very hot brandy-and- 
 water : for the truth must be told, it 
 was rather a rough afternoon, and 
 the poodle was sick ; Saladin was as 
 bad ; the French maid, like all French 
 maids, was outrageously ill ; the lady 
 herself was very unwell indeed ; and 
 poor, dear, sympathizing Runt was 
 qualmish. 
 
 " Ah, Runt ! " would the fat lady 
 say in the intervals, " what a thing 
 this malady de mare is ! Oh, mong 
 jew! Oh oh!" 
 
 " It is, indeed, dear madam," said 
 Runt, and went, "Oh oh!" in 
 chorus. 
 
 " Ask the steward if we are near 
 Margate, Runt." And Runt did, 
 and asked this question every five 
 minutes, as people do on these occa- 
 sions. 
 
 " Issy Monsieur Donnerwetter : al- 
 ly dimandy ung pew d'o sho poor 
 mvvaw." 
 
 " Et de 1'eau de fie afec, n'est-ce 
 has, Matame ( " said Mr. Donnerwet- 
 ter. 
 
 " Wee, wee, comme vous vouly." 
 
 And Donnerwetter knew very well 
 what "comme vous vouly" meant, 
 and brought the liquor exactly in the 
 wished-for state. 
 
 " Ah, Runt, Runt ! there 's some- 
 thing even worse than sea-sickness. 
 Heigh-ho ! " 
 
 " Dear, dear Marianne, don't flutter 
 yourself," cries Runt, squeezing a fat 
 paw of her friend and patroness be- 
 tween her own bony fingers. " Don't 
 agitate your nerves, dear. I know 
 you 're miserable ; but have n't you 
 got a friend in your faithful Runty 1 " 
 
 " You 're a good crcater, that you 
 are," said the fat lady, who seemed 
 herself to be a good-humored old 
 soul ; " and I don't know what I 
 should have done without you. Heigh- 
 ho!" 
 
 " Cheer up, dear ! you '11 be hap- 
 pier when you get to Margate ; you 
 know you will," cried Runt, very 
 knowingly. 
 
 " What do you mean, Elizabeth? " 
 
 " You know very well, dear Mari- 
 anne. I mean that there 's some one 
 there will make you happy ; though 
 he's a nasty wretch, that he is, to 
 have treated my darling, beautiful 
 Marianne so." 
 
 " Runt, Runt, don't abuse that best 
 of men. Don't call me beautiful, 
 I 'm not, Runt ; I have been, but I 
 ain't now ; and oh ! no woman in the 
 world is assy bong poor lui." 
 
 " But an angel is ; and you arc, 
 as you always was, an angel, as 
 good as an angel, as kind as an angel, 
 as beautiful as one." 
 
 " Ally dong," said her companion, 
 giving her a push ; " you flatter me, 
 Runt, you know you do." 
 
 " May I be struck down dead if I 
 don't say the truth ; and if he refuses 
 you, as he did at Rome, that is, 
 after all his attentions and vows, he 'a
 
 48 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 faithless to you, I say he 's a wretch, 
 that he is ; and I will say he 's a wretch, 
 and he is a wretch, a nasty, wicked 
 wretch ! " 
 
 " Elizabeth, if you say that, you '11 
 break my heart, you will ! Vous cas- 
 serez mong pover cure." But Eliza- 
 beth swore, on the contrary, that she 
 would die for her Marianne, which 
 consoled the fat lady a little. 
 
 A great deal more of this kind of 
 conversation took place during the 
 voyage ; but as it occurred inside a 
 carriage, so that to hear it was very 
 difficult, and as possibly it was not of 
 that edifying nature which would in- 
 duce the reader to relish many chap- 
 ters of it, we shall give no further ac- 
 count of the ladies' talk : suffice it to 
 say, that about half past four o'clock 
 the journey ended, by the vessel bring- 
 ing up at Margate Pier. The pas- 
 sengers poured forth, and hied to their 
 respective homes or inns. My Lord 
 Cinqbars and his companion (of 
 whom we have said nothing, as they 
 on their sides had scarcely spoken a 
 word the whole way, except " deuce- 
 ace," " quater-tray," " sizes," and so 
 on, being occupied ceaselessly in 
 drinking bottled stout and playing 
 backgammon,) ordered their luggage 
 to be conveyed to " Wright's Hotel," 
 whither the fat lady and suite followed 
 them. The house was vacant, and 
 the best rooms in it were placed, of j 
 course, at the service of the new-com- 
 ers. The fat lady sailed out of her 
 bedroom towards her saloon, just as J 
 Lord Cinqbars, cigar in mouth, was 
 swaggering out of his parlor. They 
 met in the passage ; when, to the 
 young lord's surprise, the fat lady 
 dropped him a low courtesy, and 
 said, 
 
 " Munseer le Vecomte de Cinqbars, 
 sharmy de vous voir. Vous vous 
 rappelez de mwaw, n'est-ce pas ? Je 
 vous ai vew a Rome, shay 1'am- 
 bassadure, vous savy." 
 
 Lord Cinqbars stared her in the 
 face, and pushed by her without a 
 word, leaving the fat lady rather dis- 
 concerted. 
 
 " Well, Runt, I 'm sure," said she, 
 " he need not be so proud ; I 've met 
 him twenty times at Rome, when he 
 was a young chap with his tutor." 
 
 " Who the devil can that fat for- 
 eigner be ? " mused Lord Cinqbars. 
 " Hang her, I 've seen her somewhere ; 
 but I 'm cursed if I understand a word 
 of her jabber." And so, dismissing 
 the subject, he walked on to Bran- 
 don's. 
 
 " Dang it, it 's a strange thing ! " 
 said the landlord of the hotel ; " but 
 both my Lord and the fat woman in 
 number nine have asked their way 
 to Mother Gann's lodging," for so 
 did he dare to call that respectable 
 woman ! 
 
 It was true : as soon as number 
 nine had eaten her dinner, she asked 
 the question mentioned by the land- 
 lord ; and, as this meal occupied a 
 considerable time, the shades of even- 
 ing had by this time fallen upon the 
 quiet city ; the silver moon lighted 
 up the bay, and, supported by a nu- 
 merous and well-appointed train of 
 gas-lamps, illuminated the streets of a 
 town, of autumn eves so crowded 
 and so gay ; of gusty April nights, 
 so desolate. At this still hour (it 
 might be half past seven), two ladies 
 passed the gates of " Wright's Ho- 
 tel," " in shrouding mantle wrapped, 
 and velvet cap." Up the deserted 
 High Street toiled they, by gaping 
 rows of empty bathing-houses, by 
 melancholy Jolly's French bazaar, by 
 mouldy pastry-cooks, blank reading- 
 rooms, by fishmongers who never 
 sold a fish, mercers who vended not a 
 yard of ribbon, because, as yet, the 
 season was not come, and Jews 
 and Cockneys still remained in town. 
 At High Street corner, near to Haw- 
 ley Square, they passed the house of 
 Mr. Fincham, chemist, who doth not 
 only healthful drugs supply, but like- 
 wise sells cigars, the worst cigars 
 that ever mortal man gave threepence 
 for. 
 
 Up to this point, I say, I have had 
 a right to accompany the fat lady and 
 Miss Runt ; but whether, on arriving
 
 A~ SHABBY GENTEEL STORY". 
 
 49 
 
 at Mr. Fincham's, they turned to the 
 left, in the direction of the " Royal 
 Hotel," or to the right, by the beach, 
 the bathing-machines, and queer rick- 
 ety old row of houses, called Buenos 
 Ayres, no power on earth shall induce 
 me to say ; suffice it, they went to 
 Mrs. Gann's. Why should we set 
 all the world gadding to a particular 
 street, to know where that lady lives 7 
 They arrived before that lady's house 
 at about eight o'clock. Every house 
 in the street had bills on it except 
 hers (bitter mockery, as if anybody 
 came down at Easter!) and at Mrs. 
 Gann's house there was a light in the 
 garret, and another in the two-pair 
 front. I believe I have not mentioned 
 before, that all the front windows were 
 bow or bay windows ; but so much 
 the reader may know. 
 
 The two ladies, who had walked so 
 far, examined wistfully the plate on 
 the door, stood on the steps for a 
 short time, retreated, and conversed 
 with one another. 
 
 " O Runty ! " said the stouter of 
 the two, " he 's here, I know he 's 
 here, mong cure le dee, my heart 
 tells me so." And she put a large 
 hand upon a place on her left side, 
 where there once had been a waist. 
 
 " Do you think he looks front or 
 back, dear 7 " asked Runt. " P'raps 
 he 's not at home." 
 
 "That that's his croisy," said 
 the stout person ; " I know it is " ; 
 and she pointed with instinctive jus- 
 tice to the two-pair. " Ecouty ! " she 
 added, " he 's coming ; there 's some 
 one at that window. 0, mong jew, 
 mong jew ! e'est Andre, c'est lui ! " 
 
 The moon was shining full on the 
 face of the bow-windows of Mrs. 
 Gann's house ; and the two fair spies, 
 who were watching on the other side, 
 were, in consequence, completely in 
 shadow. As the lady said, a dark 
 form was seen in the two-pair front ; 
 it paced the room for a while, for no 
 blinds were drawn. It then flung 
 itself on a chair ; its head on its 
 hands ; it then began to beat its 
 brows wildly, and paced the room 
 
 j again. Ah ! how the fat lady's heart 
 throbbed as she looked at all'this! 
 
 She gave a piercing shriek, al- 
 most fainted ! and little Runt's knees 
 trembled under her, as with all her 
 might she supported, or rather pushed 
 up, the falling figure of her stout 
 patroness, who saw at that instant 
 Fitch come to the candle with an im- 
 mense pistol in his hand, and give a 
 most horrible grin as he looked at it, 
 and clasped it to his breast. 
 
 " Unhand me, Runt ; he 's going 
 to kill himself ! It 's for me ! I 
 know it is I will go to him ! An- 
 drea, my Andrea ! " And the fat la- 
 dy was pushing for the opposite side 
 of the way, when suddenly the sec- 
 ond-floor window went clattering up, 
 and Fitch's pale head was thrust out. 
 He had heard a scream, and had 
 possibly been induced to open the 
 window in consequence ; but by the 
 time he had opened it he had forgot- 
 i ten everything, and put his head va- 
 cantly out of the window, and gazed, 
 the moon shining cold on his pale 
 features. 
 
 " Pallid horb ! " said Fitch, " shall 
 
 I ever see thy light again 7 Will 
 
 another night see me on this hearth, 
 
 or view me, stark and cold, a lifeless 
 
 corpse 7 " He took his pistol up, and 
 
 slowly aimed it at a chimney-pot op- 
 
 j posite. Fancy the fat lady's sensa- 
 
 j tions, as she beheld her lover stand- 
 
 ! ing in the moonlight, and exercising 
 
 this deadly weapon. 
 
 " Make ready present fire ! " 
 shouted Fitch, and did instantaneous- 
 ly, not fire off', but lower his weapon. 
 " The bolt of death is sped ! " contin- 
 ued he, clapping his hand on his side. 
 " The poor painter's life is over ! Car- 
 oline, Caroline, I die for thee ! " 
 
 " Runt, Runt, I told you so ! " 
 shrieked the fat lady. " He is dying 
 for me, and Caroline 's my second 
 name." 
 
 What the fat lady would have done 
 more, I can't say ; for Fitch, disturbed 
 out of his revery by her talking be- 
 low, looked out, frowning vacantly, 
 and saying, " Ulloh ! we 've hinter-
 
 50 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 lopers 'ere ! " suddenly banged down 
 the window, and pulled down the 
 blinds. 
 
 This gave a check to the fat lady's 
 projected rush, and disconcerted her 
 a little. But she was consoled by 
 Miss Runt, who promised to return on 
 the morrow, and went home happy 
 in the idea that her Andrea was faith- 
 ful to her. 
 
 Alas, poor fat lady ! little did you 
 know the truth. It was Caroline 
 Gann Fitch was raving about ; and 
 it was a part of his last letter to her, 
 to be delivered after his death, that he 
 was spouting out of the window. 
 
 Was the crazy painter going to 
 fight a duel, or was he going to kill 
 himself? This will be explained in 
 the next chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WHICH TRKAT8 OF WAR AND LOVE, 
 AND MANY THINGS THAT ARE 
 NOT TO BE UNDERSTOOD IN CHAP. 
 VII. 
 
 FITCH'S verses, inserted in a pre- 
 vious chapter of this story (and of 
 which lines, by the way, the printer 
 managed to make still greater non- 
 sense than the ingenious bard ever 
 designed), had been composed many 
 years before ; and it was with no 
 small trouble and thought that the 
 young painter called the greater part 
 of them to memory again, and fur- 
 bished up a copy for Caroline's album. 
 Unlike the love of most men, Andrea's 
 passion was not characterized by 
 jealousy and watchfulness, otherwise 
 he would not have failed to perceive 
 certain tokens of intelligence passing 
 from time to time between Caroline 
 and Brandon, and the lady's evident 
 coldness to himself. The fact is, the 
 painter was in love with being in love, 
 entirely absorbed in the considera- 
 tion of the fact that he, Andrea Fitch, 
 was at last enamored ; and he did 
 not mind his mistress much more 
 
 than Don Quixote did Dulcinea del 
 Toboso. 
 
 Having rubbed up his verses, then, 
 and designed a pretty emblematical 
 outline which was to surround them, 
 representing an arabesque of violets, 
 dewdrops, fairies, and other objects, he 
 came down one morning, drawing in 
 hand ; and having informed Caroline, 
 who was sitting very melancholy in the 
 parlor, preoccupied, with a pale face 
 and red eyes, and not caring twopence 
 for the finest drawing in the world, 
 
 having informed her that he was 
 going to make in her halbum a hum- 
 ble hoffering of his hart, poor Fitch 
 was just on the point of sticking in 
 the drawing with gum, as painters 
 know very well how to do, when his 
 eye lighted upon a page of the album, 
 in which nestled a few dried violets 
 and his own verses, signed with 
 the name of George Brandon. 
 
 " Miss Caroline, Miss Gann, 
 mam ! " shrieked Fitch, in a tone of 
 voice which made the young lady 
 start out of a profound revery, and 
 cry nervously, " What in heaven 
 is the matter ? " 
 
 " These verses, madam, a faded 
 violet, word for word, gracious 
 'eavens ! every word ! " roared Fitch, 
 advancing with the book. 
 
 She looked at him rather vacantly, 
 and as the violets caught her eye, put 
 out her hand, and took them. " Do 
 you know the hawthor, Miss Gann, 
 of ' The faded Violets ' 1 " 
 
 " Author 1 O yes ; they are 
 
 they are George's ! " She burst 
 into tears as she said that word ; and, 
 pulling the little faded flowers to 
 pieces, went sobbing out of the room. 
 
 Dear, dear little Caroline ! she lias 
 only been in love two months, and is 
 already beginning to feel the woes of 
 it ! 
 
 It cannot be from want of experi- 
 ence, for I have felt the noble pas- 
 sion of love many times these forty 
 years, since I was a boy of twelve ( by 
 which the reader may form a pretty 
 good guess of my age), it cannot 
 be, I say, from want of experience
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 51 
 
 fhat I am unable to describe, step by 
 step, the progress of a love-affair ; 
 nay, I am perfectly certain that I 
 could, if I chose, make a most aston- 
 ishing and heart-rending liber anioris ; 
 but, nevertheless, I always feel a vast 
 repugnance to the following out of 
 a subject of this kind, which I attrib- 
 ute to a natural diffidence and sense 
 of shame that prevent me from enlar- 
 ging on a theme that has in it some- 
 thing sacred, certain arcana which 
 an honest man, although initiated 
 into them, should not divulge. 
 
 If such coy scruples and blushing 
 delicacy prevent one from passing the 
 threshold even of an honorable love, 
 and setting down, at so many guineas 
 or shillings per page, the pious emo- 
 tions and tendernesses of two persons 
 chastely and legally engaged in sigh- 
 ing, ogling, hand-squeezing, kissing, 
 and so forth (for with such outward 
 signs I believe that the passion of 
 love is expressed), if a man feel, I 
 say, squeamish about describing an 
 innocent love, he is doubly disinclined 
 to describe a guilty one ; and I have 
 always felt a kind of loathing for the 
 skill of such geniuses as Rousseau or 
 Richardson, who could paint with 
 such painful accuracy all the struggles 
 and woes of Eloise and Clarissa, 
 all the wicked arts and triumphs of 
 such scoundrels as Lovelace. 
 
 We have in this history a scoun- 
 drelly Lovelace in the person going 
 by the name of George Brandon, and 
 a dear, tender, innocent, yielding 
 creature on whom he is practising his 
 infernal skill ; and whether the public 
 feel any sympathy for her or not, the 
 writer can only say, for his part, that 
 he heartily loves and respects poor 
 little Caroline, and is quite unwilling 
 to enter into any of the slow, painful, 
 wicked details of the courtship which 
 passed between her and her lover. 
 
 Not that there was any wickedness 
 on her side, poor girl ! or that she did 
 anything but follow the natural and 
 beautiful impulses of an honest little 
 female heart, that leads it to trust 
 and love, and worship a being of the 
 
 other sex, whom the eager fancy in- 
 vests with all sorts of attributes of 
 superiority. There was no wild, 
 conceited tale that Brandon told 
 Caroline which she did not believe, 
 no virtue which she could conceive or 
 had read of in novels with which 
 she did not endow him. Many long 
 talks had they, and. many sweet, 
 stolen interviews, during the periods 
 in which Caroline's father and moth- 
 er were away making merry at the 
 house of their son-in-law ; and while 
 she was left under the care of her 
 virtue and of Becky the maid. In- 
 deed, it was a blessing that the latter 
 was left in the joint guardianship. 
 For Becky, who had such an absurd 
 opinion of her young lady's merits as 
 to fancy that she was a fit wife for 
 any gentleman of the land, and that 
 any gentleman might be charmed and 
 fall in love with her, had some in- 
 stinct, or possibly some experience, as 
 to the passions and errors of youth, 
 and warned Caroline accordingly. 
 " If he 's really in love, Miss, and I 
 think he be, he '11 marry you ; if he 
 won't marry you, he 's a rascal, aad 
 you 're too good for him, and must 
 have nothing to do with him." To 
 which Caroline replied, that she was 
 sure Mr. Brandon was the most an- 
 gelic, high-principled of human be- 
 ings, and that she was sure his in- 
 tentions were of the most honorable 
 description. 
 
 We have before described what Mr. 
 Brandon's character was. He was 
 not a man of honorable intentions at 
 all. But he was a gentleman of so 
 excessively eager a temperament, that 
 if properly resisted by a practised 
 coquette, or by a woman of strong 
 principles, he would sacrifice anything 
 to obtain his ends, nay, marry to 
 obtain them ; and, considering his 
 disposition, it is only a wonder that 
 he had not been married a great num- 
 ber of times already ; for he had been 
 in love perpetually since his seven- 
 teenth year. By which the reader 
 may pretty well appreciate the virtue 
 or the prudence of the ladies with
 
 52 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY, 
 
 whom hitherto our inflammable young 
 gentleman had had to do. 
 
 The fruit, then, of all his stolen in- 
 terviews, of all his prayers, vows, and 
 protestations to Caroline, had been 
 only this, that she loved him ; but 
 loved him as an honest girl should, 
 and was ready to go to the altar with 
 him when he chose. He talked about 
 his family, his peculiar circumstances, 
 liis proud father's curse. Little Caro- 
 line only sighed, and said her dearest 
 George must wait until he could ob- 
 tain his parent's consent. When 
 pressed harder, she would burst into 
 tears, and wonder how one so good 
 and affectionate as he could propose 
 to her anything unworthy of them 
 both. It is clear to see that the 
 young lady had read a vast number 
 of novels, and knew something of the 
 nature of love ; and that she had a 
 good principle and honesty of her 
 own, which set her lover's schemes at 
 naught : indeed, she had both these 
 advantages, her education, such as 
 it was, having given her the one, and 
 her honest nature having endowed 
 her with the other. 
 
 On the day when Fitch came down 
 to Caroline with his verses, Brandon j 
 had pressed these unworthy propo- 
 sitions upon her. She had torn her- 
 self violently away from him, and 
 rushed to the door; but the poor little 
 thing fell before she could reach it, | 
 screaming in a fit of hysterics, which '. 
 brought Becky to her aid, and caused 
 Brandon to leave her, abashed. He ] 
 went out ; she watched him go, and 
 stole up into his room, and laid on ( 
 his table the iirst letter she had ever 
 written to him. It was written in 
 pencil, in a trembling, school-girl 
 hand, and contained simply the fol- 
 lowing words : 
 
 " George, you have almost broken 
 my heart. Leave me if you will, and 
 if you dare not act like an honest man. 
 It' ever you speak to me so again as 
 you did this morning, I declare 
 solemnly before Heaven, I will take 
 poison. C." 
 
 Indeed, the poor thing had read ro- 
 mances to some purpose ; without 
 them, it is probable she never would 
 have thought of such a means of es- 
 cape from a lover's persecutions ; and 
 there was something in the girl's 
 character that made Brandon feel 
 sure that she would keep her promise. 
 How the words agitated him ! He 
 felt a violent mixture of raging dis- 
 appointment and admiration, and 
 loved the girl ten thousand times 
 more than ever. 
 
 Mr. Brandon had scarcely finished 
 the reading of this document, and was 
 yet agitated by the various passions 
 which the perusal of it created, when 
 the door of his apartment was violent- 
 ly flung open, and some one came in. 
 Brandon started, and turned round, 
 with a kind of dread that Caroline 
 had already executed her threat, and 
 that a messenger was come to inform 
 him of her death. Mr. Andrea Fitch 
 was the intruder. His hat was on, 
 his eyes were glaring; and if tho 
 beards of men did stand on end any- 
 where but in poems and romances, 
 his, no doubt, would have formed 
 round his countenance a bristling 
 auburn halo. As it was, Fitch only 
 looked astonishingly fierce, as he 
 stalked up to the table, his hands be- 
 hind his back. When he had arrived 
 at this harrier between himself and 
 Brandon, he stopped, and, speechless, 
 stared that gentleman in the face. 
 
 "May I beg, Mr. Fitch, to know 
 what has procured me the honor of 
 this visit ? " exclaimed Mr. Brandon, 
 after a brief pause of wonder. 
 
 " Honor ! ha, ha, ha ! " growted 
 Mr. Fitch, in a most sardonic, dis- 
 cordant way, " honor ! " 
 
 " Well, sir, honor or no honor, I 
 can tell you, my good man, it cer- 
 tainly is no pleasure ! " said Brandon, 
 testily. "In plain English, then, 
 what the devil has brought you 
 here ? " 
 
 Fitch plumped the album down on 
 the table close to Mr. Brandon's nose, 
 and said, " That has brought me, sir, 
 that halbum, sir ; or, I ask your
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 pardon, that a album ha, ha, 
 ha !" 
 
 " O, I see ! " said Mr. Brandon, 
 who could not refrain from a smile. 
 " It was a cruel trick of mine, Fitch, 
 to rob you of your verses ; but all 's 
 fair in love," 
 
 " Fitch, sir ! don't Fitch me, sir ! 
 I wish to be hintimate honly with 
 men of h-honor, not with forgers, sir ; 
 not with 'artless miscreants ! Mis- 
 creants, sir, I repeat ; vipers, sir ; 
 b-b-b-blackguards, sir ! " 
 
 " Blackguards, sir ! " roared Mr. 
 Brandon, bouncing up; "blackguards, 
 you dirty cockney mountebank ! 
 Quit the room, sir, or I '11 fling you 
 out of the window ! " 
 
 " Will you, sir ? try, sir ; I wish 
 you may get it, sir. I 'm a hartist, 
 sir, and as good a man as you. Mis- 
 creant, forger, traitor, come on ! " 
 
 And Mr. Brandon would have 
 come on, but for a circumstance that 
 deterred him ; and this was that Mr. 
 Fitch drew from his bosom a long, 
 sharp, shining, waving poniard of the 
 middle ages, that formed a part of his 
 artistical properties, and with which 
 he had armed himself for this en- 
 counter. 
 
 " Come on, sir ! " shrieked Fitch, 
 brandishing this fearful weapon. 
 " Lay a finger on me, and I bury this 
 blade in your treacherous 'art. Ha ! 
 do you tremble ? " 
 
 Indeed, the aristocratic Mr. Bran- 
 don turned somewhat pale. 
 
 " Well, well," said he, " what do 
 you want 7 Do you suppose I am to 
 be bullied by your absurd melodra- 
 matic airs ! It was, after all, but a 
 joke, sir, and I am sorry that it has 
 offended you. Can I say more ? 
 what shall I do ? " 
 
 " You shall hapologize ; not only 
 to me, sir, but you shall tell Miss 
 Caroline, in my presence, that you 
 stole those verses from me, and used 
 them quite unauthorized by me." 
 
 " Look you, Mr. Fitch, I will 
 make you another set of verses quite 
 as good, if you like ; but what you 
 ask is impossible." 
 
 " I will 'asten myself, then, to 
 Miss Caroline, and acquaint her with 
 your dastardly forgery, sin I will 
 hopen her hcyes, sir ! " 
 
 " You may hopen her heyes, as you 
 call them, if you please : but I tell 
 you fairly, that the young lady will 
 credit me rather than you ; and if 
 you swear ever so much that the 
 verses are yours, I must say that " 
 
 " Say what, sir? " 
 
 " Say that you lie, sir ! " said Mr. 
 Brandon, stamping on the ground. 
 " I '11 make you other verses, I re- 
 peat ; but this is all I can do, and 
 now go about your business ! " 
 
 " Curse your verses, sir ! liar and 
 forger yourself ! Hare you a coward 
 as well, sir ? A coward ! yes, I be- 
 lieve you are ; or will you meet me 
 to-morrow morning like a man, and 
 give me satisfaction for this hinfa- 
 mous hinsult 1 " 
 
 " Sir," said Mr. Brandon, with the 
 utmost stateliness and scorn, " if you 
 wish to murder me as you do the 
 King's English, I won't balk you. Al- 
 though a man of my rank is not called 
 upon to meet a blackguard of your 
 condition, I will, nevertheless, grant 
 
 Sm your will. But have a care ; by 
 eavens, I won't spare you, and I 
 can hit an ace of hearts at twenty 
 paces ! " 
 
 " Two can play at that," said Mr. 
 Fitch, calmly ; " and if I can't hit a 
 hace of 'arts at twenty paces, I can 
 hit a man at twelve, and to-morrow 
 I '11 try." With which, giving Mr. 
 Brandon a look of the highest con- 
 tempt, the young painter left the 
 room. 
 
 What were Mr. Brandon's thoughts 
 as his antagonist left him ? Strange 
 to say, rather agreeable. He had 
 much too great a contempt for Fitch 
 to suppose that so low a fellow should 
 ever think seriously of fighting him, 
 and reasoned with himself thus: 
 
 " This Fitch, I know, will go off 
 to Caroline, tell her the whole trans- 
 action, frighten her with the tale of a 
 duel, and then she and I shall have a 
 scene. I will tell her the truth about
 
 54 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 those infernal verses, menace death, 
 blood, and danger, and then " 
 
 Here he fell back into a charming 
 revery ; the wily fellow knew what 
 power such a circumstance would give 
 him over a poor weak girl, who would 
 do anything rather than that her be- 
 loved should risk his life. And with 
 this dastardly speculation as to the 
 price he should ask for refraining from 
 meeting Fitch, he was entertaining 
 himself; when, much to his annoy- 
 ance, that gentleman again came into 
 the room. 
 
 " Mr. Brandon," said he, " you 
 have insulted me in the grossest and 
 crudest way." 
 
 " Well, sir, are you come to apolo- 
 gize "? " said Brandon, sneeringly. 
 
 " No, I 'm not come to apologize, 
 Mr. Aristocrat ; it 's past that. I 'm 
 come to say this, sir, that I take you 
 for a coward ; and that, unless you 
 will give me your solemn word of 
 honor not to mention a word of this 
 quarrel to Miss Gann, which might 
 prevent our meeting, I will never 
 leave you till we do right ! " 
 
 " This is outrageous, sir ! Leave 
 the room, or by Heavens I '11 not 
 meet you at all ! " 
 
 " Heasy, sir ; easy, I beg your par- 
 don, I can force you to that ! " 
 
 " And how, pray, sir ? " 
 
 " Why, in the first place, here 's a 
 stick, and I '11 'orsewhip you ; and 
 here are a pair of pistols, and we can 
 fight now ! " 
 
 " Well, sir, I give you my honor," 
 said Mr. Brandon, in a diabolical 
 rage ; and added, " I '11 meet you to- 
 morrow, not now ; and you need not 
 be afraid that I '11 miss you ! " 
 
 " Hadew, sir," said the chivalrous 
 little Fitch; "bon giorno, sir, as we 
 used to say at Rome." And so, for 
 the second time, he left Mr. Brandon, 
 who did not like very well the ex- 
 traordinary courage he had displayed. 
 
 " What the deuce has exasperated 
 the fellow so ? " thought Brandon. 
 
 Why, in the first place, he had 
 crossed Fitch in love ; and, in the 
 second, he had sneered at his pronun- 
 
 ciation and his gentility, and Fitch'a 
 little soul was in a fury which noth- 
 ing but blood would allay : he was 
 determined, for the sake of his hart 
 and his lady, to bring this proud 
 champion down. 
 
 So Brandon was at last left to hig 
 cogitations ; when, confusion ! about 
 five o'clock came another knock at 
 his door. 
 
 " Come in ! " growled the owner of 
 the lodgings. 
 
 A sallow, blear-eyed, rickety, un- 
 dersized creature, tottering upon a 
 pair of high-heeled lackered boots, 
 and supporting himself upon an im- 
 mense gold-knobbed cane, entered the 
 room with his hat on one side and a 
 jaunty air. It was a white hat with 
 a broad brim, and under it fell a 
 great deal of greasy, lank hair that 
 shrouded the cheek-bones of the wear- 
 er. The little man had no beard to 
 his chin, appeared about twenty years 
 of age, and might weigh, stick and 
 all, some seven stone. If you wish to 
 know how this exquisite was dressed, 
 I have the pleasure to inform you 
 that he wore a great sky-blue em- 
 broidered satin stock, in the which 
 figured a carbuncle that looked like a 
 lambent gooseberry. He had a shawl 
 waistcoat of many colors ; a pair of 
 loose blue trousers, neatly strapped 
 to show his little feet ; a brown cut- 
 away coat with brass buttons that fit- 
 ted tight round a spider waist ; and 
 over all a white or drab surtout with 
 a sable collar and cuffs, from which 
 latter on each hand peeped five little 
 fingers covered with lemon-colored 
 kid gloves. One of these hands he 
 held constantly to his Httle chest : and 
 with a hoarse, thin voice, he piped 
 out : 
 
 " George my buck ! how goes it ? " 
 
 We have been thus particular in 
 our description of the costume of this 
 individual (whose inward man strong- 
 ly corresponded with his manly and 
 agreeable exterior), because he was 
 the person whom Mr. Brandon most 
 respected in the world. 
 
 " CINQBAKS ! " exclaimed our hero ;
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 55 
 
 "why, what the deuce has brought 
 you to Margate ? " 
 
 " Fwendship, my old cock ! " said 
 the Honorable Augustus Frederick 
 Ringwood, commonly called Viscount 
 Cinqbars, for indeed it was he. 
 "Fwendship and the City of Canter- 
 buwy steamer!" and herewith his 
 Lordship held out his right-hand fore- 
 finger to Brandon, who enclosed it 
 most cordially in all his. " Wath n't 
 it good of me, now, George, to come 
 down and conthole you in thith 
 curthed, thtupid place, hay now ? " 
 said my Lord, after these salutations. 
 
 Brandon swore he was very glad 
 to see him, which was very true, for 
 he had no sooner set his eyes upon 
 his Lordship, than he had determined 
 to borrow as much money from him 
 as ever he could induce the young 
 nobleman to part with. 
 
 " I '11 tell you how it wath, my 
 boy; you thee I was thtopping at 
 Long'th, when I found, by Jove, that 
 the governor wath come to town ! 
 Cuth me if I did n't meet the infarnal 
 old family dwag, with my mother, 
 thithterth, and all, ath I wath dwiv- 
 ing a hack-cab with Polly Tomkinth 
 in the Pawk ! Tho when I got home, 
 'Hang it!' thayth I to Tufthunt, 
 ' Tom my boy,' thaith I, ' I 've just 
 theen the governor, and must be off! ' 
 'What, back to Ockthford 1 ?' thaith 
 Tom. ' No,' thaith I, ' that won't do. 
 Abroad to Jewicho anywhere. 
 Egad, I have it ! I '11 go down to 
 Margate and thee old George, that I 
 will.' And tho off I caiHe the very 
 next day ; and here I am, and therein 
 dinner waiting for uth at the hotel, 
 and thixth bottleth of champagne in 
 ithe, and thum thalmon : tho you 
 mutht come." 
 
 To this proposition Mr. Brandon 
 readily agreed, being glad enough of 
 the prospect of a good dinner and 
 some jovial society, for he was low 
 and disturbed in spirits, and so prom- 
 ised to dine with his friend at the 
 " Sun." 
 
 The two gentlemen conversed for 
 some time longer. Mr. Brandon was 
 
 a shrewd fellow, and knew perfectly 
 well a fact of which, no doubt, the 
 reader has a notion, namely, that 
 Lord Cinqbars was a ninny; but, 
 nevertheless, Brandon esteemed him 
 highly as a lord. We pardon stupid- 
 ity in lords ; nature or instinct, how- 
 ever sarcastic a man may be among 
 ordinary persons, renders him towards 
 men of quality benevolently blind : a 
 divinity hedges not only the king, 
 but the whole peerage. 
 
 "That's the girl, I suppose," said 
 my Lord, knowingly winking at 
 Brandon : " that little pale girl, who 
 let me in, I mean. A nice little filly, 
 upon my honor, Georgy my buck ! " 
 
 " Oh that yes I wrote, I 
 think, something about her," said 
 Brandon, blushing slightly ; for, in- 
 deed, he now began to wish that his 
 friend should make no comments 
 upon a young lady with whom he 
 was so much in love. 
 
 " I suppose it 's all up now ? " con- 
 tinued my Lord, looking still more 
 knowing. " All over with her, hay ? I 
 saw it was by her looks, in a minute." 
 
 " Indeed you do me a great deal 
 too much honor. Miss ah Miss 
 Gann is a very respectable young per- 
 son, and I would not for the world 
 have you to suppose that I would do 
 anything that should the least injure 
 her character." 
 
 At this speech, Lord Cinqbars was 
 at first much puzzled ; but, in con- 
 sidering it, was fully convinced that 
 Brandon was a deeper dog than ever. 
 Boiling with impatience to know the 
 particulars of this delicate intrigue, 
 this canning diplomatist determined 
 he would pump the whole story out 
 of Brandon by degrees ; and so, in 
 the course of half an hour's conver- 
 sation that the young men had to- 
 gether, Cinqbars did not make less 
 than forty allusions to the subject 
 that interested him. At last Brandon 
 cut him short rather haughtily, by 
 begging that he would make no 
 further allusions to the subject, as it 
 was one that was excessively dis 
 agreeable to him.
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 In fact there was no mistake about 
 it now. George Brandon was in love 
 with Caroline. He felt that he was 
 while he blushed at his friend's allud- 
 ing to her, while he grew indignant 
 at the young lord's coarse banter 
 about her. 
 
 Turning the conversation to another 
 point, he asked Cinqbars about his 
 voyage, and whether he had brought 
 any companion with him to Margate ; 
 whereupon my Lord related all his 
 feats in London, how he had been to 
 the watch-house, how many bottles of 
 champagne he had drunk, how he 
 had "milled" a policeman, &c., &c. ; 
 and he concluded by saying that he 
 had come down with Tom Tufthunt, 
 who was at the inn at that very mo- 
 ment smoking a cigar. 
 
 This did not increase Brandon's 
 goo l-humor ; and when Cinqbars 
 mentioned his friend's name, Brandon 
 saluted it mentally with a hearty 
 curse. These two gentlemen hated 
 each other of old. Tui'thunt was a 
 small-college man of no family, with 
 a foundation fellowship ; and it used 
 to be considered that a sporting fel- 
 low of a small college was a sad, 
 raffish, disreputable character. Tuft- 
 hunt, then, was a vulgar fellow, and 
 Brandon a gentleman, so they hat- 
 ed each other. They were both 
 toadies of the same nobleman, so they 
 hated each other. They had had some 
 quarrel at college about a disputed 
 bet, which Brandon knew he owed, 
 and so thoy hated each other ; and 
 in their words about it Brandon had 
 threatened to horsewhip Tufthunt, and 
 called him a " sneaking, swindling, 
 small -college snob"; and so little 
 T ut'thtint, who had not resented the 
 words, hated Brandon far more than 
 Brandon hated him. The latter only 
 had a contempt for his rival, and 
 voted him a profound bore and vul- 
 garian. 
 
 So, although Mr. Tufthunt did not 
 choose to frequent Mr. Brandon's 
 rooms, he was very anxious that his 
 friend, the young lord, should not fall 
 into his old bear-leader's hands again, 
 
 and came down to Margate to coun- 
 teract any influence which the arts of 
 Brandon might acquire. 
 
 " Curse the fellow ! " thought Tuft- 
 hunt in his heart (there was a fine 
 reciprocity of curses between the two 
 men) ; " he has drawn Cinqbars al- 
 ready for fifty pounds a year, and 
 will have some half of his last remit- 
 tance, if I don't keep a lookout, the 
 swindling thief ! " 
 
 And so frightened was Tufthunt 
 at the notion of Brandon's return to 
 power and dishonest use of it, that he 
 was at the time on the point of writ- 
 ing to Lord Ringwood to tell him of 
 his son's doings, only he wanted some 
 money deucedly himself. Of Mr. 
 Tufthunt's physique and history it is 
 necessary merely to say, that he was 
 the son of a country attorney who was 
 agent to a lord ; he had been sent to 
 a foundation-school, where he distin- 
 guished himself for ten years, by fight- 
 ing and being flogged more than any 
 boy of the five hundred. From the 
 foundation-school he went to college 
 with an exhibition, which was succeed- 
 ed by a fellowship, which was to end in 
 a living. In his person Mr. Tufthunt 
 was short and bow-legged ; he wore a 
 sort of clerico-sporting costume con- 
 sisting of a black straight-cut coat and 
 light drab breeches, with a vast number 
 of buttons at the ankles ; a sort of 
 dress much affectioned by sporting 
 gentlemen of the University in the 
 author's time. 
 
 Well, Brandon said he had some 
 letters to write, and promised to follow 
 his friend, which he did ; but, if the 
 truth must be told, so infatuated was 
 the young man become with his pas- 
 sion, with the resistance he had met 
 with, and so nervous from the vari- 
 ous occurrences of the morning, that 
 he passed the half-hour during which 
 he was free from Cinqbars's society in 
 kneeling, imploring, weeping at Caro- 
 line's little garret-door, which had re- 
 mained piteously closed to him. He 
 was wild with disappointment, morti- 
 fication mad, longing to see her. 
 The cleverest coquette in Europe
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 57 
 
 could not have so inflamed him. 
 His first act on entering the dinner- 
 room was to drink off a large tumbler 
 of champagne ; and when Cinqbars, 
 in his elegant way, began to rally him 
 upon his wildness, Mr. Brandon only 
 growled and cursed with frightful 
 vehemency, and applied again to the 
 bottle. His face, which had been 
 quite white, grew a bright red ; his 
 tongue, which had been tied, began to 
 chatter vehemently ; before the fish | 
 was off the table, Mr. Brandon 
 showed strong symptoms of intoxica- 
 tion : before the dessert appeared, Mr. 
 Tufthunt, winking knowingly to 
 Lord Cinqbars, had begun to draw 
 him out ; and Brandon, with a num- 
 ber of shrieks and oaths, was narrat- 
 ing the history of his attachment. 
 
 " Look you, Tufthunt," said he, 
 wildly ; " hang you, I hate you but I 
 must talk ! I 've been, for two months 
 now, in this cursed hole ; in a rick- 
 ety lodging, with a vulgar family ; 
 as vulgar, by Jove, as you are your- 
 self ! " 
 
 Mr. Tufthunt did not like this style 
 of address half so much as Lord Cinq- 
 bars, who was laughing immoderately, 
 and to whom Tufrhunt whispered 
 rather sheepishly, " Pooh, pooh, he 's 
 drunk ! " 
 
 " Drunk ! no, sir," yelled out Bran- 
 don ; " I 'm mad, though, with the 
 prudery of a little devil of fifteen, who 
 has cost me more trouble than it 
 would take me to seduce every one of 
 your sisters, ha, ha ! every one of 
 the Miss Tufthunts, by Jove ! Miss 
 Suky Tufthunt, Miss Dolly Tufthunt, 
 Miss Anna-Maria Tufthunt, and the 
 whole bunch. Come, sir, don't sit 
 scowling at me, or I '11 brain you with 
 the decanter." (Tufthunt was down 
 again on the sofa.) "I 've borne 
 with the girl's mother, and her fa- 
 ther, and her sisters, and a cook in the 
 house, and a scoundrel of a painter, 
 that I 'm going to fight about her ; 
 and for what ? why, for a letter, 
 which says, ' George, I '11 kill myself ! 
 George, I '11 kill myself! ' ha, ha ! 
 a little devil like that killing herself, 
 3* 
 
 ha, ha ! and I I who who 
 adore her, who am mad for " 
 
 " Mad I believe he is," said Tuft- 
 hunt ; and at this moment Mr. Bran- 
 don was giving the most unequivocal 
 signs of madness ; he plunged his 
 head into the corner of the sofa, and 
 was kicking his feet violently into the 
 cushions. 
 
 " You don't understand him, Tufty 
 my boy," said Lord Cinqbars, with a 
 very superior air. " You ain't up to 
 these things, I tell you ; and I suspect, 
 by Jove, that you never were in love 
 in your life. 1 know what it is, sir. 
 And as for Brandon, Heaven bless 
 you ! I 've often seen him in that way 
 when we were abroad. When he has 
 an intrigue, he 's mad about it. Let 
 me see, there was the Coun less Fritzch, 
 at Baden-Baden ; there was the 
 woman at Pau ; and that girl 
 at Paris, was it ? no, at Vienna. 
 He went on just so about them all ; 
 but I '11 tell you what, when we do 
 the thing, we do it easier, my boy, 
 hay 1 " 
 
 And so saying, my Lord cocked up 
 his little sallow, beardless face into a 
 grin, and then fell to eying a glass 
 of execrable claret across a candle. 
 An intrigue, as he called it, was the 
 little creature's delight ; and until 
 the time should arrive when he could 
 have one himself, he loved to talk of 
 those of his friends. 
 
 As for Tufthunt, we may fancy 
 how that gentleman's previous affec- 
 tion for Brandon was increased by 
 the latter's brutal addresses to him. 
 Brandon continued to drink and to 
 talk, though not always in the senti- 
 mental way in which he had spoken 
 about his loves and injuries. Grow- 
 ing presently madly jocose as he had 
 before been madly melancholy, he 
 narrated to the two gentlemen the 
 particulars of his quarrel with Fitch, 
 mimicking the little painter's man- 
 ner in an excessively comic way, and 
 giving the most ludicrous account of 
 his person, kept his companions in a 
 roar of laughter. Cinqbars swore 
 that he would see the fun in the
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 morning:, and agreed that if the paint- 
 er wanted a second, either he or Tuft- 
 hunt would act for him. 
 
 Now my Lord Cinqbars had an 
 excessively clever servant, a merry 
 rogue, whom he had discovered in 
 the humble capacity of scout's assist- 
 ant at Christchurch, and raised to be 
 his valet. The chief duties of the 
 valet were to black his lord's beauti- 
 ful boots, that we have admired so 
 much, and put his Lordship to bed 
 when overtaken with liquor. lie 
 heard every word of the young men's 
 talk ( it being his habit, much encour- 
 aged by his master, to join occasion- 
 ally in the conversation) ; and in the 
 course of the night, when at supper 
 with Monsieur Donnerwetter and 
 Mdlle. Augustine, he related every 
 word of the talk above stairs, mimick- 
 ing Brandon quite as cleverly as the 
 latter had mimicked Fitch. When 
 then, after making his company laugh 
 by . .escribing Brandon's love-agonies, 
 M.r. Tom informed them how that 
 gentleman had a rival, with whom he 
 was going to fight a duel the next 
 morning, an artist-fellow with an 
 immense beard, whose name was 
 Fitch, to his surprise Mdlle. Augus- 
 tine burst into a scream of laughter, 
 and exclaimed, " Feesh, Feesh ! c'est 
 noire homme ; it is our man, sare ! 
 Saladin, remember you Mr. Fish? " 
 
 Saladin said gravely, " Missa Fis, 
 Missa Fis ! know 'um quite well, 
 Missa Fis ! .Painter-man, big beard, 
 pib Saladin bit injy-rubby, Missis lub 
 Missa Fis ! " 
 
 It was too true, the fat lady was the 
 famous MRS. CARRICKFERGUS, and 
 she had come all the way from Rome 
 in pursuit of her adored painter. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WHICH THREATENS DEATH, BTTT COK- 
 TAIXS A GREAT DEAL OF MARRY- 
 IXG. 
 
 As the morrow was to be an event- 
 ful clay in the lives of all the heroes 
 
 and heroines of this history, it will 
 be as well to state how they passed 
 the night previous. Brandon, like 
 the English before the battle of Hast- 
 ings, spent the evening in feasting 
 and carousing ; and Lord Cinqbars, 
 at twelve o'clock, his usual time after 
 his usual quantity of drink, was car- 
 ried up to bed by the servant kept by 
 his Lordship for that purpose. Mr. 
 Tufthunt took this as a hint to wish 
 Brandon good night, at the same 
 time promising that he and Cinqbars 
 would not fail him in the morning 
 about the dueL 
 
 Shall we confess that Mr. Bran- 
 don, whose excitement now began to 
 wear off, and who had a dreadful 
 headache, did not at all relish the idea 
 of the morrow's combat ? 
 
 " If," said he, " I shoot this crack- 
 brained painter, all the world will cry 
 out, ' Murder ! ' If he shoot me, all 
 the world will laugh at me ! And 
 yet, confound him ! he seems so bent 
 upon blood, that there is no escaping 
 a meeting." 
 
 " At any rate," Brandon thought, 
 " there will be no harm in a letter to 
 Caroline." So, on arriving at home, 
 he sat down and wrote a very pathetic 
 one ; saying that he fought in her 
 cause, and if he died, his last breath 
 should be for her. So having written, 
 he jumped into bed, and did not sleep 
 one single wink all night. 
 
 As Brandon passed his night like 
 the English, Fitch went through his 
 like the Normans, in fasting, and 
 mortification, and meditation. The 
 poor fellow likewise indited a letter 
 to Caroline : a very long and strong 
 one, interspersed with pieces of poetry, 
 and containing the words we have 
 just heard him utter out of the win- 
 dow. Then he thought about making 
 his will : but he recollected, and, in- 
 deed, it was a bitter thought to the 
 young man, that there was not one 
 single soul in the wide world who 
 cared for him, except, indeed, 
 thought he, after a pause, that poor 
 Mrs. Carrickfergus at Rome, who did 
 like me, and was the only person who
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 59 
 
 ever bought ray drawings. So he 
 made over all his sketches to her, reg- 
 ulated his little property, found that 
 he had money enough to pay his 
 washerwoman ; and so, having dis- 
 posed of his worldly concerns, Mr. 
 Fitch also jumped into bed, and 
 speedily fell into a deep sleep. 
 Brandon could hear him snoring all 
 night, and did not feel a bit the more 
 comfortable because his antagonist 
 took matters so unconcernedly. 
 
 Indeed, our poor painter had no 
 guilty thoughts in his breast, nor any 
 particular revenge against Brandon, 
 now that the first pangs of mortified 
 vanity were over. But, with all his 
 vagaries, he was a man of spirit ; and 
 after what had passed in the morning, 
 the treason that had been done him, 
 and the insults heaped upon him, he 
 felt that the duel was irrevocable. 
 He had a misty notion, imbibed some- 
 where, that it was the part of a gen- 
 tleman's duty to fight duels, and had 
 long been seeking for an opportunity. 
 " Suppose I do die," said he, 
 " what 's the odds ? Caroline does n't 
 care for me. Dr. Wackerbart's boys 
 won't have their drawing-lesson next 
 Wednesday ; and no more will be 
 said of poor Andrea." 
 
 And now for the garret. Caroline 
 was wrapped up in her own woes, 
 poor little soul ! and in the arms of 
 the faithful Becky cried herself to 
 sleep. But the slow hours passed on ; 
 and the tide, which had been out, 
 now came in ; and the lamps waxed 
 fainter and fainter; and the watch- 
 man cried six o'clock ; and the sun 
 arose and gilded the minarets of Mar- 
 gate ; and Becky got up and scoured 
 the steps, and the kitchen, and made 
 ready the lodgers' breakfasts ; and at 
 half past eight there came a thundering 
 rap at the door, and two gentlemen, 
 one with a mahogany case under his 
 arm, asked for Mr. Brandon, and were 
 shown up to his room by the aston- 
 ished Becky, who was bidden by Mr. 
 Brandon to get breakfast for three. 
 
 The thundering rap awakened Mr. 
 Fitch, who rose and dressed himself 
 
 in his best clothes, gave a twist of 
 the curling-tongs to his beard, and 
 conducted himself throughout with 
 perfect coolness. Nine o'clock struck, 
 and he wrapped his cloak round him, 
 and put under his cloak that pair of 
 foils which we have said he possessed, 
 and did not know in the least how to 
 use. However, he had heard his cam- 
 arades d'atelier, at Paris and Home, 
 say that they were the best weapons 
 for duelling ; and so forth he issued. 
 
 Becky was in the passage as he 
 passed down ; she was always scrub- 
 bing there. " Becky," said Fitch, in 
 a hollow voice, " here is a letter ; if I 
 should not return in half an hour, 
 give it to Miss Gann, and promise on 
 your honor that she shall not have it 
 sooner." Becky promised. She 
 thought the painter was at some of 
 his mad tricks. He went out of the 
 door saluting her gravely. 
 
 But he went only a few steps and 
 came back again. " Becky," said he, 
 "you you've always been a good 
 girl to me, and here 's something for 
 you ; per'aps we sha' n't we sha' n't 
 see each other for some time." Thd 
 tears were in his eyes as he spoke, 
 and he handed her over seven shillings 
 and fourpence halfpenny, being every 
 farthing he possessed in the world. 
 
 " Well, I 'm sure ! " said Becky ; 
 and that was all she said, for she 
 pocketed the money, and fell to 
 scrubbing again. 
 
 Presently the three gentlemen up 
 stairs came clattering down. " Lock 
 bless you, don't be in such a 'urry ! " 
 exclaimed Becky; "it's full herly 
 yet, and the water 's not biling." 
 
 " We '11 come back to breakfast, my 
 dear," said one, a little gentleman in 
 high-heeled boots ; " and, I thay, 
 mind and have thum thoda-water." 
 And he walked out, twirling his cane. 
 His friend with the case followed him. 
 Mr. Brandon came last. 
 
 He too turned back after he had 
 gone a few paces. " Becky," said he, 
 in a grave voice, " if I am not back in 
 half an hour, give that to Miss Gann." 
 
 Becky was fairly flustered by this$
 
 CO 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 and after turning the letters round and 
 round, and peeping into the sides, and 
 looking at the seals very hard, she like 
 a fool determined that she would not 
 wait half an hour, but carry them up 
 to Miss Caroline ; and so she mounted, 
 finding pretty Caroline in the act of 
 lacing her stays. 
 
 And the co'nsequences of Becky's 
 conduct was that little Carry left off 
 lacing her stays (a sweet little figure 
 the poor thing looked in them ; but 
 that is neither here nor there), took 
 the letters, looked at one which she 
 threw down directly; at the other, 
 which she eagerly opened, and having 
 read a line or two, gave a loud scream, 
 and fell down dead in a fainting fit ! 
 ***** 
 
 Waft us, O Muse ! to Mr. Wright's 
 hotel, and quick narrate what chances 
 there befell. Very early in the morn- 
 ing Mdlle. Augustine made her ap- 
 pearance in the apartment of Miss 
 Runt, and with great glee informed 
 that lady of the event which was about 
 to take place. " Figurez-vous, mad- 
 emoiselle, que notre horn me va se 
 battre O, but it will be droll to see 
 him sword in hand ! " 
 
 " Don't plague me with your ojous 
 servants' quarrels, Augustine; that 
 horrid courier is always quarrelling 
 and tipsy." 
 
 " Mon Dieu, qu'elle est bete!" ex- 
 claimed Augustine : " but I tell you it 
 is not the courier ; it is he, 1'objet, le 
 peintre dont inadame s'est amoura- 
 che'e, Monsieur Feesh." 
 
 " Mr. Fitch ! " cried Runt, jumping 
 up in bed. " Mr. Fitch going to fight ! 
 Augustine, my stockings quick, mv 
 fo'je-de-chambre tell me when, how, 
 where { " 
 
 And so Augustine told her that the 
 combat was to take place at nine that 
 morning, behind the Windmill, and 
 that the gentleman with whom Mr. 
 Fitch xvas to go out, had been dining 
 at the hotel the night previous, in 
 company with the little milor, who 
 was to lie his second. 
 
 Quick as lightning flew Runt to 
 the chamber of her patroness. That 
 
 | lady was in a profound sleep ; and I 
 I leave you to imagine what were her 
 sensations on awaking and hearing 
 this dreadful tale. 
 
 Such is the force of love, that al- 
 though, for many years, Mrs. Carrick- 
 fergus had never left her bed before 
 noon, although in all her wild wan- 
 derings after the painter she, never- 
 theless, would have her tea and cut- 
 let in bed, and her dose likewise, be- 
 fore she set forth on a journey, she 
 now started up in an instant", forget- 
 ting her nap, mutton-chops, every- 
 thing, and began dressing with 
 a promptitude which can only be 
 equalled by Harlequin when disguis- 
 ing himself in a pantomime, ohe 
 would have had an attack of ne>ves, 
 only she knew there was no time for 
 it ; and I do believe that twenty min- 
 utes were scarcely over her head, as 
 the saying is, when her bonnet and 
 cloak were on, and with her whole 
 suite, and an inn-waiter or two whom 
 she pressed into her service, she was 
 on full trot to the field of action. For 
 twenty years before, and from that 
 day to this, Marianne Carrickfergus 
 never had or has walked so quickly. 
 * * * * * * 
 
 " Hullo, here 'th a go ! " exclaimed 
 Lord Viscount Cinqbars, as they ar- 
 rived on the ground behind the Wind- 
 mill ; " cuth me there 'th only one 
 man ! " 
 
 This was indeed the case; Mr. Fitch, 
 in his great cloak, was pacing slowly 
 up and down the grass, his shadow 
 stretching far in the sunshine. Mr. 
 Fitch was alone too ; for the fact is, 
 he had never thought about a second. 
 This he admitted frankly, bowing 
 with much majesty to the company 
 as they came up. "But that, gents," 
 said he, "will make no difference, 
 I hope, nor prevent fair play from be- 
 ing done." And, flinging off his 
 clo-)k, he produced the foils, from 
 which the buttons had been taken off. 
 He went tip to Brandon, and was for 
 offering him one of the weapons, just 
 as they do at the theatre. Brandon 
 stepped back, rather abashed : Ciug-
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 bars looked posed; Tufthunt delighted. 
 " Ecod," said he, " I hope the bearded 
 fellow will give it him." 
 
 " Excuse me, sir," said Mr. Bran- 
 don ; " as the challenged party, I de- 
 mand pistols." 
 
 Mr. Fitch, with great presence of 
 mind and gracefulness, stuck the 
 swords into the grass. 
 
 " O, pithtolth of courth," lisped my 
 Lord; and presently called aside 
 Tufthunt, to whom he whispered 
 something in great glee; to which 
 Tufthunt objected at first, saying, 
 
 "No, d him, let him fight." 
 
 "And your fellowship and living, 
 Tufty my boy ? " interposed my Lord ; 
 and then they walked on. After a 
 couple of minutes, during which Mr. 
 Fitch was employed in examining Mr. 
 Brandon from the toe upwards to the 
 crown of his head, or hat, just as Mr. 
 Widdicombe does Mr. Cartlich, before 
 those two gentlemen proceed to join 
 in comhat on the boards of Astley's 
 Amphitheatre (indeed poor Fitch had 
 no other standard of chivalry), when 
 Fitch had concluded this examination, 
 of which Brandon did not know what 
 the deuce to make, Lord Cinqbars 
 came back to the painter, and gave 
 him a nod. 
 
 " Sir," said he, " as you have come 
 unprovided with a second, I, with 
 your leave, will act as one. My name 
 is Cinqbars Lord Cinqbars; and 
 though I had come to the ground to 
 act as the friend of my friend here, 
 Mr. Tufthunt will take that duty 
 upon him; and as it appears to me 
 there can be no other end to this un- 
 happy affair, we will proceed at 
 once." 
 
 It is a marvel how Lord Cinqbars 
 ever made such a gentlemanly speech. 
 When Fitch heard that he was to 
 have a lord for a second, he laid his 
 hand on his chest, and vowed it was 
 the greatest h-honor of his life ; and 
 was turning round to walk towards 
 his ground, when my Lord, gracefully 
 thrusting his tongue into his cheek, 
 and bringing his thumb up to his 
 nose, twiddled about his finders for a 
 
 moment, and said to Brandon, " Gam- 
 mon ! " 
 
 Mr. Brandon smiled, and heaved a 
 great, deep, refreshing sigh. The 
 truth was, a load was taken off his 
 mind, of which he was very glad to 
 be rid ; for there was something in 
 the coolness of that crazy painter that 
 our fashionable gentleman did not at 
 all approve of. 
 
 "I think, Mr. Tufthunt," said 
 Lord Cinqbars, very loud, " that con- 
 sidering the gravity of the case, 
 threatening horsewhipping, you know, 
 lie on both sides, and lady in the case, 
 I think we must have the barrier- 
 duel." 
 
 " What 's that ? " asked Fitch. 
 
 " The simplest thing in the world ; 
 and," in a whisper, " let me add, the 
 best for you. Look here. We shall 
 put you at twenty paces, and a hat 
 between you. You walk forward and 
 fire when you like. When you fire, 
 you stop ; and you both have the lib- 
 erty of walking up to the hat. Noth- 
 ing can be more fair than that." 
 
 " Very well," said Fitch ; and, 
 with a great deal of preparation, the 
 pistols were loaded. 
 
 " I tellyou what," whispered Cinq- 
 bars to Fitch, " if I had n't chosen 
 this way you were a dead man. If 
 he fires he hits you dead. You must 
 not let him fire, but have him down 
 first." 
 
 " I '11 try," said Fitch, who was a 
 little pale, and thanked his noble 
 friend for his counsel. The hat was 
 placed and the men took their places. 
 
 " Are you all ready ? " 
 
 " Ready," said Brandon. 
 
 " Advance when I drop my hand- 
 kerchief." And presently down it 
 fell, Lord Cinqbars crying, " Now ! " 
 
 The combatants both advanced, 
 each covering his man. When he 
 had gone about six paces, Fitch 
 stopped, fired, and missed. Ho 
 grasped his pistol tightly, for he was 
 very near dropping' it ; and then stood 
 biting his lips, and looking nt Bran- 
 don, who grinned savagely, and 
 ' walked up to the hat.
 
 64 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 not know what banns meant, was 
 married in a manner to the person 
 calling himself George Brandon ; 
 George Brandon not being his real 
 name. 
 
 No writings at all were made, and 
 the ceremony merely read through. 
 Becky, Caroline's sole guardian, when 
 the poor girl kissed her, and, blushing, 
 showed her gold ring, thought all 
 was in order ; and the happy couple 
 set off for Dover that day, with fifty 
 pounds which Cinqbars lent the bride- 
 groom. 
 
 Becky received a little letter from 
 Caroline, which she promised to car- 
 ry to her mamma at Swigby's ; and it 
 was agreed that she was to give warn- 
 ing, and come and live with her young 
 lady. Next morning Lord Cinqbars 
 and Tufthunt took the boat for Lon- 
 don ; the latter uneasy in mind, the 
 former vowing that " he 'd never spent 
 such an exciting day in his life, and 
 loved an intrigue of all things." 
 
 Next morning, too, the great travel- 
 ling chariot of Mrs. Carrickfergus 
 rolled away with a bearded gentle- 
 man inside. Poor Fitch had been 
 back to his lodgings to try one more 
 chance with Caroline, and he arrived 
 in time to see her get into a post- 
 chaise alone with Brandon. 
 
 Six weeks afterwards Galignani's 
 Messenger contained the following 
 announcement : 
 
 " Married, at the British embassy, 
 by Bishop Luscombe, Andrew Fitch, 
 Esq., to Marianne Caroline Matilda, 
 widow of the late Antony Carrickfer- 
 gus, of Lombard Street and Glouces- 
 ter Place, Esquire. The happy pair, 
 after a magnificent d&jeuntf, set off 
 for the south in their splendid carriage- 
 and-four. Miss Runt officiated as 
 bridesmaid ; and we remarked among 
 the company Earl and Countess 
 Crabs, General Sir Rice Curry, K. C. 
 B., Colonel Wapshot, Sir Charles 
 Swang, the Hon. Algernon Percy 
 Deuceace and his lady, Count Pun- 
 ter, and others of the elite of the 
 fashionables now in Paris. The 
 
 bridegroom was attended by his friend 
 Michael Angelo Titmarsh, Esquire ; 
 and the lady was given away by the 
 Right Hon. the Earl of Crabs. On 
 the departure of the bride and bride- 
 groom the festivities were resumed, 
 and many a sparkling bumper of 
 Meurice's champagne was quaffed to 
 the health of the hospitable and inter* 
 esting couple." 
 
 And with one more marriage this 
 chapter shall conclude. About this 
 time the British Auxiliary Legion 
 came home from Spain ; and Lieut.- 
 General Swabber, a knight of San 
 Fernando, of the order of Isabella the 
 Catholic, of the Tower and Sword, 
 who, as plain Lieutenant Swabber, 
 had loved Miss Isabella Macarty, as a 
 general now actually married her. I 
 leave you to suppose how glorious 
 Mrs. Gann was, and how Gann got tip- 
 sy at the " Bag of Nails " ; but as her 
 daughters each insisted on their 30 
 a year income, and Mrs. Gann had so 
 only 60 left, she was obliged still 
 to continue the lodging-house at Mar- 
 gate, in which have occurred the most 
 interesting passages of this SHABBY 
 
 GEXTEEL STORY. 
 
 Becky never went to her young 
 mistress, who was not heard of after 
 she wrote the letter to her parent, say- 
 ing that she was married to Mr. Bran- 
 don ; but, for particular reasons, her 
 dear husband wished to keep his mar- 
 riage secret, and for the present her 
 beloved parents must be content to 
 know she was happy. Gann missed 
 his little Carry at first a good deal, 
 but spent more and more of his time 
 at the ale-house, as his house with 
 only Mrs. Gann in it was too hot for 
 him. Mrs. Gann talked unceasingly 
 of her daughter the squire's lady, and 
 her daughter the general's wife ; but 
 never once mentioned Caroline after 
 the first burst of wonder and wrath at 
 her departure. 
 
 God bless thee, poor Caroline ! 
 Thou art happy now, for some short 
 space at least ; and here, therefore, let 
 us leave thee.
 
 THE 
 
 ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD, 
 
 WHO BOBBED HIM, WHO HELPED HIM, AND WHO 
 PASSED HIM BY.
 
 TO 
 
 M. I. HIGGINS, 
 
 IN GRATEFUL REMEMBRANCE OF OLD FRIENDSHIP AND KINDNIB*. 
 
 KEXSIMGTON, July, 1861
 
 I
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DOCTOR FELL. 
 
 " "IVfOT attend her own son when he 
 
 J^| is ill ! " said my mother. " She 
 does not deserve to have a son ! " And 
 Mrs. Pendennis looked towards her 
 own only darling whilst uttering this 
 indignant exclamation. As she look- 
 ed, I know what passed through her 
 mind. She nursed me, she dressed 
 me in little caps and long-clothes, she 
 attired me in my first jacket and 
 trousers. She watched at my bed- 
 side through my infantile and juvenile 
 ailments. She tended me through all 
 my life, she held me to her heart with 
 infinite prayers and blessings. She is 
 no longer with us to bless and pray ; 
 but from heaven, where she is, I know 
 her love pursues me ; and often and 
 often I think she is here, only in- 
 visible. 
 
 " Mrs. Firmin would be of no 
 good," growled Dr. Goodenough. 
 " She would have hysterics, and the 
 nurse would have two patients to look 
 after." 
 
 " Don't tell me," cries my mother, 
 with a flush on her cheeks. "Do you 
 suppose if that child" (meaning, of 
 course, her paragon ) " were ill, I 
 would not go to him 1 " 
 
 " My dear, if that child were hungry, 
 you would chop off your head to make 
 him broth," says the Doctor, sipping 
 his tea. 
 
 " Potafjc a la bonrtf femm<>" says 
 Mr. Pendennis. " Mother, we have 
 it at the club. You would be done 
 with milk, eggs, and a quantity of 
 
 vegetables. You would be put to 
 simmer for many hours in an earthen 
 pan, and " 
 
 " Don't be horrible, Arthur ! " cries 
 a young lady, who was my mother's 
 companion of those happy days. 
 
 " And people when they knew you 
 would like you very much." 
 
 My uncle looked as if he did not 
 understand the allegory. 
 
 " What is this you are talking 
 about 1 potaye a la what-d'ye-call- 
 J im ? " says he. " I thought we were 
 speaking of Mrs. Firmin, of Old Pan- 
 Street. Mrs. Firmin is a doosid deli- 
 cate woman," interposed the Major. 
 " All the females of that family are. 
 Her mother died early. Her sister, 
 Mrs. Twysden, is very delicate. She 
 would be of no more use in a sick- 
 room than a than a bull in a china- 
 shop, begad ! and she might catch the 
 fever, too." 
 
 " And so might you, Major ! " cries 
 the Doctor. " Are n't you talking to 
 me, who have just come from the 
 boy ? Keep your distance, or I shall 
 bite you." 
 
 The old gentleman gave a little 
 backward movement with his chair. 
 
 " Gad, it 's no joking matter," says 
 he ; "I 've known fellows catch fevers 
 at at ever so much past my age. 
 At any rate, the boy is no boy of 
 mine, begad ! I dine at Firmin 's 
 house, who has married into a good 
 family, though he is only a doctor, 
 and " 
 
 " And pray what was my hus- 
 band 1 " cried Mrs. Pendennis. 
 
 " Only a doctor, indeed ! " calls out
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DOCTOR FELL. 
 
 " "IVfOT attend her own son when he 
 
 _1_ 1 is ill ! " said my mother. " She 
 does not deserve to have a son ! " And 
 Mrs. Pendennis looked towards her 
 own only darling whilst uttering this 
 indignant exclamation. As she look- 
 ed, I know what passed through her 
 mind. She nursed me, she dressed 
 me in little caps and long-clothes, she 
 attired me in my first jacket and 
 trousers. She watched at my bed- 
 side through my infantile and juvenile 
 ailments. She tended me through all 
 my life, she held me to her heart with 
 infinite prayers and blessings. She is 
 no longer with us to bless and pray ; 
 but from heaven, where she is, I know 
 her love pursues me ; and often and 
 often I think she is here, only in- 
 visible. 
 
 " Mrs. Firmin would be of no 
 good," growled Dr. Goodenough. 
 " She would have hysterics, and the 
 nurse would have two patients to look 
 after." 
 
 " Don't tell me" cries my mother, 
 with a flush on her cheeks. " Do you 
 suppose if that child " (meaning, of 
 course, her paragon) "were ill, I 
 would not go to him ? " 
 
 " My dear, if that child were hungry, 
 you would chop off your head to make 
 him broth," says the Doctor, sipping 
 his tea. 
 
 " Potayp a la lonnc femm<>" says 
 Mr. Pendennis. " Mother, we have 
 it at the club. You would be done 
 with milk, eggs, and a quantity of 
 
 vegetables. You would be put to 
 simmer for many hours in an earthen 
 pan, and " 
 
 " Don't be horrible, Arthur ! " cries 
 a young lady, who was my mother's 
 companion of those happy days. 
 
 " And people when they knew you 
 would like you very much." 
 
 My uncle looked as if he did not 
 understand the allegory. 
 
 '- What is this you are talking 
 about 1 potacje a la what-d'ye-call- 
 'im ? " says he. " I thought we were 
 speaking of Mrs. Firmin, of Old Pan- 
 Street. Mrs. Firmin is a doosid deli- 
 cate woman," interposed the Major. 
 " All the females of that family are. 
 Her mother died early. Her sister, 
 Mrs. Twysden, is very delicate. She 
 would be of no more use in a sick- 
 room than a than a bull in a china- 
 shop, begad ! and she might catch the 
 fever, too." 
 
 " And so might you, Major ! " cries 
 the Doctor. " Are n't you talking to 
 me, who have just come from the 
 boy 1 Keep your distance, or I shall 
 bite you." 
 
 The old gentleman gave a little 
 backward movement with his chair. 
 
 " Gad, it 's no joking matter," says 
 he ; "I 've known fellows catch fevers 
 at at ever so much past my age. 
 At any rate, the boy is no boy of 
 mine, begad ! I dine at Firmin 's 
 house, who has married into a good 
 family, though he is only a doctor, 
 and " 
 
 " And pray what was my hus- 
 band 1 " cried Mrs. Pendennis. 
 
 " Only a doctor, indeed ! " calls out
 
 72 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 there was one member of the auditory 
 scornful and dissentient. This gen- 
 tleman whispered to his comrade at 
 the commencement of the phrase con- 
 cerning the Doctor the, I believe 
 of Eastern derivation, monosyllable 
 " Bosh ! " and he added sadly, look- 
 ing towards the object of all his praise, 
 " He can't construe the Latin, 
 though it is all a parcel of humbug." 
 
 " Hush, Phil ! said his friend , 
 and Phil's face flushed red, as Dr. 
 Firmin, lifting up his eyes, looked at 
 him for one moment ; for the recipient 
 of all this laudation was no other than 
 Phil's father. 
 
 The illness of which we spoke had 
 long since passed away. Philip was 
 a school-boy no longer, but in his sec- 
 ond year at the University, and one 
 of half a dozen young men, ex-pupils j 
 of the school, who had come up for | 
 the annual dinner. The honors of i 
 this year's dinner were for Dr. Firmin, ; 
 even more than for Lord Ascot in his 
 star and ribbon, who walked with his 
 arm in the Doctor's into chapel. 
 His Lordship faltered when, in his af- 
 ter-dinner speech, he alluded to the 
 inestimable services and skill of his 
 tried old friend, whom he had known 
 as a fellow-pupil in those walls 
 (loud cheers), whose friendship had 
 been the delight of his life, a friend- 
 ship which he prayed might be the 
 inheritance of their children. (Im- 
 mense applause ; after which Dr. Fir- 
 min spoke.) 
 
 The Doctor's speech was perhaps a 
 little commonplace ; the Latin quota- 
 tions which he used were not exactly 
 novel ; but Phil need not have been 
 so angry or ill-behaved. He went on 
 sipping sherry, glaring at his father, 
 and muttering observations that were 
 anything but complimentary to his 
 parent. " Now look," says he, " he is 
 going to be overcome by his ('.-clings. 
 lie will put his handkerchief up to his 
 mouth, and show his diamond ring. 
 I toll you so ! It 's too much. I 
 can't swallow this . . . this sherry. 
 I say, you fellows, let us come out of 
 this, and have a smoke somewhere." 
 
 And Phil rose up and quitted the din. 
 ing-room, just as his father was de- 
 claring what a joy, and a pride, and a 
 delight it was to him to think that the 
 friendship with which his noble friend 
 honored him was likely to be trans- 
 mitted to their children, and that 
 when he had passed away from this 
 earthly scene (cries of " No, no ! " 
 " May you live a thousand years ! ") 
 it would be his joy to think that his 
 son would always find a friend and 
 protector in the noble, the princely 
 house of Ascot 
 
 We found the carriages waiting out- 
 side Greyfriars' Gate, and Philip Fir- 
 min, pushing me into his father's, told 
 the footman to drive home, and that 
 the Doctor would return in Lord As- 
 cot's carriage. Home then to Old 
 Parr Street we went, where many a 
 time as a boy I had been welcome. 
 And we retired to Phil's private den 
 in the back buildings of the great 
 house : and over our cigars we talked 
 of the Founder's-day Feast, and the 
 speeches delivered ; and of the old Cis- 
 tercians of our time, and how Thomp- 
 son was married, and Johnson was in 
 the army, and Jackson (not red-haired 
 Jackson, pig-eyed Jackson) was first 
 in his year, and so forth ; and in this 
 twaddle were most happily engaged, 
 when Phil's father flung open the tall 
 door of the study. 
 
 " Here 's the governor ! " growled 
 Phil ; and in an undertone, " What 
 does he want 1 " 
 
 " The governor," as I looked up, 
 was not a pleasant object to behold. 
 Dr. Firmin had very white false teeth, 
 which perhaps were a little too large 
 for his mouth, and these grinned in 
 the gaslight very fiercely. On his 
 cheeks were black whiskers, and over 
 his glaring eyes fierce black eyebrows, 
 and his bald head glittered like a 
 billiard-ball. You would hardly have 
 known that he was the original of that 
 melancholy philosophic portrait 
 which all the patients admired in the 
 Doctor's waiting-room. 
 
 " I find, Philip, that you took my 
 carriage," said the father; "and
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 73 
 
 Lord Ascot and I had to walk ever 
 BO far for a cab ! " 
 
 " Had n't he got his own carriage ? 
 I thought of course he would have his 
 carriage on a State-day, and that 
 you would come home with the 
 lord," said Philip. 
 
 " I had promised to bring him 
 home, sir ! " said the father. 
 
 " Well, sir, I 'm very sorry," con- 
 tinued the son, curtly. 
 
 " Sorry ! " screams the other. 
 
 " I can't say any more, sir, and I 
 am very sorry," answers Phil ; and 
 he knocked the ash of his cigar into 
 the stove. 
 
 The stranger within the 'house 
 hardly knew how to look on its master 
 or his son. There was evidently 
 some dire quarrel between them. 
 The old man glared at the young 
 one, who calmly looked his father in 
 the face. Wicked rage and hate 
 seemed to flash from the Doctor's 
 eyes, and anon came a look of wild 
 pitiful supplication towards the guest, 
 which was most painful to bear. In 
 the midst of what dark family mystery 
 was 1 1 What meant this cruel 
 spectacle of the father's terrified 
 anger, and the son's scorn 1 
 
 "I I appeal to you, Pendennis," 
 says the Doctor, with a choking utter- 
 ance and a ghastly face. 
 
 " Shall we begin ab ovo, sir ? " says 
 Phil. Again the ghastly look of 
 terror comes over the father's face. 
 
 "I I promise to bring one of 
 the first noblemen in England," gasps 
 the Doctor, " from a public dinner, in 
 my carriage ; and my son takes it, 
 and leaves me and Lord Ascot to 
 walk ! Is it fair, Pendennis ? Is 
 it the conduct of a gentleman to a 
 gentleman ; of a son to a father ? " 
 
 " No, sir," I said, gravely, " noth- 
 ing can excuse it." Indeed I was 
 shocked at the young man's obduracy 
 and undutifulness. 
 
 " I told you it was a mistake ! " 
 cries Phil, reddening. " I heard 
 Lord Ascot order his own carriage ; 
 I made no doubt he would bring my 
 father home. To ride in a chariot 
 
 with a footman behind me is no 
 pleasure to me, and I would far 
 rather have a Hansom and a cigar. 
 It was a blunder, and I am sorry for 
 it there ! And if I live to a hun- 
 dred I can't say more." 
 
 " If you are sorry, Philip," groans 
 the father, ' ; it is enough. You 
 remember, Pendennis, when when 
 my son and I were not on this on 
 this footing," and he looked up for a 
 moment at a picture which was 
 hanging over Phil's head, a portrait 
 of Phil's mother ; the lady of whom 
 my own mother spoke, on that even- 
 ing when we had talked of the boy's 
 illness. Both the ladies had passed 
 from the world now, and their images 
 were but painted shadows on the wall. 
 
 The father had accepted an apology^ 
 though the son had made none. I 
 looked at the elder Finnin's face, and 
 the character written on it. I re- 
 membered such particulars of his 
 early history sis had been told to me ; 
 and I pei uetly recalled that feel ing of 
 doubt and misliking which came 
 over my niind when I first saw the 
 Doctor's handsome face some few 
 years previously, when my uncle first 
 took me to the Doctor's in Old Parr 
 Street; little Phil being then a 
 flaxen-headed, pretty child, who had 
 just assumed his first trousers, and I 
 a fifth-form boy at school. 
 
 My father and Dr. Firmin were 
 members of the medical profession. 
 They had been bred up as boys at the 
 same school, whither families used 
 to send their sons from generation 
 to generation, and long before peo- 
 ple had ever learned that the place 
 was unwholesome. Greyfriars was 
 smoky, certainly ; I think in the time 
 of the Plague great numbers of peo- 
 ple were buried there. But had the 
 school been situated in the most 
 picturesque swamp in England, the 
 general health of the boys could not 
 have been better. We boys used to 
 hear of epidemics occurring in other 
 schools, and were almost sorry that 
 they did not come to ours, so that we 
 might shut up, and get longer vaca-
 
 72 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 there was one member of the auditory 
 scornful and dissentient. This gen- 
 tleman whispered to his comrade at 
 the commencement of the phrase con- 
 cerning the Doctor the, I believe 
 of Eastern derivation, monosyllable 
 " Bosh ! " and he added sadly, look- 
 ing towards the object of all his praise, 
 " He can't construe the Latin, 
 though it is all a parcel of humbug." 
 
 " Hush, Phil ! said his friend , 
 and Phil's face flushed red, as Dr. 
 Firmin, lifting up his eyes, looked at 
 him for one moment ; for the recipient 
 of all this laudation was no other than 
 Phil's father. 
 
 The illness of which we spoke had 
 long since passed away. Philip was 
 a school-boy no longer, but in his sec- 
 ond year at the University, and one 
 of half a dozen young men, ex-pupils 
 of the school, who had come up for 
 the annual dinner. The honors of 
 this year's dinner were for Dr. Firmin, j 
 even more than for Lord Ascot in his j 
 star and ribbon, who walked with his 
 arm in the Doctor's into chapel, j 
 His Lordship faltered when, in his af- j 
 ter-dinner speech, he alluded to the 
 inestimable services and skill of his 
 tried old friend, whom he had known j 
 as a fellow-pupil in those walls 
 (loud cheers), whose friendship had 
 been the delight of his life, a friend- 
 ship which he prayed might be the 
 inheritance of their children. (Im- 
 mense applause ; after which Dr. Fir- 
 miu spoke.) 
 
 The Doctor's speech was perhaps a 
 little commonplace ; the Latin quota- | 
 tions which he used were not exactly 
 novel ; but Phil need not have been 
 so angry or ill-behaved. He went on 
 sipping sherry, glaring at his father, 
 and muttering observations that were 
 anything but complimentary to his 
 parent. " Now look," says he, " he is 
 going to be overcome by his f.-elings. 
 He will put his handkerchief up to his 
 mouth, and show his diamond ring. 
 I toM you so ! It 'a too much. I 
 can't swallow this . . . this sherry. 
 I say, you fellows, let us come out of 
 this, and have a smoke somewhere." 
 
 And Phil rose up and quitted the din. 
 ing-room, just as his father was de- 
 claring what a joy, and a pride, and a 
 delight it was to him to think that the 
 friendship with which his noble friend 
 honored him was likely to be trans- 
 mitted to their children, and that 
 when he had passed away from this 
 earthly scene (cries of " No, no ! " 
 " May you live a thousand years ! ") 
 it would be his joy to think" that his 
 son would always find a friend and 
 protector in the noble, the princely 
 house of Ascot 
 
 We found the carriages waiting out- 
 side Greyfriars' Gate, and Philip Fir- 
 min, pushing me into his father's, told 
 the footman to drive home, and that 
 the Doctor would return in Lord As- 
 cot's carriage. Home then to Old 
 Parr Street we went, where many a 
 time as a boy I had been welcome. 
 And we retired to Phil's private den 
 in the back buildings of the great 
 house : and over our cigars we talked 
 of the Founder's-day Feast, and the 
 speeches delivered ; and of the old Cis- 
 tercians of our time, and how Thomp- 
 son was married, and Johnson was in 
 the army, and Jackson (not red-haired 
 Jackson, pig-eyed Jackson) was first 
 in his year, and so forth ; and in this 
 twaddle were most happily engaged, 
 when Phil's father flung open the tall 
 door of the study. 
 
 " Here 's the governor ! " growled 
 Phil ; and in an undertone, " What 
 does he want ? " 
 
 " The governor," as I looked up, 
 was not a pleasant object to behold. 
 Dr. Firmin had very white false teeth, 
 which perhaps were a little too large 
 for his mouth, and these grinned in 
 the gaslight very fiercely. On his 
 cheeks were black whiskers, and over 
 his glaring eyes fierce black eyebrows, 
 and his bald head glittered like a 
 billiard-ball. You would hardly have 
 known that he was the original of that 
 melancholy philosophic portrait 
 which all the patients admired in the 
 Doctor's waiting-room. 
 
 " I find, Philip, that you took my 
 carriage," said the father ; " and
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 73 
 
 Lord Ascot and I had to walk ever 
 BO far for a cab ! " 
 
 " Had n't he got his own carriage ? 
 I thought of course he would have his 
 carriage on a State-day, and that 
 you would come home with the 
 lord," said Philip. 
 
 " I had promised to bring him 
 home, sir ! " said the father. 
 
 " Well, sir, I 'm very sorry," con- 
 tinued the son, curtly. 
 
 " Sorry ! " screams the other. 
 
 " I can't say any more, sir, and I 
 am very sorry," answers Phil ; and 
 he knocked the ash of his cigar into 
 the stove. 
 
 The stranger within the 'house 
 hardly knew how to look on its master 
 or his son. There was evidently 
 some dire quarrel between them. 
 The old man glared at the young 
 one, who calmly looked his father in 
 the face. Wicked rage and hate 
 seemed to flash from the Doctor's 
 eyes, and anon came a look of wild 
 pitiful supplication towards the guest, 
 which was most painful to bear. In 
 the midst of what dark family mystery 
 was I? What meant this cruel 
 spectacle of the father's terrified 
 anger, and the son's scorn ? 
 
 "I I appeal to you, Pcndennis," 
 says the Doctor, with a choking utter- 
 ance and a ghastly face. 
 
 " Shall we begin ab oro, sir 1 " says 
 Phil. Again the ghastly look of 
 terror comes over the father's face. 
 
 "I I promise to bring one of 
 the first noblemen in England," gasps 
 the Doctor, " from a public dinner, in 
 my carriage ; and my son takes it, 
 and leaves me and Lord Ascot to 
 walk ! Is it fair, Pendennis ? Is 
 it the conduct of a gentleman to a 
 gentleman ; of a son to a father ? " 
 
 " No, sir," I said, gravely, " noth- 
 ing can excuse it." Indeed I was 
 shocked at the young man's obduracy 
 and undutifulness. 
 
 " I told you it was a mistake ! " 
 cries Phil, reddening. " I heard 
 Lord Ascot order his own carriage ; 
 I made no doubt he would bring my 
 father home. To ride in a chariot 
 4 
 
 with a footman behind me is no 
 pleasure to me, and I would far 
 rather have a Hansom and a cigar. 
 It was a blunder, iind I am sorry for 
 it there ! And if I live to a hun- 
 dred I can't say more." 
 
 " If you are sorry, Philip," groans 
 the father, " it is enough. You 
 remember, Pendennis, when when 
 my son and I were not on this on 
 this footing," and he looked up for a 
 moment at a picture which was 
 hanging over Phil's head, a portrait 
 of Phil's mother ; the lady of whom 
 my own mother spoke, on that even- 
 ing when we had talked of the boy's 
 illness. Both the ladies had passed 
 from the world now, and their images 
 were but painted shadows on the wall. 
 
 The father had accepted an apology^ 
 though the son had made none. I 
 looked at the elder Fiimin's face, and 
 the character written on it. I re- 
 membered such particulars of his 
 early history as had been told to me ; 
 and I peifictly recalled that feeling of 
 doubt and mi.sliking which came 
 over my mind when I first saw the 
 Doctor's handsome face some few 
 years previously, when my uncle first 
 took me to the Doctor's in Old Parr 
 Street ; little Phil being then a 
 flaxen-headed, pretty child, who had 
 just assumed his first trousers, and I 
 a fifth-form boy at school. 
 
 My father and Dr. Firmin were 
 members of the medical profession. 
 They had been bred up as boys at the 
 same school, whither families used 
 to send their sons from generation 
 to generation, and long before peo- 
 ple had ever learned that the place 
 was unwholesome. Grey friars was 
 smoky, certainly ; I think in the time 
 of the Plague great numbers of peo- 
 ple were buried there. But had the 
 school been situated in the most 
 picturesque swamp in England, the 
 general health of the boys could not 
 have been better. We boys used to 
 hear of epidemics occurring in other 
 schools, and were almost sorry that 
 they did not come to ours, so that we 
 might shut up, and get longer vaca-
 
 74 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 tions. Eren that illness which 
 subsequently befell Phil Firmin him- 
 self attacked no one else, the boys 
 all luckily goiijg home for the holi- 
 days on the very day of poor Phil's 
 seizure ; but of this illness more anon. 
 When it was determined that little 
 Phil Firmin was to go to Grey- 
 friars, Phil's father bethought him 
 that Major Pendennis, whom he 
 met in the world and society, had a 
 nephew at the place, who might pro- 
 tect the little fellow, and the Major 
 took his nephew to see Dr. and Mrs. 
 Firmin one Sunday after church, and 
 we had lunch at Old Parr Street, and 
 there little Phil was presented to me, 
 whom I promised to take under my 
 protection. He was a simple little 
 man ; an artless child, who had not 
 the least idea of the dignity of a fifth- 
 form boy. He was quite unabashed 
 in talking to me and other persons, 
 and has rennined so ever since. He 
 asked my uncle how he came to have ! 
 such odd hair. He partook freely of ', 
 the delicacies on the table. I remem- 
 ber he hit me with his litde fist once i 
 or twice, which liberty at first struck \ 
 me with a panic of astonishment, and 
 then with a sense of the ridiculous so 
 exquisitely keen, that I burst out 
 into a fit of laughter. It was, you 
 see, as if a stranger were to hit the 
 Pope in the ribs, and call him " Old 
 boy " ; as if Jack were to tweak one 
 of the giants by the nose ; or Ensign 
 Jones to ask the Duke of Wellington 
 to take wine. I had a strong sense of 
 humor, even in those early days, and 
 enjoyed this joke accordingly. 
 
 " Philip ! " cries mamma, " you will 
 hurt Mr. Pendennis." 
 
 " I will knock him down ! " shouts 
 Phil. Fancy knocking me down, 
 ME, a fifth-form boy ! 
 
 " The child is a perfect Hercules," j 
 remarks the mother. 
 
 " He strangled two snakes in his ; 
 cradle," says the Doctor, looking at 
 me. (It was then, as I remember, I 
 felt Dr. Fell towards him.) 
 
 " La, Dr. Firmin ! " cries mamma, 
 "I can't bear snakes. I remember 
 
 ! there was one at Rome, when we were 
 | walking one day, a great, large snake, 
 i and I hated it, an<l I cried out, and I 
 nearly fainted ; and my uncle King- 
 wood said I ought to like snakes, for 
 one might be an agreeable rattle ; and 
 .1 have read of them being charming 
 ! in India, and I dare say you have, 
 ' Mr. Pendennis, for I am told you are 
 i very clever , and I am not in the 
 least ; I wish I were ; but my hus- 
 band is, very, and so will Phil be. 
 Will you be a very clever boy, dear ? 
 He was named after my dear papa, 
 who was killed at Busaco when I was 
 quite, quite a little thing, and we wore 
 mourning, and we went to live with 
 my uncle Ringwood afterwards ; but 
 Maria and I had both our own for- 
 tunes ; and I am sure I little thought 
 I should marry a physician, la, one 
 of Uncle Ringwood's grooms, I should 
 as soon have thought of marrying him ! 
 but, you know, my husband is one 
 of the cleverest men in the world. Don't 
 tell me, you are, dearest, and you 
 know it ; and when a man is clever, I 
 don't value his rank in life ; no, not if 
 he was that fender ; and I always 
 said to Uncle Ringwood, ' Talent I 
 will marry, for talent I adore ' ; and I 
 did marry you, Dr. Firmin, you know 
 I did, and this child is your image. 
 And you will be kind to him at 
 school," says the poor lady, turning 
 to me, her eyes filling with tears, 
 " for talent is always kind, except Un- 
 cle Ringwood, and he was very " 
 
 " A little more wine, Mr. Penden- 
 nis ? " said the Doctor, Dr. Fell still, 
 though he was most kind to me. 
 " I shall put my little man under 
 your care, and I know you will keep 
 him from harm. I hope you will do 
 u< the favor to come to Parr Street 
 whenever you are free. In my fa- 
 ther'* time we used to come home of 
 a Saturday from school, and enjoyed 
 going to the play." And the Doctor 
 shook me cordially by the hand, and I 
 must say, continued his kindness to 
 me as lontr as ever I knew him. 
 When we went away, my uncle Pen- 
 dennis told me many stories about
 
 THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 
 
 75 
 
 the great earl and family of Ringwood, 
 and how Dr. Firmin had made a 
 match a match of the affections 
 with this lady, daughter of Philip 
 Ringwood, who was killed at Busaco ; 
 and how she had been a great beauty, 
 and was a perfect grande dame always ; 
 and, if not the cleverest, certainly one 
 of the kindest and most amiable wo- 
 men in the world. 
 
 In those days I was accustomed to 
 receive the opinions of my informant 
 with such respect that 1 at once ac- 
 cepted this statement as authentic. 
 Mrs. Firmin's portrait, indeed, was 
 beautiful : it was painted by young 
 Mr. Harlowe, that year he was at 
 Rome, and when in eighteen days he 
 completed a copy of the " Transfigu- 
 ration," to the admiration of all the 
 Academy ; but I, for my part, only 
 remember a lady weak, and thin, and 
 faded, who never came out of her 
 dressing-room until a late hour in the 
 afternoon, and whose superannuated 
 smiles and grimaces used to provoke 
 my juvenile sense of humor. She 
 used to kiss Phil's brow ; and. as 
 she held the boy's hand in one of her 
 lean ones, would say, " Who would 
 suppose such a great boy as that could 
 be my son ? " " Be kind to him when 
 I am gone," she sighed to me, one 
 Sunday evening, when I was taking 
 leave of her, as her eyes filled with 
 tears, and she placed her thin hand in 
 mine for the last time. The Doctor, 
 reading by the fire, turned round and 
 scowled at her from under his tall 
 shining forehead. " You are nervous, 
 Louisa, ajid had better go to your 
 room, I told you you had," he said, 
 abruptly. " Young gentleman, it is 
 time for you to be off to Greyfriars. 
 Is the cab at the door, Brice ? And 
 he took out his watch, his great 
 shining watch, by which he had felt 
 the pulses of so many famous person- 
 ages, whom his prodigious skill had 
 rescued from disease. And at parting, 
 Phil flung his arms round his poor 
 mother, and kissed her under the 
 glossy curls ; the borrowed curls ! 
 and he looked his father resolutely in 
 
 the face (whose own glance used to 
 fall before that of the boy), and bade 
 him a gruff good-night, ere we set 
 forth for Greyfriars. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AT SCHOOL AND AT HOME. 
 
 I DINED yesterday with three gen- 
 tlemen, whose time of life may be 
 guessed by their conversation, a great 
 part of which consisted of Eton rem- 
 iniscences and lively imitations of 
 Dr. Kcate. Each one, as he described 
 how he had been flogged, mimicked 
 to the best of his power the manner 
 and the mode of operating of the fa- 
 mous doctor. His little parenthetical 
 remarks during the ceremony were 
 recalled with great facetiousness : the 
 very fiu-hish of the rods was parodied 
 with thrilling fidelity, and after a good 
 hour's conversation, the subject was 
 brought to a climax by a description 
 of that awful night when the doctor 
 called up squad after squad of boys 
 from their beds in their respective 
 boarding-houses, whipped through 
 the whole night, and castigated I 
 don't know how many hundred rebels. 
 All these mature men laughed, prat- 
 tled, rejoiced, and became young again, 
 as they recounted their stories ; and 
 each of them heartily and eagerly 
 bade the stranger to understand how 
 Keate was a thorough gentleman. 
 Having talked about their floggings, 
 I say. for an hour at least, they apol- 
 ogized to me for dwelling upon a sub- 
 ject which after all was strictly local : 
 but, indeed, their talk greatly amused 
 and diverted me, and I hope, and am 
 quite ready, to hear all their jolly 
 stories over again 
 
 Be not angry, patient reader of for- 
 mer volumes by the author of the 
 present history, if I am garrulous 
 about Greyfriars, and go back to that 
 ancient place of education to find the 
 heroes of our tale. We are young 
 but once. When we remember that 
 time of youth, we are still young.
 
 76 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 He over whose head eight or nine 
 lustres have passed, if he wishes to 
 write of boys, must recall the time 
 when he himself was a boy. Their 
 habits change ; their waists are longer 
 or shorter ; their shire-collars stick up 
 more or less ; but the boy is the boy 
 in King George's time as in that of 
 his royal niece, once our maiden 
 queen, now the anxious mother of 
 many boys. And young fellows are 
 honest, and merry, and idle, and mis- 
 chievous, and timid, and brave, and 
 studious, and selfish, and generous, 
 and mean, and false, and truth-tell- 
 ing, and affectionate, and good, and 
 bad, now as in former days. He with 
 whom we have mainly to do is a gen- 
 tleman of mature age now walking 
 the street with boys of his own. He 
 is not going to perish in the last chap- 
 ter of thest- memoirs, to die of con- 
 sumption with his love weeping by 
 his bedside, or to blow his brains out 
 in despair, because she has been mar- 
 ried to his rival, or killed out of a 
 gig, or otherwise done for in the last 
 chapter but one. No, no; we will 
 have no dismal endings. Philip Fir- 
 min is well and hearty at this min- 
 ute, owes no man a shilling, and can 
 enjoy his glass of port in perfect com- 
 fort. So, my dear miss, if you want 
 a pulmonary romance, the present 
 won't suit you. So, young gentle- 
 man, if you are for melancholy, de 
 spair, anc 1 sardonic satire, please to 
 call at some otber shop. That Philip 
 shall have his trials is a mutter of 
 course, may they be intere>tin^, 
 though they do not end dismally ! 
 That he shall fall and trip in his 
 course sometimes is pretty certain. 
 Ah, who docs not upon this life- 
 journey of ours 1 Is not our want 
 the occasion of our brother's charity, i 
 and thus does not good come out of 
 that evil ? When the traveller (of 
 whom the Master spoke) fell among 
 the thieves, his mishap was contrived 
 to try many a heart beside his 
 own, the Knave's who robbed him, 
 the Levite's and Priest's who passL-d 
 him by as he lay bleeding, the hum- ! 
 
 ble Samaritan's whose hand poured 
 oil into his wound, and held out its 
 pittance to relieve him. 
 
 So little Philip Firmin was brought 
 to school by his mamma in her car- 
 riage, who entreated the housekeeper 
 to have a special charge of that an- 
 gelic child ; and as soon as the poor 
 lady's back was turned, Mrs. Bunce 
 emptied the contents of the little boy's 
 trunk into one of sixty or seventy lit- 
 tle cupboards, wherein reposed other 
 boys' clothes and haberdashery : and 
 then Mrs. Firmin requested to see the 
 Rev. Mr. X., in whose house Philip 
 was to board, and besought him, and 
 explained many things to him, such 
 as the exceeding delicacy of the 
 child's constitution, &c., &c. ; and Mr. 
 X., who was very good-natured, pat- 
 ted the boy kindly on the head, and 
 sent for the other Philip, Philip Ring- 
 wood, Phil's cousin, who had arrived 
 at Greyfriars an hour or two before ; 
 and Mr. X. told Ringwood to take 
 care of the little fellow; and Mrs. 
 Firmin, choking behind her pocket- 
 handkerchief, gurgled out a blessing 
 on the grinning youth, and at one 
 time had an idea of giving Master 
 Ringwood a sovereign, but paused, 
 thinking he was too big a boy, and 
 that she might not take such a lib- 
 erty, and presently she was gone ; and 
 little Phil Firmin was introduced to 
 the long-room and his school-fellows 
 of Mr. X.'s house ; and having plenty 
 of money, and naturally finding his 
 way to the pastry-cook's, the next 
 day, after school, he was met by his 
 cousin Ringwood and robbed of half 
 the tarts which he had purchased. A 
 fortnight afterwards, the hospitable 
 doctor and his wife asked their young 
 kinsman to Old Parr Street, Burling- 
 ton Gardens, and the two boys went; 
 but Phil never mentioned anything 
 to his parents regarding the robbery 
 of tarts, being deterred, perhaps, from 
 speaking by awful threats of punish- 
 ment which his cousin promised to 
 administer when they got back to 
 school, in case of the little boy's con- 
 fession. Subsequently, Master Ring-
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 77 
 
 wood was asked once in every term 
 to Old Parr Street ; but neither Mrs. 
 Firrnin, nor the Doctor, nor Master 
 Firtnin liked the Baronet's son, and 
 Mrs. Firmin pronounced him a vio- 
 lent, rude boy. 
 
 I, for my part, left school suddenly 
 and early, and my little protege be- 
 hind me. His poor mother, who had 
 promised herself to come for him 
 every Saturday, did not keep her 
 promise. Smithfield is a long way 
 from Piccadilly ; and an angry cow 
 once scratched the panels of her car- 
 riage, causing her footman to spring 
 from his board into a pigpen, and 
 herself to feel such a shock, that no 
 wonder she was afraid of visiting the 
 City afterwards. The circumstances 
 of this accident she often narrated to 
 us. Her anecdotes were not numer- 
 ous, but she told them repeatedly. In 
 imagination, sometimes, 1 can hear 
 her ceaseless, simple cackle; see her 
 faint eyes, as she prattles on uncon- 
 sciously, and watch the dark looks of 
 her handsome, silent husband, scowl- 
 ing from under his eyebrows and 
 smiling behind his teeth. I dare say 
 he ground those teeth with suppressed 
 rage sometimes. I dare say to bear 
 with her endless volubility must have 
 tasked his endurance. He may have 
 treated her ill, but she tried him. 
 She, on her part, may have been a not 
 very wise woman, but she was kind 
 to me. Did not her housekeeper 
 make me the best of tarts, and keep 
 goodies from the company dinners for 
 the young gentlemen when they came 
 home f Did not her husband give me 
 of his fees ? I promise you after I 
 had seen Dr. Fell a few times, that 
 first unpleasing impression produced 
 by his darkling countenance and sin- 
 ister good looks wore away. He was 
 a gentleman. He had lived in the 
 great world, of which he told anec- 
 dotes delightful to boys to hear ; and 
 he passed the bottle to me as if I was 
 a man. 
 
 I hope and think I remembered the 
 injunction of poor Mrs. Firmin to be 
 kind to her boy. As long as we 
 
 stayed together at Greyfriars, I was 
 Phil's champion whenever he needed 
 my protection, though of course I 
 could not always be present to guard 
 the little scapegrace from all the blows 
 which were aimed at his young face 
 by pugilists of his own size. There 
 were seven or eight years' difference 
 between us (he says ten, which is 
 absurd, and which I deny) ; but I was 
 always remarkable for my affability, 
 and, in spite of our disparity of age, 
 would often graciously accept the 
 general invitation I had from his father 
 for any Saturday and Sunday when I 
 would like to accompany Philip 
 home. 
 
 Such an invitation is welcome to 
 any school-boy. To get away from. 
 Smithfield, and show our best clothes 
 in Bond Street, was always a privilege. 
 To strut in the Park on Sunday, and 
 nod to the other fellows who were 
 strutting there too, was better than 
 remaining at school, " doing ' Diates- 
 saron,' " as the phrase used to be, 
 having that endless roast-beef for 
 dinner, and hearing two sermons in 
 chapel. There may have been more 
 lively streets in London than Old 
 Parr Street ; but ft was pleasanter to 
 be there than to look at Goswell Street 
 over Greyfriars' wall ; and so the present 
 biographer and reader's very humble 
 servant found Dr. Firmin's house an 
 agreeable resort. Mamma was often 
 ailing, or, if well, went out into the 
 world with her husband ; in either 
 case, we boys had a good dinner pro- 
 vided for us, with the special dishes 
 which Phil loved; and after dinner 
 we adjourned to the play, not being 
 by any means too proud to sit in the 
 pit with Mr. Brice, the Doctor's confi- 
 dential man. On Sunday we went to 
 church at Lady Whittlesea's, and 
 back to school in the evening ; when 
 the Doctor almost always gave us a fee. 
 If he did not dine at home (and I own 
 his absence did not much damp our 
 pleasure), Brice would lay a small 
 enclosure on the young gentlemen's 
 coats, which we transferred to our 
 pockets. I believe school-boys dis-
 
 78 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 dain fees in the present disinterested 
 times. 
 
 Everything in Dr. Firmin's house 
 was as handsome as might be, and 
 yet somehow the place was not cheer- 
 ful. One's steps fell noiselessly on 
 the faded Turkey carpet; the room 
 was large, and all save the dining- 
 table in the dingy twilight. The 
 picture of Mrs. Firmin looked at us 
 from the wall, and followed us about 
 with wild violet eyes. Philip Firmin 
 had the same violet odd bright eyes, and 
 the same colored hair of an auburn 
 tinge ; in the picture it fell in long 
 wild masses over the lady's back as 
 she leaned with bare arms on a harp. 
 Over the sideboard was the doctor, in 
 a black velvet coat and a fur collar, 
 his hand on a skull like Hamlet. 
 Skulls of oxen, horned with wreaths, 
 formed the cheerful ornaments of the 
 cornice. On the side-table glittered a 
 pair of cups, given by grateful patients, 
 looking like receptacles rather for 
 funereal ashes than for festive flowers 
 or wine. Brice, the butler, wore the 
 gravity and costume of an undertaker. 
 The footman stealthily moved hither 
 and thither, bearing the dinner to us ; 
 we always spoke under our breath 
 whilst we were eating it. " The room 
 don't look more cheerful of a morning 
 when the patients are sitting here, I 
 can tell you," Phil would say ; indeed, 
 we could well fancy that it was dis- 
 mal. The drawing-room had a rhu- 
 barb-colored flock paper (on account 
 of the governor's attachment to the 
 shop, Master Phil said), a great piano, 
 a harp smothered in a leather bag in 
 the corner, which the languid owner 
 now never touched ; and everybody's 
 face seemed scared and pale in the 
 great looking-glasses, which reflected 
 you over and over again into the dis- 
 tance, so that you seemed to twinkle 
 off right through the Albany into 
 Piccadilly. 
 
 Old Parr Street has been a habita- 
 tion for generations of surgeons and 
 physicians. I suppose the noblemen 
 for whose use the street was intended 
 in the time of the early Georges fled, 
 
 finding the neighborhood too dismal, 
 and the gentlemen in black coats 
 came and took possession of the gilded, 
 gloomy chambers which the sacred 
 mode vacated. These mutations of 
 fashion have always been matters of 
 profound speculation to me. Why 
 | shall not one moralize over London, 
 as over Rome, or Baalbec, or Troy 
 Town ? I like to walk among the 
 Hebrews of Wardour Street, and 
 fancy the place, as it once was, 
 crowded with chairs and gilt chariots, 
 and torches flashing in the hands of 
 ' the running footmen. I have a grim 
 ; pleasure in thinking that Golden 
 Square was once the resort of the 
 aristocracy, and Monmouth Street the 
 delight of the genteel world. What 
 shall prevent us Londoners from 
 musing over the decline and fall 
 of city sovereignties, and drawing 
 our cockney ' morals ? As the late 
 Mr. Gibbon meditated his history 
 leaning against a column in the 
 Capitol, why should not I muse over 
 mine, reclining under an arcade of 
 the Pantheon ? Not the Pantheon at 
 Rome, in the Cabbage Market by the 
 Piazza Navona, where the immortal 
 gods were worshipped, the immortal 
 gods who are now dead ; but the Pan- 
 theon in Oxford Street, ladies, where 
 you purchase feeble pomatums, music, 
 glass-ware, and baby -linen ; and which 
 has its history too. Have not Selwyn, 
 and Wai pole, and March, and Carlisle 
 figured there ? Has not Prince Flor- 
 izel flounced through the hall in his 
 rustling domino, and danced there in 
 powdered splendor ? and when the 
 ushers refused admission to lovely 
 Sophy Baddeley, did not the young 
 men, her adorers, draw their rapiers 
 and vow to slay the doorkeepers ; and, 
 crossing the glittering blades over the 
 enchantress's head, make a warlike 
 triumphal arch for her to pass under, 
 all flushed, and smiling, and perfumed, 
 and painted ? The lives of streets are 
 as the lives of men, and shall not the 
 street-preacher, if so minded, take for 
 the text of his sermon the stones in the 
 gutter ? That you were once the
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 79 
 
 resort of the fashion, Monmouth 
 Street ! by the invocation of blessed 
 St. Giles shall I not improve that 
 sweet thought into a godly discourse, 
 and make the ruin edifying f O IMS 
 freres ! There were splendid thorough- 
 fares, dazzling company, bright illu- 
 minations, in our streets when our 
 hearts were young : we entertained in 
 them a noble youthful company of 
 chivalrous hopes and lofty ambitions ; 
 of blushing thoughts in snowy robes 
 spotless and virginal. See, in the 
 embrasure of the window, where you 
 sat looking to the stars, and nestling 
 by the soft side of your first love, hang 
 Mr. Moses' bargains of turned old 
 clothes^very cheap ; of worn old boots, 
 bedraggled in how much and how 
 many people's mud ; a great bargain. 
 See!. along the street, strewed with 
 flowers once mayhap a fight of beg- 
 gars for the refuse of an apple-stall, 
 or a tipsy basket-woman reeling 
 shrieking to the station. O me ! O 
 my beloved congregation ! I have 
 preached this stale sermon to you for 
 ever so many years. O my jolly 
 companions, I have drunk many a 
 bout with you, and always found 
 vanitas vanitatum written on the bot- 
 tom of the pot ! 
 
 I choose to moralize now when I 
 pass the place. The garden has run 
 to seed, the walks are mildewed, the 
 statues have broken noses, the gravel 
 is dank with green moss, the roses 
 are withered, and the nightingales 
 have ceased to make love. It is a 
 funereal street, Old Parr Street, cer- 
 tainly ; the carriages which drive 
 there ought to have feathers on the 
 roof, and the butlers who open the 
 doors should wear weepers, so the 
 scene strikes you now as you pass 
 along the spacious empty pavement. 
 You are bilious, my good man. Go 
 and pay a guinea to one of the doctors 
 in those houses ; there are still doctors 
 there. He will prescribe taraxacum 
 for you, or pil : hydrarg : Bless you ! 
 in my time, to us gentlemen of the 
 fifth form, the place was bearable. 
 The yellow fogs did n't damp our 
 
 spirits, and we never thought them 
 too thick to keep us away from the 
 play : from the chivalrous Charles 
 Kcmble, I tell you, my Mirabel, my 
 Mercutio, my princely Falconbridge : 
 from his adorable d'aughter (0 my 
 distracted heart!) from the classic 
 Young : from the glorious Long 
 Tom Coffin : from the unearthly 
 Vanderdecken, "Return, O my love, 
 and we '11 never, never part " : (where 
 art thou, sweet singer of that most 
 thrilling ditty of my youth 1 ?) from 
 the sweet, sweet Victor ine and the 
 Bottle Imp. O to see that Bottle 
 Imp again, and hear that song about 
 the " Pilgrim of Love ! " Once, but 
 hush ; this is a secret we had 
 private boxes, the Doctor's grand 
 friends often sending him these ; and 
 finding the opera rather slow, we 
 went to a concert in M-d-n Lane, 
 near Covent Garden, and heard the 
 most celestial glees, over a supper of 
 fizzing sausages and mashed potatoes, 
 such as the world has never seen 
 since. We did no harm ; but I dare 
 say it was very wrong. Brice, the 
 butler, ought not to have taken us. 
 We bullied him, and made him take 
 us where we liked. We had rum- 
 shrub in the housekeeper's room, 
 where we used to be diverted by the 
 society of other butlers of the neigh- 
 boring nobility and gentry, who 
 would step in. Perhaps it was wrong 
 to leave us so to the company of ser- 
 vants. Dr. Firmin used to go to his 
 grand parties, Mrs. Firmin to bed. 
 " Did we enjoy the performance last 
 night ? " our host would ask at 
 breakfast. " O yes, we enjoyed the 
 performance ! " But my poor Mrs. 
 Firmin fancied that we enjoyed Semi- 
 ramide or the Donna del. Logo ; where- 
 as we had been to the pit at the 
 Adelphi (out of our own money), 
 and seen that jolly John Reeve, and 
 laughed laughed till we were fit to 
 drop and stayed till the curtain 
 was down. And then we would 
 come home, and, as aforesaid, pass a 
 delightful hour over supper, and hear 
 the anecdotes of Mr. Brice's friends,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 the other butlers. Ah, that was a | 
 time indeed ! There never was any 
 liquor so good as rum-shrub, never ; 
 and the sausages had a flavor of Ely- 
 sium. How hushed we were when 
 Dr. Firmin, coming home from his 
 parties, let himself in at the street- 
 door ! Shoeless, we crept up to our 
 bedrooms. And we came down to 
 breakfast with innocent young faces, 
 and let Mrs. Firmin, at lunch, 
 prattle about the opera; and there j 
 stood Brice and the footman behind 
 us, looking quite grave, the abomina- 
 bie hypocrites ! 
 
 Then, sir, there was a certain way, 
 out of the study window, or through 
 the kitchen and over the leads, to a 
 building, gloomy indeed, but where I 
 own to have spent delightful hours of 
 the most flagitious and criminal en- 
 joyment of some delicious little Ha- 
 vannahs, ten to the shilling. In 
 that building there were stables once, 
 doubtless occupied by great Flemish 
 horses and rumbling gold coaches of 
 Walpole's time; but a celebrated 
 surgeon, when he took possession of 
 the house, made a lecture-room of the 
 premises, " And this door," says 
 Phil, pointing to one leading into the 
 mews, " was very convenient for I 
 having the bodies in and out," a 
 cheerful reminiscence. Of this kind i 
 of furniture there was now very little 
 in the apartment, except a dilapidated 
 skeleton in a corner, a few dusty easts 
 of heads, and bottles of preparations 
 on the top of an old bureau, and some ' 
 mildewed harness hanging on the 
 walls. This apartment became Mr. I 
 Phil's smoking-room when, as he 
 grew taller, he felt himself too digni- 
 fied to sit in the kitchen regions: the 
 honest butler and housekeeper them- j 
 selves pointing out to their young 
 master that his place was elsewhere 
 than among the servants. So there, 
 privately and with great delectation, 
 we smoked many an abominable cigar 
 in that dreary back room, the gaunt 
 walls and twilight ceilings of which 
 were by, no means melancholy to us, 
 who found forbidden pleasures the 
 
 sweetest, after the absurd fashion of 
 boys. Dr. Firmin was an enemy to 
 smoking, and ever accustomed to 
 speak of the practice with eloquent 
 indignation. " It was a low practice, 
 the habit of cabmen, pot-houso 
 frequenters, and Irish apple-women," 
 the doctor would say, as Phil and his 
 friend looked at each other with a 
 stealthy joy. Phil's father was ever 
 scented and neat, the pattern of hand- 
 some propriety. Perhaps he had a 
 clearer perception regarding manners 
 than respecting morals ; perhaps his 
 conversation was full of platitudes, his 
 talk (concerning people of fashion 
 chiefly) mean and uninstructive, his 
 behavior to young Lord Egham 
 rather fulsome and lacking of dignity. 
 Perhaps, I say, the idea may have 
 entered into young Mr. Pendennis's 
 mind that his hospitable entertainer 
 and friend, Dr. Firmin, of Old Parr 
 Street, was what at the present day 
 might be denominated an old hum- 
 bug ; but modest young men do not 
 come quiekly to such unpleasant con- 
 clusions regarding their seniors. Dr. 
 Finnin's manners were so good, his 
 forehead was so high, his frill so fresh, 
 his hands so white and slim, that for 
 some considerable time we ingenuous- 
 ly admired him ; and it was not 
 without a pang that we came to view 
 him as he actually was, no, not as 
 he actually was no man whose early 
 nurture was kindly can judge quite 
 impartially the man who has been 
 kind to him in boyhood. 
 
 I quitted school suddenly, leaving 
 my little Phil behind me, a brave little 
 handsome boy, endearing himself to 
 old and young by his good looks, his 
 gayety, his courage, and his gentle- 
 manly bearing. Once in a way a 
 letter would come from him, full of 
 that artless affection and tenderness 
 which fills boys' hearts, and is so 
 touching in their letters. It was 
 answered with proper dignity and 
 condescension on the senior boy's 
 part. Our modest little country home 
 kept up a friendly intercourse with 
 Dr. Firmin's grand London mansion,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 81 
 
 of which, in his visits to us, my 
 uncle, Major Pendennis, did not fail 
 to bring news. A correspondence 
 took place between the ladies of each 
 house. We supplied Mrs. Firmin 
 with little country presents, tokens 
 of my mother's good-will and grati- 
 tude towards the friends who had 
 been kind to her son. I went my 
 way to the University, having oc- 
 casional glimpses of Phil at school. 
 I took chambers in the Temple, which 
 he found great delight in visiting ; 
 and he liked our homely dinner from 
 Dick's, and a bed on the sofa, better 
 than the splendid entertainments in 
 Old Parr Street and his great gloomy 
 chamber there. He had grown by 
 this time to be ever so much taller 
 than his senior, though he always 
 persists in looking up to me unto the 
 present day. 
 
 A very few weeks after my poor 
 mother passed that judgment on Mrs. 
 Firmin, she saw reason to regret and 
 revoke it. Phil's mother, who was 
 afraid, or perhaps was forbidden, to 
 attend her son in his illness at school, 
 was taken ill herself. 
 
 Phil returned to Greyfriars in a 
 deep suit of black ; the servants on the 
 carriage wore black too ; and a cer- 
 tain tyrant of the place, beginning to 
 laugh and jeer because Firmin's eyes 
 filled with tears at some ribald re- 
 mark, was gruffly rebuked by Samp- 
 son major, the cock of the whole 
 school ; and with the question, 
 " Don't you see the poor beggar 's in 
 mourning, you great brute?" was 
 kicked about his business. 
 
 When Philip Firmin and I met 
 again, there was crape on both our 
 hats. I don't think either could see 
 the other's face very well. I went to 
 see him in Parr Street, in the vacant, 
 melancholy house, where the poor 
 mother's picture was yet hanging in 
 her empty drawing-room. 
 
 " She was always fond of you, Pen- 
 dennis," said Phil. " God bless you 
 for being so good to her. You know 
 what it is to lose to lose what loves 
 you best in the world. I did n't know 
 4# 
 
 how how I loved her, till I had lost 
 her." And many a sob broke his 
 words as he spoke. 
 
 Her picture was removed from the 
 drawing-room presently into Phil's 
 own little study, the room in which 
 he sat and defied his father. What 
 had passed between them ? The 
 young man was very much changed. 
 The frank looks of old days were 
 gone, and Phil's face was haggard 
 and bold. The Doctor would not let 
 me have a word more with his son 
 after he had found us together, but, 
 with dubious appealing looks, fol- 
 lowed me to the door, and shut it 
 upon me. I felt that it closed upon 
 two unhappy men. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A CONSULTATION. 
 
 SHOULD I peer into Firmin's pri- 
 vacy, and find the key to that secret 1 
 What skeleton was there in the 
 closet ? In the Cornhill Magazine,* 
 you may remember, there were some 
 verses about a portion of a skeleton. 
 Did you remark how the poet and 
 present proprietor of the human skull 
 at once settled the sex of it, and 
 determined off-hand that it must have 
 belonged to a woman ? Such skulls 
 are locked up in many gentleman's 
 hearts and memories. Bluebeard, jou 
 know, had a whole museum of them, 
 as that imprudent little last wife of 
 his found out to her cost. And, on 
 the other hand, a lady, we suppose, 
 would select hers of the sort which 
 had carried beards when in the flesh. 
 Given a neat-locked skeleton cup- 
 board, belonging to a man of a certain 
 age, to ascertain the sex of the 
 original owner of the bones, you have 
 not much need of a picklock or a 
 blacksmith. There is no use in 
 forcing the hinge, or scratching the 
 pretty panel. We know what is in- 
 side, we arch rogues and men of the 
 
 No. 12 : December, 1860. 
 F
 
 82 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 world. Murders, I suppose, are not 
 many, enemies and victims of our 
 hate and auger, destroyed and tramp- 
 led out of life by us, and locked out 
 of sight : but corpses of our dead 
 loves, my dear sir, my dear madam, 
 have we not got them stowed away 
 in cupboard after cupboard, in bottle 
 after bottle ? O fie ! And young 
 people ! What doctrine is this to 
 preach to them, who spell your book 
 by papa's and mamma's knee ? Yes, 
 and how wrong it is to let them go 
 to church, and see and hear papa and 
 mamma publicly on their knees, call- 
 ing out, and confessing to the whole 
 congregation, that they are sinners ! 
 So, though I had not the key, I could 
 see through the panel and the glim- 
 mering of the skeleton inside. 
 
 Although the elder Firmin followed 
 me to the door, and his eyes only left 
 me as I turned the corner of the street, 
 I felt sure that Phil erelong would 
 open his mind to me, or give me some 
 clew to that mystery. I should hear 
 from him why his bright cheeks had 
 become hollow, why his fresh voice, 
 which I remember so honest and 
 cheerful, was now harsh and sarcastic, 
 with tones that often grated on the 
 hearer, and laughter that gave pain. 
 It was about Philip himself that my 
 anxieties were. The young fellow 
 had inherited from his poor mother a 
 considerable fortune, some eight or 
 nine hundred a year, we always un- 
 derstood. He was living in a costlv, 
 not .to say extravagant manner. I 
 thought Mr. Philip's juvenile re- 
 morses were locked up in the skeleton 
 closet, and was grieved to think he 
 had fallen in mischiefs way. Hence, 
 no doubt, might arise the anger be- 
 tween him and his father. The boy 
 was extravagant and headstrong : 
 and the parent remonstrant and irri- 
 tated. 
 
 I met my old friend Dr. Good- 
 enough at the club one evening ; and 
 as we dined together I discoursed 
 with him about his former patient, and 
 recalled to him that day, years back, 
 when the boy was ill at school, and 
 
 when my poor mother and Phil's own 
 were yet alive. 
 
 Goodenough looked very grave. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " the boy was very 
 ill ; he was nearly gone at that time 
 at that time when his mother 
 was in the Isle of Wight, and hia 
 father dangling after a prince. We 
 thought one day it was all over with 
 him ; but " 
 
 " But a good doctor interposed 
 between him and podlida mors." 
 
 " A good doctor 1 a good nurse ! 
 The boy was delirious, and had a 
 fancy to walk out of window, and 
 would have done so, but for one of my 
 nurses. You know her." 
 
 " What ! the Little Sister ? " 
 
 " Yes, the Little Sister." 
 
 " And it was she who nursed Phil 
 through his fever, and saved his life ? 
 I drink her health. She is a good 
 little soul." 
 
 " Good ! " said the Doctor, with his 
 gruffest voice and frown. (He was 
 always most fierce when he was most 
 tender-hearted.) "Good, indeed! 
 Will you have some more of this 
 duck ? Do. You have had enough 
 already, and it 's very unwholesome. 
 Good, sir ? But for women, fire and 
 brimstone ought to come down and 
 consume this world. Your dear 
 mother was one of the good ones. I 
 was attending you when you were ill, 
 at those horrible chambers you had 
 in the Temple, at the same time when 
 young Firmin was ill at Greyfriars. 
 And I suppose I must be answerable 
 for keeping two scapegraces in the 
 world." 
 
 " Why did n't Dr. Firmin come to 
 see him ? " 
 
 " Hm ! his nerves were too delicate. 
 Besides, he did come. Talk of the 
 * * * " 
 
 The personage designated by aster- 
 isks was Phil's father, who was also 
 a member of our club, and who en- 
 tered the dining-room, tall, stately, 
 and pale, with his stereotyped smi)e, 
 and wave of his pretty hand. By the 
 way, that smile of Firmin's was a 
 very queer contortion of the handsome
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 83 
 
 features. As you came up to him, he 
 would draw his lips over his teeth, 
 causing his jaws to wrinkle (or dimple 
 if you will) on either side. Meanwhile 
 his eyes looked out from his face, quite 
 melancholy and independent of the 
 little transaction in which the mouth 
 was engaged. Lips said, " I am a 
 gentleman of fine manners and fasci- 
 nating address, and I am supposed to 
 be happy to see you. How do you 
 do ? " Dreary, sad, as into a great 
 blank desert, looked the dark eyes. 
 I do know one or two, but only one 
 or two faces of men, when oppressed 
 with care, which can yet smile all 
 over. 
 
 Goodenough nods grimly to the 
 smile of the other doctor, who blandly 
 looks at our table, holding his chin 
 in one of his pretty hands. 
 
 " How do ? " growls Goodenough. 
 " Young hopeful well ? " 
 
 " Young hopeful sits smoking cigars 
 till morning with some friends of his," 
 says Firmin, with the sad smile di- 
 rected towards me this time. " Boys 
 will be boys." And he pensively 
 walks away from us with a friend- 
 ly nod towards me; examines the 
 dinner-card in an attitude of melan- 
 choly grace ; points with the jewelled 
 hand to the dishes which he will have 
 served, and is off, and simpering to 
 another acquaintance at a distant 
 table. 
 
 "I thought he would take that 
 table," says Firmin's cynical confrere. 
 
 " In the draught of the door 1 
 Don't you see how the candle flickers 1 
 It is the worst place in the room ! " 
 
 " Yes ; but don't you see who is 
 sitting at the next table ? " 
 
 Now at the next table was a 
 n-blem-n of vast wealth, who was 
 growling at the quality of the mut- 
 ton cutlets, and the half-pint of sherry 
 which he had ordered for dinner. 
 But as his Lordship has nothing to 
 do with the ensuing history, of course 
 we shall not violate confidence by 
 mentioning his name. We could see 
 Firmin smiling on his neighbor with 
 his blandest melancholy, and the 
 
 waiters presently bearing up the 
 dishes which the Doctor had ordered 
 for his own refection. He was no 
 lover of mutton-chops and of course 
 sherry, as I knew, who had partaken 
 of many a feast at his board. I could 
 see the diamond twinkle on his pret- 
 ty hand, as it daintily poured out 
 creaming wine from the ice-pail by 
 his side, the liberal hand that had 
 given me many a sovereign when I 
 was a boy. 
 
 " I can't help liking him," I said to 
 my companion, whose scornful eyes 
 were now and again directed towards 
 his colleague. 
 
 " This port is very sweet. Almost 
 all port is sweet now," remarks the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " He was very kind to me in my 
 school-days ; and Philip was a fine 
 little fello'w." 
 
 " Handsome a boy as ever I saw. 
 Does he keep his beauty ? Father 
 was a handsome man very. Quite 
 a lady-killer, I mean out of his 
 practice ! " adds the grim Doctor. 
 " What is the boy doing 1 " 
 
 " He is at the University. He has 
 his mother's fortune. He is wild and 
 unsettled, and I fear he is going to 
 the bad a little." 
 
 " Is he ? Should n't wonder ! " 
 grumbles Goodenough. 
 
 We had talked very frankly and 
 pleasantly until the appearance of 
 the other doctor, but with Firmin's 
 arrival Goodenough seemed to button 
 up his conversation. He quickly 
 stumped away from the dining-room 
 to the drawing-room, and sat over a 
 novel there until time came when he 
 was to retire to his patients or his 
 home. 
 
 That there was no liking between 
 the doctors, that there was a differ- 
 ence between Philip and his father, 
 was clear enough to me : but the 
 causes of these differences I had yet 
 to learn. The story came to me 
 piecemeal ; from confessions here, 
 admissions there, deductions of my 
 own. I could not, of course, be pres- 
 ent at many of the scenes which I
 
 84 
 
 THE ADVENTUBES OF PHILIP. 
 
 shall have to relate as though I had 
 witnessed them ; and the posture, 
 language, and inward thoughts ofj 
 Philip and his friends, as here related, 
 no doubt are fancies of the narrator 
 in many cases ; but the story is as 
 authentic as many histories, and the 
 reader need only give such an amount 
 of credence to it as he may judge 
 that its verisimilitude warrants. 
 
 Well, then, we must not only revert 
 to that illness which befell when 
 Philip Firmin was a boy at Grey- 
 friurs, but go back yet farther in 
 time to a period which I cannot pre- 
 cisely ascertain. 
 
 The pupils of old Gandish's paint- 
 ing academy may remember a ridicu- 
 lous little man, with a great deal of 
 wild talent, about the ultimate success 
 of which his friends were divided. 
 Whether Andrew was a genius, or 
 whether he was a zany, was always 
 a moot question among the frequent- 
 ers of the Greek Street billiard- 
 rooms, and the noble disciples of the 
 Academy and St. Martin's Lane. 
 He may have been crazy and absurd ; 
 he may have had talent too : such 
 characters are not unknown in art or 
 in Literature. He broke the A Queen's 
 English ; he was ignorant to a won- 
 der; he dressed his little person in 
 the most fantastic raiment and queer- j 
 est cheap finery : he wore a beard, 
 bless my soul ! twenty years before 
 beards were known to wag in Britain, j 
 He was the most affected little crea- j 
 ture, and, if you looked at him, 
 would pose in attitudes of such ludi- 
 crous dirty dignity, that if you had 
 1 1 ad a dun waiting for money in the 
 hall of your lodging-house, or your [ 
 picture refused at the Academy, if 
 you were suffering under ever so j 
 much calamity, you could not help 
 laughing. He was the butt of all his 
 acquaintances, the laughing-stock of 
 hiiih and low, and he had as loving, i 
 gentle, faithful, honorable a heart as 
 cvrr beat in a little bosom. He is 
 gone to bis rest now ; his palette and 
 easel are waste timber; his genius, 
 which made some little flicker of 
 
 brightness, never shone much, and is 
 extinct. In an old album that dates 
 back for more than a score of years, 
 I sometimes look at poor Andrew's 
 strange wild sketches. He might 
 have done something had he contin- 
 ued to remain poor ; but a rich wid- 
 ow, whom he met at Rome, fell in 
 love with the strange errant painter, 
 pursued him to England, and married 
 him in spite of himself. His genius 
 drooped under the servitude : he lived 
 but a few short years, and died of a 
 consumption, of which the good 
 Goodenough's skill could not cure 
 him. 
 
 One day, as he was driving with 
 his wife in her splendid barouche 
 through the Haymarket, he suddenly 
 bade the coachman stop, sprang over 
 the side of the carriage before the 
 steps could be let fall, and his aston- 
 ished wife saw him shaking the hands 
 of a shabbily dressed little woman 
 who was passing, shaking both her 
 hands, and weeping, and gesticulat- 
 ing, and twisting his beard and mus- 
 tachios, as his wont was when agitat- 
 ed. Mrs. Month" tchet (the wealthy 
 Mrs. Carrickfergus she had been, be- 
 fore she married the painter), the 
 owner of a young husband, who had 
 sprung from her side, and out of her 
 carriage, in order to caress a young 
 woman passingin thestreet, might well 
 be disturbed by this demonstration ; 
 but she was a kind-hearted woman, 
 and when Montfitchet, on reascend- 
 ing into the family coach, told his 
 wife the history of the person of 
 whom he had just taken leave, she 
 cried plentifully too. She bade the 
 coachman drive straightway to her 
 own house : she rushed up to her own 
 apartments, whence she emerged, 
 bearing an immense bag full of wear- 
 ing apparel, and followed by a pant- 
 ing butler, carrying a bottle-basket 
 and a pie : and she drove off, with her 
 pleased Andrew by her side, to a 
 court in St. Martin's Lane, where 
 dwelt the poor woman with whom he 
 had just been conversing. 
 
 It had pleased Heaven, in the midst
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 85 
 
 of dreadful calamity, to send her 
 friends and succor. She was suffer- 
 ing under misfortune, poverty, and 
 cowardly desertion. A man who had 
 called himself Brandon when he took 
 lodgings in her father's house married 
 her, brought her to London, tired of 
 her, and left her. She had reason to | 
 think he had given a false name when 
 he lodged with her father : he fled, 
 after a few months, and his real name J 
 she never knew. When he deserted j 
 her, she went back to her father, a 
 weak man, married to a domineering 
 woman, who pretended to disbelieve 
 the story of her marriage, and drove 
 her from the door. Desperate, and 
 almost mad, she came back to London, 
 where she still had some little relics 
 of property that her fugitive husband 
 left behind him. He promised, when 
 he left her, to remit her money ; but 
 he sent none, or she refused it or, 
 in her wildness and despair, lost the 
 dreadful paper which announced his 
 desertion, and that he was married 
 before, and that to pursue him would 
 ruin him, and he knew she never 
 would do that, no, however much 
 he might have wronged her. 
 
 She was penniless then, deserted 
 by all, having made away with the 
 last trinket of her brief days of love, 
 having sold the last little remnant of 
 her poor little stock of clothing, 
 alone in the great wilderness of 
 London, when it pleased God to send 
 her succor in the person of an old 
 friend who had known her, and even 
 loved her, in happier days. When 
 the Samaritans came to this poor 
 child, they found her sick and 
 shuddering with fever. They brought 
 their doctor to her, who is never so 
 eager as when he runs up a poor 
 man's stair. And, as he watched by 
 the bed where her kind friends came 
 to help her, he heard her sad little 
 story of trust and desertion. 
 
 Her father was a humble person 
 who had see7i better days ; and poor 
 little Mrs Brandon had a sweetness 
 and simplicity of manner which 
 exceedingly touched the good doctor. 
 
 She had little education, except that 
 which silence, long-suffering, seclu- 
 sion, will sometimes give. When 
 cured of her illness, there was the 
 great and constant evil of poverty to 
 meet and overcome. How was she to 
 live ? He got to be as fond of her as 
 of a child of his own. She was tidy, 
 thrifty, gay at times, with a little 
 simple cheerfulness. The little flow- 
 ers began to bloom as the sunshine 
 touched them. Her whole life hither- 
 to had been cowering under neglect, 
 and tvranny, and gloom". 
 
 Mr. Montfitchet was for coming so 
 often to look after the little outcast 
 whom he had succored that I am 
 bound to say Mrs. M. became hysteri- 
 cally jealous, and waited for him on 
 the stairs as he came down swathed 
 in his Spanish cloak, pounced on him, 
 and called him a monster. Good- 
 enough was also, I fancy, suspicious 
 of Montfitchet, and Montfitchet of 
 Goodenough. Howbeit, the Doctor 
 vowed that he never had other than 
 the feeling of a father towards his 
 poor little protegee, nor could any 
 father be more tender. He did not 
 try to take her out of her station in 
 life. He found, or she found for 
 herself, a work which she could do. 
 " Papa used to say no one ever nursed 
 him so nice as I did," she said. " I 
 think I could do that better than any- 
 thing, except my needle, but I like to 
 be useful to poor sick people best. I 
 don't think about myself then, sir." 
 And for this business good Mr. 
 Goodenough had her educated and 
 employed. 
 
 The widow died in course of time 
 whom Mrs. Brandon's father had 
 married, and her daughters refused to 
 keep him, speaking very disrespect- 
 fully of this old Mr. Gann, who was, 
 indeed, a weak old man. And now 
 Caroline came to the rescue of her 
 old father. She was a shrewd little 
 Caroline. She had saved a little 
 money. Goodenough gave up a 
 country-house, which he did not care 
 to use, and lent Mrs. Brandon the 
 furniture. She thought she could
 
 86 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 keep a lodging-house and find lodgers. 
 Montfitchet had painted her. There 
 was a sort of beauty about her which 
 the artists admired. When Ridley 
 the Academician had the small-pox, 
 she attended him, and caught the 
 malady. She did not mind ; not she. 
 " It won't spoil my beauty," she said. 
 Nor did it. The disease dealt very 
 kindly with her little modest face. I 
 don't know who gave her the nick- 
 name, but she had a good roomy 
 house in Thornhaugh Street, an 
 artist on the first and second floor ; 
 and there never was a word of scandal 
 against the Little Sister, for was not 
 her father in permanence sipping 
 gin-and-water in the ground-floor 
 
 Eirlor 1 As we called her " the 
 ittle Sister," her father was called 
 "the Captain," a bragging, lazy, 
 good-natured old man, not a repu- 
 table captain, and very cheerful, 
 though the conduct of his children, 
 he said, had repeatedly broken his 
 heart. 
 
 I don't know how many years the 
 Little Sister had been on duty when 
 Philip Firmin had his scarlet fever. 
 It befell him at the end of the term, 
 just when all the boys were going 
 home. His tutor and his tutor's wife 
 wanted their holidays, and sent their 
 own children out of the way. As 
 Phil's father was absent, Dr. Good- 
 enough came, and sent his nurse in. 
 The case grew worse, so bad that Dr. 
 Firmin was summoned from the Isle 
 of Wight, and arrived one evening 
 at Greyfriars, Greyfriars so silent 
 now, so noisy at other times with the 
 shouts and crowds of the playground. 
 
 Dr. Goodenough's carriage was at 
 the door when Dr. Firmin's carriage 
 drove up. 
 
 " How was the boy ? " 
 
 " He had been very bad. He had 
 been wrong in the head nil day, 
 talking and laughing quite wild-like," 
 the servant said. 
 
 The father ran up the stairs. 
 
 Phil was in a great room, in which 
 were several empty beds of boys gene 
 home for the holidays. The windows 
 
 were opened into Greyfriars Square. 
 Goodenough heard his colleague's 
 carriage drive up, and rightly divined 
 that Phil's father had arrived. He 
 came out, and met Firmin in the 
 anteroom. 
 
 " Head has wandered a little. 
 Better now, and quiet " ; and the one 
 doctor murmured to the other the 
 treatment which he had pursued. 
 
 Firmin stepped in gently towards 
 the patient, near whose side the Little 
 Sister was standing. 
 
 " Who is it ? " said Phil. 
 
 " It is I, dear. Your father," said 
 Dr. Firmin, with real tenderness in 
 his voice. 
 
 The Little Sister turned round 
 once, and fell down like a stone by 
 the bedside. 
 
 " You infernal villain ! " said Good- 
 enough, with an oath, and a step 
 forward. " You are the man ! " 
 
 " Hush ! The patient, if you 
 please, Dr. Goodenough, " said the 
 other" physician. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A GENTEEL FAMILY. 
 
 HAVE you made up your mind on 
 the question of seeming and being in 
 the world ? I mean, suppose you are 
 poor, is it right for you to seem to be 
 well off ? Have people an honest 
 right to keep up appearances 1 Are 
 you justified in starving your dinner- 
 table in order to keep a carriage ; to 
 have such an expensive house that 
 you can't by any possibility help a 
 poor relation ; to array your daugh- 
 ters in costly milliners' wares because 
 they live with girls whose parents are 
 twice as rich 1 Sometimes it is hard 
 to say where honest pride ends and 
 hypocrisy begins. To obtrude your 
 poverty is mean and slavish ; as it is 
 odious for a beggar to ask compas- 
 sion by showing his sores. But to 
 simulate prosperity, to be wealthy 
 and lavish thrice a year when yo'i 
 ask your friends, and for the rest of
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 87 
 
 the time to munch a crust and sit by 
 one candle, are the folks who prac- 
 tise this deceit worthy of applause or 
 a whipping ? Sometimes it is noble 
 pride, sometimes shabby swindling. 
 When I see Eugenia with her dear 
 children exquisitely neat and cheer- 
 ful ; not showing the slightest sem- 
 blance of poverty, or uttering the 
 smallest complaint ; persisting that 
 Squanderfield, her husband, treats 
 her well, and is good at heart ; and 
 denying that he leaves her and her 
 young ones in want ; I admire and 
 reverence that noble falsehood, that 
 beautiful constancy and endurance 
 which disdains to ask compassion. 
 When I sit at poor Jezebella's table, 
 and am treated to her sham bounties 
 and shabby splendor, I only feel an- 
 ger for the hospitality, and that din- 
 ner, and guest, and host, are humbugs 
 together. 
 
 Talbot Twysden's dinner-table is 
 large, and the guests most respect- 
 able. There is always a big-wig or 
 two present, and a dining dowager 
 who frequents the greatest houses. 
 There is a butler who offers you 
 wine ; there 's a menu du diner before 
 Mrs. Twysden ; and to read it you 
 would fancy you were at a good din- 
 ner. It tastes of chopped straw. 0, 
 the dreary sparkle of that feeble 
 champagne ; the audacity of that 
 public-house sherry ; the swindle of 
 that acrid claret ; the fiery twang of 
 that clammy port ! I have tried them 
 all, I tell you ! It is sham wine, a 
 sham dinner, a sham welcome, a 
 sham cheerfulness among the guests 
 assembled. I feel that that woman 
 eyes and counts the cutlets as they 
 are carried off the tables ; perhap's 
 watches that one which you try to 
 swallow. She has counted and 
 grudged each candle by which the 
 cook prepares the meal. Does her 
 big coachman fatten himself on pur- 
 loined oats and beans, and Thorley's 
 Ifood for cattle? Of the rinsings of 
 those wretched bottles the butler will 
 lhave to give a reckoning in the morn- 
 ang' Unless you are of the very great 
 
 monde, Twysden and his wife think 
 themselves better than you are, and 
 seriously patronize you. They con- 
 sider it is a privilege to be invited to 
 those horrible meals to which they 
 gravely ask the greatest folks in the 
 country. I actually met Winton 
 there, the famous Winton, the 
 best dinner-giver in the world, (ah, 
 what a position for man ! ) I watched 
 him, and marked the sort of wonder 
 which came over him as he tasted 
 and sent away dish after dish, glass 
 after glass. " Try that Chateau 
 Margaux, Winton ! " calls out the 
 host. " It is some that Bottleby and 
 I imported." Imported ! I see Win- 
 ton's face as he tastes the wine, and 
 puts it down. He does not like to 
 talk about that dinner. He has lost 
 a day. Twysden will continue to ask 
 him every year ; will continue to ex- 
 pect to be asked in return, with Mrs. 
 Twysden and one of his daughters ; 
 and will express his surprise loudly 
 at the club, saying, " Hang Winton ! 
 Deuce take the fellow ! He has sent 
 me no game this year ! " When for- 
 eign dukes and princes arrive, Twys- 
 den straightway collars them, and in- 
 vites them to his house. And some- 
 times they go once, and then ask, 
 " Qui done est ce Monsieur Trisden, qui 
 est si drole ? " And he elbows his 
 way up to them at the Minister's as- 
 semblies, and frankly gives them his 
 hand. And calm Mrs. Twysden 
 wriggles, and works, and slides, and 
 pushes, and tramples if need be, her 
 girls following behind her, until she 
 too has come up under the eyes of the 
 great man, and bestowed on him a 
 smile and a courtesy. Twysden 
 grasps prosperity cordially by the 
 hand. He says to success, " Bravo ! " 
 On the contrary, I never saw a man 
 more resolute in not knowing unfor- 
 tunate people, or more daringly for- 
 getful of those whom he does not care 
 to remember. If this Levite met a 
 wayfarer, going down from Jerusa- 
 lem, who had fallen among thieves, 
 do you think he would stop to rescue 
 the fallen man "? He would neither
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 give wine, nor oil, nor money. He 
 would pass on perfectly satisfied with 
 his own virtue, and leave the other to 
 go, as best he might, to Jericho. 
 
 What is this ? Am I angry be- 
 cause Twysden has left off asking me 
 to his vinegar and chopped hay ? No. 
 I think not. Am I hurt because Mrs. 
 Twysden sometimes patronizes my 
 wife, and sometimes cuts her ? 
 Perhaps. Only women thoroughly 
 know the insolence of women towards 
 oae another in the world. That is a 
 vary stale remark. They receive and 
 deliver stabs, smiling politely. Tom 
 JS.iyers could not take punishment 
 mare gayly than they do. If you 
 cj.ild but see under the skin, you 
 would find their little hearts scarred 
 all over with little lancet digs. I 
 protest I have seen my own wife 
 enduring the impertinence of this 
 woman, with a face as calm and 
 placi J as she wears when old Twysden 
 himself is talking to her, and pouring 
 out one of his maddening long stories. 
 O no ! I am not angry at all. I 
 can see that by the way in which I am 
 writing of these folks. By the way, 
 whilst I am giving this candid opinion 
 of the Twysdsns, do I somarimes 
 pause to consider what they think of 
 ie? What do I care? Think what 
 you like. Meanwhile we bow to one 
 another at parties. We smile at each 
 othjr in a sickly way. And as for 
 the dinners in Beaunash Street, I 
 hope those who eat them enjoy their 
 food. 
 
 Twysden is one of the chiefs now 
 of the Powder and Pomatum Office 
 (the Pigtail branch was finally abol- 
 ished in 1833, after the Reform Bill, 
 with a compensation to the retiring 
 under-secretary), and his son is a 
 clerk in the same office. When they 
 came out, the daughters were very 
 pretty, even my wife allows that. 
 One of them used to ride in the Park 
 with her father or brother daily ; and 
 knowing what his salary and wife's 
 fortune were, and what the rent of his 
 house in Beaunash Street, everybody 
 wondered how the Twysdens could 
 
 make both ends meet. They had 
 horses, carriages, and a great house 
 fit for at least five thousand a year ; 
 they had not half as much, as every- 
 body knew ; and it was supposed 
 that old Ringwood must make his 
 niece an allowance. She certainly 
 worked hard to get it. I spoke of 
 stabs anon, and poor little breasts 
 and sides scarred all over. No nuns, 
 no monks, no fakirs, take whippings 
 more kindly than some devotees of 
 the world ; and, as the punishment is 
 one for edification, let us hope the 
 world lays smartly on to back and 
 shoulders, and uses the thong well. 
 
 When old Ringwood, at the close 
 of his lifetime, used to come to visit 
 his dear niece and her husband and 
 children, he always brought a cat-o'- 
 nine-tails in his pocket, and ad- 
 ministered it to the whole household. 
 He grinned at the poverty, the 
 pretence, the meanness of the people, 
 as they knelt before him and did him 
 homage. The father and mother 
 trembling brought the girls up for 
 punishment, and, piteously smiling, 
 received their own boxes on the ear 
 in presence of their children. " Ah ! " 
 the little French governess used to 
 say, grinding her white teeth, " I like 
 milor to come. All day you vip me. 
 AVhen milor come, he vip you, and 
 you kneel down and kiss de rod." 
 
 They certainly knelt and took their 
 whipping with the most exemplary 
 fortitude. Sometimes the lash fell 
 on papa's back, sometimes on mam- 
 ma's : now it stung Agnes, and now 
 it lighted on Blanche's pretty shoul- 
 ders. But I think it was on the heir 
 of the house, young RinLrwood 
 Twysden, that my Lord loved best to 
 operate. Ring's vanity was very thin- 
 skinned, his selfishness easily wound- 
 ed, and his contortions under punish- 
 ment amused the old tormentor. 
 
 As my Lord's brougham drives up 
 the modest little brown brougham, 
 with the noble horse, the lord chan- 
 cellor of a coachman, and the ineffable 
 footman, the ladies, who know the 
 whir of the wheels, and may be
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 89 
 
 quarrelling in the drawing-room, call 
 a truce to the fight, and smooth down 
 their ruffled tempers and raiment. 
 Mamma is writing at her table, in 
 that beautiful, clear hand which we 
 all admire; Blanche is at her book ; 
 Agnes is rising from the piano quite 
 naturally. A quarrel between those 
 gentle, smiling, delicate creatures ! 
 Impossible ! About your most com- 
 mon piece of hypocrisy how men will 
 blush and bungle : how easily, how 
 gracefully, how consummately, wo- 
 men will perform it ! 
 
 " Well," growls my Lord, " you 
 are all in such pretty attitudes, I 
 make no doubt you have been spar- 
 ring. I suspect, Maria, the men 
 must know what devilish bad tempers 
 the girls have got. Who can have 
 seen you fighting"? You 're quiet 
 enough here, you little monkeys. I 
 tell you what it is. Ladies'-maids 
 get about and talk to the valets in 
 the housekeeper's room, and the men 
 tell their masters. Upon my word I 
 believe it was that business last year 
 at Whiphain which frightened Green- 
 wood off. Famous match. Good 
 house in town and country. No 
 mother alive. Agnes might have 
 had it her own way, but for that " 
 
 " We are not all angels in our 
 family, uncle ! " cries Miss Agnes, 
 reddening. 
 
 " And your mother is too sharp. 
 The men are afraid of you, Maria. 
 I 've heard several young men say so. 
 At White's they talk about it quite 
 freely. Pity for the girls. Great 
 pity. Fellows come and tell me. 
 Jack Hall, and fellows who go about 
 everywhere." 
 
 " I 'm sure I don't care what Cap- 
 tain Hall says about me, odious 
 little wretch ! " cries Blanche. 
 
 " There you go off in a tantrum ! 
 Hall never has any opinion of his 
 own. He only fetches and carries 
 what other people say. And he says, 
 fellows say they are frightened of 
 vour mother. La bless you ! Hall 
 has no opinion. A fellow might 
 commit murder, and Hall would wait 
 
 at the door. Quite a discreet man. 
 But I told him to ask about you. 
 And that 's what I hear. And he 
 says that Agnes is making eyes at 
 the Doctor's boy." 
 
 " It 's a shame," cries Agnes, shed- 
 ding tears under her martyrdom. 
 
 " Older than he is; but that's no 
 obstacle. Good-looking boy, I sup- 
 pose you don't object to that 1 Has 
 his poor mother's money, and his 
 father's : must be well .to do. A 
 vulgar fellow, but a clever fellow, and 
 a determined fellow, the Doctor, and 
 a fellow who, I suspect, is capable of 
 anything. Should n't wonder at that 
 fellow marrying some rich dowager. 
 Those doctors get an immense in- 
 fluence over women ; and unless I 'm 
 mistaken in my man, Maria, your 
 poor sister got hold of a " 
 
 " Uncle ! " cries Mrs. Twysden, 
 pointing to her daughters, " before 
 these " 
 
 " Before those innocent lambs ! 
 Hem! Well, I think Finnin is of 
 the wolf sort " : and the old noble 
 laughed, and showed his own fierce 
 fangs as he spoke. 
 
 " I grieve to say, my Lord, I agree 
 with you," remarks Mr. Twysden. 
 " I don't think Firmin a man of high 
 principle. A clever man 1 Yes. An 
 accomplished man ? Yes. A good 
 physician ? Yes. A prosperous 
 man ? Yes. But what 's a man 
 without principle ? " 
 
 " You ought to have been a parson, 
 Twysden." 
 
 " Others have said so, my Lord. 
 My poor mother often regretted that 
 I did n't choose the Church. When 
 I was at Cambridge I used to speak 
 constantly at the Union. I practised. 
 I do not disguise from you that my 
 aim was puhlic life. 1 am free to 
 confess I think the House of Com- 
 mons would have been my sphere ; 
 and, bad my means permitted, should 
 certainly have come forward." 
 
 Lord Ringwood smiled, and wink- 
 ed to his niece, 
 
 " He means, my dear, that he would 
 like to wag his jaws at my expense,
 
 90 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 and that I should pat him in for 
 Whipham." 
 
 " There afe, I think, worse mem- 
 bers of Parliament," remarked Mr. 
 Twysden. 
 
 " If there was a box of 'em like 
 you, what a cage it would be ! " roar- 
 ed my Lord. " By George, I 'm sick 
 of jaw. And I would like to see a 
 king of spirit in this country, who 
 would shut up the talking-shops and 
 gag the whole chattering crew ! " 
 
 " I am a partisan of order, but a 
 lover of freedom," continues Twysden. 
 " I hold that the balance of our con- 
 stitution " 
 
 I think my Lord would have in- 
 dulged in a few of those oaths with 
 which his old-fashioned conversation 
 was liberally garnished ; but the ser- 
 vant, entering at this moment, an- 
 nounces Mr. Philip Firmin ; and ever 
 so faint a blush flutters up in Agnes's 
 cheek, who feels that the old lord's 
 eye is upon her. 
 
 " So, sir, I saw you at the Opera 
 last night," says Lord Ringwood. 
 
 " I saw you, too," says downright 
 Phil. 
 
 The women looked terrified, and 
 Twysden scared. The Twysdens 
 had Lord Ringwood's box sometimes. 
 But there were boxes in which the 
 old man sat, and in which they never 
 could see him. 
 
 " Why don't you look at the stage, 
 sir, when you jro to the Opera, and 
 not at me ? When you go to church 
 you ought to look at the parson, 
 ought n't you ? " growled the old 
 man. " I 'm about as good to look 
 at as the fellow who dances first 
 in the ballet, and very nearly as 
 old. But if I were you, I should 
 think looking at the Ellsler better 
 fun." 
 
 And now you may fancy of what 
 old, old times we are writing, times 
 in which those horrible old male 
 dancers yet existed hideous old 
 creatures, with low dresses and short 
 sleeves, and wreaths of flowers, or 
 hats and feathers round their absurd 
 old wigs who skipped at the head 
 
 of the ballet. Let us be thankful 
 that those old apes have almost van- 
 ished off the stage, and left it in pos- 
 session of the beauteous bounders of 
 the other sex. Ah, my dear young 
 friends, time will be when these too 
 will cease to appear more than mor- 
 tally beautiful ! To Philip, at his 
 age, they yet looked as lovely as 
 houris. At this time the simple 
 young fellow, surveying the ballet 
 from his stall at the Opera, mistook 
 carmine for blushes, pearl-powder for 
 native snows, and cotton-wool for 
 natural symmetry ; and I dare say 
 when he went into the world was not 
 more clear-sighted about its rouged 
 innocence, its padded pretensions, 
 and its painted candor. 
 
 Old Lord Ringwood had a humor- 
 ous pleasure in petting and coaxing 
 Philip Firmin before Philip's relatives 
 of Beaunash Street. Even the girls 
 felt a little plaintive envy at the par- 
 tiality which Uncle Ringwood exhibit- 
 ed for Phil ; but the elder Twysdens 
 and Ringwood Twysden, their son, 
 writhed with agony at the preference 
 which the old man sometimes showed 
 for the Doctor's boy. Phil was much 
 taller, much handsomer, much strong- 
 er, much better tempered, and much 
 richer, than young Twysden. He 
 would be the sole inheritor of his 
 father's fortune, and had his mother's 
 thirty thousand pounds. Even when 
 they told him his father would marry 
 again, Phil laughed, and did not 
 seem to care, "I wish him joy of 
 his new wife," was all he could be 
 got to say : " when he gets one, I 
 suppose I shall go into chambers. 
 Old Parr Street is not as gay as Pall 
 Mall." I am not angry with Mrs. 
 Twysden for having a little jealousy 
 of her nephew. Her boy and girls 
 i were the fruit of a dutiful marriage ; 
 and Phil was the son of a disobedient 
 j child. Her children were always on 
 i their best behavior before their great 
 uncle ; and Phil cared for him no 
 more than for any other man ; and 
 he liked Phil the best. Her bov was 
 as humble and eager to please as any
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 91 
 
 of his Lordship's humblest henchmen ; 
 and Lord Ringwood snapped at him, 
 browbeat him, and trampled on the 
 poor darling's tenderest feelings, and 
 treated him scarcely better than a 
 lackey. As for poor Mr. Twysden, 
 my Lord not only yawned unreserved- 
 ly in his face that could not be 
 helped ; poor Talbot's talk set many 
 of his acquaintance asleep but 
 laughed at him, interrupted him, and 
 told him to hold his tongue. On this 
 day, as the family sat together at the 
 pleasant hour, the before - dinner 
 hour, the fireside and tea - table 
 hour, Lord Ringwood said to 
 Phil, 
 
 " Dine with me to-day, sir? " 
 
 " Why does he not ask me, with 
 my powers of conversation 1 " thought 
 old Twysden to himself. 
 
 " Hang him, he always asks that 
 beggar," writhed young Twysden, in 
 his corner. 
 
 " Very sorry, sir, can't come. 
 Have asked some fellows to dine at 
 the ' Blue Posts,' " says Phil. 
 
 " Confound you, sir, why don't you 
 put 'em oft'?" cries the old lord. 
 " You 'A put 'em off, Twysden, 
 would n't you ? " 
 
 " O sir ! " the heart of father and 
 son both beat. 
 
 " You know you would ; and you 
 quarrel with this boy for not throw- 
 ing his friends over. Good night, 
 Firmin, since you won't come." 
 
 And with this my Lord was gone. 
 
 The two gentlemen of the house 
 glumly looked from the window, and 
 saw my Lord's brougham drive swiftly 
 away in the rain. 
 
 " I hate your dining at those hor- 
 rid taverns," whispered a young lady 
 to Philip. 
 
 "It is better fun than dining at 
 home," Philip remarks. 
 
 " You smoke and drink too much. 
 You come home late, and you don't 
 live in a proper monde, sir ! " continues 
 the young lady. 
 
 " What would you have me do ? " 
 
 " O, nothing. You must dine 
 with those horrible men," cries 
 
 Agnes ; " else you might have gone 
 to Lady Pendleton's to-night." 
 
 " I can throw over the men easily 
 enough, if you wish," answered the 
 young man. 
 
 ' I ? I have no wish of the sort. 
 Have you not already refused Uncle 
 Ringwood ? " 
 
 " You are not Lord Ringwood," 
 says Phil, with a tremor in his voice. 
 " 1 don't know there is much I would 
 refuse you." 
 
 " You silly boy ! What do I ever 
 ask you to do that you ought to re- 
 fuse? I want you to live in our 
 world, and not with your dreadful 
 wild Oxford and Temple bachelors. 
 I don't want you to smoke. I want 
 you to go into the world of which 
 you have the entree, and you refuse 
 your uncle on account of some horrid 
 engagement at a tavern ! " 
 
 "Shall I stop here? Aunt, will 
 you give me some dinner here ? " 
 asks the young man. 
 
 " We have dined : my husband and 
 son dine out," said gentle Mrs. 
 Twysden. 
 
 There was cold mutton and tea for 
 the ladies ; and Mrs. Twysden did 
 not like to seat her nephew, who was 
 accustomed to good fare and high 
 living, to that meagre meal. 
 
 " You see I must console myself at 
 the tavern," Philip said. " We shall 
 have a pleasant party there." 
 
 " And pray who makes it ? " asks 
 the lady. 
 
 " There is Ridley the painter." 
 
 " My dear Philip ! Do you know 
 that his father was actually " 
 
 " In the service of Lord Todmor- 
 den ? He often tells us so. He is a 
 queer character, the old man." 
 
 " Mr. Ridley is a man of genius, 
 certainly. His pictures are delicious, 
 and he goes everywhere, but but 
 you provoke me, Philip, by your care- 
 lessness ; indeed you do. Why should 
 you be dining with the sons of foot- 
 men, when the first houses in the 
 country might be open to you ? You 
 pain me, you foolish boy." 
 
 " For dining in company of a mau
 
 92 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 of genius ? Come, Agnes ! " And 
 the young man's brow grew dark. 
 " Besides," he added, with a tone of 
 sarcasm in his voice, which Miss 
 Agnes did not like at all, " besides, 
 my dear, you know he dines at Lord 
 Pendleton's." 
 
 " What is that you are talking of 
 Lady Pendleton, children ? " asked 
 watchful mamma from her corner. 
 
 " Ridley dines there. He is going 
 to dine with me at a tavern to-day. 
 And Lord Halden is coming and 
 Mr. Winton is coming having 
 heard of the famous beefsteaks." 
 
 " Winton ! Lord Halden ! Beefsteaks ! 
 Where? By George! I have a mind to 
 go, too ! Where do you fellows dine 1 
 au cabaret ? Hang me, I '11 be one," 
 shrieked little Twysden, to the terror 
 of Philip, who knew his uncle's awful 
 powers of conversation. But Twys- 
 den remembered himself in good time, 
 and to the intense relief of young 
 Firmin. " Hang me, I forgot ! Your 
 aunt and I dine with the Bladeses. 
 Stupid old fellow, the admiral, and 
 bad wine which is unpardonable ; 
 but we must go on n'a que sa pa- 
 role, hey? Tell Winton that I had 
 meditated joining him, and that I 
 have still some of that Chateau Mar- 
 gaux he liked. Halden's father I know 
 well. Tell him so. Bring him here. 
 Maria, send a Thursday card to Lord 
 Halden ! You must bring him here 
 to dinner, Philip. That's the best 
 way to make acquaintance, my boy ! " 
 And the little man swaggers off, 
 waving a bed-candle, as if he was 
 going to quaff a bumper of sparkling 
 spermaceti. 
 
 The mention of such great person- 
 ages as Lord Halden and Mr. Win- 
 ton silenced the reproofs of the pen- 
 sive Agnes. 
 
 " You won't care for our quiet fire- 
 side whilst you live with those fine 
 people, Philip," she sighed. There 
 was no talk now of his throwing him- 
 self away on bad company. 
 
 So Philip did not dine with his rel- 
 atives : but Talbot Twysden took | 
 good care to let Lord Ringwood ; 
 
 know how young Firmin had offered 
 to dine with his aunt that day after 
 refusing his Lordship. And every- 
 thing to Phil's discredit, and every 
 act of extravagance or wildness which 
 the young man committed, did Phil's 
 uncle, and Phil's cousin Ringwood 
 Twysden, convey to the old noble- 
 man. Had not these been the inform- 
 ers, Lord Ringwood would have been 
 angry : for he exacted obedience and 
 servility from all round about him. 
 But it was pleasanter to vex the 
 Twysdens than to scold and browbeat 
 Philip, and so his Lordship chose to 
 laugh and be amused at Phil's insub- 
 ordination. He saw, too, other things 
 of which he did not speak. He was 
 a wily old man, who could afford to 
 be blind upon occasion. 
 
 What do you judge from the fact 
 that Philip was ready to make or 
 break engagements at a young lady's 
 instigation ? When you were twenty 
 years old, had no young ladies an in- 
 fluence over you ? Were they not 
 commonly older than yourself? Did 
 your youthful passion lead to any- 
 thing, and are you very sorry now 
 that it did not? Suppose you had 
 had your soul's wish and married her, 
 of what age would she be now ? And 
 now when you go into the world and 
 see her, do you on your conscience 
 very much regret that the little affair 
 came to an end ? Is it that (lean, or 
 fat, or stumpy, or tall) woman with 
 all those children whom you once 
 chose to break your heart about ; and 
 do you still envy Jones? Philip was 
 in love with his cousin, no doubt, but 
 at the University had he not been pre- 
 viously in love with the Tomkinsian 
 professor's daughter, Miss Budd ; and 
 had he not already written verses to 
 Miss Flower, his neighbor's daughter 
 in Old Parr Street? And don't 
 young men always begin by falling 
 in love with ladies older than them- 
 selves ? Agnes certainly was Philip's 
 senior, as her sister constantly took 
 care to inform him. 
 
 And Agnes might have told stories 
 about Blanche, if she chose, as you
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 93 
 
 may about me, and I about you. Not 
 quite true stories, but stories with 
 enough alloy of lies to make them 
 serviceable coin ; stories such as we 
 hear daily in the world ; stories such 
 as we read in the most learned and 
 conscientious history-books, which 
 are told by the most respectable per- 
 sons, and perfectly authentic until 
 contradicted. It is only our histories 
 that can't be contradicted (unless, to 
 be sure, novelists contradict them- 
 selves, as sometimes they will). What 
 we say about people's virtues, failings, 
 characters, you may be sure is all 
 true. And I defy any man to assert 
 that my opinion of the Twysden 
 family is malicious, or unkind, or 
 unfounded in any particular. Agnes 
 wrote verses, and set her own and 
 other writers' poems to music. 
 Blanche was scientific, and attended 
 the Albemarle Street lectures sedu- 
 lously. They are both clever women 
 as times go ; well educated and 
 accomplished, and very well man- 
 nered when they choose to be 
 pleasant. If you were a bachelor, 
 say, with a good fortune, or a widow- 
 er who wanted consolation, or a lady 
 giving very good parties and belong- 
 ing to the monde, you would find 
 them agreeable people. If you were 
 a little Treasury clerk, or a young 
 barrister with no practice, or a lady, 
 old or young, not quite of the monde, 
 your opinion of them would not be so 
 favorable. I have seen them cut, and 
 scorn, and avoid, and caress, and 
 kneel down and worship the same 
 person. When Mrs. Lovel first gave 
 parties, don't I remember the shocked 
 countenances of the Twysden family 1 
 Were ever shoulders colder than 
 yours, dear girls 1 Now they love 
 her; they fondle her step - children ; 
 they praise her to her face and be- 
 hind her handsome back ; they take 
 her hand in public; they call her by 
 her Christian name ; they fall into ecs- 
 tasies over her toilets, and would fetch 
 coals for her dressing-room fire if she 
 but gave them the word. She is not 
 changed. She is the same lady who 
 
 once was a governess, and no colder 
 and no warmer since then. But you 
 ! see iier prosperity has brought virtues 
 \ into evidence, which people did not 
 | perceive when she was poor. Cuuld 
 people see Cinderella's beauty when 
 | she was in rags by the fire, or until 
 I she stepped out of her fairy coach in 
 her diamonds ? How are you to rec- 
 ognize a diamond in a dust-hole? 
 Only very clever eyes can do that. 
 ! Whereas a lady in a fairy coach and 
 eight naturally creates a sensation ; 
 and enraptured princes come and beg 
 to have the honor of dancing with 
 her. 
 
 In the character of infallible histo- 
 rian, then, I declare that if Miss 
 Twysden at three - and - twenty feels 
 ever so much or little attachment for 
 her cousin who is not yet of age, 
 there is no reason to be angry with 
 her. A brave, handsome, blundci ing, 
 downright young fellow, with broad 
 shoulders, high spirits, and quite 
 fresh blushes on his face, with very 
 good talents (though he has been 
 wofully idle, and requested to absent 
 himself temporarily i'rom his Univer- 
 sity), the possessor of a competent 
 fortune and the heir of another, may 
 naturally make some impression on a 
 lady's heart with whom kinsmani-hip 
 and circumstance bring him into daily 
 communion. When had any sot nd 
 so hearty as Phil's laugh been heard 
 in Beaunash Street 1 His jolly frank- 
 ness touched his aunt, a clever wo- 
 man. She would smile and say, " My 
 dear Philip, it is not only what you 
 say, but what you are going to say 
 next, which keeps me in such a per- 
 petual tremor." There may have 
 been a time once when she was frank 
 and cordial herself : ever so long ago, 
 when she and her sister were two 
 blooming girls, lovingly clinging to- 
 gether, and just stepping forth into the 
 world. But if you succeed in keeping 
 a fine house on a smnll income ; in 
 showing a cheerful face to the world 
 though oppressed with ever so much 
 care ; in bearing with dutiful rever- 
 ence an intolerable old bore of a bus-
 
 94 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 band (and I vow it is this quality in 
 Mrs. Twysden for which I most ad- 
 mire her) ; in submitting to defeats 
 patiently ; to humiliations with smiles, 
 so as to hold your own in your dar- 
 ling monde ; you may succeed, but 
 you must give up being frank and 
 cordial. The marriage of her sister 
 to the Doctor gave Maria Ringwood 
 a great panic, for Lord Ringwood was 
 furious when the news came. Then, 
 perhaps, she sacrificed a little private 
 passion of her own : then she set her 
 cap at a noble young neighbor of my 
 Lord's, who jilted her; then she took 
 up with Talbot Twysden, Esquire, of 
 the Powder and Pomatum Office, and 
 made a very faithful wife to him, and 
 was a very careful mother to his chil- 
 dren. But as for frankness and cordial- 
 ity, my good friend, accept from a lady 
 what she can give you, good man- 
 ners, pleasant talk, and decent atten- 
 tion. If you go to her breakfast-table, 
 don't ask for a roc's egg, but eat that 
 moderately fresh hen's egg which 
 John brings you. When Mrs. Twys- 
 den is in her open carriage in the 
 Park, how prosperous, handsome, and 
 jolly she looks, the girls how 
 smiling and young (that is, you know, 
 considering all things) ; the horses 
 look fat, the coachman and footman 
 wealthy and sleek ; they exchange 
 bows with the tenants of other car- 
 riages, well - known aristocrats. 
 Jones and Brown, leaning over the 
 railings, and seeing the Twysden 
 equipage pass, have not the slightest 
 doubt that it contains people of the 
 highest wealth and fashion. " I say, 
 Jones, my boy, what noble family has 
 the motto, Wei done Tivys done? 
 and what clipping girls there were in 
 that barouche ! " B. remarks to J. ; 
 " and what a handsome young swell 
 that is riding the bay mare, and lean- 
 ing over and talking to the yellow- 
 haired girl ! " And it is evident to 
 one of those gentlemen, at least, that 
 he has been looking at your regular 
 first-rate tiptop people. 
 
 As for Phil Firmin on his bay mare, 
 with his geranium in his button-hole, 
 
 there is no doubt that Philippns looks 
 as handsome, and as rich, and as 
 brave as any lord. And I think 
 Brown must have felt a little pang 
 when his friend told him, " That a 
 lord ! Bless you, it 's only a swell 
 doctor's son." But while J. and B. 
 fancy all the little party very happy, 
 they do not hear Phil whisper to liis 
 cousin, " I hope you liked your partner 
 last night 1 " and they do not see how 
 anxious Mrs. Twysd'en is under her 
 smiles, how she perceives Colonel 
 Shafto's cab coming up (the dancer 
 in question), and how she would 
 rather have Phil anywhere than by 
 that particular wheel of her carriage ; 
 how Lady Braglands has just passed 
 them by without noticing them, 
 Lady Braglands, who has a ball, and 
 is determined not to ask that woman 
 and her two endless girls ; and how, 
 though Lady Braglands won't see 
 Mrs. Twysden in her great staring 
 equipage, and the three faces which 
 have been beaming smiles at her, she 
 instantly perceives Lady Lovel, who 
 is passing ensconced in her little 
 brougham, and kisses her fingers 
 twenty times over. How should poor 
 J. and B., who are not, vous comprenez, 
 da monde, understand these mys- 
 teries ? 
 
 " That 's young Firmin, is it, that 
 handsome young fellow ? " says 
 Brown to Jones. 
 
 " Doctor married the Earl of Ring- 
 wood's niece, ran away with her, 
 you know." 
 
 " Good practice ? " 
 
 "Capital. First-rate. All the tip- 
 top people. Great ladies' doctor. 
 Can't do without him. Makes a 
 fortune, besides what he had with his 
 wife." 
 
 " We 've seen his name the old 
 man's on some very queer paper," 
 says B. with a wink to J. By which 
 I conclude they are City gentlemen. 
 And they look very hard at friend 
 Puilip, as he comes to talk and shake 
 hands with some pedestrians who are 
 gazing over the railings at the busy 
 and pleasant Park scene.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 95 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE NOBLE KINSMAN. 
 
 HAVING had occasion to mention a 
 nol>le earl once or twice, I am sure no 
 polite reader will consent that his 
 Lordship should push through this 
 history along with the crowd of com- 
 moner characters, and without a 
 special word regarding himself. If 
 you are in the least familiar with 
 Ijurkc or Debrett, you know that the 
 ancient family of Ringwood has long 
 been famous for its great possessions, 
 and its loyalty to the British Crown. 
 
 In the troubles which unhappily 
 agitated this kingdom after the deposi- 
 tion of the late reigning house, the 
 Eingwoods were implicated with many 
 other families, but on the accession of 
 his Majesty George III. these differen- 
 ces happily ended, nor had the monarch 
 any subject more loyal and devoted 
 than Sir John Ringwood, Baronet, 
 of Wingate and Whipham Market. 
 Sir John's influence sent three 
 Members to Parliament ; and during 
 the dangerous and vexatious period 
 of the American war, this influence 
 was exerted so cordially and consist- 
 ently in the cause of order and the 
 crown, that his Majesty thought fit to 
 advance Sir John to the dignity of 
 Baron Ringwood. Sir John's brother, 
 Sir Francis Ringwood, of Appleshaw, 
 who followed the profession of the law, 
 also was promoted to be a Baron of 
 his Majesty's Court of Exchequer. 
 The first baron, dying A.D. 1786, was 
 succeeded by the eldest of his two 
 sons, John, second Baron and 
 first Earl of Ringwood. His Lord- 
 ship's brother, the Honorable Colonel 
 Philip Ringwood, died gloriously, at 
 the head of his regiment and in the 
 defence of his country, in the battle 
 of Busaco, 1810, leaving two daughters, 
 Louisa and Maria, who henceforth 
 lived with the earl their uncle. 
 
 The Earl of Ringwood had but one 
 son, Charles Viscount Cinqbars, who, 
 unhappily, died of a decline, in his 
 twenty-second year. And thus the 
 descendants of Sir Francis Ringwood 
 
 became heirs to the earl's great estates 
 of Wingate and Whipham Market, 
 though not of the peerages which had 
 been conferred on the earl and his 
 father. 
 
 Lord Ringwood had, living with 
 him, two nieces, daughters of his late 
 brother, Colonel Hiilip Ringwood, 
 who fell in the Peninsular War. Of 
 these ladies, the youngest, Louisa, 
 was his Lordship's favorite ; and 
 though both the ladies had consider- 
 able fortunes of their own, it was 
 supposed their uncle would further 
 provide for them, especially as he was 
 on no very good terms with his 
 cousin, Sir John of the Shaw, who 
 took the Whig side in politics, whilst 
 his Lordship was a chief of the Tory 
 party. 
 
 Of these two nieces, the eldest, 
 Maria, never any great favorite with 
 her uncle, married, 1824, Talbot 
 Twysden, Esq., a Commissioner of 
 Powder and Pomatum Tax; but the 
 youngest, Louisa, incurred my Lord's 
 most serious anger by eloping with 
 George Brand Firmin, Esq., M.D., a 
 young gentleman of Cambridge Uni- 
 versity, who had been with Lord 
 Cinqbars when he died at Naples, 
 and had brought home his body to 
 Wingate Castle. 
 
 The quarrel with the younpest 
 niece, and the indifference with which 
 he generally regarded the elder (whom 
 his Lordship was in the habit of call- 
 ing an old schemer), occasioned at 
 first a little rapprodtenunt between 
 Lord Ringwood and his heir, hir 
 John of Appleshaw; but both gentle- 
 men were very firm, not to say ob- 
 stinate in their natures. They had a 
 quarrel with respect to the cutting off 
 of a small entailed property, of which 
 the earl wished to dispose ; and 
 they parted with much rancor and 
 bad language on his Lordship's part, 
 who was an especially free-spoken 
 nobleman, and apt to call a spade a 
 spade, as the sayfng is. 
 
 After this difference, and to spite 
 his heir, it was supposed that the 
 Earl of Ringwood would marry. He
 
 96 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 was little more than seventy years of 
 age, and had once been of a very ro- 
 bust constitution. And though his 
 temper was violent and his person not 
 at all agreeable (for even in Sir 
 Thomas Lawrence's picture his coun- 
 tenance is very ill-favored), there is 
 little doubt he could have found a 
 wife for the asking among the young 
 beauties of his own county, or the 
 fairest of May Fair. 
 
 But he was a cynical nobleman, 
 and perhaps morbidly conscious of 
 his own ungainly appearance. " Of 
 course I can buy a wife" (his Lord- 
 ship would say). " Do you suppose 
 people won't sell their daughters to a 
 man of my rank and means ? Now 
 look at me, my good sir, and say 
 whether any woman alive could fall 
 in love with me ? I have been mar- 
 ried, and once was enough. I hate 
 ugly women, and your virtuous 
 women, who tremble and cry in pri- 
 vate, and preach at a man, bore him. 
 Sir John Ringwood of Applesliaw is 
 an ass, and I hate him ; but I don't I 
 hate him enough to make myself mis- j 
 erable for the rest of my days, in or- 1 
 der to spite him. When I drop, 1 1 
 drop. Do you suppose I care what 
 comes after me ? " And with much 
 sardonical humor this old lord used 
 to play off one good dowager after 
 another who would bring her girl in 
 his way. He would send pearls to 
 Emily, diamonds to Fanny, opera- 
 boxes to lively Kate, books of devo- 
 tion to pious Belinda, and, at the 
 season's end, drive back to his lonely 
 great castle in the west. They were 
 all the same, such was his Lordship's 
 opinion. I fear, a wicked and cer- 
 rupt old gentleman, my dears. But 
 ah, would not a woman submit to 
 some sacrifices to reclaim that unhap- 
 py man ; to lead that gifted but lost 
 being into the ways of right ; to con- 
 vert to a belief in woman's purity 
 that erring soul 1 They tried him 
 with high-church altar-cloths for his 
 chapel at Wingate ; they tried him 
 with low-church tracts ; they danced 
 before him ; they jumped fences on 
 
 horseback ; they wore bandeaux or 
 ringlets, according as his taste dic- 
 tated ; they were always at home 
 when he called, and poor you and I 
 were gruffly told they were engaged ; 
 they gushed in gratitude over his 
 bouquets ; they sang for him, and 
 their mothers, concealing their sobs, 
 murmured, " What an angel that 
 Cecilia of mine is ! " Every variety 
 of delicious chaff they flung to that 
 old bird. But he was uncaught at 
 the end of the season : he winged his 
 way back to his western hills. And 
 if you dared to say that Mrs. Netley 
 had tried to take him, or Lady Trap- 
 boys had set a snare for him, you 
 know you were a wicked, gross ca- 
 lumniator, and notorious everywhere 
 for your dull and vulgar abuse of 
 women. 
 
 Now, in the year 1830, it happened 
 that this great nobleman was seized 
 with a fit of the gout, which had very 
 nearly consigned his estates to his 
 kinsman the Baronet of Appleshaw. 
 A revolution took place in a neigh- 
 boring State. An illustrious reign- 
 ing family was expelled from its coun- 
 try, and projects of reform (which 
 would pretty certainly end in revolu- 
 tion) were rife in ours. The events 
 in France, and those pending at 
 home, so agitated Lord Ringwood's 
 mind, that he was attacked by one 
 of the severest fits of gout under 
 which he ever suffered. His shrieks, 
 as he was brought out of his yacht at 
 Ilvd ; to a house taken for him in the 
 town, were dreadful ; his language to 
 all persons about him was frightfully 
 expressive, as Lady Qnamley and her 
 daughter, who had sailed with him 
 several times, can vouch. An ill re- 
 turn that rude old man made for all 
 their kindness and attention to him. 
 They had danced on board his yacht; 
 they had been out sailing with him, 
 and cheerfully braved the inconven- 
 iences of the deep in his company. 
 And when they ran to the side of his 
 chair, as what would they not do 
 to soothe an old gentleman in illness 
 and distress ? when they ran up to
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 97 
 
 his chair as it was wheeled along the 
 pier, he called mother and daughter 
 by the most vulgar and opprobr.ous 
 names, and roared out to them to go 
 to a place which I certainly shall not 
 more particularly mention. 
 
 Now it happened, at this period, 
 that Dr. and Mrs. Firmin were at 
 Ryde with their little boy, then some 
 three years of age. The Doctor was 
 already taking his place as one of the 
 most fashionable physicians then in 
 London, and had begun to be cele- 
 brated for the treatment of this espe- 
 cial malady. (Firmin on " Gout and 
 Rheumatism " was, you remember, 
 dedicated to his Majesty George IV.) 
 Lord Ringwood's valet bethought 
 him of calling the Doctor in, and 
 mentioned how he was present in the 
 town. Now Lord Ringwood was a 
 nobleman who never would allow his 
 angry feelings to stand in the way of 
 his present comforts or ease. He in- 
 stantly desired Mr. Firmin's attend- 
 ance, and submitted to his treatment ; 
 a part of which was a hauteur to the 
 full as great as that which the sick 
 man exhibited. Firmin's appearance 
 was so tall and grand, that he looked 
 vastly more noble than a great many 
 noblemen. Six feet, a high manner, 
 a polished forehead, a flashing eye, a 
 snowy shirt-frill, a rolling velvet col- 
 lar, a beautiful hand appearing under 
 a velvet cuff, all these advantages 
 he possessed and used. He did not 
 make the slightest allusion to by- 
 gones, but treated his patient with a 
 perfect courtesy and an impenetrable 
 self-possession. 
 
 This defiant and darkling polite- 
 ness did not always displease the old 
 man. He was so accustomed to 
 slavish compliance and eager obedi- 
 ence from all people round about him, 
 that he sometimes wearied of their 
 servility, and relished a little inde- 
 pendence. Was it from calculation, 
 or because he was a man of high 
 spirit, that Firmin determined to 
 maintain an independent course with 
 his Lordship ? From the first day of 
 their meeting he never departed from 
 5 
 
 it, and had the satisfaction of meeting 
 with only civil behavior from his no- 
 ble relative and patien-t, who was 
 notorious for his rudeness and brutal- 
 ity to almost every person who came 
 in his way. 
 
 From hints which his Lordship gave 
 in conversation, he showed the Doctor 
 that he was acquainted with some 
 particulars of the tatter's early career. 
 It had been wild and stormy. Fir- 
 min had incurred debts ; had quar- 
 relled with his. father; had left the 
 University and gone abroad ; had 
 lived in a wild society, which used 
 dice and cards every night, and pistols 
 sometimes in the morning ; and had 
 shown a fearful dexterity in the use 
 of the latter instrument, which he 
 employed apainst the person of a 
 famous Italian adventurer, who fell 
 under his hand at Naples. When 
 this century was five-and-twenty 
 years younger, the c rack of the pistol- 
 shot might still occasionally be heard 
 in the suburbs of London in the very 
 early morning; and the dice-box 
 went round in many a haunt of 
 pleasure. The knights of the Four 
 Kings travelled from capital to capital, 
 and engaged each other or made prey 
 of the unwary. Now, the times are 
 changed. The cards are coffined in 
 their boxes. Only sons-officiers, brawl- 
 ing in their provincial cafe's over their 
 tlominos, fight duels. "Ah, dear 
 me," I. heard a veteran punter sigh 
 the other day at Bays's. " is n't it a 
 melancholy thing to think, that if I 
 wanted to amuse myself with a fifty- 
 pound note, I don't know the place in 
 London where I could go and lose 
 it?" And he fondly recounted the 
 names of twenty places where he 
 could have cheerfully staked and lost 
 his money in his young time. 
 
 After a somewhat prolonged ab- 
 sence abroad, Mr. Firmin came back 
 to this country, was permitted to re- 
 turn to the University, and left it with 
 the degree of Bachelor of Medicine. 
 We have told how he ran away with 
 Lord Ringwood's niece, and incurred 
 the anger of that nobleman. Beyond
 
 THE ADYENTUKES OF PHILIP. 
 
 abuse and anger his Lordship was 
 powerless. The young lady was free 
 to marrv whom she liked, and her 
 uncle to* disown or receive him ; and 
 accordingly she was, as we have seen, 
 disowned by his Lordship, until he 
 found it convenient to forgive her. 
 What were Lord Ringwood's inten- 
 tions regarding his proper;y, what 
 were his accumulations, and who his 
 heirs would b, no one knew. Mean- 
 while, of course, there were those who 
 felt a very great interest on the point. 
 Mrs. Twysden and her husband and 
 children were hungry and poor. If 
 Uncle Ringwood had money to leave, 
 it would be very welcome to those 
 three darlings, whose father had not 
 a great income like Dr. Firmin. 
 Philip was a dear, good, frank, amia- 
 ble, wild fellow, and they all loved 
 him. But he had his faults, that 
 could not be concealed, and so 
 poor Phil's faults were pretty con- 
 stantly canvassed before Uncle Ring- 
 wood, by dear relatives who knew 
 them only too well. The dear rela- 
 tives ! How kind they are ! I don't 
 think Phil's aunt abused him to my 
 Lord. That quiet woman calmly and 
 gently put forward the claims of her 
 own darlings, and affectionately 
 dilated on the young man's present 
 prosperity, and magnificent future 
 prospects. The interest of thirty 
 thousand pounds now, and the inher- 
 itance of his father's great accumu- 
 lations ! What voung man could 
 want for more ? Perhaps he had too 
 much already. Perhaps he was too 
 rich to work. The sly old peer ac- 
 quiesced in his niece's statements, and 
 perfectly understood the point towards 
 which they tended. " A thousand a 
 year ! What 's a thousand a year .' " 
 growled the old lord. " Xot enough 
 to make a gentleman, more than 
 enough to make a fellow idle." 
 
 " Ah, indeed, it was but a small 
 income," sighed Mrs. Twysden. 
 " With a large house, a good estab- 
 lishment, and Mr. Twysden's salary 
 from his office, it was but a pit- 
 tance." 
 
 " Pittance ! Starvation," growls 
 my Lord, with his usual frankness. 
 " Don't I know what housekeeping 
 costs ; and see how you screw ? 
 Butlers and footrnen, carriages and 
 job-horses, rent and dinners, though 
 yours, Maria, are not famous." 
 
 " Very bad, I know they are very 
 bad," says the contrite lady. " I 
 wish we could afford any better." 
 
 " Afford any better ? Of course 
 you can't. You are the crockery 
 pots, and you swim down stream with 
 the brass pots. I saw Twysden the 
 other day walking down St James's 
 Street with Rhodes that tall fellow." 
 (Here my Lord laughed, and showed 
 many fangs, the exhibition of which 
 gave a peculiarly fierce air to his 
 Lordship when in good-humor). " If 
 Twysden walks with a big follow, he 
 always tries to keep step with him. 
 You know that." Poor Maria natur- 
 ally knew her husband's peculiarities ; 
 but she did not say that she had no 
 need to be reminded of them. 
 
 " He was so blown he could hardly 
 speak," continued Uncle Ringwood; 
 " but he would stretch his little legs, 
 and try and keep up. He has a little 
 body, le cher mnri, but a good pluck. 
 Those little fellows often have. I 've 
 seen him half dead out shooting, and 
 plunging over the ploughed fields 
 after fellows with twice his stride. 
 Why don't men sink in the world, I 
 want to know ? Instead of a fine 
 house, and a parcel of idle servants, 
 why don't you have a maid and a leg 
 of mutton, Maria ? You go half 
 crazy in trying to make both ends 
 meet. You know you do. It keeps 
 you awake of nights ; / know that 
 very well. You 've got a house fit for 
 people with four times your money. 
 I lend you my cook and so forth ; but 
 I can't come and dine with you unless 
 I send the wine in. Why don't you 
 have a pot of porter, and a joint, or 
 some tripe ? tripe 's a famous good 
 thing. The miseries which people 
 entail on themselves in trying to live 
 beyond their means are perfectly 
 ridiculous, by George ! Look at that
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 99 
 
 fellow who opened the door to me ; 
 he 's as tall as one of my own men. 
 Go and live in a quiet little street in 
 Belgravia somewhere, and have a 
 neat little maid. Nobody will think 
 a penny the worse of you, and you 
 will be just as well off as if you lived 
 here with an extra couple of thousand 
 a year. The advice I am giving you 
 is worth half that, every shilling of 
 it." 
 
 " It is very good advice : but I 
 think, sir, I should prefer the thou- 
 sand pounds," said the lady. 
 
 " Of course you would. That is the 
 consequence of your false position. 
 One of the good points about that 
 doctor is that he is as proud as 
 Lucifer, and so is his boy. They are 
 not always hungering after money. 
 They keep their independence ; though 
 he'll have his own too, the fellow 
 will. Why, when I first called him 
 in, I thought, as he was a relation 
 he 'd doctor me for nothing ; but he 
 wouldn't. He would have his fee, 
 by George ! and would n't come with- 
 out it. Confounded independent 
 fellow Firmin is. And so is the 
 young one." 
 
 But when Twysden and his son 
 (perhaps inspirited by Mrs. Twysden) 
 tried once or twice to be independent 
 in the presence of this lion, he roared, 
 and he rushed at them, and he rent 
 them, so that they fled from him 
 howling. And this reminds me of 
 an old story I have heard, quite an 
 old, old story, such as kind old fellows 
 at clubs love to remember, of my 
 Lord, when he was only Lord Cinq- 
 bars, insulting a half-pay lieutenant, 
 in his own country, who horsewhipped 
 his Lordship in the most private and 
 ferocious manner. It was said Lord 
 Cinqbars had had a rencontre with 
 poachers : but it was my Lord who 
 was poaching and the lieutenant who 
 was defending his own dovecot. I do 
 not say that this was a model noble- 
 man ; but that, when his own passions 
 or interests did not mislead him, he 
 was a nobleman of very considerable 
 acuteness, humor, and good sense ; 
 
 and could give quite good advice on 
 occasion. It' men would kneel down 
 and kiss his boots, well and good. 
 There was the blacking, and you were 
 welcome to embrace toe and heel. 
 But those who would not were free 
 to leave the operation alone. The 
 Pope himself does not demand the 
 ceremony from Protestants ; and if 
 they object to the slipper, no one 
 thinks of forcing it into their mouths. 
 Phil and his father probably declined 
 to tremble before the old man, not 
 because they knew he was a bully 
 who might be put down, but because 
 they were men of spirit, who cared 
 not whether a man was bully or no. 
 
 I have told you I like Philip Fir- 
 min, though it must be confessed that 
 the young fellow had many faults, 
 
 | and that his career, especially his 
 early career, was by no means exem- 
 
 | plary. Have I ever excused his con- 
 
 j duct to his father, or said a word in 
 apology of his brief and inglorious 
 
 ; university career ? I acknowledge 
 his .shortcomings with that candor 
 which my friends exhibit in speaking 
 of mine. Who does not see a friend's 
 weaknesses, and is so blind that he 
 cannot perceive that enormous beam 
 in his neighbor's eye 1 Only a wo- 
 man or two, from time to time. And 
 even they are undeceived some day. 
 A man of the world, I write about my 
 .friends as mundane fellow-creatures. 
 Do you suppose there are many 
 angels here 1 I say again, perhaps a 
 woman or two. But as for you and 
 me, my good sir, arc there any sij^ns 
 of wings sprouting from our shoulder- 
 blades ? Be quiet. Don't pursue 
 your snarling, cynical remarks, but 
 go on with your story. 
 
 As you go through life, stumbling, 
 and slipping, staggering to your feet 
 again, ruefully aware of your own 
 wretched weakness, and praying, 
 with a contrite heart, let us trust, that 
 you may not be led into temptation, 
 have you not often looked at other 
 fellow-sinners, and speculated with an 
 awful interest on their career 1 Some 
 there are on whom, quite in their early
 
 100 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 lives, dark Ahrimanes has seemed to 
 lay his dread mark : children, yet ; 
 corrupt, and wicked of tongue ; tender 
 of age, yet cruel ; who should be 
 truth-telling and generous yet (they 
 were at their mothers' bosoms yester- 
 day), but are false and cold and 
 greedy before their time. Infants 
 almost, they practise the art and self- i 
 ishness of old men. Behind their | 
 candid faces are wiles and wickedness, j 
 and a hideous precocity of artifice, i 
 I can recall such, and in the vista of 
 far-off, unforgotten boyhood, can see 
 marching that sad little procession of 
 enfans perdus. May they be saved, I 
 pray Heaven ! Then there is the 
 doubtful class, those who are still on 
 trial ; those who fall and rise again ; 
 those who are often worsted in life's 
 battle ; beaten down, wounded, im- j 
 prisoned ; but escape and conquer 
 sometimes. And then there is the 
 happy class about whom there seems 
 no doubt at all : the spotless and 
 white-robed ones, to whom virtue is 
 easy ; in whose pure bosoms faith 
 nescles, and cold doubt finds no en- 
 trance ; who are children, and good ; 
 young men, and good ; husbands and 
 fathers, and yet good. Why could 
 the captain of our school write his 
 Greek iambics without an effort, and 
 without an error? Others of us 
 blistered the page with unavailing 
 tears and blots, and might toil ever 
 so and come in lag last at the bottom 
 of the form. Our friend Philip be- 
 longs to the middle-class, in which 
 you and I probably are, my dear .sir, 
 ' not yet, I hope, irredeemably con- 
 signed to that awful third class, 
 whereof mention has been made. 
 
 Bat, being homo, and liable to err, 
 t'ie:-e is no doubt Mr. Philip exercised 
 his privilege, and there was even no 
 little fear at one time that he should 
 overdraw his account. He went from 
 school to the University, and there 
 distinguished himself certainly, but 
 in a way in which very few parents 
 would choose that their sons should 
 excel. That he should hunt, that he 
 should give parties, that he should 
 
 pull a good oar in one of the best 
 boats on the river, that he should 
 speak at the Union, all these were 
 very well. But why should he speak 
 such awful radicalism and republican- 
 ism, he with noble blood in his 
 veins, and the son of a parent whose 
 interest at least it was to keep well 
 with people of high station ? 
 
 " Why, Pendennis," said Dr. Fir- 
 min to me with tears in his eyes, and 
 much genuine grief exhibited on his 
 handsome pale face, "why should 
 it be said that Philip Firmin both 
 of whose grandfathers fought nobly 
 for their king should be forgetting 
 the principles of his family, and 
 and I have n't words to tell you how 
 deeply he disappoints me. Why, I 
 actually beard of him at that horri- 
 ble Union advocating the death of 
 Charles the First ! I was wild enough 
 myself when I was at the University, 
 but I was a gentleman." 
 
 " Boys, sir, are boys," I urged. 
 " They will advocate anything for an 
 argument ; and Philip would have 
 taken the other side quite as read- 
 ily." 
 
 " Lord Axminster and Lord St. 
 Dennis told me of it at the club. I 
 can tell you it has made a most pain- 
 ful impression,' 1 cried the father. 
 " That my son should be a radical 
 and a republican is a cruel thought 
 for a father ; and I, who had hoped 
 for Lord Ringwood's borough for him, 
 who had hoped who had hoped 
 very much better things for him and 
 from him. He is not a comfort to me. 
 You saw how he treated me one 
 night 1 A man might live on differ- 
 ent terms, I think, with his only 
 son ! " And with a breaking voice, 
 a pallid cheek, and a real grief at his 
 heart, the unhappy physician moved 
 away. 
 
 How had the Doctor bred his son, 
 that the young man should be thus 
 unruly ? " Was the revolt the boy's 
 fault, or the father's ? Dr. Firmin's 
 horror seemed to be because his noble 
 friends were horrified by Phil's radi- 
 cal doctrine. At that time of my life,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 101 
 
 being young and very green, I had a 
 little mischievous pleasure in infuri- 
 ating Squaretoes, and causing him to 
 pronounce that I was " a dangerous 
 man." Now, I am ready to say that 
 Nero was a monarch with many 
 elegant accomplishments, and consid- 
 erable natural amiability of disposi- 
 tion. I praise and admire success 
 wherever 1 meet it. I make allow- 
 ance for faults and shortcomings, es- 
 pecially in my superiors ; and feel 
 that, did we know all, we should 
 judge them very differently. People 
 don't believe me, perhaps, quite so 
 much as formerly. But I don't of- 
 fend : I trust I don't offend. Have I 
 said anything painful ? Plague on 
 my blunders ! 1 recall the expression. 
 I regret it. I contradict it flat. 
 
 As I am ready to find excuses for 
 everybody, let poor Philip come in for 
 the benefit of this mild amnesty ; and 
 if he vexed his father, as he certainly 
 did, let us trust let us be thankfully 
 sure he was not so black as the old 
 gentleman depicted him. Nay, if I 
 have painted the Old Gentleman 
 himself as rather black, who knows 
 but that this was an error, not of his 
 complexion, but of my vision 1 Phil 
 was unruly because he was bold, and 
 wild, and young. His father was 
 hurt, naturally hurt, because of the 
 boy's extravagances and follies. They 
 will come together again, as father 
 and son should. These little differ- 
 ences of temper will be smoothed and 
 equalized anon. The boy has led a 
 wild life. He has been obliged to 
 leave college. He has given his father 
 hours of anxiety and nights of pain- 
 ful watching. But stay, father, what 
 of you ? Have you shown to the boy 
 the practice of confidence, the exam- 
 ple of love and honor ? Did you ac- 
 custom him to virtue, and teach truth 
 to the child at your knee ? " Honor 
 your father and mother." Amen. 
 May his days be long who fulfils the 
 command : but implied, though un- 
 written on the table, is there not the 
 order, " Honor your son and daugh- 
 ter " ? Pray Heaven that we, whose 
 
 days are already not few in the land, 
 may keep this ordinance too. 
 
 What had made Philip wild, ex- 
 travagant, and insubordinate 1 Cured 
 of that illness in which we saw him, 
 he rose up, and from school went his 
 way to the University, and there en- 
 tered on a life such as wild young 
 men will lead. From that day of ill- 
 ness his manner towards his father 
 changed, and regarding the change 
 the elder Firmin seemed afraid to 
 question his son. He used the house 
 as if his own, came and absented 
 himself at will, ruled the servant*, 
 and was spoiled by them ; spent the 
 income which was settled on his moth- 
 er and her children, and gave of it 
 liberally to poor acquaintances. To 
 the remonstrances of old friends he re- 
 plied that he had a right to do as he 
 
 i chose with his own ; that other men 
 who were poor might work, but that 
 he had enough to live on, without 
 grinding over classics and mathemat- 
 ics. He was implicated in more rows 
 than one ; his tutors saw him not, but 
 he and the procters became a great 
 deal too well acquainted. If I were 
 to give a history of Mr. Philip Firmin 
 at the University, it would be the story 
 of an Idle Apprentice, of whom his 
 pastors and masters were justified in 
 
 j prophesying evil. He was seen on 
 lawless London excursions, when his 
 father and tutor supposed him unwell 
 in his rooms in college. He made 
 acquaintance with jolly companions, 
 with whom his father grieved that h6 
 should be intimate. He cut the as- 
 tonished uncle Twysden in London 
 Street, and blandly told him that he 
 must be mistaken, he one French- 
 man, he no speak English. He stared 
 the master of his own college out of 
 countenance, dashed back to college 
 with a Turpin-like celerity, and was 
 in rooms with a ready-proved alibi 
 when inquiries were made. I am 
 afraid there is no doubt that Phil 
 screwed up bis tutor's door ; Mr. Okes 
 discovered him in the act He had to 
 go down, the young prodigal. I wish 
 I could say he was repentant. But he
 
 102 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP.- 
 
 appeared before his father with the 
 utmost nonchalance ; said that he was 
 doing no good at the University, and 
 should be much better away, and then 
 went abroad on a dashing tour to 
 France and Italy, whither it is by 
 no means our business to follow him. 
 Something had poisoned the generous 
 blood. The once kindly honest lad 
 was wild and reckless. He had money 
 in sufficiency, his own horses and 
 equipage, and free quarters in his 
 father's house. But father and son 
 scarce met, and seldom took a meal 
 together. " I know his haunts, but I 
 don't know his friends, Pendennis," 
 the elder man said. " I don't think 
 they are vicious, so much as low. I 
 do not charge him with vice, mind 
 you ; but with idleness, and a fatal 
 love of low company, and a frantic, 
 suicidal determination to fling his 
 chances in life away. Ah, think 
 where he might be, and where he is ! " 
 Where he was? Do not be alarmed. 
 Philip was only idling. Philip might 
 have been much more industriously, 
 more profitably, and a great deal more 
 wickedly employed. What is now 
 called Bohemia had no name in 
 Philip's young days, though many of 
 us knew the country very well. A 
 pleasant land, not fenced with drab 
 stucco, like Tyburnia or Belgravia ; 
 not guarded by a huge standing army 
 of footmen ; not echoing with noble 
 chariots ; not replete with polite chintz 
 drawing-rooms and neat tea-tables ; a 
 land over which hangs an endless fog, 
 occasioned by much tobacco ; a land 
 of chambers, billiard-rooms, supper- 
 rooms, oysters: a land of song ; a land 
 where soda-water flows freely in the 
 morning ; a land of tin-dish covers 
 from taverns, and frothing porter ; a 
 land of lotus-eating (with lots of 
 cayenne pepper), of pulls on the river, 
 of delicious reading of novels, maga- 
 zines, and saunterings in many stu- 
 dios ; a land where men call each oth- 
 er by their Christian names ; where 
 most are poor, where almost all are 
 young, and where, if a few oldsters do 
 enter, it is because they have preserved 
 
 more tenderly and carefully than oth- 
 er folks their youthful spirits, and the 
 delightful capacity to be idle. I have 
 lost my way to Bohemia now, but it 
 is certain that Prague is the most 
 picturesque city in the world. 
 
 Having long lived there, and indeed 
 only lately quitted the Bohemian land 
 at the time whereof I am writing, I 
 could not quite participate in Dr. Fir- 
 min's indignation at his son persist- 
 ing in his bad courses and wild asso- 
 ciates. When Firmin had been wild 
 himself, he had fought, intrigued, and 
 gambled in good company. Phil chose 
 his friends amongst a banditti never 
 heard of in fashionable quarters. Per- 
 haps he liked to play the prince in the 
 midst of these associates, and was 
 not averse to the flattery which a full 
 purse brought him among men most 
 of whose pockets had a meagre lining. 
 He had not emigrated to Bohemia, 
 and settled there altogether. At school 
 and in his brief university career he 
 had made some friends who lived in 
 the world, and with whom he was 
 still familiar. " These come and 
 knock at my front door, my father's 
 door," he would say, with one of his 
 old laughs ; " the Bandits, who have 
 the signal, enter only by the dissect- 
 | ing-ioom. I know which are the 
 I most honest, and that it is not always 
 I the poor Freebooters who best deserve 
 to be hanged." 
 
 Like many a young gentleman who 
 has no intention of pursuing legal 
 studies seriously, Philip entered at 
 an inn of court, and kept his terms 
 duly, though he vowed that his con- 
 science would not allow him to prac- 
 tise (I am not defending the opinions 
 of this squeamish moralist, only 
 stating them). His acquaintance here 
 lay amongst the Temple Bohemians. 
 He had part of a set of chambers in 
 Parchment Buildings, to be sure, and 
 you might read on a door, ' Mr. Cas- 
 sidy, Mr. P. Firmin, Mr. Vanjohn " ; 
 but were these gentlemen likely to ad- 
 vance Philip in life 1 Cassidy was a 
 newspaper reporter, and young Van- 
 John a betting man who was alwayi
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 103 
 
 attending races Dr. Firmin had a 
 horror of newspaper-men, and consid- 
 ered they belonged to the dangerous 
 classes, and treated them with a dis- 
 tant affability. 
 
 " Look at the " governor, Pen," 
 Philip would say to the present chron- 
 icler. " He always watches you with 
 a secret suspicion, and has never got 
 over his wonder at your being a gen- 
 tleman. I like him when he does the 
 Lord Chatham business, and conde- 
 scends towards you, and gives you 
 his hand to kiss He considers he is 
 your better, don't you see ? O, he is 
 a paragon of a pere noble, the gov- 
 ernor is ! and I ought to be a young 
 Sir Charles Grandison." And the 
 young scapegrace would imitate his 
 father's smile, and the Doctor's man- 
 ner of laying his hand to his breast 
 and putting out his neat right leg, ail 
 of which movements or postures were, 
 1 own, rather pompous and affected. 
 
 Whutcver the paternal faults were, 
 you will say that Philip was not the 
 man to criticise them; nor in this 
 matter shall I attempt to defend him. 
 My wife has a little pensioner whom 
 she found wandering in the street, 
 and singing a little artless song. 
 The child could not speak yet, only 
 warble its little song ; and had thus 
 strayed away from home, and never 
 once knew of her danger. We kept 
 her for a while, until the police found 
 her parents. Our servants bathed her, 
 and dressed her, and sent her home 
 in such neat clothes as the poor little 
 wretch had never seen until fortune 
 sent her in the way of those good-na- 
 tured folks. She pays them frequent 
 visits. When she goes away from us, 
 she is always neat and clean ; when 
 she comes to us, she is in rags and 
 dirty : a wicked little slattern ! And 
 pray whose duty is it to keep her 
 clean ? and has not the parent in this 
 case forgotten to honor her daughter ? 
 Suppose there is some reason which 
 prevents Philip from loving his father, 
 that the Doctor has neglected to 
 cleanse the boy's heart, and by careless- 
 ness and indifference has sent him err- 
 
 ing into the world. If so, woe be to 
 that doctor. If I take my little son 
 to the tavern to dinner, shall I not as- 
 suredly pay ? If I suffer him in ten- 
 der youth to go astray, and harm, 
 comes to him, whose is the fault 1 
 
 Perhaps the very outrages and ir- 
 regularities of which Phil's father 
 complained were in some degree oc- 
 casioned by the elder's own faults. 
 He was so laboriously obsequious to 
 great men, that the son in a rage de- 
 tied and avoided them. He was so 
 grave, so polite, so complimentary, 
 so artificial, that Phil, in revolt at 
 such hypocrisy, chose to be frank, 
 cynical, and f.imiliar. The grave old 
 big-wigs whom the Doctor loved to 
 assemble, bland and solemn men of 
 the ancient school, who dined solemn- 
 ly with each other at their solemn 
 old houses, such men as old Lord 
 Botley, Baron Bumpsher, Cricklade 
 (who published "Travels in Asia Mi- 
 nor," 4to, 1804), the Bishop of St. 
 Bees, and the like, wagged their old 
 heads sadly when they collogued in 
 clubs, and talked of poor Firmin's 
 scapegrace of a son. He would come to 
 no good ; he was giving his good 
 father much pain ; he had been in all 
 sorts of rows and disturbances at the 
 University, and the Master of Boni- 
 face reported most unfavorably of 
 him. And at the solemn dinners in 
 Old Parr Street, the admirable, 
 costly, silent dinners, he treated 
 these old gentlemen with a familiar- 
 ity which caused the old heads to 
 shake with surprise and choking in- 
 dignation. Lord Botley and Baron 
 Bumpsher had proposed and second- 
 ed Firmin's boy at the Megatherium 
 club. The pallid old boys toddled 
 away in alarm when he made his ap- 
 pearance there. He brought a smell of 
 tobacco smoke with him. He was ca- 
 pable of smoking in the drawing-room 
 itself. They trembled before Philip, 
 who, for his part, used to relish their 
 senile anger ; and loved, as he called 
 it, to tie all their pigtails together. 
 
 In no place was Philip seen or 
 heard to so little advantage as in his
 
 104 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 father's houe. "I feel like a hum- 
 bug myself amongst those old hum- 
 bugs," he would say to me. " Their 
 old joke<, an d their old compliments, 
 and their virtuous old conversation 
 sicken me. Are all old men hum- 
 bugs, I wonder ? " It is not pleasant 
 'to hear misanthropy from young lips, 
 and to find eyes that are scarce twenty 
 years old already looking out with 
 distrust on the world. 
 
 In other houses than his own I am 
 bound to say Philip was much more 
 amiable, and he carried with him a 
 splendor of gayety and cheerfulness 
 which brought sunshine and welcome 
 into many a room which, he fre- 
 quented. I have said that many of 
 his companions were artists and jour- 
 nalists, and their clubs and haunts 
 were his own. Ridley the Academi- 
 cian had Mrs. Brandon's rooms in 
 Thornhaugh Street, and Phiiip was 
 often in J. J.'s studio, or in the wid- 
 ow's little room below. He had a 
 very great tenderness and affection 
 for her ; her presence seemed to pu- 
 rify him ; and in her company the 
 boisterous, reckless young man was 
 invariably gentle and respectful. Her 
 eyes used to fill with tears when she 
 spoke about him ; and when he was 
 present, followed and watched him 
 with sweet motherly devotion. It 
 was pleasant to see him at her homely 
 little fireside, and hear his jokes and 
 prattle, with a fatuous old father, who 
 was one of Mrs. Brandon's lodgers. 
 Philip would play cribbage for hours 
 with this old man, frisk about him 
 with a hundred harmless joke*, and 
 walk out by his invalid chair, wlien 
 the old captain went to sun himself 
 in the New Road. He was an idle 
 fellow, Philip, that 's the truth. He 
 had an agreeable perseverance in do- 
 ing nothing, and would pass half a 
 day in perfect contentment over his 
 
 Sipc, watching Ridley at his easel. 
 . J. painted that charming head of 
 Philip which hangs in Mrs. Brandon's 
 little room, with the fair hair, the 
 tawny beard and whiskers, and the 
 bold blue eyes. 
 
 ! Phil had a certain after-supper song 
 i of " Garryowen na Gloria," which it 
 ! did you good to hear, and which, 
 ' when sung at his full pitch, you 
 ' might hear for a mile round. One 
 night I had been to dine in Russell 
 Square, and was brought home in his 
 carriage by Dr. Firmin, who was of 
 the party. As we came through 
 Soho, the windows of a certain club- 
 room called the " Haunt" were open, 
 and we could hear Philip's song boom- 
 ing througl i the night, and especially 
 a certain wild-Irish war-whoop with 
 which it concluded, amidst universal 
 applause and enthusiastic battering of 
 glasses. 
 
 The poor father sank back in the 
 carriage as though a blow had struck 
 him. "Do you hear his voice 1 ? " he 
 groaned out. " Those are his haunts. 
 My son, who might go anywhere, 
 prefers to be captain in a pot-house, 
 and sing songs in a tap-room ! " 
 
 I tried to make the best of the case. 
 I knew there was no harm in the 
 place ; that clever men of consider- 
 able note frequented it. But the 
 wounded father was not to be con- 
 soled by such commonplaces ; and a 
 deep and natural grief oppressed him 
 in consequence of the faults of his son. 
 
 What ensued by no means surprised 
 me. Among Dr. Firmin's patients 
 was a maiden lady of suitable age 
 and large fortune, who looked upon 
 the accomplished doctor with favor- 
 able eyes. That he should take a 
 companion to cheer him in his soli- 
 tude was natural enough, and all his 
 friends concurred in thinking that he 
 should marry. Every one had cogni- 
 zance of the quiet little courtship, ex- 
 cept the doctor's son, between whom 
 and his father there were only too 
 many secrets. 
 
 Home man in a club asked Philip 
 whether he should condole with him 
 or congratulate him on his father's 
 approaching marriage? His what? 
 The younger Firmin exhibited the 
 greatest surprise and agitation on 
 hearing of this match. He ran 
 home : he awaited his father's return.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 105 
 
 When Dr. Firmin came home and 
 betook himself to his study, Philip 
 confronted him there. " This must 
 be a lie, sir, which I have heard to- 
 day," the young man said, fiercely. 
 
 " A lie \" what lie, Philip ? " asked 
 the father. They were both very res- 
 olute and courageous men. 
 
 " That you are going to marry 
 Miss Benson." 
 
 " Do you make my house so happy 
 that I don't need any other compan- 
 ion ? " asked the father. 
 
 " That 's not the question," said 
 Philip, hotly. " You can't and 
 mustn't marry that lady, sir." 
 
 " And why not, sir ? " 
 
 " Because in the eyes of God and 
 Heaven you are married already, sir. 
 And I swear I will tell Miss Benson 
 the story to-morrow, if you persist in 
 your plan." 
 
 " So you know that story 1 " 
 groaned the father. 
 
 " Yes. God forgive you," said the 
 son. 
 
 " It was a fault of my youth that 
 has been bitterly repented." 
 
 " A fault ! a crime ! " said Philip. 
 
 " Enough, sir ! Whatever my 
 fault, it is not for you to charge me 
 with it." 
 
 " If you won't guard your own 
 honor, I must. I shall go to Miss 
 Benson now." 
 
 " If you go out of this house you 
 don't pretend to return to it ? " 
 
 " Be it so. Let us settle our ac- 
 counts, and part, sir." 
 
 " Philip, Philip ! you break my 
 heart," cried the father. 
 
 " You don't suppose mine is very 
 light, sir," said the son. 
 
 Philip never had Miss Benson for a 
 mother-in-law. But father and son 
 loved each other no better after their 
 dispute. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 BRANDON'S. 
 
 THORNHAUGH STREET is but a 
 poor place now, and the houses look 
 5* 
 
 I as if they had seen better days : but 
 ! that house with the cut centre draw- 
 ing-room window, which has the 
 name of Brandon on the door, is as 
 neat as any house in the quarter, and 
 the brass plate always shines like bur- 
 nished gold. About Easter time 
 many fine carriages stop at that door, 
 and splendid people walk in, intro- 
 duced by a tidy little maid, or else by 
 an athletic Italian, with a glossy black 
 heard and gold ear-rings, who con- 
 ducts them to the drawing-room floor, 
 where Mr. Ridley, the painter, lives, 
 and where his pictures are privately 
 exhibited before they go to the Royal 
 Academy. 
 
 As the carriages drive up, you will 
 often see a red-faced man, in an olive- 
 green wig, smiling blandly over the 
 blinds of the parlor, on the ground- 
 floor. That is Captain Gann, the 
 father of the lady who keeps the 
 house. I don't know how he came 
 by the rank of captain, but he has 
 borne it so long and gallantly that 
 there is no use in any longer ques- 
 tioning the title. He does not claim 
 it, neither does he deny it. But the 
 wags who call upon Mrs. Brandon 
 can always, as the phrase is, " draw " 
 her father, by speaking of Prussia, 
 France, Waterloo, or battles in gen- 
 eral, until the Little Sister says, 
 "Now, never mind about the baitle 
 of Waterloo, papa" (she says Pa 
 her h's are irregular I can't help it), 
 "never mind about Waterloo, 
 papa ; you 've told them all about it. 
 And don't go on, Mr. Beans, don't, 
 please, go on in that way." 
 
 Young Beans has already drawn 
 "Captain Gann (assisted by Shaw, 
 the Life-Guardsman) killing twenty- 
 four French cuirassiers at Waterloo." 
 " Captain Gann defending Hougou- 
 mont." " Captain Gann, called upon 
 by Napoleon Buonaparte to lay down 
 his arms, saying, ' A captain of 
 militia dies, but never surrenders.' " 
 "The Duke of Wellington pointing 
 to the advancing Old Guard, and 
 saying, ' Up, Gann, and at tlicm.' ' 
 And these sketches are so droll, that
 
 106 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 even the Little Sister, Gann's own 
 daughter, can't help laughing at 
 them. To be sure, she loves fun, the 
 Little Sister ; laughs over droll books; 
 laughs to herself, in her little quiet 
 corner at work ; laughs over pictures ; 
 and, at the right place, laughs and 
 sympathizes too. Ridley says he 
 knows few better critics of pictures 
 than Mrs. Brandon. She has a 
 sweet temper, a merry sense of humor, 
 that makes the checks dimple and 
 the eyes shine ; and a kind heart, that 
 has been sorely tried and wounded, 
 but is still soft and gentle. Fortu- 
 nate are they whose hearts, so tried 
 by suffering, yet recover their health. 
 Soi&e have illnesses from which there 
 is no recovery, and drag through 
 life afterwards, maimed and invalid- 
 ed. 
 
 But this Little Sister, having been 
 subjected in youth to a dreadful trial 
 and sorrow, was saved out of them 
 by a kind Providence, and is now so 
 thoroughly restored as to own that 
 she is happy, and to thank God that 
 she can be grateful and useful. When 
 poor Montfitchet died, she nursed 
 him through his illness -a.s tenderly as 
 his good wife herself. In the days 
 of her own chief grief and misfor- 
 tune, her father, who was under the 
 domination of his wife, a cruel and 
 blundering woman, thrust out poor 
 little Caroline from his door, when 
 she returned to it the broken-hearted 
 victim of a scoundrel's seduction ; and 
 when the old captain was himself in 
 want and houseless, she had found 
 him, sheltered and fed him. And it 
 was from that day her wounds had be- 
 gun to heal, and. from gratitude for this 
 immense piece of good fortune vouch- 
 safed to her, that her happiness and 
 cheerfulness returned. Returned ? 
 There was an old servant of the fam- 
 ily, who could not stay in the house 
 because she was so abominably dis- 
 respectful to the captain, and this 
 woman said she had never known 
 Miss Caroline so cheerful, nor so 
 happy, nor so good-looking, as she 
 was now. 
 
 So Captain Gann came to live 
 with his daughter, and patronized 
 her with much dignity. He had a 
 very few yearly pounds, which served 
 to pay his club expenses, and a por- 
 tion of his clothes. His club, I need 
 not say, was at the " Admiral Byng," 
 Tottenham Court Road, and here the 
 captain met frequently a pleasant lit- 
 tle society, and bragged unceasingly 
 about his former prosperity. 
 
 I have heard that the country-house 
 in Kent, of which he boasted, was a 
 shabby little lodging-house at Mar- 
 gate, of which the furniture was sold 
 in execution ; but if it had been a 
 palace the captain would not have been 
 out of place there, one or two people 
 still rather fondly thought. His daugh- 
 ter, amongst others, had tried to fancy 
 all sorts of good of her father, and 
 especially that he was a man of re- 
 markably good manners. But she 
 had seen one or two gentlemen since 
 she knew the poor old father, gen- 
 tlemen with rough coats and good 
 hearts, like Dr. Goodenough ; gentle- 
 men with superfine coats and super- 
 fine double-milled manners, like Dr. 
 Firmin, and hearts well, never 
 mind about that point ; gentlemen 
 of no h's, like the good, dear, faithful 
 benefactor who had rescued her at 
 the brink of despair ; men of genius, 
 like Ridley ; great hearty, generous, 
 honest gentlemen, like Philip ; an<7 
 this illusion about Pa, I suppose, had 
 vanished along with some other 
 fancies of her poor little maiden 
 youth. The truth is, she had an 
 understanding with the " Admiral 
 Byng " : the landlady was instructed 
 as to the supplies to be furnished to 
 the captain; and as for his stories, 
 poor Caroline knew them a great 
 deal too well to believe in them any 
 more. 
 
 I would not be understood to ac- 
 cuse the captain of habitual inebriety. 
 He was a generous officer, and his 
 delight was, when in cash, to order 
 " glasses round " for the company at 
 the club, to whom he narrated the 
 history of his brilliant early days,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 107 
 
 when he lived in some of the tiptop 
 society of this city, sir, a society in 
 which, we need not say, the custom 
 always is for gentlemen to treat other 
 gentlemen to rum-and-water. Never 
 mind, I wish we were all as happy 
 as the captain. I see his jolly face 
 now before me as it blooms through 
 the window in Thornhaugh Street, 
 and the wave of the somewhat dingy 
 hand which sweeps me a gracious rec- 
 ognition. 
 
 The clergyman of the neighboring 
 chapel was a very good friend to the 
 Little Sister, and has taken tea in 
 her parlor; to which circumstance 
 the captain frequently alluded, point- 
 ing out the very chair on which the 
 divine sat. Mr. Gann attended his 
 ministrations regularly every Sunday, 
 and brought a rich, though somewhat 
 worn, bass voice to bear upon the 
 anthems and hymns at the chapel. 
 His style was more florid than is gen- 
 eral now among church singers, and, 
 indeed, had been acquired in a former 
 age and in the performance of rich 
 Bacchanalian chants, such as delight- 
 ed the contemporaries of our Incle- 
 dons and Brahams. With a very 
 little entreaty, the captain could be 
 induced to sing at the club; and I 
 must own that Phil Firmin would 
 draw the captain out, and extract 
 from him a song of ancient days ; but 
 this must be in the absence of his 
 daughter, whose little face wore an 
 air of such extreme terror -and dis- 
 turbance when her father sang, that 
 he presently ceased from exercising 
 his musical talents in her hearing. 
 He hung up his lyre, whereof it 
 must be owned that time had brok- 
 en many of the once resounding 
 chords. 
 
 With a sketch or two contributed 
 by her lodgers, with a few gimcracks 
 from the neighboring Wardour Street 
 presented by others of her friends, 
 with the chairs, tables, and bureaus 
 as bright as beeswax and rubbing 
 could make them, the Little Sister's 
 room was a cheery little place, and 
 received not a little company. She 
 
 allowed Pa's pipe. " It 's company 
 to him," she said. " A man can't be 
 doing much harm when he is smok- 
 ing his pipe." And she allowed Phil's 
 cigar. Anything was allowed to 
 Phil, the other lodgers declared, who 
 professed to be quite jealous of Philip 
 Firmin. She had a very few books. 
 " When I was a girl I used to be al- 
 ways reading novels," she said ; " but, 
 la, they 're mostly nonsense. There 's 
 Mr. Pendennis, who comes to see Mr. 
 Ridley. I wonder how a married 
 man can go on writing about love, 
 and all that stuff! " And, indeed, it 
 is rather absurd for elderly fingers to 
 be still twanging Dan Cupid's toy 
 bow and arrows. Yesterday is gone, 
 yes, but very well remembered; 
 and we think of it the more now we 
 know that To-morrow is not going to 
 bring us much. 
 
 Into Mrs. Brandon's parlor Mr. 
 Ridley's old father would sometimes 
 enter of evenings, and share the bit 
 of bread and cheese, or the modest 
 supper of Mrs. Brandon and the Cap- 
 tain. The homely little meal has al- 
 most vanished out of our life now, but 
 in former days it assembled many a 
 family round its kindly board. A 
 little modest supper-tray, a little 
 quiet prattle, a little kindly glass 
 that cheered and never inebriated. I 
 can see friendly faces smiling round 
 such a meal, at a period not far gone, 
 but how distant ! I wonder whether 
 there are any old folks now, in old 
 quarters of old country towns, who 
 come to each other's houses in sedan- 
 chairs at six o'clock,- and play at 
 quadrille until supper-tray time ? Of 
 evenings Ridley and the captain, I 
 say, would have a solemn game at 
 cribbage, and the Little Sister would 
 make up a jug of something good for 
 the two oldsters. She liked Mr. 
 Ridley to come, for he always treated 
 her father so respectful, and was quite 
 the gentleman. And as for Mrs. 
 Ridley, Mr. R.'s "good lady," was 
 she not also grateful to the Little 
 Sister for having nursed her son 
 during his malady? Through their
 
 108 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 connection they were enabled to pro- 
 cure Mrs. Brandon many valuable 
 friends ; and always were pleased to 
 pass an evening with the captain, and 
 were as civil to him as they could 
 have been had he been at the very 
 height of his prosperity and splendor. 
 My private opinion of the old captain, 
 you see, is that he was a worthless 
 old captain, but most fortunate in his 
 early ruin, after which he had lived 
 very much admired and comfortable, 
 sufficient whiskey being almost al- 
 ways provided for him. 
 
 Old Mr. Ridley's respect for her 
 father afforded a most precious conso- 
 lation to the Little Sister. Ridley 
 liked to have the paper read to him. 
 He was never quite easy with print, 
 and to his last days, many words to 
 be met with in newspapers and else- 
 where used to occasion the good but- 
 ler much intellectual trouble. The 
 Little Sister made his lodgers' bills 
 out for him (Mr. R., as well as the 
 captain's daughter, strove to increase 
 a small income by the letting of fur- 
 nished apartments), or the captain 
 himself would take these documents 
 in charge ; he wrote a noble mercan- 
 tile hand, rendered now somewhat 
 shaky by time, but still very fine in 
 flourishes and capitals, and very much 
 at worthy Mr. Ridley's service. Time 
 was, when his son was a boy, that 
 J. J. himself had prepared these ac- 
 counts, which neither his father nor 
 his mother were very competent to 
 arrange. " We were not, in our 
 young time, Mr. Gann," Ridley re- 
 m.irked to his friend, " brought up to 
 much scholarship ; and very little 
 l>ook-learnin-.r was given to persons in 
 y rank of life. It was necessarv 
 and proper for you gentlemen, of 
 course, sir. ' " Of course, Mr. Rid- 
 ley," winks the other veteran over 
 his pipe. " But I can't go and ask 
 my son John James to keep his old 
 father's books now as he used to do, 
 which to do so is, on the part of you 
 and Mrs. Brandon, the part of true 
 friendship, and I value it, sir, ;ind so 
 do my son John James reckonize and 
 
 value it, sir." Mr. Ridley had served 
 gentlemen of the bonne ode. No no- 
 bleman could be more courtly and 
 grave than he was. In Mr. Gann's 
 manner there was more humorous 
 | playfulness, which in no way, how- 
 ever, diminished the captain's high 
 breeding. As he continued to be 
 intimate with Mr. Ridley, he became 
 j loftier and more majestic. I think 
 each of these elders acted on the other, 
 and for good ; and I hope Ridley's 
 opinion was correct, that Mr. Gann 
 was ever the gentleman. To see these 
 two good fogies together was a spec- 
 tacle for edification. Their tumblers 
 kissed each other on the table. Their 
 elderly friendship brought comfort to 
 themselves and their families. A 
 little matter of money once created 3 
 coolness between the two old gentle- 
 men. But the Little Sister paid the 
 outstanding account between her 
 father and Mr. Ridley : there never 
 was any further talk of pecuniary 
 loans between them ; and when they 
 went to the " Admiral Byng," each 
 paid for himself. * 
 
 Phil often heard of that nightly 
 : meeting at the " Admiral's Head, 
 | and longed to be of the company. 
 But even when he saw the old gentle- 
 men in the Little Sister's parlor, 
 they felt dimly that he was making 
 fun of them. The captain would not 
 have been able to brag so at ease had 
 Phil been continually watching him. 
 " I have 'ad the honor of waiting on 
 your worthy father at my Lord Tod- 
 morden's table. Our little club ain't 
 no place for you, Mr. Philip, nor for 
 my son, though he's a good son, and 
 proud me and his mother is of him, 
 which he have never pave us a 
 moment's pain, except when he was 
 ill, since he have came to man's estate, 
 most thankful am I, and with my 
 hand on niy heart, for to be able- to 
 say so. But what is good for me and 
 Mr. Gann won't suit you young 
 gentlemen. You ain't a tradesman, 
 sir, else I'm mistaken in the family, 
 which I thought the Ringwoods one 
 of the best in England, and the
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 109 
 
 Firmins a good one likewise." Mr. 
 Ridley loved the sound of his own 
 voice. At the festive meetings of the 
 club, seldom a night passed in which 
 he did not compliment his brother 
 Byngs and air his own oratory. 
 Under this reproof Phil blushed, and 
 hung his conscious head with shame. 
 " Mr. Ridley," says he, " you shall 
 find I won't come where I am not 
 welcome ; and if I come to annoy you 
 at the 'Admiral Byng,' may I be 
 taken out on the quarter-deck and 
 shot." On which Mr. Ridley pro- 
 nounced Philip to be a " most 
 sing'lar, astrornary, and ascentric 
 young man. A good heart, sir. 
 Most generous to relieve distress. 
 Fine talent, sir ; but I fear I fear 
 they won't come to much good, Mr. 
 Gann saving your presence, Mrs. 
 Brandon, m'm, which, of course, you 
 always stand up for him." 
 
 When Philip Firmin had had his 
 pipe and his talk with the Little 
 Sister in her parlor, he would ascend 
 and smoke his second, third, tenth 
 pipe in J. J. Ridley's studio. He 
 would pass hours before J. J.'s easel, 
 pouring out talk about politics, about 
 religion, about poetry, about women, 
 about the dreadful slavishness and 
 meanness of the world ; unwearied in 
 talk and idleness, as placid J. J. was 
 in listening and labor. The painter 
 had been too busy in life over his 
 easel to read many ' books. His 
 ignorance of literature smote him 
 with a frequent shame. He admired 
 book-writers, and young men of the 
 University who quoted their Greek 
 and their Horace glibly. He listened 
 with deference to their talk on such 
 matters ; no doubt got good hints 
 from some of them ; was always 
 secretly pained and surprised when 
 the university gentlemen were beaten 
 in argument, or loud and coarse in 
 conversation, as sometimes they 
 would be. " J. J. is a very clever 
 fellow, of course," Mr. Jarman would 
 say of him, "and the luckiest man in 
 Europe. He loves painting, and he 
 is at work all day. He loves toadying 
 
 fine people, and he goes to a tea-party 
 every night." You all knew Jarman 
 of Charlotte Street, the miniature- 
 painter 1 He was one of the kings 
 of the " Haunt." His tongue spared 
 no one. He envied all success, and 
 the sight of prosperity made him 
 furious : but to the unsuccessful he 
 was kind ; to the poor eager with 
 help and prodigal of compassion ; 
 and that old talk about nature's 
 noblemen and the glory of labor 
 was very fiercely arid eloquently 
 waged by him. His friends admired 
 him : he was the soul of independence 
 and thought most men sneaks who 
 wore clean linen and frequented 
 gentlemen's society : but it must be 
 owned his landlords had a bad opinion 
 of him, and I have heard of one or 
 two of his pecuniary transactions 
 which certainly were not to Mr 
 Jarrnan's credit. Jarman was a man 
 of remarkable humor. He was 
 fond of the widow, and would speak 
 of her goodness, usefulness, and 
 honesty with tears in his eyes. She 
 was poor and struggling yet. Had 
 she been wealthy and prosperous, Mr. 
 Jarman would not have been so alive 
 to her merit. 
 
 We ascend to the room on the first 
 floor, where the centre window has 
 been heightened, so as to afford an 
 upper light, and under that stream 
 of radiance we behold the head of an 
 old friend, Mr. J. J. Ridley, the R. 
 Academician. Time has somewhat 
 thinned his own copious locks, and 
 prematurely streaked the head with 
 silver. His face is rather wan ; the 
 eager, sensitive hand which poises 
 brush and palette, and quivers over 
 the picture, is very thin : round his 
 eyes are many lines of ill health 
 and, perhaps, care, but the eyes are 
 as bright as ever, and, when they 
 look at the canvas or the model 
 which he transfers to it, clear, and 
 keen, and happy. He has a very 
 sweet singing voice; and warbles at 
 his work, or whistles at it, smiling. 
 He sets his hand little feats of skill 
 to perform, and smiles with a boyish
 
 110 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 pleasure at his own matchless dexter- 
 ity. I have seen him, with an old 
 pewter mustard-pot for a model, 
 fashion a splendid silver flagon in one 
 of his pictures ; paint the hair of an 
 animal, the folds and flowers of a bit 
 of brocade, and so forth, with a per- 
 fect delight in the work he was per- 
 forming : a delight lasting from morn- 
 ing till sundown, during which time 
 he was too busy to touch the biscuit 
 and glass of water which was pre- 
 pared for his frugal luncheon. He 
 is greedy of the last minute of light, 
 and never can be got from his darling 
 pictures without a regret. To be 
 a painter, and to have your hand in 
 perfect command, I hold to be one of 
 life's summa .bona. The happy mix- 
 ture of hand and head work must 
 render the occupation supremely 
 pleasant. In the day's work must 
 occur endless delightful difficulties 
 and occasions for skill. Over the 
 details of that armor, that drapery, 
 or what not, the sparkle of that eye, 
 the downy blush of that cheek, the 
 jewel on that neck, there are battles 
 to be fought and victories to be won. 
 Each day there must occur critical 
 moments of supreme struggle and j 
 triumph, when struggle and victory | 
 must be both invigorating and j 
 exquisitely pleasing, as a burst j 
 across country is to a fine rider 
 perfectly mounted, who knows that 
 his courage and his horse will never \ 
 fail him. There is the excitement of 
 the game, and the gallant delight in 
 winning it. Of this sort of admi- 
 rable reward for their labor, no mrit, 
 I think, have a greater share than 
 painters (perhaps a violin-player per- 
 fectly and triumphantly performing 
 his own beautiful composition may ; 
 be equally happy). Here is occupa- 
 tion : here is excitement : here is ' 
 struggle and victory : and here is 
 profit. Can man ask more from 
 fortune ? Dukes and Rothschilds 
 may be envious of such a man. 
 
 Though Ridley has had his trials 
 and troubles, as we shall presently 
 learn, his art has mastered them all. 
 
 Black care may have sat in crupper 
 on that Pegasus, but has never un- 
 horsed the rider. In certain minds, 
 art is dominant and superior to all 
 beside, stronger than love, stronger 
 than hate, or care, or penury. As 
 soon as the fever leaves the hand free, 
 it is seizing and fondling the pencil. 
 Love may frown and be false, but the 
 other mistress never will. She is al- 
 ways true : always new : always the 
 friend, companion, inestimable con- 
 soler. So John James Ridley sat at 
 his easel from breakfast till sundown, 
 and never left his work quite wil- 
 lingly. I wonder are men of other 
 trades so enamored of theirs ; whether 
 lawyers cling to the last to their dar- 
 ling reports ; or writers prefer their 
 desks and inkstands to society, to 
 friendship, to dear idleness ? I have 
 seen no men in life loving their pro- 
 fessions so much as painters, except, 
 perhaps, actors, who, when not en- 
 gaged themselves, always go to the 
 play. 
 
 Before this busy easel Phil would 
 sit for hours, and pour out endless 
 talk and tobacco-smoke. His pres- 
 ence was a delight to Ridley's soul ; 
 his face a sunshine ; his voice a cor- 
 dial. Weakly himself, and almost in- 
 firm of body, with sensibilities trem- 
 ulously keen, the painter most ad- 
 mired amongst men strength, health, 
 good spirits, good breeding. Of these, 
 in his youth, Philip had a wealth of 
 endowment ; and I hope these pre- 
 cious gifts of fortune have not left him 
 in his maturer age. I do not say that 
 with all men Philip was so popular. 
 There are some who never can pardon 
 good fortune, and in the company of 
 gentlemen are on the watch for of- 
 fence ; and, no doubt, in his course 
 through life, poor downright Phil 
 trampled upon corns enough of those 
 who met him in his way. " Do you 
 know why Ridley is so fond of Fir- 
 min ? " asked Jarman. "Because 
 Firmin's father hangs on to the no- 
 bility by the pulse, whilst Ridley, you 
 know, is connected with them through 
 the sideboard." So Jarman had the
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Ill 
 
 double horn for his adversary : he 
 could despise a man for not being a 
 gentleman, and insult him for being 
 one. I have met with people in the 
 world with whom the latter offence is 
 an unpardonable crime, a cause of 
 ceaseless doubt, division, and sus- 
 picion. What more common or nat- 
 ural, Bufo, than to hate another 
 for being what you are not? The 
 story is as old as frogs, bulls, and 
 men. 
 
 Then, to be sure, besides your en- 
 viers in life, there are your admirers. 
 Beyond wit, which he understood, 
 beyond genius, which he had, Rid- 
 ley admired good looks and manners, 
 and always kept some simple hero 
 whom he loved secretly to cherish and 
 worship. He loved to be amongst 
 beautiful women and aristocratical 
 men. Philip Firmin, with his repub- 
 lican notions and downright blunt- 
 ness of behavior to all men of rank 
 superior to him, had a grand high 
 manner of his own; and if he had 
 scarce twopence in his pocket, would 
 have put his hands in them with as 
 much independence as the greatest 
 dandy who ever sauntered on Pall 
 Mall pavement. What a coolness the 
 fellow had ! Some men may, not un- 
 reasonably, have thought it impu- 
 dence. It fascinated Ridley. To be 
 such a man ; to have such a figure 
 and manner ; to be able to look so- 
 ciety in the face, slap it on the shoul- 
 der, if you were so minded, and hold 
 it by the button, what would not 
 Ridley give for such powers and ac- 
 complishments ? You will please to 
 bear in mind, I am not saying that J. 
 J. was right, only that he was as he 
 was. I hope we shall have nobody 
 in this story without his little faults 
 and peculiarities. Jarman was quite 
 right when he said Ridley loved fine 
 company. I believe his pedigree gave 
 him secret anguishes. He would 
 rather have been gentleman than 
 genius ever so great ; but let you and 
 me, who have no weaknesses of our 
 own, try and look charitably on this 
 confessed foible of my friend. 
 
 J. J. never thought of rebuking 
 Philip for being idle. Phil was as 
 the lilies of the field, in the painter's 
 opinion. He was not called upon to 
 toil or spin ; but to take bis ease, and 
 grow and bask in sunshine, and be 
 arrayed in glory. The little clique 
 of painters knew what Firmin's means 
 were. Thirty thousand pounds of his 
 own. Thirty thousand pounds down, 
 sir ; and the inheritance of his fa- 
 ther's immense fortune ! A splendor 
 emanated from this gifted young man. 
 His opinions, his jokes, his laughter, 
 his song, had the weight of thirty 
 thousand down, sir; and &c., &c. 
 What call had he to work f Would 
 you set a young nobleman to be an 
 apprentice '? Philip was free to be as 
 idle as any lord, if he liked. He 
 ought to wear fine clothes, ride fine 
 horses, dine oflf plate, and drink 
 champagne every day. J. J. would 
 work quite cheerfully till sunset, and 
 have an eightpenny plate of meat in 
 Wardour Street and a glass of porter 
 for his humble dinner. At the 
 " Haunt," and similar places of Bo- 
 hemian resort, a snug place near the 
 fire was always found for Firmin. 
 Fierce republican as he was, Jarman 
 had a smile for his Lordship, and used 
 to adopt particularly dandified nirs 
 when he had been invited to Old Parr 
 Street to dinner. I dare say Philip 
 liked flattery. I own that he was a 
 little weak in this respect, and that 
 you and I, my dear sir, are, of course, 
 far his superiors. J. J., who loved 
 him, would have had him follow his 
 aunt's and cousin's advice, and live 
 in better company ; but I think the 
 painter would not have liked his pet 
 to soil his hands with too much work, 
 and rather admired Mr. Phil for be- 
 ing idle. 
 
 The Little Sister gave him advice, 
 to be sure, both as to the company he 
 should keep and the occupation which 
 was wholesome for him. But when 
 others of his acquaintance hinted that 
 his idleness would do him harm, she 
 would not hear of their censure. 
 " Why should he work if he don't
 
 112 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 choose ? " she asked. " He has no 
 call to be scribbling and scrabbling. 
 You would n't have him sitting all 
 day painting little dolls' heads on 
 canvas, and working like a slave. A 
 pretty idea, indeed ! His uncle will 
 get him an appointment. That 's the 
 thing he should have. He should be 
 secretary to an ambassador abroad, 
 and he will be ! " In fact Phil, at this 
 period, used to announce his wish to 
 enter the diplomatic service, and his 
 hope that Lord Ringwood would fur- 
 ther his views in that respect. Mean- 
 while he was the king of Thornhaugh 
 Street. He might be as idle as he 
 chose, and Mrs. Brandon had always 
 a smile for him. He might smoke a 
 great deal too much, but she worked i 
 dainty little cigar-cases for him. She 
 hemmed his fine cambric pocket- 
 handkerchiefs, and embroidered his 
 crest at the corners. She worked 
 him a waistcoat so splendid that he 
 almost blushed to wear it, gorgeous 
 as he was in apparel at this period, 
 and sumptuous in chains, studs, and 
 haberdashery. I fear Dr. Firmin, 
 sighing out his disappointed hopes in 
 respect of his son, has rather good 
 cause for his dissatisfaction. But of 
 these remonstrances the Little Sister 
 would not hear. " Idle, why not ? 
 Why should he work ? Boys will be 
 boys. I dare say his grumbling old | 
 Pa was not better than Philip when 
 he was young ! " And this she spoke 
 with a heightened color in her little 
 face, and a defiant toss of her head, 
 of which I did not understand all the 
 significance then ; but attributed her 
 eager partisanship to that admirable ' 
 injustice which belongs to all good 
 women, and for which let us be daily 
 thankful. I know, dear ladies, you , 
 are angry at this statement. But, 
 even at the risk of displeasing yon, 
 we must tell the truth. You would 
 wish to represent yourselves as equi- 
 table, logical, and strictly just. So, I 
 dare say, Dr. Johnson would have 
 liked Mrs. Thrale to say to him, 
 " Sir, your manners are graceful ; 
 your person elegant, cleanly, and em- 1 
 
 inently pleasing ; your appetite small 
 (especially for tea), and your dancing 
 equal to the Violetta's " ; which, you 
 perceive, is merely ironical. Women 
 equitable, logical, and strictly just! 
 Mercy upon us ! If they were, pop- 
 ulation would cease, the world would 
 be a howling wilderness. AVell, in a 
 word, this Little Sister petted and 
 coaxed Philip Firmin in such an ab- 
 surd way that every one remarked 
 it, those who had no friends, no 
 sweethearts, no mothers, no daugh- 
 ters, no wives, and those who were 
 petted, and coaxed, and spoiled at 
 home themselves ; as I trust, dearly 
 beloved, is your case. 
 
 Now, again, let us admit that Phil- 
 ip's father had reason to be angry with 
 the boy, and deplore his son's taste 
 for low company ; but excuse the 
 young man, on the other hand, some- 
 what for his fierce revolt and profound 
 distaste at much in his home circle 
 which annoyed him. " By Heaven ! " 
 he would roar out, pulling his hair and 
 whiskers, and with many fierce ejac- 
 ulations, according to his wont, " the 
 solemnity of those humbugs sickens 
 me so, that I should like to crown the 
 old bishop with the soup-tureen, and 
 box Baron Bumpsher's ears with the 
 saddle of mutton. At my aunt's, the 
 humbug is just the same. It 's better 
 done, perhaps ; but O Pendennis ! if 
 you could but know the pangs which 
 tore into my heart, sir, the vulture 
 which gnawed at this confounded 
 liver, when I saw women women 
 who ought to be pure, women who 
 ought to be like angels, women who 
 ought to know no art but that of 
 coaxing our griefs away and soothing 
 our sorrows fawning, and crin- 
 ging, and scheming ; cold to this 
 person, humble to that, flattering to 
 the rich, and indifferent to the humble 
 in station. I tell you I have seen all 
 this, Mrs. Pendennis! I \yon't men- 
 tion names, but I have met with 
 those who have made me old hct'ore 
 my time a hundred years old ! The 
 zest of life is passed from me " (here 
 Mr. Phil would gulp a bumper from.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 113 
 
 the nearest decanter at hand). " But 
 if I like what your husband is pleased 
 to call low society, it is because I have 
 seen the other. I have dangled about 
 at fine parties, and danced at fashion- 
 able balls. I have seen mothers bring 
 their virgin daughters up to battered 
 old rakes, and ready to sacrifice their 
 innocence for fortune or a title. The 
 atmosphere of those polite drawing- 
 rooms stifles me. I can't bow the knee 
 to the horrible old Mammon. I walk 
 about in the crowds as lonely as if I 
 was in a wilderness ; and don't begin 
 to breathe freely until I get some 
 honest tobacco to clear the air. As for 
 your husband" (meaning the writer 
 of this memoir), " he cannot help 
 himself; he is a worldling, of the earth, 
 earthy. If a duke were to ask him to 
 dinner to-morrow, the parasite owns 
 that he would go. Allow me, my 
 friends, my freedom, my rough com- 
 panions, in their work-day clothes. 
 I don't hear such lies and flatteries 
 "ome from behind pipes, as used to 
 pass from above white chokers when 
 I was in the world." And he would 
 tear at his cravat, as though the mere 
 thought of the world's conventionality 
 wellnigh strangled him. 
 
 This, to be sure, was in a late stage 
 of his career, but I take up the biog- 
 raphy here and there, so as to give the 
 best idea I may of my friend's char- 
 acter. At this time he is out of the 
 country just now, and besides, if he 
 saw his own likeness staring him in 
 the face, I am confident he would 
 not know it Mr. Philip, in some 
 things, was as obstinate as a mule, 
 and in others as weak as a woman. 
 He had a childish sensibility for what 
 was tender, helpless, pretty, or pa- 
 thetic ; and a mighty scorn of im- 
 posture, wherever he found it. He 
 hud many' good purposes, which were 
 often very vacillating, and were but 
 seldom performed. He had a vast 
 number of evil habits, whereof, you 
 know, idleness is said to be Jhe root. 
 Many of these evil propensities he 
 coaxed and cuddled with much care ; 
 and though he roared out peccavi most 
 
 frankly when charged with his sins, 
 this criminal would fall to peccatiou 
 very soon after promising amendment. 
 What he liked he would have. What 
 he disliked he could with the greatest 
 difficulty be found to do. He liked 
 good dinners, good wine, good horses, 
 good clothes, and late hours ; and in 
 all these comforts of life (or any 
 others which he fancied, or which were 
 within his means) he indulged him- 
 self with perfect freedom. He hated 
 hypocrisy on his own part, and hypo- 
 crites in general. He said everything 
 that came into his mind about things 
 and people ; and, of course, was often 
 wrong and often prejudiced, and often 
 occasioned howls of indignation or 
 malignant whispers of hatred by his 
 free speaking. He believed everything 
 that was said to him until his inform- 
 ant had misled him once or twice, 
 after which he would believe nothing. 
 And here you will see that his im- 
 petuous credulity was as absurd as 
 the subsequent obstinacy of his un- 
 belief. My dear young friend, the 
 profitable way in life is the middle 
 way. Don't quite believe anybody, 
 for he may mislead you ; neither dis- 
 believe him, for that is uncompliment- 
 ary to your friend. Black is not so 
 very black ; and as for white, Ion 
 Dien ! in our climate what paint will 
 remain white long ? If Philip was self- 
 indulgent, I suppose other people are 
 self-indulgent likewise ; and besides, 
 you know, your faultless heroes have 
 ever so long gone out of fashion. To 
 be young, to be good-looking, to be 
 healthy, to be hungry three times a 
 day, to have plenty of money, a great 
 alacrity of sleeping, and nothing to 
 do, all these. I dare say, are very dan- 
 gerous temptations to a man, but I 
 think I know some who would like 
 to undergo the dangers of the trial. 
 Suppose there be holidays, is there 
 not work-time too 1 Suppose to-day 
 is feast-day ; may not tears and re- 
 pentance come to-morrow ? Such 
 times are in store for Master Phil, 
 and so please to let him have rest and 
 comfort for a chapter or two.
 
 114 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 IMPLETUR VETERI8 BACCHI. 
 
 THAT time, that merry time, of I 
 Brandon's, of Bohemia, of oysters, of 
 idleness, of smoking, of song at night 
 and profuse soda-water in the morning, | 
 of a pillow, lonely and bachelor it is ! 
 true, but with few cares for bedfellows, ! 
 of plenteous pocket-money, of ease for | 
 to-day and little heed for to-morrow, 
 was often remembered by Philip in 
 after days. Mr. Phil's views of life 
 were not very exalted, were they ? 
 The fruits of this world, which he de- 
 voured with such gusto, I must own 
 were of the common kitchen-garden 
 sort ; and the lazy rogue's ambition 
 went no further than to stroll along 
 the sunshiny wall, eat his fill, and 
 then repose comfortably in the arbor 
 under the arched vine. Why did Phil's 
 mother's parents leave her thirty thou- 1 
 sand pounds ? I dare say some mis- j 
 guided people would be glad to do as 
 much for their sons ; but, if I have | 
 ten, I am determined they shall either 
 have a hundred thousand apiece, or 
 else bare bread and cheese. " Man 
 was made to labor, and to be lazy," 
 Phil would affirm with his usual ener- 
 gy of expression. " When the Indian 
 warrior goes on the hunting path, he 
 is sober, active, indomitable. No dan- 
 gers fright him, and no labors tire. 
 He endures the cold of the winter ; he 
 couches on the forest leaves ; he sub- 
 sists on frugal roots or the casual 
 spoil of his bow. When he returns to 
 his village, he gorges to repletion ; he 
 sleeps, perhaps, to excess. When the 
 game is devoured, and the fire-water 
 exhausted, again he sallies forth into 
 the wilderness ; he outclimbs the 
 'possum, and he throttles the bear. 
 1 am the Indian : and this " Haunt " 
 is my wigwam ! Barbara, my squaw, 
 bring me oysters ; bring me a jug of 
 the frothing black beer ofthe pale- 
 faces, or I will hang up thy scalp on 
 my tent-pole ? " And old Barbara, the 
 good old attendant of this " Haunt " 
 of bandits, would say, " Law, Mr. 
 Philip, how you do go on, to be sure ! " 
 
 Where is the " Haunt " now ? and 
 where are the merry men all who there 
 assembled ? The sign is down ; the 
 song is silent ; the sand is swept from 
 the floor ; the pipes are broken, and 
 the ashes are scattered. 
 
 A little more gossip about his merry 
 days, and we have done. He, Philip, 
 was called to the bar in due course, 
 and at his call-supper we assembled a 
 dozen of his elderly and youthful 
 friends. The chambers in Parchment 
 Buildings were given up to him for 
 this day. Mr. Vanjohn, I think, 
 was away attending a steeple-chase ; 
 but Mr. Cassidy was with us, and 
 several of Philip's acquaintances of 
 school, college, and the world. There 
 was Philip's father, and Philip's uncle 
 Twysden, and I, Phil's revered and 
 respectable school senior, and others 
 of our ancient seminary. There was 
 Burroughs, the second wrangler of 
 his year, great in metaphysics, greater 
 with the knife and fork. There was 
 Stackpole, Eblana's favorite child, 
 the glutton of all learning, the master 
 of many languages, who stuttered and 
 blushed when he spoke his own. 
 There was Pinkerton, who, albeit an 
 ignoramus at the University, was al- 
 ready winning prodigious triumphs 
 at the Parliamentary bar, and invest- 
 ing in Consols to the admiration of 
 all his contemporaries. There was 
 Rosebury the beautiful, the May Fair 
 pet and delight of Almack's, the cards 
 on whose mantel-piece made all men 
 open the eyes of wonder, and some of 
 us dart the scowl of envy. There 
 was my Lord Egham, Lord Ascot's 
 noble son. There was Tom Dale, 
 who, having carried on his university 
 career too splendidly, had come to 
 grief in the midst of it, and was now 
 meekly earning his bread in the re- 
 porters' gallery, alongside of Cassidy. 
 There was Macbride, who, having 
 thrown up his fellowship and married 
 his cousin, was now doing a brave 
 battle with poverty, and making 
 literature feed him until law should 
 reward him more splendidly. There 
 was Haythorn, the country gentle-
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 115 
 
 man, who ever remembered his old 
 college chums, and kept the memory 
 of that friendship up by constant re- 
 minders of pheasants and game in the 
 season. There were Raby and May- 
 nard from the Guards' Club (May- 
 nard sleeps now under Crimean 
 snows), who preferred arms to the 
 toga; but carried into their military 
 life the love of their old books, the 
 affection of their old friends. Most 
 of these must be mute personages in 
 our little drama. Could any chroni- 
 cler remember the talk of all of them ? 
 
 Several of the guests present were 
 members of the Inn of Court (the 
 Upper Temple), which had conferred 
 on Philip the degree of Barrister-at- 
 Law. He had dined in his wig and 
 gown (Blackmore's wig and gown) in 
 the inn-hall that day, in company 
 with other members of his inn ; and, 
 dinner 'over, we adjourned to Phil's 
 chambers in Parchment Buildings, 
 where a dessert was served, to which 
 Mr. Firmin's friends were convoked. 
 
 The wines came from Dr. Firmin's 
 cellar. His servants were in attend- 
 ance to wait upon the company. 
 Father and son both loved splendid 
 hospitalities, and, so far as creature 
 comforts went, Philip's feast was 
 richly provided. " A supper, I love 
 a supper of all things ! And in order 
 that I might enjoy yours, I only took 
 a single mutton-chop for dinner!" 
 cried Mr. Twysden, as he greeted 
 Philip. Indeed, we found him, as 
 we arrived from Hall, already in the 
 chambers, and eating the young bar- 
 rister's dessert. " He 's been here 
 ever so long," says Mr. Brice, who 
 officiated as butler, " pegging away 
 at the olives and maccaroons. 
 Should n't wonder if he has pocketed 
 some." There was small respect on 
 the part of Brice for Mr. Twysden, 
 whom the worthy butler frankly pro- 
 nounced to be a stingy 'umbug. 
 Meanwhile, Talbot believed that the 
 old man respected him, and always 
 conversed with Brice, and treated 
 him with a cheerful cordiality. 
 
 The outer Philistines quickly ar- 
 
 rived, and but that the wine and men 
 were older, one might have fancied 
 one's self at a college wine-party. Mr. 
 Twysden talked for the whole com- 
 pany. He was radiant. He felt him- 
 self in high spirits. He did the hon- 
 ors of Philip's table. Indeed, no man 
 was more hospitable with other folks' 
 wine. Philip himself was silent and 
 nervous. 1 asked him if the awful 
 ceremony, which he had just under- 
 gone, was weighing on his mind 1 
 
 He was looking rather anxiously 
 towards the door ; and, knowing 
 somewhat of the state of affairs at 
 home, I thought that probably he 
 and his father had had one of the dis- 
 putes which of late days had become 
 so frequent between them. 
 
 The company were nearly all as- 
 sembled and busy with their talk, and 
 drinking the Doctor's excellent claret, 
 when Brice, entering, announced Dr. 
 Firmin and Mr. Tufton Hunt. 
 
 " Hang Mr. Tufton Hunt," Philip 
 was going to say ; but he started up, 
 went forward to his father, and 
 greeted him very respectfully. He 
 then gave a bow to the gentleman in- 
 troduced as Mr. Hunt, and they found 
 places at the table, the Doctor taking 
 his with his usual handsome grace. 
 
 The conversation, which had been 
 pretty brisk until Dr. Firmin came, 
 "drooped a little after his appearance. 
 " We had an awful row two days 
 ago," Philip whispered to me. " We 
 shook hands and are reconciled, as 
 you see. He won't stay long. He 
 will be sent for in half an hour or so. 
 He will say he has been sent for by a 
 duchess, and go and have tea at the 
 club." 
 
 Dr. Firmin bowed, and smiled sad- 
 ly at me, as Philip was speaking. I 
 dare say I blushed somewhat, and felt 
 as if the Doctor knew what his son 
 was saying to me. He presently en- 
 gaged in conversation with Lord Eg- 
 ham ; he hoped his good father was 
 well? 
 
 " You keep him so, Doctor. You 
 don't give a fellow a chance,' says 
 the young lord.
 
 116 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 " Pass the bottle, you young men ! 
 Hey! We intend to see you all 
 out ! " cries Talbot Twysden, on 
 pleasure bent and of the frugal 
 mind. 
 
 " Well said, sir," says the stranger 
 introduced as Mr. Hunt ; " and right 
 good wine. Ha, Firmin ! I think I 
 know the tap ! " and he smacked his 
 lips over the claret. " It 's your twen- 
 ty-five, and no mistake." 
 
 " The red-nosed individual seems a 
 connoisseur," whispered Kosebury at 
 my side. 
 
 The stranger's nose, indeed, was 
 somewhat rosy. And to this I may 
 add that his clothes were black, his 
 face pale, and not well shorn, his 
 white neckcloth dingy, and his eyes 
 bloodshot. 
 
 " He looks as if he had gone to bed 
 in his clothes, and carries a plentiful 
 flue about his person. Who is your 
 father's esteemed friend ? " continues 
 the wag, in an under voice. 
 
 " You heard his name, Rosebu- 
 ry," says the young barrister, gloom- 
 ily. 
 
 " I should suggest that your father 
 is in difficulties, and attended by an 
 officer of the sheriff of London, or 
 perhaps subject to mental aberration, 
 and placed under the control of a 
 keeper." 
 
 " Leave me alone, do ! " groaned 
 Philip. And here Twysden, who was 
 longing for an opportunity to make 
 a speech, bounced up from his chair, 
 and stopped the facetious barrister's 
 further remarks by his own eloquence. 
 His discourse was in praise of Philip, 
 the new-made barrister. " What ! if 
 no one else will give that toast, your 
 uncle will, and many a heartfelt bless- 
 ing go with you too, my boy ! " cried 
 the little man. He was prodigal of 
 benedictions. He dashed aside the 
 tear-drop of emotion. He spoke with 
 perfect fluency, and for a considerable 
 period. He really made a good 
 speech, and was greeted with de- 
 served cheers when at length he sat 
 down. 
 
 Phil stammered a few words in re- 
 
 ply to his uncle's voluble compli- 
 ments ; and then Lord Ascot, a 
 young nobleman of much familiar 
 humor, proposed Phil's father, his 
 health, and song. The physician 
 made a neat speech from behind his 
 ruffled shirt. He was agitated by the 
 tender feelings of a paternal heart, he 
 said, glancing benignly at Phil, who 
 was cracking filberts. To see his son 
 happy ; to see him surrounded by 
 such friends ; to know him embarked 
 this day in a profession which gave 
 the greatest scope for talents, the no- 
 blest reward for industry, was a proud 
 and happy moment to him, Dr. Fir- 
 min. What had the poet observed ? 
 " Ingenuas dldicisse jideliter artes " 
 (hear, hear!) "emollit mores," yes, 
 " emollit mores." He drank a bumper 
 to the young barrister (he waved his 
 ring, with a thimbleful of wine in his 
 glass). He pledged the young-friends 
 whom he saw assembled to cheer his 
 son on his onward path. He thanked 
 them with a father's heart ! He 
 passed his emerald ring across his 
 eyes for a moment, and lifted them to 
 the ceiling, from which quarter he re- 
 quested a blessing on his boy. As 
 though " spirits " approved of his in- 
 vocation, immense thumps came from 
 above, along with the plaudits which 
 saluted the Doctor's speech from the 
 gentlemen round the table. But the 
 upper thumps were derisory, and came 
 from Mr. Buffers, of the third floor, 
 who chose this method of mocking our 
 harmless little festivities. 
 
 I think these cheers from the face- 
 tious Buffers, though meant in scorn 
 of our party, served to enliven it and 
 make us laugh. Spite of all the 
 talking, we were dull; and I could 
 not but allow the force of my neigh- 
 bor's remark, that we were sat upon 
 and smothered by the old man. One 
 or two of the younger gentlemen 
 chafed at the license for tobacco 
 smoking not being yet accorded. But 
 Philip interdicted this amusement as 
 yet. 
 
 " Don't," he said ; " my father 
 don't like it. He has to see patients
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 117 
 
 to-night ; and they can't bear the smell 
 of tobacco by their bedsides." 
 
 The impatient youths waited with 
 their cigar-cases by their sides. They 
 longed for the withdrawal of the ob- 
 stacle to their happiness. 
 
 " He won't go, I tell you. He '11 
 be sent for," growled Philip to me. 
 
 The Doctor was engaged in conver- 
 sation to the right and left of him, 
 and seemed not to think of a move. 
 But, sure enough, at a few minutes 
 after ten o'clock, Dr. Firmin's foot- 
 man entered the room with a note, 
 which Firmin opened and read, as 
 Philip looked at me with a grim hu- 
 mor in his face. I think Phil's father 
 knew that we knew he was acting. 
 However, he went through the com- 
 edy quite gravely. 
 
 "A physician's time is not his 
 own," he said, shaking his hand- 
 some, melancholy head. " Good by, 
 my dear Lord ! Pray remember me 
 at home! Good night, Philip, my 
 boy, and good speed to you in your 
 career ! Pray, pray don't move." 
 
 And he is gone, waving the fair 
 hand and the broad-brimmed hat, 
 with the beautiful white lining. Phil 
 conducted him to the door, and heaved 
 a sigh as it closed upon his father, 
 a sigh of relief, I think, that he was 
 gone. 
 
 " Exit Governor. What 's the Latin 
 for Governor ? " says Lord Egham, 
 who possessed much native humor, 
 but not very profound scholarship. 
 " A most venerable old parent, Fir- 
 min. That hat and appearance 
 would command any sum of money." 
 
 " Excuse me," lisps Rosebury, 
 " but why did n't he take his elderly 
 friend with him, the dilapidated 
 clerical gentleman who is drinking 
 claret so freely ? And also, why did 
 he not remove your avuncular ora- 
 tor ? Mr. Twysden, your interesting 
 young neophyte has provided us with 
 an excellent specimen of the cheerful 
 produce of the Gascon grape." 
 
 " Well, then, now the old gentle- 
 man is gone, let us pass the bottle 
 and make a night of it. Hey, my 
 
 Lord ? " cries Twysden. " Philip 
 your claret is good ! I say, do you 
 remember some Chateau Margaux I 
 had, which Winton liked so 1 It 
 must be good if he praised it, I can 
 tell you. I imported it myself, and 
 gave him the address of the Bordeaux 
 merchant ; and he said he had seldom 
 tasted any like it. Those were his 
 very words. I must get you fellows 
 to come and taste it some day." 
 
 " Some day ! What day ? Name 
 it, generous Amphitryon ! " cries 
 Rosebury. 
 
 " Someday at seven o'clock. With 
 a plain, quiet dinner, a clear soup, 
 a bit of fish, a couple of little en- 
 trees, and a nice little roast. That 's 
 my kind of dinner. And we '11 taste 
 that claret, young men. It is not a 
 heavy wine. It is not a first-class 
 wine. I don't mean even to say it is 
 a dear wine, but it has a bouquet and 
 a pureness. What, you will smoke, 
 you fellows ? " 
 
 " We will do it, Mr. Twysden. 
 Better do as the rest of us do. Try 
 one of these." 
 
 The little man accepts the proffered 
 cigar from the young nobleman's box, 
 lights it, hems and hawks, and lapses 
 into silence. 
 
 " I thought that would do for him," 
 murmurs the facetious Egham. " It 
 is strong enough to blow his old head 
 off, and I wish it would. That ci- 
 gar," he continues, " was given to my 
 father by the Duke of Medina Sido- 
 nia, who had it out of the Queen of 
 Spain's own box. She smokes a good 
 deal, but naturally likes 'em mild. I 
 can give you a stronger one." 
 
 " O no. I dare say this is very 
 fine. Thank you ! " says poor Tal- 
 bot. 
 
 " Leave him alone, can't you ! " 
 says Philip. " Don't make a fool of 
 him before the young men, Egham." 
 
 Philip still looked very dismal in 
 the midst of the festivity. He was 
 thinking of his differences with his 
 absent parent. 
 
 We might all have been easily con- 
 soled, if the Doctor had taken away
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 with him the elderly companion 
 who 01 he had introduced to Phil's 
 feast. He could not have been very 
 welcome to our host, for Phil 
 scowled at his guest, and whispered, i 
 " Hang Hunt ! " to his neighbor. 
 
 " Hang Hunt " the Reverend 
 Tuf'ton Hunt was his name was in 
 no wise disconcerted by the coolness 
 of his reception. He drank his wine 
 very freely ; addressed himself to his 
 neighbors affably ; and called out a j 
 loud " Hear, hear ! " to Twysden, , 
 when that gentleman announced his 
 intention of making a night of it. As ' 
 Mr. Hunt warmed with wine he spoke 
 to the table. He talked a great deal 
 about the Ringwood family, had 
 been very intimate at Wingate, in old 
 days, as he told Mr. Twysden, and 
 an intimate friend of poor Cinqbars, 
 Lord liingwood's only son. ^fow, 
 the memory of the late Lord Cinqbars 
 was not an agreeable recollection to 
 the relatives of the house of Ring- 
 wood. He was in life a dissipated 
 and disreputable young lord. His 
 name was seldom mentioned in his 
 family ; never by his father, with 
 whom he had had many quarrels. 
 
 " You know I introduced Cinqbars 
 to your father, Philip ? " calls out the 
 dingy clergyman. 
 
 " I have heard you mention the 
 fact," says Philip. 
 
 " They met at a wine in my rooms 
 in Corpus. Brummell Firmin we 
 used to call your father in those days. 
 He was the greatest buck in the Uni- 
 versity, always a dressy man, kept 
 hunters, gave the best dinners in 
 Cambridge. We were a wild set. I 
 There was Cinqbars, Brand Firmin, i 
 Beryl, Toplady, about a dozen of us, 
 almost all noblemen or fellow-corn- j 
 moners, fellows who all kept their 
 horses and had their private ser- : 
 vants." 
 
 This speech was addressed to the 
 company, who yet did not seem much 
 edified by the college recollections of j 
 the dingy elderly man. 
 
 " Almost all Trinity men, sir ! i 
 We dined with each other week about. 
 
 Many of them had their tandems. 
 Desperate fellow across country your 
 father was. And but we won't 
 tell tales out of school, hey ? " 
 
 " No ; please don't, sir," said 
 Philip, clenching his fists and biting 
 his lips. The shabby, ill-bred, swag- 
 gering man was eating Philip's salt ; 
 Phil's lordly ideas of hospitality did 
 not allow him to quarrel with tbe 
 guest under his tent. 
 
 " When he went out in medicine, 
 we were all of us astonished. Whv, 
 sir, Brand Firmin, at one time, was 
 the greatest swell in the University," 
 continued Mr. Hunt, " and such a 
 plucky fellow ! So was poor Cinq- 
 bars, though he had no stamina. He, 
 I, and Firmin, fought for twenty 
 minutes before Caius' Gate with about 
 twenty bargemen, and you should 
 have seen your father hit out ! I was 
 a handy one in those days, too, with 
 my fingers. We learned the noble 
 art of self-defence in my time, young 
 gentlemen ! We used to have Glover, 
 the boxer, down from London, who 
 gave us lessons. Cinqbars was a 
 pretty sparrer, but no stamina. 
 Brandy killed him, sir brandy 
 killed him ! Why, this is some of 
 your governor's wine ! He and I 
 have been drinking it to-night in Parr 
 Street, and talking over old times." 
 
 " I am glad, sir, you found the wine 
 to your taste," says Philip, gravely. 
 
 " I did, Philip, my boy ! And 
 when your father said he was coming 
 to your wine, I said I 'd come too." 
 
 " I wish somebody would fling him 
 out of window," groaned Philip. 
 
 " A most potent, grave, and rever- 
 end senior," whispered Ro-sebury to 
 me. " I read billiards, Boulogne, 
 gambling-houses, in his noble linea- 
 ments. Has he long adorned your 
 family circle, Firmin ? " 
 
 " I found him at home about a 
 month ago, in my father's anteroom, 
 in the same clothes, with a pair of 
 mangy mustaches on his face ; and 
 he lias been at our house every day 
 since." 
 
 " Echapptf de Toulon," says Rose-
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 119 
 
 bury, blandly looking towards the 
 Stranger. " Cela se voit. Hommepar- 
 faitement distingue. You are quite 
 right, sir. I was speaking of you ; 
 and asking our friend Philip where it 
 was I had the honor of meeting you 
 abroad last year ? This courtesy," 
 he gently added, " will disarm 
 tigers." 
 
 " ~Lwas abroad, sir, last year," said 
 the other, nodding his head. 
 
 " Three to one he was in Boulogne 
 jail, or perhaps officiating chaplain 
 at a gambling-house. Stop, I have 
 it ! Baden Baden, sir ? " 
 
 " I was there, safe enough," says 
 the clergyman. " It is a very pretty 
 place ; but the air of the Apres kills 
 you. Ha ! ha ! Your father used to 
 shake his elbow when he was a 
 youngster too, Philip ! I can't help 
 calling you Philip. I have known 
 your father these thirty years. We 
 were college chums, you know." 
 
 " Ah ! what would I give," sighs 
 Rosebury, " if that venerable being 
 would but address me by my Chris- 
 tian name ! Philip, do something to 
 make your party go. The old gentle- 
 men are throttling it 1 Sing some- 
 thing, somebody ! or let us drown 
 our melancholy in wine. You ex- 
 pressed your approbation of this 
 claret, sir, and claimed a previous ac- 
 quaintance with it ? " 
 
 " I Ve drunk two dozen of it in the 
 last month," says Mr. Hunt with a 
 grin. 
 
 " Two dozen and four, sir," remarks 
 Mr. Brice, putting a fresh bottle on 
 the table. 
 
 " Well said, Brice ! I make the 
 Firmin Arms my head-quarters ; and 
 honor the landlord with a good deal 
 of rny company," remarks Mr. Hunt. 
 
 " The Firmin Arms is honored by 
 having such supporters ! " says Phil, 
 glaring, and with a heaving chest. 
 At each moment he was growing 
 more and more angry with that par- 
 son. 
 
 At a certain stage of conviviality 
 Phil was fond of talking of his pedi- 
 gree ; and, though a professor of very 
 
 liberal opinions, was not a little proud 
 of some of his ancestors. 
 
 " O, come, I say ! Sink the her- 
 aldry ! " cries Lord Egham. 
 
 " I am very sorry ! I would do 
 anything to oblige you, but I can't 
 help being a gentleman ! " growls 
 Philip. 
 
 " O, I say ! if you intend to come 
 King Richard III. over us " breaks 
 out rny Lord. 
 
 " Egham ! your ancestors were 
 sweeping counters when mine stood 
 by King Richard in that righteous 
 fight ! " shouts Philip. 
 
 That monarch had conferred lands 
 upon the Ringwood family. Richard 
 III. was Philip's battle-horse; when 
 he trotted it after dinner he was 
 splendid in his chivalry. 
 
 " 0, I say ! If you are to saddle 
 White Surrey, fight Bosworth Field, 
 and murder the kids in the Tower ! " 
 continues Lord Egham. 
 
 " Serve the little brutes right ! " 
 roars Phil. " They were no more 
 heirs of the blood royal of England 
 than " 
 
 " I dare say ! Only I 'd rather 
 have a song now the old boy is gone. 
 I say, yon fellows, chant something, 
 do now ! Bar all this row si bout 
 Bosworth Field and Richard the 
 Third ! Always does it when he 's 
 beer on board, always does it, give 
 you my honor ! " whispers the young 
 nobleman to' his neighbor. 
 
 " I am a fool ! I am a fool ! " cries 
 Phil, smacking his forehead. " There 
 are moments when the wrongs of my 
 race will intervene. It 's not your 
 fault, Mr. What-d'ye-call-'im, that 
 you allude to my arms in a derisive 
 manner. I bear you no malice ! Nay, 
 I ask your pardon ! Nay ! I pledge 
 you in this claret, which is good, 
 though it 's my governor's. In our 
 house everything is n't, hum Bosh ! 
 it 's twenty-five claret, sir ! Egham's 
 father gave him a pipe of it for saving 
 a life which might be better spent ; 
 and I believe the apothecary would 
 have pulled you through, Egham, 
 just as well as my governor. But
 
 120 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 the wine '& good ! Good ! Brice, 
 some more claret ! A song ! Who 
 spoke of a song ? Warble us some- 
 thing, Tom Dale ! A song, a song, 
 a song ! " 
 
 Whereupon the exquisite ditty of 
 " Moonlight on the Tiles " was given 
 by Tom Dale with all his accustomed 
 humor. Then politeness demanded 
 that our host should sing one of his 
 songs, and as I have heard him per- 
 form it many times, I have the privi- 
 lege of here reprinting it : premising 
 that the tune and chorus were taken 
 from a German song-book, which 
 used to delight us melodious youth in 
 bygone days. Philip accordingly 
 lifted up his great voice and sang : 
 
 " For the souls' edification 
 Of this decent congregation, 
 Worthy people ! by your grant, 
 I will sing a holy chant, 
 
 I will sing a holy chant. 
 If the ditty sound buc oddly, 
 'T was a father wise and godly, 
 Sang it so long ago. 
 
 Then sing as Doctor Luther sang, 
 
 As Doctor Luther sang, 
 
 Who loves not wine, woman, and song, 
 
 He is a fool his whole life long. 
 
 " He by custom patriarchal, 
 Loved to see the beaker sparkle. 
 And he thought the wine improved, 
 Tasted by the wife he loved, 
 
 By the kindly lips he loved. 
 Friends ! I wish this custom pious 
 Duly were adopted by us, 
 To combine love, song, wine ; 
 
 And sing as Doctor Luther sang, 
 
 As Doctor Luther sang, 
 
 Who loves not wine, woman, and song, 
 
 He is a fool his whole life long. 
 
 " Who refuses this our credo, 
 And demurs to driuk as we do, 
 Were he holy as John Knox, 
 I 'd pronounce him heterodox. 
 
 I 'd pronounce him heterodox 
 And from out this congregation, 
 With a solemn commination, 
 Banish quick the heretic, 
 
 Who would not sing as Luther sang, 
 
 As Doctor Luther sang, 
 
 Who loves not wine, woman, and song, 
 
 He is a fool his whole life long." 
 
 The reader's humble servant was 
 older than most of the party assem- 
 
 bled at this symposium, which may 
 have taken place some score 01' years 
 back ; but as I listened to the noise, 
 the fresh laughter, the songs remem- 
 bered out of old university days, the 
 talk and cant phrases of the old 
 school of which most of us had been 
 disciples, dear me, I felt quite young 
 again, and when certain knocks came 
 to the door about midnight, enjoyed 
 quite a refreshing pang of anxious 
 interest for a moment, deeming the 
 proctors were rapping, having heard 
 our shouts in the court below. The 
 late comer, however, was only a 
 tavern waiter, bearing a supper-tray ; 
 and we were free to speechify, shout, 
 quarrel, and be as young as we liked, 
 with nobody to tind fault, except, 
 perchance, the bencher below, who, I 
 dare say, was kept awake with our 
 noise. 
 
 When that supper arrived, poor 
 Talbot Twysden, who had come so 
 far to enjoy it, was not in a state to 
 partake of it. Lord Egham's cigar 
 had proved too much for him : and 
 the worthy gentleman had been lying 
 on a sofa, in a neighboring room, for 
 some time past, in a state of hopeless 
 collapse. He had told us, whilst yet 
 capable of speech, what a love and 
 regard he had for Philip ; but be- 
 tween him and Philip's father there 
 was but little love. They had had 
 that worst and most irremediable of 
 quarrels, a difference about twopence- 
 halfpenny in the division of the prop- 
 erty of their late father-in-law. Firmin 
 still thought Twysden a shabby cur- 
 mudgeon ; and Twysden considered 
 Firmin an unprincipled man. When 
 Mrs. Firmin was alive, the two poor 
 sisters had had to regulate their affec- 
 tions by the marital orders, and to be 
 warm, cool, moderate, freezing, ac- 
 cording to their husbands' state for 
 the time being. I wonder are there 
 many real reconciliations ? Dear 
 Tomkins and I are reconciled, I know. 
 We have met and dined at Jones's. 
 And ah ! how fond we are of each 
 other ! 0, very ! So with Firmin 
 and Twysden. They met, and shook
 
 THE ADVESTUEES OF miLIP. 
 
 hands with perfect animosity. So 
 did Twysdcn junior and Firmin 
 junior. Young Twysden was tlie 
 elder, and thrashed and bullied Phil 
 as a boy, until the latter arose and 
 pitehed his cousin down stairs. Men- 
 tally, they were always kicking each 
 other down stairs. Well, poor Talbot 
 could not partake of the supper when 
 it came, and lay in a piteous state on 
 the neighboring sofa of the absent 
 Mr. Vanjohn. 
 
 Who would go home with him, 
 where his wife must be anxious about 
 him ? 1 agreed to convoy him, and 
 the parson said he was going our 
 way, and would accompany us. We 
 supported this senior through the 
 Temple, and put him on the front 
 seat of a cab. The cigar had dis- 
 gracefully overcome him ; and any 
 lecturer on the evils of smoking 
 might have pointed his moral on the 
 helpless person of this wretched gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 The evening's feasting had only 
 imparted animation to Mr. Hunt, and 
 occasioned an agreeable abandon in 
 his talk. I had seen the man before 
 in Dr. Firmin's house, and own that 
 his society was almost as odious to 
 me as to the Doctor's son Philip. On 
 all subjects and persons, Phil was ac- 
 customed to speak his mind out a 
 great deal too openly ; and Mr. Hunt 
 had been an object of special dislike 
 to him ever since he had known 
 Hunt. I tried to make the best of 
 the matter. Few men of kindly 
 feeling and good station are without 
 a dependant or two. Men start to- 
 gether in the race of life ; and Jack 
 wins, and Tom falls by his side. The 
 successful man succors and reaches 
 a friendly hand to the unfortunate 
 competitor. Remembrance of early 
 times gives the latter a sort of right 
 to call on his luckier comrade ; and a 
 man finds himself pitying, then endur- 
 ing, then embracing a companion for 
 whom, in old days, perhaps, he never 
 had had any regard or esteem. A pros- 
 perous man ought to have followers : 
 if he has none he has a hard heart. 
 6 
 
 This philosophizing was all very 
 well. It was good fur a man not to 
 desert the friends of his boyhood. 
 But to live with such a tad as that, 
 with that creature, low, servile, swag- 
 gering, besotted. " How could his 
 father, who had fine tastes, and loved 
 grand comj.any, put up with such a 
 fellow ? " asked Phil. " I don't know 
 when the man is the more odious : 
 when he is familiar, or when he is re- 
 spectful ; when he is paying compli- 
 ments to my father's guests in Parr 
 Street, or telling hideous old stale 
 stories, as he did at my call-suj per." 
 
 The wine of which Mr. Hunt freely 
 partook on that occasion made him, 
 as I have said, communicative. " A'ot 
 a bad fellow, our host," he remarked, 
 on his part, when we came away to- 
 gether. " Bumptious, good-looking, 
 speaks his mind, hates me, and I 
 don't care He must be well to do 
 in the world, Master Philip." 
 
 I said I lioped and thought ^o. 
 
 ' Brummell Firmin must make 
 four or five thousand a year. He 
 was a wild fellow in my time, I can 
 tell you, in the days of the wild 
 Prince and Poyns, stuck at noth- 
 ing, spent his own money, ruined 
 himself, fell on his legs somehow, and 
 married a fortune. Some of us have 
 not been so lucky. I had nobody to 
 pay my debts. I missed my fellow- 
 ship by idling and dissipating with 
 those confounded hats and silver-laced 
 gowns. I liked good company in 
 those days, always did when I 
 could get it. If you were to write 
 my adventures, now, you world have 
 to tell some queer stories. I 've been 
 everywhere ; I 've seen high find low, 
 'specially low. I 've tried school- 
 mastering, bear-leading, newspaper- 
 ing, America, West Indies. I Ve 
 been in every city in Europe. I have 
 n't been as lucky as Brummell Fir- 
 min. He rolls in his coach, he does, 
 and I walk in my high-lows. Guineas 
 drop into his palm every da}', and are 
 uncommonly scarce in mine, I can 
 tell you ; and poor old Tufton Hunt 
 IB not much better off at fifty odd
 
 122 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 than he was when he was an under- 
 graduate at .eighteen. How do you 
 do, old irentleman ? Air do yon 
 good ? Hero we are at Beaunash 
 Street ; hope you 've got the key, :md 
 missis won't see you." A large but- 
 ler, too well bred to express a-t>>nish- 
 ment at any eve-it which occurred out 
 of doors, opened Mr. Twysden's, and 
 let in that lamentable gentleman. 
 He was very pale and solemn. He 
 gasped out a few words, intimating 
 his intention to fix a day to ask us to 
 come and dine soon, and taste that 
 wine that Winton liked so. He 
 waved an unsteady hand to us. If 
 Mrs. Twysden was on the stairs to 
 see the condition of her lord, I hope j 
 she took possession of the candle. 
 Hunt grumbled as we came out : 
 " He might have offered us some re- 
 freshment after bringing him all that 
 way home. It 's only half past one. 
 There 's no good in going to bed so 
 soon as that. Let us go and have a 
 drink somewhere. I know a very 
 good crib close by. No, you won't ? 
 1 say" (here he burst into a laugh 
 which startled the sleeping street), 
 " I know what you 've been thinking 
 all the time in the cab. You are a 
 swell, you are, too ! You have 
 been thinking ' This dreary old par- 
 son will try and borrow money from 
 me.' But I won't, my boy. I 've 
 got a banker. Look here ! Fee, faw, 
 fum. You understand. I can get 
 the sovereigns out of my medical 
 swell in Old Parr Street. I prescribe 
 bleeding for him, I drew him to- 
 night. He is a very kind fellow, 
 Brummell Firmin is. He can't deny 
 such a dear old friend anything. 
 Bless him ! " And as he turned 
 away to some midnight haunt of his 
 own, he tossed up his hand in the air. 
 I heard him laughing through the 
 silent street, and Policeman X, tramp- 
 ing on his beat, turned round and 
 suspiciously eyed him. 
 
 Then I thought of Dr. Firmin's 
 dark melancholy face and eyes. Was 
 a henevolent remembrance of old 
 times the bond of union between these 
 
 men ? All my house had long been 
 asleep, when I opened and srently 
 closed my house-door. By the twink- 
 ling night-lamp i could dimly see 
 child and mothrr softly breathing. 
 O, blessed th^y on whose pillow no 
 remorse sits ! Happy you who have 
 escaped temptation ! 
 
 I may have been encouraged in my 
 suspicions of the dingy clergyman by 
 Philip's own surmises regarding him, 
 which were expressed with the speak- 
 er's usual candor. " The fellow calls 
 for what he likes at the ' Firmin 
 Arms,' " said poor Phil ; " and when 
 my father's big-wigs assemble, I hope 
 the reverend gentleman dines with 
 them. I should like to see him hob- 
 nobbing with old Bumpsher, or slap- 
 ping the bishop on the back. He 
 lives in Sligo Street, round the cor- 
 ner, so as to be close to our house 
 and yet preserve his own elegant in- 
 dependence. Otherwise, I wonder he 
 has not installed himself in Old Parr 
 Street, where my poor mother's bed- 
 room is vacant. The Doctor does 
 not care to use that room. I remem- 
 ber now how silent'they were when 
 together, and how terrified she always 
 seemed before him. What has he 
 done 1 I know of one affair in his 
 early life. Docs this Hunt know of 
 any more ? They have been accom- 
 plices in some conspiracy, sir; I dare 
 say with that young Cinqbars, of 
 whom Hunt is forever bragging : the 
 worthy son of the worthy Kingwood. 
 I say, does wickedness run in the 
 blood "? My grandfathers, I have 
 heard, were honest men. Perhaps 
 they were only not found out ; and 
 the family taint will show in me some 
 day. There are times when I feel the 
 devil so strong within me, that I 
 think some day he must have the 
 mastery. I 'm not quite bad yet : 
 but I tremble lest I should go. Sup- 
 pose I were to drown, and go down ? 
 It 's not a jolly thing, Pendennis, to 
 have such a father as mine. Don't 
 humbug me with your charitable pal- 
 liations and soothing surmises. You
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 123 
 
 put me in mind of the world then, by 
 Jove, you do ! I laugh, and I drink, 
 and l" make merry, and sing, and 
 smoke endless tobacco ; and I tell 
 you, I always feel as if a little sword 
 was dangling over my skull which 
 will fall some day and split it. Old 
 Parr Street is mined, sir, mined ! 
 And some morning we shall be blown 
 into blazes, into blazes, sir ; mark 
 my words ! That 's why I 'm so 
 careless and so idle, for which you 
 fellows are always bothering and 
 scolding me. There 's no use in set- 
 tling down until the explosion is over, 
 don't you see 1 Incedo per igiies sup- 
 positos, and, by George ! sir, I feel my 
 boot-soles already scorching. Poor 
 ^hing ! poor mother " (he apostro- 
 phized his mother's picture which 
 hung in the room where we were 
 talking) , " were you aware of the se- 
 cret, and was it the knowledge of that 
 which made your poor eyes always 
 look so frightened 1 She was always 
 fond of you, Pen. Do you remember 
 how pretty and graceful she used to 
 look as she lay on her sofa up stairs, 
 or smiled out of her carriage as she 
 kissed her hand to us boys ? I say, 
 what if a woman marries, and is 
 coaxed and wheedled by a soft tongue, 
 and runs off, and afterwards finds her 
 husband has a cloven foot ? " 
 
 "Ah, Philip!" 
 
 " What is to be the lot of the son 
 Of such a man ? Is my hoof cloven, 
 too ? " It was on the stove, as he 
 talked, extended in American fashion. 
 " Suppose there 's no escape for me, 
 and I inherit my doom, as another 
 man does gout or consumption 1 
 Knowing this fate, what is the use, 
 then, of doing anything in particular ? 
 I tell you, sir, the whole edifice of our 
 present life will crumble in and 
 smash." (Here he flings his pipe to 
 the ground with an awful shatter.) 
 " And until the catastrophe comes, 
 what on earth is the use of setting to 
 work, as you call ill You might as 
 well have told a fellow, at Pompeii, to 
 select a profession the day before the 
 eruption." 
 
 " If yon know that Vesuvius is go- 
 ing to burst over Pompeii," I said, 
 somewhat alarmed, " why not go to 
 Naples, or farther if you will '( " 
 
 " Were there not men in the sentry- 
 boxes at the city gates," asked Philip, 
 " who mifiht have run, and yet re- 
 mained to be burned there ? Suppose, 
 after all, the doom is n't hanging over 
 us, and the fear of it is only a ner- 
 vous terror of mine ? Suppose it 
 comes, and I survive it ? The risk 
 of the game gives a zest to it, old boy. 
 Besides, there is Honor : and some 
 One Else is in the case, from whom 
 a man could not part in an hour of 
 danger." And here he blushed a fine 
 red, heaved a great sigh, and emptied 
 a bumper of claret. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WILL BE PRONOUNCED TO BE CYN- 
 ICAL BY THE BENEVOLENT. 
 
 GENTLE readers will not, I trust, 
 think the worse of their most obedient 
 humble servant fur the confession that I 
 talked to my wife on my return home 
 regarding Philip and his affairs. When 
 I choose to be frank, I hope no man 
 can be more open than myself : when 
 I have a mind to be quiet, no fish can 
 be more mute. I have kept secrets so 
 ineffably, that I have utterly forgotten 
 them, until my memory was refreshed 
 .by people who also knew them. But 
 what was the use of hiding this one 
 from the being to whom I open all, or 
 almost all, say all, excepting just 
 one or two of the closets of this heart ? 
 So I say to her, " My love ; it is as I 
 suspected. Philip and his cousin 
 Agnes are carrying on together." 
 
 " Is Agnes the pale one, or the very 
 pale one ? " asks the joy of my exist- 
 ence. 
 
 " No, the elder is Blanche. They 
 are both older than Mr. Firmin : but 
 Blanche is the elder of the two." 
 
 " Well, I am not saying anything 
 malicious, or contrary to the fact, am 
 I, sir?"
 
 124 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 No. Only I know by her looks, 
 when another lady's name is men- 
 tioned, whether my wife likes her or 
 not. And I am bound to say, though 
 this statement may meet with a de- 
 nial, that her countenance does not 
 vouchsafe smiles at the mention of all 
 ladies' names. 
 
 " You don't go to the house ? You 
 and Mrs. Twysden have called on 
 each other, and there the matter has 
 stopped ? O, I know ! It is be- 
 cause poor Talbot brags so about his 
 wine, and gives such abominable 
 stuff, that you have such an unchris- 
 tian feeling for him ! " 
 
 " That is the reason, I dare say," 
 says the lady. 
 
 " No. It is no such thing. Though 
 you do know sherry from port, I be- 
 lieve upon my conscience you do not 
 avoid the Twysdens because they give 
 bad wine. Many others sin in that 
 way, and you forgive them. You 
 like your fellow-creatures better than 
 wine, some fellow-creatures, and 
 you dislike some fellow - creatures 
 worse than medicine. You swallow 
 them, madam. You say nothing, but 
 your looks are dreadful. You make 
 wry faces : and when you have taken 
 them, you want a piece of sweet- 
 meat to take the taste out of your 
 mouth." 
 
 The lady, thus wittily addressed, 
 shrugs her lovely shoulders. My wife 
 exasperates me in many things ; in 
 getting up at insane hours to go to 
 early church, for instance ; in looking 
 at me in a particular way at dinner, 
 when I am about to eat one of those 
 entrees which Dr. Goodenough de- 
 clares disagree with me ; in nothing 
 more than in that obstinate silence, 
 which she persists in maintaining 
 sometimes when I am abusing people, | 
 whom I do not like, whom she does 
 not like, and who abuse me. This 
 reticence makes me wild. What con- 
 fidence can there be between a man 
 and his wife, if he can't say to her, 
 " Confound So-and-so, I hate him " ; 
 or, " What a prig What-d'ye-call-'im 
 is ! " or. " What a bloated aristocrat 
 
 Thingamy has become, since he got 
 his place ! " or what you will ? 
 
 " No," I continue, " I know why 
 you hate the Twysdens, Mrs. Pen- 
 dennis. You hate them because they 
 move in a world which you can only 
 occasionally visit. You envy them 
 because they are hand-in-glove with 
 the great ; because they possess an 
 easy grace, and a frank and noble 
 elegance with which common country- 
 people and apothecaries' sons are not 
 endowed." 
 
 " My dear Arthur, I do think you 
 are ashamed of being an apothecary's 
 son ; you talk about it so often," says 
 the lady. Which was all very well : 
 but you see she was not answering my 
 remarks about the Twysdens. 
 
 " You are right, my dear," I say 
 then. " I ought not to be censorious, 
 being myself no more virtuous than 
 my neighbor." 
 
 " I know people abuse you, Ar- 
 thur; but I think you are a very 
 good sort of a man," says the lady, 
 over her little tea-tray. 
 
 " And so are the Twysdens very 
 good people, very nice, artless, un- 
 selfish, simple, generous, well - bred 
 people. Mr. Twysden is all heart : 
 Twysden's conversational powers are 
 remarkable and pleasing : and Philip 
 is eminently fortunate in getting one 
 of those charming girls for a wife." 
 
 " 1 've no patience with them," 
 cries my wife, losing that quality to 
 my great satisfaction : for then I 
 knew I had found the crack in Mad- 
 am Pendennis's armor of steel, and 
 had smitten her in a vulnerable 
 little place. 
 
 "No patience with them'? Quiet, 
 ladylike young women ! " I cry. 
 
 "Ah," sighs my wife, " what have 
 they got to give Philip in return 
 for " 
 
 " In return for his thirty thousand? 
 They will have ten thousand pounds 
 apiece when their mother dies." 
 
 " Oh ! I would n't have our boy 
 marry a woman like one of those, 
 not if she had a million. I would n't, 
 my child and my blessing ! " (This
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 125 
 
 is addressed to a little darling who 
 happens to be eating sweet cakes, in 
 a high chair, oft" the little table by 
 his mother's side, and who, though 
 he certainly used to cry a good deal 
 at the period, shall be a mute per- 
 sonage in this history.) 
 
 " You are alluding to Blanche's 
 little affair with " 
 
 " No, I am not, sir ! " 
 
 " How do you know which one I 
 meant, then ? Or that notorious 
 disappointment of Agnes, when Lord 
 Farintosh became a widower? If 
 he would n't, she could n't, you know, 
 my dear. And I am sure she tried 
 her best : at least, everybody said 
 so." 
 
 " Ah ! I have no patience with the 
 way in which you people of the world 
 treat the most sacred of subjects, 
 the most sacred, sir. Do you hear 
 me ? Is a woman's love to be pledged, 
 and withdrawn every 'day? Is her 
 faith and purity only to be a matter 
 of barter, and rank, and social con- 
 sideration ? I am sorry, because I 
 don't wish to see Philip, who is 
 good, and honest, and generous, and 
 true as yet, however great his 
 faults may be, because I don't wish 
 to see him given up to Oh ! it 's 
 shocking, shocking ! " 
 
 Given up to what? to anything 
 dreadful in this world, or the next ? 
 Don't imagine that Philip's relations 
 thought they were doing Phil any 
 harm by condescending to marry 
 him, or themselves any injury. A 
 doctor's son, indeed ! Why, the 
 Twysdens were far better placed in 
 the world than their kinsmen of Old 
 Parr Street; and went to better 
 houses. The year's leve'e and draw- 
 ing-room would have been incomplete 
 without Mr. and Mrs. Twysden. 
 There might be families with higher 
 titles, more wealth, higher positions ; 
 but the world did not contain more 
 respectable folks than the Twysdens : 
 of this every one of the family was 
 convinced, from Talbot himself down 
 to his heir. If somebody or some 
 Body of savans would write the 
 
 history of the harm that has been 
 done in the world by people who be- 
 | lieve themselves to be virtuous, what 
 j a queer, edifying book it would be, 
 and how poor oppressed rogues mipht 
 1 look up ! Who burns the Protes- 
 tants ? the virtuous Catholics, to 
 be sure. Who roasts the Catholics ? 
 the virtuous Reformers. Who thinks 
 I am a dangerous character, and 
 avoids me at the club ? the virtuous 
 Squaretoes. Who scorns ? who per- 
 secutes ? who does n't forgive ? the 
 virtuous Mrs. Grundy. She remem- 
 bers her neighbor's peccadilloes to 
 the third and fourth generation ; and 
 if she finds a certain man fallen in 
 her path, gathers up her affrighted 
 garments with a shriek, for fear the 
 muddy bleeding wretch should con- 
 taminate her, and passes on. 
 
 I do not seek to create even sur- 
 prises in this modest history, or con- 
 descend to keep candid readers in 
 suspense about many matters which 
 might possibly interest them. For 
 instance, the matter of love has in- 
 terested novel-readers for hundreds 
 of years past, and doubtless will con- 
 tinue so to interest them. Almost 
 all young people read love books and 
 histories with eagerness, as oldsters 
 read books of medicines, and what- 
 ever it is, heart complaint, gout, 
 liver, palsy, cry, " Exactly so, pre- 
 cisely my case ! " Phil's first love- 
 affair, to which we are now coming, 
 was a false start. I own it at once. 
 And in this commencement of his 
 career I believe he was not more or 
 less fortunate than many and many a 
 man and woman in this world. Sup- 
 pose the course of true love always 
 did run smooth, and everybody mar- 
 ried his or her first love. Ah ! what 
 would marriage be ? 
 
 A generous young fellow comes to 
 market with a heart ready to leap 
 out of his waistcoat, forever thump- 
 ing and throbbing, and so wild that 
 he can't have any rest till he has dis- 
 posed of it. What wonder if he falls 
 upon a wily merchant in Vanity 
 Fair, and barters his all for a stale
 
 126 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. 
 
 bauble not worth sixpence? Phil 
 chose to fall in love with his cousin ; 
 and I warn you that nothing will 
 come of that passion, except the in- 
 fluence which it had upon the young 
 man's character. Though my wife 
 did not love the Twysdens, she loves 
 sentiment, she loves love-affairs, 
 all women do. Poor Phil used to 
 bore me after dinner with endless 
 rodomontades about his passion and 
 his charmer ; but my wife was never 
 tired of listening. " Yon are a self- 
 ish, heartless, blase man of the world, 
 you are," he would say. " Your own 
 immense and undeserved good fortune 
 in the matrimonial lottery has ren- 
 dered you hard, cold, crass, indifferent. 
 You have been asleep, sir, twice to- 
 night, whilst I was talking. I will 
 go up and tell madam everything. 
 She has a heart." And presently, 
 engaged with my book or my after- 
 dinner doze, I would hear Phil 
 striding and creaking overhead, and 
 plunging energetic pokers in the 
 drawing-room fire. 
 
 Thirty thousand pounds to begin 
 with ; a third part of that sum com- 
 ing to the lady from her mother ; all 
 the doctor's savings and property ; 
 here certainly was enough in posses- 
 sion and expectation to satisfy many 
 young couples ; and as Phil is twenty- 
 two, and Agnes (must I own it ?) twen- 
 ty-five, and as she has consented to 
 listen to the warm outpourings of the 
 eloquent and passionate youth, and 
 exchange for his fresh, new-minted, 
 golden sovereign heart, that used lit- 
 tle threepenny-piece, her own, why 
 should they not marry at once, and 
 BO let us have an end of them and 
 this history ? They have plenty of 
 money to pay the parson and the 
 posvjhaise ; they may drive off to the 
 country, and live on their means, and 
 lead an existence so humdrum and 
 tolerably happy that Phil may grow 
 quite too fat, lazy, and unfit for his 
 present post of hero of a novel. But 
 stay there are obstacles ; coy, re- 
 luctant, amorous delays. After all, 
 Philip is a dear, brave, handsome, 
 
 wild, reckless, blundering boy, tread- 
 ing upon everybody's dress-skirts, 
 smashing the little Dresden orna- 
 ments and the pretty little decorous 
 gimcracks of society, life, conversa- 
 tion ; but there is time yet. Are 
 you so very sure about that money 
 of his mother's ? and how is it that 
 his father, the Doctor, has not settled 
 accounts with him yet 1 Vest louche. 
 A family of high position and princi- 
 pla must look to have the money mat- 
 ters in perfect order, before they con- 
 sign a darling accustomed to every 
 luxury to the guardianship of a con- 
 fessedly wild and eccentric, though 
 generous and amiable young man. 
 Besides ah ! besides besides ! 
 
 ". . . . It 's horrible, Arthur ! 
 It 's cruel, Arthur ! It 's a shame to 
 judge a woman, or Christian people 
 so ! Oh ! my loves ! my blessings ! 
 would I sell you ? " says this young 
 mother, clutching a little belaced, 
 befurbelowed being to her heart, infan- 
 tine, squalling, with blue shoulder- 
 ribbons, a mottled little arm that has 
 just been vaccinated, and the sweetest 
 red shoes. " Would I sell you f " 
 says mamma. Little Arty, I say, 
 squalls ; and little Nelly looks up 
 from her bricks with a wondering, 
 whimpering expression. 
 
 Well, I am ashamed to say what 
 the " besides " is ; but the fact is, 
 that young Woolcomb of the Life 
 Guards Green, who has inherited 
 immense West India property, and, 
 we will say, just a teaspoonful of 
 that dark blood which makes a man 
 naturally partial to blonde beauties, 
 has cast his opal eyes very warmly 
 upon the golden-haired Agnes of late ; 
 has danced with her not a little ; and 
 when Mrs. Twysden's barouche ap- 
 pears by the Serpentine, you may not 
 unfrequently see a pair of the neatest 
 little yellow kid gloves just playing 
 with the reins, a pair of the prettiest 
 little boots just touching the stirrup, 
 a magnificent horse dancing, and 
 tittupping, and tossing, and perform- 
 ing the most graceful caracoles and 
 gambadoes, and on the magnificent
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 127 
 
 horse a neat little man with a blazing 
 red flower in his bosom, and glancing 
 opal eyes, and a dark complexion, 
 and hair so very black and curly, that 
 I really almost think in some of the 
 Southern States of America he 
 would be likely to meet with rude- 
 ness in a railway-car. 
 
 But in England we know better. 
 In England Grenville Woolcomb is a 
 man and a brother. Half of Arrow- 
 root Island, they say, belongs to him ; 
 besides Mangrove Hall, in Hertford- 
 shire ; ever so much property in other 
 counties, and that fine house in 
 Berkeley Square. He is called the 
 Black Prince behind the scenes of 
 many theatres : ladies nod at him 
 from those broughams which, you 
 understand, need not be particula- 
 rized. The idea of his immense 
 riches is confirmed by the known fact 
 that he is a stingy Black Prince, and 
 most averse to parting with bis 
 money except for his own adornment 
 or amusement. When he receives at 
 his country-house, his entertainments 
 are, however, splendid. He has been 
 flattered, followed, caressed all his 
 life, and allowed by a fond mother to 
 have his own way ; and as this has 
 never led him to learning, it must be 
 owned that his literary acquirements 
 are small, and his writing defective. 
 But in the management of his pecu- 
 niary affairs he is very keen and clev- 
 er. His horses cost him less than 
 any young man's in England who is 
 so well mounted. No dealer has ever 
 been known to get the better of him ; 
 and, though he is certainly close 
 about money, when his wishes have 
 very keenly prompted him, no sum 
 has been known to stand in his way. 
 
 Witness the purchase of the . 
 
 But never mind scandal. Let by- 
 gones he bygones. A young doctor's 
 son, with a thousand a year for a for- 
 tune, may be considered a catch in 
 some circles, but not, vous concevez, in 
 the upper regions of society. And 
 dear woman, dear, angelic, highly 
 accomplished, respectable woman, 
 does she not know how to pardon 
 
 many failings in our sex ? Age ? 
 psha ! She will crown my bare old 
 poll with the roses of her youth. 
 Complexion ? What contrast is 
 sweeter and more touching than Des- 
 demona's golden ringlets on swart 
 Othello's shoulder ? A past life of 
 selfishness and bad company ? Come 
 out from among the swine, my prodi- 
 gal, and I will purify thee ! 
 
 This is what is called cynicism, 
 you know. Then I suppose *my wife 
 is a cynic, who clutches her children 
 to her pure heart, and prays gracious 
 Heaven to guard them from selfish- 
 ness, from worldliness, from heartless- 
 ness, from wicked greed. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CONTAINS ONE RIDDLE WHICH IS 
 SOLVED, AND PERHAPS SOME MORE. 
 
 MINE is a modest muse, and as the 
 period of the story arrives when a 
 description of love-making is justly 
 due, my Mnemosyne turns away from 
 the young couple, drops a little 
 curtain over the embrasure where 
 they are whispering, heaves a sigh 
 from her elderly bosom, and lays a 
 finger on her lip. Ah, Mnemosyne 
 dear ! We will not be spies on the 
 young people. We will not scold 
 them. We won't talk about their 
 doings much. When we were young, 
 we too, perhaps, were taken in under 
 Love's tent ; we have eaten of his salt : 
 and partaken of his bitter, his deli- 
 cious bread. Now we are padding 
 the hoof lonely in the wilderness, we 
 will not abuse our host, will we 1 We 
 will couch under the stars, and think 
 fondly of old times, and to-morrow 
 resume the staff and the journey. 
 
 And yet, if a novelist may chronicle 
 any passion, its flames, its raptures, 
 its whispers, its assignations, its son- 
 nets, its quarrels, sulks, reconcilia- 
 tions, and so on, the history of such 
 a love as this first of Phil's may be 
 excusable in print, because I don't be- 
 lieve it was a real love at all, only a
 
 128 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 little brief delusion of the senses, from 
 which I give you warning that our 
 hero will recover before many chap- 
 ters are over. What ! my brave boy, 
 shall we give your hean ?way for 
 good and all, for better or for worse, 
 tiil death do you part? What! my 
 Corydon and sighing swain, shall we 
 irrevocably bestow you upon Phillis, 
 who, all the time you are piping and 
 paying court to her, has Melibreus in 
 the cupboard, and ready to be pro- 
 duce 1 should he prove to l>e a more 
 eligible shepherd than t'other 1 1 am 
 not such a savage towards my readers 
 or hero, us to make them undergo the 
 misarv of such a marriage. 
 
 Philip was very little of a club or 
 society man. He seldom or ever en- 
 tered the " Megatherium," or when 
 there stared and scowled round him 
 savagely, and laughed strangely at the 
 ways of the inhabitants. He made 
 but a clumsy figure in the world, 
 though in person handsome, active, 
 and proper enough ; but he would for- 
 ever put his great foot through the 
 World's flounced skirts, and she 
 would stare, and cry out and hate 
 him. He was the last man who was 
 aware of the Woolcomb flirtation, 
 when hundreds of people, I dare say, 
 were simpering over it. 
 
 " Who is that little man who comes 
 to your house, and whom I sometimes 
 see in the Park, aunt, that little 
 man with the very white gloves and 
 the very tawny complexion ? " asks 
 Philip. 
 
 " That is Mr. Woolcomb, of the 
 Life Guards Green," auut remembers. 
 
 " An officer is he 1 " says Philip, 
 turning round to the girls. " I should 
 have thought he would have done 
 better for the turb:in and cymbals." 
 And he laughs and thinks he has 
 said a very clever thing. O, those 
 good things about people and against 
 people ! Never, my dear young 
 friend, say them to anybody, not to 
 a stranger, for he will go away and 
 tell ; not to the mistress of your affec- 
 tions, for you may quarrel with her, 
 and then she will tell ; not to your 
 
 son, for the artless child will return to 
 his school-fellows and say: "Paba. 
 says Mr. Blenkinsop is a muff." Mj 
 child, or what not, praise everybody ; 
 smile on everybody : and everybody 
 will smile on you in 'return, a sham 
 smile, and hold you out a sham hand ; 
 and, in a word, esteem you as you de- 
 serve. No. I think you and I will 
 take the ups and the downs, the roughs 
 and the smooths of this daily exist- 
 ence and conversation. We will 
 j praise tho^e whom we like, though 
 | nobody repeat our kind sayings ; and 
 i say our say about those whom we dis- 
 like, though we are pretty sure our 
 words will be carried by tale-bearers, 
 and increased and multiplied, and re- 
 membered long after we have forgot- 
 ten them. We drop a little stem-, 
 a little stone that is swallowed up and 
 disappears, but the whole pond is set 
 in commotion, and ripples in con- 
 tinually widening circles long after 
 the original little stone has popped 
 down and is out of sight. Don't 
 your speeches of ten years ago 
 maimed, distorted, bloated it may be 
 out of all recognition come strange- 
 ly back to their author ? 
 
 Phil, five minutes after he had 
 
 made the joke, so entirely forgot his 
 
 saying about the Black Prince and 
 
 the cymbals, that, when Captain 
 
 Woolcomb scowled at him with his 
 
 fiercest eyes, young Firmin thought 
 
 that this was the natural expression 
 
 of the captain's swarthy countenance, 
 
 and gave himself no further trouble 
 
 regarding it. " By George ! sir," 
 
 j said Phil afterwards, speaking of this 
 
 j officer, " I remarked that he grinned, 
 
 and chattered and showed his teeth ; 
 
 and remembering it was the nature 
 
 of such baboons to chatter and grin, 
 
 had no idea that this chimpanzee 
 
 was more angry with me than with 
 
 ! any other gentleman. You see, Pen, 
 
 I am a white- skinned man; I am 
 
 pronounced even red-whiskered by 
 
 the ill-natured. It is not the prettiest 
 
 color. But I had no idea that I was 
 
 j to have a mulatto for a rival. I am 
 
 i not so rich, certainly, but I haY&
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 129 
 
 enough. I can read and spell correct- 
 Iv, and write with tolerable fluency. 
 I could not, you know, could I, reason- 
 ably suppose that I need fear compe- 
 tition, and that the black horse would 
 beat the bay one ? Shall I tell you 
 what she used to say to me ? There 
 is no kissing and telling, mind you. 
 No, by George. Virtue and prudence 
 were forever on her lips ! She 
 warbled little sermons to me ; hinted 
 gently that I should see to safe invest- 
 ments of my property, and that no 
 man, not even a father, should be the~ 
 sole and uncontrolled guardian of it. 
 She asked me, sir, scores and scores of 
 little sweet, timid, innocent questions 
 about the Doctor's property, and how 
 much did I think it was, and how had 
 he laid it out ? What virtuous parents 
 that angel had ! How they brought 
 her up, and educated her dear blue 
 eyes to the main chance ! She knows 
 the price of housekeeping, and the 
 value of railway shares ; she invests 
 capital for herself in this world and 
 the next. She may n't do right al- 
 ways, but wrong ? O fie, never ! I 
 say, Pen, an undeveloped angel with 
 wings folded under her dress ; not 
 perhaps your mighty, snow-white, 
 flashing pinions that spread out and 
 soar up to the highest stars, but a pair 
 of good, serviceable drab dove-colored 
 wings, that will support her gently 
 and equably just over our heads, and 
 help to drop her softly when she con- 
 descends upon us. When I think, sir, 
 that I might have been married to a 
 genteel angel and am single still, 
 oh ! it 's despair, it 's despair ! " 
 
 But Philip's little story of disap- 
 pointed hopes and bootless passion 
 must be told in terms less acrimonious 
 and unfair than the gentleman would 
 use, naturally of a sanguine, swag- 
 gering talk, prone to exaggerate his 
 own disappointments, and call out, 
 roar, I dare say swear, if his 
 own corn was trodden upon, as loud- 
 ly as some men who may have a leg 
 taken off. 
 
 This I can vouch for Miss Twys- 
 den, Mrs. Twysden, and all the rest 
 6* 
 
 of the family : that if they, what 
 you call, jilted Philip, they did so 
 i without the slightest hesitation or no- 
 j tion that they were doing a dirty ac- 
 tion. Their actions never were dirty 
 or mean ; they were necessary, I tell 
 you, and calmly proper. They ate 
 cheese-parings with graceful silence ; 
 they cribbed from board-wages ; they 
 turned hungry servants out of doors; 
 they remitted no chance in their own 
 favor ; they slept gracefully under 
 scanty coverlids ; they lighted nig- 
 gard fires ; they locked the caddy 
 with the closest lock, and served the 
 teapot with the smallest and least fre- 
 quent spoon. But you don't suppose 
 they thought they were mean, or that 
 they did wrong ' l . Ah ! it is admira- 
 ble to think of many, many, ever so 
 many respectable families of your ac~ 
 quaintance, and mine, my dear friend, 
 and how they meet together and 
 humbug each other ! " My dear, I 
 have cribbed half an inch of plush out 
 of James's small-clothes." " My love, 
 I have saved a halfpenny out of 
 Mary's beer. Is n't it time to dress 
 for the duchess's ; and don't you 
 think John might wear that livery of 
 Thomas's, who only had it a year, 
 and died of the small-pox ? It 's a 
 little tight for him, to be sure, but," 
 &c. What is this ? I profess to be 
 an impartial chronicler of poor Phil's 
 fortunes, misfortunes, friendships, and 
 what-nots, and am getting almost as 
 angry with these Twysdens as Philip 
 ever was himself. 
 
 '" Well, I am not mortally angry 
 with poor Traviata tramping the 
 pavement, with the gas-lamp flaring 
 on her poor painted smile, else my 
 indignant virtue and squeamish mod- 
 esty would never walk Piccadilly or 
 get the air. But Lais, quite moral, 
 and very neatly, primlv, and strait- 
 ly laced ; Phryne, not the least 
 dishevelled, but with a fixature lor 
 her hair, and the best stays, fastened 
 by mamma ; your High Church or 
 Evangelical Aspasia, the model of 
 all proprieties, and owner of all vir- 
 gin-purity blooms, ready to sell her
 
 130 
 
 THE ADVENTURES 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 cheek to the oldest old fogy who has 
 money and a title ; these are the 
 Unfortunates, my dear brother and 
 sister sinners, whom I should like 
 to see repentant and specially trounced 
 first. Why, some of these are put into 
 reformatories in Grosvenor Square. 
 They wear a prison dress of dia- 
 monds and Chantilly lace. Their 
 parents cry, and thank Heaven as 
 they sell them ; and all sorts of 
 revered bishops, clergy, relations, 
 dowagers, sign the book, and ratify 
 the ceremony. Come ! let us call a 
 midnight meeting of those who have 
 been sold in marriage, I say, and 
 what a respectable, what a genteel, 
 what a fashionable, what a brilliant, 
 what an imposing, what a multitudi- 
 nous assembly we will have ; and 
 where 's the room in all Babylon big 
 enough to hold them ? 
 
 Look into that grave, solemn, din- 
 gy, somewhat naked, but elegant 
 drawing-room in Beaunash Street, 
 and with a little fanciful opera-glass 
 you may see a pretty little group or 
 two engaged at different periods of 
 the day. It is after lunch, and before 
 Rotten Row ride time (this story, you 
 know, relates to a period ever so re- 
 mote, and long before folks thought 
 of riding in the Park in the forenoon). 
 After lunch, and before Rotten Row 
 time, saunters into the drawing-room 
 a fair-haired young fellow with large 
 feet and chest, careless of gloves, with 
 auburn whiskers blowing over a loose 
 collar, and must I confess it ? a 
 most undeniable odor of cigars 
 about his person. He breaks out re- 
 garding the debate of the previous 
 night, or the pamphlet of yesterday, 
 or the poem of the day previous, or 
 the scandal of the week before, or up- 
 on the street-sweeper at the corner, or 
 the Italian and monkey before the 
 Park, upon whatever, in a word, 
 moves his mind for the moment. If 
 Philip has had a bad dinner yester- 
 day (and happens to remember it), he 
 growls, grumbles, nay, I dare say, 
 uses the most blasphemous language 
 against the cook, against the waiters, 
 
 against the steward, against the com- 
 mittee, against the whole society of 
 the club where he has been dining. 
 If Philip has met an organ-girl with 
 j pretty eyes and a monkey in the 
 street, he has grinned and wondered 
 over the monkey ; he has wagged his 
 head, and sung all the organ's tunes ; 
 he has discovered that the little girl is 
 the most ravishing beauty eyes ever 
 looked on, and that her scoundrelly 
 Savoyard father is most likely an Al- 
 pine miscreant who has bartered away 
 his child to a pedler of the beggarly 
 cheesy valleys, who has sold her to a 
 friend qui fait la traite des hurdiyurdies, 
 and has disposed of her in England. 
 If he has to discourse on the poem, 
 pamphlet, magazine article, it is 
 written by the greatest genius, or the 
 greatest numskull, that the world 
 now exhibits. He write ! A man 
 who makes fire rhyme with Marire ! 
 This vale of tears and world which 
 we inhabit does not contain such an 
 idiot. Or have you seen Dobbins's 
 poem ? Agnes, mark my words for 
 it, there is a genius in Dobbins which 
 some day will show what I have al- 
 ways surmised, what I have always 
 imagined possible, what I have al- 
 ways felt to be more than probable, 
 what, by George ! I feel to be perfect- 
 ly certain, and any man is a humbug 
 who contradicts it, and a malignant 
 miscreant, and the world is full of fel- 
 lows who will never give another 
 man credit ; and I swear that to rec- 
 ognize and feel merit in poetry, paint- 
 ing, music, rope-dancing, anything, is 
 the greatest delight and joy of my 
 existence. I say what was I say- 
 ing ? 
 
 " You were saying, Philip, that you 
 love to recognize the merits of all men 
 whom you see," says gentle Agnes, 
 " and I believe you do." 
 
 " Yes ! " cries Phil, tossing about 
 the fair locks. " I think I do. Thank 
 Heaven, I do. I know fellows who 
 can do many things better than I do, 
 everything better than I do." 
 
 " O Philip ! " sighs the lady. 
 
 " But I don't hate 'em for it."
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 131 
 
 " You never hated any one, sir. 
 You are too brave ! Can you fancy 
 Philip hating any one, mamma ? " 
 
 Mamma is writing : " Mr. and Mrs. 
 TALBOT TWYSDEN request the honor 
 of Admiral and Mrs. DAVIS LOCKER'S 
 company at dinner on Thursday the 
 so-and-so." " Philip what ? " says 
 mamma, looking up from her card. 
 " Philip hating any one ! Philip eat- 
 ing any one ! Philip ! we have a 
 little dinner on the 24th. We shall 
 ask your father to dine. We must 
 not have too many of the family. 
 Come in afterwards, please." 
 
 " Yes, aunt," says downright Phil, 
 " I '11 come, if you and the girls wish. 
 You know tea is not my line ; and I 
 don't care about dinners, except in 
 my own way, and with " 
 
 "And with your own horrid set, 
 sir ! " 
 
 " Well," says Sultan Philip, flinging 
 himself out on the sofa, and lording 
 on the ottoman, " I like mine ease 
 and mine inn." 
 
 " Ah, Philip ! you grow more self- 
 ish every day. I mean men do," 
 sighed Agnes. 
 
 You will suppose mamma leaves 
 the room at this juncture. She has 
 that confidence in dear Philip and the 
 dear girls, that she sometimes does 
 leave the room when Agnes and Phil 
 are together. She will leave REUBEN, 
 the eldest born, with her daughters : 
 but my poor dear little younger son 
 of a Joseph, if you suppose she will 
 leave the room and you alone in 
 it, O my dear Joseph, you may 
 just jump down the well at once ! 
 Mamma, I say, has left the room at 
 last, bowing with a perfect sweetness 
 and calm grace and gravity ; and she 
 has slipped down the stairs, scarce 
 more noisy than the shadow that 
 slants over the faded carpet (oh ! the 
 faded shadow, the faded sunshine !) 
 mamma is gone, I say, to the lower 
 regions, and with perfect good-breed- 
 ing is torturing the butler on his 
 bottle-rack, is squeezing the house- 
 keeper in her jam-closet, is watch- 
 ing the three cold cutlets shuddering 
 
 in the larder behind the wires, is 
 blandly glancing at the kitchen-maid 
 until the poor wench fancies the 
 piece of bacon is discovered which she 
 gave to the crossing-sweeper, and 
 calmly penetrating John until he feels 
 sure his inmost heart is revealed to her, 
 as it throbs within his worsted-laced 
 waistcoat, and she knows about that 
 pawning of master's old boots (beastly 
 old high-lows !) and and, in fact, all 
 the most intimate circumstances of 
 his existence. A wretched maid, who 
 has been ironing collars, or what not, 
 gives her mistress a shuddering cour- 
 tesy, and slinks away with her laces ; 
 and meanwhile our girl and boy are 
 prattling in the drawing-room. 
 
 About what ? About everything 
 on which Philip chooses to talk. 
 There is nobody to contradict him 
 but himself, and then his pretty hear- 
 er vows and declares he has not been 
 so very contradictory. He spouts his 
 favorite poems. " Delightful ! Do, 
 Philip, read us some Walter Scott ! 
 He is, as you say, the most fresh, the 
 most manly, the most kindly of poetic 
 writers, not of the first class, cer- 
 tainly. In fact, he has written most 
 dreadful bosh, as you call it so drolly ; 
 and so has Wordsworth, though he is 
 one of the greatest of men, and has 
 reached sometimes to the very great- 
 est height and sublimity of poetry ; 
 but now you put it, I must confess 
 he is often an old bore, and I certainly 
 should have gone to sleep during the 
 'Excursion,' only you read it so 
 nicely. You don't think the new 
 composers as good as the old ones, 
 and love mamma's old-fashioned play- 
 ing ? Well, Philip, it is delightful, so 
 ladylike, so feminine ! " Or, perhaps, 
 Philip has just come from Hyde 
 Park, and says, " As I passed by Aps- 
 ley House, I saw the Duke come out, 
 with his old blue frock and white trou- 
 sers and clear face. I have seen a pic- 
 ture of him in an old European Mag- 
 azine, which I think I like better 
 than all, gives me the idea of one 
 of the brightest men in the world. 
 The brave eyes gleam at you out of
 
 132 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 the picture ; and there 's a smile on 
 the resolute lips, which seems to in- 
 sure triumph. Agnes, Assaye must 
 have been glorious ! " 
 
 " Glorious, Philip ! " says Agnes, 
 who had never heard of Assaye before 
 in her life. Arbela, perhaps ; Salamis, 
 Marathon, Agincourt, Blenheim, Bu- 
 saco, where dear grandpapa was 
 killed, Waterloo, Armageddon ; but 
 Assaye ? Que voulez-vous ? 
 
 " Think of that ordinarily prudent 
 man, and how greatly he knew how 
 to dare when occasion came ! I should 
 like to have died after winning such a 
 game. He has never done anything 
 so exciting since." 
 
 " A game ? I thought it was a 
 battle just now," murmurs Agnes in 
 her mind ; but there may be some 
 misunderstanding. " Ah, Philip," 
 she says, " I fear excitement is too 
 much the life of all young men now. 
 When will you be quiet and steady, 
 sir?" 
 
 " And go to an office every day, 
 like my uncle and cousin ; and read 
 the newspaper for three hours, and 
 trot back and see you." 
 
 " Well, sir ! that ought not to be 
 such very bad amusement," says one 
 of the ladies. 
 
 " What a clumsy wretch I am ! 
 my foot is always trampling on 
 something or somebody ! " groans 
 Phil. 
 
 " You must come to us, and we 
 will teach you to dance, Bruin ! " 
 says gentle Agnes, smiling on him. 
 I think when very much agitated, 
 her pulse must have gone up to forty. 
 Her blood must have been a light 
 pink. The heart that beat under that 
 pretty white chest, which she exposed | 
 so liberally, may have throbbed pret- 
 ty quickly once or twice with waltz- 
 ing, but otherwise never rose or fell 
 beyond its natural gentle undulation. 
 Ttmay have had throb-; of grief at a 
 disappointment occasioned liy the mil- 
 liner not bringing u dr.vs home; or! 
 have felt some little fluttering impulse 
 of youthful passion when it was in 
 short frocks, and Master Grimsby at , 
 
 the dancing-school showed some pref- 
 erence for another young pupil out 
 of the nursery. But feelings, and 
 hopes, and blushes, and passions 
 now ? Psha ! They pass away like 
 nursery dreams. Now there are only 
 proprieties. What is love, young 
 heart f It is two thousand a year, at 
 the very lowest computation ; and, 
 with the present rise in wages and 
 house-rent, that calculation can't last 
 very long. Love ? Attachment ? 
 Look at Frank Maythorn, with his 
 vernal blushes, his leafy whiskers, his 
 sunshiny, laughing face, and all the 
 birds of spring carolling in his jolly 
 voice ; and old General Pinwood hob- 
 bling in on his cork leg, with his 
 stars and orders, and leering round 
 the room from under his painted eye- 
 brows. Will my modest nymph go 
 to Maythorn, or to yonder leering 
 Satyr, who totters towards her in his 
 white and rouge? Nonsense. She 
 gives her garland to the old man, to 
 be sure. He is ten times as rich as 
 the young one. And so they went 
 on in Arcadia itself, really. Not in 
 that namby-pamby ballet and idyl 
 world, where they tripped up to each 
 other in rhythm, and talked hexame- 
 ters ; but in the real downright, no- 
 mistake country, Arcadia, where 
 Tityrus, fluting to Amaryllis in the 
 shade, had his pipe very soon put 
 out when Melibceus (the great gra- 
 zier) performed on his melodious, ex- 
 quisite, irresistible cowhorn ; and 
 where Daphne's mother dresssed her 
 up with ribbons and drove her to 
 market, and sold her, and swapped 
 her, and bartered her like any other 
 lamb in the fair. This one has been 
 trotted to the market so long now 
 that she knows the way herself. Her 
 baa has been heard for do not let 
 us count how many seasons. She 
 has nibbled out of countless hands ; 
 frisked in many thousand dances ; 
 come quite harmless away from good- 
 ness knows how many wolves. Ah '. 
 ye lambs and raddled innocents of 
 our Arcadia! Ah, old Eire! Is it 
 of your Ladyship this fable is nar
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 133 
 
 rated ? I say it is as old as Cad- 
 mus, and man and mutton kind. 
 
 So, when Philip comes to Beau- 
 nash Street, Agnes listens to him 
 most kindly, sweetly, gently, and af- 
 fectionately. Her pulse goes up very 
 nearly half a beat when the echo of 
 his horse's heels is heard in the quiet 
 street. It undergoes a corresponding 
 depression when the daily grief of 
 parting is encountered and overcome. 
 Blanche and Agnes don't love each 
 other very passionately. If I may 
 say as much regarding those two 
 lambkins, they butt at each other, 
 they quarrel with each other, but 
 they have secret understandings. 
 During Phil's visits the girls re- 
 main together, you understand, or 
 mamma is with the young people. 
 Female friends may come in to call on 
 Mrs. Twysden, and the matrons whis- 
 per together, and glance at the cous- 
 ins, and look knowing. " Poor or- 
 phan boy ! " mamma says to a sister 
 matron. " I am like a mother to him 
 since my dear sister died. His own 
 home is so blank, and ours so merry, 
 so affectionate ! There may be inti- 
 macy, tender regard, the utmost con- 
 fidence between cousins, there may 
 be future and even closer ties between 
 them, but you understand, dear Mrs. 
 Matcham, no engagement between 
 them. He is eager, hot-headed, im- 
 petuous, and imprudent, as we all 
 know. She has not seen the world 
 enough, is not sure of herself, poor 
 dear child ! Therefore every circum- 
 spection, every caution is necessary. 
 There must be no engagement, no 
 letters between them. My darling 
 Agnes does not write to ask him to j 
 dinner without showing the note to 
 me or her father. My dearest girls re- 
 spect themselves." " Of course, my 
 dear Mrs. Twysden, they are admi- i 
 rable, both of them. Bless yon, dar- 
 lings ! Agnes, you look radiant ! 
 Ah, Rosa, my child, I wish you had 
 dear Blanche's complexion ! " 
 
 " And is n't it monstrous keeping 
 that poor boy hanging on until Mr. 
 Woolcomb has made up his mind 
 
 about coming forward ? " says dear 
 Mrs. Matcham to her own daughter, 
 as her brougham door closes on the 
 pair. " Here he comes ! Here is his 
 cab. Maria Twysden is one of the 
 smartest women in England, that 
 she is." 
 
 " How odd it is, mamma, that the 
 beau cousin and Captain Woolcomb 
 are always calling, and never call to- 
 gether ! " remarks the ingenue. 
 
 " They might quarrel if they met. 
 They say young Mr. Firmin is very 
 quarrelsome and impetuous ! " says 
 mamma. 
 
 " But how are they kept apart ? " 
 
 " Chance, my dear ! mere chance ! " 
 says mamma. And they agree to say 
 it is chance, and they agree to pre- 
 tend to believe one another. And the 
 girl and the mother know everything 
 about Woolcomb's property, every- 
 thing about Philip's property and ex- 
 pectations, everything about all the 
 young men in London, and those 
 coming on. And Mrs. Matcliam's 
 girl fished for Captain Woolcomb last 
 year in Scotland, at Lock-hookey ; 
 and stalked him to Paris ; and they 
 went down on their knees to Lady 
 Ban bury when they heard of the 
 theatricals at the Cross ; and pursued 
 that man about until he is forced to 
 say, " Confound me ! hang me ! it 's 
 too bad of that woman and her daugh- 
 ter, it is now, I give you my honor it 
 is ! And all the fellows chaff' me ! 
 And she took a house in Regent's 
 Park, opposite our barracks, and 
 asked for her daughter to learn to 
 ride in our school, I 'm blest if she 
 did n't, Mrs. Twysden ! and I thought 
 my black mare would have kicked 
 her off one day, I mean the daugh- 
 ter, but sh'e stuck on like grim 
 death ; and the fellows call them 
 Mrs. Grim Death and her daughter. 
 Our surgeon, called them so, and a 
 doosid rum fellow, and they chaff 
 me about it, you know, ever so 
 many of the fellows do, and 7 'm 
 not going to be had in that way by 
 Mrs. Grim Death and her daughter! 
 No, not as I knows, if you please ! "
 
 134 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 " You are a dreadful man, and yon 
 gave her a dreadful name, Captain 
 Woolcomb ! " says mamma. 
 
 "It was n't me. It was the sur- 
 geon, you know, Miss Agnes : a 
 doosid funny and witty fellow, Nixon 
 is, and sent a thing once to Punch, 
 Nixon did. I heard him make the 
 riddle in Albany Barracks and it 
 riled Foker so ! You 've no idea 
 how it riled Foker, for he 'a in 
 it!" 
 
 " In it 1 " asks Agnes, with the 
 gentle smile, the candid blue eyes, 
 the same eyes, expression, lips, that 
 smile and sparkle at Philip. 
 
 " Here it is ! Capital ! Took it 
 down. Wrote it into my pocket-book 
 at once as Nixon made it. ' All doc- 
 tors like my Jirst, that 's clear ! ' Doc- 
 tor Firmin does that. Old Pan- 
 Street party ! Don't you see, Miss 
 Agnes ? FEE ! Don't you see ? " 
 
 " Fee ! O you droll thing ! " cries 
 Agnes, smiling, radiant, very much 
 puzzled. 
 
 " ' My second,' " goes on the young 
 officer, " ' My second gives us Foker' s 
 beer ! ' '' 
 
 " ' My whole 's the shortest month in 
 all the year!' Don't you see, Mrs. 
 Twysden ? FEE-BREWERY, DOX'T 
 YOU SEE f February ! A doosid 
 good one, is n't it, now "? and I won- 
 der Punch never put it in. And upon 
 my word, I used to spell it Febuary 
 before, I did ; and I dare say ever so 
 many fellows do still. And I know 
 the right way now, and all from that 
 riddle which Xixon made." 
 
 The ladies declare he is a droll 
 man, and full of fun. lie rattles on, 
 artlessly telling his little stories of 
 sport, drink, adventure, in which the 
 dusky little man himself is a promi- 
 nent figure. Not honey-mouthed 
 Plato would be listened to more kind- 
 ly by those three ladies. A bland, 
 frank smile shines over Talbot Twys- 
 den's noble face, as he comes in from 
 his office, and finds the creole prat- 
 tling. " What ! you here, Wool- 
 comb ? Hay ! Glad to see you ! " 
 And the gallant hand goes out and 
 
 meets and grasps Woolcomb's tiny 
 kid glove. 
 
 " He has been so amusing, papa ! 
 He has been making us die with 
 laughing ! Tell papa that riddle you 
 made, Captain Woolcomb ? " 
 
 " That riddle I made ? That rid- 
 dle Nixon, our surgeon, made. ' All 
 doctors like my first, that 's clear,' " 
 &c. 
 
 And da capo. And the family, as 
 he expounds this admirable rebus, 
 gather round the young officer in a 
 group, and the curtain drops. 
 
 As in a theatre booth at a fair there 
 are two or three performances in a 
 day, so in Beaunash Street a little 
 genteel comedy is played twice : 
 at four o'clock with Mr. Firmin, at 
 five o'clock with Mr. Woolcomb ; 
 and for both }-oung gentlemen, same 
 smiles, same eyes, same voice, same 
 welcome. Ah, bravo ! ah, encore ! 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 IN WHICH WE VISIT " ADMIRAL 
 BYNG." 
 
 FROM long residence in Bohemia, 
 and fatal love of bachelor ease and 
 habits, Master Philip's pure tastes 
 were so destroyed, and his manners so 
 perverted that, you will hardly believe 
 it, he was actually indifferent to the 
 pleasures of the refined home we have 
 just been describing ; and, when Ag- 
 nes was away, sometimes even when 
 she was at home, was quite relieved to 
 get out of Beaunash Street. He is 
 hardly twenty yards from the door, 
 when out of his pocket there comes a 
 case ; out of the case there jumps an 
 aromatic cigar, which is scattering 
 fragrance around as he is marching 
 briskly northwards to his next house 
 of call. The pace is even more lively 
 now than when he is hastening on 
 what you call the wings of love to 
 i Beaunash Street At the house 
 1 whither he is now going, he and the 
 I cigar are always welcome. There is 
 i no need of munching orange chips,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 135 
 
 or chewing scented pills, or flinging 
 your weed away half a mile before 
 you reach Thornhaugh Street, the 
 low, vulgar place. I promise you 
 Phil may smoke at Brandon's, and 
 find others doing the same. He may 
 set the house on fire, if so minded, 
 such a favorite is he there ; and the 
 Little Sister, with her kind, beaming 
 smile, will be there to bid him wel- 
 come. How that woman loved Phil, 
 and how he loved her, is quite a curi- 
 osity; and both of them used to be 
 twitted with this attachment by their 
 mutual friends, and blush as they ac- 
 knowledged it. Ever since the little 
 nurse had saved his life as a school- 
 boy, it was a la vie a la mart between 
 them. Phil's father's chariot used to 
 come to Thornhaugh Street some- 
 times, at rare times, and the Doc- 
 tor descend thence and have colloquies 
 with the Little Sister. She attended 
 a patient or two of his. She was 
 certainly very much better off in her 
 money matters in these late years, 
 since she had known Dr. Firmin. 
 Do you think she took money from 
 him ? As a novelist, who knows 
 everything about his people, I am 
 constrained to say, Yes. She took 
 enough to pay some little bills of her 
 weak-minded old father, and send the 
 bailiffs hand from his old collar. 
 But no more. " I think you owe him 
 as much as that," she said to the Doc- 
 tor. But as for compliments between 
 them, " Dr. Firmin, I would die 
 rather than be beholden to you for 
 anything," she said, with her little 
 limbs all in a tremor, and her eyes 
 flashing anger. " How dare you, sir, 
 after old days, be a coward and pay 
 compliments to me ; I will tell your 
 son of you, sir ! " and the little* wo- 
 man looked as if she could have 
 stabbed the elderly libertine there as 
 he stood. And he shrugged his hand- 
 some shoulders : blushed a little too, 
 perhaps : gave her one of his darkling 
 looks, and departed. She had be- 
 lieved him once. She had married 
 him, as she fancied. He had tired of 
 her ; forsaken her ; left her, left 
 
 her even without a name. She Jhad 
 not known his for long years after 
 her trust and his deceit. "No. sir, I 
 would n't have your name now, not 
 if it were a lord's, I would n't, and a 
 coronet on your carriage. You are 
 beneath me now, Mr. Brand Firmin ! " 
 she had said. 
 
 How came she to love the boy so ? 
 Years back, in her own horrible ex- 
 tremity of misery, she could remem- 
 ber a week or two of a brief, strange, 
 exquisite happiness, which came to 
 her in the midst of her degradation 
 and desertion, and for a few days a 
 baby in her arms, with eyes like 
 Philip's. It was taken from her, 
 after a few days only sixteen days. 
 Insanity came upon her, as her dead 
 infant was carried away : insanity, 
 and fever, and struggle ah ! who 
 knows how dreadful ? She never 
 does. There is a gap in her life 
 which she never can recall quite. 
 j But George Brand Firmin, Esq., 
 M. D., knows how very frequent are 
 such cases of mania, and that women 
 who don't speak about them often will 
 cherish them for years after they ap- 
 pear to have passed away. The Lit- 
 tle Sister says, quite gravely, some- 
 times, " They are allowed to come 
 back. They do come back. Else 
 what 's the good of little cherubs be- 
 in' born, and smilin', and happy, and 
 beautiful say, for sixteen days, and 
 then an end ? I 've talked about it 
 to many ladies in grief sim'lar to 
 mine was, and it comforts them. And 
 when I saw that child on his sick-bed, 
 and he lifted his eyes, / knew him, I 
 tell you, Mrs. Ridley. I don't speak 
 about it ; but I knew him, ma am ; 
 my angel came back again. I know 
 him by the eyes. Look at 'em. Did 
 you ever see" such eyes ? They look 
 as if they had seen heaven. His fa- 
 ther's don't." Mrs. Ridley believes 
 this theory solemnly, and I think I 
 know a lady, nearly connected with 
 myself, who can't be got quite to dis- 
 own it. And this secret opinion to 
 women in grief and sorrow over their 
 new-born lost infants Mrs- Brandon
 
 136 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 persists in imparting. " I know a 
 case," the nurse murmurs, " of a poor 
 mother who lost her child at sixteen 
 days old ; and sixteen years after, on 
 the very day, she saw him again." 
 
 Philip knows so far of the Little 
 Sister's story, that he is the object of 
 this delusion, and, indeed, it very 
 strangely and tenderly affects him. 
 He remembers fitfully the illness 
 through which the Little Sister tend- 
 ed him, the wild paroxysms of his 
 fever, his head throbbing on her 
 shoulders, cool tamarind drinks which j 
 she applied to his lips, great gusty | 
 night shadows nickering through the I 
 bare school dormitory, the little figure I 
 of the nurse gliding in and out of the 
 dark. He must be aware of the rec- 
 ognition, which we know of, and 
 which took place at his bedside, 
 though he has never mentioned it, 
 not to his father, not to Caroline. 
 But he clings to the woman, and 
 shrinks from the man. Is it instinc- 
 tive love and antipathy ? The special ; 
 reason for his quarrel with his father 
 the junior Firmin has never explicitly 
 told me then or since. I have known 
 sons much more confidential, and 
 who, when their fathers tripped and 
 stumbled, would bring their acquaint- 
 ances to jeer at the patriarch in his 
 fall. 
 
 One day, as Philip enters Thorn- 
 haugh Street, and the Sister's little 
 parlor there, fancy his astonishment j 
 on finding his father's dingy friend, j 
 the Rev. Tufton Hunt, at his ease by 
 the fireside. " Surprised to see me 
 here, eh? " says the dingy gentleman, 
 with a sneer at Philip's lordly face of 
 wonder and disgust. " Mrs. Bran- 
 don and I turn out to be very old 
 friends." 
 
 " Yes, sir, old acquaintances," says 
 the Little Sister, very gravely. 
 
 " The captain brought me home 
 from the club at the ' Byng.' Jolly 
 fellows the Byngs. My service to 
 you, Mr. Gann and Mrs. Brandon." 
 And th.- two persons addressed by j 
 the gentleman, who is " taking some 
 refreshment," as the phrase is, made i 
 
 a bow in acknowledgment of this sal- 
 utation. 
 
 " You should have been at Mr. 
 Philip's call-supper, Captain Gann," 
 the divine resumes. " That was a 
 night ! Tip-top swells noblemen 
 first-rate claret. That claret of 
 your father's, Philip, is pretty near- 
 ly drunk down. And your song 
 was famous. Did you ever hear hen 
 sing, Mrs. Brandon ? " 
 
 " Who do you mean by him ? " 
 says Philip, who always boiled with 
 rage before this man. 
 
 Caroline divines the antipathy. 
 She lays a little hand on Philip's 
 arm. " Mr. Hunt has been having 
 too much, I think," she says. " I 
 did know him ever so long ago, 
 Philip ! " 
 
 " What does he mean by Him ? " 
 again says Philip, snorting at Tufton 
 Hunt. 
 
 " Him ? Dr. Luther's , Hymn ! 
 ' Wein, Weber, und Gesang,' to be 
 sure ! " cries the clergyman, hum- 
 ming the tune. " I learned it in 
 Germany myself passed a good 
 deal of time in Germany, Captain 
 Gann six months in a specially 
 shady place Quod Strasse, in 
 Frankfort on-the-Maine being per- 
 secuted by some wicked Jews there. 
 And there was another poor English 
 chap in the place, too, who used to 
 chirp that song behind the bars, and 
 died there, and disappointed the 
 Philistines. I 've seen a deal of life, 
 I have ; and met with a precious 
 deal of misfortune ; and borne it 
 pretty stoutly, too, since your father 
 and I were at college together, Philip. 
 You don't do anything in this way ? 
 Not so early, eh ? It 's good rum, 
 Gann, and no mistake." And again 
 the chaplain drinks to the captain, 
 who waves the dingy hand of hospi- 
 tality towards his dark guest. 
 
 For several months past Hunt had 
 now been a resident in London, and 
 a pretty constant visitor at Dr. Fir- 
 min's house. He came and went at 
 his will. He made the place his 
 house of call ; and in the Doctor's
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 137 
 
 trim, silent, orderly mansion, was 
 perfectly free, talkative, dirty, and 
 familiar. Philip's loathing for the 
 man increased till it reached a pitch 
 of frantic hatred. Mr. Phil, theoret- 
 ically a Radical, and almost a Repub- 
 lican (in opposition, perhaps, to his 
 father, who, of course, held the highly 
 respectable line of politics), Mr. 
 Sansculotte Phil was personally one 
 of the most aristocratic and overbear- j 
 ing of young gentlemen ; and had a | 
 contempt and hatred for mean people, ! 
 for base people for servile people, and 
 especially for too familiar people, | 
 which was not a little amusing some- 1 
 times, which was provoking often, j 
 but which he never was at the least i 
 pains of disguising. His uncle and ': 
 cousin Twysden, for example, he j 
 treated not half so civilly as their 
 footmen. Little Talbot humbled [ 
 himself before Phil, and felt not 
 always easy in his company. Young 
 Twysden hated him, and did not dis- 
 guise his sentiments at the club, or to 
 their mutual acquaintance behind 
 Phil's broad back. And Phil, for his 
 part, adopted towards his cousin a 
 kick-me-down-stairs manner, which I 
 own must have been provoking to 
 that gentleman, who was Phil's senior 
 by three years, a clerk in a public 
 office, a member of several good clubs, 
 and altogether a genteel member of 
 society. Phil would often forget 
 Ringwood Twysden's presence, and 
 pursue his own conversation entirely 
 regardless of Ringwood's observations. 
 He was very rude, I own. Que 
 roulez-vous ? We have all of us our 
 little failings, and one of Philip's was 
 an ignorant impatience of bores, par- 
 asites, and pretenders. 
 
 So no wonder my young gentleman 
 was not very fond of his father's 
 friend, the dingy jail chaplain. I, 
 who am the most tolerant man in the 
 world, as all my friends know, liked 
 Hunt little better than Phil did. The 
 man's presence made me uneasy. 
 His dress, his complexion, his teeth, 
 his leer at women Que sais-je ? 
 everything was unpleasant about this 
 
 Mr. Hunt, and his gayety and famil- 
 iarity more specially disgusting than 
 even his hostility. The wonder was 
 that battle had not taken place be- 
 tween Philip and the jail clergyman, 
 who, I suppose, was accustomed to be 
 disliked, and laughed with cynical 
 good-humor at the other's disgust. 
 
 Hunt was a visitor of many tavern 
 parlors ; and one day, strolling out 
 of the " Admiral Byng," he saw his 
 friend Dr. Firmin's well-known 
 equipage stopping at a door in Thorn- 
 haugh Street, out of which the 
 Doctor presently came ; " Brandon " 
 was on the door. Brandon, Bran- 
 don 1 Hunt remembered a dark 
 transaction of more than twenty 
 years ago, of a woman deceived by 
 this Firmin, who then chose to go by 
 the name Brandon. " He lives with 
 her still, the old hypocrite, or he has 
 gone back to her," thought the par- 
 son. O you old sinner ! And the 
 next time he called in Old Parr 
 Street on his dear old college friend, 
 Mr. Hunt was specially jocular, and 
 frightfully unpleasant and familiar. 
 
 " Saw your trap Tottenham Court 
 Road way," says the slang parson, 
 nodding to the physician. 
 
 " Have some patients there. Peo- 
 ple "are ill in Tottenham Court 
 Road," remarks the Doctor. 
 
 " Pallida mors cequo pede hay, 
 Doctor ? What used Flaccus to say, 
 when we were undergrads 1 " 
 
 " ^Equo pede," sighs the Doctor, 
 casting up his fine eyes to the ceiling. 
 
 " Sly old fox ! JS'ot a word will 
 he say about her ! " thinks the clergy- 
 man. " Yes, yes, I remember. And, 
 by Jove ! Gann was the name." 
 
 Gann was also the name of that 
 queer old man who frequented the 
 " Admiral Byng," where the ale was 
 so good, the old boy whom thej 
 called the Captain. Yes; jt was 
 clear now. That ugly business was 
 patched up. The astute Hunt saw it 
 all. The Doctor still kept up a con- 
 nection with the the party. And 
 that is her old father, sure enough. 
 "The old fox, the old fox! I've
 
 138 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 earthed him, have I ? This is a good 
 game. I wanted a little something 
 to do, and this will excite me," thinks 
 the clergyman. 
 
 I am describing what I never could 
 have seen or heard, and can guaran- 
 tee only verisimilitude, not truth, in 
 my report of the private conversa- 
 tion of these worthies. The end of 
 scores and scores of Hunt's conversa- 
 tions with his friend was the same, 
 an application for money. If it rained 
 when Hunt parted from his college 
 chum, it was, " I say, Doctor, I shall 
 spoil my new hat, and I 'm blest if I 
 have any money to take a cab. Thank 
 you, old boy. An revoir." If the 
 day was fine, it was, " My old blacks 
 show the white seams so, that you 
 must out of your charity rig me out 
 with a new pair. Not your tailor. 
 He is too expensive. Thank you,- 
 a couple of sovereigns will do." And 
 the Doctor takes two from the mantel- 
 piece, and the divine retires, jingling 
 the gold in his greasy pocket 
 
 The Doctor is going after the few 
 words about pallida mors, and has 
 taken up that well-brushed broad hat, 
 with that ever-fresh lining, which we 
 all admire in him, " O, I say, 
 Firmin ! " breaks out the clergyman. 
 "Before you go out, you must'lend 
 me a few sovs, please. They 've 
 cleaned me out in Air Street. That 
 confounded roulette ! It 's a mad- 
 ness with me." 
 
 " By George ! " cries the other, 
 with a strong execration, " you are 
 too bad, Hunt. Every week of my 
 life you come to me for money. You 
 have had plenty. Go elsewhere. I 
 won't give it you." 
 
 " Yes, you will, old boy," says the 
 other, looking at him a terrible look ; 
 " for " 
 
 " For what 1 " says the Doctor, the 
 veins qf his tall forehead growing 
 very full. 
 
 " For old times' sake," says the 
 clergyman. " There 's seven of 'em 
 on the table in bits of paper, that '11 
 do nicely. And he sweeps the fees 
 with a dirty hand into a dirty pouch. 
 
 "Halloa! Swearin' and cursin' be- 
 fore a clergyman. Don't cut up 
 rough, old fellow ! Go and take the 
 air. It '11 cool you." 
 
 " I don't think I would like that 
 fellow to attend me, if I was sick," 
 says Hunt, shuffling away, rolling the 
 plunder in his greasy hand. " I don't 
 think I 'd like to meet him by moon- 
 light alone, in a very quiet lane. He 'a 
 a determined chap. And his eyes 
 mean miching motecho, his eyes do. 
 Phew ! " And he laughs, and makes 
 a rude observation about Dr. Firmin's 
 eyes. 
 
 That afternoon, the gents who used 
 the "Admiral Byng" remarked the 
 reappearance of the party who looked 
 in last evening, and who now stood 
 glasses round, and made himself un- 
 common agreeable to be sure. Old 
 Mr. Ridley says he is quite the gen- 
 tleman. " Hevident have been in for- 
 ing parts a great deal, and speaks the 
 languages. Probbly have 'ad mis- 
 fortunes, which many 'ave 'ad them. 
 Drinks rum-and-water tremenjous. 
 'Ave scarce no heppytite. Many get 
 into this way from misfortunes. A 
 plesn man, most well informed on al- 
 most every subjeck. Think he 's a 
 clergyman. He and Mr. Gann have 
 made quite a friendship together, he 
 and Mr. Gann 'ave. Which they 
 talked of Watloo, and Gann is very 
 fond of that, Gann is, most certny." 
 I imagine Ridley delivering these sen- 
 tences, and alternate little volleys of 
 smoke, as he sits behind his sober cal- 
 umet and prattles in the tavern parlor. 
 
 After Dr. Firmin has careered 
 through the town, standing by sick- 
 beds with his sweet sad smile, fondled 
 and blessed by tender mothers who 
 hail him as the savior of their chil- 
 dren, touching ladies' pulses with a 
 hand as delicate as their own, patting 
 little fresh cheeks with courtly kind- 
 ness, little cheeks that owe their 
 roses to his marvellous skill ; after he 
 has soothed and comforted my Lady, 
 shaken hands with my Lord, looked 
 in at the club, and exchanged courtly 
 salutations with brother big-wigs, and
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 139 
 
 driven away in the handsome carriage 
 with the noble horses, admired, re- 
 specting, respectful, saluted, salut- 
 ing, so that every man says, " Ex- 
 cellent man, Firmin. Excellent doc- 
 tor, excellent man. Safe man. Sound 
 man. Man of good family. Mar- 
 ried a rich wife. Lucky man." And 
 so on. After the day's triumphant 
 career, I fancy I see the Doctor driv- 
 ing homeward, with those sad, sad 
 eyes, that haggard smile. 
 
 He comes whirling up Old Parr 
 Street just as Phil saunters in from 
 Regent Street, as usual, cigar in 
 mouth. He flings away the cigar as 
 he sees his father, and they enter the 
 house together. 
 
 " Do you dine at home, Philip ? " 
 the father asks. 
 
 " Do you, sir ? I will if you do," 
 says the son, " and if you are alone." 
 
 " Alone. Yes. That is, there '11 
 be Hunt, I suppose, whom you don't 
 like. But the poor fellow has few 
 
 places to dine at. What? D 
 
 Hunt? That's a strong expression 
 about a poor fellow in misfortune, 
 and your father's old friend." 
 
 I am afraid Philip had used that 
 wicked monosyllable whilst his father 
 was speaking, and at the mention of 
 the clergyman's detested name. " I 
 beg your pardon, father. It slipped 
 out in spite of me. I can't help it. 
 I hate the fellow." 
 
 " You don't disguise your likes or 
 dislikes, Philip," says, or rather 
 groans, the safe man, the sound man, 
 the prosperous man, the lucky man, 
 the miserable man. For years and 
 years he has known that his boy's 
 heart has revolted from him, and de- 
 tected him, and gone from him ; and ! 
 with shame and remorse, and sicken- 
 ing feeling, he lies awake in the night- 
 watches, and thinks how he is alone, 
 alone in the world. Ah ! Love your 
 parents, young ones ! O Father 
 Beneficent ! strengthen our hearts : 
 strengthen and purify them so that 
 we may not have to blush before our 
 children ! 
 
 " You don't disguise your likes 
 
 and dislikes, Philip," says the father 
 then, with a tone that smites strange- 
 ly and keenly on the young man. 
 
 There is a great tremor in Philip's 
 voice, as he says, " No, father, I 
 can't bear that man, and I can't 
 disguise my feelings. I have just 
 parted from the man. I have just 
 met him." 
 
 " Where 1 " 
 
 " At at Mrs. Brandon's, father." 
 He blushes like a girl as he speaks. 
 
 At the next moment he is scared 
 'by the execration which hisses from 
 his father's lips, and the awful look 
 of hate which the elder's face as- 
 sumes, that fatal, forlorn, fallen, 
 lost look which, man and boy, has 
 often frightened poor Phil. Philip 
 did not like that look, nor indeed 
 that other one, which his father cast 
 at Hunt, who presently swaggered 
 in. 
 
 " What ! you dine here ? We rare- 
 ly do papa the honor of dining with 
 him," says the parson, with his know- 
 ing leer. " I suppose, Doctor, it is 
 to be fatted-calf day now the prodigal 
 has come home. There 's worse 
 things than a good fillet of veal; 
 eh ? " 
 
 Whatever the meal might be, the 
 greasy chaplain leered and winked 
 over it as he gave it his sinister bless- 
 ing. The two elder guests tried to 
 be lively and gay, as Philip thought, 
 who took such little trouble to dis- 
 guise his own moods of gloom or 
 merriment. Nothing was said re- 
 garding the occurrences of the morn- 
 ing when my young gentleman had 
 been rather rude to Mr. Hunt ; and 
 Philip did not need his father's cau- 
 tion to make no mention of his pre- 
 vious meeting with their guest. Hunt, 
 as usual, talked to the butler, made 
 sidelong remarks to the footman, and 
 garnished his conversation with slip- 
 pery double-entendre and dirty old- 
 world slang. Betting-houses, gam- 
 bling-houses, Tattersall's fights and 
 their frequenters, were his cheerful 
 themes, and on these he descanted as 
 usual. The Doctor swallowed this
 
 140 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 dose, which his friend poured out, 
 without the least expression of dis- 
 gust. On the contrary, he was cheer- 
 ful : he was for an extra bottle of 
 claret, it never could be in better 
 order than it was now. 
 
 The bottle was scarce put on the 
 table, and tasted and pronounced 
 perfect, when Oh ! disappointment ! 
 
 the butler reappears with a note 
 for the Doctor. One of his patients. 
 He must go. She has little the 
 matter with her. She lives hard by, 
 in May Fair. " You and Hunt finish 
 this bottle, unless I am back before it 
 is done ; and if it is done, we '11 have 
 another," says Dr. Firmin, jovially. 
 " Don't stir, Hunt," and Dr. Fir- 
 min is gone, leaving Philip alone 
 with the guest to whom he had 
 certainly been rude in the morning. 
 
 " The Doctor's patients often grow 
 very unwell about claret time," growls 
 Mr. Hunt, some few minutes after. 
 " Never mind. The drink 's good, 
 good ! as somebody said at your 
 famous ca^l-supper, Mr. Philip, 
 won't call you Philip, as you don't 
 like it. You were uncommon crusty 
 to me in the morning, to be sure. In 
 my time there would have been bottles 
 broke, or worse, for that sort of treat- 
 ment." 
 
 " I have asked your pardon," 
 Philip said. " I was annoyed about 
 
 no matter what, and had no 
 right to be rude to Mrs. Brandon's 
 guest." 
 
 " I say, did yon tell the governor 
 that you saw me in Thornhaugh 
 Street ? " asks Hunt. 
 
 " I was very rude and ill-tempered, 
 and ajrain .1 confess I was wrong," 
 said Phil, boggling and stuttering, 
 and turning very red. He remem- 
 bered his father's injunction. 
 
 " I say again, sir, did you tell your 
 father of our meeting this morning ? " 
 demands the clergyman. 
 
 " And pray, sir, what right have j 
 you to ask me about my private con- ! 
 versation with my father ? " asks i 
 Philip, with towering dignity. 
 
 " You won't tell me ? Then you ! 
 
 have told him. He 's a nice man, 
 your father is, for a moral man." 
 
 " I am not anxious for your opinion 
 about my father's morality, Mr. 
 Hunt," says Philip, gasping in a be- 
 wildered manner, and drumming the 
 table. " I am here to replace him in 
 his absence, and treat his guest with 
 ' civility." 
 
 " Civility ! Pretty civility ! " says 
 the other, glaring at him. 
 
 " Such as it is, sir, it is my best, 
 and I I have no other," groans 
 i the young man. 
 
 " Old friend of your father's, a uni- 
 versity man, a Master of Arts, a gen- 
 tleman born, by Jove ! a clergyman 
 though I sink that " 
 
 " Yes, sir, you do sink that," says 
 Philip. 
 
 "Am I a dog," shrieks out the 
 clergyman, " to be treated by you in 
 this way ? Who are you ? Do you 
 know who you are ? " 
 
 " Sir, I am striving with all my 
 strength to remember," says Philip. 
 
 " Come ! I say ! don't try any of 
 your confounded airs on me ! " shrieks 
 Hunt, with a profusion of oaths, and 
 swallowing glass after glass from the 
 various decanters before him. " Hang 
 me, when I was a young man, I would 
 have sent one two at your nob, 
 though you were twice as tall ! Who 
 are you, to patronize your senior, 
 your father's old pal a university 
 man : you confounded, supercili- 
 ous " 
 
 " I am here to pay every attention 
 to my father's guest," says Phil ; 
 " but if you have finished your wine, 
 I shall be happy to break up the 
 meeting as early as you please." 
 
 " You shall pay me ; I swear you 
 shall," said Hunt. 
 
 " Mr. Hunt ! " cried Philip, jump- 
 ing up ; and clenching his great fists, 
 " I should desire nothing better." 
 
 The man shrank back, thinking 
 Philip was going to strike him (as 
 Philip told me in describing the scene), 
 and made for the bell, but when the 
 butler came, Philip only asked for 
 coffee ; and Hunt, uttering a mad
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 oath or two, staggered out of the room i 
 after the servant. Bricc said he h;id 
 been drinking before he came. He j 
 was often so. And Phil blessed his j 
 stars that he had not assaulted his j 
 father's guest then and there, under 
 his own root-tree. 
 
 He went out into the air. He 
 gasped and cooled himself under the 
 stars. He soothed his feelings by his 
 customary consolation of tobacco. 
 He remembered that Ridley in Thorn- 
 haugh Street held a divan that night; 
 and jumped into a cab, and drove 
 to his old friend. 
 
 The maid of the house, who came 
 to the door as the cab was driving 
 away, stopped it ; and as Phil entered 
 the passage, he found the Little Sister 
 and his father talking together in the 
 hall. The Doctor's broad hat shaded 
 his face from the hall-lamp, which 
 was burning with an extra brightness, 
 but Mrs. Brandon's was very pale, 
 and she had been crying. 
 
 She gave a little scream when she 
 saw Phil. " Ah ! is it you, dear ? " 
 she said. She ran up to him : seized 
 both his hands : clung to him, and 
 sobbed a thousand hot tears on his 
 hand. " I never will. 0, never, 
 never, never ! " she murmured. 
 
 The Doctor's broad chest heaved as 
 with a great sigh of relief. He looked 
 at the woman and at his son with 
 a strange smile ; not a sweet smile. 
 
 " God bless you, Caroline," he said, 
 in his pompous, rather theatrical way. 
 
 " Good night, sir," said Mrs. Bran- 
 don, still clinging to Philip's hand, 
 and making the Doctor a little 
 humble courtesy. And when he was 
 gone, again she kissed Philip's hand, 
 and dropped her tears on it, and said, 
 " Never, my dear ; no, never, never ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 IN WHICH 
 
 PHILTP IS 
 TEMPERED. 
 
 VERY ILL 
 
 PHILIP had long divined a part of 
 his dear little friend's history. An 
 
 uneducated young girl had been 
 found, cajoled, deserted by a gentle- 
 man of the world. And poor Caro- 
 line was the victim, and Philip's own 
 father the seducer. He easily guessed 
 as much as this of the sad little story. 
 Dr. Firmin's part in it was enough 
 to shock his son with a thrill of dis- 
 gust, and to increase the mistrust, 
 doubt, alienation, with which the 
 father had long inspired the son. 
 What would Philip feel, when all the 
 pages of that dark book were opened 
 to him, and he came to hear of a 
 false marriage, and a ruined and out- 
 cast woman, deserted for years by 
 the man to whom he himself was 
 most bound 1 In a word, Philip had 
 considered this as a mere case of early 
 libertinism, and no more ; and it was 
 as such, in the very few words which 
 he may have uttered to me respecting 
 this matter, that he had chosen to 
 regard it. I knew no more than my 
 friend had told me of the story as 
 yet; it was only by degrees that I 
 learned it, and as events, now subse- 
 quent, served to develop and explain 
 it. 
 
 The elder Firmin, when questioned 
 by his old acquaintance, and, as it 
 appeared, accomplice of former days, 
 regarding the end of a certain intrigue 
 at Margate, which had occurred some 
 four or five and twenty years back, 
 and when Firmin, having reason, to 
 avoid his college creditors, chose to 
 live away and bear a false name, had 
 told the clergyman a number of false- 
 hoods which appeared to satisfy him. 
 What had become of that poor little 
 thing about whom he had made such 
 a fool of himself? O, she was dead, 
 dead ever so many years before. He 
 had pensioned her off. She had 
 married, and died in Canada, yes, 
 in Canada. Poor little thing ! Yes, 
 she was a good little thing, and, at 
 one time, he had been very soft about 
 her. I am sorry to have to state of 
 a respectable gentleman that he to'd 
 lies, and told lies habitually and 
 easily. But, you see, if you commit 
 a crime, andbreak a seventh com
 
 142 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 mandment let us say, or an eighth, 
 or choose any number you will, you 
 will probably have to back the lie of 
 action by the lie of the tongue, and 
 so you are fairly warned, and I have 
 no help for you. If I murder a man, 
 and the policeman inquires, " Pray, 
 sir, did you cut this here gentleman's 
 throat ? " I must bear false witness, 
 you see, out of self-defence, though 
 I may be naturally a most reliable, 
 truth-telling man. And so with re- 
 gard to many crimes which gentle- 
 men commit, it is painful to have 
 to say respecting gentlemen, but they 
 become neither more nor less than 
 habitual liars, and have to go lying 
 on through life to you, to me, to 
 the servants, to their wives, to their 
 children, to awful name! I bow 
 and humble myself. May we kneel, 
 may we kneel, nor strive to speak 
 our falsehoods before Thee ! 
 
 And so, my dear sir, seeing that 
 after committing any infraction of 
 the moral laws, you must tell lies in 
 order to back yourself out of your 
 scrape, let me ask you, as a man of 
 honor and a gentleman, whether you 
 had not better forego the crime, so 
 as to avoid the unavoidable, and 
 unpleasant, and daily-recurring ne- 
 cessity of the subsequent perjury ? 
 A poor young girl of the lower 
 orders, cajoled, or ruined, more or 
 less, is of course no great matter. 
 The little baggage is turned out of 
 doors, worse luck for her ! or she 
 gets a place, or she marries one of 
 her own class, who has not the ex- 
 quisite delicacy belonging to " gentle 
 blood, " and there is an end of her. 
 But if you marry her privately and 
 irregularly yourself, and then "throw 
 her off, and then marry somebody 
 else, you are brought to book in all | 
 sorts of unpleasant ways. I am 
 writing of quite an old story, be 
 pleased to remember. The first paft 
 of the history I myself printed some ! 
 twenty years ago ; and if you fancy j 
 I allude to any more modern period, 
 madam, you are entirely out in your | 
 conjecture. I 
 
 It must have been a most unpleas- 
 ant duty for a man of fashion, 
 honor, and good family, to lie to 
 a poor^tipsy, disreputable bankrupt 
 merchant s daughter, such as Caroline 
 Ganu, but George Brand Firmin, 
 Esq., M. D., had no other choice, and 
 when he lied, as in severe cases, 
 when he administered calomel, he 
 thought it best to give the drug free- 
 ly. Thus he lied to Hunt, saying 
 that Mrs. Brandon was long since 
 dead in Canada ; and he lied to Car- 
 oline, prescribing for her the very 
 same pill, as it were, and saying that 
 Hunt was long since dead in Canada 
 too. And I can fancy few more 
 painful and humiliating positions ibr 
 a man of rank and fashion and reputa- 
 tion, than to have to demean himself 
 so far as to tell lies to a little low-bred 
 person, who gets her bread as a nurse 
 of the sick, and has not the proper use 
 of her h's. 
 
 " O yes, Hunt ! " Firmin had said 
 to the Little Sister, in one of those 
 sad little colloquies which sometimes 
 took place between him and his vic- 
 tim, his wife of old days. "A wild, 
 bad man, Hunt was, in days when 
 I own I was little better ! I have 
 deeply repented since, Caroline ; of 
 nothing more than of my conduct to 
 you ; for you were worthy of a bet- 
 ter fate, and you loved me truly, 
 madly." 
 
 " Yes," says Caroline. 
 
 " I was wild then ! I was despe- 
 rate! I had ruined my fortunes, es- 
 tranged my father from me, was hid- 
 ing from my creditors under an 
 assumed name, that under which I 
 saw you. Ah, why did I ever come 
 to your house, my poor child ? The 
 mark of the demon was upon me. I 
 did not dare to speak of marriage be- 
 fore my father. You have yours, and 
 tend him with your ever constant 
 goodness. Do you know that my 
 fuller would not see me when ho 
 died ? O, it 's a cruel thing to think 
 of ! " And the suffering creature 
 slaps his tall forehead with his trem- 
 bling hand ; and some of his grief
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 143 
 
 about his own father, I dare say, is 
 sifv^ere, for he feels the shame and 
 remorse of being alienated from his 
 own son. 
 
 As for the marriage, that it was 
 a most wicked and unjustifiable deceit 
 he owned ; but he was wild when it 
 took place, wild with debt and with 
 despair at his father's estrangement 
 from him, but the fact was it was 
 no marriage. 
 
 " I am glad of that ! " sighed the 
 poor Little Sister. 
 
 " Why ? " asked the other eagerly. 
 His love was dead, but his vanity was 
 still hale and well. " Did you care 
 for somebody else, Caroline ? Did 
 you forget your George whom you 
 used to " 
 
 " No ! " said the little woman, 
 bravely. " But I could n't live with 
 a man who behaved to any woman 
 so dishonest as you behaved to me. 
 I liked you because I thought you 
 was a gentleman. My poor painter 
 was whom you used to despise 
 and trample to hearth, and my 
 dear dear Philip is, Mr. Firmin. But 
 gentlemen tell the truth ! gentlemen 
 don't deceive poor innocent girls, and 
 desert 'em without a penny ! " 
 
 " Caroline ! I was driven by my 
 creditors. I " 
 
 " Never mind. It 's over now. I 
 bear you no malice, Mr. Firmin, but 
 I would not marry you, no, not to be 
 doctor's wife to the Queen ! " 
 
 This had been the Little Sister's 
 language when there was no thought 
 of the existence of Hunt, the clergy- 
 man who had celebrated their mar- 
 riage ; and I don't know whether 
 Firmin was most piqued or pleased at 
 the divorce which the little woman 
 pronounced of her own decree. But 
 when the ill-omened Hunt made his 
 appearance, doubts and terrors filled 
 the physician's mind. Hunt was 
 needy, greedy, treacherous, unscrupu- 
 lous, desperate. He could hold this 
 marriage over the Doctor. He could 
 threaten, extort, expose, perhaps in- 
 validate Philip's legitimacy. The 
 first marriage almost certainly was 
 
 null, but the scandal would be fatal 
 to Finnin's reputation and practice. 
 And the quarrel with his son entailed 
 consequences not pleasant to think of. 
 You see George Firmin, Esq., M. D., 
 was a man with a great development 
 of the back head ; when he willed a 
 thing, he willed it so fiercely that he 
 must have ^it, never mind the conse- 
 quences. And so he had willed to 
 make himself master of poor little 
 Caroline : and so he had willed, as a 
 young man, to have horses, splendid 
 entertainments, roulette and ecarte, 
 and so forth ; and the bill came at its 
 natural season, and George Firmin, 
 Esq., did not always like to pay. 
 But for a grand, prosperous, highly 
 bred gentleman in the best society 
 with a polished forehead and manners, 
 and universally looked up to to 
 have to tell lies to a poor little, timid, 
 uncomplaining, sick-room nurse, it 
 was humiliating, was n't it 1 And I 
 can feel for Firmin. 
 
 To have to lie to Hunt was disgust- 
 ing : but somehow not so exquisitely 
 mean and degrading as to have to 
 cheat a little trusting, humble, house- 
 less creature, over the bloom of whose 
 gentle young life his accursed foot 
 had already trampled. But then this 
 Hunt was such a cad and ruffian that 
 there need be no scruple about hum- 
 bugging him ; and if Firmin had had 
 any humor he might have had a grim 
 sort of pleasure in leading the dirty 
 clergyman a dance thoro' bush thoro' 
 briar. So, perhaps (of course I have 
 no means of ascertaining the fact), the 
 Doctor did not altogether dislike the 
 duty which now devolved on him of 
 hoodwinking his old acquaintance 
 and accomplice. I don't like to use 
 such a vulgar phrase regarding a man 
 in Doctor Firmin's high social posi- 
 tion, as to say of him and the jail 
 chaplain that it was " thief catch 
 thief" ; but at any rate Hunt is such 
 a low graceless, friendless vagabond, 
 that if he comes in for a few kicks, or 
 is mystified, we need not be very sor- 
 ry. When Mr. Thurtell is hung we 
 don't put on mourning. His is a
 
 144 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 painful position for the moment ; but, 
 after all, he has murdered Mr. Wil- 
 liam Weare. 
 
 Firmin was a bold and courageous 
 man, hot in pursuit, tierce in desire, 
 but cool in danger, and rapid in ac- 
 tion. Some of his great successes as 
 a physician arose from his daring and 
 successful practice in sudden emer- 
 gency. While Hunt was only lurch- 
 ing about the town an aimless 
 miscreant, living from dirty hand to 
 dirty mouth, and as long as he could 
 get drink, cards, and shelter, tolerably 
 content, or at least pretty easily 
 appeased by a guinea-dose or two, 
 Firmin could adopt the palliative 
 system ; soothe his patient with an 
 occasional bounty ; set him to sleep 
 with a composing draught of claret 
 or brandy ; and let the day take care 
 of itself. He might die ; he might 
 have a fancy to go abroad again ; he 
 might be transported for forgery or 
 some other rascaldom, Dr. Firmin 
 would console himself; and he trusted 
 to the chapter of accidents to get rid 
 of his friend. But Hunt, aware that j 
 the woman was alive whom he had | 
 actually, though unlawfully, married ! 
 to Firmin, became an enemy whom 
 it was necessary to subdue, to cajole, 
 or to bribe, and the sooner the Doctor 
 put himself on his defence the better. 
 What should the defence be ? Per- 
 haps the most effectual w.is a fierce 
 attack on the enemy ; perhaps it would 
 be better to bribe him. The course 
 to be taken would be best ascertained 
 after a little previous reconnoitring. 
 
 " He will try ami inflame Caroline," 
 the Doctor thought, " by representing 
 her wrongs and her rights to her. 
 He will show her that, as my wife, 
 she has a right to my name and a 
 share of my income. A less merce- 
 nary woman never lived than this 
 poor little creature. She disdains 
 money, and, except for her father's 
 sake, would have taken none of mine. 
 But to punish me for certainly rather 
 shabby behavior ; to claim and take 
 her own right and position in the 
 world as an honest woman, may she 
 
 not be induced to declare war against 
 me, and stand by her marriage ? 
 After she left home, her two Irish 
 half-sisters deserted her and spat 
 upon her ; and when she would have 
 returned, the heartless women drove 
 her from the door. O the vixens ! 
 And now to drive by them in her 
 carriage, to claim a maintenance 
 from me, and to have a right to my 
 honorable name, would she not have 
 her dearest revenge over her sisters 
 by so declaring her marriage ? " 
 
 Firmin's noble mind misgave him 
 very considerably on this point. He 
 knew women, and how those had 
 treated their little sister. Was it in 
 human nature not to be revenged "? 
 These thoughts rose straightway in 
 Firmin's mind, when he heard that 
 the much dreaded meeting between 
 Caroline and the chaplain had come 
 to pass. 
 
 As he ate his dinner with his guest, 
 his enemy, opposite to him, he was 
 determining on his plan of action. 
 The screen was up, and he was 
 laying his guns behind it, so to speak. 
 Of course he was as civil to Hunt as 
 the tenant to his landlord when he 
 comes with no rent. So the Doctor 
 laughed, joked, bragged, talked his 
 best, and was thinking the while 
 what was to be done against the 
 danger. 
 
 He had a plan which might succeed. 
 He must see Caroline immediately. 
 He knew the weak point of her heart, 
 and where she was most likely to be 
 vulnerable. And he would act 
 against her as barbarians of old 
 acted against their enemies, when 
 they brought the captive wives and 
 children in front of the battle, and 
 bade the foe strike through them. 
 He knew how Caroline loved his boy. 
 It was through that love he would 
 work upon her. As he washes his 
 pretty hands for dinner, and bathes 
 his noble brow, he arranges his little 
 plan. He orders himself to be sent 
 for soon after the second bottle of 
 claret, and it appears the Doc- 
 tor's servants were accustomed to the
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 145 
 
 delivery of these messages from their 
 master to himself. The plan arranged, 
 now let us take our dinner and our 
 wine, and make ourselves comfortable 
 until the moment of action. In his 
 wild-oats days, when travelling 
 abroad with wild and noble compan- 
 ions, Firmiu had fought a duel or two, 
 and was always remarkable for his 
 gayety of conversation and the fine 
 appetite which he showed at breakfast 
 before going on to the field. So, 
 perhaps, Hunt, had he not been 
 stupefied by previous drink, might 
 have taken the alarm by remarking 
 Firmin's extra courtesy and gayety, 
 as they dined together. It was nunc 
 vinum, was cequor. 
 
 When the second bottle of claret 
 was engaged, Dr. Firmin starts. He 
 has an advance of half an hour at 
 least on his adversary, or on the man 
 who may be his adversary. If the 
 Little Sister is at home, he will see 
 her, he will lay bare his candid 
 heart to her, and make a clean breast 
 of it. The Little Sister was at 
 home. 
 
 " I want to speak to you very par- 
 ticularly about that case of poor Lady 
 Humandhaw," says he, dropping his 
 voice. 
 
 " I will step out, my dear, and take 
 a little fresh air," says Captain Gann ; 
 meaning that he will be oft' to the 
 "Admiral Byng"; and the two are 
 together. 
 
 " I have had something on my con- 
 science. I have deceived yon, Caro- 
 line," says the Doctor, with the beau- 
 tiful shining forehead and hat. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Firmin," says she, bend- 
 ing over her work ; " you J ve used me 
 to that." 
 
 " A man whom you knew once, and 
 who tempted me for his own selfish 
 ends to do a very wrong thing by you, 
 a man whom I thought dead is 
 alive : Tufton Hunt, who performed 
 that that illegal ceremony at Mar- 
 gate, of which so often and often on 
 my knees I have repented, Caro- 
 line ! " 
 
 The beautiful hands are clasped, 
 7 
 
 the beautiful deep voice thrills lowly 
 through ihe room ; and if a tear or 
 two can be squeezed out of the beau- 
 tiful eyes, I dare say the Doctor will 
 not be sorry. 
 
 "He has been here to-day. Him 
 and Mr. Philip was here and quar- 
 relled. Philip has told you, I sup- 
 pose, sir ? " 
 
 " Before Heaven, ' on the word of a 
 gentleman,' when I said he was dead, 
 Caroline, I thought he was dead! 
 Yes, I declare, at our college, Max- 
 well Dr. Maxwell who had been 
 at Cambridge with us, told me that 
 our old friend Hunt had died in Can- 
 ada." (This, my beloved friends and 
 readers, may not have been the pre- 
 cise long bow which George Firmin, 
 Esq., M. D., pulled ; but that he 
 twanged a famous lie out, whenever 
 there was occasion for the weapon, I 
 assure you is an undoubted fact.) 
 " Yes, Dr. Maxwell told me our old 
 friend was dead, our old friend ? 
 My worst enemy and yours ! But let 
 that pass. It was he, Caroline, who 
 led me into crimes which 1 have never 
 ceased to deplore." 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Firmin," sighs the Lit- 
 tle Sister, '' since I 've known you, 
 you was big enough to take care of 
 yourself in that way." 
 
 " I have not come to excuse myself, 
 Caroline," says the deep, sweet voice. 
 " I have done you enough wrong, and 
 I feel it here at this heart. I have 
 not come to speak about myself, but 
 of some one I love the best of all the 
 world, the only being I do love, 
 some one you love, you good and 
 generous soul, about Philip." 
 
 " What is it about Philip '( " asks 
 Mrs. Brandon, very quickly. 
 
 " Do you want harm to happen to 
 him ? " 
 
 " O my darling boy, no ! " cries the 
 Little Sister, clasping her little 
 hands. 
 
 " Would you keep him from 
 harm 1 " 
 
 "Ah, sir, you know I would. 
 When he had the scarlet fever, did n't 
 I pour the drink down his poor throat,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 and nurse him, and tend him, as if, 
 as if as a mother would her own 
 child ? " 
 
 " You did, you did, you noble, no- 
 ble woman ; and Heaven bless you 
 for it ! A father does. I am not all 
 heartless, Caroline, as you deem me, 
 perhaps." 
 
 " I don't think it 's much merit, 
 your loving him," says Caroline, re- j 
 suming her sewing. And, perhaps, i 
 she thinks within herself, " What is 
 he a coming to ? " You see she was 
 a shrewd little person, when her pas- 
 sions and partialities did not over- 
 come her reason ; and she had come 
 to the conclusion that this elegant 
 Dr. Firmin, whom she had admired 
 so once, was a not altogether vera- 
 cious gentleman. In fact, I heard 
 her myself say afterwards, "La! he 
 used to talk so fine, and slap his hand 
 on his heart, you know; but I 
 used n't to believe him, no mon than 
 a man in a play." " It 's not much 
 merit your loving that boy," says 
 Caroline, then. "But what about 
 him, sir ? " 
 
 Then Firmin explained. This man 
 Hunt was capable of any crime for 
 money or revenge. Seeing Caroline 
 was alive . . . 
 
 " I s'pose you told him I was dead 
 too, sir," says she, looking up from 
 the work. 
 
 " Spare me, spare me ! Years ago, 
 perhaps, when I had lost sight of you, 
 I may, perhaps, have thought ..." 
 
 " And it 's not to you, George 
 Brandon, it's not to you,'' cries 
 Caroline, starting up, and speaking i 
 with her sweet, innocent, ringing 
 voice, " it 's to kind, dear friends, ' 
 it 's to ray good God that I owe my 
 life, which you had flung it away. 
 And I paid you back by guarding 
 your boy's dear life, I did, under 
 under Him who giveth and taketh. 
 And bless His name.! " 
 
 " You are a good woman, and I am 
 a bad, sinful man, Caroline," says the 
 other. " You saved my Philip's 
 our Philip's life, at the risk of your 
 own. Now I tell you that another 
 
 immense danger menaces him, and 
 may come upon him any day as long 
 as yonder scoundrel is alive. Sup- 
 pose his character is assailed; sup- 
 pose, thinking you dead, I married 
 another ? " 
 
 " Ah, George, you never thought 
 me dead ; though, perhaps, you 
 wished it, sir. And many would 
 have died," added the poor Little 
 Sister. 
 
 " Look, Caroline ! If I was mar- 
 ried to you, my wife Philip's moth- 
 er was not my wife, and he is her 
 natural son. The property he inher- 
 its does not belong to him. The 
 children of his grandfather's other 
 daughter claim it, and Philip is a 
 beggar. Philip, bred as he has been, 
 Philip, the heir to a mother's large 
 fortune." 
 
 " And and his father's, too ? " 
 asks Caroline, anxiously. 
 
 "I dare n't tell you though, no, 
 by Heavens ! I can trust you with 
 everything. My own great gains 
 have been swallowed up in specula- 
 tions which have been almost all 
 fatal. There has been a fate hanging 
 over me, Caroline, a righteous pun- 
 ishment for having deserted you. I 
 sleep with a sword over my head which 
 may fall and destroy me. I walk 
 with a volcano under my feet, which 
 may burst any day and annihilate 
 me. Anil people speak of the famous 
 Dr. Firmin, the rich Dr. Firmin, the 
 prosperous Dr. Firmin ! I shall have 
 a title soon, I believe. I am believed 
 to be happy, and I am alone, and the 
 wretchedest man alive." 
 
 " Alone, are you 1 " said Caroline. 
 "There was a woman once would 
 have kept by you, only you you 
 flung her away. Look here, George 
 Brandon. It 's over with us. Years 
 and years ago it lies where a little 
 cherub was buried. But I love my 
 Philip; and I won't hurt him, no, 
 never, never, never ! " 
 
 And as the Doctor turned to go 
 away, Caroline followed him wistfully 
 into the hall, and it was there that 
 Philip found them.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 147 
 
 Caroline's tender " never, never," 
 rang in Philip's memory as he sat at 
 Ridley's party, amidst the artists and 
 authors there assembled. Phil was 
 thoughtful and silent. He did not 
 laugh very loud. He did not praise 
 or abuse anybody outrageously, as 
 was the wont of that most emphatic 
 young gentleman. He scarcely con- 
 tradicted a single person ; and per- 
 haps, when Larkins said Scumble's 
 last picture was beautiful, or Bunch, 
 the critic of the Connoisseur, praised 
 Bowman's last novel, contented him- 
 self with a scornful " Ho ! " and a 
 pull at his whiskers, by way of pro- 
 test and denial. Had he been in his 
 usual fine spirits, and enjoying his 
 ordinary flow of talk, he would have 
 informed Larkins and the assembled 
 company not only that Scumble was 
 an impostor, but that he, Larkins, 
 was an idiot for admiring him. He 
 would have informed Bunch that he 
 was infatuated about that jackass 
 Bowman, that cockney, that wretched 
 ignoramus, who did n't know his own 
 or any other language. He would 
 have taken down one of Bowman's 
 stories from the shelf, and proved the 
 folly, imbecility, and crass ignorance 
 of that author. (Ridley has a simple 
 little stock of novels and poems in an 
 old cabinet in his studio, and reads 
 them still with much artless wonder 
 and respect.) Or, to be sure, Phil 
 would have asserted propositions the 
 exact contrary of those here main- 
 tained, and declared that Bowman 
 was genius, and Scumble a most 
 accomplished artist. But then, you 
 know, somebody else must have com- 
 menced by taking the other side. 
 Certainly a more paradoxical, and 
 provoking, and obstinate, and contra- 
 dictory disputant than Mr. Phil I 
 never knew. I never met Dr. John- 
 son, who died before I came up to 
 town ; but I do believe Phil Firmin 
 would have stood up and argued even 
 with him. 
 
 At these Thursday divans the host 
 provided the modest and kindly re- 
 freshment, and Betsy the maid, or 
 
 Virgilio the model, travelled to and 
 fro with glasses and water. Each 
 guest brought his own smoke, and I 
 promise you there weie such liberal 
 contributions of the article, that the 
 studio was full of it ; and new-comers 
 used to be saluted by a ronr of laugh- 
 ter as you heard, rather than saw, 
 them entering, and choking in the 
 fog. It was, " Holloa, Prodgers ! is 
 that you, old boy ? " and the beard of 
 Prodgers (that famous sculptor) 
 would presently loom through the 
 cloud. It was, " Kewcome, how 
 goes'?" and Mr. Clive Newcome (a 
 mediocre anist, I must own, but a 
 famous good fellow, with an uncom- 
 
 | monly j vetty villa and pretty and 
 
 I rich wife at Wimbledon) would make 
 his appearance, and be warmly grect- 
 
 ! ed by our little host. It was " Is 
 that you, F. B. ? would you like a 
 link, old boy, to see you through the 
 
 fop '( " And the deep voice of Fred- 
 erick Bayham, Esquire (the eminent 
 
 ; critic on Art), would boom out of the 
 tobacco-mist, and would exclaim, " A 
 
 I link? I would like a drink." Ah, 
 
 j ghosts of youth, again ye draw near ! 
 Old figures glimmer through the 
 cloud. Old songs echo out of the dis- 
 tance. What were you saying aron 
 about Dr. Johnson, boys ? I am sure 
 some of us must remember him. As 
 for me, I am so old, that I might have 
 been at Edial school, the other pu- 
 pil along with little Davy Garrick 
 and his brother. 
 
 We had a bachelor's supper in the 
 Temple so lately that 1 think we 
 must pay but a very brief visit to a 
 smoking-party in Thornhaugh Street, 
 or the ladies will say that we arc t< o 
 fond of bachelor habits, and kicji our 
 friends away from their charming 
 and amiable society. A novel mut,t 
 not smell of cigars much, nor should 
 its refined and genteel page be stained 
 with too frequent brandy-and-water. 
 Please to imagine, then, the prattle of 
 the artists, authors, and amateurs as- 
 sembled at Ridley's divan. Fancy 
 Jarman, the miniature-painter, drink- 
 ing more liquor than any man present,
 
 148 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 asking his neighbor (sub voce) why 
 Ridley does not give his father (the 
 old butler) five shillings to wait ; 
 suggesting that perhaps the old man 
 is gone out, and is getting seven-and- 
 sixpence elsewhere; praising Ridley's 
 picture aloud, and sneering at it in 
 an undertone ; and when a man of 
 rank happens to enter the room, 
 shambling up to him and fawning on 
 him, and cringing to him with ful- 
 some praise and flattery. When the 
 gentleman's back is turned, Jarman 
 can spit epigrams at it. I hope he 
 will never forgive Ridley, ami always 
 continue to hati him : for hate him j 
 Jarman will, as long as he is pros- 
 perous, and curse him as long as ihe 
 world esteems him. Look at Pym, the 
 incumbent of Sa.nt Bronze hard by, 
 coming in to join ths literary and 
 artistic assembly, and choking in his 
 white neckcloth to the diversion of 
 all the company who can see him ! 
 Sixteen, eighteen, twenty men are 
 assembled. Open the windows, or 
 sure they will all be stifled with the 
 smoke ! Why, it fills the whole 
 house so, that the Little Sister has to 
 open her parlor window on the 
 ground-floor, and gasp for fresh air. 
 
 Phil's heaJ and cigar are thru-t 
 out from a window above, an 1 he 
 lolls there, musing about his own af- 
 fairs, as his smote ascend-; to the 
 skies. Young Mr. Philip Firmin is j 
 known to be wealthy, and his father 
 gives very good parties .n Old Parr 
 Street, so Jarman sidles up to Phil 
 and wanes a little fresh air too. He j 
 cur-rs into conversation by abusing | 
 Ridley's picture that is on the ea- 
 sel. 
 
 " Everybody is praising it ; what 
 do you think of it, Mr. Firmin ? 
 Very queer drawing about those eyes, 
 is n't there ? " 
 
 " Is there ? growls Phil. 
 
 " Very loud color." 
 
 "Oh!'" says Phil. 
 
 " The composition is so clearly 
 prigged from HaphaeL" 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 " I beg your pardon. I don't think 
 
 you know who I am," continues the 
 other, with a simper. 
 
 " Yes, I do," says Phil, glaring at, 
 him. " You 're a painter and your 
 name is Mr. Envy." 
 
 " Sir ! " shrieks the painter ; but he 
 is addressing himself to the tails of 
 Phil's coat, the superior half of Mr. 
 Firmin's body is stretching out of the 
 window. Now, you may speak of a 
 man behind his back, but not to him. 
 So Mr. Jarman withdraws, and ad- 
 dresses himself, face to face, to some- 
 body else in the company. I dare say 
 he abuses that upstart, impudent, 
 bumptious young doctor's son. Have 
 I not owned that Philip was often 
 very rude ? and to-night he is in a 
 specially bad humor. 
 
 As he continues to stare into the 
 street, who is that who has just reeled 
 up to the railings below, and is talk- 
 ing in at Mrs. Brandon's window ? 
 Whose blackguard voice and laugh 
 are those which Phil recognizes with 
 a shudder ? It is the voice and laugh 
 of our friend, Mr. Hunt, whom 
 Philip left not very long since, near 
 his father's house in Old Parr Street ; 
 and both of those familiar sounds 
 are more vinous, more odious, more 
 impudent than they were even two 
 hours atco. 
 
 " Holloa ! I say ! " he calls out 
 with a laugh and a curse. " Pst ! 
 Mrs. What-d'yoii-call-'em ! Hang it ! 
 don't shut the window. Let a fellow 
 in ! " and as he looks towards the 
 upper window, where Philip's head 
 and bust appear dark before the light, 
 Hunt cries out, " Holloa ! what 
 game 's up now, I wonder 7 Supper 
 and ball. Shouldn't be surprised." 
 And he hiccups a waltz tune, and 
 clatters time to it with his dirty 
 boots. 
 
 " Mrs. What - d'you - call ! Mrs. 
 
 B ! " the sot then recommences to 
 
 shriek out. "Must see you most 
 particular business. Private and 
 confidential. Hear of something to 
 your advantage." And rap, rap, rap, 
 he is now thundering at the door. In 
 the clatter of twenty voices few hear
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 149 
 
 Hunt's noise except Philip; or, if 
 they do, only imagine that another of 
 Kidley's guests i* arriving. 
 
 At the hall door there is talk and 
 altercation, and the high shriek of a 
 well-known odious voice. Philip 
 moves quickly from his window, 
 shoulders friend Jarman at the studio 
 door, and hustling past him ohtains, 
 no doubt, more good wishes from that 
 ingenious artist. Philip is so rude 
 and overbearing that I really have a 
 mind to depose him from his place of 
 hero only, you see, we are com- 
 mitted. His name is on the page 
 overhead, and we can't take it down 
 and put up another. The Little Sis- 
 ter is standing in her hall by the just- 
 opened door, and remonstrating with 
 Mr. Hunt, who appears to wish to 
 force his way in. 
 
 " Pooh ! shtuff, my dear ! If he 's 
 here I musht see him particular 
 business get out of that ! " and he 
 reels forward and against little Caro- 
 line's shoulder. 
 
 " Get away, you brute, you ! " cries 
 the little lady. " Go home, Mr. 
 Hunt ; you are worse than you were 
 this morning." She is a resolute lit- 
 tle woman, and puts out a firm little 
 arm against this odious invader. She 
 has seen patients in hospital raging 
 in fever : she is not frightened by a 
 tipsy man. "La! is it you, Mr. 
 Philip? Who ever will take this 
 horrid man ? He ain't fit to go up 
 stairs among the gentlemen ; indeed 
 he ain't." 
 
 " You said Firmin was here and 
 it is n't the father. It 's the cub ! I 
 want the Doctor. Where 's the Doc- 
 tor ? " hiccups the chaplain, lurching 
 against the wall ; and then he looks 
 at Philip with bloodshot eyes, that 
 twinkle hate. " Who wantsh you, I 
 shlike to know ? Had enough of you 
 already to-day. Conceited brute. 
 Don't look at me in that sortaway ! 
 I ain't afraid of you ain't afraid 
 anybody. Time was when I was a 
 young man fight you as soon as look 
 at you. I say, Philip ! " 
 
 " Go home, now. Do go home, 
 
 there 's a good man," says the land- 
 lady. 
 
 " I say ! Look here hie hi ! 
 Philip ! On your word as a gentle- 
 man, your father 's not here ? He 's 
 a sly old boots, Brummell Firmin is 
 - Trinity man I 'm not a Trinity 
 man Corpus man. I say, Philip, 
 give us your hand. Bear no malice! 
 Look here something very particu- 
 lar. After dinner went into Air 
 Street you know rouge gagne, tt 
 cmdeur cleaned out. Cleaned out, 
 on the honor of a gentleman and 
 master of arts of the University of 
 Cambridge. So was your father 
 no, he went out in medicine. I say, 
 Philip, hand us out five sovereigns, 
 and let 's try the luck again ! What, 
 you won't ! It 's mean, I say. Don't 
 be mean." 
 
 " O, here 's five shillings ! Go and 
 have a cab. Fetch a cab for him, 
 Virgilio, do ! " cries the mistress of 
 the house. 
 
 " That 's not enough, my dear ! " 
 cries the chaplain, advancing towards 
 Mrs. Brandon, with such a leer and 
 air, that Philip, half choked with 
 passion, runs forward, grips Hunt by 
 the collar, and crying out, " You 
 filthy scoundrel ! as this is not my 
 house, I may kick you out of it ! " 
 in another instant has run Hunt 
 through the passage, hurled him 
 down the steps, and seat him sprawl- 
 ing into the kennel. 
 
 " Row down below," says Rose- 
 bury, placidly, looking from above. 
 "Personal conflict. Intoxicated in- 
 dividual in gutter. Our impetuous 
 friend has floored him." 
 
 Hunt, after a moment, sits up and 
 glares at Philip. He is not hurt. 
 Perhaps the shock has sobered him. 
 He thinks, perhaps, Philip is going 
 to strike again. " Hands off, BAS- 
 TARD ! " shrieks out the prostrate 
 wretch. 
 
 "O Philip, Philip! He's mad, 
 he 's tipsy ! " cries out the Little Sis- 
 ter, running into the street. She 
 puts her arms round Philip. "Don't 
 mind him, dear, he 's mad ! Police-
 
 150 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 man! The gentleman has had too 
 much. Come in, Philip ; come in ! " 
 
 She took him into her little room. 
 She was pleased with the gallantry of 
 the boy. She liked to see him just 
 now, standing over her enemy, cour- 
 ageous, victorious, her champion. 
 "La! how savage he did look; and 
 how brave and strong you are ! But 
 the little wretch ain't tit to stand be- 
 fore such as you ! " And she passed 
 her little hand down his arm, of 
 which the muscles were all in a quiver 
 from the recent skirmish. 
 
 " What did the scoundrel mean by 
 calling me bastard ? " said Philip, the 
 wild blue eyes glaring round about 
 with more than ordinary fierceness. 
 
 " Nonsense, dear ! Who minds 
 anything he says, that beast? His 
 language is always horrid ; he 's not | 
 a gentleman. He had had too much j 
 this morning when he was here. ! 
 What matters what he says? He 
 won't know anything about it to-mor- 
 row. But it was kind of my Philio 
 to rescue his poor little nurse, was n't 
 it ? Like a novel. Come in, and let 
 me make you some tea. Don't go to 
 no more smoking : you have had 
 enough Come in and talk to me." 
 
 And, as a mother, with sweet pious 
 face, yearns to her little children from 
 her seat, she fondles him, she watches 
 him ; she fills her teapot from her 
 singing kettle. She talks talks in 
 her homely way, and on this subject 
 nnd that. It is a wonder how she 
 prattles on, who is generally rather 
 silent. She won't see Phil's eyes, 
 which are following her about very 
 Btrangely and tiercely. And when 
 again he mutters, " What did he 
 mean by ... " " La, my dear, how 
 ITOSS you arc ! " she breaks out. 
 " It 's always so ; you won't be happv 
 without your cigar. Here 's a che- 
 root, a beauty ! Pa brought it home 
 from the club. A China captain 
 gave him some. You must li-ht it 
 at the little end. There ! " And if 
 I could draw the picture which my 
 mind sees of her lighting Phil's che- 
 root for him, and smiling the while, 
 
 the little innocent Delilah coaxing 
 and wheedling this young Samson, 
 I know it would be a pretty picture. 
 I wish Ridley would sketch it for 
 
 CHAPTER XDL 
 
 DAMOCLES. 
 
 ON the next morning, at an hour 
 so early that Old Parr Street was 
 scarce awake, and even the maids who 
 wash the broad steps of the houses of 
 the tailors and medical gentlemen who 
 inhabit that . region had not yet 
 gone down on their knees before their 
 respective doors, a ring was heard at 
 Dr. Firmin's night-bell, and when the 
 door was opened by the yawning at- 
 tendant, a little person in a gray gown 
 and a black bonnet made her appear- 
 ance, handed a note to the servant, 
 and said the case was most urgent 
 and the Doctor must come at once. 
 Was not Lady Humandhaw the noble 
 person whom we last mentioned as 
 the invalid about whom the Doctor 
 and the nurse had spoken a few words 
 on the previous evening ? The Little 
 Sister, for it was she, used the very 
 same name to the servant, who retired 
 grumbling to waken up his master 
 and deliver the note. 
 
 Nurse Brandon sat awhile in the 
 great gaunt dining-room where hung 
 the portrait of the Doctor in his splen- 
 did black collar and cuffs, and con- 
 templated this master-piece until an 
 invasion of housemaids drove her 
 from the apartment, when she took 
 refuse in that other little room to 
 which Mrs. Firmin's portrait had 
 been consigned. 
 
 " That 's like him ever so many 
 years and years ago," she thinks. 
 " It is a little handsomer; but it has 
 his wicked look that I used to think 
 so killing, and so did my sisters, both 
 of them, they were ready to tear 
 out each other's eves for jealousy. 
 And that's Mrs. Firmin ! Well, I 
 suppose the painter have n't nattered 
 her. If he have she could have been
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 151 
 
 no great things, Mrs. F. could n't." 
 And the Doctor, entering softly by the 
 opened door anil over the thick Tur- 
 key carpet, comes up to her noiseless, 
 and finds the Little Sister gazing at 
 the portrait of the departed Jady. 
 
 " O, it 's you, is it ? I wonder 
 whether you treated her no better 
 than you treated me, Dr. F. I 've a 
 notion she 's not the only one. She 
 don't look happy, poor thing," says 
 the little lady. 
 
 " What is it, Caroline ? " asks the 
 deep-voiced doctor ; " and what brings 
 you so early ? " 
 
 The Little Sister then explains to 
 him. "Last night after he went 
 away Hunt came, sure enough. He 
 had been drinking. He was very 
 rude, and Philip would n't bear it. 
 Philip had a good courage of his own 
 and a hot blood. And Philip thought 
 Hunt was insulting her, the Little 
 Sister. So he up with his hand and 
 down goes Mr. Hunt on the pavement. 
 Well, when he was down he was in a 
 dreadful way, and he called Philip a 
 dreadful name." 
 
 " A name ? what name ? " Then 
 Caroline told the Doctor the name 
 Mr. Hunt had used ; and if Firmin's 
 face usually looked wicked, I dare 
 say it did not seem very angelical 
 when he heard how this odious name 
 had been applied to his son. " Can 
 he do Philip a mischief?" Caroline 
 continued. " I thought I was bound 
 to tell his father. Look here, Dr. F., 
 I don't want to do my dear boy a 
 harm. But suppose what you told 
 me last night is n't true, as I don't 
 think you much mind! mind 
 saying things as are incorrect you 
 know, when us women are in the 
 case. But suppose when you played 
 the villain, thinking only to take in a 
 poor innocent girl of sixteen, it was 
 you who were took in, and that I was 
 your real wife after all ? There would 
 be a punishment ! " 
 
 " I should have an honest and good 
 wife, Caroline," said the Doctor with 
 a groan. 
 
 " This would be a punishment, not 
 
 for you, but for my poor Philip," the 
 woman goes on. " What has he 
 done, that his honest name should be 
 took from him, and his fortune 
 perhaps ? I have been lying broad 
 awake all night thinking of him. Ah, 
 George Brandon ! Why, why did 
 you come to my poor old father's 
 house, and bring this misery down on 
 rue, and on your child unborn ? " 
 
 " On myself, the worst of all," says 
 the Doctor. 
 
 " You deserve it. But it 's us in- 
 nocent that has had, or will have, to 
 suffer most. O George Brandon! 
 Think of a poor child, flung away, 
 and left to starve and die, without 
 even so much as knowing your real 
 name! Think of your boy, perhaps 
 brought to shame and poverty through 
 your fault ! " 
 
 " Do you suppose I don't often 
 think of my wrong ? " says the Doc- 
 tor. " That it docs not cause me 
 sleepless nights, and hours of anguish ? 
 Ah ! Caroline ! " and he looks in the 
 glass ; " I am not shaved, and it 's 
 very unbecoming," he thinks ; that is, 
 if 1 may dare to read his thoughts, 
 as I do to report his unheard 
 words. 
 
 " You think of your wrong now it 
 may be found out, I dare say ! " says 
 Caroline. " Suppose this Hunt turns 
 against you ? He is desperate ; mad 
 for drink and money ; has been in 
 jail, as he said this very night to 
 me and my papa. He '11 do or say 
 anything. If you treat him hard, 
 and Philip have treated him hard, 
 not harder than served him right 
 though, he '11 pull the house down 
 and himself under it ; but he '11 be re- 
 venged. Perhaps he drank so much 
 last night that he may have forgot. 
 But I fear he means mischief, and I 
 came here to say so, and hoping that 
 you might be kep' on your guard, 
 Doctor F., and if you have to quarrel 
 with him, I don't know what you 
 ever will do, I am sure, no more 
 than if you had to fight a chimney- 
 sweep in the street. I have been 
 awake all night thinking, and as soon
 
 152 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 as ever I saw the daylight, I deter- 
 mined I would run and tell you." 
 
 " When he called Philip that name, 
 did the boy seem much disturbed ? " 
 asked the Doctor. 
 
 " Yes ; he refenred to it again and 
 again, though I tried to coax him 
 out of it. But it was on his mind 
 last night, and I am sure he will 
 'think of it the first thing this morn- 
 ing. Ah yes, Doctor ! conscience 
 will so netimes let a gentleman doze : 
 but after discovery has comj, nnd 
 opene I your curtains, and said, ' You 
 desired to be called early ! ' there 's 
 little use in trying to sleep much. 
 You look very much frightened, Doc- 
 tor F.," the nurse continues. " You 
 have n't suc'i a courage as Philip 
 has ; or as you had when you were a 
 young in in, and came a leading poor 
 girls astray. You used to be afraid 
 of nothing then. Do you remember 
 that fellow on board the steamboat in 
 Scotland in our wedding-trip, and, la ! 
 1 thought yon was going to kill him 
 That poor little Lord Cinqbars told 
 me ever so many stories then about 
 your courage and shooting people. It 
 was n't very courageous, leaving a 
 poor girl without even a name, and 
 scarce a guinea, was it ? But I ain't 
 come to call up old stories, onlv to 
 warn you. Even in old times, when 
 lie married us, and I thought he was 
 doing a kindness, I never could abide 
 this horrible man. In Scotland, when 
 you was away shooting with your 
 poor little lord, the things Hunt used 
 t(j say and look was dreadful. I won- 
 der how ever you, who were gentle- 
 men, could put up with such a fellow ! 
 Ah, that was a sad honeymoon of 
 ours ! I \v mder why I 'm a thinking 
 <>f it now ( I suppose it's from hav- 
 ing .seen the picture of the other one, 
 poor lady ! " 
 
 " I have told you, Caroline, that I 
 was so wild and desperate at that un- 
 happy time, I was scarcely accounta- 
 ble for my actions. If I left you, it 
 was because I had no other resource 
 but flight. I was a ruined, penniless 
 man, but for my marriage with Ellen 
 
 Ringwood. You don't suppose tho 
 marriage was happy 1 Happy ! when 
 have I ever been happy ? My lot ia 
 to be wretched, and bring wretched- 
 ness down on those I love ! On you, 
 on my father, on my wife, on my boy, 
 1 am a doomed man. Ah, that thy 
 innocent should suffer for me ! " 
 And our friend looks askance in the 
 glass, at the blue chin, and hollow 
 eyes which make his guilt look the 
 more haggard. 
 
 " I never had my lines," the Littlq 
 Sister continued, " 1 never knew 
 there were papers, or writings, 01 
 anything but a ring and a clergy mart, 
 when you married me. But 1 've 
 heard tell that people in Scotland 
 don't want a clergyman at all ; and if 
 they call themselves man and wife, 
 they are man and wife. Now, sir, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Brandon certainly did 
 travel together in Scotland, witness 
 that nrin whom you were going to 
 throw into the lake for being rude to 
 your wife, and .... La ! Don't 
 fly out so ! It was n't me, a poor 
 girl of sixteen, who did wrong. It 
 was you, a man of the world, who was 
 years and years older." 
 
 When Brandon carried off his poor 
 little victim and wife, there had been a 
 journey to Scotland, where Lord 
 Cinqbars, then alive, had sporting 
 quarters. , His Lordship's chaplain, 
 Mr. Hunt, had been of the party, 
 which fate very soon afterwards sepa- 
 rated. Death seized on Cinqbars at 
 Naples. Debt caused Firmin 
 Brandon, as he called himself then 
 to fly the country. The chaplain 
 wandered from jail to jail And as 
 for poor little Caroline Brandon, I 
 suppose the husband who had mar- 
 ried her under a false name thought 
 that to escape her, leave her, and dis- 
 own her altogether was an easier and 
 less d mgerous plan than to continue 
 relations with her. So one day, four 
 month* after their marriage, the young 
 couple being then at Dover, Caro- 
 line's husband happened to go out for 
 a walk. But he sent away a port- 
 manteau by the back door when ha
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 153 
 
 went out for the walk, and as Caro- 
 line was waiting for her little dinner 
 some hours after, the porter who car- 
 ried the luggage came with a little 
 note from her dearest G. B. ; and it 
 was full of little fond expressions of 
 regard and affection, such as gentle- 
 men put into little notes ; but dearest 
 G. B. said the bailiffs were upon him, 
 and one of them had arrived that 
 morning, and he must fly.; and he 
 took half the money he had, and left 
 half for his little Carry. And he 
 would be back soon, and arrange 
 matters ; or tell her where to write 
 and follow him. And she was to take 
 care of her little health, and to write 
 a great deal to her Georgy. And she 
 did not know how to \vrite very well 
 then ; but she did her best, and im- 
 proved a great deal ; for, indeed, she 
 wrote a great deal, poor thing. Sheets 
 and sheets of paper she blotted with 
 ink and tears. And then the money 
 was spent ; and the next money ; and 
 no more came, and no more letters. 
 And she was alone at sea, sinking, 
 sinking, when it pleased Heaven to 
 send that friend who rescued her. It 
 is such a sad, sad story, that in fact 
 I don't like dwelling on it ; not 
 caring to look upon poor innocent, 
 trusting creatures in pain. 
 
 .... Well, then, when Caroline 
 exclaimed, " La ! don't fly out so, Dr. 
 Firmin ! " I suppose the Doctor had 
 been crying out, and swearing fiercely, 
 at the recollections of his friend Mr. 
 Brandon, and at the danger which 
 possibly hung over that gentleman. 
 Marriage ceremonies are dangerous 
 risks in jest or in earnest. You can't 
 pretend to marry even a poor old bank- 
 rupt lodging-house keeper's daughter 
 without some risk of being brought 
 subsequently to book. If you have a 
 vulgar wife alive, and afterwards 
 choose to leave her and marry an 
 earl's niece, you will come to trouble, 
 however well connected you are and 
 highly placed in society. If you have 
 had thirty thousand pounds with wife 
 No. 2, and have to pay it back on a 
 udden, the payment may be incon- 
 7* ' 
 
 venient. You may be tried for biga- 
 my, and sentenced, goodness knows 
 to what punishment. At any rate, if 
 the matter is made public, and you 
 are a most respectable man, moving in 
 the highest scientific and social cir- 
 cles, those circles may be disposed to 
 request you to walk out of their cir- 
 cumference. A novelist, I know, 
 ought to have no likes, dislikes, pity, 
 partiality for his characters ; but I 
 declare 1 cannot help feeling a respect- 
 ful compassion for a gentleman who, 
 in consequence of a youthful, and, I 
 am sure, sincerely regretted folly, may 
 be liable to lose his fortune, his place 
 in society, and his considerable prac- 
 tice. Punishment has n't a right to 
 come with such a pede claudo. There 
 ought to be limitations ; and it is 
 shabby and revengeful of Justice to pre- 
 sent her little bill when it has been 
 
 more than twenty years owing 
 
 Having had his talk out with the Lit- 
 tle Sister, having a long-past crime 
 suddenly taken down from the shelf; 
 having a remorse, long since supposed 
 to be dead and buried, suddenly 
 starting up in the most blustering, 
 boisterous, inconvenient manner ; 
 having a rage and terror tearing him 
 within ; I can fancy this most respect- 
 able physician going about his day's 
 work, and most sincerely sympathize 
 with him. Who is to heal the physi- 
 cian ? Is he not more sick at heart 
 than most of his patients that day ? 
 He has to listen to Lady Megrim 
 cackling for half an hour at least, nnd 
 describing her little ailments. He 
 has to listen, and never once to dare 
 to say, " Confound you, old chatter- 
 box ! What are you prating about 
 your ailments to me, who am suffer- 
 ing real torture whilst I am smirking 
 in your face ? " He has to wear the 
 inspiriting smile, to breathe the gen- 
 tle joke, to console, to whisper hope, 
 to administer remedy ; and all day, 
 perhaps, he sees no one so utterly 
 sick, so sad, so despairing, as himself. 
 The first person on whom he had 
 to practise hypocrisy that day was 
 his own son, who chose to come to
 
 154 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 breakfast, a meal of which son and 
 father seldom now partook in com- 
 pany. " What does he know, and 
 what does he suspect 1 " are the 
 father's thoughts ; but a lowering 
 gloom is on Philip's face, and the 
 father's eyes look into the son's, but 
 cannot penetrate their darkness. 
 
 " Did yon stay late last night, 
 Philip ? " says papa. 
 
 " Yes, sir, rather late," answers the 
 son. 
 
 " Pleasant party 1 " 
 
 " No, sir, stupid. Your friend 
 Mr. Hunt wanted to come in. He 
 was drunk, and rude to Mrs. Bran- 
 don, and I was obliged to put him 
 out of the door. He was dreadfully 
 Violent and abusive. 
 
 " Swore a good deal, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Fiercely, sir, and called names." 
 
 I dare say Philip's heart beat so i 
 when he said these last words, that [ 
 they were inaudible : at all events, 
 Philip's father did not appear to pay ' 
 much attention to the words, for he 
 was busy reading the Morning Post, j 
 nd behind that sheet of fashionable 
 ttews hid whatever expression of 
 agony there might be on his face. 
 Philip afterwards told his present 
 biographer of this breakfast meeting | 
 and dreary tete-a-tete. " I burned to I 
 ask what was the meaning of that i 
 scoundrel's words of the past night," | 
 Philip said to his biographer ; " but I ! 
 did not dare, somehow. You see, 
 Pendennis, it is not pleasant to say 
 point-blank to your father, ' Sir, are 
 you a confirmed scoundrel, or are you 
 not ? Is it possible that you have 
 made a double marriage, as yonder 
 other rascal hinted ; and that my own 
 legitimacy and my mother's fair fame, 
 as well as poor, harmless Caroline's ! 
 honor and happiness, have been de- 
 stroyed by your crime ? ' But I had 
 lain awake all night thinking about 
 that scoundrel Hunt's words, and 
 whether there was any meaning I 
 beyond drunken malice in what j 
 he said." So we find that three 
 people had passed a bad night in con- 
 sequence of Mr. Firmin's evil behav- i 
 
 ior of five-and-twenty years back, 
 which surely was a most unreasonable 
 punishment for a sin of such old date. 
 I wish, dearly beloved brother sinners, 
 we could take all the punishment for 
 our individual crimes on our indi- 
 vidual shoulders : but we drag them 
 all down with us, that is the fact ; 
 and when Macheath is condemned to 
 hang, it is Polly and Lucy who have 
 to weep and suffer and wear piteous 
 mourning in their hearts long after 
 the dare-devil rogue has jumped off 
 the Tyburn ladder. 
 
 " Well, sir, he did not say a word," 
 said Philip, recounting the meeting 
 to his friend ; " not a word, at least, 
 regarding the matter both of us had 
 on our hearts. But about fashion, 
 parties, politics, he discoursed much 
 more freely than was usual with him. 
 He said I might have had Lord Ring- 
 wood's seat for Whipham but for my 
 unfortunate politics. What made a 
 Kadical of me, he asked, who was 
 naturally one of the most haughty of 
 men ? " (" and that, I think, perhaps I 
 am," says Phil, " and a good many 
 liberal fellows are.") " I should calm 
 down, he was sure, I should calm 
 down, and be of the politics des 
 horn i UPS du monde." 
 
 Philip could not say to his father, 
 " Sir, it is seeing you cringe before 
 great ones that has set my own back 
 up." There were countless points 
 about which father and son could not 
 speak ; and an invisible, unexpressed, 
 perfectly unintelligible mistrust al- 
 ways was present when those two 
 were tete-a-tete. 
 
 Their meal was scarce ended when 
 entered to them Mr. Hunt, with his 
 hat on. I was not present at the 
 time, and cannot speak as a cer- 
 tainty ; but I should think at his 
 ominous appearance Philip may have 
 turned red and his father pale. 
 " Now is the time," both, I dare say, 
 thought ; and the Doctor remembered 
 his stormy young days of foreign 
 gambling, intrigue, and duel, when 
 he was put on his ground before his 
 adversary, and bidden, at a given
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 155 
 
 signal, to fire. One, two, three ! 
 Each man's hand was armed with 
 malice and murder. Philip had 
 plenty of pluck for his part, but I 
 should think on such an occasion 
 might be a little nervous and flut- 
 tered, whereas his father's eye was 
 keen, and his aim rapid and steady. 
 
 " You and Philip had a difference 
 last night, Philip tells me," said the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " Yes, and I promised he should 
 pay me," said the clergyman. 
 
 " And I said I should desire no bet- 
 ter," says Mr. Phil. 
 
 " He struck his senior, his father's 
 friend a sick man, a clergyman," 
 gasped Hunt. 
 
 " Were you to repeat what you did 
 last night, I should repeat what I 
 did," said Phil. " You insulted a 
 good woman." 
 
 " It 's a lie, sir," cries the other. 
 
 " You insulted a good woman, a 
 lady in her own house, and 1 turned 
 you out of it," said Phil. 
 
 " I say again, it is a lie, sir ! " 
 screams Hunt, with a stamp on the 
 table. 
 
 " That you should give me the lie, 
 or otherwise, is perfectly immaterial 
 to me. But whenever you insult Mrs. 
 Brandon, or any harmless woman in 
 my presence, I shall do my best to 
 chastise you," cries Philip of the red 
 mustaches, curling them with much 
 dignity. 
 
 " You hear him, Firmin ? " says the 
 parson. 
 
 " Faith, I do, Hunt ! " says the 
 physician ; " and I think he means 
 what he says, too." 
 
 " Oh ! you take that line, do you ? " 
 cries Hunt of the dirty hands, the 
 dirty teeth, the dirty neckcloth. 
 
 " I take what you call that line ; 
 and whenever a rudeness is offered to 
 that admirable woman in my son's 
 hearing, I shall be astonished if he 
 does not resent it," says the Doctor. 
 " Thank you, Philip ! *' 
 
 The father's resolute speech and 
 behavior gave Philip great momentary 
 comfort. Hunt's words of the night 
 
 before had been occupying the young 
 man's thoughts. Had Firmin been 
 criminal, he could not be so bold. 
 
 " You talk this way in presence of 
 your sou ? You have been talking 
 over the matter together before ? " 
 asks Hunt. 
 
 " We have been talking over the 
 matter before, yes. We were en- 
 gaged on it when you came in to 
 breakfast," says the Doctor " Shall 
 we go on with the conversation where 
 we left it off?" 
 
 " Well, do, that is, if you dare," 
 said the clergyman, somewhat as- 
 tonished. 
 
 "Philip, my dear, it is ill for a 
 man to hide his head before his own 
 son ; but if I am to speak, and 
 speak I must one day or the other, 
 why not now 1 " 
 
 " Why at all, Firmin ? " asks the 
 clergyman, astonished at the Other's 
 rather sudden resolve. 
 
 " Why '{ Because I am sick and 
 tired of you, Mr. Tuf'ton Hunt," 
 cries the physician, in his most lofty 
 manner, " of you and your presence 
 in my house; your blackguard be- 
 havior and your rascal extortions, 
 because you will force me to speak 
 one day or the other, and now, 
 Philip, if you like, shall be the day." 
 
 " Hang it, I say ! Stop a bit ! " 
 cries the clergyman. 
 
 "I understand you want some 
 more money from me." 
 
 " I did promise Jacobs I would pay 
 him to-day, and that was what made 
 me so sulky last night ; and, perhaps, 
 I took a little too much. You see 
 my mind was out of order; and 
 what 's the use of telling a story that 
 is no good to any one, Firmin, 
 least of all to you," cries the parson, 
 darkly. 
 
 " Because, you ruffian, I '11 bear 
 with you no more," cries the Doctor, 
 the veins of his forehead swelling as 
 he looks fiercely at his dirty ad- 
 versary. "In the last nine months, 
 Philip, this man has had nine hun- 
 dred pounds from me." 
 
 ' The luck has been so very bad.
 
 156 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 so bad, upon my honor, now," grum- 
 bles the parson. 
 
 " To-morrow he will want more ; 
 and the next day more ; and the next 
 day more ; and, in fine, I won't live 
 with this accursed man of the sea 
 round my neck. You shall have the 
 story ; and Mr. Hunt shall sit by and 
 witness against his own crime and 
 mine. I had been very wild at Cam- 
 bridge, when I was a young man. I 
 had quarrelled with my father, lived 
 with a dissipated set, and beyond my 
 means; and had had my debts paid 
 so often by your grandfather, that I 
 was afraid to ask for more. He was 
 stern to me ; I was not dutiful to him. 
 I own my fault Mr. Hunt can bear 
 witness to what I say. 
 
 " I was in hiding at Margate, under 
 a false name. You know the name." 
 
 " Yes, sir, I think I know the 
 name," Philip said, thinking he liked 
 his father better now than he had ever 
 liked him in his life, and sighing, 
 "Ah, if he had always been frank 
 and true with ine ! " 
 
 "I took humble lodgings with an 
 obscure family." (If Dr. Firmin had 
 a prodigious idea of his own grandeur 
 and importance, you see I cannot help 
 it, and he was long held to be such 
 a respectable man.) "And there I 
 found a young girl, one of the most 
 innocent beings that ever a man 
 played with and betrayed. Betrayed, 
 I own it, Heaven forgive me! The 
 crime has been the shame of my life, 
 and darkened my whole career with 
 misery. I got a man worse than my- 
 self, if that could be. I got Hunt for 
 a few pounds, which he owed me, to 
 make a sham marriage between me 
 and poor Caroline. My money was 
 soon gone. My creditors were after 
 me. I fled the country, and I left 
 her." 
 
 " A sham marriage ! a sham mar- 
 riage ! " cries the clergyman. " Did 
 n't you make me perform it by hold- 
 ing a pistol to my throat? A" fellow 
 won't risk transportation for nothing. 
 But I owed him money tor cards, and 
 he had my bill, anil he said he would 
 
 let me off, and that 's why I helped 
 him. Never mind. I am out of the 
 business now, Mr. Brummell Firmin, 
 and you are in it. I have read the 
 Act, sir. The clergyman who per- 
 forms the marriage is liable to pun- 
 ishment, if informed against within 
 three years, and it 's twenty years or 
 more. But you, Mr. Brummell Fir- 
 min, your case is different ; and 
 you, my young gentleman, with the 
 
 | fiery whiskers, who strike down old 
 men of a night, you may find some 
 
 I of us know how to revenge ourselves, 
 though we are down." And with 
 this, Hunt rushed to his greasy hat, 
 and quitted the house, discharging 
 imprecations at his hosts as he passed 
 through the hall. 
 
 Son and father sat awhile silent, 
 after the departure of their common 
 enemy. At last the father spoke. 
 
 " This is the sword that has always 
 been hanging over my head, and it is 
 now falling, Philip." 
 
 "What can the man do? Is the 
 first marriage a good marriage ? " 
 asked Philip, with alarmed face. 
 
 " It is no marriage. It is void to 
 all intents and purposes. You may 
 suppose I have taken care to learn the 
 law about that. Your legitimacy is 
 safe, sure enough. But that man can 
 ruin me, or nearly so. He will try 
 to-morrow, if not to-day. As long as 
 you or I can give him a guinea, he 
 will take it to the gambling-house. I 
 had the mania on me myself once. 
 My poor father quarrelled with me in 
 consequence, and died without seeing 
 me. I married your mother 
 Heaven help her, poor soul ! and for- 
 give me for being but a harsh hus- 
 band to her with a view of mend- 
 ing my shattered fortunes. I wished 
 she had been more happy, poor thing. 
 But do not blame me utterly, Philip. 
 I was desperate, and she wished for 
 the marriage so much! I had good 
 
 I looks and high spirits in those days. 
 
 ! People said so." (And here he 
 
 | glances obliquely at his own hand- 
 some portrait. ) " ]Now I am a wreck, 
 a wreck ! "
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 157 
 
 "I conceive, sir, that this will an- 
 noy you ; but how can it ruin you 1 " 
 asked Philip. 
 
 " What becomes of my practice as 
 a family physician ? The practice is 
 not now what it was, between our- 
 selves, Philip, and the expenses 
 greater than you imagine. I have 
 made unlucky speculations. If you 
 count upon much increase of wealth 
 from me, my boy, you will be disap- 
 pointed ; though you were never mer- 
 cenary, no, never. But the story 
 bruited about by this rascal, of a phy- 
 sician of eminence engaged in two 
 marriages, do you suppose my rivals 
 won't hear it, and take advantage of 
 it, my patients hear it, and avoid 
 me ? " 
 
 " Make terms with the man at once, 
 then, sir, and silence him." 
 
 " To make terms with a gambler is 
 impossible. My purse is always there 
 open for him to thrust his hand into 
 when he loses. No man can with- 
 stand such a temptation. I am glad 
 you have never fallen into it. 1 have 
 quarrelled with you sometimes for liv- 
 ing with people below your rank : 
 perhaps you were right, and I was 
 wrong. I have liked, always did, I 
 don't disguise it, to live -with persons 
 of station. And these, when I was 
 at the University, taught me play and 
 extravagance ; and in the world 
 have n't helped me much. Who 
 would ? Who would ? " and the 
 Doctor relapsed into meditation. 
 
 A little catastrophe presently oc- 
 curred, after which Mr. Philip Firmin 
 told me the substance of this story. 
 He described his father's long acqui- 
 escence in Hunt's demands, and sud- 
 den resistance to them, and was at a 
 loss to account for the change. I did 
 not tell my friend in express terms, 
 but I fancied I could account for the 
 change of behavior. Dr. Firmin, in 
 his interviews with Caroline, had had 
 his mind set at rest abcut one part of 
 his danirer. The Doctor need no 
 longer fear the charge of a double 
 marriage. The Little Sister resigned 
 her claims past, present, future. 
 
 If a gentleman is sentenced to be 
 hung, I wonder is it a matter of com- 
 fort to him or not to know beforehand 
 the day of the operation ? Hunt 
 would take his revenge. When and 
 how ? Dr. Firmin asked himself. 
 Nay, possibly, you will have to learn 
 that this eminent practitioner walked 
 about with more than danger hang- 
 ing imminent over him. Perhaps it 
 was a rope : perhaps it was a sword : 
 some weapon of execution, at any 
 rate, as we frequently may see. A 
 day passes : no assassin darts at the 
 Doctor as he threads the dim opera- 
 colonnade passage on his way to his 
 club. A week goes by : no stiletto is 
 plunged into his well-wadded breast 
 as he steps from his carriage at some 
 noble patient's door. Philip says he 
 never knew his father more pleasant, 
 easy, good-humored, and affable than 
 during this period, when he must 
 have felt that a danger was hanging 
 over him of which his son at this time 
 had no idea. I dined in Old Parr 
 Street once in this memorable period 
 (memorable it seemed to me from im- 
 mediately subsequent events). Never 
 was the dinner better served : the 
 wine more excellent : the guests and 
 conversation more gravely respectable 
 than at this entertainment ; and my 
 neighbor remarked with pleasure how 
 the father and son seemed to be on 
 much better terms than ordinary. 
 The Doctor addressed Philip pointed- 
 ly once or twice ; alluded to his for- 
 eign travels, spoke of his mother's 
 family, it was most gratifying to 
 see the pair together. Day after day 
 passes' so. The enemy has disap- 
 peared. At least, the lining of his 
 dirty hat is no longer visible on the 
 broad marble table of Dr. Firmin's 
 hall. 
 
 But one day it may be ten days 
 after the quarrel a little messenger 
 comes to Philip, and says, " Philip 
 dear, I am sure there is something 
 wrong ; that horrible Hunt has been 
 here with a very quiet, soft-spoken 
 old gentleman, and they have been 
 going on with my poor pa about my
 
 158 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 wrongs and his, his, indeed ! and 
 they have worked him up to believe 
 that somebody has cheated his daugh- 
 ter out of a great fortune ; and who 
 can that somebody be but your father ? 
 And whenever they see me coming, 
 papa and that horrid Hunt go off to 
 the ' Admiral Byng ' : and one night 
 when pa came home he said, ' Bless 
 you, bless you, my poor, innocent, 
 injured child ; and" blessed you will 
 be, mark a fond father's words ! ' 
 They are scheming something against 
 Philip and Philip's father. Mr. Bond 
 the soft-spoken old gentleman's name 
 is : and twice there has been a Mr. 
 Walls to inquire if Mr. Hunt was at 
 our house." 
 
 " Mr. Bond ? Mr. Walls ? A 
 gentleman of the name of Bond was 
 Uncle Twysden's attorney. An old 
 gentleman, with a bald head, and one 
 eye bigger than the other ? " 
 
 " Well, this old man has one 
 smaller than the other, I do think," 
 says Caroline. " First man who 
 came was Mr. Walls, a rattling 
 young fashionable chap, always 
 laughing, talking about theatres, op- 
 eras, everything, came home from 
 the ' Byng ' along with pa and his 
 new friend, oh ! I do hate him, 
 that man, that Hunt ! then he 
 brought the old man, this Mr. Bond. 
 What are they scheming against you, 
 Philip 1 I tell you this matter is all 
 about you and your father." 
 
 Years and years ago, in the poor 
 mother's lifetime, Philip remembered 
 an outbreak of wrath on his father's 
 part, who called Uncle Twysden a 
 swindling miser, and this very Mr. 
 Bond a scoundrel who deserved to bu 
 hung, for interfering in some way in 
 the management of a part of the prop- 
 erty which Mrs. Twy<dcn and her 
 sister inherited from th?ir own moth- 
 er. That quarrel had been made up, 
 as such quarrels are. The brothers- 
 in-law hail continued to mistrust each 
 other ; but there was no reason why 
 the feud should descend to the chil- 
 dren ; and Philip and his aunt, and 
 one of her daughters at least, were on 
 
 good terms together. Philip's uncle's 
 lawyers engaged with his father's 
 debtor and enemy against Dr. Fir- 
 min : the alliance boded no good 
 
 " I won't tell you what I think, 
 Philip," said the father. " You are 
 fond of your cousin 1 " 
 
 " Oh ! forev " 
 
 " Forever, of course ! At least 
 until we change our mind, or one 
 of us grows tired, or finds a better 
 mate ! ' 
 
 " Ah, sir ! " cries Philip, but sud- 
 denly stops in his remonstrance. 
 
 " What were you going to say, 
 Philip, and why do you pause ? " 
 
 " 1 was going to say, father, if I 
 might without offending, that I think 
 you judge hardly of women. I know 
 two who have been very faithful to 
 you." 
 
 " And I a traitor to both of them. 
 Yes ; and my remorse, Philip, ray 
 remorse ! " says his father in his 
 deepest tragedy voice, clutching his 
 hand over a heart that I believe beat 
 very coolly. But, psha ! why am I, 
 Philip's biographer, going out of the 
 way to abuse Philip's papa ? Is not 
 the threat of bigamy and exposure 
 enough to disturb any man's equa- 
 nimity ? L say again, suppose there 
 is another sword a rope, if you will 
 so call it hanging over the head of 
 oar Damodes of Old Parr Street ? 
 .... Howbcit, the father and the 
 son met and parted in these days with 
 unusual gentleness and cordiality. 
 And these were the last days in which 
 they were to meet together. Nor 
 could Philip recall without satisfac- 
 tion, afterwards, that the hand which 
 he took was pressed and given with a 
 real kindness and cordiality. 
 
 Why were these the last days son 
 and father were to pass together ? 
 Dr. Firmin is srill alive. Philip is a 
 very tolerably prosperous gentleman. 
 He and his father parted good friends, 
 and it is the biographer's business to 
 narrate how and wherefore. When 
 Philip told his father that Messrs. 
 Bond and Selby, his uncle Twysden's 
 attorneys, were suddenly interested
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 159 
 
 about Mr. Brandon and his affairs, 
 the father instantly guessed, though 
 the son was too simple as yet to 
 understand, how it was that these 
 gentlemen interfered. If Mr. Bran- 
 don-Firmin's marriage with Miss 
 Ringwood was null, her son was ille- 
 gitimate, and her fortune went to her 
 sister. Painful as such a duty might 
 he to such tender-hearted people as 
 our Twysden acquaintances to de- 
 prive a dear nephew of his fortune, 
 yet, after all, duty is duty, and a 
 parent must sacrifice everything for 
 justice and his own children. " Had 
 I been in such a case," Talbot Twys- 
 den subsequently and repeatedly de- 
 clared, " I should never have been 
 easy a moment if I thought I pos- 
 sessed wrongfully a beloved nephew's 
 property. I could not have slept in 
 peace ; I could not have shown 
 my face at my own club, or to my 
 own conscience, had I the weight of 
 such an injustice on my mind." In 
 a word, when he found that there 
 was a chance of annexing Philip's 
 share of the property to his own, 
 Twysden saw clearly that his duty 
 was to stand by his own wife and 
 children. 
 
 The information upon which Talbot 
 Twysden, Esq., acted, was brought to 
 him at his office by a gentleman in 
 dingy black, who, after a long inter- 
 view with him, accompanied him to 
 his lawyer, Mr. Bond, before men- 
 tioned. Here, in South Square, 
 Grey's Inn, the three gentlemen held 
 a consultation, of which the results 
 began quickly to show themselves. 
 Messrs. Bond and Sclby had an ex- 
 ceedingly lively, cheerful, jovial, and 
 intelligent confidential clerk, who 
 combined business and pleasure with 
 the utmost affability, and was ac- 
 quainted with a thousand queer 
 things, and queer histories about 
 queer people in this town ; who lent 
 money ; who wanted money ; who 
 was in debt : and who was outrunning 
 the constable ; whose diamonds were 
 in pawn ; whose estates were over- 
 mortgaged ; who was over-building 
 
 himself; who was casting eyes of 
 longing at what pretty opera dancer, 
 about races, fights, bill-brokers, 
 qmcquid agunt homines. This Tom 
 Walls had a deal of information, and 
 imparted it so as to make you die of 
 laughing. 
 
 The Reverend Tufton Hunt brought 
 this jolly fellow first to the " Admiral 
 Byng," where his amiability won all 
 hearts at the club. At the'" Byng," 
 it was not very difficult to gain Cap- 
 tain Gann's easy confidence. And 
 this old man was, in the course of a 
 very trifling con sumption of rum-and- 
 water, brought to see that his daugh- 
 ter had been the object of a very 
 wicked conspiracy, and was the right- 
 ful and most injured wife of a man 
 who ought to declare her fair fame 
 before the world, and put her in pos- 
 session of a portion of his great fortune. 
 A great fortune ? How great a 
 fortune ? Was it three hundred 
 thousand, say ? Those doctors, many 
 of them, had fifteen thousand a year. 
 Mr. Walls (who perhaps knew'better) 
 was not at liberty to say what the 
 I fortune was : but it was a shame that 
 Mrs. Brandon was kept out of her 
 rights, that was clear. 
 
 Old Gann's excitement, when this 
 matter was first broached to him 
 (under vows of profound secrecy) was 
 I so intense that his old reason tottered 
 1 on its rickety old throne. He well- 
 l nigh burst with longing to speak 
 1 upon this mystery. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Oves, the esteemed landlord and Jady 
 of the " Byng," never saw him so 
 excited. He had a great opinion of 
 the judgment of his friend, Mr. Rid- 
 ley ; in fact, he must have gone to 
 Bedlam, unless he had talked to 
 somebody on this most nefarious 
 transaction, which might make the 
 blood of every Briton curdle with 
 horror, as he was free to say. 
 
 Old Mr. Ridley was of a much 
 
 cooler temperament, and altogether a 
 
 more cautious person. The Doctor 
 
 ; rich ? He wished to tell no secrets, 
 
 j nor to meddle in no gentleiran's 
 
 ' affairs : but he have heard very differ-
 
 160 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 ent statements regarding Dr. Firmin's 
 affairs. 
 
 When dark hints about treason, 
 wicked desertion, rights denied, " and 
 a great fortune which you are kep' 
 out of, my poor Caroline, by a ras- 
 cally wolf in sheep's clothing, you 
 are"; and I always mistrusted him, 
 from the moment I saw him, and said 
 to your mother, ' Emily, that Bran- 
 don is a bad fellow, Brandon is ' ; 
 and bitterly, bitterly I 've rued ever 
 receiving him under my roof." 
 When speeches of this nature were 
 made to Mrs. Caroline, strange to 
 say, the little lady made light of 
 them. " O, nonsense, Pa ! Don't 
 be bringing that sad old story up 
 again. I have suffered enough from 
 it already. If Mr. F. left me, he 
 was n't the only one who flung me 
 away ; and I have been able to live, 
 thank mercy, through it all." 
 
 This was a hard hit, and not to be 
 parried. The truth is, that when 
 poor Caroline, deserted by her hus- 
 band, had come back, in wretched- 
 ness, to her father's door, the man, 
 and the wife who then ruled him, had 
 thought fit to thrust her away. And 
 she had forgiven them : and had been 
 enabled to heap a rare quantity of 
 coals on that old gentleman's head. 
 
 When the captain remarked his 
 daughter's indifference and unwilling- 
 ness to reopen this painful question of 
 her sham marriage with Firmin, his 
 wrath was moved, and his suspicion 
 excited. "Ha!" says he, "have 
 this man been a tampering with you 
 again ? " 
 
 " Nonsense, Pa ! " once more says 
 Caroline. " I tell you, it is this fine- 
 talking lawyers' clerk has been tam- 
 pering with you. You 're made a tool 
 of, Pa ! and you 've been made a tool 
 of all your life ! " 
 
 " Well, now, upon my honor, my 
 good madam," interposes Mr. Walls. 
 
 " Don't talk to me, sir ! I don't 
 want any lawyers' clerks to meddle in 
 my business ! " cries Mrs. Brandon, 
 very briskly. " I don't know what 
 you 're come about. I don't want to 
 
 know, and I 'm most certain it is for 
 no good. 1 ' 
 
 " I suppose it was the ill success of 
 his ambassador that brought Mr. 
 Bond himself to Thornhaugh Street; 
 and a more kind, fatherly, little man 
 never looked than Mr. Bond, although 
 he may have had one eye smaller 
 than the other. " What is this, my 
 dear madam, I hear from my confi- 
 dential clerk, Mr. Walls ? " he asked 
 of the Little Sister. " You refuse to 
 give him your confidence because he 
 is only a clerk 1 I wonder whether 
 you will accord it to me as a princi- 
 pal ? " 
 
 "She may, sir, she may, every 
 confidence ! " says the Captain, lay- 
 ing his hand on that snuffy satin 
 waistcoat which all his friends so long 
 admired on him. " She might have 
 spoken to Mr. Walls." 
 
 " Mr. Walls is not a family man. 
 I am. I have children at home, Mrs. 
 Brandon, as old as you are," says the 
 benevolent Bond. " I would have 
 justice done them, and for you too." 
 
 " You 're very good to take so 
 much trouble about me all of a sud- 
 den, to be sure," says Mrs. Brandon, 
 demurely. " I suppose you don't do 
 it for nothing." 
 
 " I should not require much fee to 
 help a good woman to her rights ; 
 and a lady 1 don't think needs much 
 persuasion to be helped to her advan- 
 tage," remarks Mr. Bond. 
 
 " That depends who the helper is." 
 
 " Well, if I can do you no harm, 
 and help you possibly to a name, to a 
 fortune, to a high place in the world, 
 I don't think you need be frightened. 
 I don't look very wicked or very art- 
 ful, do I ? " 
 
 " Many is that don't look so. I 've 
 learned as much as that about you 
 gentlemen," remarks Mrs. Brandon. 
 
 " You have been wronged by one 
 man, and doubt all." 
 
 " Not all. Some, sir ! " 
 
 " Doubt about me if I can by any 
 possibility injure yon. But how and 
 why should I I Your good father 
 knows what has brought me here. I
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 161 
 
 have no secret from him. Have I, 
 Mr. Gaun, or Captain Gann, as I have 
 heard you addressed ? " 
 
 "Mr., sir, plain Mr. No, sir; 
 your conduct have been most open, 
 honorable, and like a gentleman. 
 Neither would you, sir, do aught to 
 disparage Mrs. Brandon; neither 
 would I, her father. Noways, I 
 think, would a parent do harm to his 
 own child. May I offer you any re- 
 freshment, sir 1 " and a shaky, a dingy, 
 but a hospitable hand is laid upon 
 the glossy cupboard, in which Mrs. 
 Brandon keeps her modest little store 
 of strong waters. 
 
 " Not one drop, thank you ! You 
 trust me, I think, more than Mrs. 
 Firm I beg your pardon Mrs. 
 Brandon, is disposed to do." 
 
 At the utterance of that monosyl- 
 lable Firm Caroline became so white, 
 and trembled so, that her interlocutor 
 stopped, rather alarmed at the effect 
 of his word his word ! his syllable 
 of a word. 
 
 The old lawyer recovered himself 
 with much grace. 
 
 "Pardon me, madam," he said: 
 " I know yonr wrongs ; I know your 
 most melancholy history ; I know 
 your name, and was going to use it, 
 but it seemed to renew painful recol- 
 lections to you, which I would not 
 needlessly recall." 
 
 Captain Gann took out a snuffy 
 pocket-handkerchief, wiped two red 
 eyes and a shirt-front, and winked at 
 the attorney, and gasped in a pathetic 
 manner. 
 
 " You know my story and name, 
 sir, who are a stranger to me. Have 
 you told this old gentleman all about 
 me and my affairs, Pa? " asks Caro- 
 line, with some asperity. " Have you 
 told him that my ma never gave me a 
 word of kindness, that I toiled for 
 you and her like a servant, and 
 when I came back to you, after being 
 deceived and deserted, that you and 
 ma shut the door in my face ? You 
 did ! you did ! I forgive you ; but a 
 hundred thousand billion years can't 
 mend that injury, father, while you 
 
 broke a poor child's heart with it that 
 day ! My pa has told you all this, 
 Mr. What's-your-name 1 I 'm s'prised 
 he did n't find something pleasauter 
 to talk about, I 'm sure ! " 
 
 " My love ! " interposed the Cap- 
 tain. 
 
 " Pretty love ! to go and tell a 
 strangtr in a public-house, and ever 
 so many there besides, I suppose, 
 your daughter's misfortunes, Pa. 
 Pretty love ! That 's what I 've hid 
 from you ! " 
 
 " Not a soul, on the honor of a gen- 
 tleman, except me and Mr. Walls." 
 
 " Then what do you come to talk 
 about me at all for ? and what scheme 
 on hearth are you driving at 1 and 
 what brings this old man here ? " 
 cries the landlady of Thornhaugh 
 Street, stamping her foot. 
 
 " Shall 1 tell you frankly, my good 
 lady 't I called you Mrs. Firmin now, 
 because, on my honor and word, I 
 believe such to be your rightful name, 
 because you are the lawful wife of 
 George Brand Firmin. Jf such be 
 your lawful name, others bear it who 
 have no right to bear it, and in- 
 herit property to which they can lay 
 no just claim. In the year 1827, you, 
 Caroline Gann, a child of sixteen, 
 were married by a clergyman whom 
 you know, to George Brand Firmin, 
 calling himself George Brandon. He 
 was guilty of deceiving you ; but you 
 were guilty of no deceit. He was a 
 hardened and wily man, but you 
 were an innocent child out of a 
 schoolroom. And though he thought' 
 the marriage was not binding upon 
 him, binding it is by Act of Parlia- 
 ment and judges' decision , and you 
 are as assuredly George Firmin's wife, 
 madam, as Mrs. Bond is mine ! " 
 
 " You have been cruelly injured, 
 Caroline," says the Captain, wagging 
 his old nose over his handkerchief. 
 
 Caroline seemed to be very well 
 versed in the law of the transaction. 
 " You mean, sir,'' she said slowly, 
 " that if me and Mr. Brandon was 
 married to each other, ho knowing 
 that he was only playing at marriage,
 
 162 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 and me believing that it was all for 
 good, we are really married." 
 
 " Undoubtedly you are, madam, 
 my client has that is, I have had 
 advice on the point." 
 
 " But if we both knew that it was 
 was only a sort of a marriage an 
 irregular marriage, you know 1 " 
 
 " Then the Act says that to all in- 
 tents and purposes the marriage is 
 null and void.' 
 
 " But you did n't know, my poor 
 innocent child ! " cries Mr. Gann. 
 " How should you ? How old was 
 you 1 She was a child in the nursery, 
 Mr. Bond, when the villain inveigled 
 her away from her poor old father. 
 She knew nothing of irregular mar- 
 riages." 
 
 " Of course she did n't, the poor 
 creature," cries the old gentleman, 
 rubbing his hands together with per- 
 fect good-humor. " Poor young 
 thing, poor young thing ! " 
 
 As he was speaking, Caroline, very 
 pale and still, was sitting looking at 
 Ridley's sketch of Philip, which hung 
 in her little room. Presently she 
 turned round on the attorney, folding 
 her little hands over her work. 
 
 " Mr. Bond," she said, " girls, 
 though they may be ever so young, 
 know more than some folks fancy. I 
 was more than sixteen when that 
 that business happened. I wasn't 
 happy at home, and eager to get 
 away. I knew that a gentleman of 
 his rank would n't be likely really to 
 marry a poor Cinderella out of a 
 lodging-house, like me. If the truth 
 must be told, I I knew it was no 
 marriage never thought it was a 
 marriage not for good, you know." 
 
 And she folds her little hands to- 
 gether as she utters the words, and I 
 dare say once more looks at Philip's 
 portrait. 
 
 " Gracious goodness, madam, you 
 must be under some error ! " cries the 
 attorney. " How should a child like 
 you know that the marriage was ir- 
 regular ? " 
 
 " Because I had no lines ! " cries 
 Caroline quickly. " Never asked for 
 
 none ! And our maid we had then 
 said to me, ' Miss Carry, where 'a 
 your lines ? And it 's no good with- 
 out.' And I knew it was n't ! And 
 I 'm ready to go before the Lord 
 Chancellor to-morrow and say so ! " 
 cries Caroline, to the bewilderment 
 of her father and her cross-exami- 
 nant. 
 
 " Pause, pause ! my good madam ! " 
 exclaims the meek old gentleman, 
 rising from his chair. 
 
 " Go and tell this to them as sent 
 you, sir ! " cries Caroline, very im- 
 periously, leaving the lawyer amazed, 
 and her father's face in a bewilder- 
 ment, over which we will fling his 
 snuffy old pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 " If such is unfortunately the case, 
 if you actually mean to abide by 
 this astonishing confession, which 
 deprives you of a high place in socie- 
 ty, and and casts down the hope 
 we had formed of redressing your in- 
 jured reputation, I have nothing 
 for it ! I take my leave, madam ! 
 Good morning, Mr. Hum ! Mr. 
 Gann ! " And the old lawyer walks 
 out of the Little Sister's room. 
 
 " She won't own to the marriage ! 
 She is fond of some one else, the 
 little suicide ! " thinks the old lawyer, 
 as he clatters down the street to a 
 neighboring house, where his anxious 
 principal was in waiting. " She a 
 fond of some one else ! " 
 
 Yes. But the some one else whom 
 Caroline loved was Brand Firmin's 
 son ; and it was to save Philip from 
 ruin that the poor Little Sister chose 
 to forget her marriage to his father. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 LOYE ME, LOVE MY DOG. 
 
 WHILST the battle is raging, the 
 old folks and ladies peep over the 
 battlements, to watch the turns of 
 the combat, and the behavior of the 
 knights. To princesses in old days, 
 whose lovely hands were to be be- 
 stowed upon the conqueror, it must
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 163 
 
 have been a matter of no small inter- 
 est to know whether the slim young 
 champion with the lovely eyes on the 
 milk-white steed should vanquish, or 
 the dumpy, elderly, square - shoul- 
 dered, squinting, carroty whiskerando 
 of a warrior who was laying about 
 him so savagely ; and so in this bat- 
 tle, on the issue of which depended 
 the keeping or losing of poor Philip's 
 inheritance, there were several non- 
 combatants deeply interested. Or 
 suppose we withdraw the chivalrous 
 simile (as in fact the conduct and 
 views of certain parties engaged in 
 the matter were anything but what 
 we call chivalrous), and imagine a 
 wily old monkey who engages a cat 
 to take certain chestnuts out of the 
 fire, and pussy putting her paw 
 through the bars, seizing the nut and 
 then dropping it ? Jacko is disap- 
 pointed and angry, shows his sharp 
 teeth, and bites if he dares. When 
 the attorney went down to do battle 
 for Philip's patrimony, some of those 
 who wanted it were spectators of the 
 fight, and lurking up a tree hard by. 
 When Mr. Bond came forward to 
 try and seize Phil's chestnuts, there 
 was a wily old monkey who thrust 
 the cat's paw out, and proposed to 
 gobble up the smoking prize. 
 
 If you have ever been at the " Ad- 
 miral Byng," you know, my dear 
 madam, that the parlor where the 
 club meets is just behind Mrs. 
 Oves's bar, so that by lifting up the 
 sash of the window which communi- 
 cates between the two apartments, 
 that good-natured woman may put her 
 face into the club-room, and actually 
 be one of the society. Sometimes for 
 company, old Mr. Ridley goes and 
 
 sits with Mrs. O in her bar, and 
 
 reads the paper there. He is slow at 
 his reading. The long words puzzle 
 the worthy gentleman. As he has 
 plenty of time to spare, he does not 
 grudge it to the study of his paper. 
 
 On the day when Mr. Bond went 
 to persuade Mrs. Brandon in Thorn- 
 haugh Street to claim Dr. Firmin for 
 her husband, and to disinherit poor 
 
 Philip, a little gentleman wrapt most 
 solemnly and mysteriously in a great 
 cloak appeared at the bar of the 
 " Admiral Byng," and said in an 
 aristocratic manner, " You have a 
 parlor, show me to it." And being 
 introduced to the parlor (where there 
 are fine pictures of Oves, Mrs. 
 O , and " Spotty-nose," their fav- 
 orite delimct bull-dog), sat down and 
 called for a glass of sherry and a news- 
 paper. 
 
 Tke civil and intelligent potboy of 
 the " Byng " took the party The Ad- 
 vertiser of yesterday (which to-day's 
 paper was in 'and) and when the 
 gentleman began to swear over the 
 old paper, Frederic gave it as his 
 opinion to his mistress that the new- 
 comer was a harbitrary gent, as, 
 indeed, he was, with the omission, 
 perhaps, of a single letter ; a man 
 who bullied everybody who would 
 submit to be bullied. In fact, it was 
 our friend Talbot Twysden, Esq., 
 Commissioner of the Powder and 
 Pomatum Office ; and I leave those 
 who know him to say whether he is 
 arbitrary or not. 
 
 To him presently came that bland 
 old gentleman, Mr. Bond, who also 
 asked for a parlor and some sherry- 
 and-water ; and this is how Philip 
 and his veracious and astute biog- 
 rapher came to know for a certainty 
 that dear uncle Talbot was the person 
 who wished to to have Philip's 
 chestnuts. 
 
 Mr. Bond and Mr. Twysden had 
 been scarcely a minute together, when 
 such a storm of imprecations came 
 clattering through the glass-window 
 which communicates with Mrs. Oves's 
 bar, that I dare say they made the 
 jugs and tumblers clatter on the 
 shelves, and Mr. Ridley, a very mod- 
 est-spoken man, reading his paper, 
 lay it down with a scared face, and 
 say, " Well, I never." Nor did he 
 often, I dare to say. 
 
 This volley was fired by Talbot 
 Twysden, in consequence of his rage 
 at the news which Mr. Bond brought 
 him.
 
 164 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 " "Well, Mr. Bond ; well, Mr. Bond ! 
 What does she say ? " he asked of his 
 emissary. 
 
 " She will have nothing to do with 
 the business, Mr. Twysden. We can't 
 touch it ; and I don't see how we can 
 move her. She denies the marriage 
 as much as Firmin does : says she 
 knew it was a mere sham when the 
 ceremony was performed." 
 
 " Sir, you did n't bribe her enough," 
 shrieked Mr. Twysden. " You have 
 bungled this business ; by George you 
 have, sir." 
 
 " Go and do it yourself, sir, if you are 
 not ashamed to appear in it," says the 
 lawyer. " You don't suppose I did 
 it because I liked it ; or want to take 
 that poor young fellow's inheritance 
 from him, as you do." 
 
 " I wish justice and the law, sir. 
 If I were wrongfully detaining his 
 property I would give it up. I would 
 be the first to give it up. I desire 
 justice and law, and employ you 
 because you are a law agent. Are 
 you not ? " 
 
 " And I have been on your errand, 
 and shall send in my bill in due time ; 
 and there will be an end of my con- 
 nection with you as your law agent, 
 Mr. Twysden," cried the old lawyer. 
 
 " You know, sir, how badly Firmin 
 acted to me in the last matter." 
 
 " Faith, sir, if you ask my opinion 
 as a law agent, I don't think there 
 was much to choose between you. How 
 much is the sherry-and-water ? keep 
 the change. Sorry I had no better 
 news to bring you, Mr. T., and as you 
 arc dissatisfied, again recommend you 
 to employ another law agent." 
 
 " My good sir, I " 
 
 " My good sir, I have had other 
 dealings with your family, and am no 
 more going to put up with your 
 highti-tightiness than I would with 
 Lord llingwood's when I was one of 
 his law agents. I am not going to 
 tell Mr. Philip Firmin that his uncle 
 and aunt propose to ease him of his 
 property ; but if anybody else does 
 that good little Mrs. Brandon or 
 that old goose Mr. What-d'ye-call-um, 
 
 her father, I don't suppose he will 
 be over well pleased. I am speaking 
 as a gentleman now, not as a law 
 agent. You and your nephew had 
 each a half-share of Mr. Philip Fir- 
 min's grandfather's property, and you 
 wanted it all, that 's the truth, and 
 set a law agent to get it for you ; and 
 swore at him because he could not get 
 it from its right owner. And so, sir, 
 I wish you a good-morning, and rec- 
 ommend you to take your papers to 
 some other agent, Mr. Twysden." 
 And with this, exit Mr. Bond. And 
 now, I ask you if that secret could be 
 kept which was known through a 
 trembling glass door to Mrs. Oves of 
 the ".Admiral Byng," and to Mr. 
 llidley the father of J. J., and the 
 obsequious husband of Mrs. Ridley? 
 On that very afternoon, at tea-time, 
 Mrs. llidley was made acquainted by 
 her husband (in his noble and circum- 
 locutory manner) with the conversa- 
 tion which he had overheard. It was 
 agreed that an embassy should be sent 
 to J. J. on the business, and his advice 
 taken regarding it ; and J.J.'s opinion 
 was that the conversation certainly 
 should be reported to Mr. Philip Fir- 
 min, who might afterwards act upon 
 it as he should think best. 
 
 What ? His own aunt, cousins, 
 and uncle agreed in a scheme to over- 
 throw his legitimacy, and deprive 
 him of his grandfather's inheritance ? 
 It seemed impossible. Big with the 
 tremendous news, Philip came to his 
 adviser, Mr. Pcndennis, of the Tem- 
 ple, and told him what had occurred 
 on the part of father, uncle, and Little 
 Sister. Her abnegation had been so 
 noble that you may be sure Philip 
 appreciated it ; and a tie of friendship 
 was foriTK-d between the young man 
 and the little lady even more close 
 and tender than that which had 
 bound them previously. But the 
 Twysdens, his kinsfolk, to employ a 
 lawyer in order to rr>b him of his 
 inheritance ! O, it was dastardly ! 
 Philip bawled, and stamped, and 
 thumped his sense of the wrong in 
 his usual energetic manner. As for
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 165 
 
 his cousin, Ringwood Twysden, Phil 
 had often entertained a strong desire 
 to wring his neck and pitch him 
 down stairs. " As for Uncle Talbot : 
 that he is an old pump, that he is a 
 pompous old hum hug, and the queer- 
 est old sycophant, I grant you ; but I 
 could n't have believed him guilty of 
 this. And as for the girls O Mrs. 
 Pendennis, you who are good, you 
 who are kind, although you hate 
 them, I know you do, you can't 
 say, you won't say, that they were in 
 the conspiracy 1 " 
 
 " But suppose Twysden was ask- 
 ing only for what he conceives to be 
 his rights'?" asked Mr. Pendennis. 
 " Had your father been married to 
 Mrs. Brandon, you would not have 
 been Dr. Firmin's legitimate son. 
 Had you not been his legitimate son, 
 you had no right to a half-share of 
 your grandfather's property. Uncle 
 Talbot acts only the part of honor 
 and justice in the transaction. He 
 is Brutus, and he orders you off to 
 death with a bleeding heart." 
 
 " And he orders his family out of 
 the way," roars Phil, " so that they 
 may n't be pained by seeing the exe- 
 cution ! I see it all now. I wish 
 somebody would send a knife through 
 me at once, and put an end to me. I 
 see it all now. Do you know that 
 for the last week I have been to Beau- 
 nash Street and found nobody 1 Ag- 
 nes had the bronchitis, and her moth- 
 er was attending to her ; Blanche 
 came for a minute or two, and was as 
 cool as cool as I have seen Lady 
 Iceberg be cool to her. Then they 
 must go away for change of air. 
 They have been gone these three 
 days : whilst Uncle Talbot and that 
 viper of a Ringwood have been clos- 
 eted with their nice new friend, Mr. 
 
 Hunt. O conf ! I beg your 
 
 pardon, ma'am ; but I know you al- 
 ways allow for the energy of my lan- 
 guage." 
 
 " I should like to see that Little 
 Sister, Mr. Firmin. She has not 
 been selfish, or had any scheme but 
 for your good," remarks my wife. 
 
 " A little angel who drops her h's, 
 
 a little heart, so good and tender 
 that I melt as I think of it," says 
 Philip, drawing his big hand over liis 
 eyes. " What have men done to get 
 the love of some women 1 We don't 
 earn it ; we don't deserve it, perhaps. 
 We don't return it. They bestow it 
 on us. I have given nothing back 
 for all this love and kindness, but I 
 look a little like my father of old 
 days, for whom for whom she had 
 an attachment. And see now how 
 she would die to serve me ! You are 
 wonderful, women are ! your iidelitics 
 and your ficklenesses alike marvel- 
 lous. What can any woman have 
 found to adore in the Doctor ? Do 
 you think my father could ever have 
 been adorable, Mrs. Pendennis ? And 
 yet I have heard my poor mother say 
 she was obliged to marry him. She 
 knew it was a bad match, but she 
 could n't resist it. In what was my 
 father so irresistible ? He is not to 
 my taste. Between ourselves, I think 
 he is a well, never mind what." 
 
 " I think we had best not mind 
 what ! " says my wife with a smile. 
 
 " Quite right quite right ; only I 
 blurt out everything that is on my 
 mind. Can't keep it in," cries Phil, 
 gnawing his mustachios. " If my 
 fortune depended on my silence I 
 should be a beggar, that's the fact. 
 And, you see, if you had such a fa- 
 ther as mine, you yourself would I'.nd 
 it rather difficult to hold your tongue 
 about him. But now, tell me : this 
 ordering away of the girls and Aunt 
 Twysden, whilst the little attack 
 upon my property is being carried on, 
 
 is n't it queer ''. " 
 
 " The question is at an end," said 
 Mr. Pendennis. " You are restored 
 to your atiivis reffibus and ancestral 
 honors. Now that Uncle Twysden 
 can't get the property without you, 
 have courage, my boy, he may take 
 it, along with the encumbrance." 
 
 Poor Phil had not known, but 
 some of us, who are pretty clear-sight- 
 ed when our noble selves are not con- 
 cerned, had perceived that Philip's
 
 166 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 dear aunt was playing fast and loose 
 with the lad, and when his back was 
 turned was encouraging a richer suit- 
 or for her daughter. 
 
 Hand on heart I can say of my 
 wife, that she meddles with her neigh- 
 bors as little as any person I ever 
 knew ; but when treacheries in love 
 atfairs are in question, she fires up at 
 once, and would persecute to death 
 almost the heartless male or female 
 criminal who would break love's sa- 
 cred laws. The idea of a man or wo- 
 man trifling with that holy compact 
 awakens in her a flame of indignation. 
 In curtain confidences (of which let 
 me not vulgarize the arcana) she had 
 given me her mind about some of 
 Miss Twysden's behavior with that 
 odious blackamoor, as she chose to 
 call Captain Woolcomb, who, I own 
 had a very slight tinge of complexion ; 
 and when, quoting the words of Ham- 
 let regarding his father and mother, 
 I asked, " Could she on this fair moun- 
 tain leave to feed, and batten on this 
 Moor ? " Mrs. Pendennis cried out 
 that this matter was all too serious for 
 jest, and wondered how her husband 
 could make word plays about it. 
 Perhaps she has not the exquisite 
 sense of humor possessed by some 
 folks ; or is it that she has more rev- 
 erence ? In her creed, if not in her 
 church, marriage is a sacrament, and 
 the fond believer never speaks of it 
 without awe. 
 
 Now, as she expects both parties to 
 the marriage engagement to keep that 
 compact holy, she no more under- 
 stands trifling with it than she could 
 comprehend laughing and joking in 
 a church. She has no patience with 
 flirtations as they are called. " Don't 
 tell me, sir," says the enthusiast, " a 
 light word between a man and a 
 married woman ought not to be per- 
 mitted." And this is why she is 
 harder on the woman than the man, 
 in cases where such dismal matters 
 happen to fall under discussion. A 
 look, a word from a woman, she says, 
 will check a libertine thought or word 
 in a man ; and these cases might be 
 
 stopped at once if the woman but 
 showed the slightest resolution. She 
 is thus more angry (I am only men- 
 tioning the peculiarities, not defending 
 the ethics of this individual moralist), 
 she is, I say, more angrily disposed 
 towards the woman than the man in 
 such delicate cases : and, I am afraid, 
 considers that women are for the most 
 part only victims because they choose 
 to be so. 
 
 Now, we had happened during the 
 season to be at several entertainments, 
 routs, and so forth, where poor Phil, 
 I owing to his unhappy Bohemian pref- 
 erences and love of tobacco, &c., was 
 not present, and where we saw 
 i Miss Agnes Twysden carrying on such 
 a game with the tawny Woolcomb as 
 set Mrs. Laura in a tremor of indig- 
 nation. What though Agnes's blue- 
 eyed mamma sat near her blue-eyed 
 daughter and kept her keen clear orbs 
 perfectly wide open and cognizant of 
 all that happened ? So much the 
 worse for her, the worse for both. It 
 was a shame and a sin that a Chris- 
 tian English mother should suffer her 
 | daughter to deal lightly with the most 
 holy, the most awful of human con- 
 tracts ; should be preparing her child 
 who knows for what after misery of 
 mind and soul. Three months ago, 
 you saw how she encouraged poor 
 Philip, and now see her with this mu- 
 latto ! 
 
 " Is he not a man, and a brother, 
 my dear ? " perhaps at this Mr. Pen- 
 dennis interposes. 
 
 "O, for shame, Pen, no levity on 
 this no sneers and laughter on this 
 most sacred subject of all." And 
 here, I dare say, the woman falls to 
 j caressing her own children and hug- 
 ! ging them to her heart as her manner 
 I was when moved. Que voulcz-rou* ( 
 There are some women in the world 
 to whom love and truth are all in all 
 here below. Other ladies there are 
 who see the benefit of a good jointure, 
 a town and country house, and so 
 forth, and who are not so very partic- 
 ular as to the character, intellect, or 
 complexion of gentlemen who are in a
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 167 
 
 position to offer their dear girls these 
 benefits. In fine, I say, that regard- 
 ing this blue-eyed mother and daugh- 
 ter, Mrs. Laura Pendennis was in 
 such a state of mind that she was 
 ready to tear their blue eyes out. 
 
 Nay, it was with no little difficulty 
 that Mrs. Laura could he induced to 
 hold her tongue upon the matter and 
 not give Philip her opinion. " What?" 
 she would ask, " the poor young man 
 is to be deceived and cajoled ; to be 
 taken or left as it suits these people ; 
 to be made miserable tor life certainly 
 if she marries him ; and his friends 
 are not to dare to warn him ? The 
 cowards! The cowardice of you men, 
 Pen, upon matters of opinion, of you 
 masters and lords of creation, is really 
 despicable, sir ! You dare not have 
 opinions, or holding them you dare 
 not declare them and act by them. 
 You compromise with crime every 
 day because you think it would be of- 
 ficious to declare yourself and inter- 
 fere. You are not afraid of outraging 
 morals, but of inflicting ennui upon so- 
 ciety, and losing your popularity. You 
 are as cynical as as, what was the 
 name of the horrid old man who lived 
 in the tub Demosthenes ? well, 
 Diogenes then, and the name does not 
 matter a pin, sir. You are as cynical, 
 only you wear fine ruffled shirts and 
 wristbands, and you carry your lan- 
 tern dark. It is not right to ' put 
 your oar in,' as you say in your jar- 
 gon (and even your slang is a sort of 
 cowardice, sir, for you are afraid to 
 speak the feelings of your heart :) it 
 is not right to meddle and speak the 
 truth, not right to rescue a poor soul 
 who is drowning of course not. What 
 call have you fine gentlemen of the 
 world to put your oar in ? Let him per- 
 ish ! What " did he in that galley 1 
 That is the language of the world, 
 baby, darling. And, my poor, poor 
 child, when you are sinking, nobody is 
 to stretch out a hand to save you ! " 
 As for that wife of mine, when she sets 
 forth the maternal plea, and appeals to 
 the exuberant school of philosophers, 
 I know there is no reasoning with her. 
 
 I retire to my books, and leave her to 
 kiss out the rest of the argument over 
 thu children. 
 
 Phili 
 the ohli 
 
 did not know the extent of 
 ation which he owed to his 
 
 little i'r end and guardian, Caroline; 
 as aware that he had no bet- 
 
 d than herself in the world ; 
 
 but he 
 ter frici 
 
 and, 1 hire say, returned to her, as 
 the wont is in such bargains between 
 man and woman woman and man, 
 at least a sixpence for that pure 
 gold treasure, her sovereign affection. 
 I suppose Caroline thought her sac- 
 rifice gave her a little authority to 
 counsel Philip ; for she it was who, 
 I believe, first bid him to inquire 
 whether that engagement which he 
 had virtually contracted with his 
 cousin was likely to lead to good, and 
 was to be binding upon him but not 
 on her 1 She brought Ridley to add 
 his doubts to her remonstrances. She 
 showed Philip that not only his un- 
 cle's conduct, but his cousin's, was 
 interested, and set him to inquire 
 into it further. 
 
 That peculiar form of bronchitis 
 under which poor dear Agnes was 
 suffering was relieved by absence from 
 London. The smoke, the crowded 
 parties and assemblies, the late hoi*s, 
 and, perhaps, the gloom of the house 
 in Beaunash Street, distressed the 
 poor dear child ; and her cough was 
 very much soothed by that fine, cut- 
 ting east wind, which blows so lib- 
 erally along the Brighton cliffs, and 
 which is so good for coughs, as we all 
 know. But there was one fault in 
 Brighton which could not be helped 
 in her bad case : it is too near Lon- 
 don. The air, that chartered liber- 
 tine, can blow down from London 
 quite easily ; or people can come from 
 London to" Brighton, bringing, I dare 
 say, the insidious London fog along 
 with them. At any rate, Agnes, if 
 she wished for quiet, poor thing, 
 might have gone farther and fared 
 better. Why, if you owe a tailor a 
 bill, he can run down and present it 
 in a few hours. Vulgar, inconven- 
 ient acquaintances thrust themselves
 
 1G8 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 upon ^ou at every moment and cor- 
 ner. Was ever such a tohubohu of 
 people as there assembles ? You 
 can't be tranquil, if you will. Or- 
 gans pipe and scream without cease 
 at your windows. Your name is put 
 down in the papers when you arrive ; 
 and everybody meets everybody ever 
 so many times a day. 
 
 On finding that his uncle had set 
 lawyers to work, with the charita- 
 ble purpose of ascertaining whether 
 Philip's property was. legitimately his 
 own, Philip was a good deal disturbed 
 in mind. He could not appreciate 
 that high sense of moral obligation 
 by which Mr. Twysden was actuated. 
 At least, he thought that these in- 
 quiries should not have been secretly 
 set afoot; and as he himself was 
 perfectly open a great deal too 
 open, perhaps in his words and 
 his actions, he was hard with those 
 who attempted to hoodwink or de- 
 ceive him. 
 
 It could not be; ah! no, it never 
 could be, that Agnes the pure and 
 gentle was privy to this conspiracy. 
 But then, how very very often of 
 late she had been from home ; how 
 very, very cold, Aunt Twysden's 
 shoulder had somehow become. Once, 
 when he reached the door, a fish- 
 monger's boy was leaving a fine 
 salmon at the kitchen, a salmon 
 and a tub of ice. Once, twice, at five 
 o'clock, when he called, a smell of 
 cooking pervaded the hall, that 
 hall which culinary odors very seldom 
 visited. Some of those noble Twys- 
 den dinners were on the tapis, and 
 Philip was not asked. Not to be 
 asked was no great deprivation ; but 
 who were the guests ? To be sure, 
 these were trifles light as air; but 
 Philip smelt mischief in the steam of 
 those Twysden dinners. He chewed 
 that salmon with a bitter sauce as he 
 saw it sink down the area steps (and 
 disappear with its attendant lobster) 
 in the dark kitchen regions. 
 
 Yes ; eyes were somehow averted 
 that used to look into his very frank- 
 ly ; a glove somehow had grown over 
 
 a little hand which once used to life 
 very comfortably in his broad palm. 
 Was _ any body else going to seize it, 
 and was it going to paddle in that 
 blackamoor's unblest fingers ? Ah ! 
 fiends and tortures ! a gentleman may 
 cease to love, but does he like a wo- 
 man to cease to love him ? People 
 carry on ever so long for fear of that 
 declaration that all is over. No con- 
 fession is more dismal to make. The 
 sun of love has set. We sit in the 
 dark. I mean you, dear madam, and 
 Corydon, or I and Amaryllis ; un- 
 comfortably, with nothing more 10 
 say to one another ; with the night 
 dew falling, and a risk of catching 
 cold, drearily contemplating the fad- 
 ing west, with " the cold remains of 
 lustre gone, of fire long past away." 
 Sink, rire of love ! Rise, gentle moon, 
 and mists of chilly evening. And, 
 my good Madam Amaryllis, let us go 
 home to some tea and a fire. 
 
 So Philip determined to go and 
 seek his cousin. Arrived at his hotel, 
 (and if it were the * * I can't con- 
 ceive Philip in much better quarters), 
 he had the opportunity of inspecting 
 those delightful newspaper arrivals, a 
 perusal of which has so often edified 
 us at Brighton. Mr. and Mrs. Pen- 
 fold, he was informed, continued theii 
 residence, No. 96 Horizontal Place ; 
 and it was with those guardians he 
 knew his Agnes was staying. He 
 speeds to Horizontal Place. Miss 
 Twysden is out. He heaves a sigh, 
 and leaves a card. Has it ever hap- 
 pened to you to leave a card at t/tat 
 house that house which was once 
 THK house almost your own ; where 
 you were ever welcome ; where the 
 kindest hand was ready to grasp 
 yours, the brightest eye to greet you ? 
 And now your friendship has dwin- 
 dled away to a little bit of pasteboard, 
 shed once a year, and poor, dear Mrs. 
 Jones (it is with J. you have quar- 
 relled) still calls on the ladies of your 
 family and slips her husband's ticket 
 upon the hall table. O, life and time, 
 that it should have come to this ! O 
 gracious powers ! Do you recall the
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 169 
 
 time when Arabella Briggs was Ara- 
 bella Thompson ? You call and talk 
 faduises to her (at first she is rather 
 nervous, and has the children in) ; 
 you talk rain and fine weather ; the 
 last novel ; the next party ; Thomp- 
 son in the City 1 Yes, Mr. Thomp- 
 son is in the City. He 's pretty well, 
 thank you. Ah ! Daggers, ropes, 
 and poisons, has it come to this ? You 
 are talking about the weather, and 
 another man's health, and another 
 man's children, of which she is moth- 
 er, to her? Time was the weather 
 was all a burning sunshine, in which 
 you and she basked ; or if clouds 
 gathered, and a storm fell, such a 
 glorious rainbow haloed round you, 
 such delicious tears fell and refreshed 
 you, that the storm was more ravish- 
 ing than the calm. And now another 
 man's children are sitting on her knee 
 their mother's knee ; and once a 
 year Mr. and Mrs. John Thompson 
 request the honor of Mr. Brown's 
 company at dinner ; and once a jear 
 you read in The Times, " In Nursery 
 Street, the wife of J. Thompson, Esq., 
 of a Son." To come to the once-he- 
 loved one's door, and find the knocker 
 tied up with a white kid glove, is hu- 
 miliating, say what you will, it is 
 humiliating. 
 
 Philip leaves his card, and walks 
 on to the Cliff, and of course, in three 
 minutes, meets Clinker. Indeed, who 
 ever went to Brighton for half an hour 
 without meeting Clinker? 
 
 "Father pretty well ? His old pa- 
 tient, Lady Geminy, is down here 
 with the children ; what a number of 
 them there are, to be sure ! Come to 
 make any stay ? See your cousin, 
 Miss Twysden, is here with the Pen- 
 folds. Little party at the Grigsons' 
 last night; she looked uncommonly 
 well ; danced ever so many times with 
 the Black Prince, Woolcomb of the 
 Greens Suppose I may congratulate 
 you. Six thousand five hundred a 
 year now, and thirteen thousand when 
 his grandmother dies ; but those ne- 
 gresses live forever. I suppose the 
 thing is settled. I saw them on the 
 
 pier just now, and Mrs. Pen fold was 
 : reading a book in the arbor. Book 
 of sermons it was, pious woman, 
 Mrs. Penfold. I dare say they arc 
 ! on the pier still." Striding with hur- 
 I ried steps Philip Firmin makes for 
 the pier. The breathless Clinker can- 
 not keep alongside of his face. I 
 should like to have seen it when 
 I Clinker said that " the thing " was 
 I settled between Miss Twysden and 
 the cavalry gentleman. 
 
 There were a few nursery govern- 
 esses, maids, and children, paddling 
 j about at the end of the pier ; and 
 j there was a fat woman reading a book 
 in one of the arbors, but no Agnes, 
 no Woolcomb. Where can they be ? 
 Can they be weighing each other ? 
 or buying those mad pebbles, which 
 people are known to purchase ? or 
 having their silhouettes done in black ? 
 Ha ! ha ! Woolcomb would hardly 
 have his face done in black. Tbc idea 
 would provoke odious comparisons. I 
 sec Philip is in a dreadfully bad sar- 
 castic humor. 
 
 Up there comes from one of those 
 trap-doors which lead down from the 
 pier-head to the green sea-waves ever 
 resth ssly jumping below, up there 
 comes a little Skye-terrier dog with a 
 red collar, who, as soon as she sees 
 Philip, sings, squeaks, whines, runs, 
 jumps, flumps up on him, if I may 
 use the expression, kisses his hands, 
 and with eyes, tongue, paws, and 
 tail shows him a thousand marks 
 of welcome and affection. "What, 
 Brownie, Brownie ! " Philip is glad 
 to see the dog, an old friend who has 
 many a time licked his hand and 
 bounced upon his knee. 
 
 The greeting over, Brownie, wag- 
 ging her tail with prodigious activity, 
 trots before Philip, trots down an 
 opening, down the steps under which 
 the waves shimmer greenly, and into 
 quite a quiet remote corner just over 
 the water, whence you may command 
 a most beautiful view of the se;i, the 
 shore, the Marine Parade, and the 
 " Albion - Hotel," and where, were I 
 five-and-twenty say, with nothing else
 
 170 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 to do, I would gladly pass a quarter 
 of an hour talking about " Glaucus, 
 or the Wonders of the Deep " with 
 the object of my affections. 
 
 Here, amongst the labryinth of 
 piles Brownie goes flouncing along 
 till she comes to a young couple who 
 are looking at the view just described. 
 In order to view it better, the young 
 man has laid his hand, a -pretty little 
 hand most delicately gloved, on the 
 lady's hand ; and Brownie comes up 
 and nuzzles against her, and whines 
 and talks as much as to say, " Here 's 
 somebody," and the lady says, 
 " Down Brownie, miss." 
 
 " It 's no good, Agnes, that dog," 
 savs the gentlemin (he has very curly, 
 not to say woolly hair, under his 
 natty little hat). " I '11 give you a 
 pug with a nose you can hang your 
 hat on. I do know of one now. My 
 man Rummins knows of one. Do 
 you like pugs ? " 
 
 " I adore them," says the lady. 
 
 " I '11 give you one, if I have to 
 pay fifty pounds for it. And they 
 fetch a good figure, the real pugs do, 
 I can tell you. Once in London ] 
 there was an exhibition of 'em, 
 and " 
 
 " Brownie, Brownie, down ! " cries 
 Agnes. The dog was jumping at a 
 gentleman, a tall gentleman with a 
 red mustache and beard, who ad- 
 vances through the checkered shivle, 
 under the ponderous beams, over the 
 translucent sea. 
 
 " Pray don't mind, Brownie won't 
 hurt me," says a perfectly well-known 
 voice, the sound of which sends all 
 the color shuddering out of Miss 
 Agnes's pink cheeks. 
 
 " You see I gave my cousin this 
 dog, Captain Woolcomb," says the 
 gentleman ; " and the little slut re- 
 members me Perhaps Miss Twysden 
 prefers the pug better." 
 
 " Sir ! " 
 
 " If it has a nose you can hang 
 your hat on, it must be a very pret- 
 ty dog, and I suppose you intend 
 to hang your hat on it a good 
 deal." 
 
 " O Philip ! " says the lady ; but 
 an attack of that dreadful coughing 
 stops further utterance. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 CONTAINS TWO OF PHILIP 'g MIS- 
 HAPS. 
 
 You know that, in some parts of 
 India, infanticide is the common 
 custom. It is part of the religion of 
 the land, as, in other districts, widow- 
 burning used to be. I can't imagine 
 that ladies like to destroy either them- 
 selves or their children, though they 
 submit with bravery, and even cheer- 
 fulness, to the decrees of that religion 
 which orders them to make away 
 with their own or their young ones' 
 lives. Now, suppose you and I, as 
 Europeans, happened to drive up 
 where a young creature was just about 
 to roast herself, under the advice of 
 her family and the highest dignitaries 
 of her church ; what could we do ? 
 Rescue her ? No such thing. We 
 know better than to interfere with 
 her, and the laws and usages of her 
 country. We turn away with a sigh 
 from the mournful scene ; we pull out 
 our pocket-handkerchiefs, tell coach- 
 man to drive on, and leave her to her 
 sad fate. 
 
 Now about poor Agnes Twysden : 
 how, in the name of goodness, can 
 we help her ? You see she is a well- 
 brought-up and religious young wo- 
 man of the Brahminical sect. If she 
 i-i to be sacrificed, that old Brahmin 
 her father, that good and devout 
 mother, that most special Brahmin 
 her brother, and that admirable girl 
 her strait-laced sister, all insist upon 
 her undergoing the ceremony, and 
 deck her with flowers ere they lead 
 her to that dismal altar flame. Sup- 
 pose, I say, she has made up her 
 mind to throw over poor Philip, and 
 take on with some one else ? What 
 sentiment ought oar virtuous bosoms 
 to entertain towards her ? Anger ?
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 171 
 
 I have just been holding a conversa- 
 tion with a young fellow in rags and 
 without shoes, whose bed is common- 
 ly a dry arch, who has been repeated- 
 ly in prison, whose father and mother 
 were thieves, and whose grandfathers 
 were thieves ; are we to be angry 
 with him for following the paternal 
 profession ? With one eye brimming 
 with pity, the other steadily keeping 
 watch over the family spoons, I listen 
 to his artless tale. 1 have no anger 
 against that child ; nor towards thec, 
 Agnes, daughter of Talbot the Brah- 
 min. 
 
 For though duty is duty, when it 
 comes to the pinch, it is often hard to 
 do. Though dear papa and mamma 
 say that here is a gentleman with 
 ever so many thousands a year, an 
 undoubted part in So-and-So-shire, 
 and whole islands in the western 
 main, who is wildly in love with your 
 fair skin and blue eyes, and is ready 
 to fling all his treasures at your feet ; 
 yet after all, when you consider that 
 he is very ignorant, though very cun- 
 ning ; very stingy, though very rich ; 
 very ill-tempered, probably, if faces 
 and eyes and mouths can tell truth : 
 and as for Philip Firmin though 
 actually his legitimacy is dubious, as 
 we have lately heard, in which case 
 his maternal fortune is ours, and as 
 for his paternal inheritance, we don't 
 know whether the doctor is worth 
 thirty thousand pounds or a shilling ; 
 yet, after all as for Philip he 
 is a man ; he is a gentleman ; he has 
 hrains in his head, and a great honest 
 heart of which he has offered to give 
 the best feelings to his cousin : I 
 say, when a poor girl has to be off 
 with that old love, that honest and 
 fair love, and be on with the new one, 
 the dark one, I feel for her; and 
 though the Brahmins are, as we 
 know, the most genteel sect in Hin- 
 dostan, I rather wish the poor child 
 could have belonged to some lower 
 and less rigid sect. Poor Agnes ! to 
 think that he has sat for hours, with 
 mamma and Blanche or the govern- 
 ess, of course, in the room (for, you 
 
 know, when she and Philip wert 
 quite wee wee things dear mamma 
 had little amiable plans in view) ; has 
 sat for hours by Miss Twysden's side 
 pouring out his heart to her ; has had, 
 mayhap, little precious moments of 
 confidential talk, little hasty whis- 
 pers in corridors, on stairs, behind 
 window-curtains, and and so forth 
 in fact. She must remember all this 
 past ; and can't, without some pang, 
 listen on the same sofa, behind the 
 same window-curtains, to her dark 
 suitor pouring out his artless talcs of 
 barracks, boxing, horseflesh, and the 
 tender passion. He is dull, he is 
 mean, he is ill-tempered, he is igno- 
 rant, and the other was . . . . ; but 
 she will do her duty : yes ! she 
 will do her duty ! Poor Agnes ! 
 C'fst a fendre le caw. I declare I 
 quite feel for her. 
 
 When Philip's temper was roused, 
 I have been compelled, as his biogra- 
 pher, to own how very rude and disa- 
 greeable he could be; and you must 
 acknowledge that a young man has 
 some reason to be displeased, when he 
 finds the girl of his heart haml-in-hand 
 with another young gentleman in an 
 occult and shady recess of the wood- 
 work of Brighton Pier. The green 
 waves are softly murmuring : so is 
 the officer of the Life Guards Green. 
 The waves are kissing the beach. 
 Ah, agonizing thought ! I will not 
 pursue the simile, which may be but a 
 jealous man's mad fantasy. Of tins 
 I am sure, no pebble on that beach is 
 cooler than polished Agnes. But, 
 then, Philip drunk with jealousy is 
 not a reasonble being like Philip so- 
 ber. "He had a dreadful temper," 
 Philip's dear aunt said of him after- 
 wards, "I trembled for my dear 
 gentle child, united forever to a man 
 of that violence. Never, in my secret 
 mind, could I think that their union 
 could be a happy one. Besides, you 
 | know, the nearness of their relation- 
 ship. My scruples on that score, dear 
 Mrs. Candor, never, never could be 
 quite got over." And these scruples 
 came to weigh whole tons, whea
 
 172 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Mangrove Hall, the house in Berke- 
 ley Square, and Mr. Woolcomb's 
 West India island were put into the 
 scale alo;ig with them. 
 
 Of course there was no good in re- 
 maining amongst t lose damp, reeking 
 timbers, now that the pretty little tete- 
 a-tte was over. Little Brownie hung 
 fondling and whining round Philip's 
 ankles, as the party ascended to the 
 upper air. " My child, how pale you 
 look ! " cries Mrs. Penfbld, putting 
 down her volume. Out of the Cap- 
 tain's opal eyeballs shot lurid flames, ' 
 and hot blood burned behind his yel- 
 low cheeks. In a quarrel, Mr. Philip 
 Firrain could be particularly cool and 
 self-possessed. When Miss Agnes j 
 rather piteously introduced him to i 
 Mrs. Penfold, he made a bow as po- i 
 lite and gracious as any performed by | 
 his royal father. " My little dog i 
 knew me," he said, caressing the ani- ! 
 mal. " She is a faithful little thing, j 
 and she led me down to my cousin ; j 
 and Captain Woolcomb, I think, 
 is your name, sir ?" 
 
 As Philip curls his mustache and 
 smiles blandly, Captain Woolcomb 
 pulls his and scowls fiercely. " Yes, 
 sir," he mutters, " my name is 
 Woolcomb." Another bow and a 
 touch of the hat from Mr. Firmin. 
 A touch ? a gracious wave of the 
 hat ; acknowledged by no means so 
 gracefully by Captain Woolcomb. 
 
 To these remarks Mrs. Penfold 
 says, "Oh!" In fact, 'Oh! "is about 
 the best thing th:it could be said un- 
 der the circumstances. 
 
 " My cousin, Mis-; Twysdtm, looks 
 so pale because she was out vcrv late 
 dancing last night. I hear it was a very 
 pretty ball. But ought she to keep 
 sucli late hours, Mrs. Penfold, with 
 her delicate health ? Indeed, you ought 
 not, Agnes ! Ought she to keep late 
 hours, Brownie 1 There don't, 
 you little foolish thing ! I gave my 
 cousin the dog : and she 's very fond 
 of me the dog is still. You 
 were saying, Captain Woolcomb, 
 when I came up, that you would give 
 Miss Twysden a dog on whoso nose 
 
 you could hang your .... I beg 
 pardon ? " 
 
 Mr. Woolcomb, as Philip made 
 this second allusion to the peculiar 
 nasal formation of the pug, ground 
 his little white teeth together, and let 
 slip a most improper monosyllable. 
 More acute bronchial suffering was 
 manifested on the part of Miss Twys- 
 den. Mrs. Penfold said, " The day is 
 clouding over. I think, Agnes, I 
 will have my chair, and go home." 
 
 " May I be allowed to walk with 
 you as far as your house ? " says 
 Philip, twiddling a little locket which 
 he wore at his watch-chain. It was a 
 little gold locket, with a little pale 
 hair inside. Whose hair could it have 
 been that was so pale and fine ? As 
 for the pretty, hieroglyphical A. T. 
 at the back, those letters might indi- 
 cate Alfred Tennyson, or Anthony 
 Trollope, who might have given a 
 lock of their golden hair to Philip, for 
 I know he is an admirer of their 
 works. 
 
 Agnes looked guiltily at the little 
 locket. Captain Woolcomb pulled 
 his mustache so, that you would have 
 thought he would have pulled it otf ; 
 and his opal eyes glared with fearful 
 confusion and wrath. 
 
 " Will you please to fal? back and 
 let me speak to you, Agnes ? Pardon 
 me, Captain Woolcomb, I have a pri- 
 vate nvssage for my cousin ; and I 
 came from London expressly to deliv- 
 er it." 
 
 " If Miss Twysden desires me to 
 withdraw, I fall back in one mo- 
 ment," says the Captain, clenching 
 the lemon-colored gloves. 
 
 '' Mv cousin and I have lived to- 
 gether all our lives, and I bring her a 
 family message. Have you any par- 
 ticular claim to hear it, Captain 
 Woolcomb ? " 
 
 " Not if Miss Twysden don't want 
 
 me to hear it D the little 
 
 brute." 
 
 " Don't kick poor little harmless 
 Brownie ! He sha' n't kick you, shall 
 he, Brownie ? " 
 
 " If the brute comes between my
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 173 
 
 shins, I '11 kick her ! " shrieks the 
 Captain. " Hang her, I'll throw her 
 into the sea ! " 
 
 " Whatever you do to my dog, 
 I swear I will do to you ! " whispers 
 Philip to the Captain. 
 
 " Where are you staying ? "shrieks 
 the Captain. " Hang you, you shall 
 hear from me." 
 
 " Quiet ' Bedford Hotel.' Easy, 
 or I shall think you want the ladies 
 to overhear." 
 
 " Your conduct is horrible, sir," 
 says Agnes, rapidly, in the French 
 language. " Mr. does not compre- 
 hend it." 
 
 " it ! If you have any secrets 
 
 to talk, I '11 withdraw fast enough, 
 Miss Agnes," says Othello. 
 
 " O Grenville ! can I have any 
 secrets from you 1 Mr. Firmin is my 
 first-cousin. We have lived together 
 all our lives. Philip, I I don't 
 know whether mamma announced to 
 you my my engagement with 
 Captain Grenville Woolcomb." The 
 agitation has brought on another se- 
 vere bronchial attack. Poor, poor 
 little Agnes ! What it is to have a 
 delicate throat ! 
 
 The pier tosses up to the skies, as 
 though it had left its moorings, the 
 houses on the cliff dance and reel, as 
 though an earthquake was driving 
 them, the sea walks up into the 
 lodging-houses, and Philip's legs 
 arc failing from under him : it is 
 only for a moment. When you have 
 a large, tough double tooth out, 
 does n't the chair go up to the ceiling, 
 and your head come off too ? But in 
 the next instant, there is a grave gen- 
 tleman before you, making you a how, 
 and concealing something in his right 
 sleeve. The crash is over. You are 
 a man again. Philip clutches hold 
 of the chain-pier for a minute : it does 
 not sink under him. The houses, 
 after reeling for a second or two, re- 
 assume the perpendicular, and bulge 
 their bow-windows towards the main. 
 He can see the people looking from 
 the windows, the carriages passing, ' 
 Professor Spurrier riding on the cliff 
 
 i with eighteen young ladies, his pupils. 
 In long after-days he remembers those 
 I absurd little incidents with a curious 
 I tenacity. 
 
 " This news," Philip says, " was 
 not not altogether unexpected. I 
 congratulate my cousin, I am sure. 
 Captain Woolcomb, had I known 
 this for certain, I am sure I should 
 not have interrupted yon. You were 
 going, perhaps, to ask me to your hos- 
 pitable house, Mrs. Pcnf'old i" 
 
 " Was she though 1 " cries the 
 Captain. 
 
 " I have asked a friend to dine with 
 me at the ' Bedford,' and shall go to 
 town, I hope, in the morning. Can 
 I take anything for you, Agnes ? 
 Good by " : and he kisses his hand in 
 quite a dec/age manner, as Mrs. Pen- 
 fold's chair turns eastward and he 
 goes to the west. Silently the tall 
 Agnes sweeps along, a fair hand laid 
 upon her friend's chair. 
 
 It 's over ! it 's over ! She has done 
 it. He was bound, and kept his hon- 
 or, but she did not: it was she who 
 forsook him. And I fear very much 
 Mr. Philip's heart leaps with pleasure 
 and an immense sensation of relief at 
 thinking he is free. He meets half a 
 dozen acquaintances on the cliff. He 
 laughs, jokes, shakes hands, invites 
 two or three to dinner in the gayest 
 manner. He sits down on that green, 
 not very far from his inn, and is 
 laughing to himself, when he suddenly 
 feels something nestling at his knee, 
 rubbing, and nestling, and whining 
 plaintively. " What, is that you ? " 
 It is little Brownie, who has followed 
 him. Poor little rogue ! 
 
 Then Philip bent down his head 
 over the dog, and as it jumped on 
 him, with little bleats, and whines, 
 and innocent caresses, he broke out 
 into a sob, and a great refreshing rain 
 of tears fell from his eyes. Such a 
 little illness.' Such a mild fever! 
 Such a speedy cure ! Some people 
 have the complaint so mildly that 
 they are scarcely ever kept to their 
 beds. Some bear its scars forever. 
 
 Philip sat resolutely at the hotel
 
 174 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 all night, having given special orders 
 to the porter to say that he was at 
 home, in case any gentleman should 
 call. He had a faint hope, he after- 
 wards owned, that some friend of 
 Captain Woolcomb might wait on 
 him on that officer's part. He had a 
 faint hope that a letter might come 
 explaining that treason, as people 
 will have a sick, gnawing, yearning, 
 foolish desire for letters, letters 
 which contain nothing, which never 
 did contain anything, letters which, 
 nevertheless, you . You know, 
 in fact, about those letters, and there 
 is no earthly use in asking to read j 
 Philip's. Have we not all read those 
 love-letters which, after love-quarrels, j 
 come into court sometimes ? We ! 
 have all read them ; and how many j 
 have written them ? Nine o'clock. : 
 Ten o'clock. Eleven o'clock. No 
 challenge from the Captain ; no ex- | 
 planation from Agnes. Philip de- j 
 clares he slept perfectly well. But j 
 poor little Brownie the dog made a 
 piteous howling all night in the ' 
 stables. She was not a well-bred < 
 dog. You could not have hung the 
 least hat on her nose. 
 
 We compared anon our dear Agnes 
 to a Brahmin lady, meekly offering 
 herself up to sacrifice according to 
 the practice used in her highly re- 
 spectable caste. Did we speak in anger 
 or in sorrow ? surely in terms of re- 
 spectful grief and sympathy. And if 
 we pity her, ought we not likewise to 
 pity her highly respectable parents ? 
 When the notorious Brutus ordered 
 his sons to execution, you can't sup- 
 pose he was such a brute as to be 
 pleaded "? All three parties suffered 
 by the transaction ; the sons, proba- 
 bly, even more than their austere 
 father ; but it stands to reason that 
 the whole trio were very melancholy. 
 At lea<t, were I a poet or musical 
 composer depicting that business, I 
 certainly should make them so. The 
 sons, piping in a very minor key 
 indeed ; the father's manly basso, ac- 
 companied by deep wind instruments, 
 and interrupted by appropriate sobs. 
 
 Though pretty fair Agnes is being 
 led to execution, I don't suppose she 
 likes it, or that her parents are hap- 
 py, who are compelled to order the 
 tragedy. 
 
 That the rich young proprietor of 
 Mangrove Hall should be fond of her 
 was merely a coincidence, Mrs. Twys- 
 den afterwards always averred. Not 
 for mere wealth ah no ! not for 
 mines of gold would they sacrifice 
 their darling child. But when that sad 
 Firmin affair happened, you see it also 
 happened that Captain Woolcomb 
 was much struck by dear Agnes, 
 whom he met everywhere. Her 
 scapegrace of a cousin would go no- 
 where. He preferred his bachelor asso- 
 ciates, and horrible smoking and 
 drinking habits, to the amusements 
 and pleasures of more refined society. 
 He neglected Agnes. There is not 
 the slightest doubt he neglected and 
 mortified her, and his wilful and fre- 
 quent absence showed how little he 
 cared for her. Would you blame the 
 dear girl for coldness to a man who 
 himself showed such indifference to 
 her ? " No, my good Mrs. Candor. 
 Had Mr. Firmin been ten times as rich 
 as Mr. Woolcomb, I should have 
 counselled my child to refuse him. I 
 take the responsibility of the meas- 
 ure entirely on myself, I, and her 
 father, and her brother." So Mrs. 
 Twysden afterwards spoke, in circles 
 where an absurd and odious rumor 
 ran, that the Twysdens had forced 
 their daughter to jilt young Mr. Fir- 
 min in order to marry a wealthy 
 quadroon. People will talk, you 
 know, de me, de te. If Wool comb's 
 dinners had not gone off so after his 
 marriage, I have little doubt the 
 scandal would have died away, and 
 he and his wife might have been 
 pretty generally respected and visited. 
 
 Nor must you suppose, as we have 
 said, that dear Agnes gave up her 
 fir>t love without a pang. That 
 bronchitis showed how acutely the 
 poor thing felt her position. It broke 
 out very soon after Mr. Woolcomb's 
 attentions became a little particular ;
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 175 
 
 and she actually left London in con- 
 sequence. It is true that he could 
 follow her without difficulty, but so, 
 for the matter of that, could Philip, 
 . as we have seen when he came down 
 and behaved so rudely to Captain 
 Woolcomb. And before Philip came, 
 poor Agnes could plead, " My father 
 pressed me sair," as in the case of 
 the notorious Mrs. Robin Gray. 
 
 Father and mother both pressed 
 her sair. Mrs. Twysden, I think I 
 have mentioned, wrote an admirable 
 letter, and was aware of her accom- 
 plishment. She used to write reams 
 of gossip regularly every week to dear 
 uncle liingwood when he was in the 
 country : and when her daughter 
 Blanche married, she is said to have 
 written several of her new soiv's ser- 
 mons. As a Christian mother, was 
 she not to give her daughter her ad- 
 vice at this momentous period of her 
 life ? That advice went against poor 
 Philip's chances with his cousin, who 
 was kept acquainted with all the cir- 
 cumstances of the controversy of 
 which we have just seen the issue. I 
 do not mean to say that Mrs. Twysden 
 gave an impartial statement of the 
 case. What parties in a lawsuit do 
 speak impartially on their own side 
 or their adversaries' ? Mrs. Twys- 
 den 's view, as I have learned subse- 
 quently, and as imparted to her 
 daughter, was this : That most un- 
 principled man, Dr. Fiiinin.who had 
 already attempted, and unjustly, to 
 deprive the Twysdens of a part of 
 their property, had commenced in 
 quite early life his career of outrage 
 and wickedness against the Ring- 
 wood family. He had led dear Lord 
 Ringwood's son, poor dear Lord 
 Cinqbars, into a career of vice and 
 extravagance which caused the pre- 
 mature death of that unfortunate 
 young nobleman. Mr. Firmin had 
 then made a marriage, in spite of the 
 tears and entreaties of Mrs. Twysden, 
 with her late unhappy sister, whose 
 whole life had been made wretched by 
 the Doctor's conduct. But the climax 
 of outrage and wickedness was, that 
 
 when he he, a low, penniless ad- 
 venturer married Colonel Ring- 
 wood's daughter, he was married al- 
 ; ready, as could be sworn by the re- 
 | pentant clergyman who had been 
 j forced, by threats of punishment 
 i which Dr. Firmin held over him, to 
 perform the rite 7 " The mind " 
 Mrs. Talbot Twysden 's fine mind 
 ' shuddered at the thought of such 
 wickedness." But most of all (for 
 to think ill of any one whom she had 
 once loved gave her pain) there was 
 reason to believe that the unhappy 
 Philip Firmin was his father's accom- 
 plice, and that he knew of his own 
 illegitimacy, which he was determined 
 to set aside by any fraud or artifice 
 (she trembled, she wept to have to say 
 this : O Heaven ! that there should 
 be such perversity in thy creatures !) 
 And so little store did Philip set by 
 his mother's honor, that he actually 
 visited the abandoned woman who 
 acquiesced in her own infamy, and 
 had brought such unspeakable dis- 
 grace on the Ringwood family ! The 
 thought of this crime had caused 
 Mrs. Twysden and her dear husband 
 nights of sleepless anguish, had 
 made them years and years older, 
 had stricken their hearts with a grief 
 which must endure to the end of their 
 \ days. With people so unscrupulous, 
 so grasping, so artful as Dr. Firmiit 
 and (must she say?) his son, they 
 were bound to be on their guard; and 
 though they had avoided Philip, she 
 had deemed it right, on the rare occa- 
 sions when she and the young man 
 whom she must now call her illegiti- 
 mate nephew met, to behave as though 
 she knew nothing of this most dreadful 
 controversy. 
 
 " And now, dearest child "... 
 Surely the moral is obvious. The 
 dearest child '' must see at once that 
 any foolish plans which were formed 
 in childish days and under former de- 
 lusions must be cast aside forever as 
 impossible, as unworthy of a Twys- 
 den of a Ringwood. Be not con- 
 cerned for the young man himself," 
 wrote Mrs. Twysden, "I blush
 
 176 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 that he should bear that dear father's 
 name who was slain in honor on 
 Busaco's glorious field. P. F has 
 associates amongst wh >m he has ever 
 been much more at home than in our 
 refined circle, and habits which will 
 cause him to forget you only too 
 e;i<ilv. And if near you is one whose 
 ardor shows i tself in his every word 
 and action, whose wealth and proper- 
 ty may raise you to a place worthy of 
 my child, need I say, a mother's, a 
 father's blessing j:o with you." 
 This letter was brought to Miss 
 Twysden, at Brighton, by a special 
 messenger ; and the superscription 
 announced that it was " honored by 
 Captain Grenville Woolcomb." 
 
 Now when Miss Agnes has had a 
 letter to this effect (I may at some 
 time tell you how I came to be ac- 
 quainted with its contents) ; when 
 she remembers all the abuse her 
 brother lavishes against Philip as, 
 Heaven bless some of thjm ! dear 
 relatives can best do : when she thinks 
 how cold he has of late been, how 
 he will come smelling of cigars, 
 how he won't conform to the usages 
 (In moiick, and has neglected all the 
 decencies of society, how she often 
 can't understand his strange rhapso- 
 dies about poetry, painting, and the 
 like, nor how he can live with such 
 a-^ociates as those who seem to de- 
 light him, and now how he is show- 
 ing himself a"tually unprincipled and 
 abutting his horrid father; when we 
 consider mither pressing sair, and all 
 t'l se points in mither's favor, I don't 
 tliink we can order Agnes to instant | 
 execution for the resolution to which 
 s'i'> is coming. She will give him up 
 she will give him up. Good bv, 
 P.iilip. Good by, the past. Be for- 
 gotten, be forgotten, fond words spok- 
 en in not unwilling ears ! Be still 
 and breathe not, eajrer lips, that have 
 nvnbled so near to one another! 
 Unlock, hands, and part forever, 
 that seemed to be formed for life's 
 long journey ! Ah, to part forever 
 is hard; but harder and more humil- 
 iating still to part without regret ! 
 
 That papa and mamma had influ- 
 enced Miss Twysden in her behavior 
 my wife and I could easily imagine, 
 when Philip, in his wrath and grief, 
 came to us and poured out the feel- 
 ings of his heart. My wife is a re- 
 positary of men's secrets, an un- 
 tiring consoler and comforter; and 
 she knows many a sad story which 
 we are not at liberty to tell, like this 
 one of which this person, Mr. Fir- 
 min, has given us possession. 
 
 " Father and mother's orders," 
 shouts Philip, " I dare say, Mrs. Pen- 
 dennis; but the wish was father to 
 the thought of parting, and it was 
 for the blackamoor's parks and acres 
 that the girl jilted me. Look here. 
 I told you just now that I slept per- 
 fectly'well on that infernal night after 
 I lia 1 said farewell to her. Well, I 
 didn't. It was a lie. I walked ever 
 so many tithes the whole length of 
 the cliff, from Hove to liottingdean 
 almost, and then went to bed after- 
 wards, and slept a little out of sheer 
 fatigue. And as I was passing by 
 Horizontal Terrace ( I happened to 
 pass by there two or three times in 
 the moonlight, like a great jackass 
 ) you know those verses of mine 
 which I have hummed here some- 
 times ?" (hummed! he used to roar 
 them!) "'When the locks of bur- 
 nished iro'd, lady, shall to silver turn ! ' 
 Never min'l the rest. You know the 
 v -rses about fidelity and old ajre ? 
 She was singing them on that night, 
 to that negro. And I heard the beg- 
 gar's voice say, ' Bravo ! ' through the 
 open windows." 
 
 "Ah, Philip! it was cruel," says 
 my wife, heartily pitying our friend's 
 anguish and misfortune. " It was 
 cruel indeed. I am sure we can feel 
 for you. But think what certain 
 misery a marriage with such a per- 
 son would have been ! Think of your 
 warm heart given away forever to that 
 heartless creature." 
 
 " Laura, Laura, have you not often 
 warned me not to speak ill of people ? " 
 says Laura's husband. 
 
 " I can't help it sometimes," cries
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 177 
 
 Laura in a transport. " I try and do 
 my best not to speak ill of my neigh- 
 bors ; but the worldliness of those peo- 
 ple shocks me so that I can't bear to 
 be near them. They are so utterly tied j 
 and bound by conventionalities, so 
 perfectly convinced of their own exces- 
 sive high-breeding, that they seem to 
 me more odious and more vulgar than 
 quite low people ; and I *m sure Mr. 
 Philip's friend, the Little Sister, is in- 
 finitely more ladylike than his dreary 
 aunt or either of his supercilious cous- 
 ins ! " Upon my word, when this lady 
 did speak her mind, there was no mis- 
 taking her meaning. 
 
 I believe Mr. Firmin took a consid- 
 erable number of people into his con- 
 fidence regarding this love-affair. He 
 is one of those individuals who can't 
 keep their secrets ; and when hurt he 
 roars so loudly that all his friends can 
 hear. It has been remarked that the 
 sorrows of such persons do not endure 
 very long ; nor surely was there any 
 great need in this instance that Phil- 
 ip's heart should wear a lengthened 
 mourning. Erelong he smoked his 
 pipes, he played his billiards, he shout- 
 ed his songs ; he rode in the Park for 
 she pleasure of severely cutting his 
 aunt and cousins when their open car- 
 riage passed, or of riding down Cap- 
 tain Woolcomb or his cousin Ring- 
 wood, should cither of those worthies 
 come in his way. 
 
 One day, when the old Lord Ring- 
 wood came to town for his accustomed 
 spring visit, Philip condescended to 
 wait upon him, and was announced 
 to his Lordship just as Talbot Twys- 
 den and Ringwood his son were tak- 
 ing leave of their noble kinsman. 
 Philip looked at them with a flashing 
 eye and a distended nostril, according 
 to his swaggering wont. I dare say 
 they on their part bore a very mean 
 and hangdog appearance ; for my 
 Lord laughed at their discomfiture, 
 and seemed immensely amused as they 
 slunk out of the door when Philip 
 came hectoring in. 
 
 " So, sir, there has been a family 
 row. Heard all about it : at least, their 
 8* 
 
 side. Your father did me the favor 
 to marrv my niece, having another wife 
 already? "" 
 
 " Having no other wife already, sir, 
 though my dear relations were anx- 
 ious to show that he had." 
 
 " Wanted your money ; thirty thou. 
 sand pound is not a trifle. Ten thou- 
 sand apiece for those children. And 
 no more need of any confounded 
 pinching and scraping, as they hav<j 
 to do at Beannash Street. Affair off 
 between you and Agnes ? Absurd af, 
 fair. So much the better." 
 
 " Yes, sir, so much the better." 
 
 " Have ten thousand apiece. Would 
 have twenty thousand if they got 
 yours. Quite natural to want it." 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " Woolcomb a sort of negro, I un- 
 derstand. Fine property here; be- 
 sides the West India rubbish. Violent 
 man, so people tell me. Luckily 
 Agnes seems a cool, easy-going wo- 
 man, and must put up with the rough 
 as well as the smooth in marrying a 
 property like that. Very lucky for you 
 that that woman persists there was no 
 marriage with your father. Twysden 
 says the Doctor bribed her. Take it 
 he 's not got much money to bribe, 
 unless you gave some of yours." 
 
 " I don't bribe people to bear false 
 witness, my Lord, and if " 
 
 " Don't be in a huff; I didn't say 
 so. Twysden says so, perhaps 
 thinks so. When people are at law 
 they believe anything of one another." 
 
 " I don't know what other people 
 may do, sir. If I had another man's 
 money, I should not be easy until I 
 had paid him back. Had my share 
 of my grandfather's property not Itccn 
 lawfully mine, and for a few hours 
 I thought it was not, please God, I 
 would have given it up to its rightful 
 owners, at least, my father would." 
 
 " Why, hang it all, man, you don't 
 mean to say your father has not set- 
 tled with 3'ou ? " 
 
 Philip blushed a little. He had 
 been rather surprised that there had 
 been no settlement between him and 
 his father.
 
 178 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 " I am only of age a few months, 
 ir. I am not under any apprehen- 
 sion. I get my dividends regularly 
 enough. One of my grandfather s 
 trustees, General Baynes, is in India. 
 He is to return almost immediately, 
 or we should have sent a power of at- 
 torney out to him. There 's no hurry 
 about the business." 
 
 Philip's maternal grandfather, and 
 Lord liingwood's brother, the late 
 Colonel Philip Ringwood, had died j 
 possessed of but trifling property of, 
 his own ; but his wife ,had brought j 
 him a fortune of sixty thousand 
 pounds, which was settled on their 
 children, and in the names of trustees, 
 Mr. Briggs, a lawyer, and Colonel 
 Baynes, an East India officer, and I 
 friend of Mrs. Philip liingwood's j 
 family. Colonel Baynes had been 
 in England some eight years before ; 
 and Philip remembered a kind old 
 gentleman coming to see him at | 
 school, and leaving tokens of his 
 bounty behind. The other trustee, 
 Mr. Briggs, a lawyer of considerable 
 county reputation, was dead long 
 since, having left his affairs in an in- j 
 volved condition. During the trus- 
 tee's absence and the son's minority, 
 Philip's father received the dividends 
 on his son's property, and liberally 
 spent them on the boy. Indeed, I be- ( 
 lieve that for some little time at college, 
 and during his first journeys abroad, 
 Mr. Philip spent rather more than 
 the income of his maternal inher- 
 itance, being freely supplied by his 
 father, who told him not to stint him- \ 
 self. He was a sumptuous m<m, Dr. 
 Finnin, open-handed, subscrib- 
 ing to many charities, a lover of 
 solemn good cheer. The Doctor's 
 dinners and the Doctor's equipages 
 were models in their way ; and I re- 
 member the sincere respect with which 
 my uncle the Major (the family guide 
 in such matters) used to speak of Dr. 
 Firmin's taste. " No duchess in Lon- 
 don, sir," he would say, " drove bet- j 
 ter horses than Mrs. Firmin. Sir 
 George Warrender, sir, could not 
 give a better dinner, sir, than that to 
 
 which we sat down yestewiay." And 
 for the exercise of these civic virtues 
 the Doctor had the hearty respect of 
 the good Major. 
 
 " Don't tell me, sir," on the other 
 hand, Lord Ringwood would say ; 
 " I dined with the fellow once, a 
 swaggering fellow, sir ; but a servile 
 fellow. The way he bowed and flat- 
 tered was perfectly absurd. Those 
 fellows think we like it, and we 
 may. Even at my age, I like flat- 
 tery, any quantity of it ; and not 
 what you call delicate, but strong, 
 sir. I like a man to kneel down and 
 kiss my shoestrings. I have my 
 own opinion of him afterwards, but 
 that is what I like, what all men 
 like ; and that is what Firmin gave 
 in quantities. But you could see 
 that his house was monstrously ex- 
 pensive. His dinner was excellent, 
 and you saw it was good every day, 
 not like your dinners, my good 
 Maria ; not like your wines, Twys- 
 den, which, hang it, I can't swallow, 
 unless I send 'em in myself. Even 
 at my own house, I don't give that 
 kind of wine on common occasions 
 which Firmin used to give. I drink 
 the best myself, of course, and give it 
 to some who know ; but I don't give 
 it to common fellows, who come to 
 hunting-dinners, or to girls and boys 
 who are dancing at my balls." 
 
 " Yes ; Mr. Firmin's dinners were 
 very handsome, and a pretty end 
 came of the handsome dinners ! " 
 sighed Mrs.'Twysden. 
 
 " That 's not the question ; I am 
 only speaking about the fellow's meat 
 and drink, and they were both good. 
 And it 's my opinion, that fellow 
 will have a good dinner wherever he 
 goes." 
 
 I had the fortune to be present at 
 one of these feasts, which Lord Ring- 
 wood attended, and at which I met 
 Philip's trustee, General Baynes, who 
 had just arrived from India. I re- 
 member now the smallest details of 
 the little dinner, the brightness of 
 the old plate, on which the Doctor 
 prided himself, and the quiet comfort,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 179 
 
 not to say splendor, of the entertain- 
 ment. The General seemed to take 
 a great liking to Philip, whose grand- 
 father had been his special friend and 
 comrade in arms. He thought he 
 saw something of Philip Ringwood 
 in Philip Firmin's face. 
 
 "Ah, indeed ! " growls Lord Ring- 
 wood. 
 
 " You ain't a bit like him," says 
 the downright General. " Never saw 
 a handsomer or more open-looking 
 fellow than Philip Ringwood." 
 
 " Oh ! I dare say I looked pretty 
 open myself forty years ago," said my 
 Lord ; " now I 'm shut, I suppose. 
 I don't see the least likeness in this 
 poung man to my brother." 
 
 " That is some sherry as old as the 
 century," whispers the host ; " it is 
 the same the Prince Regent liked so 
 at a Mansion House dinner, five-and- 
 twenty years ago." 
 
 " Never knew anything about wine ; 
 was always tippling liquors and 
 punch. What do you give for this 
 Cherry, Doctor ? " 
 
 The Doctor sighed, and looked up 
 to the chandelier. " Drink it while 
 it lasts, my good lord ; but don't ask 
 xne the price. The fact is, I don't 
 Hke to say what I gave for it." 
 
 " You need not stint yourself in 
 the price of sherry, Doctor," cries the 
 General gayly ; " you have but one 
 son, and he has a fortune of his own, 
 as I happen to know. You have n't 
 dipped it, Master Philip ? " 
 
 " I fear, sir, I may have exceeded 
 my income sometimes, in the last 
 three years ; but my father has helped 
 me." 
 
 " Exceeded nine hundred a year ! 
 Upon my word ! When I was a sub, 
 my friends gave me fifty pounds a 
 year, and I never was a shilling in 
 debt ! What are men coming to 
 now ? " 
 
 " If doctors drink Prince Regent's 
 sherry at ten guineas a dozen, what 
 can you expect of their sons, General 
 Baynes ? " grumbles my Lord. 
 
 " My father gives you his best, my 
 Lord,' says Philip, gayly ; " if you 
 
 know of any better, he will get it for 
 you. Si non his utere mecum ! Please 
 to pass me that decanter, Pen ! " 
 
 I thought the old lord did not seem 
 ill pleased at the young man's free- 
 dom ; and now, as I recall it, think I 
 can remember that a peculiar silence 
 and anxiety seemed to weigh upon 
 our host, upon him whose face was 
 commonly so anxious and sad. 
 
 The famous sherry, which had 
 made many voyages to Indian climes 
 before it acquired its exquisite flavor, 
 had travelled some three or four times 
 round the Doctor's polished table, 
 when Brice, his man, entered with a 
 letter on his silver tray. Perhaps 
 Philip's eyes and mine exchanged 
 glances in which ever so small a scin- 
 tilla of mischief might sparkle. The 
 Doctor often had letters when he was 
 entertaining his friends ; and his pa- 
 tients had a knack of falling ill at 
 awkward times. 
 
 " Gracious Heavens ! " cries the 
 Doctor, when he read the despatch 
 it was a telegraphic message. " The 
 poor Grand Duke ! " 
 
 " What Grand Duke ? " asks the 
 surly lord of Ringwood. 
 
 " My earliest patron and friend, 
 the Grand Duke of Groningen ! 
 Seized this morning at eleven at Pot- 
 zendorff ! Has sent for me. I prom- 
 ised to go to him if ever he had need 
 of me. I must go ! I can save the 
 night-train yet. General ! our visit 
 to the City must be deferred till my 
 return. Get a portmanteau, Brice ; 
 and call a cab at once. Philip will 
 entertain my friends for the evening. 
 My dear lord, you won't mind an 
 old doctor leaving you to attend an 
 old patient? I will write from Gron- 
 ingen. Ishall be there on Friday morn- 
 ing. Farewell, gentlemen ! Brice, an- 
 other bottle of that sherry ! I pray, 
 don't let anybody stir ! God bless 
 you, Philip, my hoy ! " And with 
 this the Doctor went up, took his son 
 by the hand, and laid the other very 
 kindly on the young man's shoulder. 
 Then he made a bow round the table 
 to his guests, one of his graceful
 
 180 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 bows, for which he was famous. I 
 can see the sad smile on his face now, 
 and the light from the chandelier over 
 tlie dining-table glancing from his 
 shining forehead, and casting deep 
 shadows on to his cheek from his 
 heavy brows. 
 
 The departure was a little abrupt, 
 and, of course, cast somewhat of a 
 gloom upon the company. 
 
 " My carriage ain't ordered till ten, 
 must go on sitting here, I suppose. 
 C nifotinded lite doctor's must be ! 
 Called up any hour in the night ! 
 Get their fees ! Must go ! " growled 
 the great man of the party. 
 
 " People are glad enough to have 
 them w.ien they are ill, my Lord. I 
 think 1 have heard that once when 
 you were at Hyde ..." 
 
 The great man started back as if a 
 little shock of cold water had fallen 
 on him ; and then looked at Philip 
 with not unfriendly glances. " Treat- 
 ed for gout, so he did. Very 
 well, too ! " said my Lord ; and whis- 
 pered, not inaudibly, " Cool hand, 
 that boy." And then his Lordship fell 
 to talk with General Baynes about 
 his' campaigning and his early ac- 
 quaintance with his own brother, 
 Philip's grandfather. 
 
 The General did not care to brag 
 about his own feats of arms, but was 
 loud in the praises of his old comrade. 
 Philip was pleased to hear his grand- 
 sire so well spoken of. The General 
 had known Dr. Firmin's father also, 
 who likewise had been a colonel in the 
 famous old Peninsular army. " A 
 Tartar that fellow was, and no mis- 
 take ! " said the good officer. " Your 
 father has a strong look of him ; and 
 you have a glance of him at times. 
 Hut you remind me of Philip King- 
 wood not a little ; and vou could not 
 belong to a better man.'' 
 
 " Ha ! " says my Lord. There had 
 been differences between him and his 
 brother. He may have been think- 
 ing of days when they were friends. 
 Lord Uininvoo 1 now graciously asked 
 if General Hayncs was staving in 
 London ? But the General had only 
 
 come to do this piece of business, 
 
 which must now be delayed. He 
 
 was too poor to live in London. He 
 
 must look out for a country place, 
 
 j where he and his six children could 
 
 I live cheaply. " Three boys at school, 
 
 ' and one at college, Mr. Philip, you 
 
 know what that must cost ; though, 
 
 thank my stars, my college boy does 
 
 not spend nine hundred a year. Nine 
 
 hundred ! Where should we be if he 
 
 did ? " In. fact, the days of nabobs 
 
 are long over, and the General had 
 
 come back to his native country with 
 
 only very small means for the sup- 
 
 | port of a great family. 
 
 When my Lord's carriage came, he 
 I departed, and the other guests pres- 
 | ently took their leave. The General, 
 who was a bachelor for the nonce, 
 remained awhile, and we three prat- 
 tled over cheroots in Philip's smok- 
 ing-room. It was a night like a hun- 
 dred I have spent there, and yet how 
 well I remember it ! We talked about 
 j Philip's future prospects, and he 
 communicated his intentions to us in 
 his lordly way. As for practising at 
 the bar : " No, sir," he said, in reply 
 to General Baynes's queries, " he 
 should not make much hand of that ; 
 should n't if he were ever so poor. 
 He had his own money, and his fa- 
 ther's " ; and he condescended to say 
 that " he might, perhaps, try for Par- 
 liament should an eligible opportu- 
 nity offer." " Here 's a fellow born 
 with a silver spoon in his month," 
 says the General, as we walked away 
 together. " A fortune to begin with ; 
 a fortune to inherit. My fortune was 
 two thousand pounds, and the price 
 of my two first commissions ; and 
 when I die my children will not be 
 quite so well off as their father was 
 when he began ! " 
 
 Having parted with the old officer 
 at his modest sleeping-quarters near 
 his club, I walked to my own home, 
 littlf thinking that yonder cigar, of 
 which I had shaken some of the ashes 
 in Philip's smoking-room, was to be 
 the last tobacco I ever should smoke 
 there. The pipe was smoked out.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 181 
 
 The wine was drunk. When that 
 door closed on me, it closed for the last 
 time, at least was never more to ad- 
 mit me as Philip's, as Dr. Firmin's, 
 guest and friend. I pass the place 
 often now. My youth comes back to 
 me as I gaze at those blank, shining 
 windows. I see myself a boy and 
 Philip a child ; and his fair mother ; 
 and his father, the hospitable, the 
 melancholy, the magnificent. I wish 
 I could have helped him. I wish 
 somehow he had borrowed money. 
 He never did. He gave me his often. 
 I have never seen him since that night 
 when his own door closed upon him. 
 
 On thesec-ond day after the Doctor's 
 departure, as I was at breakfast with 
 my family, I receivdd the following 
 letter : 
 
 " MY DEAR PENDENNIS, Could 
 I have seen you in private on Tues- 
 day night, I might have warned you 
 of the calamity which was hanging 
 over my house. But to what good 
 end ? That you should know a few 
 weeks, hours, before what all the 
 world will ring with to-morrow ? 
 Neither you nor I, nor one whom we 
 both love, would have been the hap- 
 pier for knowing my misfortunes a 
 few hours sooner. In four-and-twen- 
 ty hours every club in London will be 
 busy with talk of the departure of the 
 celebrated Dr Firmin, the wealthy 
 Dr. Firmin ; a few months more and 
 (I have strict and confidential reason 
 to believe) hereditary rank would 
 have been mine, but Sir George Fir- 
 min would have been an insolvent 
 man, and his son Sir Philip a beg- 
 gar. Perhaps the thought of this 
 honor has been one of the reasons 
 which has determined me on expatri- 
 ating myself sooner than I otherwise 
 needed to have done. 
 
 " George Firmin, the honored, the 
 wealthy physician, and his son a beg- 
 gar 7 I see you are startled at the 
 news ! You wonder how, with a 
 great practice, and no great ostensible 
 expenses, such ruin should have come 
 upon me upon him. It has seemed 
 
 j as if for years past Fate has been de- 
 termined to make war upon George 
 Brand Firmin ; and who can battle 
 against Fate? A man universally 
 admitted to be of good judgment, I 
 have embarked in mercantile specula- 
 tions the most promising. Every- 
 thing upon which I laid my hand has 
 crumbled to ruin ; but I can say with 
 the Roman bard, ' Impuvidum ferient 
 ruina'.' And, almost penniless, al- 
 most aged, an exile driven from my 
 country, I seek another where I do 
 not despair, I even have u Jinn belief 
 that I shall be enabled to repair my 
 shattered fortunes ! My race has 
 never been deficient in courage, and 
 Philip and Phi/ijj's father must use 
 all theirs, so as to be enabled to face 
 the dark times which menace them. 
 Si celeres quatit pcnnas Fortuna, we 
 must resign what she gave us, and 
 bear our calamity with unshaken 
 hearts ! 
 
 " There is a man, I own to you, 
 whom I cannot, I must not face. 
 General Baynes has just come from 
 India, with but very small savings, I 
 fear ; and these are jeopardized by his 
 imprudence and my most cruel and 
 unexpected misfortune. I need not 
 tell you that my all would have been 
 my boy's. My will, made long since, 
 will be found in th* j tortoise-shell sec- 
 retaire standing in my consulting- 
 room under the picture of Abraham 
 ofi'ering up Isaac. In it you will see 
 that everything, except annuities to 
 old and deserving servants and a leg- 
 acy to one excellent and faithful wo- 
 man whom I own I have wronged, 
 my all, which once was considerable, 
 is left to my boy. 
 
 " I am now worth less than noth- 
 ing, and have compromised Philip's 
 property along with my own. As a 
 man of business, General Baynes, 
 Colonel Ringwood's old companion 
 in arms, was culpably careless, and I 
 alas ! that I must own it de- 
 ceived him. Being the only surviv- 
 ing trustee (Mrs. Philip Ringwood's 
 other trustee was an unprincipled at- 
 torney who has been long dead), Gen-
 
 182 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 eral B. signed a paper authorizing, as 
 he imagined, my bankers to receive 
 Philip's dividends, but, in fact, giv- 
 ing me the power to dispose of the 
 capital sum. On my honor, as a 
 man, as a gentleman, as a father, 
 Pendennis, I hoped to replace it ! I 
 took it ; I embarked it in speculations 
 in which it sank down with tea times 
 the amount of my own private prop- 
 erty. Half-year after half-year, with 
 straitened means and with the greatest 
 difficulty to myself, my poor boy has 
 had his dividend'; and he at least has 
 never known what was want or anx- 
 iety until now. Want ? Anxiety 1 
 Pray Heaven he never may suffer the 
 sleepless anguish, the racking care 
 which has pursued me ! ' Post equitem 
 sedet atra cum,' our favorite poet says. 
 Ah ! how truly, too, does he remark, 
 ' Patrice quis exut se quoque fugit ? ' 
 Think you where I go grief and re- 
 morse will not follow me ? They 
 will never leave me until I shall re- 
 turn to this country, for that I shall 
 return, my heart tells me, until I 
 can reimburse General Baynes, who 
 stands indebted to Philip through his 
 incautiousness and my overpowering 
 necessity ; and my heart an erring 
 but fond, father's heart tells me that 
 my boy will not eventually lose a 
 penny by my misfortune. 
 
 " I own, between ourselves, that 
 this illness of the Grand Duke of 
 Groningen was a pretext which I put 
 forward. You will hear of me ere- 
 long from the place whither for some 
 time past I have determined on bend- 
 ing my steps I placed 100 on Sat- 
 urday, to Philip's credit, at his bank- 
 er's. I take little more than that 
 sum with me ; depressed, yet full of 
 hope ; having done wrong, yet deter- 
 mined to retrieve it, and vowing that 
 ere I die my poor boy shall not have 
 to blush at bearing the name of 
 
 " GEORGE BRAND FJRMIN. 
 
 " Good by, dear Philip ! Your old 
 friend will tell you of my misfortunes. 
 When I write again, it will be to tell 
 you where to address me ; and wher- 
 
 ever I am, or whatever misfortunes 
 oppress me, think of me always as 
 your fond 
 
 " FATHER." 
 
 I had scarce read this awful letter 
 when Philip Firmin himself came into 
 our breakfast-room looking very much 
 disturbed. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SAMARITANS. 
 
 THE children trotted up to their 
 friend with outstretched hands and 
 their usual smiles of welcome. Phil- 
 ip patted their heads, and sat down 
 with very woe-begone aspect at the 
 family table. " Ah, friends," said he, 
 " do you know all "? " 
 
 " Yes, we do," said Laura, sadly, 
 who has ever compassion for others' 
 misfortunes. 
 
 " What ! is it all over the town 
 already ? " asked poor Philip. 
 
 " We have a letter from your 
 father this morning." And we 
 brought the letter to him, and showed 
 him the affectionate special message 
 for himself. 
 
 " His last thought was for you, 
 Philip ! " cries Laura. " See here, 
 those last kind words ! " 
 
 Philip shook his head. " It is not 
 untrue, what is written here : but it 
 is not all the truth." And Philip 
 Firmin dismayed us by the intelli- 
 gence which he proceeded to give. 
 There was an execution in the house 
 in Old Parr Street. A hundred 
 clamorous creditors had already ap- 
 peared there. Before going away, 
 the Doctor had taken considerable 
 sums from those dangerous financiers 
 to whom he had been of late resorting. 
 They were in possession of number- 
 less lately signed bills, upon which 
 the desperate man had raised money. 
 He had professed to share with Philip, 
 but he had taken the great share, and 
 left Philip two hundred pounds of his 
 own money. All the rest was gone. 
 All Philip's itock had been sold out
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 183 
 
 The father's fraud had made him 
 master of the trustee's signature : 
 and Philip Firmin, reputed to be so 
 wealthy, was a beggar, in my room. 
 Luckily he had few, or very trifling, 
 debts. Mr. Philip had a lordly im- 
 patience of indebtedness, and, with a 
 good bachelor income, had paid for 
 all his pleasures as he enjoyed them. 
 
 Well ! He must work. A young 
 man ruined at two-and-twenty, with a 
 couple of hundred pounds yet in his 
 pocket, hardly knows that he is ruin- 
 ed. He will sell his horses, live in 
 chambers, has enough to go on for 
 a year. " When I am very hard put 
 to it," says Philip, " I will come and 
 dine with the children at one. I dare 
 say you have n't dined much at 
 Williams's in the Old Bailey ? You 
 can get a famous dinner there for a 
 shilling, beef, bread, potatoes, beer, 
 and a penny for the waiter." Yes, 
 Philip seemed actually to enjoy his 
 discomfiture. It was long since we 
 had seen him in such spirits. " The 
 weight is off my mind now. It has 
 been throttling me for some time 
 past. Without understanding why 
 or wherefore, I have always been look- 
 ing out for this. My poor father had 
 ruin written in his face : and when 
 those bailiffs made their appearance 
 in Old Parr Street yesterday, 1 felt as 
 if I had known them before. I had 
 seen their hooked beaks in my dreams." 
 
 ' That unlucky General Baynes, 
 when he accepted your mother's trust, 
 took it with its consequences. If the 
 sentry falls asleep on his post, he 
 must pay the penalty," says Mr. Pen- 
 dennis, very severely. 
 
 " Great powers, yon would not 
 have me come down on an old man 
 with a large family, and ruin them 
 all ? " cries Philip. 
 
 " No : I don't think Philip will do 
 that," says my wife, looking exceed- 
 ingly pleased. 
 
 "If men accept trusts they must 
 fulfil them, my dear," cries the master 
 of the house. 
 
 " And 1 must make that old gen- 
 tleman suffer for my father's wrong ? 
 
 If I do, may I starve ! there ! " cries 
 Philip. 
 
 " And so that poor Little Sister has 
 made her sacrifice in vain ! " sighed 
 my wife. " As for the father O 
 Arthur ! I can't tell you how odious 
 that man was to me. There was 
 something dreadful about him. And 
 in his manner to women oh ! " 
 
 " If he had been a black draught, 
 my dear, you could not have shud- 
 dered more naturally." 
 
 "Well, he was horrible; and I 
 know Philip will be better now he is 
 gone." 
 
 Women often make light of ruin. 
 Give them but the beloved objects, 
 and poverty is a trifling sorrow to 
 bear. As for Philip, he, as we have 
 said, is gayer than he has been for 
 years past. The Doctor's flight oc- 
 casions not a little club talk : but, 
 now he is gone, many people see quite 
 well that they were aware of his in- 
 solvency, and always knew it must 
 end so. The case is told, is canvassed, 
 is exaggerated as such cases will be. 
 I dare say it forms a week's talk. 
 But people know that poor Philip is 
 his father's largest creditor, and eye the 
 young man with no unfriendly looks 
 when he comes to his club after his 
 mishap, with burning cheeks, and a 
 tingling sense of shame, imagining 
 that all the world will point at and 
 avoid him as the guilty fugitive's son. 
 
 No: the world takes very little 
 heed of his misfortune. One or two 
 old acquaintances are kinder to him 
 than before. A few say his ruin, and 
 his obligation to work, will do him 
 good. Only a very very tew avoid 
 him, and look unconscious as he 
 passes tlicm by. Amongst these cold 
 countenances, you, of course, will rec- 
 ognize the faces of the whole Twys- 
 den family. Three statues, with 
 marble eyes, could not look more 
 stony-calm than Aunt Twysden and 
 her two daughters, as they pass in the 
 stately barouche. The gentlemen 
 turn red when they see Philip. It is 
 rather late times for Uncle Twysden 
 to begin blushing, to be sure. " Hang
 
 184 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 the fellow ! he will, of course, be 
 coining for money. Dawkins, I am 
 not at home, mind, when young Mr. 
 Firmin calls." So says Lord King- 
 wood, regarding Philip fallen among 
 thieves. Ah, thanks to Heaven, 
 travellers find Samaritans as well as 
 Levites on life's hard way ! Philip 
 told us with much humor of a rencon- 
 tre which he had had with his cousin, 
 Ringwood Twysden, in a public 
 place. Twysden was enjoying him- 
 i-elf with some young clerks of his 
 office; but as Philip advanced upon 
 him, assuming his fiercest scowl and 
 most hectoring manner, the other lost 
 heart, and fled. And no wonder. 
 " Do you suppose," says Twysden, 
 " I will willingly sit in the same room 
 with that cad, after the manner in 
 which he has treated my family ! 
 No, sir ! " And so the tall door in 
 B.'aunash Street is to open for Philip 
 Firmin no more. 
 
 The tall door in Beannash Street 
 flies open readily enough for another , 
 gentleman. A splendid cab-horse 
 reins up before it every day. A pair 
 of varnished boots leap out of the cab, 
 and spring up the broad stairs, where i 
 somebody is waiting with a smile of 
 genteel welcome, the same smile, 
 on the same sofa, the same 
 mamma at her table writing her let- 
 ters. And beautiful bouquets from 
 Covent Garden decorate the room, j 
 And after half an hour mamma goes 
 out to speak to the housekeeper, rn /.-, 
 com/>rem:z. And there is nothing par- ] 
 ticularly new under the sun. It will 
 shine to-morrow upon pretty much 
 the s-.ime flowers, sports, pastime-;, 
 &c., which it illuminated yesterday. 
 And when your love-making davs 
 are over, miss, and you are married, 
 and advantugeously'established, shall 
 not your little si'sters, now in the 
 nursery, trot down and play their I 
 little games 1 Would you, on your 
 conscience, now, you who are j 
 rather inclined to consider Miss Agnes 
 Twysden's conduct as heartless, 
 would you, I say, have her cry her 
 pretty eyes out about a young man 
 
 who does not care much for her, for 
 whom she never did care much her- 
 self, and who is now, moreover, a 
 beggar, with a ruined and disgraced 
 father and a doubtful legitimacy ? 
 Absurd ! That dear girl is like" a 
 beautiful fragrant bower-room at the 
 " Star and Garter " at Richmond, 
 with honeysuckles mayhap trailing 
 round the windows, from which you 
 behold one of the most lovely and 
 pleasant of wood and river scenes. 
 The tables are decorated with flow- 
 ers, rich wine-cups sparkle on the 
 board, and Captain Jones's party have 
 everything they can desire. Their 
 dinner over, and that company gone, 
 the same waiters, the same flowers, 
 the same cups and crystals, array 
 themselves for Mr. Brown and his 
 party. Or, if you won't have Agnes 
 Twvsden compared to the " Star and 
 Garter Tavern," which must admit 
 mixed company, liken her to the 
 chaste moon who shines on shepherds 
 of all complexions, swarthy or fair. 
 
 When oppressed by superior odds, 
 a commander is forced to retreat, we 
 like him to show his skill by carry- 
 ing off his guns, treasure, and camp 
 equipages. Doctor Firmin, beaten 
 by fortune and compelled to fly, 
 snowed quite a splendid skill and 
 coolness in his manner of decamping, 
 and left the very smallest amount of 
 spoils in the h inds of the victorious 
 enemy. His wines had been famous 
 amongst the grave epicures with 
 whom he dined : he used to boast, 
 like a worthy lion I'ivant. who knows 
 the value of wine-conversation after 
 dinner, of the quantities which he 
 possessed, and the rare bins which he 
 had in store ; but when the execu- 
 tioners came to arrange his sale, there 
 was found only a beggarly account 
 of empty bottles, and I fear some of 
 the unprincipled creditors put in a 
 great quantity of bad liquor which 
 they endeavored to foist off on the 
 public as the genuine and carefully 
 selected stock of a well known con- 
 noisseur. News of this dishonest pro- 
 ceeding reached Dr. Firmin presently
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 185 
 
 in his retreat ; and he showed by his 
 letter a generous and manly indigna- 
 tion at the manner in which his cred- 
 itors had tampered with his honest 
 name and reputation as a bon vii-ant. 
 He have bad wine ! For shame ! 
 He had the best from the best wine- 
 merchant, and paid, or rather owed, 
 the best prices for it ; for of late 
 years the Doctor had paid no bills at 
 all : and the wine-merchant appeared in 
 quite a handsome group of figures in 
 his schedule. In like manner his books 
 were pawned to a book-auctioneer ; 
 and Brice, the butler, had a bill of 
 sale for the furniture. Firmin re- 
 treated, we will riot say with the hon- 
 ors of war, but as little harmed as 
 possible by defeat. Did the enemy 
 want the plunder of his city ? He 
 had smuggled almost all his valuable 
 goods over the wall. Did they desire 
 his ships ? He had sunk them : and 
 when at length the conquerors poured 
 into his stronghold, he was far be- 
 yond the reach of their shot. Don't 
 we often hear still that Nana Sahib 
 is alive and exceedingly comfortable? 
 We do not love him ; but we can 't 
 help having a kind of admiration for 
 that slippery fugitive who has escaped 
 from the dreadful jaws of the lion. 
 In a word, when Firmin's furniture 
 came to be sold, it was a, marvel how 
 little his creditors benefited by the 
 sale. Contemptuous brokers de- 
 clared there never was such a shab- 
 by lot of goods. A friend of the 
 house and poor Philip bought in his 
 mother's picture for a few guineas ; 
 and as for the Doctor's own state por- 
 trait, I am afraid it went for a few 
 shillings only, and in the midst of a 
 roar of Hebrew laughter. I saw in 
 Wardour Street, not long after, the 
 doctor's sideboard, and what dealers 
 cheerfully call the sarcophagus cel- 
 laret ! Poor Doctor ! his wine was 
 all drunken ; his meat was eaten up ; 
 but his own body had slipped out of 
 the reach of the hook-beaked birds of 
 prey. 
 
 We had spoken rapidly in under- 
 tones, innocently believing that the 
 
 young people round af i /at us were tak- 
 ing no heed of our tali,.. But in a lull 
 of the conversation, Mr. Pendennis 
 junior, who had always been a friend 
 to Philip, broke out with, " Philip ! 
 if you are so wry poor, you '11 be hun- 
 gry, you know, and you may have my 
 piece of bread and jam. And 1 don't 
 want it, mamma," he added; "and 
 you know Philip has often and often 
 given me thinga." 
 
 Philip stooped down and kissed 
 this good little Samaritan. "I'm 
 not hungry, Arty my boy," he said ; 
 " and I 'm not so poor but I have got 
 look here a fine n< ,v shilling for 
 Arty ! " 
 
 " Philip, Philip J * ,-ied mam- 
 ma. 
 
 " Don't take the m uy, Arthur," 
 cried papa. 
 
 And the boy, with & rueful face but 
 a manly heart, prepared to give back 
 the coin. "It's quite a new one; 
 and it 's a very pretty one : but I 
 won't have it, Philip, thank you," lie 
 said, turning very red. 
 
 " If he won't, I vow I will give i* 
 to the cabman," said Philip. 
 
 " Keeping a caf> all this while 1 
 O Philip, Philip ! " again cries mam-- 
 ma the economist. 
 
 " Loss of time is loss of money, my 
 dear lady," says Philip, very gravely, 
 " I have ever so many places to go fo. 
 When I am set in for being ruined, 
 you shall sec what a screw I will be- 
 come! I must go to Mrs. Brandon, 
 who will be very uneasy, poor dear, 
 until she knows the worst." 
 
 " O Philip, 1 should like so to go, 
 with you ! cries Laura. " Pray, 
 give her our very best regards and 
 respects." 
 
 " A/em' / " said the young man, 
 and squeezed Mrs. Pendennis 's hand 
 in his own big one. " I will take 
 your message to her, Laura. J'aime 
 qu'on i'aime, savcz-voits ? " 
 
 " That means, I love those who 
 love her," cries little Laura ; " but, I 
 don't know," remarked this little per- 
 son afterwards to her paternal confi- 
 dant, " that I like all people to lov
 
 186 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 my mamma. That is, I don't like 
 her to like them, papa, only you 
 may, papa, and Ethel may, and Ar- 
 thur may, and, I think, Philip may, 
 now he is poor and quite, quite alone, 
 and we will take care of him, won't 
 we ? And, I think, I '11 buy him 
 something with my money which 
 Aunt Ethel gave me." 
 
 " And I '11 give him my money," 
 cries a boy. 
 
 "And I '11 div him my my " 
 Psha ! what matters what the little 
 sweet lips prattled in their artless 
 kindness ? But the soft words of love 
 and pity smote the mother's heart 
 with an exquisite pang of gratitude 
 and joy ; and I know where her 
 thanks were paid for those tender 
 words and thoughts of her little ones. 
 
 Mrs. Pendennis made Philip prom- 
 ise to come to dinner, and also to re- 
 member not to take a cab, which 
 promise Mr. Firmin had not much 
 difficulty in executing, for he had but 
 a few hundred yards to walk across 
 the Park from his club ; and I must 
 say that my wife took a special care 
 of our dinner that day, preparing for 
 Philip certain dishes which she knew 
 he liked, and enjoining the butler of 
 the establishment (who also happened 
 to be the owner of the house) to fetch 
 from his cellar the very choicest wine 
 in his possession. 
 
 I have previously described our 
 friend and his boisterous, impetuous, 
 generous nature. When Philip was 
 moved, he called to all the world to 
 witness his emotion. When he was 
 anury, his enemies were all the rogues 
 and scoundrels in the world. He 
 vowed he would hare no mercy on 
 them, and desired all his acquaintances 
 to participate in his anger. How 
 could such an open - mouthed son 
 have had such a close-spoken father ? 
 I dare say you have seen very well- 
 bred young people, the children of 
 vulgar and ill-bred parents ; the swag- 
 gering father have a silent son ; the 
 loud mother a modest daughter. Our 
 friend is not Amadis or Sir Charles 
 Grandison ; and I don't set him up for 
 
 a moment as a person to be reverea 
 or imitated; but try to draw him 
 faithfully, and as nature made him. 
 As nature made him, so he was. I 
 don't think he tried to improve him- 
 self much. Perhaps few people do. 
 They suppose they do ; and you 
 read, in apologetic memoirs, and fond 
 biographies, how this man cured his 
 bad temper, and t'other worked and 
 strove until he grew to be almost 
 faultless. Very well and good, my 
 good people. You can learn a lan- 
 guage ; you can master a science ; I 
 have heard of an old square-toes of 
 sixty who learned, by study and in- 
 tense application, very satisfactorily 
 to dance ; but can you, by taking 
 thought, add to your moral stature ? 
 Ah me ! the doctor who preaches is 
 only taller than most of us by the 
 height of the pulpit: and when he 
 steps down, I dare say he cringes to 
 the duchess, growls at his children, 
 scolds his wife about the dinner. All 
 is vanity, look you : and so the 
 preacher is vanity, too. 
 
 Well, then, I must again say that 
 Philip roared his griefs : he shouted 
 his laughter: he bellowed his ap- 
 plause : he was extravagant in his 
 humility as in his pride, in his ad- 
 miration of his friends and contempt 
 for his enemies : I dare say not a just 
 man, but I have met juster men not 
 half so honest ; and certainly not a 
 faultless man, though I know better 
 men not near so good. So, I believe, 
 my wife thinks : else why should she 
 be* so fond of him ? Did we not know 
 boys who never went out of bounds, 
 and never were late for school, and 
 never made a false concord or quanti- 
 ty, and never came under the ferule ; 
 and others who were always playing 
 truant, and blundering, and being 
 whipped ; and yet, somehow, was not 
 Master Naughtyboy better liked than 
 Master Goodchild? When Master 
 Naughtyboy came to dine with us on 
 the first day of his ruin, he bore a 
 face of radiant happiness, he 
 laughed, he bounced about, he ca- 
 ressed the children; now he took a
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 187 
 
 couple on his knees ; now he tossed 
 the baby to the ceiling ; now he 
 sprawled over a sofa, and now he rode 
 upon a chair ; never was a penniless 
 gentleman more cheerful. As for his 
 dinner, Phil's appetite was always 
 fine, but on this day an ogre could 
 scarcely play a more terrible knife 
 and fork. He asked for more and 
 more, until his entertainers wondered 
 to behold him. " Dine for to-day and 
 to-morrow too ; can't expect such 
 fore as this every day, you know, 
 This claret, how good it is ! May I 
 pack some up in paper, and take it 
 home with me ? " The children 
 roared with laughter at this admira- 
 ble idea of carrying home wine in a 
 sheet of paper. I don't know that it 
 is always at the best jokes that chil- 
 dren laugh : children and wise men 
 too. 
 
 When we three were by ourselves, 
 and freed from the company of ser- 
 vants and children, our friend told 
 us the cause of his gayety. "By 
 George ! " he swore, " it is worth be- 
 ing ruined to find such good people in 
 the world. My dear, kind Laura," 
 here the gentleman brushes his eyes 
 with his fist, " it was as much as I 
 could do this morning to prevent my- 
 self from hugging you in my arms, 
 you were so generous, and and so 
 kind, and so tender, and so good, by 
 George. And ai'ter leaving you, 
 where do you think I went ? " 
 
 " I think I can guess, Philip," says 
 Laura. 
 
 " Well," says Philip, winking his 
 eyes again, and tossing off a great 
 bumper of wine, " I went to her, of 
 course. I think she is the best friend : 
 I have in the world. The old man i 
 was out, and I told her about every- 
 thing that had happened. And what 
 do you think she has done 1 She 
 says she has been expecting me she 
 has ; and she has gone and fitted up 
 a room with a nice little bed at the 
 top of the house, with everything as 
 neat and trim as possible; and she 
 begged and prayed I would go and 
 stay with her, and I said I would, 
 
 to please her. And then she takes 
 me down to her room ; and she jumps 
 up to a cupboard, which she unlocks ; 
 and she opens and takes three-and- 
 twenty pounds out of a out of a 
 ten out of a tea-caddy, confound 
 me ! and she says, ' Here, Philip,' 
 she says, and Boo ! what a fool I 
 am ! " and here the orator fairly 
 broke down in his speech. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 IN WHICH PHILIP SHOWS HIS 
 METTLE. 
 
 WHEN the poor Little Sister prof- 
 fered her mite, her all, to Philip, I 
 dare say some sentimental passages 
 occurred between them which are 
 much too trivial to be narrated. No 
 doubt her pleasure would have been 
 at that moment to give him not only 
 that gold which she had been saving 
 up against rent-day, but the spoons, 
 the furniture, and all the valuables of 
 the house, including, perhaps, J. J.'s 
 bricabrac, cabinets, china, and so 
 forth. To perform a kindness, an act 
 of self-sacrifice ; are not these the 
 most delicious privileges of female 
 tenderness 1 Philip checked his little 
 friend's enthusiasm. He showed her 
 a purse full of money, at which sight 
 the poor little soul was rather dis- 
 appointed. He magnified the value 
 of his horses, which, according to 
 Philip's calculation, were to bring 
 him at least two hundred pounds 
 more than the stock which he had al- 
 ready in hand ; and the master of 
 such a sum as this, she was forced to 
 confess, had no need to despair. In- 
 deed, she had never in her life pos- 
 sessed the half of it. Her kind dear 
 little offer of a home in her house he 
 would accept sometimes, and with 
 gratitude. Well, there was a little 
 consolation in that. In a moment 
 that active little housekeeper saw the 
 room ready ; flowers on the mantel, 
 piece ; his looking-glass, which her fa- 
 ther could do quite well with the little
 
 188 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 one, as he was always shaved by the 
 barber now ; the quilted counterpane, 
 which she had herself made : I 
 know not what more improvements 
 she devised ; and I fear that at the 
 idea of having Philip with her, this 
 little thing was as extravagantly and 
 unreasonably happy as we have just 
 now seen Philip to be. What was 
 that last dish which Paetus and Arria 
 shared in common ? I have lost my 
 Lempriere's dictionary (that treasury 
 of my youth), and forget whether it 
 was a cold dagger au nature!, or a 
 dish of hot coals a la Romaine, of 
 which they partook ; but, whatever it 
 was, she smiled, and delightedly 
 received it, happy to share the beloved 
 one's fortune. 
 
 " Yes : Philip would come home to 
 his Little Sister sometimes : sometimes 
 of a Saturday, and they would go to 
 church on Sunday, as he used to do 
 when lie was a boy at school. " But 
 then, you know," says Phil, " law is 
 law ; study is study. I must devote 
 my whole energies to my work, get 
 up very early." 
 
 " Don't tire your eyes, my dear," 
 interposes Mr. Philip's soft judicious 
 friend. 
 
 " There must be no trifling with 
 work," says Philip, with awful gravity. 
 " There 's Benton the Judge : Benton 
 and Burbage, you know." 
 
 " O, Benton and Burbage ! " 
 whispers the Little Sister, not a little 
 bewildered. 
 
 " How do you suppose he became a 
 judge before forty ? " 
 
 " Before forty who ? law bless me ! " 
 
 " Before he was forty, Mrs. Carry. 
 When he came to work, he had his 
 own way to make : just like me. He 
 had a small allowance from his father : 
 that 's not like me. He took chambers 
 in the Temple. He went to a pleader's 
 office. He read fourteen, fifteen hours 
 every day. He dined on a cup of tea 
 and a mutton-chop." 
 
 " La, bless me, child ! I would n't 
 have you to do that, not to be Lord 
 Chamberlain Chancellor what 's 
 his name ? Destroy your youth with 
 
 reading, and your eyes, and go with- 
 out your dinner ? You 're not used 
 to that sort of thing, dear ; and it 
 would kill you ! " 
 
 Philip smoothed his fair hair off his 
 ample forehead, and nodded his head, 
 smiling sweetly. I think his inward 
 monitor hinted to him that there was 
 not much danger of his killing himself 
 by overwork. " To succeed at the 
 law, as in all other professions," he 
 continued, with much gravity, " re- 
 quires the greatest perseverance, and 
 industry, and talent ; and then, per- 
 haps, you don't succeed. Many have 
 failed who have had all these quali- 
 ties." 
 
 " But they have n't talents like my 
 Philip, I know they have n't. And I 
 had to stand up in a court once, and 
 was cross-examined by a vulgar man 
 before a horrid deaf old judge ; and I 
 'm sure if your lawyers are like them 
 I don't wish you to succeed at all. 
 And now, look ! there 's a nice loin 
 of pork coming up. Pa loves roast 
 pork ; and you must come and have 
 some with us ; and every day and all 
 days, my dear, I should like to see 
 you seated there." And the Little 
 Sister frisked about here, and bustled 
 there, and brought a cunning bottle 
 of wine from some corner, and made 
 the boy welcome. So that, you see, 
 far from starving, he actually had two 
 dinners on that first day of his ruin. 
 
 Caroline consented to a compromise 
 regarding the money, on Philip's 
 solemn vow and promise that she 
 should be his banker whenever neces- 
 sity called. She rather desired his 
 poverty for the sake of its precious 
 reward. She hid away a little bag 
 of gold for her darling's use whenever 
 he should need it. I dare say she 
 pinched and had shabby dinners at 
 home, so as to save yet more, and so 
 caused the captain to grumble. Why, 
 for that boy's sake, I believe she 
 would have been capable of shaving 
 her lodgers' legs of mutton, and levy- 
 ing a tax on their tea-caddies and 
 baker's stuff. If you don't like un- 
 principled attachments of this sort,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 189 
 
 and only desire that your womankind 
 should love you for yourself, and ac- 
 cording to your inserts, I am your 
 very humble servant. Hereditary 
 bondswomen ! you know, that were 
 you free, and did you strike the blow, 
 my dears, you were unhappy for your 
 pain, and eagerly would elaim your 
 bonds again. What poet has uttered 
 that sentiment ? It is perfectly true, 
 and I know will receive the cordial 
 approbation of the dear ladies. 
 
 Philip has decreed in his own mind 
 that he will go and live in those 
 chambers in the Temple where we 
 have met him. Vanjohn, the sport- 
 ing gentleman, had determined for 
 special reasons to withdraw from law 
 and sport in this country, and Mr. 
 Firmin took possession of his vacant 
 sleeping-chamber. To furnish a bach- 
 elor's bedroom need not be a matter 
 of much cost ; but Mr. Philip was too 
 good-natured a fellow to haggle about 
 the valuation of Vanjohn's bedsteads 
 and chests of drawers, and generously 
 took them at twice their value. He 
 and Mr. Cassidy now divided the 
 rooms in equal reign. Ah, happy 
 rooms, bright rooms, rooms near the 
 sky, to remember you is to be young 
 again ! for I would have you to know 
 that when Philip went to take posses- 
 sion of his share of the fourth floor in 
 the Temple, his biographer was still 
 comparatively juvenile, and in one 
 or two very old-fashioned families was 
 called " young Pendennis." 
 
 So Ptiilip Firmin dwelt in a garret ; 
 and the fourth part of u laundress and 
 the half of a boy now formed the do- 
 mestic establishment of him who had 
 been attended by housekeepers, but- 
 lers, and obsequious liveried menials. 
 To be freed from that ceremonial and 
 etiquette of plush and worsted lace 
 was an immense relief to Firmin. 
 His pipe need not lurk in crypts or 
 back closets now : its fragrance 
 breathed over the whole chambers, 
 and rose up to the sky, their near 
 neighbor. 
 
 The first month or two after being 
 ruined, Philip vowed, was an uacom- 
 
 monly pleasant time. He had still 
 plenty of money in his pocket; and 
 the sense that, perhaps, it was impru- 
 dent to take a eab or drink a bottle 
 of wine, added a zest to those enjoy- 
 ments which they by no means pos- 
 sessed when they were easy and of 
 daily occurrence. I am not certain 
 that a dinner of beef and porter did 
 not amuse our young man almost as 
 well as banquets much more costly to 
 which he had been accustomed. He 
 laughed at the pretensions of his boyish 
 days, when he and other solemn young 
 epicures used to sit down to elaborate 
 tavern banquets, and pretend to 
 criticise vintages, and sauces, and 
 turtle. As yet there was not only con- 
 tent with his dinner, but plenty there- 
 with ; and I do not wish to alarm 
 you by supposing that Philip will 
 ever have to encounter any dreadful 
 extremities of poverty and hunger in 
 the course of his history. The wine 
 in the jug was very low at times, but 
 it never was quite empty. This lamb 
 was shorn, but the wind was tempered 
 to him. 
 
 So Philip took possession of his 
 rooms in the Temple, and began act- 
 ually to reside there just as the long 
 vacation commenced, which he in- 
 tended to devote to a course of seri- 
 ous study of the law and private 
 preparation, before he should venture 
 on the great business of circuits and 
 the bar. Nothing is more necessary 
 for desk-men than exercise, so Philip 
 took a good deal ; especially on the 
 watei, where he pulled a famous oar. 
 Nothing is more natural after exer- 
 cise than refreshment ; and Mr. Fir- 
 min, now he was too poor for claret 
 showed a great capacity for beer. 
 After beer and bodily labor, rest, of 
 course, is necessary ; and Firmin 
 slept nine hours, and looked as rosy 
 as a girl in her first season. Then 
 such a man, with such a frame and 
 health, must have a goorl appetite for 
 breakfast. And then every man who 
 wishes to succeed .at the bar in the 
 senate, on the bench, in the House of 
 Peers, on the Woolsack, must know
 
 190 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 the quotidian history of his country ; 
 so, of course, Philip read the newspa- 
 per. Thus, you see, his hours of 
 study were perforce curtailed by the 
 necessary duties which distracted him 
 from his labors. 
 
 It has been said that Mr. Firmin's 
 companion in chambers, Mr. Ctissidy, 
 was a native of the neighboring king- 
 dom of Ireland, and engaged in litera- 
 ry pursuits in this country. A merry, 
 shrewd, silent, observant little man, 
 he, unlike some of his compatriots, 
 always knew how to make both ends 
 meet ; feared no man alive in the 
 character of a dun ; and out of small 
 earnings managed to transmit no 
 small comforts and subsidies to old 
 parents living somewhere in Munster. 
 Of Cassidy's friends was Finucane, 
 now editor of the Pall Mall Gazette : 
 he married the widow of the late ec- 
 centric and gifted Captain Shandon, 
 and Cass himself was the fashionable 
 correspondent of the Gazette, chron- 
 icling the marriages, deaths, births, 
 dinner-parties of the nobility. These 
 Irish gentlemen knew other Irish gen- 
 tlemen connected with other newspa- 
 pers, who firmed a little literary 
 society. They assembled at each 
 other's rooms, and at haunts where 
 social pleasure was to be purchased 
 at no dear rate. Philip Firmin was 
 known to many of them before his 
 misfortunes occurred, and when there 
 was gold in plenty in his pocket, and 
 never-failing applause for his songs. 
 
 AVhen Pendennis and his friends 
 wrote in this newspaper, it was im- 
 pertinent enough, and many men must 
 have heard the writers laugh at the 
 airs which they occasionally thought 
 proper to assume. The tone which 
 they took amused, annoyed, tickled, 
 was popular. It was continued, and, 
 of course, caricatured by their succes- 
 sors. They worked for very moderate 
 foes : but paid themselves by imper- 
 tinence, and the satisfaction of assail- 
 ing their betters. Three or four 
 persons were reserved from their 
 abuse ; but somebody was sure every 
 week to be tied up at their post, and 
 
 the public made sport of the victim's 
 contortions. The writers were ob- 
 scure barristers, ushers, and college 
 men, but they had omniscience at their 
 pen's end, and were ready to lay 
 j down the law on any given subject, 
 
 to teach any man his t business, 
 i were it a bishop in his pulpit, a Min- 
 ister in his place in the House, a cap- 
 tain on his quarter-deck, a tailor 
 
 ; on his shopboard, or a jockey in his 
 saddle. 
 
 Since those early days of the Pall 
 Mall Gazette, when old Shandon 
 wielded his truculent tomahawk, and 
 Messrs. W-rr-ngt-n and P-n-d-n- 
 n-s followed him in the war-path, 
 the Gazette had passed through sev- 
 eral hands ; and the victims who 
 were immolated by the editors of to- 
 day were very likely the objects of 
 the best puffery of the last dynasty. 
 To be flogged in what was your own 
 school-room, that, surely, is a queer 
 sensation ; and when my Report was 
 published on the decay of the seal- 
 ing-wax trade in the three kingdoms 
 (owing to the prevalence of gummed 
 envelopes, as you may see in that 
 masterly document), I was horsed up 
 and smartly whipped in the Gazette 
 by some of the rods which had come 
 out of pickle since my time. Was 
 not good Dr. Guillotin executed by 
 his own neat invention ? I don't 
 know who was the Monsieur Samson 
 who operated on me ; but have al- 
 ways had my idea that Digges, of 
 Corpus, was the m;in to whom my 
 flagellation was intrusted. His father 
 keeps a ladies' school at Hackney ; 
 but there is an air of fashion in every 
 thing which Digges writes, and a 
 chivalrous conservatism which makes 
 me pretty certain that D. was my 
 scarifier. All this, however, is 
 naught. Let us turn away from 
 the author's private griefs and ego- 
 tisms to those of the hero of the 
 story. 
 
 Does any one remember the ap- 
 pearance some twenty years ago of 
 a little book called " Trumpet Calls," 
 
 a book of songs and poetry, dedi-
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 191 
 
 cated to his brother officers by Cornet , his character, that he committed a sys- 
 Canterton ? His trumpet was very tematic literary murder once a week, a 
 tolerably melodious, and the cornet [ more worthy good-natured little mur- 
 played some small airs on it with dcrer did not live. He came of the old 
 some little grace and skill. But this school of the press. Like French 
 poor Canterton belonged to the Life marshals, he had risen from the 
 Guards Green, and Philip Firmin \ ranks, and retained some of the man- 
 would have liked to have the lives of ners and oddities of the private 
 one or two troops at least of that [ soldier. A new race of writers had 
 corps. Entering into Mr. Cassidy's grown up since he enlisted as a print- 
 room, Philip found the little volume, er's boy, men of the world, with 
 He set to work to exterminate Can- the manners of other gentlemen, 
 terton. He rode him down, trampled 
 over his face and carcass, knocked the 
 
 Trumpet Calls " and all the teeth 
 out of the trumpeter's throat. Never 
 was such a smashing article as he 
 wrote. And Mugford, Mr. Cassidy's 
 
 Mugford never professed the least 
 gentility. He knew that his young 
 men laughed at his peculiarities, and 
 did not care a fig for their scorn. As 
 the knife with which he conveyed his 
 victuals to his mouth went down his 
 
 chief and owner, who likes always to j throat at the plenteous banquets which 
 
 have at least one man served up and 
 hashed small in the Pall Mall 
 Gazette, happened at this very junc- 
 ture to have no other victim ready in 
 his larder. Philip's review appeared 
 there in print. He rushed off with 
 immense glee to Westminster, to 
 show us his performance. Noth- 
 ing must content him but to give 
 a dinner at Greenwich on his sue- 
 that 
 
 he gave, he saw his young friends 
 wince and wonder, and rather rel- 
 ished their surprise. Those lips never 
 cared in the least about placing his 
 h's in right places. They used bad 
 language with great freedom (to 
 hear him bullying a printing-office 
 was a wonder of eloquence), but 
 they betrayed no secrets, and the 
 words which they uttered you might 
 trust. He had belonged to two or 
 
 three parties, and had respected them 
 
 cess. O Philip ! We wished 
 this had not been his first fee ; 
 
 and that sober law had given it ' all. When he went to the Under- 
 to him, and not the graceless and ; Secretary's office he was never kept 
 fickle muse with whom he had been ; waiting ; and once or twice Mrs. 
 flirting. For, truth to say, certain i Mugford, who governed him, ordered 
 wise old heads which wagged over his | him to attend the Saturday reception 
 performance could see but little merit j of the Ministers' ladies, where he 
 in it. His style was coarse, his wit , might be seen, with dirty hands, it is 
 
 clumsy and savage. Never mind 
 characterizing either now. He has 
 seen the error of his ways, and di- 
 vorced with the muse whom he never 
 ought to have wooed. 
 
 The shrewd Cassidy not only 
 could not write himself, but knew he 
 could not, or, at least, pen more 
 than a plain paragraph, or a brief 
 sentence to the point, but said he 
 would carry this paper to his chief. 
 " His Excellency " was the nickname 
 by which this chief was called by 
 his familiars. Mugford Frederick 
 Mugford was his real name, and 
 
 true, but a richly embroidered waist- 
 coat and fancy satin tie. His heart, 
 however, was not in these entertain- 
 ments. I have heard him say that 
 he only came because Mrs. M. would 
 have if; and he frankly owned that he 
 " would rather 'ave a pipe, and a 
 drop of something 'ot, than all your 
 ices and rubbish." 
 
 Mugford had a curious knowledge 
 of what was going on in the world, 
 and of the affairs of countless people. 
 When Cass brought Philip's article 
 to his Excellency, and mentioned the 
 author's name, Mugford showed him- 
 
 puttingoutof sight that little defect in I self to be perfectly familiar with the
 
 192 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 histories of Philip and his father. 
 " The old chap has nobbled the 
 young fellow's money, almost every 
 shilling of it, I hear. Knew he nev- 
 er would carry on. His discounts 
 would have killed any man. Seen 
 his paper about this ten year. Young 
 one is a gentleman, passionate fel- 
 low, hawhaw fellow, but kind to the 
 poor. Father never was a gentle- 
 man, with all his fine airs and fine 
 waistcoats. I don't set up in that 
 line myself, Cass, but I tell you I 
 know 'em when I see 'em." 
 
 Philip had friends and private pa- 
 trons whose influence was great with 
 the Mugford family, and of whom he 
 little, knew. Every year Mrs. M. 
 was in the habit of contributing a 
 Mugford to the world. She was one 
 of Mrs. Brandon's most regular cli- 
 ents ; and year after year, almost 
 from his first arrival in London, Rid- 
 ley, the painter, had been engaged as 
 portrait painter to this worthy family. 
 Philip and his illness ; Philip and 
 his horses, splendors, and entertain- 
 ments ; Philip and his lamentable 
 downfall and ruin, had formed the 
 subject of many an interesting talk 
 between Mrs. Mugford and her friend 
 the Little Sister ; and as we know 
 Caroline's infatuation about the 
 young fellow, we may suppose that 
 his good qualities lost nothing in the 
 description. When that article in 
 the Pall Mall Gazette appeared, 
 Nurse Brandon took the omnibus to 
 Haverstock Hill, where, as you 
 know, Mugford had his villa ; 
 arrived at Mrs. Mugford's, Gazette 
 in hand ; and had a long and delight- 
 ful conversation with that lady. 
 Mrs. Brandon bought I don't know 
 now many copies of that Pall Mall 
 Gazette. She now asked for it re- 
 peatedly in her walks at sundry gin- 
 ger-beer shops, and of all sortsof news- 
 venders. I have heard that when 
 the Mugfords first purchased the 
 Gazette, Mrs. M. used to drop bills 
 from her pony-dulse, and distribute 
 placards setting forth the excellence 
 of the journal. " We keep our car- 
 
 riage, but we ain't above our busi- 
 ness, Brandon," that good lady 
 would say. And the business pros- 
 pered under the management of these 
 i worthy folks ; and the pony-chaise 
 i unlblded into a noble barouche ; and 
 j the pony increased and multiplied, 
 and became a pair of horses ; and 
 '. there was not a richer piece of gold 
 I lace round any coachman's hat in 
 London than now decorated John, 
 who had grown with the growth of 
 his master's fortunes, and drove the 
 chariot in which his worthy employ- 
 ers rode on the way to Hampstead, 
 honor, and prosperity. 
 
 " All this pitching into the poet 
 i is very well, you know, Cassidy," 
 ' says Mugford to his subordinate. 
 " It 's like shooting a butterfly with a 
 blunderbuss ; but if Firmin likes that 
 kind of sport, I don't mind. There 
 won't be any difficulty about taking 
 his copy at our place. The duchess 
 knows another old woman who is 
 a friend of his " (" the duchess " was 
 the title which Mr. Mugford was in 
 the playful habit of conferring upon 
 his wife). " It 's my belief young F. 
 had better stick to the law, and leave 
 the writing rubbish alone. But he 
 knows his own affairs best, and, mind 
 you, the duchess is determined we 
 shall give him a helping hand." 
 
 Once, in the days of his prosperity, 
 and in J. J.'s company, Philip had 
 visited Mrs. Mugford and her family, 
 a circumstance which the gentle- 
 m:m had almost forgotten. The 
 painter and his friend were taking a 
 Sunday walk, and came upon Mug- 
 ford's pretty cottage and garden, and 
 j were hospitably entertained there by 
 I the owners of the place. It has dis- 
 I appeared, and the old garden has long 
 since been covered by terraces and 
 ' villas, and Mugford and Mrs. M., 
 good souls, where are they ? But 
 the lady thought she had never seen 
 such a fine-looking young fellow as 
 Philip; cast about in her mind which 
 of her little female Mugfords should 
 i marry him ; and insisted upon oft'er- 
 I ing her guest champagne. Poor
 
 THE AD VEX TURKS OF PHILIP. 
 
 193 
 
 Phil ! So, you sec, whilst, perhaps, 
 he was rather pluming himself upon 
 his literary talents, and imagining 
 that he was a clever fellow, he was 
 only the object of a job on the part 
 of "two or three good folks, who 
 knew his history, and compassionated 
 his misfortunes. 
 
 Mugford recalled himself to Phil- i 
 ip's recollection, when they met after 
 the appearance of Mr. Phil's first 
 performance in the Gazette. If he | 
 still took a Sunday walk, Hamp- 
 stead way, Mr. M. requested him to ' 
 remember that there was a slice of 
 beef and a glass of wine at the old 
 shop. Philip remembered it well | 
 enough now : the ugly room, the j 
 ugly family, the kind worthy people. 
 Erelong he learned what had been 
 Mrs. Brandon's connection with 
 them, and the young man's heart 
 was softened and grateful as he 
 thought how this kind, gentle crea- 
 ture had been able to befriend him. 
 She, we may be sure, was not a lit- ! 
 tie proud of her protege. I believe j 
 she grew to fancy that the whole news- 
 paper was written by Philip. She 
 made her fond parent read it aloud ! 
 as she worked. Mr. Ridley, senior, j 
 pronounced it was remarkably fine, j 
 really now ; without, I think, entirely ! 
 comprehending the meaning of the 
 sentiments which Mr. Gann gave 
 forth in his rich loud voice, and often 
 dropping asleep in his chair during 
 this sermon. 
 
 In the autumn, Mr. Firmin's friends, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Pendennis, selected the 
 romantic seaport town of Boulogne 
 for their holiday residence ; and having 
 roomy quarters in the old town, we 
 gave Mr. Philip an invitation to pay 
 us a visit whenever he could tear him- 
 self away from literature and law. 
 He came in high spirits. He amused 
 us by imitations and descriptions of 
 his new proprietor and master, Mr. 
 Mugford, his blunders, his bad lan- 
 guage, his good heart. One day, 
 Mugford expected a celebrated liter- 
 ary character to dinner, and Philip 
 and Cassidy were invited to meet him. 
 9 
 
 The great man was ill, and was un- 
 able to come. " Don't dish up the 
 side-dishes," called out Mugford to 
 his cook, in the hearing of his other 
 guests. " Mr. Lyon ain't a coming." 
 They dined quite sufficiently without 
 the side-dishes, and were perfectly 
 cheerful in the absence of the lion. 
 Mugford patronized his young men 
 with amusing good-nature. " Firmin, 
 cut the goose for the duchess, will 
 you ? Cass can't say Bo ! to one, he 
 can't. Ridley, a litt'le of the slutting. 
 It'll make your hair curl." And 
 Philip was going to imitate a fright- 
 ful act with the cold steel (with which 
 I have said Philip's master used to 
 convey food to his mouth), but our 
 dear innocent third daughter uttered 
 a shriek of terror, which caused him 
 to drop the dreadful weapon. Our 
 darling little Florence is a nervous 
 child, and the sight of an edged tool 
 causes her anguish, ever since our 
 darling little Tom nearly cut his 
 thumb off with his father's razor. 
 
 Our main amusement in this de- 
 lightful plac e was to look at the sea- 
 sick landing from the steamers ; and 
 one day, sis we witnessed this phe- 
 nomenon, Philip sprang to the ropes 
 which divided us from the arriving 
 passengers, and with a cry of " How 
 do you do, General ? " greeted a 
 yellow-faced gentleman, who started 
 back, and, to my thinking, seemed 
 but ill inclined to reciprocate Philip's 
 friendly greeting. The General was 
 fluttered, no doubt, by the bustle and 
 interruptions incidental to the land- 
 ing. A pallid lady, the partner of 
 his existence probably, was calling 
 out, " Noof et doo domestiqucs, 
 Poo ! " to the sentries who kept the 
 line, and who seemed little interested 
 by this family news. A governess, a 
 tall young lady, and several more 
 male and female children, followed 
 the pale lady, who, as I thought, 
 looked strangely frightened when the 
 gentleman addressed as General com- 
 municated to her Philip's name. 
 " Is that him ? " said the lady in 
 questionable grammar ; and the tall 
 M
 
 194 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 young lady turned a pair of large 
 eyes upon the individual designated 
 as " him," and showed a pair of dank 
 ringlets, out of which the envious 
 sea-nymphs hud shaken all the curl. 
 
 The general turned out to be 
 General Baynes ; the pale lady was 
 Mrs. General B. ; the tall young 
 lady was Miss Charlotte Baynes, the 
 General's eldest child ; and the other 
 six, forming nine, or " noof," in all, 
 as Mrs. General B. said, were the 
 other members of the Baynes family. 
 And here I may as well say why the 
 General looked alarmed on seeing 
 Philip, and why the General's lady 
 frowned at him. In action one of 
 the bravest of men, in common life 
 General Baynes was timorous and 
 weak. Specially he was afraid of 
 Mrs. General Baynes, who ruled him 
 with a vigorous authority As Philip's 
 trustee, he had allowed Philip's father 
 to make away with the boy s money. 
 He learned with a ghastly terror that 
 he was answerable for his own re- 
 missness and want of care. For a 
 long while he did not dare to tell 
 his commander-in-chief of this dread- 
 ful penalty which was hanging over 
 him. When at last he ventured 
 upon this confession, I do not 
 envy him the scene which must have 
 ensued between him and his com- 
 manding officer. The morning after 
 the fatal confession, when the chil- 
 dren assembled for breakfast and 
 prayers, Mrs. Baynes gave their 
 young ones their porridge : she and 
 Charlotte poured out the tea and cof- 
 fee for the elders, and then addressing 
 her eldest son Ochterlony, she said, 
 " Ocky, my boy, the General has an- 
 nounced a charming piece of news 
 this morning." 
 
 " Bought that pony, sir ? " says 
 Ocky. 
 
 " O, what jolly fun ! " says Moira, 
 the second son. 
 
 " Dear, dear papa ! what 'B the 
 matter, and why do you look so ? " 
 cries Charlotte, looking behind her 
 father's paper. 
 
 That guilty man would fain have 
 
 made a shroud of his Morning Herald 
 He would have flung the sheet over 
 his whole body, and lain hidden there 
 from all eyes. 
 
 " The fun, my dears, is that your 
 father is ruined : that 's the fun. Eat 
 your porridge now, little ones. Char- 
 lotte, pop a bit of butter in Carrick's 
 porridge ; for you may n't have any 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " O, gammon," cries Moira. 
 
 " You'll soon see whether it is 
 gammon or not, sir, when you '11 be 
 starving, sir. Your father has ruined 
 us, and a very pleasant morning's 
 work, I am sure." 
 
 And she calmly rubs the nose of her 
 youngest child who is near her, and 
 too young, and innocent, and care- 
 less, perhaps, of the world's censure 
 as yet to keep in a strict cleanliness 
 her own dear little snub nose and 
 dappled cheeks. 
 
 " We are only ruined, and shall be 
 starving soon, my dears, and if the 
 General has bought a pony, as I 
 dare say he has ; he is quite capable 
 of buying a pony when we are starv- 
 ing, the best thing we can do is to 
 eat the pony. M'Grigor, don't laugh. 
 Starvation is no laughing matter. 
 When we were at Dumdum, in '36, 
 we ate some colt. Don't you remem- 
 ber Jubber's colt, Jubber of the 
 Horse Artillery, General ? Never 
 tasted anything more tender in all my 
 life. Charlotte, take Jany's hands 
 out of the marmalade ! We are all 
 ruined, my dears, as sure as our name 
 is Baynes." Thus did the mother of 
 the family prattle on in the midst of 
 her little ones, and announce to them 
 the dreadful news of impending star- 
 vation. " General Baynes, by his 
 carelessness, had allowed Dr. Firmin 
 to make away with the money over 
 which the General had been set as sen- 
 tinel. Philip might recover from the 
 trustee, and no doubt would. Per- 
 haps he would not press his claim ? 
 My dear, what can you expect from 
 the son of such a father ? Depend 
 on it, Charlotte, no pood fruit can 
 come from a stock like that. Th*
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 jion is a bad one, the father is a bad 
 one, and your father, poor dear soul, is 
 not fit to be trusted to walk the street 
 without some one to keep him from 
 tumbling. Why did I allow him to 
 go to town without me 1 We were 
 quartered at Colchester then : and I 
 could not move on account of your 
 brother M'Grigor. ' Baynes,' I said 
 to your father, ' as sure as I let you go 
 away to town without me, you will 
 come to mischief.' And go he did, 
 and come to mischief he did. And 
 through his folly I and my poor chil- 
 dren must go and beg our bread in 
 the streets, I and my seven poor, 
 robbed, penniless little ones. 0, it 's 
 cruel, cruel ! " 
 
 Indeed, one cannot fancy a more 
 dismal prospect for this worthy moth- 
 er and wife than to see her children 
 without provision at the commence- 
 ment of their lives, and her luckless 
 husband robbed of his life's earnings, 
 and ruined just when he was too old 
 to work. 
 
 What was to become of them ? 
 Now poor Charlotte thought, with 
 pangs of a keen remorse, how idle she 
 had been, and how she had snubbed 
 her governesses, and how little she 
 knew, and how badly she played the 
 piano. O neglected opportunities ! 
 O remorse, now the time was past 
 and irrecoverable ! Does any young 
 lady read this who, perchance, ought 
 to be doing her lessons ? My dear, 
 lay down the story-book at once. Go 
 up to your school-room, and practise 
 your piano for two hours this mo- 
 ment ; so that you may be prepared to 
 support your family, should ruin in 
 any case fall upon you. A great girl 
 of sixteen, I pity Charlotte Baynes's 
 feelings of anguish. She can't write 
 a very good hand ; she can scarcely 
 answer any question to speak of in 
 any educational books ; her pianoforte 
 playing is very very so-so indeed. 
 If she is to go out and get a living for 
 the family, how, in the name of good- 
 ness, is she to set about it 1 What 
 are they to do with the boys, and the 
 money that has been put away for 
 
 Ochterlony when he goes to college, 
 and for Moira's commission '< " Why 
 we can't afford to keep them at Dr. 
 Pybus's where they were doing so 
 well ; and they were ever so much bet- 
 ter and more gentlemanlike than Colo- 
 nel Chandler's boys ; and to lose the 
 army will break Moira's heart, it will. 
 And" the little ones, my little blue- 
 eyed Carrick, and my darling Jany, 
 and my Mary, that I nursed almost 
 miraculously out of her scarlet fever. 
 God help them ! God help us all ! " 
 thinks the poor mother. No wondir 
 that her nights are wakeful, and her 
 heart in a tumult of alarm at the idea 
 of the impending danger. 
 
 And the father of the family 1 
 the stout old General whose battles 
 and campaigns are over, who has come 
 home to rest his war-worn limbs, and 
 make his peace with Heaven ere it 
 calls him away, what must be his 
 feelings when he thinks that he has 
 been entrapped by a villain into com- 
 miting an imprudence which makes 
 his children penniless and himself dis- 
 honored and a beggar? When he 
 found what Dr. Fiimin had done, and 
 how he had been cheated, he went away, 
 aghast, to his lawyer, who could give 
 him no help. Philip's mother's trus- 
 tee was answerable to Philip for his 
 property. It had been stolen through 
 Baynes's own carelessness, and the 
 law bound him to replace it. Gen- 
 eral Baynes's man of business could 
 not help him out of his perplexity at 
 all ; and I hope my worthy reader is 
 not going to be too angry with the 
 General for what I own he did. You 
 never would, my dear sir, I know. 
 No power on earth would induce you 
 to depart one inch from the path of 
 rectitude ; or, having done an act of 
 imprudence, to shrink from bearing 
 the consequence. The long and 
 short of the matter is, that ] cor 
 Baynes and his wife, after holding 
 agitated, stealthy councils together, 
 after believing that every strange face 
 they saw was a bailiff's coming to 
 arrest them on Philip's account, 
 after horrible days of remorse, misery,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 guilt, I say the long and the short of 
 the matter was that these poor people 
 determined to run away. They 
 would go and hide themselves any- 
 where, in an impenetrable pine 
 forest in Norway, up an inaccess- 
 ible mountain in Switzerland. They 
 would change their names ; dye their 
 mustachios and honest old white 
 h;iir ; fly with their little ones away, 
 away, away, out of the reach of law 
 and Philip ; and the first flight lands 
 them on Boulogne Pier, and there is 
 Mr. Philip holding out his hand and 
 actually eying them as they got out 
 of the steamer ! Eying them 1 It 
 is the eye of Heaven that is on those 
 criminals. Holding out his hand to 
 them ? It is the hand of fate that is 
 on their wretched shoulders. No 
 wonder they shuddered and turned 
 pale. That which I took for sea-sick- 
 ness, I am sorry to say was a guilty 
 conscience : and where is the steward, 
 my dear friends, who can relieve us 
 of that 1 
 
 As this party came staggering out 
 of the Custom-house, poor Baynes 
 still found Philip's hand stretched 
 out to catcli hold of him, and salut- 
 ed him with a ghastly cordiality. 
 " These are yonr children, General, 
 and this is Mrs. Baynes ? " says 
 Philip, smiling, and taking off his hat. I 
 
 " O yes ! I 'm Mrs. General ; 
 Baynes ! " says the poor woman ; 
 "and these are the children, yes, I 
 yes. Charlotte, this is Mr. Finnin, 
 of whom you have heard us speak ; 
 and these are my boys, Moira and 
 Ochterlony." 
 
 " I have hal the honor of meeting 
 General Baynes at Old Parr Street. 
 Don't you remember, sir? " says Mr. 
 Pendennis, with great affability to 
 the General. 
 
 " What, another who knows me ? " 
 I dare say the poor wretch thinks ; 
 and glances of a dreadful meaning 
 pass between the guilty wife and the 
 guilty husband. 
 
 " You are going to stay at any 
 hotel ? " 
 
 " ; Hotel des Bains'"' '"Hotel 
 
 du Nord!" "'Hotel d'Angle- 
 terre ! ' " here cry twenty commis- 
 sioners in a breath. 
 
 " Hotel ? O yes ! That is, -we 
 have not made up our minds whether 
 we shall go on to-night or whether 
 we shall stay," say those guilty ones, 
 looking at one another, and then 
 down to the ground ; on which one 
 of the children, with a roar says, 
 
 " O ma, what a story ! You said 
 you 'd stay to-night ; and I was so 
 sick in the beastly boat, and I won't 
 travel any more ! " And tears choke 
 his artless utterance. " And you 
 said Bang to the man who took your 
 keys, you know you did," resumes 
 the innocent, as soon as he can gasp 
 a further remark. 
 
 " Who told you to speak 1 " cried 
 mamma, giving the boy a shake. 
 
 " This is the way to the ' Hotel des 
 Bains,' " says Philip; making Miss 
 Baynes another of his best bows. 
 And Miss Baynes makes a courtesy, 
 and her eyes look up at the handsomo 
 young man, large brown honest 
 eyes in a comely round face, on each 
 side of which depend two straight 
 wisps of brown hair that were ringlets 
 when they left Folkestone a few hount 
 since. 
 
 " O, I say, look at those women 
 with the short petticoats ! and wooden 
 shoes, by George ! Oh ! it 's jolly, 
 ain't it '( " cries one young gentle- 
 man. 
 
 " By George, there 's a man with 
 car-rings on ! There is, Ocky, upon 
 my word ! " calls out another. And 
 the elder boy, turning round to his 
 father, points to some soldiers. " Did 
 you ever see such little beggars ? " he 
 says, tossing his head up. " They 
 would n't take such fellows into our 
 line." 
 
 " I am not at all tired, thank you," 
 says Charlotte. " I am accustomed 
 to carry him." I forgot to say that 
 the young lady had one of the chil- 
 dren asleep on her shoulder ; and an- 
 other was toddling at her side, hold- 
 ing by his sister's dress, and ad- 
 miring Mr. Firmin's whiskers, that
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 197 
 
 flamed and curled very luminously 
 and gloriously, like to the rays of the 
 setting sun. 
 
 " I am very glad we met, sir," says 
 Philip, in the most friendly manner, 
 taking leave of the General at the 
 gate of his hotel. " I hope you won't 
 go away to-morrow, and that I may 
 come and pay my respects to Mrs. 
 Baynes." Again he salutes that lady 
 with a coup de c/iapeau. Again he 
 bows to Miss Baynes. She makes a 
 pretty courtesy enough, considering 
 that she has a baby asleep on her 
 shoulder. And they enter the hotel, 
 the excellent Marie marshalling them 
 to fitting apartments, where some of 
 them, I have no doubt, will sleep very 
 soundly. How much more comfort- 
 ably might poor Baynes and his wife 
 have slept, had they known what were 
 Philip's feelings regarding them ! 
 
 We both admired Charlotte, the 
 tall girl who carried her little brother, 
 and around whom the others clung. 
 And we spoke loudly in Miss Char- 
 lotte's praises to Mrs. Pendennis, 
 when we joined that lady at dinner. 
 In the praise of Mrs. Baynes we had 
 not a great deal to say, further than 
 that she seemed to take command of 
 the whole expedition, including the 
 general officer, her husband. 
 
 Though Marie's beds at the " Ho- 
 tel des Bains " are as comfortable as 
 any beds in Europe, you see that 
 admirable chambermaid cannot lay 
 out a clean, easy conscience upon 
 the clean, fragrant pillow-case ; and 
 General and Mrs. Baynes owned, in 
 after days, that one of the most 
 dreadful nights they ever passed was 
 that of their first landing in France. 
 What refugee from his country can fly 
 from himself? Railways were not 
 as yet in that part of France. The 
 General was too poor to fly with a 
 couple of private carriages, which he 
 must have had for his family of 
 " noof," his governess, and two ser- 
 vants. Encumbered with such a 
 train, his enemy would speedily have 
 pursued and overtaken him. It is a 
 fact that, immediately after landing 
 
 at his hotel, he and his commanding 
 officer went off to see when they could 
 get places for never mind the name 
 of the place where they really thought 
 of taking refuge. They never told, 
 
 ! but Mrs. General Baynes had a sister, 
 Mrs. Major MacWhirter (married to 
 MucW. of the Bengal Cavalry), and 
 the sisters loved each othc'r very 
 affectionately, especially by letter, for 
 it must be owned that they quarrelled 
 
 | frightfully when together ; and Mrs. 
 
 \ MacWhirter never could bear that 
 her younger sister should be taken 
 out to dinner before her, because she 
 was married to a superior officer. 
 
 : Well, their little differences were for- 
 
 1 gotten when the two ladies were apart 
 The sisters wrote to each other pro. 
 digious long letters, in which house< 
 
 i hold affairs, the children's puerile 
 
 j diseases, the relative prices of veal, 
 eggs, chickens, the rent of lodging 
 and houses in various places, were 
 fully discussed. And as Mrs. Baynes 
 showed a surprising knowledge of 
 Tours, the markets, rents, clergymen, 
 society there, and as Major and Mrs. 
 Mac. were staying there, I have little 
 doubt, for my part, from this and 
 another not unimportant circum- 
 stance, that it was to that fair city 
 our fugitives were wending their way, 
 when events occurred which must 
 now be narrated, and which caused 
 General Baynes at the head of his 
 domestic regiment to do what the 
 King of France with twenty thousand 
 men is said to have done in old times. 
 Philip was greatly interested about 
 the family. The truth is, we were 
 all very much bored at Boulogne. 
 We read the feeblest London papers 
 at the reading-room with frantic 
 assiduity. We saw all the boats 
 come- in : and the day was lost when 
 we missed the Folkestone boat 01 the 
 London boat. We consumed much 
 time and absinthe at cafe's; and 
 tramped leagues upon that old pier 
 every day. Well, Philip was at the 
 "Hotel des Bains" at a very early 
 hour next morning, and there he saw 
 the General, with a woe-worn face.
 
 198 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 leaning on his stick, and looking at 
 his luggage, as it lay piled in the 
 porte-cochere of the hotel. There 
 they lay, thirty-seven packages in all, 
 including washing-tubs, and a child's 
 India sleeping-cot ; and all these 
 packages were ticketed M. LE GE- 
 NERAL BAYNES, OFFICIER ANGLAIS, 
 TOURS, TOURAINE, FRANCE. I say, 
 putting two and two together ; calling 
 to mind Mrs. General's singular 
 knowledge of Tours and familiarity 
 with the place and its prices ; remem- 
 bering that her sister Emily Mrs. 
 Major MacWhirter, in fact was 
 there ; and seeing thirty-seven trunks, 
 bajjs, and portmanteaus, all directed 
 " M. le General Baynes, Officier 
 Anglais, Tours, Touraine," am I 
 wrong in supposing that Tours was 
 the General's destination ? On the 
 other hand, we have the old officer's 
 declaration to Philip that he did not 
 know where he was going. O you 
 sly old man ! O you gray old fox, 
 beginning to double and to turn at 
 sixty-seven years of age ! \Vell ? 
 The General was in retreat, and he 
 did not wish the enemy to know 
 upon what lines he was retreating. 
 What is the harm of that, pray ? 
 Besides he was under the orders of 
 his commanding officer, and when 
 Mrs. General gave her orders, I 
 should have liked to see any officer 
 of hers disobey. 
 
 " What a pyramid of portman- 
 teaus ! You are not thinking 
 of moving to-day, General ? " says 
 Philip. 
 
 " It is Sunday, sir," says the 
 General ; which you will perceive was 
 not answering the question ; but in 
 truth, except for a very great emer- 
 gency, the good General would not 
 travel on that day. 
 
 " I hope the ladies slept well after 
 their windy voyage." 
 
 " Thank you. My wife is an old 
 ?ailor, and h;us made two voyages out 
 and home to India." Here, you un- 
 derstand, the old man is again eluding 
 his interlocutor's artless queries. 
 
 " I should like to have some talk 
 
 with you, sir, when you are free," 
 continues Philip, not having leisure 
 as yet to be surprised at the other's 
 demeanor. 
 
 " There are other days besides Sun- 
 day for talk on business," says that 
 piteous sly-boots of an old officer. 
 Ah, conscience ! conscience ! Twen- 
 ty-four Sikhs, sword in hand, two 
 dozen Piudarries, Mahrattas, Ghoor- 
 kas, what you please, that old man 
 felt that he would rather have met 
 them than Philip's unsuspecting blue 
 eyes. These, however, now lighted 
 up with rather an angry, " Well, sir, 
 as you don't talk business on Sun- 
 day, may I call on you to-morrow 
 morning ? " 
 
 And what advantage had the poor 
 old fellow got by all this doubling 
 and hesitating and artfulness ? a 
 respite until to-morrow morning! 
 Another night of horrible wakefulness 
 and hopeless guilt, and Philip wait- 
 ing ready the. next morning with his 
 little bill, and, " Please pay me the 
 thirty thousand which my father 
 spent and you owe me. Piease turn 
 out into the streets with your wife 
 and family, and beg and starve. 
 Have the goodness to hand me out 
 your last rupee. Be kind enough to 
 sell your children's clothes, and your 
 wife's jewels, and hand over the pro- 
 ceeds to me. I '11 call to-morrow. 
 Bye, bye." 
 
 Here there came tripping over the 
 marble pavement of the hall of the 
 hotel a tall young lady in a brown 
 silk dress, and rich curling ringlets 
 falling upon her fair young neck, 
 beautiful brown curling ringlets, vous 
 coinprencz, not wisps of moistened 
 hair, and a broad, clear forehead, and 
 two honest eyes shining below it, and 
 cheeks not pale as they were yester- 
 day ; and lips redder still ; and she 
 says, " Papa, papa, won't you come 
 to'breakfast ? The tea is " What 
 the precise state of the tea is I don't 
 know, none of us ever shall, for 
 here she says, " O Mr. Firmin ! " 
 and makes a courtesy. 
 
 To which remark Philip replied,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 109 
 
 " Miss Baynes, I hope yon are very 
 well this morning, and not the worse 
 for yesterday's rough weather." 
 
 " I am quite well, thank you," was 
 Miss Baynes's instant reply. The 
 answer was not witty, to be sure ; but 
 I don't know that under the circum- 
 stances she could have said anything 
 more appropriate. Indeed, never was 
 a pleasanter picture of 'health and 
 good-humor than the young lady pre- 
 sented ; a difference more pleasant to 
 note than Miss Charlotte's pale face 
 from the steamboat on Saturday, and 
 shining, rosy, happy, and innocent, 
 in the cloudless Sabbath morn. 
 
 "A Madame, 
 
 " Madame le Major MacWhirter, 
 " & Tours, 
 
 " Touraine, 
 ' France. 
 
 " TlNTELLERIBS, BoULOGNE-SCR-MsR, 
 
 " Wednesday, August 21, 18. 
 " DEAREST EMILY, After suffer- 
 ing more dreadfully in the two hours' 
 passage from Folkestone to this place 
 than I have in four passages out and 
 home from India, except in that ter- 
 rible storm off the Cape, in Septem- 
 ber, 1824, when I certainly did suffer 
 most cruelly on board that horrible 
 troop-ship, we reached this place last 
 Saturday evening, having a, full deter- 
 mination to proceed immediately on 
 our route. Now, you will perceive 
 that our minds are changed. We 
 found this place pleasant, and the 
 lodgings besides most neat, comfort- 
 able, and well found in everything, 
 more reasonable than you proposed to 
 get for us at Tours, which I am told 
 also is damp, and might bring on the 
 General's jungle fever again. Owing 
 to the whooping-cough having just 
 been in the house, which, praised be 
 mercy, all my dear ones have had it, 
 including dear baby, who is quite well 
 through it, and recommended sea air, 
 we got this house more reasonable than 
 prices you mention at Tours. A 
 whole house : little room for two 
 boys ; nursery ; nice little room for 
 Charlotte, and a den for the General. 
 
 I don't know how ever we should 
 have brought our party safe all tho 
 way to Tours. Thirty-sevrn ariiclcs 
 of luggage, and Miss Flixby, who 
 announced herself as perfect French 
 governess, acquired at Paris, per- 
 fect, but perfectly useless. She can't 
 understand the French people when 
 they speak to her, and goes about the 
 house in a most bewildering way. I am 
 the interpreter ; poor Charlotte is much 
 too timid to speak when I am by. I 
 have rubbed up the old French which 
 we learned at Chiswick at Miss Pink- 
 erton's ; and I find my Hindostanee of 
 great help : which I use it when we 
 are at a loss for a word, and it an- 
 swers extremely icell. We pay for 
 
 lodgings, the whole house francs 
 
 per month. Butchers' meat and poul- 
 try plentiful but dear. A grocer in 
 the Grande Rue sells excellent wine 
 at fifteenpence per bottle ; and grocer- 
 ies pretry much at English prices. 
 Mr. Blowman at the English Chapel 
 of the Tintelleries has a fine voice, 
 and appears to be a most excellent cler- 
 gyman. I have heard him only once, 
 however, on Sunday evening, when I 
 was so agitated and so unhappy in my 
 mind that I own I took little note of 
 his sermon. 
 
 " The cause of that agitation you 
 know, having imparted it to you in 
 my letters of July, June, and 24th of 
 May, ult. My poor simple, guileless 
 Baynes was trustee to Mrs. Dr. Fir- 
 min, before she married that most un- 
 principled man. When we were at 
 home last, and exchanged to the 120th 
 from the 99th, my poor husband was 
 inveigled by the horrid man into sign- 
 ing a paper which put the Doctor in 
 possession of all his wife's pro/>eriy ; 
 whereas Charles thought he was only 
 signing a power of attorney, enabling 
 him to receive his son's dividends. 
 Dr. F., nfter the most atrocious deceit, 
 forgery, and criminality of every kind, 
 fled the country ; and Hunt and Peg- 
 ler, our solicitors, informed us that 
 the General was answerable for tlie 
 wickedness of this miscreant. He is 
 so weak that he has been many and
 
 200 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 many times on the point of going to 
 young Mr. F. and giving up every- 
 thing. It was only by my prayers, 
 by my commands, that I have been 
 enabled to keep him quiet ; and, in- 
 deed, Emily, the effort has almost 
 killed him. Brantly repeatedly I was 
 obliged to administer on t/ie dreadful 
 nit/lit of our arrival here. 
 
 " For the first person we met on 
 landing was Mr. Philip Firmin, with 
 a i>i-rt friend oj his, Mr. Pendennis, 
 whom I don't at all like, though his 
 wife is an amiable person like Emma 
 Fletcher of the Horse Artillery : not 
 with Emma's s/yfe, however, but still 
 amiable, and disposed to be most 
 civil. Charlotte has taken a great 
 fancy to her, as she always does to 
 every new person. Well, fancy our 
 state on landing, when a young gen- 
 tleman calls out, ' How do you do, 
 General ? ' and turns out to be Mr. 
 Firmin ! I thought I should have 
 lost Charles in the night. I have 
 seen him before going into action as 
 calm, and sleep and smile as sweet as 
 any Ixtlte. It was all I could do to 
 keep up his courage : and, but for 
 me, but for my prayers, but for my 
 ai/onies, I think he would have jumped 
 out of bed, and gone to Mr. F. that 
 night, and said, ' Take everything I 
 have.' 
 
 " The young man, I own, has be- 
 haved in the most honorable way. He 
 came to see us before, breakfast on Sun- 
 day, when the poor General was so 
 ill that I thought he would have 
 fainted over his tea. He was too ill to 
 go to church, where I went alone, 
 with my dear ones, having, as I own, 
 but very small comfort in the sermon : 
 but O Emily, fancy, on our return, 
 when I went into our room, I found 
 my General on his knees with his 
 Church service before him, crying, 
 crying like a baby ! You know I am 
 hasty in my temper sometimes, and 
 his is indp,'-d an amjel's, and I said 
 to him, ' Charles Baynes, be a man, 
 and don't cry like a child ! ' ' Ah,' 
 says he, ' Eliza, do you kncei, and 
 thank God too ' ; on which I said that 
 
 I thought I did not require instruc- 
 tion in my religion from him or any 
 man, except a clergyman, and many 
 of these are but poor instructors, as you 
 know. 
 
 " ' He has been here,' says Charles ; 
 when I said, ' Who has been here ? ' 
 ' That noble young fellow,' says my 
 General ; ' that noble, noble Philip 
 Firmin.' Which noble his conduct I 
 own it has been. ' Whilst you were 
 at church he came again, here into 
 this very room, where I was sitting, 
 doubting and despairing, with the 
 Holy Book before my eyes, and no 
 comfort out of it. And he said to me, 
 " General, I want to talk to you about 
 my grandfather's will. You don't 
 suppose that because my father has 
 deceived you and ruined me, I will 
 carry the ruin further, and visit his 
 wrong upon children and innocent 
 people ? " Those were the young 
 man's words,' my General said; and, 
 ' O Eliza ! ' says he, ' what pangs 
 of remorse I felt when I remembered 
 we had used hard words about him,' 
 which I o.vn we had, for his manners 
 are rough and haughty, and I have 
 hatrd thinns of him which I do believe 
 now can't be true. 
 
 " All Monday my poor man was 
 obliged to keep his bed with a smart 
 attack of his fever. But yesterday he 
 was quite bright and well again, and 
 the Pendennis party took Charlotte 
 for a drive, and showed themselves 
 most polite. She reminds me of Mrs. 
 Tom Fletcher of the Horse Artillery, 
 but that I think I have mentioned be- 
 fore. My paper is full ; and with our 
 best to MacWhirter and the children, 
 I am always my dearest Emily's af- 
 fectionate sister, 
 
 "ELIZA BAYXES." 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 B R E.V IS ESSE LABORO. 
 
 NKVEK, General Baylies afterwards 
 declared, did (ever come and go so 
 pleasantly as that attack to which we
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 201 
 
 have seen the Mrs. General advert in 
 her letter to her sister, Mrs. Major i 
 MacWhirter. The cold fit was 
 merely a lively, pleasant chatter and j 
 rattle of the teeth ; the hot fit an 
 agreeable warmth ; and though the 
 ensuing sleep, with which I believe 
 such aguish attacks are usually con- 
 cluded, was enlivened by several 
 dreams of death, demons, and tor- 
 ture, how felicitous it was to wake 
 and find that dreadful thought of ruin 
 removed which had always, for the 
 last few months, ever since Dr. Fir- 
 min's flight and the knowledge of his 
 own imprudence, pursued the good- 
 natured gentleman ! What ! this boy 
 might go to college, and that get his 
 commission ; and their meals need be 
 imbittered by no more dreadful 
 thoughts of the morrow, and their 
 walks no longer were dogged by im- 
 aginary bailiffs, and presented ti jail 
 in the vista ! It was too much bliss ; 
 and again and again the old soldier 
 said his thankful prayers, and blessed 
 his benefactor. 
 
 Philip thought no more of his act 
 of kindness, except to be very grate- 
 ful, and very happy that he had ren- 
 dered other people so. He could no 
 more have taken the old man's all, 
 and plunged that innocent family into 
 poverty, than he could have stolen the 
 forks off my table But other folks 
 were disposed to rate his virtue much 
 more highly ; and amongst these was 
 my wife, who chose positively to wor- 
 ship this young gentleman, and I be- 
 lieve would have let him smoke in her 
 drawing-room if he had been so 
 minded, and though her genteelest 
 acquaintances were in the room. 
 Goodness knows what a noise and 
 what piteous looks are produced if 
 ever the master of the house chooses 
 to indulge in a cigar after dinner ; but 
 then, you understand, / have never 
 declined to claim mine and my chil- 
 dren's right because an old gentleman 
 would be inconvenienced : and this is 
 what I tell Mrs. Pen. If I order a 
 coat from my tailor, must I refuse to 
 pay him because a rogue steals it, 
 9* 
 
 and ought I to expect to be let off? 
 Women won't see matters of fact in a 
 matter-of-fact point of view, and jus- 
 tice, unless it is tinged with a little 
 romance, gets no respect from them. 
 
 So, forsooth, because Philip has 
 performed this certainly most gene- 
 rous, most dashing, most reckless piece 
 of extravagance, he is to be held up 
 as a perfect preiix chevalier. The 
 most riotous dinners are ordered for 
 him. We are to wait until he comes 
 to breakfast, and he is pretty nearly 
 always late. The children are to be 
 sent round to kiss Uncle Philip, as he 
 is now called. The children 1 I 
 wonder the mother did not jump up 
 and kiss him too. Elle en e'tait capa- 
 ble. As for the osculations which 
 took place between Mrs. Pendennis 
 and her new-found young friend, Miss 
 Charlotte Bayncs, they were perfectly 
 ridiculous ; two school-children could 
 not have behaved more absurdly ; 
 and I don't know which seemed to be 
 the younger of these two. There 
 were colloquies, assignations, meet- 
 ings on the ramparts, on the pier, 
 where know I? and the servants 
 and little children of the two estab- 
 lishments were perpetually trotting to 
 and fro with letters from dearest 
 Laura to dearest Charlotte, and dear- 
 est Charlotte to her dearest Mrs. Pen- 
 dennis. Why, my wife absolutely 
 went the length of saying that dear- 
 est Charlotte's mother, Mrs. Baynes, 
 was a worthy, clever woman, and 
 a good mother, a woman whose 
 tongue never ceased clacking about 
 the regiment, and all the ofh'crrt,, and 
 all the officers' wives ; of whom, by 
 the way, she had verv little good to 
 tell. 
 
 " A worthy mother, is she, my 
 dear 1" I say. " But, O mercy ! 
 Mrs. Baynes would be an awful 
 mother-in-law ! " 
 
 I shuddered at the thought of hav- 
 ing such a commonplace, hard, ill- 
 bred woman in a state of quasi au- 
 thority over me. 
 
 On this Mrs. Laura must break out 
 in quite a petulant tone, " O how
 
 202 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 stale this kind of thing is, Arthur, 
 from a man qui veut passer pour un 
 homiiie d' esprit! You are always at- 
 tacking mothers-in-law ! " 
 
 " Witness Mrs. Mackenzie, my 
 love, Clive Newcome's mother-in- 
 law. That 's a nice creature ; not 
 selfish, not wicked, not " 
 
 "Not nonsense, Arthur! " 
 
 " Mrs. Baynes knew Mrs. Macken- 
 zie in the West Indies, as she knew all j 
 the female army. She considers Mrs. j 
 Mackenzie was a most elegant, hand- 
 some, dashing woman, only a little 
 too fond of the admiration of our sex. 
 There, was I own, a fascination about j 
 Captain Goby. Do you remember, 
 my love, that man with the stays and 
 dyed hair, who " 
 
 " O Arthur ! When our girls mar- 
 ry, I suppose you will teach their hus- 
 bands to abuse, and scorn, and mis- 
 trust their mother-in-law. Will he, 
 my darlings ? will he, my blessings ? " 
 (This apart to the children, if you | 
 please.) "Go! I have no patience] 
 with such talk ! " 
 
 " Well, my love, Mrs. Baynes is a 
 most agreeable woman ; and when I 
 have heard that story about the High- 
 landers at the Cape of Good Hope a 
 few times more " (I do not tell 
 it here, for it has nothing to do with 
 the present history), " I dare say I 
 shall begin to be amused by it." 
 
 " Ah ! here comes Charlotte, I 'm 
 glad to say. How pretty she is ! 
 What a color! What a dear crea- 
 ture ! " 
 
 To all which of course I could 
 not say a contradictory word, for a 
 prettier, fresher lass than Miss Baynes 
 with a sweeter voice, face, laughter, 
 it \va> difficult to see. 
 
 " Why does mamma like Charlotte 
 better than she likes us ? " says our 
 dear and justly indignant eldest girl. 
 
 " I could not love her better if I 
 were her motlte)--in-law," says Laura, 
 running to her young friend, casting 
 a glance at me over her shoulder ; 
 and that kissing nonsense begins be- 
 tween the two ladies. To be sure the 
 girl looks uncommonly bright and 
 
 pretty with her pink cheeks, her bright 
 eyes, her slim form, and that charm- 
 ing white India shawl which her fa- 
 ther brought home for her. 
 
 To this osculatory party enters 
 presently Mr. Philip Firmin, who has 
 been dawdling about the ramparts 
 ever since breakfast. He says he has 
 been reading law there. He has 
 found a jolly quiet place to read. 
 Law, has he ? And much good may 
 it do him ! Why has he not gone 
 back to his law and his reviewing ? 
 
 "You must you must stay on a 
 little longer. You have only been 
 here five days. Do, Charlotte, ask 
 Philip to stay a little." 
 
 All the children sing in a chorus, 
 " O, do, Uncle Philip, stay a little 
 longer ! " Miss Baynes says, " I hope 
 you will stay, Mr. Firmin," and looks 
 at him. 
 
 "Five days has he been here? 
 Five years. Five lives. Five hun- 
 dred years. What do you mean ? 
 In that little time of let me see, a 
 hundred and twenty hours, and, at 
 least, a half of them for sleep and 
 dinner (for Philip's appetite was very 
 fine), do you mean that in that lit- 
 tle time, his heart, cruelly stabbed by 
 a previous monster in female shape, 
 has healed, got quite well, and actual- 
 ly begun to be wounded again ? Have 
 two walks on the pier, as many visits 
 to the Tintelleries (where he hears 
 the story of the Highlanders at the 
 Cape of Good Hope with respectful 
 interest), a word or two about the 
 weather, a look or two, a squeezckin, 
 perhaps, of a little handykin, I say, 
 do you mean that this absurd young 
 idiot, and that little, round-faced girl, 
 pretty, certainly, but only just out of 
 the school-room, do you mean to 
 say that they have Upon my word, 
 Laura, this is too bad. Why, Philip 
 has not a penny piece in the world. 
 
 " Yes, he has a hundred pounds, 
 and expects to sell his mare for ninety 
 at least. He has excellent talents. 
 He can easily write three articles a 
 week in the Pall Mall Gazette. I am 
 sure no one writes so well, and it i
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 203 
 
 much better done and more amusing 
 than it used to be. That is three 
 hundred a year. Lord Ringwood 
 must be applied to, and must and 
 shall get him something. Don't you 
 know that Captain Baynes stood by 
 Colonel Ringwood's side at Busaco, 
 and that they were the closest friends ? 
 And pray how did we get on, I should 
 like to know ? How did we get on, 
 baby ? " 
 
 " How did we det on ? " says the 
 baby. 
 
 " O woman ! woman ! " yells the 
 father of the family. " Why, Philip 
 Firmin has all the habits of a rich 
 man with the pay of a mechanic. 
 Do you suppose he ever sat in a sec- 
 ond-class carriage in his life, or denied 
 himself any pleasure to which he had 
 a mind? He gave five francs to a 
 beggar-girl yesterday." 
 
 " He had always a noble heart," 
 says my wife. " He gave a fortune 
 to a whole family a week ago ; and " 
 (out comes the pocket-handkerchief 
 O, of course, the pocket-handker- 
 chief) " and ' God loves a cheer- 
 ful giver ! ' " 
 
 " He is careless ; he is extravagant ; 
 he is lazy; I don't know that he is 
 remarkably clever " 
 
 " O yes ! he is your friend, of 
 course. Now, abuse him, do, Ar- 
 thur ! " 
 
 " And, pray, when did you become 
 acquainted with this astounding piece 
 of news ? " I inquire. 
 
 " When 1 From the very first mo- 
 ment when I saw Charlotte looking 
 at him, to be sure. The poor child 
 said to me only yesterday, ' O Lau- 
 ra ! he is our preserver ! ' And their 
 preserver he has been, under Heaven." 
 
 " Yes. But he has not got a five- 
 pound note ! " I cry. 
 
 " Arthur, I am surprised at you. 
 O, men are awfully worldly ! Do 
 you suppose Heaven will not send 
 him help at its good time, and be kind 
 to him who has rescued so many from 
 ruin ? Do you suppose the prayers, 
 the blessings of that father, of those 
 little ones, of that dear child, will not 
 
 ! avail him ? Suppose he has to wait 
 a year, ten years, have they not time, 
 and will not the good day come ? " 
 
 Yes. This was actually the talk of 
 a woman of sense and discernment, 
 when her prejudices and romance 
 were not in the way, and she looked 
 forward to the marriage of these folks 
 some ten years hence, as confidently 
 as if they were both rich, and going to 
 St. George's to-morrow. 
 
 As for making a romantic story of 
 it, or spinning out love conversations 
 between Jenny and Jessamy, or de- 
 scribing moonlight raptures and pas- 
 sionate outpourings of two young 
 hearts and so forth, excuse me, s'il 
 vous plait. I am a man of the world, 
 and of a certain age. Let the young 
 people fill in this outline, and color it 
 as they please. Let the old folks who 
 read lay down the book a minute, and 
 remember. It is well remembered, is 
 n't it, that time ? Yes, good John 
 Anderson, and Mrs. John Yes, good 
 Darby and Joan. The lips won't tell 
 now what they did once. To-day is 
 for the happy, and to-morrow for the 
 young, and yesterday, is not that dear 
 and here too ? 
 
 I was in the company of an elderly 
 gentleman, not very long since, who 
 was perfectly sober, who is not par- 
 ticularly handsome, or healthy, or 
 wealthy, 'or witty ; and who. speaking 
 of his past life, volunteered to declare 
 that he would gladly live every min- 
 ute of it over again. Is a man who 
 can say that a hardened sinner, not 
 aware how miserable he ought to be 
 by rights, and therefore really in a 
 most desperate and deplorable condi- 
 tion ; or is he fortunatus nimium, and 
 ought his statue to be put up in the 
 most splendid and crowded thorough- 
 fare of the town ? Would you, who 
 are reading this, for example, like to 
 live your life over again 1 What has 
 been its chief joy 1 What are to-day's 
 pleasures ? Are they so exquisite 
 that you would prolong them forever'? 
 Would you like to have the roast beef 
 on which you have dined brought 
 back again to table, and have more
 
 204 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 beef, and more, and more ? Would 
 you like to hear yesterday's sermon 
 over and over again, eternally vol- 
 uble ? Would you like to get on the 
 Edinburgh mail, and travel outside for 
 fifty hours as you did in your youth ? 
 You might as well say you would like 
 to go into the flogging-room, and take 
 a turn under the rods ; you would like 
 to be thrashed over again by your bully 
 at school ; you would like to go to the 
 dentist's, where your dear parents were 
 in the habit of taking you ; you- would 
 like to be taking hot Epsom salts, 
 with a pieee of dry bread to take 
 nway the taste ; you would like to be 
 jilted by your first love ; you would 
 like to le going in to your father to 
 tell him you had contracted debts to 
 the amount of x+y+z, whilst you 
 were at the University. As I consider 
 the passionate griefs of childhood, the 
 weariness and sameness of shaving, 
 the agony of corns, and the thousand 
 other ills to which flesh is heir, I 
 cheerfully say for one, I am not anx- 
 ious to wear it forever. No. I 
 do not want to go to school again. 
 I do not want to hear Trotman's ser- 
 mon over again. Take me out and i 
 finish me. Give me the cup of hem- j 
 lock at once. Here 's a health to you, 
 my lads. Don't weep, my Simmlas. 
 Be cheerful, my Phaedon. Ha ! I 
 feel the co-o-old stealing, stealing up- ; 
 Wards. Now it is in my ankles, ! 
 no more gout in my foot ; now my 
 knees are numb. What, is is that 
 poor executioner crying too ? Good 
 Dy. Sacrifice a cock to ^Escu to 
 jfescula ... Have you ever read 
 the chapter in " Grote's History " ? 
 Ah ! When the Sacred Ship returns 
 irom Delos, and is telegraphed as en- 
 tering into port, may we be at peace 
 and ready ! 
 
 What is this funeral chant, when 
 the pipes should be playing gayly as 
 Love, and Youth, and Spring, and 
 Joy are dancing under the windows ? 
 Look you. Men not so wise as Soc- j 
 rates have th fl ir demons, who will lie 
 heard to whisper in the queerest times | 
 ad places. Perhaps i shall have to 
 
 tell of a funeral presently, and shall 
 be outrageously cheerful ; or of an 
 execution, and shall split my sides 
 with laughing. Arrived at my time 
 of life, when I see a penniless young 
 friend falling in love and thinking of 
 course of committing matrimony, 
 what can I do but be melancholy ? 
 How is a man to marry who has not 
 enough to keep ever so miniature a 
 brougham, ever so small a house, 
 not enough to keep himself, let 
 alone a wife and family ? Gracious 
 powers ! is it not blasphemy to marry 
 without fifteen hundred a year ? 
 Poverty, debt, protested bills, duns, 
 crime, fall assuredly on the wretch 
 who has not fifteen say at once two 
 thousand a year ; for you can't live 
 decently in London for less. And a 
 wife whom you have met a score of 
 times at balls or breakfasts, and with 
 her best dresses and behavior at a 
 country-house ; how do you know 
 how she will turn out ; what her 
 temper is ; what her relations are 
 likely to be ? Suppose she has poor 
 relations, or loud coarse brothers who 
 are always dropping in to dinner? 
 What is her mother like ? and can 
 you bear to have that woman 
 meddling and domineering over your 
 establishment ? Old General Baynes 
 was very well ; a weak, quiet, and 
 presentable old man : but Mrs. Gen- 
 eral Baynes, and that awful Mrs. 
 Major MacWhirter, and those hob- 
 bledehoys of boys in creaking shoes, 
 hectoring about the premises 1 As a 
 man of the world I saw all these 
 dreadful liabilities impending over 
 the husband of Miss Charlotte 
 Baynes, and could not view them 
 without horror. Gracefully and 
 slightly, but wittily and in my sarcas- 
 tic way, I thought it my duty to 
 show up the oddities of the Bavnes 
 family to Philip. I mimicked the 
 boys, and their clumping bluchcr- 
 boots. I touched off the dreadful 
 military ladies, very smartly and 
 cleverly as I thought, and as if I 
 never supposed that Philip had any 
 idea of Miss Baynes. To do him.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 205 
 
 justice, he laughed once or twice ; 
 then he grew very red. His 
 sense of humor is very limited ; 
 that even Laura allows. Then he 
 came out with strong expression, and 
 said it was a confounded shame, and 
 strode off with his cigar. And when 
 I remarked to my wife how suscepti- 
 ble he was in some things, and how 
 little in the matter of joking, she 
 shrugged her shoulders and said, 
 " Philip not only understood perfectly 
 well what I said, but would tell it all 
 to Mrs. General and Mrs. Major on 
 the first opportunity." And this was 
 the fact, as Mrs. Baynes took care to 
 tell me afterwards. She was aware 
 who was her meniy. She was aware 
 who spoke ill of her, and her blessed 
 darling Itehind our Itacks. And " do 
 you think it was to see you, or any 
 one belonging to your stuck-up house, 
 sir, that we came to you so often, 
 which we certainly did, day and night, 
 breakfast and supper, and* no thanks 
 to you ? No, sir ! ha, ha ! " I can 
 see her flaunting out of my sitting- 
 room as she speaks, with a strident 
 laugh, and snapping her dingily gloved 
 fingers at the door. O Philip, 
 Philip! To think that you were such 
 a coward as to go and tell her ! But I 
 pardon him. From my heart I pity 
 and pardon him. 
 
 For the step which he is meditating 
 you may be sure that the young man 
 himself does not feel the smallest need 
 of pardon or pity. He is in a state of 
 happiness so crazy that it is useless 
 to reason with him. Not beinir at all 
 of a poetical turn originally, the 
 wretch is actually perpetrating verse 
 in secret, and my servants found 
 fragments of his manuscript^ on 
 the dressing-table in his bedroom. 
 Heart and art, swer and forever, and 
 so on ; what stale rhymes are these 1 j 
 I do not feel at liberty to give .in en- j 
 tire the poem which our maid found 
 in Mr. Philip's room, and brought 
 sniggering to my wife, who only said, 
 " Poor thing ! " The fact is, it was 
 too pitiable. Such maundering rub- 
 bish ! Such stale rhymes, and such 
 
 old thoughts ! But then, says Laura, 
 " I dare say all people's love-making 
 is not amusing to their neighbors ; 
 and I know who wrote not very wise 
 love-verses when he was young." 
 No, I won't publish Philip's verses, 
 until some day he shall mortally 
 offend me. I can recall some of my 
 own written under similar circum- 
 stances with twinges of shame; and 
 shall drop a veil of decent friendship 
 over my friend's folly. 
 
 Under that veil, meanwhile, the 
 young man is perfectly contented, 
 nay, uproariously happy. All earth 
 and nature smiles round about him. 
 " When Jove meets his Juno, in 
 Homer, sir," says Philip, in his hec- 
 toring way, " don't immortal flowers 
 of beauty spring up around them, and 
 rainbows of celestial hues bend over 
 their heads ! Love, sir, flings a halo 
 round the loved one. Where she 
 moves rise roses, hyacinths, and am- 
 brosial odors. Don't talk to me 
 about poverty, sir ! He either fears 
 his fate too much or his desert is 
 small, who dares not put it to the 
 touch and win or lose it all ! 
 Have n't I endured poverty ? Ami 
 not as poor now as a man can be, 
 and what is there in it? Do I want 
 for anything '? Have n't I got a 
 guinea in my pocket ? Do I owe any 
 man anything 1 Is n't there manna 
 in the wilderness for those who have 
 faith to walk in it ? That 's where 
 yon fail, Pen. By all that is sacred, 
 you have no faith ; vour heart is cow- 
 ardly, sir; and if 'you are to escape, 
 as perhaps you may, I suspect it 
 is by your wife that you will be saved. 
 Laura has a trust in Heaven, but Ar- 
 thur's morals are a genteel atheism. 
 Just reach me that claret, the wine 's 
 not bad. I say your morals are n 
 genteel atheism, and I shudder when 
 I think of your condition. Talk to 
 me about a brougham being necessary 
 for the comfort of a woman ! A 
 broomstick to ride to the moon ! 
 And I don't say that a brougham is 
 not a comfort, mind you ; but that, 
 when it is u necessity, mark you,
 
 'JOG 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Heaven will provide it ! Why, sir, 
 hang it, look at me ! Ain't I suffer- 
 ing in the most abject poverty 1 ? I 
 ask you is there a mun in London so 
 poor as I am ? And since my father's 
 ruin do I want for anything 1 I want 
 for shelter for a day or two. Good. 
 There 'a my dear Little Sister ready 
 to give it me. I want for money. 
 Does not that sainted widow's cruse 
 pour its oil out for me ? Heaven 
 bless and reward her. Boo ! " ( Here, 
 for reasons which need not be named, 
 the orator squeezes his fists into his 
 eyes.) " I want shelter; ain't I in 
 good quarters'? I want work; 
 have n't I got work, and did you not 
 get it for me 1 You should just see, 
 sir, how I polished off that book of 
 travels this morning. I read some 
 of the article to Char to Miss 
 to some friends, in fact. I don't 
 mean to say that they are very intel- 
 lectual people, but your common 
 humdrum average audience is the 
 public to try. Recollect Moliere and 
 his housekeeper, you know." 
 
 " By the housekeeper, do you mean 
 Mrs. Baynes ? " I ask, in my tunontil- 
 lodo manner. (By the way, who 
 ever heard of amontillado in the early 
 days of which I write ? ) "In man- 
 ner she would do ; and I dare say in 
 accomplishments ; but I doubt about 
 fyer temper." 
 
 " You 're almost as worldly as the 
 Twysdens, by George, you are ! Un- 
 less persons are of a certain monde, 
 you don't value them. A little ad- i 
 versity would do you good, Pen ; and j 
 I heartily wish you might get it, ex- 
 cept for the dear wife and children. 
 You measure your morality by May 
 Fair standards ; and if an angel una- 
 wares came to you in pattens and a 
 cotton umbrella, you would turn away 
 from her. You would never have found 
 out the Little Sister. A duchess 
 God bless her ! A creature of an im- 
 perial generosity, and delicacy, and 
 intrepidity, and the finest sense of 
 humor; but she drops her /t's oftvn, I 
 and how could you pardon such a \ 
 crime ? Sir, you are my better in I 
 
 wit and a dexterous application of 
 your powers ; but I think, sir," says 
 Phil, curling the flaming mustache, 
 " I am your superior in a certain 
 magnanimity ; though, by Jove, old 
 fellow, man and boy, you have always 
 been one of the best fellows in the 
 world to P. F. ; one of the best fel- 
 lows, and the most generous, and 
 the most cordial, that you have : 
 only you do rile me when you sing in 
 that confounded May Fair twang." 
 
 Here one of the children summoned 
 us to tea, and " Papa was laugh- 
 ing, and Uncle Philip was flinging 
 his hands about and pulling his beard 
 off," said the little messenger. 
 
 " I shall keep a fine lock of it for 
 you, Nelly, my dear," says Uncle 
 Philip. On which the child said, 
 " O no ! I know whom you '11 give 
 it to, don't I, mamma ? " and she 
 goes up to her mamma, and whispers. 
 
 Miss Nelly knows 1 At what age 
 do those little match makers begin to 
 know, and how soon do they practise 
 the use of their young eyes, their lit- 
 tle smiles, wiles, and ogles ? This 
 young woman, I believe, coquetted 
 whilst she was yet a baby in arms, 
 over her nurse's shoulder. Before she 
 could speak, she could be proud of her 
 new vermilion shoes, and would point 
 out the charms of her blue sash. 
 She was jealous in the nursery, and 
 her little heart had beat for years and 
 years before she left off pinafores. 
 
 For whom will Philip keep a lock 
 of that red, red gold which curls 
 round his face ? Can you guess ? 
 Of what color is the hair in that lit- 
 tle locket which the gentleman him- 
 self occultly wears 1 A few months 
 ago, I believe, a pale straw-colored 
 wisp of hair occupied that place of 
 honor ; now it is a chestnut-brown, 
 as far as I can see, of precisely the 
 same color as that which waves round 
 Charlotte Baynes 's pretty face, and 
 tumbles in clusters on her neck, very 
 nearly the color of Mrs. Payntcr's 
 this last season. So, you see, we 
 chop and we change : straw gives 
 place to chestnut, and chestnut is sue-
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF HIILIP. 
 
 207 
 
 ceeded by ebony; and, for our own 
 parts, we defy time ; and if you want 
 a lock of my hair, Belinda, take this 
 pair of scissors, and look in that cup- 
 board, in the bandbox marked No. 3, 
 and cut off a thick glossy piece, dar- 
 ling, and wear it, dear, and my bless- 
 ings go with thee ! What is this ? 
 Am I sneering because Corydon and 
 Phyllis are wooing and happy 1 You 
 see I pledged myself not to have any 
 sentimental nonsense. To describe 
 love-making is immoral and immod- 
 est ; you know it is. To describe it 
 as it really is, or would appear to you 
 and me as lookers-on, would be to 
 describe the most dreary farce, to 
 chronicle the most tautological twad- 
 dle. To take a note of sighs, hand- 
 squeezes, looks at the moon, and so 
 forth, does this business become our 
 dignity as historians 1 Come away 
 from those foolish young people, 
 they don't want us ; and dreary as 
 their farce is, and tautological as their 
 twaddle, you may be sure it amuses 
 them, and that they are happy 
 enough without us. Happy 1 Is 
 there any happiness like it, pray ? 
 Was it not rapture to watch the mes- 
 senger, to seize the note, and fee the 
 bearer ? to retire out of sight of 
 all prying eyes and read : " Dear- 
 est ! Mamma's cold is better this 
 morning. The Joneses came to tea, 
 and Julia sang. I did not enjoy it, 
 as my dear was at his horrid dinner, 
 where I hope he amused himself. 
 Send me a word by Buttles, who 
 brings this, if only to say you are 
 your Louisa's own, own," &c., &c., &c. 
 That used to be the kind of thing. 
 In such coy lines artless Innocence 
 used to whisper its little vows. So 
 she used to smile ; so she used to 
 warble ; so she used to prattle. 
 Young people, at present engaged in 
 the pretty sport, be assured your mid- 
 dle-aged parents have played the 
 game, and remember the rules of it. 
 Yes, under papa's bow-window of a 
 waistcoat is a heart which took very 
 violent exercise when that waist was 
 lira. Now he sits tranquilly in his 
 
 tent, and watches the lads going in 
 for their innings. Why, look at 
 grandmamma in her spectacles read- 
 ing that sermon. In her old heart 
 there is a corner as romantic still as 
 when she used to read the " Wild 
 Irish Girl " or the " Scottish Chiefs " 
 in the days of her misshood. And as 
 for your grandfather, my dears, to 
 see him now you would little suppose 
 that that calm, polished, dear old 
 gentleman was once as wild as 
 wild as Orson. . . . Under my win- 
 dows, as I write, there passes an 
 itinerant flower-merchant. He has 
 his roses and geraniums on a cart 
 j drawn by a quadruped a little 
 long-eared quadruped, which lifts up 
 its voice, and sings after its manner. 
 When I was young, donkeys used to 
 bray precisely in the same way ; and 
 others will heehaw so, when we are 
 silent and our ears hear no more. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 DRUM IST'S SO WOHL MIR IN DER 
 
 WELT. 
 
 OCR new friends lived for a while 
 contentedly enough at Boulogne,where 
 they found comrades and acquaint- 
 ances gathered together from those 
 many regions which they had visited 
 in the course of their military career. 
 Mrs. Baynes, out of the field, was the 
 commanding officer over the General. 
 She ordered his clothes for him, tied 
 his neckcloth into a neat bow, and, on 
 tea-party evenings, pinned his brooch 
 into his shirt-frill. She gave him to 
 understand when he had had enough 
 to eat or drink at dinner, and ex- 
 plained, with great frankness, how 
 this or that dish did not agree with 
 him. If he was disposed to exceed, 
 she would call out, in a loud voice ; 
 " Remember, General, what you took 
 this morning ! ". Knowing his con- 
 stitution, as she said, she knew the 
 remedies which were necessary for 
 her husband, and administered them 
 to him with great liberality. Resists-
 
 208 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 ance was impossible, as the veteran 
 officer acknowledged. " The boys 
 have fought about the medicine since 
 we came home," he confessed, " but 
 she has me under her thumb, by 
 George. She really is a magnificent 
 physician, now. She has got some 
 invaluable prescriptions, and in India 
 she used to doctor the whole station." 
 She would have taken the present 
 writer's little household under her 
 care, and proposed several remedies for 
 in," children, until their alarmed moth- 
 er was obliged to keep them out of her 
 sight. I am not saying this was an 
 agreeable woman. Her voice was 
 loud and harsh. The anecdotes 
 which she was forever narrating relat- 
 ed to military personages in foreign 
 countries with whom I was unac- 
 quainted, and whose history failed to 
 interest me. She took her wine with 
 much spirit whilst engaged in this 
 prattle. I have heard talk not less 
 foolish in much finer company, and 
 known people delighted to listen to i 
 anecdotes of the duchess and the mar- i 
 chioness who would yawn over the 
 history of Captain Jones's quarrels 
 with his lady, or Mrs. Major Wolfe's 
 monstrous flirtations with young En- 
 sign Kyd. My wife, with the mis- ] 
 chievousness of her sex, would mimic 
 the Bayues's conversation very drolly, 
 but always insisted that she was not 
 more really vulgar than many much 
 greater persons. 
 
 For all this, Mrs. General Baynes 
 did not hesitate to declare that we 
 were " stuck-up " people ; and from 
 the very first setting eyes on us she 
 declared that she viewed us with a 
 constant darkling suspicion. Mrs. P. 
 was a harmless, washed-ont creature, 
 with nothing in her. As for that 
 high and mighty Mr. P. and his airs, 
 she would be glad to know whether 
 the wife of a British general officer 
 who had seen service in every [Hirt of 
 the fflo'tf, and met the most dittiaguahed 
 governors, generals, and their ladies, 
 several of whom loere tuJbleme*, she 
 would be glad to know whether such 
 people were not good enough for, &c., 
 
 &c. Who has not met with these dif- 
 ficulties in life, and who can escape 
 them 1 " Hang it, sir," Phil would 
 say, twirling the red mustache, " I 
 like to be hated by some fellows " ; 
 and it must be owned that Mr. Philip 
 got what he liked. I suppose Mr. 
 Philip's friend and biographer had 
 something of the same feeling. At 
 any rate, in regard to this lady the 
 hypocrisy of politeness was very hard 
 to keep up ; wanting us for reasons 
 of her own, she covered the dagger 
 with which she would have stabbed 
 us : but we knew it was there clenched 
 in her skinny hand in her meagre 
 pocket. She would pay us the most 
 fulsome compliments with anger 
 raging out of her eyes, a little hate- 
 bearing woman, envious, malicious, 
 but loving her cubs, and nursing 
 them, and clutching them in her lean 
 arms with a jealous strain. It was 
 " Good by, darling ! I shall leave you 
 here with your friends. O, how kind 
 you are to her, Mrs. Pendennis ! 
 How can I ever thank you, and Mr. 
 P., I am sure"; and she looked as 
 if she could poison both of us, as she 
 went away, courtesying and darting 
 dreary parting smiles. 
 
 This lady had an intimate friend 
 and companion in arms, Mrs. Colonel 
 Bunch, in fact, of the th Bengal 
 Cavalry, who was now in Europe 
 with Bunch and their children, who 
 were residing at Paris for the young 
 folks' education. At first, as we have 
 heard, Mrs. Baynes's predilections 
 had been all for Tours, where her sis- 
 ter was living, and where lodgings 
 were cheap and food reasonable in 
 proportion. But Bunch happening 
 to pass through Boulogne on his way 
 to his wife at Paris, and meeting his 
 old comrade, gave General Baynes 
 such an account of the cheapness and 
 pleasures of the French capital, as to 
 induce the General to think of bend- 
 ing his steps thither. Mrs. Baynes 
 would not hear of such a plan. She 
 was all for her dear sister and Tours ; 
 but when, in the course of conversa- 
 tion, Colonel Bunch described a ball
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 209 
 
 at the Tuileries, where he and Mrs. 
 B. had been received with the most 
 flattering politeness by the royal fam- 
 ily, it was remarked that Mrs. 
 Baynes's mind underwent a change. 
 When Bunch went on to aver that 
 the balls at Government House at 
 Calcutta were nothing compared to ! 
 those at the Tuileries or the Prefecture j 
 of the Seine ; that the English were | 
 invited and respected everywhere ; 
 that the ambassador was most hos- 
 pitable ; that the clergymen were ad- 
 mirable ; and that at their boarding- 
 house, kept by Madame la Gene'rale 
 Baronne de Smolensk, at the " Petit 
 Chateau d'Espagne," Avenue de 
 Valmy, Champs Elysees, they had 
 balls twice a month, the most com- 
 fortable apartments, the most choice 
 society, and every comfort and luxury 
 at so many francs per month, with an 
 allowance for children, I say Mrs. 
 Baynes was very greatly moved. " It 
 is not," she said, "in consequence of 
 the balls at the Ambassador's or the 
 Tuileries, for I am an old woman ; 
 and in spite of what you say, Colonel, 
 I can't fancy, after Government 
 House, anything more magnificent in [ 
 any French palace. It is not for me, 
 goodness knows, I speak : but the 
 children should have education, and 
 my Charlotte an entre'e into the 
 world ; and what you say of the in- 
 valuable clergyman, Mr. X , I 
 
 have been thinking of it all night ; but 
 above all, above all, of the chances 
 of education for my darlings. Noth- 
 ing should give way to that, noth- 
 ing ! " On this a long and delightful 
 conversation and calculation took 
 I'lace. Bunch produced his bills at 
 the Baroness de Smolensk's. The 
 two gentlemen jotted up accounts, 
 and made calculations all through the 
 evening. It was hard even for Mrs. 
 Baynes to force the figures into such a 
 shape as to make them accord with the 
 General's income ; but, driven away 
 by one calculation after another, she re- 
 turned again and again to the charge, 
 until she overcame the stubborn arith- 
 metical difficulties, and the pounds, 
 
 shillings, and pence lay prostrate be- 
 fore her. They could save upon this 
 point ; they could screw upon that ; 
 they must make a sacrifice to educate 
 the children. " Sarah Bunch and 
 her girls go to Court, indeed ! Why 
 should n't mine go ? " she asked. On 
 which her General said, " By George, 
 Eliza, that 's the point you are think- 
 ing of." On which Eliza said, " No," 
 and repeated "No" a score of times, 
 growing more angry as she uttered 
 each denial. And she declared before 
 Heaven she did not want to ge to any 
 Court. Had she not refused to be 
 presented at home, though Mrs. 
 Colonel Flack went, because she did 
 not choose to go to the wicked ex- 
 pense of a train "? And it was base 
 of the General, base and mean of him 
 to say so. And there WHS a fine 
 scene, as I am given to understand ; 
 not that I was present at this family 
 fight : but my informant was Mr. 
 Firmin ; and Mr. Firmin had his in- 
 formation from a little person who, 
 about this time, had got to prattle 
 out all the secrets of her young heart 
 to him ; who would have jumped off 
 the pier-head with her hand in his if 
 he had said " Come," without his 
 hand if he had said " Go " : a little 
 person whose whole life had been 
 changed, changed for a month past, 
 changed in one minute, that minute 
 when she saw Philip's fiery whiskers 
 and heard his great big voice saluting 
 her father amongst the commission- 
 ers on the quai before the custom- 
 house. 
 
 Tours was, at any rate, a hundred 
 and fifty miles farther off than Paris 
 from from a city where a young 
 gentleman lived in whom Miss Char- 
 lotte Baynes felt an interest ; hence, I 
 suppose, arose her delight that her 
 parents had determined upon taking 
 up their residence in the larger and 
 nearer city. Besides, she owned, in 
 the course of her artless confidences 
 to my wife, that, when together, 
 mamma and Aunt MacWhirter quar- 
 relled unceasingly ; and had once 
 caused the old boys, the Major and 
 N
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 the General, to call each other out. 
 She preferred, then, to live away 
 from Aunt Mac. She had never had 
 such a friend as Laura, never. She 
 had never been so happy as at Bou- 
 logne, never. She should always 
 love everybody in our house, that she 
 should, forever and ever, and so 
 forth, and so forth. The ladies 
 meet; cling together; osculations are 
 carried round the whole family circle, 
 from our wondering eldest boy, who 
 cries, " I say, hullo ! what are you 
 kissing me so about ? " to darling 
 baby, crowing and sputtering uncon- 
 scious in the rapturous young girl's 
 embraces. I tell you, -these two 
 women were making fools of them- 
 selves, and they were burning with 
 enthusiasm for the " preserver " of the 
 Baynes family, as they called that 
 big fellow yonder, whose biographer 
 I have aspired to be. The lazy 
 rogue lay basking in the glorious 
 warmth and sunshine of early love. 
 He would stretch his big limbs out in 
 our garden ; pour out his feelings 
 with endless volubility ; call upon 
 hominum divuinque voluptas, alma Venus; 
 vow that he had never lived or been 
 happy until now; declare that he 
 laughed poverty to scorn and all her 
 ills ; and fume against his masters of 
 the Pall Mall Gazette, because they 
 declined to insert certain love verses 
 which Mr. Philip now composed al- 
 most every day. Poor little Char- 
 lotte ! And didst thou receive those 
 treasures of song ; and wonder over 
 them, not perhaps comprehending 
 them altogether ; and lock them up 
 in thy heart's inmost casket as well 
 as in thy little desk ; and take them 
 out in quiet hours, and kiss them, 
 and bless Heaven for giving thee such 
 jewels ? I dare say. I can fancy 
 all this, without seeing it I can 
 read the little letters in the little desk, 
 without picking lock or breaking seal. 
 Poor little letters ! Sometimes they 
 are not spelt right, quite ; but I don t 
 know that the style is worse for that. 
 Poor little letters ! You are flung to 
 the winds sometimes and forgotten 
 
 with all your sweet secrets and loring 
 artless confessions ; but not always, 
 no, not always. As for Philip, 
 who was the most careless creature 
 alive, and left all his clothes and 
 haberdashery sprawling on his bed- 
 room floor, he had at this time a 
 breast-pocket stuffed out with papers 
 which crackled in the most ridiculous 
 way. He was always looking down 
 at this precious pocket, and putting 
 one of his great hands over it as 
 though he would guard it. The 
 pocket did not contain bank-notes, 
 you may be sure of that. It con- 
 tained documents stating that mam- 
 ma's cold is better ; the Joneses came 
 to tea, and Julia sang, &c. Ah, 
 friend, however old you are now, 
 however cold you are now, however 
 tough, I hope you too remember how 
 
 j Julia sang, and the Joneses came to 
 
 j tea. 
 
 Mr. Philip stayed on week after 
 
 j week, declaring to my wife that she 
 was a perfect angel for keeping him 
 so long. Bunch wrote from his 
 boarding-house more and more en- 
 thusiastic reports about the comforts 
 
 ; of the establishment. For his sake, 
 
 | Madame la Baronne de Smolensk 
 
 i would make unheard-of sacrifices, in 
 order to accommodate the General 
 and his distinguished party. The 
 balls were going to be perfectly 
 splendid that winter. There were 
 several old Indians living near; in 
 fact they could form a regular little 
 
 ! club. It was agreed that Baynes 
 should go and reconnoitre the ground. 
 He did go. Madame de Smolensk, a 
 most elegant woman, had a magnifi- 
 cent dinner for him, quite splendid, 
 I give you my word, but only what 
 they have every day. Soup, of 
 course, my love ; fish, capital wine, 
 and, I should say, some five or six 
 and thirty made dishes. The Gen- 
 eral was quite enraptured. Bunch 
 had put his boys to a famous school, 
 where they might " whop " the 
 French boys, and learn all the mod- 
 ern languages. The little ones would 
 dine early ; the baroness would take
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 211 
 
 the whole family at an astonishingly 
 cheap rate. In a word, the Baynes's 
 column got the route for Paris short- 
 ly before our family-party was cross- 
 ing the seas to return to London fogs 
 and duty. 
 
 You have, no doubt, remarked how, 
 under certain tender circumstances, 
 women will help one another. They 
 help where they ought not to help. 
 When Mr. Darby ought to be sepa- 
 rated from Miss Joan, and the best 
 thing that could happen for both 
 would be a lettre de cachet to whip off 
 Mons. Darby to the Bastile for five 
 years, and an order from her parents 
 to lock up Mademoiselle Jeanne in a 
 convent, some aunt, some relative, 
 some pitying female friend is sure to 
 be found", who will give the pair a 
 chance of meeting, and turn her head 
 away whilst those unhappy lovers are 
 warbling endless good-bys close up 
 to each other's ears. My wife, 1 have 
 sid, chose to feel this absurd sympa- 
 thy for the young people about whom 
 we have been just talking. As the 
 days for Charlotte's departure drew 
 near, this wretched, misguiding ma- 
 tron would take the girl out walk- 
 ing into I know not what unfrequent- 
 ed by-lanes, quiet streets, rampart- 
 nooks, and the like ; and la ! by the 
 most singular coincidence, Mr. Phil- 
 ip's hulking boots would assuredly 
 come tramping after the women's lit- 
 tle feet. What will you say, when I 
 tell you, that I myself, the father of 
 the family, the renter of the old-fash- 
 ioned house, Rue Roucoule, Haute 
 Ville, Boulogne-sur-Mer, as I am 
 going into my own study, am met 
 at the threshold by Helen, my eldest 
 daughter, who puts her little arms be- 
 fore the glass door at which I was 
 about to enter, and says, " You must 
 not go in there, papa ! Mamma says 
 we none of us are to go in there." 
 
 " And why, pray ? " I ask. 
 
 " Because Uncle Philip and Char- 
 lotte are talking secrets there; and 
 nobody is to disturb them ndxxly ! " 
 
 Upon my word, was n't this too 
 monstrous ? Am I Sir Pandarus of 
 
 Troy become ? Am I going to allow 
 a penniless young man to steal away 
 the heart of a young girl who has not 
 twopence halfpenny to her fortune ? 
 Shall I, I say, lend myself to this 
 most unjustifiable intrigue? 
 
 " Sir," says my wife (we happened 
 to have been bred up from childhood 
 together, and I own to have had one 
 or two foolish initiatory flirtations be- 
 fore I settled down to matrimonial 
 fidelity), "Sir," says she, "when 
 you were so wild so spooney, I 
 think is your elegant word about 
 Blanche, and used to put letters into 
 a hollow tree for her at home, I used 
 to see the letters, and I never dis- 
 turbed them. These two people have 
 much warmer hearts, and are a great 
 deal fonder of each other, than you 
 and Blanche used to be. I should 
 not like to separate Charlotte from 
 Philip now. It is too late, sir. She 
 can never like anybody else as she 
 likes him. If she lives to be a hun- 
 dred, she will never forget him. Why 
 should not the poor thing be happy a 
 little, while she may ? " 
 
 An old house, with a green old 
 courtyard and an ancient mossy wall, 
 through breaks of which I can see the 
 roofs and gables of the quaint old 
 town, the city below, the shining sea, 
 and the white English cliffs beyond ; 
 a green old courtyard, and a tall old 
 stone house rising up in it, grown 
 over with many a creeper on which 
 the sun casts flickering shadows ; and 
 under the shadows, and through the 
 glass of a tall gray window, I can 
 just peep into a brown twilight par- 
 lor, and there I see two hazy figures 
 by a table. One slim, figure has 
 brown hair, and one has flame-colored 
 whiskers. Look, a ray of sunshine 
 has just peered into the room, and is 
 lighting the whiskers up ! 
 
 "Poor little thing," whispers my 
 wife, very gently. " They arc going 
 away to-morrow. Let them have 
 their talk out. She is crying her lit- 
 tle eyes out, I am sure. Poor little 
 Charlotte ! " 
 
 Whilst my wife was pitying Mis*
 
 212 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Charlotte in this pathetic way, and 
 was going, I dare say, to have re- 
 course to her own pocket-handker- 
 chief, as I live there came a burst of 
 laughter from the darkling chamber 
 where the two lovers were billing and 
 cooing. First came Mr. Philip's 
 great boom (such a roar such a 
 haw-haw, or hee-haw, I never heard 
 any other w-legged animal perform). 
 Then follows Miss Charlotte's tink- 
 ling peal ; and presently that young 
 person comes out into the garden, 
 with her round face not bedewed with 
 tears at all, but perfectly rosy, fresh, 
 dimpled, and good-humored. Char- 
 lotte gives me a little courtesy, and my 
 wife a hand and a kind glance. They 
 retreat through the open casement, 
 twining round each other, as the vine j 
 does round the window ; though 
 which is the vine and which is the 
 window in this simile, I pretend not j 
 to say, I can't see through either of , 
 them, that is the truth. They pass i 
 through the parlor, and into the 
 street beyond, doubtless : and as for , 
 Mr. Philip, I presently see his head 
 popped out of his window in the up- 
 per floor with his great pipe in his 
 mouth. He can't "work" without 
 his pipe, he says; and my wife be- 
 lieves him. Work indeed ! 
 
 Miss Charlotte paid us another little 
 visit that evening, when we happened j 
 to be alone. The children were gone 
 to bed. The darlings ! Charlotte j 
 must go up and kiss them. Mr. 
 Philip Finnin was out. She did not 
 seem to miss him in the least, nor did 
 she make a single inquiry for him. 
 We had been so good to her, so 
 kind. How should she ever forget 
 our grcit kindness! She had been j 
 so happy, oh ! so happy ! She had 
 never been so happy before. She 
 would write often and often, and 
 Laura would write constantly, 
 would n't she? " " Yes, dear child ! " 
 says my wife. And now a little \ 
 more kissing, and it is time to go j 
 home to the Tintilleries. What a I 
 lovely night ! Indeed the moon was 
 blazing in full round in the purple 
 
 heavens, and the stars were twinkling 
 by myriads. 
 
 " Good by, dear Charlotte , happi- 
 i ness go with you ! " I seize her hand. 
 j I feel a paternal desire to kiss her fair 
 ! round face. Her sweetness, her hap- 
 ! piness, her artless good-humor, and 
 gentleness has endeared her to us all. 
 ; As for me, I love her with a fatherly 
 j affection. " Stay, my dear ! " I cry, 
 with a happy gallantry, " I '11 go 
 i home with you to the Tintilleries." 
 
 You should have seen the fair 
 round face then ! Such a piteous ex- 
 pression came over it ! She looked 
 at my wife ; and as for that Mrs. 
 Laura she pulled the tail of my coat. 
 
 " What do you mean, my dear 1 " 
 I ask. 
 
 " Don't go out on such a dreadful 
 night. You '11 catch cold ! " says 
 Laura. 
 
 " Cold, my love ! " I say. " Why, 
 it 's as fine a night as ever " 
 
 " Oh ! you you stoopid ! " says 
 Laura, and begins to laugh. And 
 there goes Miss Charlotte tripping 
 away from us without a word more. 
 
 Philip came in about half an hour 
 afterwards. And do you know I 
 very strongly suspect that he had 
 been waiting round the corner. Few 
 things escape me, you see, when I 
 have a mind to be observant. And, 
 certainly, if I had thought of that 
 possibility and that I might be spoil- 
 ing sport, I should not have proposed 
 to Miss Charlotte to walk home with 
 her. 
 
 At a very early hour on the next 
 morning my wife arose, and spent, in 
 my opinion, a great deal of unprofita- 
 ble time, bread, butter, cold beef, 
 mustard and salt, in compiling a heap 
 of sandwiches, which were tied up in 
 a copy of the Pall Mall Gazette. 
 That persistence in making sand- 
 wiches, in providing cakes and other 
 refreshments for a journey, is a strange 
 infatuation in women ; as if there 
 was not always enough to eat to be 
 had at road inns and railway sta- 
 tions ! What a good dinner we used 
 to have at Montreuil in the old days,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 213 
 
 before railways were, and when the 
 diligence spent four or six and twen- 
 ty cheerful hours on its way to Paris ! 
 1 think the finest dishes are not to be 
 compared to that well-remembered 
 frieandeau of youth, nor do wines of 
 the most dainty vintage surpass the 
 rough, honest, blue ordinaire which 
 was served at the plenteous inn-table. 
 I took our bale of sandwiches down to 
 the office of the Messageries, whence 
 our friends were to start. We saw 
 six of the Baynes family packed into 
 the interior of the diligence ; and the 
 boys climh cheerily into the rotonde. 
 Charlotte's pretty lips and hands 
 wafted kisses to us from her corner. 
 Mrs. General Baynes commanded the 
 column, pushed the little ones into 
 their places in the ark, ordered the 
 General and young ones hither and 
 thither with her parasol, declined to 
 give the grumbling porters any but 
 the smallest gratuity, and talked a 
 shrieking jargon of French and Hin- 
 dostanee to the people assembled 
 round the carriage. My wife has 
 that command over me that she act- 
 ually made me demean myself so far 
 as to deliver the sandwich parcel to 
 one of the Baynes boys. I said, 
 " Take this," and the poor wretch 
 held out his hand eagerly, evidently 
 expecting that I was about to tip him 
 with a five-franc piece or some such 
 coin. Fouette, cocker ! The horses 
 squeal. The huge machine jingles 
 over the road, and rattles down the 
 street. Farewell, pretty Charlotte, 
 with your sweet face and sweet voice 
 and kind eyes ! But why, pray, is 
 Mr. Philip Firmin not here to say 
 farewell too ? 
 
 Before the diligence got under way, 
 the Baynes boys had fought, and 
 quarrelled, and wanted to mount on 
 the imperial or cabriolet of the car- 
 riage, where there was only one pas- 
 senger as yet. But the 'conductor 
 called the lads off, saying that the re- 
 maining place was engaged by a gen- 
 tleman who they were to take up on 
 the road. And who should this turn 
 out to be ? Just outside the town a 
 
 man springs up to the imperial ; his 
 light luggage, it appears, was on the 
 coach already, and that luggage be- 
 longed to Philip Firmin. Ah, mon- 
 sieur ! and that was the reason, was 
 it, why they were so merry yesterday 
 
 the parting day ? Because they 
 were not going to part just then. Be- 
 cause, when the time of execution 
 
 j drew near they had managed to smug- 
 | gle a little reprieve ! Upon my con- 
 science, I never heard of such impru- 
 dence in the whole course of my life ! 
 Why, it is starvation, certain mis- 
 ery to one and the other. " I don't 
 like to meddle in other people's af- 
 fairs," I say to my wife ; " but I have 
 no patience with such folly, or with 
 myself for not speaking to General 
 Baynes on the suBject. I shall write 
 to the General." 
 
 " My dear, the General knows all 
 about it," says Charlotte's, Philip's 
 (in my opinion) most injudicious 
 friend. " We have talked about it, 
 and, like a man of sense, the General 
 makes light of it. ' Young folks 
 will be young folks,' he says ; ' and, 
 by George ! ma'am, when I married 
 
 I should say, when Mrs. B. order- 
 ed me to marry her she had noth- 
 ing, and I but my captain's pay. 
 People get on, somehow. Better for 
 a young man to marry, and keep out 
 of idleness and mischief; and I prem- 
 ise you, the chap who marries my 
 girl gets a treasure. I like the boy 
 for the sake of my old friend Phil 
 Ringwood. I don't see that the 
 fellows with the rich wives are much 
 the happier, or that men should wait 
 to marry until they are gouty o!d 
 rakes.' " And, it appears, the Gen- 
 eral instanced several officers of his 
 own acquaintance ; some of whom 
 had' married when they were young 
 and poor ; some who had married 
 when they were old and sulky ; some 
 who had never married at all. And 
 he mentioned his comrade, my own 
 uncle, the late Major Pcndennis, 
 whom he called a selfish old creature, 
 and hinted that the Major had jilted 
 some lady in early life, whom ha
 
 214 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 would have done much better to 
 marry. 
 
 And so Philip is actually gone 
 after his charmer, and is pursuing 
 her summa diligentia ? The Baynes 
 family has allowed this penniless 
 young law student to make love to 
 their daughter, or accompany them 
 to Paris, to appear as the almost 
 recognized son of the house. " Other 
 people, when they were young, wanted 
 tt make imprudent marriages," says 
 my wife (as if that wretched tu quoqite 
 were any answer to my remark!) 
 " This penniless law student might 
 have a good sum of money if he 
 chose to press the Baynes family to 
 pay him what, after all, they owe 
 him." And so poor little Charlotte 
 was to be her father's ransom ! To 
 be sure, little Charlotte did not object 
 to offer herself up in payment of her 
 papa's debt ! And though I objected 
 as a moral man and a prudent man, 
 and a father of a family, I could not 
 be very seriously angry. I am secret- 
 ly of the disposition of the time- 
 honored pere de famille in the come- 
 dies, the irascible old gentleman in 
 the crop wig and George-the-Second 
 coat, who is always menacing " Torn 
 the young dog " with his cane. 
 When the deed is done, and Miranda 
 (the little sly-boots !) falls before my 
 squaretoes and shoe-buckles, and 
 Tom, the young dog, kneels before 
 me in his white ducks, and they cry 
 out in a pretty chorus, " Forgive us, 
 grandpapa ! " I say, " Well, you 
 rogue, boys will be boys. Take her, 
 sirrah ! Be happy with her ; and, 
 hark ye ! in this pocket-book you will 
 find ten thousand," &c., &c. You all 
 know the story : I cannot help liking 
 it, however old it may be. In love, 
 somehow, one is pleased that young 
 people should dare a little. Was 
 not Bessy Eldon famous as an 
 economist, and Lord Eldon celebrated 
 for wisdom and caution ? and did not 
 John Scott marry Elizabeth Surtees 
 when they had scarcely twopence a 
 year between them ? " Of course, my 
 dear," I say to the partner of my 
 
 existence, "now this madcap fellow 
 is utterly ruined, now is the very 
 time he ought to marry. The ac- 
 cepted doctrine is that a man should 
 spend his own fortune, then his wife's 
 fortune, and then he may begin to 
 get on at the bar. Philip has a 
 hundred pounds, let us say ; Charlotte 
 has nothing ; so that in about six 
 weeks we may look to hear of Philip 
 being in successful practice " 
 
 " Successful nonsense ! " cries the 
 lady. " Don't go on like a cold- 
 blooded calculating machine! You 
 don't believe a word of what you say, 
 and a more imprudent person never 
 lived than you yourself were as a 
 young man." This was departing 
 from the question, which women will 
 do. " Nonsense ! " again says my 
 romantic being of a partner-of-exi.st- 
 ence. " Don't tell ME, sir. They 
 WILL, be provided for! Are we to be 
 forever taking care of the morrow, 
 and not trusting that we shall be 
 cared for? You may call your way 
 of thinking prudence. I call it sinful 
 worldliiifss, sir." When my life-part- 
 ner speaks in a certain strain, I know 
 that remonstrance is useless, and 
 argument unavailing, and I generally 
 resort to cowardly subterfuges, and 
 sneak out of the conversation by a 
 pun, a side joke, or some other 
 flippancy. Besides, in this case, 
 though I argue against my wife, my 
 sympathy is on her side. I know Mr. 
 Philip is imprudent and headstrong, 
 but I should like him to succeed, and 
 be happy. I own he is a scapegrace, 
 but I wish him well. 
 
 So, just as the diligence of Lafitte 
 and Caillard is clearing out of Bou- 
 logne town, the conductor causes the 
 carriage to stop, and a young fellow 
 has mounted up on the roof in a 
 twinkling ; and the postilion says, 
 " Hi ! " to his horses, and away those 
 squealing grays go clattering. And 
 a young lady, happening to look out 
 of one of the windows of the interieur, 
 has perfectly recognized the young 
 gentleman who leaped up to the roof 
 so nimbly ; and the two boys who
 
 THE ADVENTURES OIv PHILIP. 
 
 215 
 
 were in the rotonde would have recog- 
 nized the gentleman, but that they 
 were already eating the sandwiches 
 which my wife had provided. And 
 so the diligence goes on, until it 
 reaches that hill, where the girls used 
 to come and offer to sell you apples ; 
 and some of the passengers descend 
 and walk, and the tall young man on 
 the roof jumps down, and approaches 
 the party in tlie interior, and a young 
 lady cries out " La ! " and her mam- 
 ma looks impenetrably grave, and not 
 in the least surprised ; and her father 
 gives a wink of one eye, and says, 
 " It 's him, is it, by George ! " and 
 the two boys coming out of the 
 rotonde, their mouths full of sand- 
 wich, cry out, " Hullo ! It 's Mr. 
 Firmin." 
 
 " How do you do, ladies ? " he says, 
 blushing as red as an apple, and his 
 heart thumping, but that may be 
 from walking up hill. And he puts 
 a hand towards the carriage-window, 
 and a little hand comes out and lights 
 on his. And Mrs. General Baynes, 
 who is reading a religious work, looks 
 up and says, " Oh ! how do you do, 
 Mr. Firmin ? " And this is the re- 
 markable dialogue that takes place. 
 It is not very witty ; but Philip's 
 tones send a rapture into one young 
 heart : and when he is absent, and 
 has climbed up to his place in the 
 cabriolet, the kick of his boots on the 
 roof gives the said young heart inex- 
 pressible comfort and consolation. 
 Shine stars and moon. Shriek gray 
 horses through the calm night. Snore 
 sweetly, papa and mamma, in your 
 corners, with your pocket-handker- 
 chiefs tied round your old fronts ! I 
 suppose, under all the stars of heaven, 
 there is nobody more happy than that 
 child in that carriage, that wakeful 
 girl, in sweet maiden meditation, 
 who has given her heart to the keeping 
 of the champion who is so near her. 
 Has he not been always theirchampion 
 and preserver 1 ? Don't they owe to 
 his generosity everything in life f One 
 of the little sisters wakes wildly, and 
 cries iii the night, and Charlotte takes 
 
 the child into her arms and soothes 
 her. " Hush, dear! He 's there, 
 he 's there," she whispers, as she 
 bends over the child. Nothing wrong 
 can happen with him there, she feels. 
 If the robbers were to spring out from 
 yonder dark pines, why, he would 
 jump down, and they would all fly 
 before him ! The carriage rolls on 
 through sleeping villages, and as the 
 old team retires all in a halo of 
 smoke, and the fresh horses come 
 clattering up to their pole, Charlotte 
 sees a well-known white face in the 
 gleam of the carriage lanterns. 
 Through the long avenues the great 
 vehicle rolls on its course. The dawn 
 peers over the poplars : the stars 
 quiver out of sight : the sun is up in the 
 sky, and the heaven is all in a flame. 
 The night is over, the night of 
 nights. In all the round world, 
 whether lighted by stars or sunshine, 
 there were not two people more happy 
 than these had been. 
 
 A very short time afterwards, at 
 the end of October, our own little sea- 
 side sojourn came to an end. That 
 astounding bill for broken glass, 
 chairs, crockery, was paid. The 
 London steamer takes us all on board 
 on a beautiful, sunny autumn evening, 
 and lands us at the Custom-house 
 Quay in the midst of a deep dun fog, 
 through which our cabs have to work 
 their way over greasy pavements, and 
 bearing two loads of silent and terrified 
 children. Ah, that return, if but after 
 a fortnight's absence and holiday ! 
 0, that heap of letters lying in a 
 ghastly pile, and yet so clearly visible 
 in the dim twilight of master's study ! 
 We cheerfully breakfast by candle- 
 light for the first two days after my 
 arrival at home, and I have the pleas- 
 ure of cutting a part of my chin oft' 
 because it is too dark to shave at nine 
 o'clock in the morning. 
 
 My wife can't be so unfeeling as to 
 laugh and be merry because I have 
 met with an accident which tempor- 
 arily disfigures me ? If the dun fog 
 makes her jocular she has a very queer 
 sense of humor. She has a letter
 
 216 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 before her, over which s!ie is perfectly 
 radiant. When she is especially 
 pleased I can see by her face and a 
 particular animation and affection- 
 ateness towards the rest of the family. 
 On this present morning her face 
 beams out of the fog-clouds. The room 
 is illuminated by it, and perhaps by 
 the two candles which are placed one 
 on either side of the urn. The fire 
 crackles, and flames, and spits most 
 cheerfully ; and the sky without, 
 which is of the hue of brown paper, 
 seems to set off the brightness of the 
 little interior scene. 
 
 " A letter from Charlotte, papa," 
 cries one little girl, with an air of con- 
 sequence. " And a letter from Uncle 
 Philip, papa ! " cries another, " and 
 they like Paris so much," continues 
 the little reporter. 
 
 " And there, sir, did n't I tell you ? " 
 cries the lady, handing me over a 
 letter. 
 
 " Mamma always told you so," 
 echoes the child, with an important 
 nod of the head ; " and I should n't 
 be surprised if he were to be very rich, 
 should you, mamma 1 " continues this 
 arithmetician. 
 
 I would not put Miss Charlotte's 
 letter into print if I could, for do you 
 know that little person's grammar 
 was frequently incorrect ; there were 
 three or four words spelt wrongly ; 
 and the letter was so scored and 
 murki-d with dishes under every other 
 word, that it is clear to me her educa- 
 tion had been neglected ; and as I 
 am very fond of her, I do not wish to 
 make fun of her. And I can't print 
 Mr. Philip's letter, for I have n't kept 
 it. Of what use keeping letters ? I 
 say, Burn, burn, burn. Xo heart- 
 pangs. Xo reproaches. Xo yester- 
 day. Was it happy, or miserable ? 
 To think of it is always melancholy. 
 Go to ! I dare say it "is the thought 
 of that fog which is making this 
 sentence so dismal. Meanwhile there 
 is Madame Laura's face smiling out 
 of the darkness, as pleased as may be ; 
 and no wonder, she is always happy 
 when her friends are so. 
 
 Charlotte's letter contained a full 
 account of the settlement of the 
 Baynes family at Madame Smolensk's 
 boarding-house, where they appear 
 to have been really very comfortable, 
 I and to have lived at a very cheap rate. 
 I As for Mr. Philip, he made his way 
 I to a crib, to which his artist friends 
 had recommended him, on the Fau- 
 j bourg St. Germain side of the water, 
 I the " Hotel Poussin," in the street 
 j of that name, which lies, vou know, 
 j between the Mazarin Library and 
 i the Musee des Beaux Arts. In for- 
 I mer days, my gentleman had lived in 
 j state and bounty in the Pinglish hotels 
 and quarter. Xow he found himself 
 very handsomely lodged for thirty 
 francs per month, and with five or six 
 pounds, he has repeatedly said since, 
 he could carry through the month 
 very comfortably. I don't say, my 
 young traveller, that you can be so 
 lucky nowadays. Are we not tell- 
 ing a story of twenty years ago ? 
 Aye marry. Ere steam-coaches had 
 begun to scream on French rails ; 
 and when Louis Philippe was king. 
 
 As soon as Mr. Philip Firmin is 
 ruined he must needs fall in love. In 
 order to be near the beloved object, 
 he must needs follow her to Paris, 
 and give up his promised studies for 
 the bar at home ; where, to do him 
 justice, I believe the fellow would 
 never have done any good. And he 
 has not been in Paris a fortnight 
 when that fantastic jade Fortune, 
 who had seemed to fly away from 
 him, gives him a smiling look of 
 recognition, as if to say, " Yonng 
 gentleman, I have not quite done 
 with you." 
 
 The good fortune was not much. 
 Do not suppose that Philip suddenly 
 drew a twenty-thousand pound prize 
 in a lottery. But, being in much 
 want of money, he suddenly found 
 himself enabled to earn some in a 
 way pretty easy to himself. 
 
 In the first place, Philip found his 
 friends Mr. and Mrs. Mugford in a 
 bewildered state in the midst of Paris, 
 in which city Mugford would never
 
 THE ADVEXTUCF.S OF PHILIP. 
 
 217 
 
 consent to have a laquais de place, 
 being firmly convinced to the day of 
 his death that he knew the French 
 language quite sufficiently for all pur- 
 poses of conversation. Philip, who 
 had often visited Paris before, came 
 to the aid of his friends in a two-franc 
 dining-house, which he frequented 
 for economy's sake; and they, be- 
 cause they thought the banquet there 
 provided not only cheap, but most 
 magnificent and satisfactory. He 
 interpreted for them, and rescued 
 them from their perplexity, whatever 
 it was. He treated them handsomely 
 to caffy on the bully vard, as Mugford 
 said on returning home and in re- 
 counting the adventure to me. " He 
 can't forget that he has been a swell : 
 and he does do things like a gentle- 
 man, that Firmin docs. He came 
 back with us to our hotel, Meu- 
 rice's," said Mr. Mugford, " and who 
 should drive into the yard and step 
 out of his carriage but Lord King- 
 wood, you know Lord Ringwood? 
 everybody knows him. As he gets 
 out of his carriage ' What ! is that 
 you, Philip ? ' says his Lordship, giv- 
 ing the young fellow his hand. 
 ' Come and breakfast with me to- 
 morrow morning.' And away he 
 goes most friendly." 
 
 How came it to pass that Lord 
 Ringwood, whose instinct of self- 
 preservation was strong, who, I 
 fear, was rather a selfish nobleman. 
 and who, of late, as we have heard, 
 had given orders to refuse Mr. Philip 
 entrance at his door, should all of 
 a sudden turn round and greet the 
 young man with cordiality ? In the 
 first place, Philip had never troubled 
 his Lordship's knocker at all ; and 
 second, as luck would have it, on this 
 very day of their meeting, his Lordship 
 had been to dine with that well-known 
 Parisian resident and lx>n rivant, my 
 Lord Viscount Trim, who had been 
 governor of the Sago Islands when 
 Colonel Baynes was there with his 
 regiment, the gallant 100th. And 
 the General and his old West India 
 governor meeting at church, my 
 10 
 
 Lord Trim straightway asked Gen- 
 eral Baynes to dinner, where Lord 
 Ringwood was present, along with 
 other distinguished company, whom 
 at present we need not particularize. 
 Now it has been said that Philip 
 Ringwood, my Lord's brother, and 
 Captain Baynes in early youth had 
 been close friends, and that the Colo- 
 nel had died in the Captain's arms. 
 Lord Ringwood, who had an excel- 
 lent memory when he chose to use it, 
 was pleased on this occasion to re- 
 member General Baynes and his 
 intimacy with his brother in old 
 days. And of those old times they 
 talked ; the General waxing more 
 eloquent, I suppose, than his 
 wont over Lord Trim's excellent 
 wine. And in the course of conver- 
 sation Pliilip was named, and the 
 General, warm with drink, poured out 
 a most enthusiastic culogium on his 
 young friend, and mentioned how 
 noble and self-denying Philip's con- 
 duct had l.ccn in his own case. And 
 perhaps Lord Ringwood was pleased 
 at hearing these praises of his broth- 
 er's grandson ; and perhaps he 
 thought of old times, when he had a 
 heart, and he and his brother loved 
 each other. And though he might 
 think Philip Firrnin an absurd young 
 blockhead for giving up any claims 
 which he might have on General 
 Baynes, at any rate I have no doubt 
 his Lordship thought, " This boy is 
 not likely to come begging money 
 from me ! " Hence, when he drove 
 back to his hotel on the very night 
 after this dinner, and in the court- 
 yard saw that Philip Firmin, his 
 brother's grandson, the heart of the 
 old nobleman was smitten with a 
 kindly sentiment, and he bade Philip 
 to come and see him. 
 
 I have described some of Philip's 
 oddities, and amongst these was a 
 very remarkable change in his appear- 
 ance, which ensued very speedily after 
 his ruin. I know that the greater 
 number of story-readers are young, 
 and those who are ever so old remem- 
 ber that their own young days occurred
 
 218 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 but a very, very short while ago. 
 Don't you remember, most potent, 
 grave, and reverend senior, when \ou 
 were a junior, and actually rather 
 pleased with new clothes ? Does a 
 new coat or a waistcoat cause you 
 any pleasure now 1 To a well-con- 
 stituted middle - aged gentleman, I 
 rather trust a smart new suit causes a 
 sensation of uneasiness, not from 
 the tightness of the fit, which may be 
 a reason, but from the gloss and 
 splendor. When my late kind friend, 
 
 Mrs. , gave me the emerald tabi- 
 
 nct waistcoat, with the gold sham- 
 rocks, I wore it once to go to Rich- 
 mond to dine with her ; but I buttoned 
 myself so closely in an upper coat, 
 that I am sure nobody in the omnibus 
 saw what a painted vest I had on. 
 Gold sprigs and emerald tabinet, what 
 a gorgeous raiment ! It has formed 
 for ten years the chief ornament of 
 my wardrobe; and though I have 
 never dared to wear it since, I always 
 think with a secret pleasure of pos- 
 sessing that treasure. Do women, 
 when they are sixty, like handsome 
 and fashionable attire, and a youthful 
 appearance ? Look at Lady Jezebel's 
 blushing cheek, her raven hair, her 
 splendid garments ! But this disqui- 
 sition may be carried to too great a 
 length. I want to note a fact which 
 has occurred not seldom in my expe- 
 rience, that men who have been 
 great dandies will often and sudden- 
 ly give up their long - accustomed 
 splendor of dress, and walk about, 
 most happy and contented, with the 
 shabbiest of coats and hats. Xo. The 
 majority of men are not vain about 
 their dress. For instance, within a 
 very few years, men used to have pretty 
 feet. See in what a resolute way 
 they have kicked their pretty boots 
 off almost to a man, and wear great, 
 thick, formless, comfortable walking- 
 boots, of shape scarcely more graceful 
 than a tub ! 
 
 When Philip Firmin first came on 
 the town, there were dandies still ; 
 there were dazzling waistcoats of velvet 
 and brocade, and tall stocks with cata- 
 
 racts of satin ; there were pins, studs, 
 neck-chains, I know not what fantastic 
 splendors of youth. His varnished 
 boots grew upon forests of trees. He 
 had a most resplendent silver-gilt 
 dressing-case, presented to him liy his 
 father ( for which, it is true, the Doc- 
 tor neglected to pay, leaving that 
 duty to his son). ' It is a mere cere- 
 mony," said the worthy Doctor, " a 
 cumbrous thing you may fancy at 
 first ; but take it about with you. It 
 looks well on a man's dressing-table 
 at a country-house. It poses a man, 
 you understand. I have known wo- 
 men come in and peep at it. A trifle 
 you may say, my boy ; but what 
 is the use of flinging any cliance 
 in life away 1 " Now, when misfor- 
 tune came, young Philip flung away 
 all these magnificent follies. He 
 wrapped himself virtute sua ; and I am 
 bound to say a more queer-looking 
 fellow than friend Philip seldom 
 walked the pavement of London or 
 Paris. He could not wear the nap off 
 all his coats, or rub his elbows into 
 rags in six months ; but, as he would 
 say of himself with much simplicity, 
 " I do think I run to seed more quick- 
 ly than any fellow I ever knew. All 
 my socks in holes, Mrs. Pendennis ; 
 all my shirt-buttons gone, I give you 
 my word. I don't know how the 
 things hold together, and why they 
 don't tumble to pieces. I suspect I 
 must have a bad laundress." Sus- 
 pect ! My children used to laugh 
 and crow as they sewed buttons on 
 to him. As for the Little Sister, she 
 broke into his apartments in his ab- 
 sence, and said that it turned her hair 
 gray to see the state of his wardrobe. I 
 believe that Mrs. Brandon put surrep- 
 titious linen into his drawers. He 
 did not know. He wore the shirts in 
 a contented spirit. The glossy boots 
 began to crack and then to burst, and 
 Philip wore them with perfect equa- 
 nimity. Where were the beautiful 
 lavender and lemon gloves of last 
 year? His great naked hands (with 
 which he gesticulates so grandly) 
 were as brown as an Indian's now.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 219 
 
 We had liked him heartily in his days 
 of splendor ; we loved him now in his 
 threadbare suit. 
 
 I can fancy the young man striding 
 into the room where his Lordship's 
 guests were assembled. In the pres- 
 ence of great or small, Philip has al- 
 ways been entirely unconcerned, and 
 he is one of the half-dozen men I have 
 seen in my life upon whom rank 
 made . no impression. It appears 
 that, on occasion of this breakfast, 
 there were one or two dandies present 
 who were aghast at Philip's freedom 
 of behavior. lie engaged in conver- 
 sation with a famous French states- 
 man ; contradicted him with much 
 energy in his own language; and 
 when the statesman asked whether 
 monsieur was membre du Park- men t ? 
 Philip burst into one of his roars of 
 laughter, which almost breaks the 
 glasses on a table, and said, " Jc suis 
 journaliste, monsieur, a vos ordres ! " 
 Young Timbury of the Embassy was 
 aghast at Philip's insolence ; and Dr. 
 Botts, his Lordship's travelling physi- 
 cian, looked at himwitha terrified face. 
 A bottle of claret was brought, which 
 almost all the gentlemen present be- 
 gan to swallow, until Philip, tasting 
 his glass, called out, " Faugh ! It 's 
 corked '. " " So it is, and very badly 
 corked," growls my Lord, with 'one 
 of his usual oaths. " Why did n't 
 some of you fellows speak 1 Do yon 
 like corked wine 1 " There were 
 gallant fellows round that table who 
 would have drunk corked black dose, 
 hud his Lordship professed to like 
 senna. The old host was tickled and 
 amused. " Your mother was a quiet 
 soul, and your father used to bow i 
 like a dancing-master. You ain't i 
 much like him. I dine at home most 
 days. Leave word in the morning 
 with my people, and come when you 
 like, Philip, he growled. A part of 
 this news Philip narrated to us in his 
 letter, and other part was given ver- 
 bally by Mr. and Mrs. Mugford on 
 their return to London. " I tell you, 
 sir," says Mugford, " he has been 
 taken by the hand by some of the tip- 
 
 top people, and I have booked him at 
 three guineas a week for a letter to 
 the Pall Mall Gazette." 
 
 And this was the cause of my wife's 
 exultation and triumphant " Did n't 
 I tell you 1 " Philip's foot was on 
 the ladder ; and who so capable of 
 mounting to the top ? When hap- 
 piness and a fond and lovely girl were 
 waiting for him there, would he lose 
 heart, spare exertion, or be afraid to 
 climb 1 He had no truer well-wisher 
 than myself, and no friend who liked 
 him better, though, I dare say, many 
 admired him much more than I did. 
 But these were women for the most 
 part ; and women become so absurdly 
 unjust and partial to persons whom 
 they love, when these latter arc in 
 misfortune, that I am surprised Mr. 
 Philip did not quite lose his head in 
 his poverty, with such fond flatterers 
 and sycophants round about him. 
 Would you grudge him the consola- 
 tion to he had from these sweet uses 
 of adversity ? Many a heart would 
 be hardened but for the memory of 
 past griefs ; when eyes, now averted, 
 perhaps, wire full of sympathy, and 
 hands, now cold, were eager to soothe 
 and succor. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 QU'ON EST BIEN A VINGT ANS. 
 
 A FAIR correspondent and I 
 would parenthetically hint that all cor- 
 respondents are not fair point< out 
 the discrepancy existing between the 
 text and the illustrations of our story ; 
 and justly remarks that the story dat- 
 ed more than twenty years back, 
 while the costumes of the actors of our 
 little comedy are of the fashion of to- 
 day. 
 
 My dear madam, these anachron- 
 isms must be, or you would scarcely 
 be able to keep any interest for our 
 characters. What would be a woman 
 without a crinoline petticoat, for ex- 
 ample ? an object ridiculous, hateful, 
 I suppose hardly proper. What 
 would you think of a hero who wore
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 a large high black-satin stock cascad- 
 ing over a figured silk waistcoat ; 
 and a blue dress-coat, with brass but- 
 tons, mayhap 1 If a person so attired 
 came up to ask you to dance, could 
 you refrain from laughing? Time 
 Was when young men so decorated 
 founJ favor in the eyes of damsels 
 who had never beheld hooped petti- 
 coats, except in their grandmother's 
 portraits. Persons who nourished in 
 the first part of the century never 
 thought to see the hoops of our ances- 
 tors' age rolled downwards to our con- 
 temporaries and children. Did we 
 ever imagine that a period would ar- 
 rive when our young men would part 
 their hair down the middle, and wear 
 a piece of tape for a neckcloth ? As 
 soon should we have thought of their 
 dyeing their bodies with woad, and 
 arraying themselves like ancient Brit- 
 ons. So the ages have their dress and 
 undress ; and the gentlemen and 
 ladies of Victoria's time are satisfied 
 with their manner of raiment; as no 
 doubt in Boadicea's court they looked 
 charming tattooed and painted blue. 
 
 The times of wliich we write, the 
 times of Louis Philippe the king, are 
 so altered from the present, that when 
 Philip Firmin went to Paris it was 
 absolutely a cheap place to live in ; 
 and he has often bragged in subse- 
 quent days of having lived well during 
 a month for five pounds, and b;mglu a 
 neat waistcoat with a part of the mon- 
 ey. " A capital bedroom, au pri-inier, 
 for a franc a day, sir," he would call 
 all persons to remark, "a bedroom 
 us good as yours, my Lord, at Meu- 
 rice's. Very good tea or coffee break- 
 fast, twenty francs a month, with lots 
 of bread and batter. Twenty francs 
 a month for washing, and fifty for 
 dinner and pocket-money, that 's 
 about the figure. The dinner, I own, is 
 shy, unless I come and dine with my 
 friends ; and then I make up for ban- 
 yan days." And so saying Philip 
 would call out for more truffled par- 
 tridges, or affably filled his goblet 
 with my Lord Ringwood's best Sillery. 
 " At those shops," he would observe, 
 
 " where I dine, I have beer : I can't 
 stand the wine. And you see, I can't 
 go to the cheap English ordinaries, of 
 which there are many, because Eng- 
 lish gentlemen's servants are there, 
 you know, and it 's not pleasant to sit 
 with a fellow who waits on you the 
 day after." 
 
 " Oh ! the English servants go to the 
 cheap ordinaries, do they 7 " asks 
 my Lord, greatly amused, " and you 
 drink biere de Mars at the shop where 
 you dine 7 " 
 
 " And dine very badly, too, I can 
 tell you. Always come away hungry. 
 Give me some champagne, the drv, 
 if you please. They mix very well 
 together, sweet and dry. Did you 
 ever dine at Flicoteau's, Mr. Pecker? " 
 
 " / dine at one of your horrible two- 
 franc houses 7 " cries Mr. Pecker, 
 with a look of terror. "Do you know, 
 my Lord, there are actually houses 
 where people dine for two francs ? " 
 
 " Two francs ! Seventeen sous ! " 
 bawls out Mr. Firmin. " The soup, 
 the beef, the roti, the salad, the des- 
 sert, and the whitey-brown bread at 
 discretion. It 's not a good dinner, 
 certainly, in fact, it is a dreadful 
 bad one. But to dine so would do 
 some fellows a great deal of good." 
 
 " What do yon say, Pecker 7 Fli- 
 coteau's ; seventeen sous. We '11 make 
 a little party and try, and Firmin 
 shall do the honors of his restau- 
 rant," says my Lord, with a grin. 
 
 " Mercy ! " gasps Mr. Pecker. 
 
 " I had rather dine here, if you 
 please, my Lord," says the young man. 
 " This is cheaper, and certainly bet- 
 ter." 
 
 My Lord's doctor, and many of the 
 guests at his table, my Lord's hench- 
 men, flatterers, and led - captains, 
 looked aghast at the freedom of the 
 young fellow in the shabby coat. If 
 they dared to be familiar with their 
 host, there came a scowl over that no- 
 ble countenance which was awful to 
 face. They drank his corked wine in 
 meekness of spirit. They laughed at 
 his jokes trembling. One after an- 
 other, they were the objects of his
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 221 
 
 satire; and each grinned pitcously, 
 as lie took his turn of punishment. 
 Some dinners are dear, though they 
 cost nothing. At some great tables 
 are not toads served along with the 
 entries ? Yes, and many amateurs 
 are exceedingly fond of the dish. 
 
 How do Parisians live at all 1 is a 
 question which has often set me won- 
 dering. How do men in public offices, 
 with fifteen thousand francs, let us say, 
 for a salary, and this, for a French 
 official, is a high salary, live in 
 handsome apartments ; give genteel 
 entertainments ; clothe themselves and 
 their families with much more sump- 
 tuous raiment than English people of 
 the same station can afford ; take 
 their country holiday, a six weeks' so- 
 journ, aux eaux ; and appear cheerful 
 and to want for nothing 1 Paterfa- 
 milias, with six hundred a year in 
 London, knows what a straitened 
 life his is, with rent high, and beef at 
 a shilling a pound. Well, in Paris, 
 rent is higher, and meat is dearer ; and 
 yat madame is richly dressed when 
 you see her; monsieur has always a 
 little money in his pocket for his club, 
 or his cafe ; and something is pretty 
 surely put away every year for the 
 marriage portion of the young folks. 
 " Sir," Philip used to say, describing 
 this period of his life, on which and 
 on most subjects regarding himself, 
 by the way, he was wont to be very elo- 
 quent, " when my income was raised to 
 five thousand francs a year, I give you 
 my word I was considered to be rich 
 by my French acquaintance. I gave 
 four sous to the waiter at our dining- 
 place : in that respect I was always 
 ostentatious : and I believe they 
 called me Milor. I should have been 
 poo; in the Rue de la Paix : but I was 
 wealthy in the Luxembourg quarter. 
 Don't tell me about poverty, sir ! 
 Poverty is a bully if you are afraid of 
 her, or truckle to her. Poverty is 
 good-natured enough if you meet her 
 like a man. You saw how my poor old 
 father was afraid of her, and thought 
 the world would come to an end 
 if Dr. Firmin did not keep his butler, 
 
 and his footman, and his fine house, 
 and fine chariot and horses ? He was 
 a poor man, if you please. He must 
 have suffered agonk-s in his struggle 
 to niiike both ends meet. Everything 
 he bought must have cost him twice 
 the honest price ; and when I think of 
 nights that must have been passed 
 without sleep, of that proud man 
 having to smirk and cringe before 
 creditors, to coax butchers, by 
 George, and wheedle tailors, I pity 
 him : I can't be angry any more. 
 That man has suffered enough. As 
 for me, have n't you remaiked that 
 j since I have not a guinea in the world, 
 I swagger, and am a much greater 
 \ swell than before 1 " And the truth 
 | is that a Prince Royal could not have 
 . called for his gens with a more mag- 
 nificent air than Mr. Philip when hie 
 summoned the waiter, and paid for 
 his petit verre. 
 
 Talk of poverty, indeed ! That 
 period, Philip vows, was the happiest 
 of his life. He liked to tell in after 
 days of the choice acquaintance of 
 Bohemians which he had formed. 
 Their jug, he said, though it contained 
 but small beer, was always full. Their 
 tobacco, though it bore no higher rank 
 than that of caporal, was plentiful and 
 fragrant. He knew some admirable 
 medical students : some artists who 
 only wanted talent and industry to be 
 at the height of their profession : and 
 one or two of the magnates of his own 
 calling, the newspaper correspondents, 
 | whose houses and tables were open 
 to him. It was wonderful what se- 
 crets of politics he learned and trans- 
 mitted to his own paper. He pursued 
 French statesmen of those days with 
 prodigious eloquence and vigor. At 
 the expense of that old king he was 
 wonderfully witty and sarcastical. 
 He reviewed the affairs of Europe, 
 settled the destinies of Russia, de- 
 nounced the Spanish marriages, dis- 
 posed of the Pope, and advocated the 
 Liberal cause in France with an un- 
 tiring eloquence. " Absinthe used to 
 be my drink, sir," so he was good 
 enough to tell his friends. " It makes
 
 222 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 the ink run, and imparts a fine elo- 
 quence to the style. Mercy upon us, 
 how I would belabor that poor king 
 of the French under the influence of 
 absinthe, in that cafe opposite the 
 Bourse where I used to make iny let- 
 ter ! Who knows, sir, perhaps the 
 influence of those letters precipitated 
 the fall of the Bourbon dynasty ! Be- 
 fore I had an oflice, Gilligan, of the 
 Century, ana I, used to do our let- 
 ters at that cafe' ; we compared notes 
 and pitched into each other ami- 
 cably." 
 
 Gilligan of the Century, and Fir- 
 min of the Pall Mall Gazette, were, 
 however, very minor personages 
 amongst the London newspaper cor- 
 respondents. Their seniors of the 
 daily press had handsome apartments, 
 gave sumptuous dinners, were clos- 
 eted with ministers' secretaries, and 
 entertained members of the Chamber 
 of Deputies. Philip, on perfectly 
 easy terms with himself and the 
 world, swaggering about the embassy 
 balls, Philip, the friend and rela- 
 tive of Lord Ringwood, was viewed 
 by his professional seniors and supe- 
 riors with an eye of favor, which was 
 not certainly turned on all gentlemen 
 following his calling. Certainly poor 
 Gilligan was never asked to those din- 
 ners, which some of the newspaper 
 ambassadors gave, whereas Philip 
 was received not unhospitably. Gil- 
 ligan received but a cold shoulder at 
 Mrs. Morning Messenger's Thurs- 
 days ; and as for l>eing asked to din- 
 ner, " Bedad, that fellow, Firmin, has 
 an air with him which will carry him 
 through anywhere ! " Phil's brother 
 correspondent owned. " He seems to 
 patronize an ambassador when he 
 goes up and speaks to him ; and he 
 says to a secretary, ' My good fellow, 
 tell your master that Mr. Firmin, of 
 the Pall Mall Gazette, wants to see 
 him, and will thank him to step over 
 to the Cafe de la Bourse.' " I don't 
 think Philip, for his part, would have 
 seen much matter of surprise in a 
 Minister stepping over to speak to 
 him. To him all folk were alike, 
 
 great and small ; and it is recorded 
 of him that when, on one occasion, 
 Lord Ringwood paid him a visit at 
 his lodgings in the Faubourg St. Ger- 
 main, Philip affably offered his Lord- 
 ship a cornet of fried potatoes, with 
 which, and plentiful tobacco of course, 
 Philip and one or two of his friends 
 were regaling themselves when Lord 
 Ringwood chanced to call on his 
 I kinsman. 
 
 A crust and a carafon of small beer, 
 a correspondence with a weekly pa- 
 : per, and a remuneration such as that 
 ( we have mentioned, was Philip 
 Firmin to look for no more than this 
 pittance, and not to seek for more 
 permanent and lucrative employ- 
 i ment ? Some of his friends at home 
 I were rather vexed at what Philip 
 : chose to consider his good fortune ; 
 namely, his connection with the news- 
 paper, and the small stipend it gave 
 him. He might quarrel with his em- 
 ployer any day. Indeed no man was 
 more likely to fling his bread-and- 
 butter out of window than Mr. Philip. 
 He was losing precious time at the 
 bar; where he, as hundreds of other 
 poor gentlemen had done before him, 
 might make a career for himself. 
 For what are colonies made"? Why 
 ! do bankruptcies occur ? Why do 
 people break the peace and quarrel 
 with policemen, but that barristers 
 may be employed as judges, commis- 
 sioners, magistrates ? A reporter to 
 a newspaper remains all his life a 
 newspaper reporter. Philip, if he 
 would but help himself, had friends 
 in the world who might aid effectual- 
 ly to advance him. So it was we 
 pleaded with him in the language of 
 moderation, urging the dictates of 
 common sense. As if moderation 
 and common sense could be got to 
 move that mule of a Philip Firmin ; 
 as if any persuasion of ours could 
 induce him to do anything but what 
 he liked to do best himself ! 
 
 " That you should be worldly, my 
 poor fellow" (so Philip wrote to his 
 present biographer), " that you 
 should be thinking of money and the
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 223 
 
 main chance, is no matter of surprise j 
 to me You have suffered under that 
 curse of manhood, that destroyer of j 
 generosity in the mind, that parent j 
 of selfishness, a little fortune. You j 
 have your wretched hundreds" (my 
 candid correspondent stated the sum 
 correctly enough ; and I wish it were 
 double or treble ; but that is not here 
 the point) " paid quarterly. The 
 miserable pittance numbs your whole 
 existence. It prevents freedom of 
 thought and action. It makes a 
 screw of a man who is certainly not 
 without generous impulses, as I 
 know, my poor old Harpagon : for 
 hast thou not offered to open thy 
 purse to me ? I tell you I am siek of 
 the way in which people in London, 
 especially good people, think about 
 money. You live up to your income's 
 edge. You are miserably poor. You 
 brag and flatter \ourselves that you 
 owe no man anything ; but your 
 estate has creditors upon it as insatia- 
 ble as any usurer, and as hard as any 
 bailiff. You call me reckjess, and 
 prodigal, and idle, and all sorts of 
 names, because I live in a single 
 room, do as little work as I can, and 
 go about with holes in my boots : 
 and you flatter yourself you arc pru- 
 dent, because you have a genteel 
 bouse, a grave flunkey out of livery, 
 and two green-grocers to wait when 
 you give your half-dozen dreary din- 
 ner-parties. Wretched man ! You 
 are a slave : not a man. You are a 
 pauper, with a good house and good 
 clothes. You are so miserably pru- 
 dent, that all your money is spent 
 for you, except the few wretched 
 shillings which you allow yourself for 
 pocket-money. You tremble at the 
 expense of a cab. I believe you act- 
 ually look at half a crown before 
 you spend it. The landlord is your 
 master. The livery-stable keeper is 
 your master. A train of ruthless, 
 useless servants are your pitiless 
 creditors, to whom you have to pay 
 exorbitant dividends every day. I, 
 with a hole in my elbow, who live 
 upon a shilling dinner, and walk ou 
 
 cracked boot-soles, am called extrav- 
 agant, idle, reckless, I don't know 
 what ; while you, forsooth, consider 
 yourself prudent. Miserable delu- 
 sion ! You are flinging away heaps 
 of money on useless flunkeys, on use- 
 less maid-servants, on useless lodg- 
 ings, on useless finery, and you 
 say, ' Poor Phil ! what a sad idler he 
 is ! how he flings himself away ! in 
 what a wretched, disreputable man- 
 ner he lives ! ' Poor Phil is as rich 
 as you are, for he has enough, and is 
 content Poor Phil can afford to be 
 idle, and you can't. You must work 
 in order to keep that great hulking 
 footman, that great ra w boned cook, 
 that army of babbling nursery-maids, 
 and I don't know what more. And 
 if you choose to submit to the slavery 
 and degradation inseparable from 
 your condition ; the wretched in- 
 spection of candle-ends, which you 
 call order ; the mean self-denials, 
 which you must daily practise, I 
 pity you, and don't quarrel with you. 
 But I wish you would not be so in- 
 sufferably virtuous, and ready with 
 your blame and pity for me. If I am 
 happy, pray need you be disquieted ? 
 Suppose I prefer independence, and 
 shabby Loots ? Are not these better 
 ihiin to be pinched by your abomina- 
 ble varnished conventionalism, and 
 to be denied the liberty of free ac- 
 tion ? My poor fellow, I pity you 
 from my heart ; and it grieves me to 
 think how those fine, honest children 
 honest, and hearty, and frank, and 
 open as yet are to lose their natu- 
 ral good qualities, and to be swathed, 
 and swaddled, and stifled out of health 
 and honesty by that obstinate world- 
 ling, their father. Don't tell me 
 about the world ; I know it. People 
 sacrifice the next world to it, and are 
 all the while proud of their prudence. 
 Look at my miserable relations, 
 steeped in respectability. Look at 
 my father. There is a chance for 
 him, now he is down and in poverty. 
 I have had a letter from him, con- 
 taining more of that dreadful worldly 
 advice which you Pharisees give. If
 
 224 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 it were n't for Laura and the children, 
 sir, I heartily wish you were ruined 
 like your affectionate P. F. 
 
 " N. B., P. S. O Pen ! I am so 
 happy ! She is such a little darling ! 
 I bathe in IILT innocence, sir ! 
 strengthen myself in her purity. I 
 kiuiei beforj her sweet goodness and 
 unconsciousness of guile. I walk 
 from my room, and see her every 
 morning Iwfore siven o'clock. I see 
 her cverv afternoon. She loves you 
 and Laura. And you love her, don't 
 you ? And to think that six months 
 ago I was going to in irry a woman 
 without a heart ! Why, sir, blessings 
 he on the poor old father for spending 
 our money, and rescuing me from 
 th it horrible fate i I might have 
 been like that fellow in the Arabian 
 Nights,' who marriel Amina, the 
 respectable woman, who dined upon 
 grains of rice, but supped upon cold 
 d^ad body. Was it not worth all the 
 money I ever was heir to to have es- 
 caped from that ghoul ? Lord Ring- 
 wood says he thinks I was well out 
 of th it. He calls people by Anglo- 
 Saxon names, and uses very expres- 
 sive monosyllables ; and of Aunt 
 Twysden, of Uncle Twysden, of the 
 girls, and their brother, he speaks in 
 a way which makes me see he has 
 come to just conclusions about them. 
 
 " P. S. No. 2. Ah, Pen ! She is 
 such a darling. I think I am the 
 happiest man in the world." 
 
 And this was what came of being 
 ruined ! A scapegrace, who, when 
 he had plenty of money in his pocket, 
 was ill-tempered, imperious, and dis- 
 contented, now that he is not worth 
 twopence, declares himself the happi- 
 est fellow in the world ! Do you re- 
 member, my dear, how he used to 
 grumble at our claret, and what wry 
 faces he made when there was only 
 cold meat for dinner ? The wretch 
 is absolutely contented with bread 
 and cheese and small beer, even that 
 bad beer which they have in Paris ! 
 
 Now and again, at this time, and 
 as our mutual avocations permitted, I 
 saw Philip's friend, the Little Sister. 
 He wrote to her dutifully from time 
 to time. He told her of his love-af- 
 fair with Miss Charlotte ; and my 
 i wife and I could console Caroline, by 
 ! assuring her that this time the young 
 j man's heart was given to a worthy 
 mistress. I say console, for the news, 
 j after all, was sad for her. In the lit- 
 tle chamber which she always kept 
 ready for him, he would lie awake, 
 and think of some one dearer to him 
 i than a hundred poor Carolines. She 
 would devise something that should 
 be agreeable to the young lady. At 
 I Christmas time there came to Miss 
 Baynes a wonderfully worked cam- 
 bric pocket-handkerchief, with " Char- 
 j lotto " most beautifully embroidered 
 I in the corner. It was this poor wid- 
 ow's mite of love and tenderness, 
 which she meekly laid down in the 
 i place where she worshipped. " And 
 | I have six for him, too, ma'am," Mrs. 
 ! B: - an Ion. told my wife. " Poor fel- 
 l low ! his shirts was in a dreadful way 
 | when he went away from here, and 
 ! that you know, ma'am." So you see 
 i this wayfarer, having fallen among 
 I undoubted thieves, yet found many 
 | kind souls to relieve him, and many 
 a good Samaritan ready with his 
 twopence, if need were. 
 
 The reason why Philip was the 
 happiest man in the world of course 
 you understand. French people are 
 very early risers ; and, at the little 
 hotel where Mr. Philip lived, the 
 whole crew of the house were up 
 hours before lazy English masters and 
 servants think of stirring. At ever 
 so early an hour Phil had a fine bowl 
 of coffee and milk and bread for his 
 breakfist ; nd he was striding down 
 to the Invalides, and across the bridge 
 to the Champs F/lyse'es, and the fumes 
 of his pipe preceded him with a pleas- 
 ant odor. And a short time after 
 pacing the Hond Point in the Elys- 
 ian fields, where an active fountain 
 was flinging up showers of diamonds 
 to the sky, after, I say, leaving the
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 225 
 
 Rond Point on his right, and passing 
 under umbrageous groves in the di- 
 rection of the present Castle of Flow- 
 ers, Mr. Philip would see a little per- 
 son. Sometimes a young sister or ; 
 brother came with the little person. 
 Sometimes only a blush fluttered on 
 her cheek, and a sweet smile beamed 
 in her face as she came forward to | 
 greet him. For the angels were scarce 
 purer than this young maid ; and ! 
 Una was no more afraid of the lion, 
 than Charlotte of her companion with 
 the loud voice and the tawny mane. 
 I would not have envied that repro- 
 bate's lot who should have dared to 
 say a doubtful word to this Una : but 
 the truth is, she never thought of 
 danger, or met with any. The work- 
 men were going to their labor ; the 
 dandies were asleep ; and considering 
 their age, and the relationship in 
 which they stood to one another, I 
 am not surprised at Philip for an- 
 nouncing that this was the happiest 
 time of his life. In later days, when 
 two gentlemen of mature age hap- 
 pened to be in Paris together, what 
 must Mr. Philip Firmin do but insist 
 upon walking me sentimentally to 
 the Champs Elyse'es, and looking at 
 an old house there, a rather shabby 
 old house in a garden. " That was 
 the place," sighs he. " That was 
 Madame de Smolensk's. That was 
 the window, the third one, with the 
 green jalousie. By Jove, sir, how 
 liiippy and how miserable I have been 
 behind that green blind ! " And my 
 friend shakes his large fist at the 
 somewhat dilapidated mansion, 
 whence Madame de Smolensk and 
 her boarders have long since depart- 
 ed. 
 
 I fear that baroness had engaged in 
 her enterprise with insufficient capital, 
 o- conducted it with such liberality 
 that her profits were eaten up by her 
 boarders. I could tell dreadful sto- 
 ries impugning the baroness's moral 
 character. People said she had no 
 right to the title of baroness at all, or 
 to the noble foreign name of Smo- 
 lensk. People are still alive who 
 10* 
 
 knew her under a different name. 
 The baroness herself was what some 
 .amateurs call a fine woman, especial- 
 ly at dinner-time, when she appeared 
 in black satin and with cheeks that 
 blushed up as far as the eyelids. In 
 tier peignoir in the morning, she was 
 perhaps the reverse of fine. Contours 
 which were round at night, in the 
 forenoon appeared lean and angular 
 Her roses only bloomed half an hour 
 before dinner-time on a cheek which 
 was quite yellow until five o'clock. 
 I am sure it is very kind of elderly and 
 ill-complexioned people to supply the 
 ravages of time or jaundice, and pre- 
 sent to our view a figure blooming 
 and agreeable, in place of an object 
 faded and withered. Do you quarrel 
 with your opposite neighbor for paint- 
 ing his house-front or putting roses 
 
 I in his balcony ? You are rather 
 thankful for the adornment. Madame 
 
 ' de Smolensk's front was so decorated 
 of afternoons. Geraniums were set 
 
 j pleasantly under those first-floor win- 
 dows, her eyes. Carcel lamps beamed 
 
 j from those windows : lamps which 
 she had trimmed with her own scis- 
 
 ; sors, and into which that poor widow 
 poured the oil which she got somehow 
 and anyhow. When the dingy break- 
 fast papil/otes were cast of an after- 
 noon, what beautiful black curls ap- 
 peared round her brow ! The dingy 
 papillotes were put away in the draw- 
 er : the peignoir retired to its hook be- 
 hind the door : the satin raiment 
 came forth, the shining, the ancient, 
 the well-kept, the well-wadded : and 
 at the same moment the worthy wo- 
 man took that smile out of some cun- 
 ning box on her scanty toilet-table 
 that smile which she wore all the 
 evening along with the rest of her 
 toilet, and took out of her mouth 
 when she went to bed and to think 
 to think how both ends were to be 
 made to meet. 
 
 Philip said he respected and ad- 
 mired that woman : and worthy of 
 respect she was in her way. She 
 painted her face and grinned" at pov- 
 erty. 'She laughed and rattled with 
 o
 
 226 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 care gnawing at her side. She had 
 to coax the milkman out of his hu- j 
 man kindness : to pour oil his own 
 oil upon the stormy e'pioier's soul ; j 
 to rash the butter-man : to tap the 
 wine-merchant : to mollify the butch- ! 
 er : to invent new pretexts for the j 
 landlord : to reconcile the lady board- j 
 crs, Mrs. General Baynes, let us say, j 
 and the Honorable Mrs. Boldero, who 
 were always quarrelling : to see that 
 the dinner, when procured, was 
 cooked properly ; that Fran;ois, to 
 whom she owed ever so many months' > 
 w.iges, was not too rebellious or in- 
 toxicated; that Auguste, also her 
 creditor, had his glass clean and his j 
 lamps in order. And this work done 
 and the hour of six o'clock arriving, 
 she had to carve and be agreeable to 
 her table ; not to hear the growls of j 
 the discontented, (and at what table- 
 d'hote are there not grumblers ? ) to 
 have a word for everybody present ; : 
 a smile and a laugh for Mrs. Bunch i 
 (with whom there had been very like- | 
 ly a dreadful row in the morning) ; a j 
 remark for the Colonel ; a polite 
 phrase for the General's lady ; and ' 
 even a good word and compliment for j 
 sulky Auguste, who just before din- 
 ner-time had unfolded the napkin of 
 mutiny about his wages. 
 
 Was not this enough work for a 
 woman to do ? To conduct a great 
 house without sufficient money, and j 
 makj soap, fish, roasts, and half a 
 dozen entrees out of wind as it were ? 
 to conjure up wine in piece and by I 
 the dozen ? to laugh and joke without 
 the least g lycty ? to receive scorn, 
 abuse, rebuffs, insolence, with gay 
 good-humor ? and then to go to j 
 bed wearied at night, and have to 
 think about figures, and that dread- 
 ful, dreidful sum in arithmetic, 
 given 5 to pay 6 ? Lady Macbeth 
 is supposed to have been a resolute 
 woman : and great, tall, loud, hector- 
 ing females are set to represent the ! 
 character. I say No. She was a 
 weak woman. She began to walk in 
 her sleep, and blab after one disagree- 
 able little incident Uad occurred in 
 
 her house. She broke down, and got 
 all the people away from her own 
 table in the most abrupt and clumsy 
 manner, because that drivelling, epi- 
 leptic husband of hers fancied he saw 
 a ghost. In Lady Smolensk's place 
 Madame de Macbeth would have 
 broken down in a week, and Smo- 
 lensk lasted for years. If twenty gib- 
 bering ghosts fiad come to the board- 
 ing-house dinner, madame would 
 have gone on carving her dishes, and 
 smiling and helping the live guests, 
 the paying guests ; leaving the dead 
 guests to gibber away and help them- 
 selves. " My poor father had to keep 
 up appearances," Phil would say, re- 
 counting these things in after days ; 
 " but how ? You know he always 
 looked as if he was going to be hung." 
 Smolensk was the gayest of the gay 
 always. That widow would have 
 tripped up to her funeral pile and 
 kissed her hands to her friends with a 
 smiling " Bon jour ! " 
 
 " Pray, who was Monsieur de 
 Smolensk ? " asks a simple lady who 
 may be listening to our friend's nar- 
 rative. 
 
 " Ah, my dear lady ! there was a 
 pretty disturbance in the house when 
 that question came to be mooted, I 
 promise you," says our friend, laugh- 
 ing, as he recounts his adventures. 
 And, after all, what does it matter to 
 you and me and this story who 
 Smolensk was ? I am sure this poor 
 lady had hardships enough in her 
 life campaign, and that Ney himself 
 could not have faced fortune with a 
 constancy more hcroical. 
 
 Well. " When the Bayneses first 
 came to her house, I tell you Smo- 
 lensk and all round her smiled, and 
 our friends thought they were landed 
 in a real rosy Elysium in the Champs 
 of that name. Madame had a Car- 
 rick a I'lndienne prepared in compli- 
 ment to her guests. She had had 
 many Indians in her establishment. 
 She adored Indians. N'etait ce la 
 polygamie, they were most estimable 
 people the Hindus. Surtout, she 
 adored Indian shawls. That of
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 227 
 
 Madame la Gencrale was ravishing. 
 The company at Madame's was pleas- 
 ant. The Honorable Mrs. Boldero 
 was a dashing woman of fashion and 
 respectability, who had lived in the 
 best world, it was easy to see that. 
 The young ladies' duets were very 
 striking. The Honorable Mr. Bol- 
 dero was away shooting in Scotland 
 at his brother, Lord Strongitharm's, 
 and would take Gaberlunzie Castle 
 and the Duke's on his way south. 
 Mrs. Baynes did not know Lady Es- 
 tridge, the ambassadress ? When 
 the Estridges returned from Chan- 
 tilly, the Honorable Mrs. B. would be 
 delighted to introduce her. " Your 
 pretty girl's name is Charlotte ? So 
 is Lady Estridge's, and very nearly 
 as tall ; fine girls the Estridges; 
 fine long necks, large feet, but 
 your girl, Lady Baynes, has beautiful 
 feet. Lady Baynes, I said ? Well, 
 
 >u must be Lady Baynes soon, 
 he General must be a K.C.B. after 
 his services. What, you know Lord 
 Trim ? He will, and must, do it for 
 you. If not, my brother Strongi- 
 tharm shall." I have no doubt, Mrs. 
 Baynes WMS greatly elated by the at 
 tentions of Lord Strongitharm's sis 
 ter ; and looked him out in the Peer- 
 age, where his Lordship's arms, pedi- 
 gree, and residence of Gaberlunzie 
 Castle are duly recorded. The Hon- 
 orable Mrs. Boldefo's daughters, the 
 Misses Minna and Brenda Boldero, 
 played some rattling sonatas on a 
 piano which was a good deal fatigued 
 by their exertions, for the young 
 ladies' hands were very powerful. 
 And madame said, " Thank you," 
 with her sweetest smile ; and Auguste 
 handed about on a silver tray, I 
 say silver, so that the convenances 
 may not be wounded, well, say 
 silver that was blushing to find itself 
 copper, handed up on a tray a 
 .vhite drink which made the Baynes 
 lioys cry out, " I say, mother, what 's 
 this beastly thing ? " On which 
 madame, with the sweetest smile, ap- 
 pealed to the company, and said, 
 " They love orgeat, these dear in- 
 
 fants ! " and resumed her piquet with 
 old M. Bidois, that odd old gentle- 
 man in the long brown coat, with 
 the red ribbon, who took so much 
 snuflf and blew his nose so often and 
 so loudly. One, two, three rattling 
 sonatas Minna and Brenda played ; 
 Mr. Clancy, of Trinity College, Dub- 
 lin (M. de Clanci, madame called 
 him), turning over the leaves, and 
 presently being persuaded to sing 
 some Irish melodies for the ladies. I 
 don't think Miss Charlotte Baynes 
 listened to the music much. She 
 was listening to another music, which 
 she and Mr. Firmin were performing 
 together. O, how pleasant that music 
 used to be ! There was a sameness in 
 | it, I dare say, but still it was pleasant 
 to hear the air over again. The 
 pretty little duet a quatre mains, where 
 the hands cross over, and hop up and 
 down the keys, and the heads get so 
 close, so close. O duets, O re- 
 grets ! Psha ! no more of this. Go 
 down stairs, old dotard. Take your 
 hat and umbrella and go walk by the 
 sea-shore, and whistle a toothless old 
 solo. " These are our quiet nights," 
 whispers M. de Clanci to the Baynes 
 ladies, when the evening draws to 
 an end. " Madame's Thursdays are, 
 I promise ye, much more fully attend- 
 ed." Good night, good night. A 
 squeeze of a little hand, a hearty 
 hand-shake from papa and mamma, 
 and Philip is striding through the 
 dark Elysian fields and over the Place 
 of Concord to his lodgings in the 
 Faubourg St. Germain. Or, stay ! 
 What is that glowworm gleaming by 
 the wall opposite Madame de Smo- 
 lensk's house? a glowworm that 
 wafts an aromatic incense and odor? 
 J do believe it is Mr. Philip's cigar. 
 And he is watching, watching a 
 window by which a slim figure flits 
 now and again. Then darkness falls 
 on the little window. The sweet eyes 
 are closed. O blessings, blessings be 
 upon them ! The stars shine over- 
 head. And homeward stalks Mr. 
 Firmin, talking to himself, and bran 
 dishing a great stick.
 
 228 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 I wish that poor Madame Smolensk 
 could sleep as well as the people in 
 her house. But care, with the cold 
 feet, gets under the coverlid, and says, 
 " Here I am ; you know that bill is 
 coming due to-morrow." Ah, atra 
 cura ! can't you leave the poor thing 
 a little quiet*? Has n't she had work 
 enough all day ? 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 
 
 WE beg the gracious reader to 
 remember that Mr. Philip's business 
 at Paris was only with a weekly 
 London paper as yet ; and hence 
 that he had on his hands a great 
 deal of leisure. He could glance 
 over the state of Europe ; give the 
 latest news from the salons, im- 
 parted to him, I do believe, for the 
 most part, by some brother hireling 
 scribes ; be present at all the the- 
 atres by deputy ; and smash Louis 
 Philippe or Messieurs Guizot and 
 Thiers in a few easily turned par- 
 agraphs, which cost but a very 
 few hours' labor to that bold and 
 rapid pen. A wholesome though 
 humiliating thought it must be to 
 great and learned public writers, 
 that their eloquent sermons are but 
 for the day ; and that, having read 
 what the philosophers say on Tues- 
 day or Wednesday, we think about 
 their yesterday's sermons or essays 
 no more. A score of years hence, 
 men will read the pipers of 1861 for 
 the occurrences narrated, births, 
 marriages, bankruptcies, elections, 
 murders, deaths, and so forth ; and 
 not for the leading articles. ' Though 
 there were some of my letters," Mr. 
 Philip would say, in after times, 
 " that I fondlv fancied the world 
 would not willingly let die. I wanted 
 to have them or see them reprinted in 
 a volume, but I could find no pub- 
 lisher willing to undertake the risk. 
 A fond being, who fancies there is 
 genius in everything I say or write, 
 
 would have had me reprint my letters 
 to the Pall Mall Gazette ; but I was 
 too timid, or she, perhaps, was too 
 confident. The letters never were 
 republished. Let them pass." They 
 have passed. And he sighs, in men- 
 tioning this circumstance ; and I 
 think tries to persuade himself, rather 
 than others, that he is an unrecognized 
 genius. 
 
 " And then, you know," he pleads, 
 " I was in love, sir, and spending all 
 my days at Omphale's knees. I 
 did n't do justice to my powers. If 
 I had had a daily paper, I still think 
 I might have made a good public 
 writer ; and that I had the stuff in 
 me, the stuff in me, sir ! " 
 
 The truth is that, if he had had a 
 daily paper, and ten times as much 
 work as fell to his lot, Mr. Philip 
 would have found means of pursu- 
 ing his inclination, as he ever through 
 life has done. The being whom a 
 young man wishes to see, he sees. 
 What business is superior to that 
 of seeing her ? J T is a little Helles- 
 pontine matter keeps Leander from 
 j his Hero ? He would die rather than 
 not see her. Had he swum out of 
 j that difficulty on that stormy night, 
 j and carried on a few months later, 
 j it might have been, " Beloved ! my 
 ! cold and rheumatism are so severe 
 ! that the doctor says I must not think 
 of cold bathing: at night " ; or, " Dcar- 
 , est ! we have a party at tea, and you 
 I must n't expect your ever fond Lamb- 
 da to*-night," and so forth, and so 
 I forth. But in the heat of his pas- 
 sion water could not stay him ; tem- 
 pests could not frighten him ; and in 
 one of them he went down, while 
 poor Hero's lamp was twinkling and 
 | spending its best flame in vain. So 
 Philip came from Sestos to Abydos 
 daily, across one of the bridges, 
 and paying a halfpenny toll very 
 likely, and, late or early, poor lit- 
 tle Charlotte's virgin lamps were 
 lighted in her eyes, and watching for 
 him. 
 
 Philip made many sacrifices, mind 
 you : sacrifices which all men are
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 229 
 
 not in the habit of making. When 
 Lord Ringwood was in Paris, twice, 
 thrice he refused to dine with his 
 Lordship, until that nobleman smelt 
 a rat, as the saying is, and said, 
 " Well, youngster, I suppose you are 
 going where there is metal more 
 attractive. When you come to 
 twelve lustres, my boy, you '11 find 
 vanity and vexation in that sort of 
 thing, and a good dinner better, and 
 cheaper, too, than the best of them." 
 And when some of Philip's rich col- 
 lege friends met him in his exile, and 
 asked him to the " Rocher " or the 
 " Trois Freres," he would breakaway 
 from those banquets ; and as for 
 meeting at those feasts doubtful com- 
 panions, whom young men will 
 sometimes invite to their entertain- 
 ments, Philip turned from such with 
 scorn and anger. His virtue was 
 loud, and he proclaimed it loudly. 
 He expected little Charlotte to give 
 him credit for it, and told her of his 
 self-denial. And she believed anything 
 he said ; and delighted in everything 
 he wrote ; and copied out his articles 
 for the Pall Mall Gazette ; and treas- 
 ured his poems in her desk of desks : 
 and there never was in all Sestos, in 
 all Abydos, in all Europe, in all Asia 
 Minor or Asia Major, such a noble 
 creature as Leander, Hero thought ; 
 never, never ! I hope, young ladies, 
 you may all have a Leander on his 
 way to the tower where the light of 
 your love i* burning steadfastly. I 
 hope, young gentlemen, you have 
 each of you a beacon in sight, and 
 may meet with no mishap in swim- 
 ming to it. 
 
 From my previous remarks regard- 
 ing Mrs. Baynes, the reader has been 
 made aware that the General's wife 
 was no more faultless than the rest of 
 her fellow-creatures ; and having al- 
 ready candidly informed the public 
 that the writer and his family were no 
 favorites of this lady, I have now the 
 pleasing duty of recording my own 
 opinions regarding her. Mrs. General 
 B. was an early riser. She was a fru- 
 gal woman ; fond of her young, or, 
 
 let us say, anxious to provide for their 
 maintenance ; and here, with my 
 best compliments, I think the cata- 
 logue of her good qualities is ended. 
 Shu had a bad, violent temper ; a disa- 
 greeable person, attired in very bad 
 taste ; a shrieking voice ; and two 
 manners, the respectful and the pat- 
 ronizing, which were both alike odious. 
 When she ordered Baynes to marry 
 her, gracious powers ! why did he 
 not mil away? Who dared first to 
 say that marriages are made in heav- 
 en '! We know that there are not 
 only blunders, but roguery in the 
 marriage office. Do not mistakes oc- 
 cur every day, and are not the wrong 
 people coupled 1 Had heaven any- 
 thing to do with the bargain by which 
 young Miss Blushrosc was sold to 
 old Mr. Hoarfrost ? Did heaven 
 order young Miss Tripper to throw 
 over poor Tom Spooner, and marry 
 the wealthy Mr. Bung ? You may as 
 well say that horses are sold in heav- 
 en, which, as you know, are groomed, 
 are doctored, are chanted on to the 
 market, and warranted by dexterous 
 horse-venders as possessing every 
 quality of blood, pace, temper, age. 
 Against these Mr. Greenhorn has his 
 remedy sometimes ; but against a 
 mother who sells you a warranted 
 daughter, what remedy is there 1 ? 
 You have been jockeyed by false rep- 
 resentations into Lidding for the Ce- 
 cilia, and the animal is yours for life. 
 She shies, kicks, stumbles, has an in- 
 fernal temper, is a crib-biter, and 
 she was warranted to you by her 
 mother as the most perfect, pood-tem- 
 pered creature, whom the most timid 
 might manage ! You have bought 
 her. She is yours. Heaven bless 
 you ! Take her home, and be miser- 
 able for the rest of your days. You 
 have no redress. You have done the 
 deed. Marriages were made in heav- 
 en, you know ; and in yours you were 
 as much sold as Moses' Primrose was 
 when he bought the gross of green 
 spectacles. 
 
 I don't think poor General Baynes 
 ever had a proper sense of his situa-
 
 230 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 tion, or knew how miserable he ought 
 by rights to have been. He was not 
 uncheerful at times ; a silent man, lik- 
 ing his rubber and his glass of wine ; 
 a very weak person in the common 
 affairs of life, as his best friends must 
 own ; but, as I have heard, a very 
 tiger in action. " I know your opin- 
 ion of the General," Philip used to 
 say to me, in his grandiloquent way. 
 " You despise men who don't bully 
 their wives ; you do, sir ! You think 
 the General weak, I know, I know. 
 Other brave men were so about wo- 
 men, as I dare say you have heard. 
 This man, so weak at home, was 
 mighty on the war-path ; and in his 
 wigwam afre the scalps of countless 
 warriors." 
 
 " In his wig what ? " say I. The 
 truth is, on his meek head the General 
 wore a little curling chestnut top-knot, 
 which looked very queer and out of 
 place over that wrinkled and war-worn 
 iace. 
 
 " If you choose to laugh at your 
 joke, pray do," says Phil, majestically. 
 " I make a noble image of a warrior. 
 You prefer a barber's pole. Bon ! 
 Pass me the wine. The veteran whom 
 I hope to salute as father erelong, 
 the soldier of twenty battles ; who 
 saw my own brave grandfather die at 
 his side, die at Busaco, by George ; 
 you laugh at an account of his wig. 
 It's a capital joke." And here Phil 
 scowled and slapped the table, and 
 passed his hand across his eyes, as 
 though the death of his grandfather, 
 which occurred long before Philip was 
 born, caused him a very serious pang 
 of grief. Philip's newspaper busi- 
 ness brought him to London on oc- 
 casions. I think it was on one of 
 these visits that we had our talk 
 about General Baynes. And it was 
 at the same time Philip described the 
 boarding-house to us, and its inmates, 
 and the landlady, and the doings 
 there. 
 
 For that struggling landlady, as 
 for all women in distress, our friend 
 had a great sympathy and liking ; 
 end she returned Philip's kindness by 
 
 being very good to Mademoiselle 
 Charlotte, and very forbearing with 
 the General's wife and his other 
 j children. The . appetites of those 
 | little ones were frightful, the temper 
 j of Madame la Ge'ne'rale was almost 
 I intolerable, but Charlotte was an 
 angel, and the General was a mutton, 
 a true mutton. Her own father had 
 been so. The brave are often mut- 
 tons at home. I suspect that, though 
 madame could have made but 
 little profit by the General's family, 
 his monthly payments were very 
 welcome to her meagre little ex- 
 chequer. " Ah ! if all my locataires 
 were like him ! " sighed the poor 
 lady. " That Madame Boldero, whom 
 the Generaless treats always as Hon- 
 orable, I wish I was as sure of her ! 
 And others again ! " 
 
 I never kept a boarding-house, but 
 I am sure there must be many pain- 
 ful duties attendant on that profes- 
 sion. What can you do if a lady 
 or gentleman does n't pay his bill 1 
 Turn him or her out ? Perhaps the 
 very thing that lady or gentleman 
 would desire. They go. Those 
 trunks which you have insanely de- 
 tained, and about which you have 
 made a fight and a scandal, do not 
 contain a hundred francs' worth of 
 goods, and your creditors never come 
 | back again. You do not like to have 
 j a row in a boarding-house any more 
 than you would like to have a party 
 with scarlet fever in your best bed- 
 room. The scarlet-fever party stays, 
 and the other boarders go away. 
 What, you ask, do I mean by this 
 mystery ? I am sorry to have to give 
 up names, and titled names. I am 
 sorry to say the Honorable Mrs. 
 Boldero did not pay her bills. She 
 was waiting for remittances, which 
 the Honorable Boldero was dreadful- 
 ly remiss in sending. A dreadful 
 man ! He was still at his Lordship's 
 at Gaberlunzie Castle, shooting the 
 wild deer and hunting the roe. And 
 though the Honorable Mrs. B.'s 
 heart was in the Highlands, of course 
 how could she join her Highland
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 231 
 
 chief without the money to pay 
 madame ? The Highlands, indeed ! 
 One dull day it came out that the 
 Honorable Boldero was amusing 
 himself in the Highlands of Hesse 
 Homburg; and engaged in the dan- 
 gerous sport whieh is to be had in 
 the green plains about Loch Baden- 
 badenoch ! 
 
 "Did you ever hear of such de- 
 pravity ? The woman is a desperate 
 and unprincipled adventuress ! I 
 wonder madame dares to put me and 
 my children and my General down 
 at table with such people as those, 
 Philip ! " cries Madame la Ge'ne'iale. 
 " I mean those opposite, that wo- 
 man and her two daughters who 
 have n't paid madame a shilling for 
 three months, who owes me five 
 hundred francs, which she borrowed 
 until next Tuesday, expecting a re- 
 mittance a pretty remittance in- 
 deed from Lord Strongitharm. 
 Lord Strongitharm, I dare say ! 
 And she pretends to be most intimate 
 at the embassy ; and that she would 
 introduce us there, and at the Tuiler- 
 ies : and she told me Lady Garterton 
 had the small-pox in the house ; and 
 when I said all ours had been vac- 
 cinated, and I did n't mind, she fobbed 
 me off with some other excuse ; and 
 it 's my belief the woman 's a hum- 
 buy. Overhear me ! I don't care if 
 she does overhear me. No. You 
 may look as much as you like, my 
 Honorable Mrs. Boldero ; and I don't 
 rare if you do overhear me. Ogoost ! 
 Pomdytare pour le Ge'nc'ral ! How 
 tough Madame's hoof is, and it 's 
 boof, boof, boof every day, till I 'm 
 sick of boof. Ogoost ! why don't you 
 attend to my children 1 " And so 
 forth. 
 
 By this report of the worthy 
 woman's conversation, you will see 
 that the friendship which had sprung 
 up between the two ladies had come 
 to an end, in consequence of painful 
 pecuniary disputes between them ; 
 that to keep a boarding-house can't 
 be* a very pleasant occupation ; and 
 that even to dine in a boarding-house 
 
 must be only bad fun when the com- 
 pany is frightened and dull, and when 
 there are two old women at table ready 
 to fling the dishes at each other's 
 fronts. At the period of which I 
 now write, I promise you, there was 
 very little of the piano-duet business 
 going on after dinner. In the first 
 place, everybody knew the girl's 
 pieces ; and when they began, Mrs. 
 General Baynes would lift up a voice 
 louder than the jingling old instru- 
 ment, thumped Minna and Brcnda 
 ever so loudly. " Perfect strangers 
 to me, Mr. Clancy, I assure you. 
 Had I known her, you don't suppose 
 I would have lent her the money. 
 Honorable Mrs. Boldero, indeed ! 
 Five weeks she has owed me five 
 hundred frongs. Bong swor, Mon- 
 sieur Bidois ! Sang song frong pas 
 payy encor ! Prommy, pas payy ! " 
 Fancy, I say, what a dreary life that 
 must have been at the select boarding- 
 house, where these two parties were 
 doing battle daily after dinner! 
 Fancy, at the select soirees, the Gen- 
 eral's lady seizing upon one guest 
 after another, and calling out her 
 wrongs, and pointing to the wrong- 
 doer ; and poor Madame Smolensk, 
 smirking, and smiling, and flying 
 from one end of the salon to the 
 other, and thanking M. Pivoine for 
 his charming romance, and M. 
 Brumm for his admirable perform- 
 ance on the violoncello, and even 
 asking those poor Miss Bolderos 
 to perform their duet, for her heart 
 melted towards them. Not ignorant 
 of evil, she had learned to succor the 
 miserable. She knew what poverty 
 was, and had to coax scowling duns, 
 and wheedle vulgar creditors. " Te- 
 nez, Monsieur Philippe," she said, 
 " the Ge'ne'rale is too cruel. There are 
 others here who might complain, and 
 are silent." Philip felt all this ; the 
 conduct of his future mother-in-law 
 filled him with dismay and horror. 
 And some time after these remarkable 
 circumstances, he told me, blushing 
 as he spoke, a humiliating secret- 
 " Do you know, sir," says he, " that
 
 232 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 that autumn I made a pretty good 
 thing of it with one thing or another. 
 I did my work for the Pall Mall 
 Gazette : and Smith of the Daily In- 
 telligencer, wanting a month's holi- 
 day, gave me his letter and ten 
 fra'ncs a day. And at that very time 
 I mat Redman, who had owed ' me 
 twenty pounds ever since we were at 
 college, and who was just coming 
 l>a^k flush from Hombourg, and paid 
 ms. Well, now. Swear you won't 
 tell. Swear on your faith as a 
 Christian man! With this money I 
 went, sir, privily to Mrs. Boldero. I 
 s ii.l if she would pay the dragon, 
 I mean Mrs. Biynes, I would lend 
 lur thi money. And I did lend her 
 the money, and the Boldero never 
 paid b ick Mrs. Baynes. Don't 
 mention it. Promise me you won't 
 tell Mrs. B lynes. I never expected 
 to get Rad.nan's money, you know, 
 and am no worse off than before. 
 One day of the Grandes Eaux we 
 went to Versailles, I think, and the 
 Honorable Mrs. Boldero gave us the 
 slip. She left the poor girls behind 
 her in pledge, who, to do them justice, 
 cried and were in a dreadful way ; 
 and when Mrs. Baynes, on our re- 
 turn, began shrieking about her 
 ' sang song frong,' Madame Smolensk 
 fairly lost patience for once, and said, 
 ' Mais, madame, vous nous fatiguez 
 avec vos cinq cent francs ' ; on which 
 the other muttered something about 
 ' Ansolong,' but was briskly taken 
 up by her husband, who said, ' By 
 George, Eliza, madame is quite right. 
 And I wish the five hundred francs 
 were in the sea.' " 
 
 Thus, you understand, if Mrs. Gen- 
 eral Baynes thought some people 
 were " stuck-up people," some people 
 can and hereby do bv these pres- 
 ents pay off Mrs. Baynes, by fur- 
 nishing the public with a candid 
 opinion of that lady's morals, man- 
 ners, and character. How could such 
 a shrewd woman be dazzled so re- 
 poatadly by ranks and titles ? There 
 used to dine at Madame Smolensk's 
 boarding-house a certain German bar- 
 
 on, with a large finger-ring, upon a 
 dingy finger, towards whom the lady 
 was pleased to cast the eye of favor, 
 and who chose to fall in love with her 
 pretty daughter ; young Mr. Clancy, 
 the Irish poet, was also smitten with 
 the charms of the fair young lady ; 
 and this intrepid mother encouraged 
 both suitors, to the unspeakable ago- 
 nies of Philip Firmin, who felt often 
 that whilst he was away at his work 
 these inmates of Madame Smolensk's 
 house were near his charmer, at 
 her side at lunch, ever handing her 
 the cup at breakfast, on the watch for 
 her when she walked forth in the gar- 
 den ; and I take the pangs of jealousy 
 to have formed a part of those un- 
 speakable sufferings which Philip said 
 he endured in the house whither he 
 came courting. 
 
 Little Charlotte, in one or two of 
 her letters to her friends in Queen 
 Square, London, meekly complained 
 of Philip's tendency to jealousy. 
 " Does he think, after knowing him, 
 I can think of these horrid men ? " 
 she asked. " I don't understand 
 what Mr. Clancy is talking about, 
 when he comes to me with his ' pomes 
 and potry ' ; and who can read poetry 
 like Philip himself ? Then the Ger- 
 man baron who does not call even 
 himself baron : it is mamma who will 
 insist upon calling him so has such 
 very dirty things, and smells so of 
 cigars, that I don't like to come 
 near him. Philip smokes too, but 
 his cigars are quite pleasant. Ah, 
 dear friend, how coidd he ever think 
 such men as these were to b" put in 
 comparison with him ! And he scolds 
 so ; and scowls at the poor men in 
 the evening when he comes ! and his 
 temper is so high ! Do say a word to 
 him quite cautiously and gently, 
 you know in behalf of your fondly 
 attached and most happy only ho 
 will make me unhappy sometimes ', 
 but you '11 prevent him, won't you ? 
 CHARLOTTE B." 
 
 I could fancy Philip hectoring 
 through the part of Othello, and his 
 poor young Desdemona not a little
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 233 
 
 frightened at his black humors. Such 
 sentiments as Mr. Philip felt strongly, 
 he expressed with an uproar. Char- 
 lotte's correspondent, as usual, made 
 light of these little domestic confi- 
 dences and grievances. " Women 
 don't dislike a jealous scolding," she 
 said. " It may be rather tiresome, 
 but it is always a compliment. Some 
 husbands think so well of themselves, 
 that they can't condescend to be 
 jealous." " Yes," I say, " women 
 prefer to have tyrants over them. A 
 scolding you think is a mark of atten- 
 tion. Had n't you better adopt the 
 Russian system at once, and go out 
 and buy me a whip, and present it to 
 me with a courtesy, and your compli- 
 ments ; and a meek prayer that I 
 sbould use it." " Present you a whip ! 
 present you a goose ! " says the lady, 
 who encourages scolding in otbtr 
 husbands, it seems, but won't suffer a 
 word from her own. 
 
 Both disputants had set their senti- 
 mental hearts on the marriage of this 
 young man and this young woman. 
 Litttle Charlotte's heart was so bent 
 on the match, that it would break, we 
 fancied, if she were disappointed ; and 
 in her mother's behavior we felt, from 
 the knowledge we had of the woman's 
 disposition, there was a serious cause 
 for alarm. Should a better offer 
 present itself, Mrs. Baynes, we feared, 
 would fling over poor Philip : or it 
 was in reason and nature, that he 
 would come to a quarrel with her, and 
 in the course of the pitched battle 
 which must ensue between them, he 
 would fire off expressions mortally in- 
 jurious. Are there not many people, 
 in every one's acquaintance, who, as 
 soon as they have made a bargain, 
 repent of it 1 Philip, as " preserver " 
 of General Baynes, in the first fervor 
 of family gratitude for that act of 
 self-sacrifice on the young man's part, 
 was very well. But gratitude wears 
 out ; or suppose a woman says, " It 
 is my duty to my child to recall my 
 word ; and not allow her to fling her- 
 self away on a beggar." Suppose 
 that you and I, strongly inclined to do 
 
 ' a mean action, get a good, available, 
 
 ! and moral motive for it 1 I trembled 
 for poor Philip's course of true love, 
 and little Charlotte's chances, when 
 these surmises crossed my mind. 
 There was a hope still in the honor 
 
 I and gratitude of General Baynes. 
 
 I He would not desert his young friend 
 and benefactor. Now General Baynes 
 was a brave man of war, and so was 
 John of Marlborough a brave man of 
 
 : war ; but it is certain that both were 
 afraid of their wives. 
 
 1 We have said by whose invitation 
 and encouragement General Baynes 
 was induced to bring his family to the 
 
 | boarding-house at Paris ; the instiga- 
 
 j tion, namely, of his friend and com- 
 panion in arms, the gallant Colonel 
 Bunch. When the Baynes family 
 arrived, the Bunches were on the steps 
 of madame's house, waving a welcome 
 to the new-comers. It was, " Here 
 we are, Bunch my boy." " Glad to 
 see you, Baynes. Right well yon 're 
 
 j looking, and so 's Mrs. B." And the 
 General replies, " And so are you, 
 Bunch ; and so do you, Mrs. B." 
 " How do, boys ? How d'you do, 
 Miss Charlotte ? Come to show the 
 Paris fellows what a pretty girl is, 
 
 | hey? Blooming like a rose, Baynes \" 
 
 I " I 'm telling the General," cries the 
 Colonel to the General's lady, " the 
 
 | girl 's the very image of her mother." 
 
 ! In this case poor Charlotte must have 
 looked like a yellow rose, for Mrs. 
 Baynes was of a bilious temperament 
 and complexion, whereas Miss Char- 
 lotte was as fresh pink and white as 
 
 i what shall we say 1 as the very 
 
 l freshest strawberries mingled with the 
 
 ! very nicest cream. 
 
 The two old soldiers were of very great 
 comfort to one another. They toddled 
 down to Galignani's together daily, 
 and read the papers there.. They 
 went and looked at the reviews in the 
 Carrousel, and once or twice to the 
 Champ de Mars : recognizing here 
 and there the numbers of the regiments 
 against which they had been engaged 
 in the famous ancient wars. They 
 did not brag in the least about their
 
 234 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 achievements, they winked and under- 
 stood each other." They got their old 
 uniforms out of their old boxes, and 
 took a voiture de remise, by Jove ! and 
 went to be presented to Louis Phi- 
 lippe. They bought a catalogue, and 
 went to the Louvre, and wagged their 
 honest old heads before the pictures ; 
 and, I dare say, winked and nudged 
 each other's brave old sides at sume 
 of the nymphs in the statue gallery. 
 They went out to Versailles with their 
 families ; loyally stood treat to the 
 ladies at the restaurateur's. (Bunch 
 had taken down a memorandum in 
 his pocket-book from Benyon, who 
 had been the duke's aide-de-camp in 
 the last campaign, to " go to Beau- 
 villier's," only Beauvillier's had been 
 shut up for twenty years. ) They took 
 their families and Charlotte to the 
 Theatre Franpais, to a tragedy ; and 
 they had books : and they said it was 
 the most confounded nonsense they 
 ever saw in their lives; and I am 
 bound to say that Bunch, in the back 
 of the box, snored so, that, though in 
 retirement, he created quite a sensa- 
 tion. " Corneal," he owns, was too 
 much for him ; give him Shakespeare : 
 give him John Ketnble: give him 
 Mrs. Siddons : give him Mrs. Jordan. 
 But as for this sort of thing ? "I 
 think our play days are over, Baynes, 
 hey ? " And I also believe that Miss 
 Charlotte Baynes, whose knowledge 
 of the language was imperfect as yet, 
 was very much bewildered during the 
 tragedy, and could give but an imper- 
 fect account of it. But then Philip 
 Firmin was in the orchestra stalls ; and 
 had he not sent three bouquets for the 
 three ladies, regretting that he could 
 not come to see somebody in the 
 Champs Elyse'es, because it was his 
 post day, and he must write his letter ] 
 for the Pall Mall Gazette. There he 
 was, her'C'id ; her peerless champion : 
 and to give up father and mother for 
 him f our little Chimene thought such 
 a sacrifice not too difficult. After 
 that dismal attempt at the theatre, 
 the experiment was not repeated. The 
 old gentlemen preferred their whist to 
 
 those pompous Alexandrines sung 
 through the nose, which Colonel 
 Bunch, a facetious little colonel, used 
 to imitate, and, I am given to under- 
 stand, very badly. 
 
 The good gentlemen's ordinary 
 amusement was a game at cards after 
 dinner; and they compared madame's 
 to an East Indian ship, quarrels and 
 all. Sarah went on just in that way 
 on board the " Burrumpooter." Al- 
 ways rows about precedence, and the 
 services, and the deuce knows what. 
 Women always will. Sarah Bunch 
 went on in that way : and Eliza 
 Baynes also went on in that way ; 
 but I should think, from the most 
 trustworthy information, that Eliza 
 was worse than Sarah. 
 
 "About any person with a title, 
 that woman will make a fool of her- 
 self to the end of the chapter," re- 
 marked Sarah of her friend. " You 
 remember how she used to go on at 
 Barrackpore about that little shrimp, 
 Stoney Battersby, because he was an 
 Irish viscount's son 1 See how she 
 flings herself at the head of this Mrs. 
 Boldero, with her airs, and her 
 paint, and her black front ! I can't 
 bear the woman ! I know she has 
 not paid madame. I know she is no 
 better than she should be and to 
 see Eliza Baynes coaxing her, and 
 sidling up to her, and flattering her ; 
 it 's too bad, that it is ! A woman 
 who owes ever so much to madame ! 
 a woman who does n't pay her washer- 
 woman ! " 
 
 " Just like the ' Burrumpooter ' 
 over again, my dear," cries Colonel 
 Bunch. " You and Eliza Baynes 
 were always quarrelling, that 's the 
 fact. Why did you ask her to come 
 here? I knew you would begin 
 again, as soon as you met." And 
 the truth was, that these ladies were 
 always fighting and making up again. 
 
 " So you and Mr. Bunch were old 
 acquaintances ? " asked Mrs. Boldero 
 of her new friend. " My dear Mrs. 
 Bavnei ! I should hardly have thought 
 it : your manners are so different ! 
 Yo-*.r friend, if I may be so free as to
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 235 
 
 speak, has the camp manner. You 
 have not the camp manner at all. 
 I should have thought you excuse 
 me the phrase, but I 'm so open, and 
 always speak my mind out you 
 have n't the camp manner at all. 
 You seem as if you were one of us. 
 Minna ! does n't Mrs. Baynes put you 
 
 in mind of Lady Hm '<" (The 
 
 name is inaudible, in consequence of 
 Mrs. Boldero's exceeding shyness in 
 mentioning names, but the girls see 
 
 the likeness to dear Lady Hm at 
 
 once.) "And when you bring your 
 dear girl to London you '11 know the 
 lady I mean, and judge for yourself. 
 I assure you, 1 am not disparaging 
 you. my dear Mrs. Baynes, in com- 
 paring you to her ! " 
 
 And so the conversation goes on. 
 If Mrs. Major MacWhirter at Tours 
 chose to betray secrets, she could give 
 extracts from her sister's letters to 
 show how profound was the impres- 
 sion created in Mrs. General Baynes's 
 mind by the professions and conver- 
 sations of the Scotch lady. 
 
 " Did n't the General shoot, and 
 love deer-stalking? The dear Gen- 
 eral must come to Gaberlunzic Castle, 
 where she would promise him a High- 
 land welcome. Her brother Strong- ! 
 itliarm was the most amiable of men ; 
 adored her and her girls : there was 
 talk even of marrying Minna to the 
 Captain, but she, for her part, could 
 not endure the marriage of first-cous- 
 ins. There was a tradition against 
 such marriages in their family. Of 
 three Bolderos and Strongitharms 
 who married their first-cousins, one 
 was drowned in Gaberlunzie Lake 
 three weeks after the marriage ; one 
 lost his wife by a galloping consump- 
 tion, and died a monk at Rome ; and 
 the third married a fortnight before 
 the battle of Culloden, where he was 
 slain at the head of the Strongi- 
 tharms. Mrs. Baynes had no idea of 
 the splendor of Gaberlunzie Castle ; 
 seventy bedrooms and thirteen com- 
 pany-rooms, besides the picture-gal- 
 lery ! In Edinburgh, the Strongi- 
 tharm had the right to wear his bon- 
 
 net in the presence of his sovereign." 
 "A bonnet! how very odd, my dear! 
 But with ostrich plumes, I dare say 
 it may look well, especially as the 
 Highlanders wear frocks, too." " Lord 
 Strongi tharm had no house in Lon- 
 don, having almost ruined himself in 
 building his princely castle in the 
 North. Mrs. Baynes must come there 
 and meet their noble relatives and all 
 the Scottish nobility." "Nor do / 
 care about these vanities, my dear, 
 but to bring my sweet Charlotte into 
 the \vorld : is it not a mother's duty 1 " 
 
 Not only to her sister, but likewise 
 to Charlotte's friends of Queen Square, 
 did Mrs. Baynes impart these delight- 
 ful news. But this is in the first ardor 
 of the friendship which arises between 
 Mrs. Baynes and Mrs. Boldero, and 
 before those unpleasant money-dis- 
 putes of which we have spoken. 
 
 Afterwards, when the two ladies 
 have quarrelled regarding the mem- 
 orable " sang song frong," I think 
 Mrs. Bunch came round to Mrs. 
 Boldero's side. " Eliza Baynes is too 
 hard on her. It is too cruel to insult 
 her before those two unhappy daugh- 
 ters. The woman is an odious woman, 
 and a vulgar woman, and a schemer, 
 and I always said so. But to box 
 her ears before her daughters, her 
 honorable friend of last week ! it 's a 
 shame of Eliza ! " 
 
 "My dear, you'd better tell her 
 so ! " says Bunch, dryly. " But if 
 you do, fell her when I'm out of the 
 way, please ! " And accordingly, one 
 day when the two old officers return 
 from their stroll, Mrs. Bunch informs 
 the Colonel that she has had it out 
 with Eliza ; and Mrs. Baynes, with a 
 heated face, tells the General that she 
 and Mrs. Colonel Bunch have quar- 
 relled; and she is determined it shall 
 be for the last time. So that poor 
 Madame de Smolensk has to inter- 
 pose between Mrs. Baynes and Mrs. 
 Boldero; between Mrs. Baynes and 
 Mrs. Bunch; and to sit surrounded 
 by glaring eyes, and hissing innuen- 
 does, and in the midst of feuds un- 
 healable. Of course, from the women
 
 236 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 the quarrelling will spread to the gen- 
 tlemen. That always happens. Poor 
 madame trembles. Again Bunch 
 Drives his neighbor his word that it is 
 like the " Burrumpooter " East In- 
 diaman, the "Burrumpooter" in 
 very bad weather, too. 
 
 " At any rate, we won't be lugged 
 into it, Baynes, my boy ! " says the 
 Colonel, who is of a sanguine tem- 
 perament, to his friend. 
 
 "Hey, hey! don't be too sure, 
 Bunch ; don't be too sure," sighs the 
 other veteran, who, it may be, is of a 
 more desponding turn, as, after a bat- 
 tle at luncheon, in which the Amazons 
 were fiercely engaged, the two old 
 warriors take their walk to Galig- 
 nani's. 
 
 Towards his Charlotte's relatives 
 poor Philip was respectful by duty 
 and a sense of interest, perhaps. 
 Before marriage, especially, men are 
 very kind to the relatives of the be- 
 loved object. They pay compliments 
 to mamma; they listen to papa's 
 old stories, and lau^h appositely ; 
 they bring presents for the innocent 
 young ones, and let the little brothers 
 kick their shins. Philip endured the 
 juvenile Bayneses very kindly : he 
 took the boys to Franconi's, and made 
 his conversation as suitable as he | 
 could to the old people. He was fond 
 of the old General, a simple and 
 worthy old man ; and had, as we 
 have said, a hearty sympathy and 
 respect for Madame Smolensk, admir- 
 ing her constancy and good-humor 
 under her many trials. But those 
 who have perused his memoirs arc 
 aware that Mr. Firmin could make 
 himself, on occasions, not a little dis- 
 agreeable. When sprawling on a 
 sofa, engaged in conversation with 
 his charmer, he would not budge 
 when other ladies entered the room. 
 He scowled at them, if he did not like 
 them. He was not at the least trouble 
 to conceal his likes or dislikes. He 
 had a manner of fixing his glass in 
 his eye, putting his thumbs into the 
 armholes of his waistcoat, and talk- 
 ing and laughing very loudly at his 
 
 own jokes or conceits, which was not 
 pleasant or respectful to ladies. 
 
 " Your loud young friend, with the 
 cracked boots, is very mauvuis ton, my 
 dear Mrs. Baynes," Mrs. Boldero re- 
 marked to her new friend, in the first 
 ardor of their friendship. " A rela- 
 tive of Lord Ringwood's, is he ? 
 Lord Ringwood is a very queer per- 
 son. A son of that dreadful Dr. 
 Firmin, who ran away after cheating 
 everybody ? Poor young man ! He 
 can't help having such a father, as 
 you say, and most good, and kind, 
 and generous of you to say so. And 
 the General and the Honorable Philip 
 llingwooil were early companions to- 
 gether, I dare say. But, having such 
 an unfortunate father as Dr. Firmin, 
 I think Mr. Firmin might be a little 
 less prononcd; don't you 1 And to see 
 him in cracked boots, sprawling over 
 the sofas, and hear him, when my 
 loves are playing their duets, laugh- 
 ing and talking so very loud, I 
 confess isn't pleasant to me. I am 
 not used to that kind of monde, nor 
 are my dear loves. You are under 
 great obligations to him, and he has 
 behaved nobly, you say 1 Of course. 
 To get into your society an unfor- 
 tunate young man will be on his best 
 behavior, though he certainly does 
 not condescend to be civil to us. 
 But .... What ! that young man 
 engaged to that lovely, innocent, 
 charming child, your daughter? My 
 dear creature, you frighten me ! A 
 man, with such a father; and, excvise 
 me, with such a manner; and with- 
 out a peany in the world, engaged to 
 Miss Baynes ! Goodness, powers ! 
 It must never be. It shall not be, 
 my dear Mrs. Baynes. Why, I have 
 written to my nephew Lenox to come 
 over, Strongitharm's favorite son and 
 my favorite nephew. I have told him 
 that there is a sweet young creature 
 here, whom he must and ought to see. 
 How well that dear child would look 
 presiding at Strongitharm Castle? 
 And you are going to give her to that 
 dreadful young man with the loud 
 voice and the cracked boots, that
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 237 
 
 smoky young man, 0, impossi- 
 ble ! " 
 
 Madame had, no doubt, given a 
 very favorable report of her new 
 lodgers to the other inmates of her 
 house ; and she and Mrs. Boldero 
 had concluded that all general officers 
 returning from India were immensely 
 rich. To think that her daugh- 
 ter might be the Honorable Mrs. 
 IStrongitharm, Baroness Strongi- 
 tliarm, and walk in a coronation in 
 robes, with a coronet in her hand ! 
 Mrs. Baynes yielded in loyalty to no 
 woman, but I fear her wicked desires 
 compassed a speedy royal demise, as 
 this thought passed through her 
 mind, of the Honorable Lenox 
 Strongitharm. She looked him out 
 in the Peerage, and found that young 
 nobleman designated as the Captain 
 of Strongitharm. Charlotte might be 
 the Honorable Mrs. Captain of 
 Strongitharm! When poor Phil 
 stalked in after dinner that evening 
 in his shabby boots and smoky 
 paletot, Mrs. Baynes gave him but 
 a grim welcome. He went and 
 prattled unconsciously by the side of 
 his little Charlotte, whose tender 
 eyes dwelt upon his, and whose fair 
 cheeks flung out their blushes of 
 welcome. He prattled away. He 
 laughed out loud whilst Minna and 
 Brenda were thumping their duet. 
 " Taisez-vous done, Monsieur Phi- 
 lippe," cries madame, putting her fin- 
 ger to her lip. The Honorable Mrs. 
 Boldero looked at dear Mrs. Baynes, 
 and shrugged her shoulders. Poor 
 Philip ! would he have laughed so 
 loudly (and so rudely, too, as I own) 
 had he known what was passing in 
 the minds of those women ? Treason 
 was passing there : and before that 
 glance of knowing scorn, shot from 
 the Honorable Mrs. Boldero's eyes, 
 dear Mrs. General Baynes faltered. 
 How very curt and dry she was with 
 Philip ! how testy with Charlotte ! 
 Poor Philip, knowing that his charm- 
 er was in the power of her mother, 
 was pretty humble to this dragon ; 
 and attempted, by uncouth flatteries, 
 
 to soothe and propitiate her. She 
 had a queer, dry humor, and loved 
 a joke; but Phil's fell very flat this 
 night. Mrs. Baynes received his 
 pleasantries with an " O, indeed ! 
 She was sure she heard one of the 
 children crying in their nursery. Do, 
 pray, go and see, Charlotte, what that 
 child is crying about." And away 
 goes poor Charlotte, having but dim 
 presentiment of misfortune as yet. 
 Was not mamma often in an ill 
 humor ; and were they not all used 
 to her scoldings ? 
 
 As for Mrs. Colonel Bunch, I am 
 sorry to say that, up to this time, 
 Philip was not only no favorite with 
 her, but was heartily disliked by that 
 lady. I have told you our friend's 
 faults. He was loud : he was abrupt; 
 he was rude often : and often gave 
 just cause of annoyance by his 
 laughter, his disrespect, and his 
 swaggering manner. To those whom 
 he liked he was as gentle as a wo- 
 man ; and treated them with an 
 extreme tenderness and touching 
 rough respect. But those persons 
 about whom he was indifferent, he 
 never took the least trouble to ( on- 
 ciliate or please. If they told long 
 stories, for example, he would turn 
 on his heel, or interrupt them by 
 observations of his own on i-omc 
 quite different subject. Mrs. Colonel 
 Bunch, then, positively disliked that 
 young man, and I think had very 
 good reasons for her dislike. As for 
 Bunch, Bunch said to Baynes, " Cool 
 hand, that young fellow ! " and 
 winked. And Baynes said to Bunch, 
 " Queer chap. Fine fellow, as I have 
 reason to know pretty well. I play a 
 club. No club 1 I mark honors 
 and two tricks." And the game 
 went on. Clancy hated Philip : a 
 meek man whom Firmin had yet 
 managed to offend. " That man," 
 the pote Clancy remarked, " has a 
 manner of treading on me corrans 
 which is intolerable to me ! " 
 
 The truth is, Philip was always 
 putting his foot on some other foot, 
 and trampling it. And as for the
 
 238 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Boldero clan, Mr. Firmin treated 
 them with the most amusing inso- 
 lence, and ignored them as if they 
 were out of existence altogether. So 
 you see the poor fellow had not with 
 his poverty learned the least lesson 
 of humility, or acquired the very 
 earliest rudiments of the art of 
 making friends. I think his best 
 friend in the house was its mistress, 
 Madame Smolensk. Mr. Philip 
 treated her as an equal : which mark 
 of affability he was not in the habit 
 of bestowing on all persons. Some 
 great people, some rich people, some 
 would-be-fine people, he would patron- 
 ize with an insufferable audacity. 
 Rank or wealth do not seem some- 
 how to influence this man, as they 
 do common mortals. He would tap 
 a bishop on the waistcoat, and con- 
 tradict a duke at their first meeting. 
 I have seen him walk out of church 
 during a stupid sermon, with an 
 audible rem irk perhaps to that effect, 
 and as if it were a matter of course 
 that he should go. If the company 
 bored him at dinner, he would go to 
 sleep in the most unaffected manner. 
 At home we were always kept in a 
 pleasant state of anxiety, not only 
 bv what he did and said, but by the 
 idea of what he might do or say next. 
 He did not go to sleep at madame's 
 boarding-house, preferring to keep his 
 eyes open to look at pretty Charlotte's. 
 And were there ever such sapphires 
 as his ? she thought. And hers ? 
 Ah ! if they have tears to shed, I hope 
 a kind fate will dry them quickly ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 TREATS OF DANCING, DINING, DY- 
 ING. 
 
 OLD school-boys remember how, 
 when pious JEneas was compelled by 
 painful circumstances to quit his 
 country, he and liis select band of 
 Trojans founded a new Troy, where 
 they landed ; raising temples to the 
 Trojan gods ; building streets with 
 
 Trojan names ; and endeavoring to 
 the utmost of their power to recall 
 their beloved native place. In like 
 manner, British Trojans and French 
 Trojans take their Troy every- 
 where. Algiers I have only seen 
 from the sea ; but New Orleans and 
 Leicester Square I have visited ; 
 and have seen a quaint old France 
 still lingering on the banks of the 
 Mississippi ; a dingy modern Franco 
 round that great Globe of Mr. Wyld's, 
 which they say is coming to an end. 
 There are French cafes, billiards, 
 estaminets, waiters, markers, poor 
 Frenchmen, and rich Frenchmen, in 
 a new Paris, shabby and dirty, it is 
 true, but offering the emigrant the 
 dominos, the chopine, the petit- verre 
 of the patrie. And do not British 
 Trojans, who emigrate to the conti- 
 nent of Europe, take their Troy with 
 them 1 You all know the quarters 
 of Paris which swarm with us Tro- 
 jans. From Peace Street to the 
 Arch of the Star are collected thou- 
 sands of refugees from our Ilium. 
 Under the arcades of the Rue de Ri- 
 voli you meet, at certain hours, as 
 many of our Trojans as of the na- 
 tives. In the Trojan inns of " Meu- 
 rice," the " Louvre," &c., we swarm. 
 We have numerous Anglo-Trojan 
 doctors and apothecaries, who give us 
 the dear pills and doses of Pergamus. 
 We go to Mrs. Guerre or kind Mrs. 
 Colombin, and can purchase the sand- 
 wiches of Troy, the pale ale and sher- 
 ry of Troy, and the dear, dear muf- 
 fins of home. We live for years, nev- 
 er speaking any language but our 
 native Trojan ; except to our servants, 
 whom we instruct in the Trojan way 
 of preparing toast for breakfast ; Tro- 
 jan bread-sauce for fowls and par- 
 tridges ; Trojan corned beef, &c. We 
 have temples where we worship ac- 
 cording to the Trojan rites. A kind- 
 ly sight is that which one beholds of 
 a Sunday in the Elysian fields and 
 the St. Honore quarter, of processions 
 of English grown people and chil- 
 dren, stalwart, red-cheeked, marching 
 to their churches, their gilded prayer-
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 books in hand to sing in a stran- 
 ger's land the sacred songs of their 
 '//urn. 1 am sure there are many Eng- 
 lish in Paris who never speak to any 
 native above the rank of a waiter or 
 shopman. Not long since I was lis- 
 tening to a Frenchman at Folke- 
 stone, speaking English to the waiters 
 and acting as interpreter for his par- 
 ty. He spoko pretty well and very 
 quickly. He was irresistibly comical. 
 1 wonder how we maintained our 
 gravity. And you and I, my dear 
 friend, when we speak French, I dare 
 say we are just as absurd. As ab- 
 surd ! And why not 1 Don't you be 
 discouraged, young fellow. Courage, 
 man jeune ami ! Remember, Trojans 
 have a conquering way with them. 
 When .JSueas landed at Carthage, I 
 dare say he spoke Carthaginian with 
 a ridiculous Trojan accent ; but, for 
 all that, poor Dido fell desperately in 
 love with him. Take example by 
 the son of Anchises, my boy. Never 
 mind the grammar or the pronuncia- 
 tion, but tackle the lady, and speak 
 your mind to her as best you can. 
 
 This is the plan which the Vicointe 
 de Loisy used to cidopt. He was fol- 
 lowing a cours of English according 
 to the celebrated melkode Jobson. The 
 cours assembled twice a week : and 
 the Vicomte, with laudable assiduity, 
 went to all English parties to which 
 he could gain an introduction, for 
 the purpose of acquiring the English 
 language, and marrying une Anylaise. 
 This industrious young man even 
 went (tit Tent/tie on Sundays for the 
 purpose of familiarizing himself with 
 the English language ; and as he sat 
 under Doctor Murrogh Macmanns of 
 T. C. D., a very eloquent preacher at 
 P.iris in those days, the Vicomte ac- 
 quired a very fine pronunciation. At- 
 tached to the cause of unfortunate 
 monarchy all over the world, the Vi- 
 comte had fought in the Spanish Carl- 
 ist armies. He waltzed well : and 
 madame thought his cross looked nice 
 at her parties. Will it be believed 
 that Mrs. General Baynes took this 
 gentleman into special favor ; talked 
 
 with him at soiree after soiree ; ncrer 
 laughed at his English ; encouraged 
 her girl to waltz with him (which he 
 did to perfection, whereas poor Philip 
 was but a hulking and clumsy per- 
 former) ; and showed him the very 
 greatest favor, until one day, on ^o- 
 ing into Mr. Bonus's, the house-agent 
 (who lets lodgings, and sells British 
 pickles, tea, sherry, and the like), she 
 found the Vicomte occupying a stool 
 as clerk in Mr. Bonus's establish- 
 ment, where for twelve hundred francs 
 a year he gave his invaluable services 
 during the day ! Mis. Baynes took 
 poor madame severely to task for ad- 
 mitting such a man to her assemblies. 
 Madame was astonished. Monsieur 
 was a gentleman of ancient family 
 who had met with misfortunes. He 
 was earning his maintenance. To 
 sit in a bureau was not a dishonor. 
 Knowing that boutique meant shop 
 and garcon meant boy, Mrs. Baynes 
 made use of the words boutique yarcon 
 the next time she saw the Vicomte. 
 The little man wept tears of rage and 
 mortification. There was a very 
 painful scene, at which, thank mercy, 
 poor Charlotte thought, Philip was 
 not present. Were it not for the 
 General's cheveux blancs (by which 
 phrase the Vicomte very kindly desig- 
 nated General Baynes's chestnut top- 
 knot), the Vicomte would have had 
 reason from him. " Charming miss," 
 he said to Charlotte, " your respect- 
 able papa is safe from my sword ! 
 Madame your mamma lias addressed 
 me words which I qualify not. But 
 you you are too 'andsome, too 
 good, to despise a poor soldier, a poor 
 gentleman ! " I have heard the Vi- 
 cointe still dances at boarding-houses 
 and is still in pursuit of an Anglmse. 
 He must be a wooer now almost as 
 elderly as the good General whose 
 scalp he respected. 
 
 Mrs. Baynes was, to be sure, a 
 heavy weight to bear for poor madame, 
 but her lean shoulders were accus- 
 tomed to many a burden ; and if the 
 General's wife was quarrelsome and 
 odious, he, as madame said, was as
 
 210 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 soft as a mutton ; and Charlotte's 
 pretty face and manners were the ad- 
 miration of all. The yellow Miss 
 Bolderos, those hapless elderly or- 
 phans left in pawn, might bite their 
 lips with envy, but they never could 
 make them as red as Miss Charlotte's 
 smiling mouth. To the honor of 
 Madame Smolensk be it said that 
 never by word or hint did she cause 
 those unhappy young ladies any need- 
 less pain. She never stinted them of 
 any meal. No full-priced pensioner 
 of madame's could have breakfast, 
 luncheon, dinners served more regu- 
 larly. The day after their mother's 
 flight, that good Madime Smolensk 
 took early cups of tea to the girls' 
 rooms, with her own hands ; and I 
 believe helped to do the hair of one of 
 them, and otherwise to soothe them 
 in their misfortune. They could not 
 keep their secret. It must be owned 
 that Mrs. Baynes never lost an oppor- 
 tunity of deploring their situation 
 and acquainting all new-comers with 
 their mother's flight and transgres- 
 sion. But slie was good-natured to 
 the captives in her grim way : and ad- 
 mired madame's forbearance regard- 
 ing them. The two old officers were 
 now especially polite to the poor 
 things : and the General rapped one 
 of his boys over the knuckles for say- 
 ing to Miss IJrenda, " If your uncle 
 is a lord, why does n't he give you 
 any money ? " " And these girls 
 used to hold their heads above mine, 
 and their mother used to give herself 
 such airs ! " cried Mrs. Baynes. 
 " And Eliza Baynes used to flatter 
 those poor girls and their mother, and 
 fancy they were going to make a 
 woman of fashion of her ! " said Mrs. 
 Bunch. " We all have our weak- 
 nesses. Lords are not yours, my 
 dear. Faith, I don't think you know 
 one," says stout little Colonel Bunch. 
 " I would n't pay a duchess such 
 court as Eliza paid that woman ! " 
 cried Sarah ; and she made sarcastic 
 inquiries of the General, whether Eliza 
 had heard from her friend, the Hon- 
 orable Mrs. Boldero ? But for all 
 
 this Mrs. Bunch pitied the young la 
 dies, and I believe gave them a little 
 supply of coin from her private purse. 
 A word as to their private history. 
 Their mamma became the terror of 
 boarding-house keepers : and the poor 
 girls practised their duets all over Eu- 
 rope. Mrs. Boldero's noble nephew, 
 the present Strongitharm (as a friend 
 who knows the fashionable world in- 
 forms me) was victimized by his own 
 uncle, and a most painful affair oc- 
 curred between them at a game at 
 "blind hookey." The Honorable 
 Mrs. Boldero is living in the pre- 
 cincts of Holyrood ; one of her daugh- 
 ters is happily married to a minister ; 
 and the other to an apothecary who 
 was called in to attend her in quinsy. 
 So I am inclined to think that phrase 
 about " select " boarding-houses is a 
 mere complimentary term ; and as 
 for the strictest references being given 
 and required, I certainly should not 
 lay out extra money for printing that 
 expression in my advertisement, were 
 I going to set up an establishment 
 myself. 
 
 Old college friends of Philip's vis- 
 ited Paris from time to time ; and. re- 
 joiced in carrying him off to " Bo- 
 rel's " or the " Trois Freres," and 
 hospitably treating him who had been 
 so hospitable in his time. Yes, thanks 
 be to Heaven, there are good Samari- 
 tans in pretty lar<je numbers in this 
 world, and hands ready enough to 
 succor a man in misfortune. I 
 could name two or three gentlemen 
 who drive about in chariots and look 
 at people's tongues and write queer 
 figures and queer Latin on note-paper, 
 who occultly made a purse contain- 
 ing some seven or ten score fees, and 
 sent them out to Dr. Firmin in his 
 banishment. The poor wretch had 
 behaved as ill as might be, but he was 
 without a penny or a friend. I dare 
 say Dr. Goodenough, amongst other 
 philanthropists, put his hands into 
 his pocket. Having heartily disliked 
 and mistrusted Firmin in prosperity, 
 in adversity he melted towards the ' 
 poor fugitive wretch : he even could
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 241' 
 
 believe that Firmin had some skill in 
 his profession, and in his practice was 
 not quite a quack. 
 
 Philip's old college and school cro- 
 nies laughed at hearing that, now his 
 ruin was complete, he was thinking 
 ahout marriage. Such a plan was of 
 a piece with Mr. Firmin's known 
 prudence and foresight. But they 
 made an objection to his proposed 
 union, which had struck us at home 
 previously. Papa -in -law was well 
 enough, or at least inoffensive : but 
 ah, yc powers ! what a mother-in- 
 law was poor Phil laying up for his 
 future days ! Two or three of our 
 mutual companions made this remark 
 on returning to work and chambers 
 after their autumn holiday. We 
 never had too much charity for Mrs. 
 Baynes ; and what Philip told us 
 about her did not serve to increase 
 our regard. 
 
 About Christmas Mr. Firmin's own 
 affairs brought him on a brief visit to | 
 London. We were not jealous that ' 
 he took up his quarters with his little 
 friend of Thornhaugh Street, who ' 
 was contented that he should dine I 
 with us, provided she could have the 
 pleasure of housing him under her , 
 kind shelter. High and mighty peo- < 
 pie as we were, for under what | 
 humble roofs does not Vanity hold j 
 her sway ? we, who knew Mrs. j 
 Brandon's virtues, and were aware of , 
 her early story, would have conde- 
 scended to receive her into our soci- j 
 ety ; but it was the little lady herself I 
 who had her pride, and held aloof. 
 "My parents did not give me the ed- 
 ucation you have had, ma'am," Car- 
 oline said to my wife. " My place is 
 not here, I know very well ; unless 
 you should be took ill, and then, 
 ma'am, you '11 see that I will be glad 
 enough to come. Philip can come 
 and see me ; and a blessing it is to 
 me to set eyes on him. But I should 
 n't be happy in your drawing-room, 
 nor you in having me. The dear 
 children look surprised at my way of 
 talking ; and no wonder : and they 
 laugh sometimes to one another, God 
 11 
 
 bless 'em ! I don't mind. My edu- 
 cation \vns not cured for. I scarce 
 had any schooling but what I taught 
 myself. My pa had n't the means of 
 learning me much ; and it is too late 
 to go to school at forty odd. I 've 
 got all his stockings and things 
 darned ; and his linen, poor fellow ! 
 beautiful : 1 wish they kep' it as 
 nice in France, where he is ! You '11 
 give my love to the young lady, won't 
 you, ma'am ? and oh ! it's a blessing 
 to me to hear how good and gentle 
 she is ! He has a high temper, Philip 
 have : but them he likes can easy 
 manage him. You have been his 
 best kind friends ; and so will she be, 
 I trust ; and they may be happy 
 though they 're poor. But th*y 've 
 time to get rich, haven't they ? And 
 it's not the richest that 's the happi- 
 est, that I can see in many a fine 
 house where Nurse Brandon goes and 
 has her eyes opin, though she don't 
 say much, you know." In this way 
 Nurse Brandon would prattle on to 
 us when she came to see us. She 
 would share our meal, always thank- 
 ing by name the servant wlo helped 
 her. She insisted on calling our 
 children " Miss " and " Master," and 
 I think those young satirists did not 
 laugh often or unkindly at her pecu- 
 liarities. I know tiny were told that 
 Nurse Brandon was very good ; and 
 that she took tare of her father in his 
 old age ; and that she had passed 
 through very great griefs and trials ; 
 and that she had nursed Uncle Philip 
 when he had heen very ill indeed, and 
 when many people would have been 
 afraid to come near him ; and that 
 her life was spent in tending the sick, 
 and in doing good to her neighbor. 
 
 One day during Philip's stay with 
 us we happen to read in the paper 
 Lord Ringwood's arrival in London. 
 My Lord had a grand town-house of 
 his own which he did not always in- 
 habit. He liked the cheerfulness of a 
 hotel better. Kingwood House was 
 too large and too dismal. He did 
 not care to eat a solitary mutton-chop 
 in. a great dining-room surrounded by
 
 242 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 ghostly images of dead Ringwoods, 
 his dead son, a hoy who had died in his 
 boyhood ; his dead brother attired in 
 the uniform of his day (in which pic- 
 ture there was no little resemblance 
 to Philip Firmin, the Colonel's grand- 
 son) ; Lord Ringwood's dead self, 
 finally, as he appeared still a young 
 man, when Lawrence painted him, 
 and when he was the companion of 
 the Regent and his friends. " Ah ! 
 that 's the fellow I least like to look 
 at," the old man would say, scowling 
 at the picture, and breaking out into 
 the old-fashioned oaths which gar- 
 nished many conversations in his 
 young days. " That fellow could 
 ride all day ; and sleep all night, or 
 go without sleep, as he chose ; and 
 drink his four bottles, and never have 
 a headache ; and break his collar- 
 bone, and see the fox killed three 
 hours after. That was once a man, 
 as old Marlborough said, looking at 
 his own picture. Now my doctor 's 
 my master ; my doctor and the in- 
 fernal gout over him. I live upon 
 fap and puddens, like a baby ; only 
 Ve shed all my teeth, hang 'em. If 
 I drink three glasses of sherry, my 
 butler threatens me. You young fel- 
 low, who have n't twopence in your 
 pocket, by George, I would like to 
 change with you. Only you would 
 n't, hang you, you would n't. Why, 
 I don't believe Todhunter would 
 change with me : would you, Tod- 
 hunter ? and you 're about as fond 
 of a great man as any fellow I ever 
 knew. Don't tell me. You are, sir. 
 Why, when I walked with you on 
 Ryde sand* one day, I said to that 
 fellow, ' Todhunter, don't you think 
 I could order the sea to stand still ? ' 
 I did. And you had never heard of 
 King Canute, hanged if you had, and 
 never read any book except the Stud- 
 book and Mrs. Glasse s Cookery, 
 hanged if you did." Such remarks 
 and conversations of his relative has 
 Philip reported to me. Two or three 
 men about town had very good imi- 
 tations of this toothless, growling, 
 blasphemous old cynic. He was splen- 
 
 did and penurious ; violent and eaa 
 ily led ; surrounded by flatterers and 
 utterly lonely. He had old-world no- 
 tions, which, I believe, have passed 
 out of the manners- of great folks 
 now. He thought it beneath him to 
 travel by railway, and his post-chaise 
 was one of the last on the road. The 
 tide rolled on in spite of this old Ca- 
 nute, and has long since rolled over 
 him and his post-chaise. Why, al- 
 most all his imitators are actually 
 dead ; and only this year, when old 
 Jack Mummers gave an imitation of 
 him at "Bays'; " (where Jack's mim- 
 icry used to be received with shouts 
 of laughter but a few years since), 
 there was a dismal silence in the cof- 
 fee-room, except from two or three 
 young men at a near table, who said, 
 " What is the old fool mumbling and 
 swearing at now? An imitation of 
 Lord Ringwood, and who was he 1 " 
 So our names pass away, and are for- 
 gotten : and the tallest statues, do 
 not the sands of time accumulate and 
 overwhelm them ? I have not forgot- 
 ten my Lord ; any more than I have 
 forgotten the cock of my school, about 
 whom, perhaps, you don't care to 
 hear. I see my Lord's bald head, 
 and hooked beak, and bushy eye- 
 brows, and tall velvet collar, and 
 brass buttons, anil great black mouth, 
 and trembling hand, and trembling 
 parasites around him, and I can hoar 
 his voice, and great oaths, and laugh- 
 ter. You parasites of to-day are 
 bowing to other great people ; and 
 this great one, who was alive only 
 yesterday, is as dead as George IV. 
 or Nebuchadnezzar. 
 
 Well, we happen to read that 
 Philip's noble relative Lord Ring- 
 wood has arrived at Hotel, 
 
 whilst Philip is staying with us ; and 
 I own that I counsel my friend to go 
 and wait upon his Lordship. He had 
 been very kind at Paris : he had evi- 
 dently taken a liking to Philip. 
 Firmin ought to go and see him. 
 Who knows ? Lord Ringwood 
 might be inclined to do something for 
 his brother's grandson.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 243 
 
 This was just the point which any 
 one who knew Philip should have 
 hesitated to urge upon him. To try 
 and make him bow and smile on a 
 great man with a view to future fa- 
 vors was to demand the impossible 
 from Firmin. The king's men may 
 lead the king's horses to the water, 
 but the king himself can't make them 
 drink. I own that I came back to 
 the subject, and urged it repeatedly 
 on my friend. "I have been," said 
 Philip sulkily. " I have left a card 
 upon him. If he wants me, he can 
 send to No. 120 Queen Square, West- 
 minster, my present hotel. But if 
 you think he will give me anything 
 beyond a dinner, I tell you you are 
 mistaken." 
 
 We dined that day with Philip's 
 employer, worthy Mr. Mugford, of 
 the Pall Mall Gazette, who was pro- 
 fuse in his hospitalities, and especial- 
 ly gracious to Philip. Mugford was 
 pleased with Firmin's letters ; and 
 you may be sure that severer critics 
 did not contradict their friend's good- 
 natured patron. We drove to the 
 suburban villa at Hampstead, and 
 steaming odors of soup, mutton, 
 onions, rushed out into the hall to 
 give us welcome, and to warn us of 
 the good cheer in store for the party. 
 This was not one of Mugford's days 
 for countermanding side-dishes, I 
 promise you. Men in black with 
 noble white-cotton gloves were in 
 waiting to receive us ; and Mrs. Mug- 
 ford, in a rich blue satin and feathers, 
 a profusion of flounces, laces, mara- 
 bouts, jewels, and eau-de-Cologne, 
 rose to welcome us from a stately 
 sofa, where she sat surrounded by 
 her children. These, too, were in 
 brilliant dresses, with shining new- 
 combed hair. The ladies, of course, 
 instantly began to talk about their 
 children, and my wife's unfeigned ad- 
 miration for Mrs. Mugford's last baby 
 I think won that worthy lady's good- 
 will at once. I made some remark 
 regarding one of the boys as being 
 the picture of his father, which was 
 not lucky. I don't know why, but 
 
 I have it from her husband's own 
 admission, that Mrs. Mugford always 
 thinks I am " chaffing " her. One of 
 the boys frankly informed me there 
 was goose for dinner ; and when a 
 j cheerful cloop was heard from a 
 j neighboring room, told me that was Pa 
 ! drawing the corks. Why should Mrs. 
 ! Mugford reprove the oiftspoken child 
 and say, " James, hold your tongue, 
 [ do now ? " Better wine than was 
 poured forth, when those corks were 
 drawn, never flowed from bottle. I 
 say, I never saw better wine nor 
 more bottles. If ever a table may be 
 said to have groaned, that expression 
 might with justice be applied to Mug- 
 ford's mahogany. Talbot Twysden 
 would have feasted forty people with 
 the meal here provided for eight by 
 our most hospitable entertainer. 
 Thorgh Milord's editor was pres- 
 ent, who thinks himself a very fine 
 fellow, I assure you, but whose name 
 I am not at liberty to divulge, all the 
 honors of the entertainment were for 
 the Paris Corrfspoiidi-nt, who was 
 specially requested to take Mrs. M. 
 to dinner. As an earl's grand- 
 nephew, and a lord's great-grandson, 
 of course we felt that this place of 
 honor was Firmin's right. How Mrs. 
 Mugford pressed him to eat! She 
 carved, I am very glad she would 
 not let Philip carve for her, for he 
 might have sent the goose into her 
 lap, she carved, 1 say, and I really 
 think she gave him more stuffing than 
 to any of us, but that may have been 
 mere envy on my part. Allusions to 
 Lord llingwood were repeatedly made 
 during dinner. "Lord K. has come 
 to town, Mr. F., I perceive," says 
 Mugford, winking. " You 've been 
 to see him, of course ? " Mr. Firmin 
 glared at me very fiercely, he had to 
 own he had been to call on Lord 
 Ringwood. Mugford led the conver- 
 sation to the noble lord so frequently 
 that Philip madly kicked my shins 
 under the table. I don't know how 
 many times I had to suffer from that 
 foot which in its time lias trampled 
 on so many persons : a kick for each
 
 244 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 time Lord Ringwood's name, houses, 
 parks, properties, were mentioned 
 was a frightful allowance. Mrs. 
 Mugford would say, "May I assist 
 yo.i to a little pheasant, Mr. Firmin 1 
 I dare say they are not as good as j 
 Lord Ringwood's" (a kick from | 
 Philip) ; or Mugford would exclaim, I 
 " Mr. F., try that 'ock ! Lord Ring- i 
 wood has n t better wine than that." 
 (Dreadful punishment upon my tibia 
 under the table.) "John! Two 
 'ocks, me and Mr. Firmin. Join us, j 
 Mr. P.'," and so forth. And after 
 dinner, to the ladies, as my wife, 
 who betrayed their mysteries, in- 
 formed me, Mrs. Mugford's conver- 
 sation was incessant regarding the 
 Ringwood family and Firmin's rela- 
 tionship to that noble house. The 
 meeting of the old lord and Firmin in 
 Paris was discussed with immense 
 interest. " His Lordship called him | 
 Philip most affable ! he was very I 
 fond of Mr. Firmin." A little bird | 
 had told Mrs. Mugford that some- 
 body else was very fond of Mr. Fir- 1 
 min. She hoped it would be a \ 
 match, and that his Lordship would 
 do the handsome thing by his nephew, j 
 What ? My wife wondered that Mrs. | 
 Mugford should know about Philip's 
 affairs ? (and wonder indeed she did.) 
 A little bird had told Mrs. M., a 
 friend of both ladies, that dear, good 
 little nurse Brandon, who was en- ! 
 gaged and here the conversation 
 went off into mysteries which 1 cer- 
 tainly shall not reveal. Suffice it 
 that Mrs. Mugford was one of Mrs. ' 
 Brandon's best, kindest, and most \ 
 constant patrons, or might I be 
 permitted to say matrons ? and had 
 received a most favorable report of us 
 from the little nurse. And here Mrs. 
 IVndcnnis g;ive a verbatim report not '. 
 only of our hostess's speech, but of 
 her manner and accent. " Yes, 
 ma'am," says Mrs. Mugford to Mrs. 
 Pendcnnis, " our friend Mrs. B. has 
 told me of a certain gentleman whose 
 na:ne shall be nameless. His manner 
 is cold, not to say 'aughty. He 
 seems to be laughing at people some- 
 
 times, don't say No ; I saw him 
 once or twice at dinner, both him and 
 Mr. Firmin. But he is a true friend, 
 Mrs. Brandon says he is. And whefi 
 you know him, his heart is good." 
 Is it ? Amen. A distinguished 
 writer has composed, in not very late 
 days, a comedy of which the cheerful 
 moral is, that we are " not so bad as 
 we seem." Are n't we ? Amen, 
 again. Give us thy hearty hand, 
 lago! Tartuffe, how the world has 
 been mistaken in you ! Macbeth ! put 
 that little affair of the murder out of 
 your mind. It was a momentary 
 weakness ; and who is not weak at 
 times 1 Blifil, a more maligned man 
 than you does not exist ! O human- 
 ity ! how we have been mistaken jn 
 you ! Let us expunge the vulgar 
 expression " miserable sinners " out 
 of all prayer-books ; open the port- 
 holes of all hulks ; break the chains 
 of all convicts ; and unlock the boxes 
 of all spoons. 
 
 As we discussed Mr. Mugford's en- 
 tertainment on our return home, I 
 improved the occasion with Philip ; 
 I pointed out the reasonableness of 
 the hopes which he might entertain 
 of help from his wealthy kinsman, 
 and actually forced him to promise to 
 wait upon my Lord the next day. 
 Now, when Philip Firmin did a thing 
 against his will, he did it with a bad 
 grace. When he is not pleased, 
 he does not pretend to be happy ; 
 and when he is sulky, Mr. Firmin 
 i> a very disagreeable companion. 
 Though he never once reproached me 
 afterwards with what happened, I 
 own that I have had cruel twinges of 
 conscience since. If I had not sent 
 him on that dutiful visit to his grand- 
 uncle, what occurred might never, 
 perhaps, have occurred at all. I 
 acted for the best, and that I aver ; 
 however I may grieve for the conse- 
 quences which ensued when the poor 
 fellow followed my advice. 
 
 If Philip held aloof from Lord Ring- 
 woud in London, you may be sure 
 Philip's dear cousins were in waiting 
 on his Lordship, and never lost an op
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 245 
 
 portunity of showing their respectful 
 sympathy. Was Lord Ringwood ail- 
 ing"? Mr. Twysden, or Mrs. Twys- 
 den, or the dear girls, or Ringwood 
 their brother, were daily in his Lord- 
 ship's antechamber, asking for news 
 of his health. They bent down re- 
 spectfully before Lord Ringwood's ma- 
 jor-domo. They would have given 
 him money, as they always averred, 
 only what sum could they give to such 
 a man as Rudge? They actually of- 
 fered to bribe Mr. Rudge with their 
 wine, over which he made horrible 
 faces. They fawned and smiled before 
 him always. I should like to have seen 
 that calm Mrs. Twysden, that serene, 
 high-bred woman, who would cut her 
 dearest friend if misfortune befell her, 
 or the world turned its back; I 
 should like to have seen, and can see 
 her in my mind's eye, simpering and 
 coaxing, and wheedling this footman. 
 She made cheap presents to Mr. 
 Rudge : she smiled on him and asked 
 after his health. And of course Tal- 
 bot Twysden flattered him too in Tal- 
 bot's jolly way. It was a wink, and 
 nod, and a hearty " How do you do 1 " 
 and (after due inquiries made and 
 answered about his Lordship) it would 
 be, " Rudge ! I think my housekeeper 
 has a good glass of port wine in her 
 room, if you happen to be passing that 
 way, and my Lord don't want yon ! " 
 And with a grave courtesy, I can fan- 
 cy Mr. Rudge bowing to Mr. and Mrs. 
 Twysden, and thanking them, and de- 
 scending to Mrs. Blenkmsop's skinny 
 room where the port-wine is ready, 
 and if Mr. Rudge and Mrs. Blenkin- 
 sop are confidential, I can fancy their 
 talking over the characters and pecu- 
 liarities of the folks up stairs. Servants 
 sometimes actually do ; and if master 
 and mistress are humbugs, these 
 wretched menials sometimes find them 
 out. 
 
 Now, no duke could be more lord- 
 ly and condescending in his bearing 
 than Mr. Philip Firmin towards the 
 menial throng. In those days, when 
 he had money in his pockets, he gave 
 Mr. Rudge out of his plenty ; and the 
 
 man remembered his generosity when 
 lie was poor; and declared in a se- 
 lect society, and in the company of the 
 ; relative of a person from whom I have 
 ! the information declared in the prcs- 
 I ence of Captain Gann at the " Admiral 
 B-ng Club " in fact, that Mr. Heff 
 was always a swell ; but since he was 
 done, he, Rudge, " was blest if that 
 young chap warn't a greater swell 
 than hever." And Rudge actually 
 liked this poor young fellow better 
 ! than the family in Beaunash Street, 
 whom Mr. R. pronounced to be " a 
 shabby lot." And in lact it was Rudge 
 as well as myself, who advised that 
 Philip should see his Lordship. 
 
 "When at length Philip paid his sec- 
 ond visit, Mr. Rudge said, " My Lord 
 will see you, sir, I think. He has been 
 speaking of you. He's very unwell. 
 He 's ^oing to have a fit of the gout, 
 I think. 1 '11 tell him you are here." 
 And coming back to Philip, after a 
 brief disappearance, and with rather a 
 scared face, he repeated the permission 
 to enter, and again cautioned him, say- 
 ing, that " my Lord was very queer." 
 
 In fact, as we learned afterwards, 
 through the channel previously indi- 
 cated, my Lord, when he heard that 
 Philip had called, cried, " He has, has 
 he ? Hang him, send him in " ; us- 
 ing, I am constrained to say, in place 
 of the monosyllable " hang," a much 
 stronger expression. 
 
 " O, it 's you, is it 1 " says my Lord. 
 " You have been in London ever so 
 long. Twysden told me of you yes- 
 terday." 
 
 "I have called before, sir," said 
 Philip, very quietly. 
 
 " I wonder you have the face to call 
 at all, sir ! " cries the old man, glaring 
 at Philip. His Lordship's counte- 
 nance was of a gamboge color : his no- 
 i ble eyes were bloodshot and starting; 
 his voice, always very harsh and stri- 
 dent, was now" specially unpleasant; 
 and from the crater of his mouth, sho^ 
 loud exploding oaths. 
 
 " Face, my Lord ? " says Philip, 
 still very meek. 
 
 " Yes, if you call that a face whi<=b
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 is covered over with hair like a ba- 
 boon!" growled my Lord, showing 
 his tusks. " Twysden was here last 
 night, and tells me some pretty news 
 about you." 
 
 Philip blushed ; he knew what the 
 news most likely would be. 
 
 " Twysden says that now you are a 
 pauper, by George, and living by 
 breaking stones in the street, you 
 have been such an infernal, drivelling, 
 hanged fool, as to engage yourself to 
 another pauper ! " 
 
 Poor Philip turned white from red ; 
 and spoke slowly : " I. beg your par- 
 don, my Lord, you said " 
 
 " I said you were a hanged fool, 
 sir ! " roared the old man ; " can't 
 you hear ? " 
 
 " I believe I am a member of yonr 
 family, my Lord," says Philip, rising 
 up. In a quarrel, he would some- 
 times lose his temper, and speak out 
 his mind ; or sometimes, and then he 
 was most dangerous, he would be 
 especially calm and Grandisonian. 
 
 " Some hanged adventurer, think- 
 ing you were to get money from me, 
 has hooked vou for his daughter, has 
 he?" 
 
 " I have engaged myself to a 
 young lady, and I am the poorer of 
 the two," says Philip. 
 
 " She thinks you will get money 
 from me," continues his Lordship. 
 
 " Does she ? I never did ! " replied 
 Philip. 
 
 " By Heaven, you sha' n't, unless 
 you give up this rubbish." 
 
 " I sha' n't give her up, sir, and I 
 shall do without the money," said 
 Air. Firmin very boldly. 
 
 " Go to Tartarus ! " screamed the 
 old man. 
 
 On which Philip told us, " I said ' Se- 
 niores priores, my Lord,' and turned on 
 my heel. So you see if he was going 
 to leave me something, and he nearly 
 said he was, that chance is passed 
 now, and I have made a pretty morn- 
 ing's work." And a pretty morn- 
 ing's work it was : and it was I who 
 had set him upon it! My brave 
 Philip not only did not rebuke me 
 
 for having sent him on this errand, 
 but took the blame of the business on 
 himself. " Since I have been en- 
 gaged," he said, " I am growing 
 dreadfully avaricious, and am almost 
 as sordid about money as those Twys- 
 dens. I cringed to that old man : I 
 crawled before his gouty feet. Well, 
 I could crawl from here to Saint 
 James's Palace to get some money 
 for my little Charlotte." Philip 
 cringe and crawl ! If there were no 
 posture-masters more supple than 
 Philip Firmin, kotowing would be a 
 lost art, like the Menuet de la four. 
 But fear not, ye great!' Men's backs 
 were made to bend, and the race of 
 parasites is still in good repute. 
 
 When our friend told us how his 
 brief interview with Lord Ringwood 
 had begun and ended, I think those 
 who counselled Philip to wait upon 
 his grand-uncle felt rather ashamed 
 of their worldly wisdom and the ad- 
 vice which they had given. We 
 ought to have known our Huron 
 sufficiently to be aware that it was a 
 dangerous experiment to set him bow- 
 ing in lords antechambers. Were 
 not his elbows sure to break some 
 courtly china, his feet to trample and 
 tear some lace train ? So all the 
 good we had done was to occasion a 
 quarrel between him and his patron. 
 Lord Ringwood avowed that he had 
 intended to leave Philip money ; and 
 by thrusting the poor fellow into the 
 old nobleman's sick-chamber, we had 
 occasioned a quarrel between the 
 relatives, who parted with mutual 
 threats and anger. " dear me ! " 
 I groaned in connubial colloquies. 
 " Let us get him away. He will be 
 boxing Mugford's ears next, and tell- 
 ing .Mrs. Mugford that she is vulgar, 
 and a bore." He was eager to get 
 back to his work, or rather to his 
 lady-love at Paris. We did not try 
 to detain him. For fear of further 
 accidents we were rather anxious that 
 he should be gone. Crestfallen and 
 sad, I accompanied him to the Bou- 
 logne boat. He paid for his place in 
 the second cabin, and stoutly bade ua
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 247 
 
 adieu. A rough night : a wet, slip- 
 pery deck : a crowd of frowzy fellow- 
 passengers : and poor Philip in the 
 midst of them in a thin cloak, his 
 yellow hair and beard blowing about ! 
 I see the steamer now, and left her j 
 with I know not what feelings of con- 
 trition and shame. Why had I sent | 
 Philip to call upon that savage, over- 
 bearing old patron of his ? Why 
 compelled him to that bootless act ; 
 of submission ? Lord Eingwood's ! 
 brutalities were matters of common ' 
 notoriety. A wicked, dissolute, cyni- ! 
 cal old man : and we must try to ' 
 make friends with this mammon of j 
 unrighteousness, and set poor Philip 
 to bow before him and flatter him ! 
 Ah, mea culpa, mm culpa ! The wind 
 blew hard that winter night, and 
 many tiles and chimney-pots blew 
 down : and as I thought of poor 
 Philip tossing in the frowzy second- 
 cabin, I rolled about my own bed very j 
 uneasily. 
 
 I looked into " Bays's Club " the | 
 day after, and there fell on both the 
 Twysdens. The parasite of a father 
 was clinging to the button of a great 
 man when I entered : the little reptile 
 of a son came to the club in Captain 
 Woolcomb's brougham, and in that 
 distinguished mulatto officer's compa- 
 ny. They looked at me in a peculiar 
 way. I was sure they did. Talbot 
 Twysden, pouring his loud, braggart 
 talk in the ear of poor Lord Lepel, ' 
 eyed me with a glance of triumph, i 
 and talked and swaggered so that I 
 should hear. Ringwood Twysden 
 and Woolcomb, drinking absinthe to 
 whet their noble appetites, exchanged 
 glances and grins. Woolcomb's eyes 
 were of the color of the absinthe he 
 swallowed. I did not see that Twys- 
 den tore off one of Lord Lepel's but- 
 tons, but that nobleman, with a scared 
 countenance, moved away rapidly 
 from his little persecutor. " Hang 
 him, throw him over, and come to 
 me ! " I heard the generous Twysden 
 say. " I expect Ringwood and one 
 or two more." At this proposition, 
 Lord Lepe), * a tremulous way, mut- 
 
 tered that he could not break his en- 
 gagement, and fled out of the club. 
 
 Twysden's dinners, the polite read- 
 er has been previously informed, 
 were notorious ; and he constantly 
 bragged of having the company of 
 Lord Ringwood. Now it so hap- 
 pened that on this very evening, Lord 
 Ringwood, with three of his follow- 
 ers, henchmen, or led-captains, dined 
 at Bays's club, being determined to 
 see a pantomime in which a very 
 pretty young Columbine figured : 
 and some one in the house joked with 
 his Lordship, and said, " Why, you 
 are going to dine with Tallx>t Twys- 
 den. He said, just now, that he ex- 
 pected you." 
 
 " Did he ? " said his Lordship. 
 " Then Talbot Twysden told a hanged 
 lie ! " And little Tom Eaves, my in- 
 formant, remembered these remark- 
 able words, because of a circumstance 
 which now almost immediately fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 A very few days after Philip's de- 
 parture, our friend, the Little Sister, 
 came to us at our breakfast-table, 
 wearing an expression of much 
 trouble and sadness on her kind little 
 fnce ; the causes of which sorrow she 
 explained to us, as soon as our chil- 
 dren had gone away to their school- 
 room. Amongst Mrs. Brandon's 
 friends, and one of her father's con- 
 stant companions, was the worthy 
 Mr. Ridley, father of the celebrated 
 painter of that name, who was him- 
 self of much too honorable and noble 
 a nature to be ashamed of his humble 
 paternal origin. Companionship be- 
 tween father and son could not be 
 very close or intimate ; especially as 
 in the younger Ridley's boyhood, his 
 father, who knew nothing of the fine 
 arts, had looked upon the child as 
 a sickly, half-witted creature, who 
 would be to his parents but a grief 
 and a burden. But when J. J. Rid- 
 ley, Esq., began to attain eminence in 
 his profession, his father's eyes were 
 opened ; in place of neglect and con- 
 tempt, he looked up to his boy with a 
 sincere, naive admiration, and often,
 
 248 
 
 .THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 with tears, has narrated the pride and 
 pleasure which he felt on the day 
 when he waited on John James at 
 his master Lord Todmordeu's table. 
 Ridley senior now felt that he had 
 been unkind and unjust to his boy in 
 the latter's early days, and with a 
 very touching humility the old man 
 acknowledged liis previous injustice, 
 anJ tried to atone for it by present 
 respect and affection. 
 
 Though fondness for his son, and 
 delight in the company of Captain 
 Gann, often drew Mr. Ridley to 
 Thornhaugh Street, and to the "Ad- 
 miral Byng" Club, of which both 
 were leading members, Ridley senior 
 belonged to other clubs at the West 
 End, where Lord Todmorden's butler 
 consorted with the confidential but- 
 lers of others of the nobility : and I 
 am informed that in those clubs Rid- 
 ley continued to be called " Todmor- 
 den" long after his connection with 
 that venerable nobleman had ceased. 
 He continued to be called Lord Tod- 
 morden, in fact, just as Lord Popin- 
 jiiy is still called by his old friends 
 Popinjay, though his father is dead, 
 and Popinjay, as everybody knows, is 
 at present Earl of Pintado. 
 
 At one of these clubs of their order, 
 Lord Todmorden's man was in the 
 constant habit of meeting Lord Ring- 
 wood's man, when their Lordships 
 (master and man) were in town. 
 These gentlemen had a regard for 
 each other ; and, when they met, 
 communicated to each other their 
 views of society, and their opinions 
 of the characters of the various noble 
 lords and influential commoners 
 whom tdcy served. Mr. Rudge knew 
 everything about Philip Firmin's af- 
 fairs, about the Doctor's flight, about 
 Philip's generous behavior. " Gene- 
 rous ! / call it admiral ! " old Ridley 
 remarked, while narrating this trait 
 of our friend's, and his present po- 
 sition. And Rudge contrasted Phil- 
 ip's manly behavior with the conduct 
 of some sneaks which he would not 
 name them, but which they were al- 
 ways speaking ill of the poor young 
 
 fellow behind his back, and sneaking 
 up to my Lord, and greater skinflints 
 and meaner humbugs never were : 
 and there was no accounting for 
 tastes, but he, Rudge, would not 
 marry his daughter to a l>lnck man. 
 
 Now : that day when Mr. Finnin 
 went to see my Lord Ring-wood was 
 one of my Lord's very worst days, 
 when it was almost as dangerous to 
 go near him as to approach a Bengal 
 tiger. When he is going to have a fit 
 of gout, his Lordship (Mr. Rudge re- 
 marked) was hawful. He curse and 
 swear, he do, at everybody ; even the 
 clergy or the ladies, all 's one. On 
 that very day when Mr Firmin called 
 he had said to Mr. Twysden, '' Get 
 out, and don't come slandering, and 
 backbiting, and bullying that poor 
 devil of a boy any more. It 's black- 
 guardly, by George, sir, it's black- 
 guardly." And Twysden came out 
 witli his tail between his legs, and he 
 says to me, "Rudge," says he, 
 " my Lord 's uncommon bad to-day." 
 Well, he had n't been gone an hour 
 when pore Philip comes, bad luck to 
 him, and my Lord, who had just 
 heard from Twysden all about that 
 young woman that party at Paris, 
 Mr. Ridley and it is about as great 
 a piece of folly as ever I heard tell of 
 my Lord turns upon the pore 
 young fellar and call him names 
 worse than Twysden. But Mr. Fir- 
 min ain't that sort of man, he is n't 
 He won't suffer any man to call him 
 names ; and I suppose he gave my 
 Lord his own buck again, for I heard 
 my Lord swear at him tremendous, I 
 did, with my own ears. When my 
 Lord has the gout flying about I told 
 you he is awful. When he takes his 
 colchicum he 's worse. Now, we have 
 got a party at Whipham at Christmas, 
 and at Whipham we must be. And 
 he took his colchicum night before 
 last, and to-day he was in such a tre- 
 mendous rage of swearing, cursing, 
 and blowing up everybody, that it 
 was as if he was red-hot. And when 
 Twysden and Mrs. Twysden called 
 that day (if you kick that fellar out
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 249 
 
 at the hall door, I 'm blest if he won't 
 come smirkin' down the chimney), 
 and he would n't see any of them. 
 And he bawled out after me, ' If Fir- 
 min comes, kick him down stairs, 
 do you hear 1 ?' with ever so many 
 oaths and curses against the poor fel- 
 low, while he vowed he would never 
 see his hanged impudent face again. | 
 But this was n't all, Ridley. He sent j 
 for Bradgate, his lawyer, that very 
 day. He had back his will, which I 
 signed myself as one of the witnesses, 
 me and Wilcox, the master of the 
 hotel, and I know he had left Fir- 
 min something in it. Take my word 
 for it. To that poor young fellow he 
 means mischief." A full report of 
 this conversation Mr. Ridley gave to 
 his little friend Mrs. Brandon, know- 
 ing the interest which Mrs. Brandon 
 took in the young gentleman ; and 
 with these unpleasant news Mrs. 
 Brandon came off to advise with 
 those who the good nurse was 
 pleased to say were Philip's best 
 friends in the world. We wished we 
 could give the Little Sister comfort : 
 hut all the world knew what a man 
 Lord Ringwood was, how arbitrary, 
 how revengeful, how cruel ! 
 
 I knew Mr. Bradgate the lawyer, 
 with whom I had business, and called 
 upon him, more anxious to speak 
 about Philip's affairs than my own. 
 I suppose I was too eager in coming 
 to my point, for Bradgate saw the 
 meaning of my questions, and de- 
 clined to answer them. " My client 
 and I are not the dearest friends in 
 the world," Bradgate said, " but I 
 must keep his counsel, and must not 
 tell you whether Mr Firmin's name 
 is down in his Lordship's will or not. 
 How should I know ? He may have 
 altered his will. He may have left Fir- 
 inin money ; he may have left him 
 none. I hope young Firmin does not 
 count on a legacy. That 's all. He may 
 be disappointed if he does. Why, 
 you may hope for a legacy from Lord 
 Ringwood, and you may be disap- 
 pointed. I know scores of people 
 who do hope for something, and who 
 11* 
 
 won't get a penny." And this was 
 all the reply I could get at that time 
 from the oracular little lawyer. 
 
 I told my wife, as of course every 
 dutiful man tells everything 10 every 
 dutiful wife : but, though Bradgate 
 discouraged us, there was somehow a 
 lurking hope still that the old noble- 
 man would provide for our friend. 
 Then Philip would marry Charlotte. 
 Then he would earn ever so much 
 more money by his newspaper. Then 
 he would be happy ever after. My 
 wife counts eggs not only before they 
 are hatched, but before they are laid. 
 Never was such an obstinate hope- 
 fulness of character. I, on the other 
 hand, take a rational and despondent 
 view of things ; and if they turn 
 out better than I expect, as sometimes 
 they will, I affably own that I have 
 been mistaken. 
 
 But an early day came when Mr. 
 Bradgate was no longer needful, or 
 when he thought himself released 
 from the obligations of silence with 
 regard to his noble client. It was 
 two days before Christmas, and I 
 took my accustomed afternoon saun- 
 ter to " Bays's," where other habitues 
 of the club were assembled. There 
 was no little buzzing and excitement 
 among the frequenters of the place. 
 Talbot Twysden always arrived at 
 " Bays's " at ten minutes past four, 
 and scuffled for the evening paper, as 
 if its contents were matter of great 
 importance to Talbot. He would 
 hold men's buttons, and discourse to 
 them the leading article out of that 
 paper with tin astounding emphasis 
 and gravity. On this day, some ten 
 minutes after his accustomed hour, 
 he reached the club. Other gentle- 
 men were engaged in perusing the 
 evening journal. The lamps on the 
 tables lighted up the bald heads, the 
 gray heads, dyed heads, and the wigs 
 of many assembled fogies, murmurs 
 went about the room : " Very sud- 
 den." " Gout in the stomach." 
 " Dined here only four days ago." 
 " Looked very well." " Very well 1 
 No ! Never saw a fellow look, worn 1
 
 250 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 in my life." " Yellow as a guinea." 
 " Could n't eat." " Swore dreadfully 
 at the waiters, and at Tom Eaves 
 who dined with him." " Seventy-six, 
 I sec . Born in the same year with 
 the Duke of York." " Forty thou- 
 sand a year." " Forty 1 fifty-eight 
 thousand three hundred, I tell you. 
 Always been a saving man." " Es- 
 tate goes to his cousin, Sir John 
 Ringwood ; not a member here, 
 member of ' Boodle's.' " " Hated each 
 other furiously. Very violent temper, 
 the old fellow was. Never got over 
 the Reform Bill, they used to say." 
 " Wonder whether he '11 leave any- 
 thing to old bow - wow Twys " 
 Here enters Talbot Twysden, Esq. 
 '' Ha, Colonel ! How are you ? 
 What 's the news to-night ? Kept 
 late at my office, making up accounts. 
 Going down to Whipham to-morrow 
 to pass Christmas with my wife's 
 uncle, Ringwood, you know. Al- 
 ways go down to Whipham at Christ- 
 mas. Keeps the pheasants for us. 
 No longer a hunting man myself. 
 Lost my nerve, by George." 
 
 Whilst the braggart little creature 
 indulged in this pompous talk, he did 
 not see the significant looks which 
 were fixed upon him, or, if he remarked 
 them, was perhaps pleased by the at- 
 tention which he excited. " Bays's " 
 had long echoed with Twysdcn's ac- 
 count of Ringwood, the pheasants, 
 his own loss of nerve in hunting, and 
 the sura which their family would in- 
 herit at the death of their noble rela- 
 tive. 
 
 " I think I have heard you say Sir 
 John Ringwood inherits after your rel- 
 ative ? " asked Mr. Hookham. 
 
 " Yes ; the estate, not the title. 
 The earldom goes to my Lord and his 
 heirs, Hookham. Why should n't 
 he marry again ( I often say to him, 
 ' Ringwood, why don't you marry, 
 if it 's only to disappoint that Whig 
 fellow, Sir John ? You are fresh and 
 hale, Ringwood. You may live twen- 
 ty years, five-and-twenty years. If 
 you leave your niece and my children 
 anything, we 're not in a hurry to in- 
 
 herit,' I say; 'why don't you mar. 
 ry?"' 
 
 " Ah ! Twysden, he 's past marry- 
 ing, " groans Mr. Hookham. 
 
 "Not at all. Sober man, now. 
 Stout man. Immense powerful man. 
 Healthy man, but for gout. I often 
 say to him, ' Hingwood ! I say ' " 
 
 " O, for mercy's sake, stop this ! " 
 groans old Mr. Tremlett, who always 
 begins to shudder at the sound of poor 
 Twysden's voice. " Tell him, some- 
 body." 
 
 "Haven't you heard, Twysden? 
 Have n't you seen ? Don't you 
 know 1 " asks Mr. Hookham, solemn- 
 ly- 
 
 " Heard, seen, known what f " 
 cries the other. 
 
 " An accident has happened to Lord 
 Ringwood. Look at the paper. Here 
 it is." And Twysden pulls out his 
 great gold eyeglasses, holds the paper 
 as far as his little arm will reach, and 
 and merciful Powers ! but I will 
 not venture to depict the agony on 
 that noble face. Like Timanthes the 
 painter, I hide this Agamemnon with 
 a veil. I cast the Globe newspaper 
 over him. Illaliatur orbis: and let 
 imagination depict our Twysden un- 
 der the ruins. 
 
 What Twysden read in the Globe 
 was a mere curt paragraph ; but in 
 next morning's Times there was one 
 of those obituary notices to which no- 
 blemen of eminence must submit from 
 the mysterious necrographer engaged 
 by that paper. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 PULVIS ET CM BRA SUMUS. 
 
 THE first and only Earl of Ring- 
 wood has submitted to the fate which 
 peers and commoners are alike des- 
 tined to undergo. Hastening to his 
 magnificent seat of Whipham Market, 
 where he proposed to entertain an il- 
 lustrious Christmas party, his Lord- 
 ship left London scarcely recovered 
 from an attack of gout to which ha
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 251 
 
 has been ''or many years a martyr. 
 The disease must have flown to his 
 stomach, and suddenly mastered him. 
 At Tivreys Regum, thirty miles from 
 his c'tfn princely habitation, where he 
 had been accustomed to dine on his 
 almost royal progresses to his home, 
 h-a was already in a state of dreadful 
 suffering, to which his attendants did 
 tiot pay the attention which his condi- 
 tion ought to have excited ; for when 
 laboring under this most painful mala- 
 dy his outcries were loud, and his lan- 
 guage and demeanor exceedingly vio- 
 lent. He angrily refused to send for 
 medical aid at Turreys, and insisted 
 on continuing his journey homewards. 
 He was one of the old school, who 
 never would enter a railway (though 
 his fortune was greatly increased by 
 the passage of the railway through 
 his property) ; and his own horses al- 
 ways met him at " Popper's Tavern," 
 an obscure hamlet, seventeen miles 
 from his princely seat He made no 
 sign on arriving at "Popper's," and 
 spoke no word, to the now serious 
 alarm of his servants. When they 
 came to light his carriage-lamps, and 
 look into his post-chaise, the lord of 
 many thousand acres, and, according 
 to report, of immense wealth, was 
 dead. The journey from Turreys 
 had been the last stage of a long, a 
 prosperous, and, if not a famous, at 
 least a notorious and magnificent ca- 
 reer. 
 
 " The late John George, Earl and 
 Baron Ringwood and Viscount Cinq- 
 bars, entered into public life at the 
 dangerous period before the French 
 Revolution ; and commenced his ca- 
 reer as the friend and companion of 
 the Prince of Wales. When his Roy- 
 al Highness seceded from the Whig 
 party, Lord Ringwood also joined 
 the Tory side of politicians, and an 
 earldom was the price of his fidelity. 
 But on the elevation of Lord Steyne 
 to a marquisate, Lord Ringwood 
 quarrelled for a while with his royal 
 patron and friend, deeming his own 
 services unjustly slighted, as a like 
 dignity was not conferred on him- 
 
 self. On several occasions he gave 
 his vote against Government, and 
 caused his nominees in the House of 
 Commons to vote with the Whigs. 
 He never was reconciled to his late 
 Majesty George IV., of whom he was 
 in the habit of speaking with charac- 
 teristic bluntness. The approach of 
 the Reform Bill, however, threw this 
 nobleman definitively on the Tory 
 side, of which he has ever since re- 
 mained, if not an eloquent, at least a 
 violent supporter. He was said to be 
 a liberal landlord, so long as his ten- 
 ants did not thwart him in his views. 
 His only son died early ; and his Lord- 
 ship, according to report, has long 
 been on ill terms with his kinsman 
 and successor, Sir John Ringwood, of 
 Appleshaw, Baronet. The Barony 
 has been in this ancient family since 
 the reign of George I., when Sir John 
 Ringwood was ennobled, and Sir 
 Francis, his brother, a Baron of the 
 Exchequer, was advanced to the dig- 
 nity of Baronet by the first of our 
 Hanoverian sovereigns." 
 
 This was the article which my wife 
 and I read on the morning of Christ- 
 mas eve, as our children were decking 
 lamps and looking-glasses with holly 
 and red berries for the approaching 
 festival. I had despatched a hurried 
 note, containing the news, to Philip 
 on the night previous. We were 
 
 | painfully anxious about his fate now, 
 when a few days would decide it. 
 Again my business or curiosity took 
 me to see Mr. Bradgate, the lawyer. 
 He was in possession of the news of 
 course. He was not averse to talk 
 about it. The death of his client un- 
 sealed the lawyer's lips partially; 
 and I must say Bradgate spoke in a 
 manner not flattering to his noble de- 
 ceased client. The brutalities of the 
 late nobleman had been very hard to 
 bear. On occasion of their last meet- 
 ing his oaths and disrespectful behav- 
 ior had been specially odious. He 
 had abused almost every one of his 
 
 | relatives. His heir, he said, was a 
 prating, republican humbug. He 
 had a relative (whom Bradgate said
 
 252 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 he would not name) who was a schem- 1 
 in", swaggering, swindling lickspittle 
 parasite, always cringing at his heels 
 and longing for his death. And he 
 had another relative, the impudent 
 son of a swindling doctor, who had 
 insulted him two hours before in his | 
 own room ; a fellow who was a pau- 
 per, and going to propagate a breed 
 for the workhouse ; for, after his be- 
 havior of that day, he would be con- . 
 demned to the lowest pit of Acheron, j 
 Iwfore he, Lord Ringwood, would give i 
 that scoundrel a penny of his money, j 
 " And his Lordship desired me to send j 
 him back his will," said Mr. Bradgate. 
 And he destroyed that will before he 
 went away : it was not the first he 
 had burned. " And I may tell you, 
 now all is over, that he had left his 
 brother's grandson a handsome legacy 
 in that will, which your poor friend : 
 might have had, but that he went to : 
 see my Lord in his unlucky fit of; 
 gout." Ah, mea culpa ! mea culpa ! 
 And who sent Philip to see his rela-j 
 tive in that unlucky fit of gout ? i 
 Who was so worldly-wise, so Twys- j 
 den-like, as to counsel Philip to flat- i 
 tery and submission ? But for that I 
 advice he might be wealthy now ; he j 
 might be happy ; he might be ready i 
 to marry his young sweetheart. Our 
 Christmas turkey choked me as I ate 
 of it. The lights burned dimly, and 
 the kisses and laughter under the mis- j 
 tletoe were but melancholy sport. | 
 But for my advice, how happy might 
 my friend have been ! I looked ask- 
 ance at the honest faces of my chil- 
 dren. What would they say if they j 
 knuw their father had advised a friend 
 to cringe, and bow, and humble him- j 
 self before a rich, wicked old man ? j 
 I sat as mute at the pantomime as at 
 a burial ; the laughter of the little 
 ones smote me as with a reproof. A 
 burial 1 With plumes and lights, 
 and upholsterers' pageantry, and 
 mourning by the yard measure, they 
 wore burying my Lord Etingwood, 
 who mi_rht have made Philip Firmin 
 rich hut tor UK-. 
 
 All lingering hopes regarding our 
 
 friend were quickly put to an end. A 
 will was found at Whipham, dated a 
 year back, in which no mention was 
 made of poor Philip Firmin. Small 
 legacies disgracefully shabby and 
 small, Twysden said were left to 
 the Twysden family, with the full- 
 length portrait of the late Earl in his 
 coronation robes, which, I should 
 think, must have given but small 
 satisfaction to his surviving relatives ; 
 for his Lordship was but an ill-favor- 
 ed nobleman, and the price of the 
 carriage of the large picture from 
 Whipham was a tax which poor Tal- 
 bot made very wry faces at paying. 
 Had the picture been accompanied by 
 thirty or forty thousand pounds, or 
 fifty thousand, why should he not 
 have left them fifty thousand? 
 how different Talbot's grief would 
 have been ! Whereas when Talbot 
 counted up the dinners he had given 
 to Lord Ringwood, all of which he 
 could easily calculate by his cunning 
 ledgers and journals in which was 
 noted down every feast at which his 
 Lordship attended, every guest assem- 
 bled, and every bottle of wine drunk, 
 Twysden found that he had absolute- 
 ly spent more money upon my Lord 
 than the old man had paid back 
 in his will. But all the family went 
 into mourning, and the Twysden 
 coachman and footman turned out in 
 black-worsted epaulettes in honor of 
 the illustrious deceased. It i.s not 
 every day that a man gets a chance 
 of publicly bewailing the loss of an 
 Earl his relative. I suppose Twysden 
 took many hundred people into his 
 confidence on this matter, and be- 
 wailed his uncle's death and his own 
 wrongs whilst clinging to many scores 
 of button-holes. 
 
 And how did poor Philip bear the 
 disappointment ? He must have felt 
 it, for I fear we ourselves had encour- 
 aged him in the hope that his grand- 
 uncle would do something to relieve 
 his necessity. Philip put a bit of 
 crape round his hat, wrapped himself 
 in his shabby old mantle, and de- 
 clined any outward show of grief at 

 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 253 
 
 all. If the old man had left him 
 money, it had been well. As he did 
 not, a puff of cigar, perhaps, ends 
 the sentence, and our philosopher 
 gives no further thought to his disap- 
 pointment. Was not Philip the poor 
 as lordly and independent as Philip 
 the rich ? A struggle with poverty is 
 a wholesome wrestling-match at three 
 or five and twenty. The sinews are 
 young, and are braced by the contest. 
 It is upon the aged that the battle 
 (alls hardly, who are weakened by 
 failing health, and perhaps enervated 
 by long years of prosperity. 
 
 Firmin's broad back could carry a 
 heavy burden, and he was glad to 
 take all the work which fell in his 
 Way. Phipps, of the Daily Intelli- 
 gencer, wanting an assistant, Philip 
 gladly sold four hours of his day to 
 Mr. Phipps : translated page after 
 page of newspapers, French and Ger- 
 tnan ; took an occasional turn at the 
 Chamber of Deputies, and gave an 
 account of a sitting of importance, 
 and made himself quite an active 
 lieutenant. He began positively to 
 save money. He wore dreadfully 
 shabby clothes, to be sure : for Char- 
 lotte could not go to his chamber and 
 mend his rags as the Little Sister had 
 done : but when Mrs. Baynes abused 
 him for his shabby appearance, and 
 indeed it nrnst have been mortifying 
 sometimes to see the fellow in his old 
 clothes swaggering about in Madame 
 Smolensk's apartments, talking loud, 
 contradicting, and laying down the 
 law, Charlotte defended her ma- j 
 lisrned Philip. " Do you know why 
 Monsieur Philip has these shabby 
 clothes 1 " she asked of Madame de 
 Smolensk. " Because he has been 
 sending money to his father in Amer- 
 ica." And Smolensk said that Mon- 
 sieur Philip was a brave young man, ' 
 and i hat he might come dressed like 
 an Iroquois to her soire'e, and he 
 .should be welcome. And Mrs. j 
 Baynes was rude to Philip when he 
 was present, and srornfitl in her re- i 
 marks when he was absent. And 
 Philip trembled before Mrs. Baynes ; 
 
 and he took her boxes on the ear with 
 much meekness ; for was not his 
 Charlotte a hostage in her mother's 
 i hands, and might not Mrs. General B. 
 make that poor little creature suffer? 
 One or two Indian ladies of Mrs. 
 Baynes's acquaintance happened to 
 pass this winter in Paris, and these 
 persons, who had furnished lodgings 
 j in the Faubourg St. Honore', or the 
 Champs Elyse'es, and rode in their 
 I carriages with, very likely, a footman 
 on the box, rather looked down upon 
 Mrs. Baynes for living in a boarding- 
 house, and keeping no equipage. Ko 
 woman likes to be looked down upon 
 by any other woman, especially by 
 such a creature as Mrs. Batters, the 
 lawyer's wife, from Calcutta, who 
 was not in society, and did not go to 
 I Government House, and here was 
 driving about in the Champs Elyse'es, 
 i and giving herself such airs, indeed ! 
 ! So was Mrs. Doctor Macoon, with 
 her ludy's-maid, and her man-cook, and 
 her open carriage, and her dose car- 
 riage. (Pray read these words with 
 the most withering emphasis which 
 you can lay upon them.) And who 
 was Mrs. Macoon, pray ? Madame 
 Beret, the French milliner's daugh- 
 ter, neither more nor less. And this 
 creature must scatter her mud over 
 her betters who went on foot. " \ 
 am telling my poor girls, madame," 
 she would say to Madame Smolensk, 
 " that if I had been a milliner's girl, 
 or their father had been a pettifog- 
 ging attorney, and not a soldier, who 
 has served his sovereign in every 
 quarter of the world, they would be 
 belter dressed than they are now, poor 
 chicks ! we might have a fine apart- 
 ment in the Faubourg St. Honore, 
 we need not live at a boarding-house." 
 " And if / had been a milliner, 
 Madame la Gencrale," cried Smo- 
 lensk, with spirit, " perhaps I should 
 not have had need to keep a board- 
 ing-house. My father was a general 
 officer, and served his emperor too. 
 But what will you 1 ? We have all to 
 do disagreeable things, and to live 
 with disagreeable people, madame ! "
 
 $54 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 And with this Smolensk makes Mrs. 
 General Baynes a fine courtesy, and 
 goes off to other affairs or guests. She 
 was of the opinion of many of Philip's 
 friends. " Ah, Monsieur Philip," she 
 said to him, " when you are married, 
 you will live far from that woman ; is 
 it not ? " 
 
 Hearing that Mrs. Batters was 
 going to the Tuileries, I am sorry to 
 say a violent emulation inspired Mrs. 
 Baynes, and she never was easy until 
 she persuaded her General to take her 
 to the ambassador's, and to the en- 
 tertainments of the citizen king who 
 governed France in those days. It 
 would cost little or nothing. Char- 
 lotte must be brought out. Her aunt, 
 MacWhirter, from Tours, had sent 
 Charlotte a present of money for a 
 dress. To do Mrs. Baynes justice, 
 she spent very little money upon her 
 own raiment, and extracted from one 
 of her trunks a costume which had 
 done duty at Barrackpore and Cal- 
 cutta. " After hearing that Mrs. 
 Batters went, I knew she never would 
 be easy," General Baynes said, with 
 a sigh. His wife denied the accusa- 
 tion as an outrage , said that men al- 
 ways imputed the worst motives to 
 women, whereas her wish, Heaven 
 knows, was only to see her darling 
 child properly presented, and her hus- 
 band in his proper rank in the world. 
 And Charlotte looked lovely, upon 
 the evening of the ball ' and Madame 
 Smolensk dressed Charlotte's hair 
 very prettily, and offered to lend j 
 Auguste to accompany the General's 
 carriage ; but Ogoo.st revolted, and 
 said, " Non, mcrci ! he would do any- 
 thing for the General and Miss Char- 
 lotte, but for the Gene'rale, no, no, 
 no ! " and he made signs of violent 
 abnegation. And though Charlotte 
 looked as sweet as a rosebud, she had 
 little pleasure in her ball, Philip not 
 being present. And how could he be 
 present, who had but one old coat, 
 ami holes in his boots 1 
 
 So yon see, sifter a sunny autumn, 
 a i-old winter comes, when the wind ' 
 is bad for delicate chests, and muddy i 
 
 for little shoes. How could Charlotte 
 come out at eight o'clock through 
 mud or snow of a winter's morning, 
 if she had been out at an evening 
 party late overnight ? Mrs. General 
 Baynes began to go out a good deal 
 to the Paris evening-parties, I mean 
 to the parties of us Trojans, parties 
 where there are forty English people, 
 three Frenchmen, and a German who 
 plays the piano. Charlotte was very 
 much admired. The fame of her 
 good looks spread abroad. I promise 
 you that there were persons of much 
 more importance than the poor Vi- 
 comte de Garfonboutique who were 
 charmed by her bright eyes, her 
 bright smiles, her artless, rosy beauty. 
 Why, little Hely, of the Embassy, 
 actually invited himself to Mrs. Doc- 
 tor Macoon's, in order to see this 
 young beauty, and danced with her 
 without ceasing : Mr. Hely, who was 
 the pink of fashion, you know ; who 
 danced with the royal princesses ; and 
 was at all the grand parties of the 
 Faubourg St. Germain. He saw her 
 to her carriage (a very shabby fly, it 
 must be confessed ; but Mrs. Baynes 
 told him they had been accustomed to 
 a very different kind of equipage in 
 India). He actually called at the 
 boarding-house, and left his card, M. 
 WaLsinghnm II fly, attach^ a I'Amlxis- 
 sade de S. M. Britannique for General 
 Baynes and his lady. To what balls 
 would Mrs. Baynes like to go? to 
 the Tuileries ? to the Embassy ? to 
 the Faubourg St. Germain ? to the 
 Faubourg St. Honore ? I could name 
 many more persons of distinction who 
 were fascinated by pretty Miss Char- 
 lotte. Her mother felt more and 
 more ashamed of the shabby fly, in 
 which our young lady was conveyed 
 to and from her parties ; of the 
 shabby fly, and of that shabby cava- 
 lier who was in waiting sometimes to 
 put Miss Charlotte into her carriage. 
 Charlotte's mother's ears were only 
 too acute when disparaging remarks 
 were made about that cavalier. 
 What? engaged to that queer red- 
 bearded fellow, with the ragged shirt-
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 255 
 
 collars, who trod upon everybody in 
 the polka 1 A newspaper writer, was 
 he? The son of that Doctor who 
 ran away after cheating everybody ? 
 What a very odd thing of General 
 Baynes to think of engaging his 
 daughter to such a person ! 
 
 So Mr. Firmin was not asked to 
 many distinguished houses, where his 
 Charlotte was made welcome ; where 
 there was dancing in the saloon/ very 
 mild negus and cakes in the saile-a- 
 manger, and cards in the lady's bed- 
 room. And he did not care to be 
 asked ; and he made himself very ar- 
 rogant and disagreeable when he was 
 asked ; and he would upset tea-trays, 
 and burst out into roars of laughter 
 at all times, and swagger about the 
 drawing-room as if he were a man of 
 importance, he indeed, giving 
 himself such airs because his grand- 
 father's brother was an earl! And 
 what had the earl done for him, pray ? 
 And what right had he to burst out 
 laughing when Miss Crackley sang a 
 little out of tune? What could General 
 Baynes mean by selecting such a hus- 
 band for that nice, modest young girl ? 
 The old General sitting in the best 
 bedroom, placidly playing at whist 
 with the other British fogies, does not 
 hear these remarks, perhaps, but little 
 Mrs. Baynes with her eager eyes and 
 cars sees and knows everything. 
 Many people have told her that Philip 
 is a bad match for her daughter. 
 She has heard him contradict calmly 
 quite wealthy people. Mr. Hobday, 
 who has a house in Carlton Terrace, 
 London, and goes to the first houses 
 in Paris, Philip has contradicted 
 him point-blank, until Mr. Hobday 
 :iiriu'd quite red, and Mrs. Hobday 
 did n't know where to look. Mr. 
 Pcplow, a clergyman and a baronet's 
 eldest son, who will be one day the 
 Ucv. Sir Charles Peplow of Peplow 
 Manor, was praising Tomlinson's 
 poems, and offered to read out at Mr. 
 Badger's, and he reads very finely, 
 though a little perhaps through his 
 nose, and when he was going to 
 begin, Mr. Firmin said, "My dear 
 
 Peplow, for Heaven's sake don't give 
 us any of that rot. I would as soon 
 hear one of your own prize poems." 
 Rot, indeed ! What an expression ! 
 Of course Mr. Peplow was very much 
 annoyed. And this from a mere 
 newspaper writer. Never heard of 
 such rudeness ! Mrs. Tuffin said she 
 took her line at once after seeing this 
 Mr. Firmin. " He may be an earl's 
 grand-nephew, for what I care. He 
 may have been at college : he has not 
 learned good manners there. He may 
 be clever, I don't profess to be a 
 judge. But he is most overbearing, 
 clumsy, and disagreeable. I shall 
 not ask him to my Tuesdays ; and, 
 Emma, if he asks you to dance, I beg 
 you will do no such thing ! " A bull, 
 you understand, in a meadow, or on 
 a prairie with a herd of other buffa- 
 loes, is a noble animal : but a bull in 
 a china-shop is out of place ; and 
 even so was Philip amongst the 
 crockery of those little simple tea- 
 parties, where his mane, and hoofs, 
 and roar caused endless disturbance. 
 These remarks concerning the ac- 
 cepted son-in-law Mrs. Baynes heard 
 I and, at proper moments, repeated. 
 j She ruled Baynes ; but was very cau- 
 j tious, and secretly afraid- of him. 
 Once or twice she had gone too far 
 in her dealings with the quiet old 
 man, and he had revolted, put her 
 down and never forgiven her. Be- 
 yond a certain point, she dared not 
 provoke her husband. She would 
 say, " Well, Baynes, marriage is a 
 lottery ; and I ain afraid our poor 
 Charlotte has not pulled a prize " : on 
 which the General would reply, " No 
 more have others, my dear ! " and so 
 drop the subject for the time being. 
 On another occasion it would be, 
 " You heard how rude Philip Firmin 
 was to Mr. Hobday ? " and the Gen- 
 eral would answer, " I was at cards, 
 my dear." Again she might say, 
 " Mrs. Tuffin says she will not have 
 Philip Firmin to her Tuesdays, my 
 dear " : and the General's rejoinder 
 would be, " Begad, so much the bet- 
 ter for him ! " "Ah," she groans.
 
 256 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 " he 's always offending some one ! " 
 " I don't think he seems to please you 
 much, Eliza ! " responds the General : 
 and she answers, " No, he don't, and 
 that I confess; and I don't like to 
 think, Baynes, of my sweet child 
 given up to certain poverty, and such 
 a man ! " At which the General with 
 some of his garrison phrases would 
 break out with a " Hang it, Eliza, 
 do you suppose I think it is a very 
 good match ? " and turn to the wall, 
 and, I hope, to sleep. 
 
 As for poor little Charlotte, her 
 mother is not afraid of little Charlotte, 
 and when the two are alone the poor 
 child knows she is to be made wretch- 
 c:l by her mother's assaults upon 
 Philip Was there ever anything so 
 bad as his behavior, to burst out laugh- 
 ing when Miss Crackley was singing ? 
 Was he called upon to contradict Sir 
 Charles Peplow in that abrupt way, 
 and as good as tell him he was a fool ? 
 It was very wrong certainly, and poor 
 Charlotte thinks, with a blush perhaps, 
 how she was just at the point of ad- 
 miring Sir Charles Peplow's reading 
 very much, and had been prepared to 
 think Tomlinson's poems delightful, 
 until Philip ordered her to adopt a 
 contemptuous opinion of the poet. 
 " And did you see how he was dressed ? 
 a button wanting on his waistcoat, 
 and a hole in his boot ? " 
 
 " Mamma," cries Charlotte, turning 
 very red. " He might have been bet- 
 ter dressed, if if " 
 
 " That is, you would like your own 
 father to be in prison, your mother to I 
 beg her bread, your sisters to go in ! 
 rags, anil your brothers to starve, 
 
 your meaning. You need n't explain 
 yourself. I can understand quite well, 
 thank yon. Goodnight. I hope you '11 
 sleep well ; 7 sha' n't after this conver- 
 sation. Good night, Charlotte ! " 
 Ah me. O course of true love, didst 
 thou ever run smooth ? As we peep 
 into that boarding-hou.* ; whereof I 
 Iiave already described the mistress as 
 
 wakeful with racking care regarding 
 the morrow ; wherein lie the Miss 
 Bolderos, who must naturally be very 
 uncomfortable, being on sufferance 
 and as it were in pain, as they lie on 
 their beds ; what sorrows do we not 
 perceive brooding over the nightcaps ? 
 There is poor Charlotte who has said 
 her prayer for her Philip ; and as she 
 lays her young eyes on the pillow, they 
 wet it with their tears. Why does 
 her mother forever and forever speak 
 against him ? Why is her father so 
 cold when Philip's name is mentioned ? 
 Could Charlotte ever think of any 
 but him ? 0, never, never ! And so 
 the wet eyes are veiled at last ; and 
 close in doubt and fear and care. 
 And in the next room to Charlotte's, 
 a little yellow old woman lies stark 
 awake ; and in the bed by her side an 
 old gentleman can't close his eyes for 
 thinking, my poor girl is promised 
 to a beggar. All the fine hopes 
 which we had of his getting a legacy 
 from that lord are over. Poor child, 
 poor child, what will become of her ? 
 
 Now, Two Sticks, let us fly over the 
 river Seine to Mr. Philip Firmin's 
 quarters : to Philip's house, who has 
 not got a penny ; to Philip's bed, who 
 has made himself so rude and disa- 
 greeable at that tea-party. He has no 
 idea that he has offended anybody. 
 He has gone home perfectly well 
 pleased. He has kicked off the tat- 
 tered boot. He has found a little fire 
 lingering in his stove by which he lias 
 smoked the pipe of thought. Ere he 
 has jumped into his bed he has knelt 
 a moment beside it ; and with all his 
 heart oh! with all his heart and 
 soul has committed the dearest one 
 to Heaven's loving protection ! And 
 now he sleeps like a child. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 IN WHICH WE STILL HOVER ABOUT 
 THE ELYSIAN FIELDS. 
 
 THE dcscriber and biographer of 
 my friend Mr. Philip Firmin has
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 257 
 
 tried to extenuate nothing; and, I 
 hope, has set down naught in malice. 
 If Philip's boots had holes in them, I 
 have written that he had holes in his 
 boots. If he had a red beard, there it 
 is red in this story. I might have 
 oiled it with a tinge of brown, and 
 painted it a rich auburn. Towards 
 modest people he was very gentle and 
 tender ; but I must own that in gen- 
 eral society he was not always an 
 agreeable companion. He was often 
 haughty and arrogant : he was im- 
 patient of old stories : he was intole- 
 rant of commonplaces. Mrs. Baynes's 
 anecdotes of her garrison experiences 
 in India and Europe got a very im- 
 patient hearing from Mr. Philip ; 
 and though little Charlotte gently re- 
 monstrated with him, saying, " Do, 
 do let mamma tell her story out ; and 
 don't turn away and talk about some- 
 thing else in the midst of it ; and 
 don't tell her you have heard the sto- 
 ry before, you rude man ! If she is 
 not pleased with you, she is angry 
 with me, and I have to suffer when 
 you are gone away." Miss Charlotte 
 did not say how much she had to suf- 
 fer when Philip was absent ; how 
 constantly her mother found fault 
 with him ; what a sad life, in conse- 
 quence of her attachment to him, the 
 young maiden had to lead ; and I 
 fear that clumsy Philip, in his selfish 
 thoughtlessness, did not take enough 
 count of the sufferings which his be- 
 havior brought on the girl. You sec 
 I am acknowledging that there were 
 many faults on his side, which, per- 
 haps, may in some degree excuse or 
 account for those which Mrs. General 
 Bayiies certainly committed towards 
 him. She did not love Philip natural- 
 ly ; and do you suppose she loved 
 him because she was under great ob- 
 liirations to him 1 Do you love your 
 creditor because you owe him more 
 than you can ever pay ? If I never 
 paid my tailor, should I be on good 
 terms with him ? I might go on 
 ordering suits of clothes from now to 
 the year nineteen hundred; but I 
 should hate him worse year after 
 
 I year. I should find fault with his 
 ! cut and his cloth : I dare say I should 
 : end by thinking his bills extortionate, 
 though I never paid them. Kindness 
 is very indigestible. It disagrees 
 with very proud stomachs. I wonder 
 was that traveller who fell among the 
 thieves grateful afterwards to the 
 Samaritan who rescued him ? He 
 gave money certainly ; but he did n't 
 miss it. The religious opinions of 
 Samaritans are lamentably hetero- 
 dox. brother ! may we help the 
 fallen still though they never pay us, 
 and may we lend without exacting 
 the usury of gratitude ! 
 
 Of this I am determined, that 
 whenever I go courting again, I will 
 not pay my addresses to my dear crea- 
 ture, day after day, and from year's 
 end to year's end, very likely, with the 
 dear girl's mother, father, and half a 
 dozen young brothers and sisters in 
 the room. I shall begin by being 
 civil to the old lady, of course. She 
 is flattered at first by having a young 
 fellow coming courting to her daugh- 
 ter. She calls me " dear Edward " ; 
 works me a pair of braces ; writes to 
 mamma and sisters, and so forth. 
 Old gentleman says " Brown my 
 boy " (I am here fondly imagining 
 myself to be a young fellow named 
 Edward Brown, attached, let us say, 
 to Miss Kate Thompson), Thomp- 
 son, I say, says, " Brown my boy, 
 come to dinner at seven Cover laid 
 for you always." And of course, de- 
 licious thought ! that cover is by dear- 
 est Kate's side. But the dinner is 
 bad sometimes. Sometimes I come 
 late. Sometimes things are going 
 badly in the City. Sometimes Mrs. 
 Thompson is out of humor ; she 
 always thought Kate might have 
 done better. And in the midst of these 
 doubts and delays, suppose JONES 
 appears, who is older, but of a better 
 temper, a better family, and plague 
 on him ! twice as rich 1 What are 
 engagements "? What are promises ? 
 It is sometimes an affectionate moth- 
 er's DUTY to break her promise, and 
 that duty the resolute matron will do-
 
 258 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Then Edward is Edward no more, 
 but Mr. Brown ; or, worse still, name- 
 less in the house. Then the knife 
 and fork are removed from poor 
 Kate's side, and she swallows her 
 own sad meal in tears. Then if one 
 of the little Thompsons says, artless- 
 ly, "Papa, I met Teddy Brown in 
 Regent Street; he looked so " 
 " Hold your tongue, unfeeling j 
 wretch ! " cries mamma. " Look at 
 that dear child ! " Kate is swooning. 
 She has sal-volatile. The medical 
 man is sent for. And presently 
 Charles Jones is taking Kate Thomp- 
 son to dinner. Long voyages are 
 dangerous; so are long courtships. 
 In long voyages passengers perpetu- 
 ally quarrel (for that Mrs. General j 
 could vouch) ; in long courtships the 
 same danger exists ; and how much 
 the more when in that latter ship i 
 you have a mother who is forever 
 putting in her oar ! And then to j 
 think of the annoyance of that love 
 voyage when you and the beloved and 
 beloved's papa, mamma, half a dozen j 
 brothers and sisters, are all in one | 
 cabin ! For economy's sake the ! 
 Bayneses had no sitting-room at 
 madame's, for you could not call 
 that room on the second floor a 
 sitting-room which had two beds in 
 it, and in which the young ones 
 practised the piano, with poor 
 Charlotte as their mistress. Philip's ; 
 courting had to take place for the j 
 most part before the whole family ; 
 and to make love under such difficul- 
 ties would have been horrible and 
 maddening and impossible almost, 
 only we have admitted that our young 
 friends had little walks in the Champs 
 EJysees ; and then yon must own that 
 it must have been delightful for them 
 to write each other perpetual little 
 notes, which were delivered occultly 
 under the very nose of papa and 
 mamma, and in the actual presence 
 of the other boarders at madame's, 
 who, of course, never saw anything 
 that was going on. Yes, those sly 
 monkeys actually made little post- 
 *ffices about the room. There was, 
 
 for instance, the clock on the mantel- 
 piece in the salon on which was 
 carved the old French allegory, " Le 
 temps fait passer I' amour." One of 
 those artful young people would pop 
 a note into Times boat, where you 
 may be sure no one saw it. The 
 trictrac board was another post-office. 
 So was the drawer of the music- 
 stand. So was the Sevres china 
 flower-pot, &c., &c. ; to each of which 
 repositories in its turn the lovers 
 confided the delicious secrets of their 
 wooing. 
 
 Have you ever looked at your love- 
 letters to Darby, when you were 
 courting, dear Joan ? They are 
 sacred pages to read. You have his 
 tied up somewhere in a faded ribbon. 
 You scarce need spectacles as you 
 look at them. The hair grows black ; 
 the eyes moisten and brighten ; the 
 cheeks fill and blush again. I pro- 
 test there is nothing so beautiful as 
 Darby and Joan in the world. I 
 hope Philip and his wife will be Darby 
 and Joan to the end. I tell you they 
 are married ; and don't want to make 
 any mysteries about the business. 
 I disdain that sort of artifice. In the 
 days of the old three-volume novels, 
 did n't you always look at the end, to 
 see that Louisa and the earl (or young 
 clergyman, as the case might be) 
 were happy ? If they died, or met 
 with other grief, for my part I put 
 the book away. This pair, then, are 
 well ; are married ; are, I trust, 
 happy : but before they married and 
 afterwards, they had great griefs and 
 troubles ; as no doubt you have had, 
 dear sir or madam, since yon under- 
 went that ceremony. Married ? Of 
 course they are. Do you suppose I 
 would have allowed little Charlotte 
 to meet Philip in the Champs 
 Elysees with only a giddy little 
 boy of a brother for a companion, 
 who would turn away to see Punch, 
 Guignol, the soldiers marching by, 
 the old woman's gingerbread and 
 toffy stall and so forth 1 Do you, I 
 say, suppose I would have allowed 
 those two to go out together, unless
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 259 
 
 they were to be married afterwards 1 
 Out walking together they did go ; 
 and, once, as they were arm-in-arm 
 in the Champs Elysees, whom should 
 they see in a fine open carriage but 
 young Twysden and Captain and Mrs. 
 Woolcomb, to whom, as they passed, 
 Philip doffed his hat with a profound 
 bow, and whom he further saluted 
 with a roar of immense laughter. 
 Woolcomb must have heard the peal. 
 I dare say it brought a little blush 
 into Mrs. Woolcomb's cheek; and 
 and so, no doubt, added to the many 
 attractions of that elegant lady. I 
 have no secrets about iny characters, 
 and speak my mind about them quite 
 freely. They said that Woolcomb > 
 was the most jealous, stingy, osten- 
 tatious, cruel little brute ; that he 
 led his wife a dismal life. Well ? If 
 lie didl I'm sure, I don't care. 
 " There is that swaggering bankrupt 
 beggar Firmiu ! " cries the tawny 
 bridegroom, biting his mustache. 
 " Impudent ragged blackguard," says 
 Twysden minor, " I saw him." 
 
 " Had n't you better stop the car- 
 riage, and abuse him to himself, and 
 not to me ? " says Mrs. Woolcomb, 
 languidly, flinging herself back on 
 her cushions. 
 
 " Go on, hang you ! Ally ! Vite ! " 
 cry the gentlemen in the carriage to 
 the laquais de place on the box. 
 
 " I can fancy you don't care about 
 seeing him," resumes Mrs. Woolcomb. 
 " He has a violent temper, and I 
 would not have you quarrel for the 
 world." So I suppose Woolcomb 
 again swears at the laquais de place : 
 and the happy couple, as the saying 
 is, roll away to the Bois de Boulogne. 
 
 " What makes you laugh so 1 " 
 says little Charlotte, fondly, as she 
 trips along by her lover's side. 
 
 " Because I am so happy, my flear- 
 est ! " says the other, squeezing to his 
 heart the little hand that lies on his 
 arm. As he thinks on yonder woman, 
 and then looks into the pure eager_ 
 face of the sweet girl beside him, the 
 scornful laughter occasioned by the 
 sudden meeting which is just over 
 
 hushes ; and an immense feeling of 
 thankfulness fills the breast of the 
 young man : thankfulness for the 
 danger from which he has escaped, 
 and for the blessed prize which has 
 fallen to him. 
 
 But Mr. Philip's walks were not to be 
 all as pleasant as this walk ; and we 
 are now coming to a history of wet, 
 slippery roads, bad times, and winter 
 weather. All I can promise about this 
 gloomy part is, that it shall not be a 
 long story. You will acknowledge 
 we made very short work with the 
 love-making, which I give you my 
 word I consider to be' the very easiest 
 part of the novel-writer's business. As 
 those rapturous scenes between the 
 captain and the heroine are going on, 
 a writer who knows his business may 
 be thinking about anything else, 
 about the ensuing chapter, or about 
 what he is going to have for dinner, 
 or what you will ; therefore, as we 
 passed over the raptures and joys of 
 the courting so very curtly, you must 
 please to gratify me by taking the 
 grief in a very short measure. If our 
 young people are going to suffer, let 
 the pain be soon over. " Sit down in 
 the chair, Miss Bayncs, if you please, 
 and you Mr. Firmin, in this. Allow 
 me to examine you ; just open your 
 mouth, if you please; and 0, 0, 
 my dear Miss there it is out! A 
 little eau-de-Cologne and water, my 
 dear. And now, Mr. Firmin, if you 
 please, we will what fangs ! what a 
 big one ! Two guineas. Thank you. 
 Good morning. Come to me once a 
 year. John, show in the next party." 
 About the ensuing painful business, 
 then, I protest I don't intend to be 
 much longer occupied than thehumane 
 and dexterous operator to whom I 
 have made so bold as to liken myself. 
 If my pretty Charlotte is to have a 
 tooth out, it shall be removed as gently 
 as possible, poor dear. As for Philip, 
 and his great red-bearded jaw, I don t 
 care so much if the tug makes him 
 roar a little. And yet they remain, 
 they remain and throb in after life, 
 those wounds of early days. Hare I
 
 2CO 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 not said how, as I chanced to walk 
 with Mr. Firmin in Paris, many years 
 after the domestic circumstances here 
 recorded, he paused before the window 
 of that house near the Champs Elysees 
 where Madame Smolensk once held 
 her pension, shook his fist at a jalousie 
 of the now dingy and dilapidated 
 mansion, and intimated to me that 
 he had undergone severe sufferings in 
 the chamber lighted by yonder win- 
 dow ? So have we all suffered ; so, 
 very likely, my dear young Miss or 
 Master who peruses this modest page, 
 will you have to suffer in your time. 
 You will not die of the operation, | 
 most probably : but it is painful : it j 
 makes a gap in the mouth, voyez-vous ? 
 and years and years, maybe, after, as 
 you think of it, the smart is renewed, 
 and the dismal tragedy enacts itself 
 over again. 
 
 Philip liked his little maiden to go 
 out, to dance, to laugh, to be admired, 
 to be happy. In her artless way she 
 told him of her balls, her tea-parties, 
 her pleasures, her partners. In a girl's 
 first little season nothing escapes her. 
 Have you not wondered to hear them 
 tell about the events of the evening, 
 about the dresses of the dowagers, 
 about the compliments of the young 
 men, about the behavior of the girls, 
 and what not ? 
 
 Little Charlotte used to enact the 
 overnight's comedy for Philip, pour- 
 ing out her young heart in her prattle 
 as her little feet skipped by his side. 
 And to hear Philip roar with laughter ! 
 It would have done you good. You 
 might have heard him from the Obelisk 
 to the Etoile. People turned round 
 to look at him, and shrugged their 
 shoulders wonderingly, as good- 
 natured French folks will do. How 
 could a man who had been lately 
 ruined, a man who had just been dis- 
 appointed of a great legacy from the 
 Earl his great-uncle, a man whose 
 boots were in that lamentable con- 
 dition, laugh so, and have such high 
 spirits 1 To think of such an impu- 
 dent ragged blackguard, as Kingwood 
 Twysden called his cousin, daring to 
 
 be happy ! The fact is, that clap of 
 laughter smote those three Twysden 
 people like three boxes on the ear, 
 and made all their cheeks tingle and 
 blush at once. At Philip's merriment 
 clouds which had come over Char- 
 lotte's sweet face would be chased 
 away. As she clung to him doubts 
 which throbbed at the girl's heart 
 would vanish. When she was acting 
 those scenes of the past night's enter- 
 tainment, she was not always happy. 
 As she talked and prattled, her own 
 spirits would rise ; and hope and 
 natural joy would spring in her heart 
 again, and come flushing up to her 
 cheek. Charlotte was being a hypo- 
 crite, as, thank Heaven, all good 
 women sometimes are. She had 
 griefs : she hid them from him. She 
 had doubts and fears : they fled when 
 he came in view, and she clung to his 
 strong arm, and looked in his honest 
 blue eyes. She did not tell him of 
 those painful nights when her eyes 
 were wakeful and tearful. A yellow 
 old woman in a white jacket, with a 
 nightcap and a night-light, would 
 come, night after night, to the side of 
 her little bed ; and there stand, and 
 with her grim voice bark against 
 Philip. That old woman's lean finger 
 would point to all the rents in poor 
 Philip's threadbare paletot of a char- 
 acter, point to the holes and tear 
 them wider open. Shewould stamp on 
 those muddy boots. She would throw 
 up her peaked nose at the idea of the 
 poor fellow's pipe, his pipe, his 
 great companion and comforter when 
 his dear little mistress was away. 
 She would discourse on the partners 
 of the night ; the evident attentions 
 of this gentleman, the politeness and 
 high breeding of that. 
 
 And when that dreary nightly tor- 
 ture 'was over and Charlotte's mother 
 had left the poor child to herself, 
 sometimes Madame Smolensk, sitting 
 up over her ledgers and bills, and 
 wakeful with her own cares, would 
 steal up and console poor Charlotte ; 
 and bring her some tisane, excellent 
 for the nerves ; and talk to her about,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 261 
 
 about the subject of which Char- 
 lotte best liked to hear. And though 
 Smolensk was civil to Mrs. Uayncs 
 in the morning, as her professional 
 duty obliged her to be, she has owned 
 that she often felt a desire to strangle 
 Madame la Ge'ne'rale for her conduct 
 to her little angel of a daughter ; 
 and all because Monsieur Philippe 
 smells the pipe, parbleu ! " What 'i a 
 family that owes you the bread which 
 they eat ; and they draw back for a 
 pipe ! The cowards, the cowards ! 
 A soldier's daughter is not afraid of it. 
 Merci ! Tenez, M. Philippe," she 
 said to our friend when matters came 
 to an extremity. " Do you know 
 what in your place I would do H To 
 a Frenchman I would not say so ; 
 that understands itself. But these 
 things make themselves otherwise in 
 England. I have no money, but I 
 have a cachemire. Take him ; and 
 if I were you, I would make a little 
 voyage to Gretna Grin." 
 
 And now, if you please, we wi'.l 
 quit the Champs Elysees. We will 
 cross the road from madame's board- 
 ing-house. We will make our way 
 into the Faubourg St Honore, and 
 actually enter a gate over which 
 the L-on, the Un-c-rn, and the 
 R-y-1 Cr-wn and A-ms of the 
 Three K-ngd-ms are sculptured, 
 and going under the porte-cochere, 
 and turning to the right, ascend a 
 little stair, and ask of the attendant 
 on the landing, who is in the chan- 
 cellerie ? The attendant says, that 
 several of those messieurs y sont. In 
 fact, On entering the room, yon find 
 Mr. Motcomb, let us say, Mr. 
 Lownde-i, Mr. Halkin, and our young 
 friend Mr. Walsingham Hely, seated 
 at their respective tables in the midst 
 of considerable smoke. Smoking in 
 the midst of these gentlemen, and 
 bestriding his chair, as though it were 
 his horse, sits that gallant young 
 Irish chieftain. The O'Rourke. Some 
 of the gentlemen are copying, in a 
 large handwriting, despatches on 
 foolscap paper. I would rather be 
 torn to pieces by O'Rourke's wildest 
 
 horses, than be understood to hint at 
 what those despatches, at what those 
 despatch - boxes contain. Perhaps 
 they contain some news from the 
 Court of Spain, where some intrigues 
 are carried on, a knowledge of which 
 would make your hair start off your 
 head ; perhaps that box, for which a 
 messenger is waiting in a neighboring 
 apartment, has locked up twenty-four 
 yards of Chantilly lace for Lady 
 Belweathcr, and six new French 
 farces for Tom Tiddler of the Foreign 
 Office, who is mad about the theatre. 
 It is years and years ago ; how should 
 I know what there is in those de- 
 spatch-boxes 1 
 
 But the work, whatever it may be, 
 is not very pressing, for there is 
 only Mr. Chesham, did I say Ches- 
 ham before, by the way ? You may 
 call him Mr. Sloanestreet if you like. 
 There is only Chesham (and he al- 
 ways takes things to the grand 
 serious) who seems to be much en- 
 gaged in writing ; and the conversa- 
 tion goes on. 
 
 " Who gave it 1 " asks Motcomb. 
 
 " The black man of course, gave 
 it. We would not pretend to compete 
 with such a long purse as his. You 
 should have seen what faces he made 
 at the bill ! Thirty francs a bottle 
 for Rhine wine. He grinned with the 
 most horrible agony when he read the 
 addition. He almost turned yellow. 
 He sent away his wife early. How 
 long that girl was hanging about 
 London ; and think of her hooking a 
 millionnaire at last ! Othello is a 
 frightful screw, and diabolically jeal- 
 ous of his wife." 
 
 " What is the name of the little 
 man who got so dismally drunk, 
 and began to cry about old Ring- 
 wood ? " 
 
 " Twysden, the woman's brother. 
 Don't you know Humbug Twysden, 
 the father ? The youth is more of- 
 fensive than the parent." 
 
 " A most disgusting little beast. 
 Would come to the Varie'te's, because 
 we said we were going : would go 
 to Lamoignon's, where tho Russians
 
 262 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 gave a dance and a lansquenet. Why 
 did n't you come, Hely ? " 
 
 Mr. Hely. I tell you I hate the 
 whole thing. Those painted old ac- 
 tresses give me the horrors. What 
 do I want with winning Motcomb's 
 money who has n't got any ? Do 
 you think it gives me any pleasure to 
 dance with old Caradol 1 She puts 
 me in mind of my grandmother, 
 only she is older. Do you think I 
 want to go and see that insane old 
 Boutzoff leering at Corinne and Pal- 
 myrine, and making a group of three 
 old women together ! I wonder how 
 you fellows can go on. Are n't you 
 tired of truffles and ecrevisses a la Bor- 
 delaise; and those old opera people, 
 whose withered old carcasses arc 
 stuffed with them ? 
 
 The O'R. There was Ce'risette, I 
 
 ive ye me honor. Ye never saw. 
 he fell asleep in her cheer 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. In her hwhat, O'R. 1 
 
 The O'R. Well, in her CHAIR then ! 
 And Figaroff smayred her feece all 
 over with the crayin out of a Char- 
 lotte Roose. She's a regular bird 
 and mustache, you know, Ce'risette 
 has. 
 
 Mr. Hely. Charlotte, Charlotte! 
 Oh ! (He dutches his hair madly. His 
 elbows are on the table. ) 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. It's that girl he 
 meets at the tea-parties, where he 
 goes to be admired. 
 
 Mr. Hely. It is better to drink tea 
 than, like you fellows, to muddle 
 what brains you have with bad cham- 
 pagne. It is better to look,' and to 
 hear, and to see, and to dance with a 
 modest girl, than, like you fellows, to 
 be capering about in taverns with 
 painted old hags like that old Ce'ri- 
 sette, who has got a face like a pomme 
 cuite, and who danced before Lord 
 Malmesbury at the Peace of Amiens. 
 She did, I tell you ; and before Na- 
 poleon. 
 
 Mr. Chesham. (Looks up from his 
 nritiny.) There was no Napoleon 
 then. It is of no consequence, 
 but . 
 
 Lowndes. Thank you, I owe you 
 
 one. You're a most valuable man, 
 Chesham, and a credit to your father 
 and mother. 
 
 Mr. Chesham. Well, the First Con- 
 sul was Bonaparte. 
 
 Lowndes. I am obliged to you. I 
 say I am obliged to you, Chesham, 
 and if you would like any refresh- 
 ment order it meis sumptibus, old 
 boy, at my expense. 
 
 Chesham. These fellows will never 
 be serious. (He resumes his writing.) 
 
 Hely. (Iterum, but veiy low.) O 
 Charlotte, Char 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. Hely is raving about 
 that girl, that girl with the horrible 
 old mother in yellow, don't you re- 
 member ? and old fathei-, good old 
 military party, in a shabby old 
 coat, who was at the last ball. 
 What was the name? O'Rourke, 
 what is the rhyme for Baynes 1 
 
 The O'R. Pays, and be hanged to 
 you. You 're always makin' fun on 
 me, you little cockney ! 
 
 Mr. Motcomb. Hely was just as 
 bad about the Danish girl. You 
 know, Walse, you composed ever so 
 many verses to her, and wrote home 
 to your mother to ask leave to marry 
 her! 
 
 The O'R. I 'd think him big enough 
 to marry without anybody's leave, 
 only they would n't have him because 
 he 's so ugly. 
 
 Mr. Hely. Very good, O'Rourke. 
 Very neat and good. You were di- 
 verting the company with an anec- 
 dote. Will you proceed ? 
 
 The O'R. Well, then, the Ce'risette 
 had been dancing both on and ofr the 
 stage till she was dead tired, I sup- 
 pose, and so she fell dead asleep, and 
 Figaroff, taking the what-d'ye-call-'em 
 out of the Charlotte Roose, smayred 
 her face all 
 
 Voice without. Deet Mosho RINR- 
 WOOD TWYSDKN, sivoplay, poor 
 1'honorable Moshoo Lownds ! 
 
 Ken-ant. Monsieur TWYSDEN ! 
 
 Mr. Twysden. Mr. Lowndes, how 
 are you ? 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. Very well, thank 
 you ; how are you ?
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 263 
 
 Mr. Hely. Lowndes is uncommonly 
 brilliant to-day. 
 
 Mr. Twysden. Not the worse for 
 last night ? Some of us were a little 
 elevated, I think ! 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. Some of us quite the 
 reverse. (Little cad, what does he 
 want? Elevated ! he could n't keep 
 his little legs !) 
 
 Mr. Twysden. Eh ! Smoking, I 
 see. Thank you. I very seldom do, 
 but as you are so kind, puff". 
 Eh, uncommonly handsome per- 
 son that, eh, Madame Ce'risette. 
 
 The O'R. Thank ye for telling us. 
 
 Mr. Lmendes. If she meets with 
 your applause, Mr. Twysden, I should 
 think Mademoiselle Ce'risette is all 
 right. 
 
 The O'R. Maybe they 'd raise 
 her salarv if ye told her. 
 
 Mr. Twysden. Heh, I see you 're 
 chaffing me. We have a good deal 
 of that kind of thing in Somerset, 
 in our in hem ! This tobacco 
 is a little strong. I am a little shaky 
 this morning. Who, by the way, is 
 that Prince Boutzoff who played 
 lansquenet with us 1 Is he one of 
 the Livonian Boutzoffs, or one of the 
 Hessian Boutzoffs ? I remember at 
 my poor uncle's, Lord Ringwood, 
 meeting a Prince Blucher de Bout- 
 zoff, something like this man, by the 
 way. You knew my poor uncle ? 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. Dined with him here 
 three months ago at the " Trois 
 Freres." 
 
 Mr. Twysden. Been at Whipham, 
 I dare say ? I was bred up there. 
 It was said once that I was to have 
 been his heir He was very fond of 
 me. He was my godfather. 
 
 The O'R. Then he gave yon a 
 mug, and it was n't a beauty (sotto 
 voce ) . 
 
 Mr. Twysden. You said some- 
 thin ' ? I was speaking of Whipham, 
 Mr. Lowndes, one of the finest 
 places in England, I should say, ex- 
 cept Ohatsworth, you know, and that 
 sort of thing. My grandfather built 
 it, I mean my great grandfather, 
 for I 'm of the Ringwood family. 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. Then was Lord 
 Ringwood your grandfather, or your 
 grand-godfather 1 
 
 Mr. Twysden. He ! he ! My moth- 
 er was his own niece. My grand- 
 father was his own brother, and I 
 am 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. Thank you. I see 
 now. 
 
 Mr. Halkin. Das ist sehr interes- 
 sant. Ich versichere ihnen das ist 
 SEHR intercssant. 
 
 Mr. Twysden. Said somethin* ? 
 (This cigar is really I '11 throw it 
 away, please.) I was saying that at 
 Whipham, where I was bred up, we 
 would be forty at dinner, and as many 
 more in the upper servants' hall. 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. And you dined in 
 the you had pretty good dinners ? 
 
 Mr. Twysden. A French chef. 
 Two aids, besides turtle from town. 
 Two or three regular cooks on the 
 establishment, besides kitchen-maids, 
 roasters, and that kind of thing, you 
 understand. How many have you 
 here now ? In Lord Estridge's 
 kitchen you can't do, I should say, 
 at least without let me see 
 why, in our small way and if you 
 come to London my father will he 
 dev'lish glad to see you, we 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. How is Mrs. Wool- 
 comb this morning ? That was a fair 
 dinner Woolcomb gave us yesterday. 
 
 Mr. Twysden. He has plenty of 
 money, plenty of money. 1 hope, 
 Lowndes, when you come to town, 
 the first time you come, mind, to 
 give you a hearty welcome and some 
 of my father's old por 
 
 Mr. Hely. Will nobody kick this 
 little beast out ? 
 
 Servant. Monsieur Chesham peut- 
 il voir M. Firmin ? 
 
 Mr. Chesham. Certainly. Come 
 in, Firmin ! 
 
 Mr. Twysden. Mr. Fearmang, 
 Mr. Fir Mr. who? You don't 
 mean to say you receive that fellow, 
 Mr. Chesham ? 
 
 Mr. Chesham. What fellow ? and 
 what do you mean, Mr. What-d'ye- 
 call-'im ?
 
 2G4 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Mr. Tivysden. That blackg O 
 
 that is, I I beg your 
 
 Mr. Fir min (entering and going up 
 to Mr. Chesham). I say, give me a 
 bit of news of to-day. What were 
 you saying about tliat hum and 
 hum and haw, may n't I have it ? 
 (He is talking confidentially ivith Mr. 
 Chesham, when he sees Mr. Twysden.) 
 What ! you have got that little cad 
 here ? 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. You know Mr. Twys- 
 den, Mr. Firmin. He was just speak- 
 ing about you. 
 
 Mr. Firmin. Was he ? So much 
 the worse for me. 
 
 Mr. Twysden. Sir ! We don't 
 speak. You 've no right to speak to 
 me in this manner ! Don't speak to 
 me: and I won't speak to you, sir, 
 
 there! Good morn ing, Mr. Lown- 
 des ! Remember your promise to 
 come and dine with us when you 
 come to town. And one word, 
 
 (he holds Mr. Loicndcs by t/te but- 
 ton. By the u-ai/, he lias very curio'ts 
 resemblances to Ticy.idtn senior), we 
 shall be here for ten days certainly. 
 I think Lady Kstridge has something 
 next week. I have left our cards, 
 and 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. Take care. He 
 will be there (pointing to Mr. Firmin). 
 
 Mr. Twysden. What? That beg- 
 gar ? You don't mean to say Lord 
 Kstridge will receive such a fellow as 
 
 Good by, good by ! (Exit Mr. 
 Ticysden.) 
 
 Mi'. Firmin. I caught that little 
 fellow's eye. He 's my cousin, you 
 know. We have had a quarrel. I 
 am sure be was speaking about me. 
 
 Mr. fjowndes. Well, now you men- 
 tion it, he was speaking about you. 
 
 Mr. Firmin. Was he 1 ? Then don't 
 believe him, Mr. Lowndes. That is 
 my advice. 
 
 Mr. Hely ((it his desk composing). 
 " Maiden of the blushing cheek, maid- 
 en of the Charlotte, Char " 
 
 ho bites his pen and dashes off rapid 
 rhymes on government paper. 
 
 Mr. Firmin. What does he say ? 
 lie said Charlotte. 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. He is always in love 
 and breaking bis heart, and he puts 
 it into poems ; he wraps it up in 
 paper, and falls in love with some- 
 body else. Sit down and smoke a 
 cigar, won't you ? 
 
 Mr. Firmin. Can't stay. MusiJ 
 make up my letter. We print to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. Who wrote that ar- 
 ticle pitching into Peel ? 
 
 Mr. Firmin. Family secret can't 
 say good by. (Exit Mr. Firmin.) 
 
 Mr. Chesham. In my opinion a 
 most ill-advised and intemperate ar- 
 ticle. That journal, the Pall Mall 
 Gazette, indulges in a very needless 
 acrimony, I think. 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. Chesham does not 
 like to call a spade a spade. He 
 calls it a horticultural utensil. You 
 have a great career before you, 
 Chesham. You have a wisdom an<^ 
 gravity beyond your years. You bore 
 us slightly, but we all respect you, 
 we do indeed. What was the text at 
 church last Sunday? O, by the 
 w>y, Hely, you little miscreant, you 
 were at church ! 
 
 Mr. Chesham. You need not blush, 
 Hely. I am not a joking man ; but 
 this kind of jesting does not strike 
 me as being particularly amusing, 
 Lowndes. 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. You go to church 
 because you are good, because your 
 aunt was a bishop or something. 
 But Hely goes because he is a little 
 miscreant. You hypocritical little 
 beggar, you got yourself up as if you 
 were going to a dejeuner, and you had 
 your hair curled, and you were seen 
 singing out of the same hymn-book 
 with that pretty Miss Baynes, you 
 little wheedling sinner ; and you 
 walked home with the family my 
 sisters saw you to a boarding- 
 house where they live by Jove ! 
 you did. And I '11 tell your mother ! 
 
 Mr. Chesham. I wish you would 
 not make such a noise, and let me do 
 my work, Lowndes. You 
 
 Here Asmodeus whisks us out of 
 the room, and we lose the rest of the
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 265 
 
 young men's conversation. But 
 enough has been overheard, I think, 
 to show what direction young Mr. 
 Hely's thoughts had taken. Since he 
 was seventeen years of age (at the 
 time when we behold him he may be 
 twenty -three), this romantic youth 
 lias been repeatedly in love : with 
 his elderly tutor's daughter, of course ; 
 with a young haberdasher at the Uni- 
 versity ; with his sister's confidential 
 friend ; with the blooming young 
 Danish beauty last year ; and now, I 
 very much fear, a young acquaint- 
 ance of ours has attracted the atten- 
 tion of this imaginative Don Juan. 
 Whenever Hely is in love, he fancies 
 his passion will last forever, makes 
 a confidant of the first person at 
 hand, weeps plentcously, and writes 
 reams of verses. Do you remember 
 how in a previous chapter we told you 
 that Mrs. Ttiffin was determined she 
 would not ask Philip to her soirees, 
 and declared him to lie a forward and 
 disagreeable young man ? She was 
 glad enough to receive young Wal- 
 singham Hely, with his languid air, 
 his drooping head, his fair curls, and 
 his flower in his button-hole ; and 
 Hely, being then in hot pursuit of one 
 of the tall Miss Blacklocks, went to 
 Mrs. Tuffin's, was welcomed there 
 -with all the honors ; and there, flut- 
 tering away from Miss Blacklock, 
 our butterfly lighted on Miss Baynes. 
 Now Miss Baynes would have danced 
 with a mopstick, she was so fond of 
 dancing : and Hely, who had prac- 
 tised in a thousand Chaumieres, 
 Mabilles (or whatever was the public 
 dance-room then in vogue), was a 
 most amiable, agile, and excellent 
 partner. And she told Philip next 
 day what a nice little partner she had 
 found, poor Philip, who was not 
 asked to that paradise of a party. 
 And Philip said that he knew the 
 little man ; that he believed he was 
 rich ; that he wrote pretty little 
 verses : in a word, Philip, in his 
 leonine ways, regarded little Hely as 
 a lion regards a lapdog. 
 Now this little Slyboots had a 
 12 
 
 thousand artful little ways. He had 
 a very keen sensibility and a fine 
 taste, which was most readily touched 
 by innocence and beauty. lie had 
 tears, I won't say at command ; for 
 they were under no command, and 
 gushed from his fine eyes in spite of 
 himself. Charlotte's innocence and 
 freshness smote him with a keen 
 pleasure. Bon Dieu ! What was 
 that great tall Miss Blacklock who 
 had tramped through a thousand 
 ball-rooms, compared to this artless, 
 happy creature ? He danced away 
 from Miss Blacklock and after Char- 
 lotte the moment he saw our young 
 friend ; and the Blacklocks, who knew 
 all about him, and his money, and his 
 mother, and his expectations, who 
 had his verses in their poor album, 
 by whose carriage he had capered 
 day after day in the Bois de Bou- 
 logne, stood scowling and deserted, 
 as this young fellow danced off with 
 that Miss Baynes, who lived in .a 
 boiirding-house, and came to parties 
 in a cab with her horrid old mother ! 
 The LHaeklocks were as though they 
 were not henceforth for Mr. Hely. 
 They asked him to dinner. Bless 
 my soul, he utterly forgot all about 
 it ! He never came to their box on 
 their night at the opera. Not one 
 twinge of remorse had he. Not one 
 pang of remembrance. If he did re- 
 member them, it was when they I ored 
 him, like those tall tragic women in 
 black who are always coining in their 
 great long trains to sing sermons to 
 Don Juan. Ladies, your name is 
 down in his Lordship's catalogue ; his 
 servant has it ; and you, Miss Anna, 
 are number one thousand and three. 
 But as for Miss Charlotte, that is 
 a different affair. What innocence ! 
 What a fraicheur ! What a merry 
 good - humor ! Don Slyboots is 
 touched, he is tenderly interested : 
 her artless voice thrills through his 
 frame ; he trembles as he waltzes 
 with her ; as his fine eyes look at her, 
 psha ! what is that film coming over 
 them ? O Slyboots, Slyboots ! And, 
 as she has nothing to conceal, she
 
 266 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 has told him all he wants to know 
 before long. This is her first win- 
 ter in Paris : her first season of 
 coming out. She has only been to 
 two balls before, and two plays and 
 an opera. And her father met Mr. 
 Hely at Lord Trim's. That was her 
 father playing at whist. And they 
 lived at Madame Smolensk's board- 
 ing-house in the Champs Elysees. 
 And they had been to Mr. Dash's, 
 and to Mrs. Blank's, and she believed 
 they were going to Mrs. Star's on I 
 Friday. And did they go to church ? 
 Of course they went to church, to the 
 Rue d'Aguessean, or wherever it 
 might be. And Slyboots went to 
 church next Sunday. You may per- j 
 haps guess to what church. And he ' 
 went the Sunday after. And he ' 
 sang his own songs, accompanying j 
 himself on the guitar, at his lodgings. < 
 And he sang elsewhere. And he had i 
 a very pretty little voice, Slyboots 
 had. I believe those poems under 
 the common title of " Gretchen " in ! 
 our Walsingham's charming volume ; 
 were all inspired by Miss Baynes. 
 He began to write about her and 
 himself the very first night after see- | 
 ing her. He smoke'l cigarettes, and 
 drank green tea. He looked so pale 
 so pale ami sad that he quite pitied 
 himself in the looking-glass in his ' 
 apartments in the Rue Mirome'nil. 
 And he compared himself to a j 
 wrecked mariner, and to a grave, and 
 to a man entranced and brought to 
 life. And he cried quite freely and 
 satisfactorily by himself. And he ! 
 went to see his mother and sister | 
 next day at the " Hotel de la Ter- 
 rasse," and cried to them and said 
 he was in love this time forever and 
 ever. And his sister called him a 
 goose. And after crying he ate an ' 
 uncommonly good dinner. And he 
 took every one into his confidence, as I 
 he always did whenever he was in | 
 love : always telling, always making 
 verses, and always crying. As for 
 Miss Blacklock, he buried the dead 
 body of that love deep in the ocean , 
 of his soul. The waves engulfed | 
 
 Miss B. The ship rolled on. The 
 storm went down. And the stars 
 rose, and the dawn was in his soul, 
 &c. Well, well ! The mother was a 
 vulgar woman, and I am glad you 
 are out of it And what sort of peo- 
 ple are General Baynes and Mrs. 
 Baynes ? 
 
 " O, delightful people ! Most dis- 
 tinguished officer, the father ; modest 
 does n't say a word. The mother, 
 a most lively, brisk, agreeable woman. 
 You must go and see her, ma'am. 
 I desire you '11 go immediately." 
 
 " And leave cards with P. P. C. 
 for the Miss Blacklocks ! " says Miss 
 Hely, who was a plain, lively person. 
 And both mother and sister spoiled 
 this young Hely ; as women ought 
 always to spoil a son, a brother, a 
 father, husband, grandfather, any 
 male relative, in a word. 
 
 To see this spoiled son married 
 was the good-natured mother's fond 
 prayer. An eldest son had died a 
 rake ; a victim to too much money, 
 pleasure, idleness. The widowed 
 mother would give anything to save 
 this one from the career through 
 which the other had passed. The 
 young man would be one day so 
 wealthy that she knew many and 
 many a schemer would try and en- 
 trap him. Perhaps she had been 
 made to marry his father because he 
 was rich ; and she remembered the 
 gloom and wretchedness of her own 
 union. O that she could see her son 
 out of temptation, and the husband 
 of an honest girl ! It was the young 
 lady's first season ? So much the 
 more likely that she should be un- 
 worldly. " The General don't you 
 remember a nice old gentleman in 
 a well, in a wig that day we 
 dined at Lord Trim's, when that hor- 
 rible old Lord Ringwood was there ? 
 That was General Baynes ; and he 
 broke out so enthusiastically in de- 
 fence of a poor young man, Dr. 
 Firmin's son, who was a bad man, 
 I believe ; but I shall never have con- 
 fidence in another doctor again, that 
 I sha' n't. And we '11 call upon thes
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 2G7 
 
 people, Fanny. Yes, in a brown wig, 
 the General, I perfectly well re- 
 member him, and Lord Trim said he 
 was a most distinguished officer. 
 And I have no doubt his wife will be 
 a most agreeable person. Those 
 generals' wives who have travelled 
 over the world must have acquired a 
 quantity of delightful information. 
 At a boarding-house, are they ? I 
 dare say very pleasant and amusing. 
 And we '11 drive there and call on 
 them immediately." 
 
 On that day, as MacGrigor and 
 Moira Baynes were disporting in the 
 little front garden of Madame Smo- 
 lensk's, I think Moira was just about 
 to lick MacGrigor, when his fratrici- 
 dal hand was stopped by the sight of a [ 
 large yellow carriage, a large Lon- j 
 don dowager family carriage, from ! 
 which descended a large London fam- 
 ily footman, with side-locks begrimed j 
 with powder, with calves such as ' 
 only belong to large London family 
 footmen, and with cards in his hand. ! 
 " Ceci Madame Smolensk ? " says 
 the large menial. "Oui," says the 
 boy, nodding his head ; on which the , 
 footman was puzzled, for he thought I 
 from his readiness in the use of the 
 French language that the boy was a 
 Frenchman. 
 
 " Ici demure General Bang ? " con- 
 tinued the man. 
 
 " Hand us over the cards, John. 
 Not at home," said Moira. 
 
 " Who ain't at 'ome ? " inquired 
 the menial. 
 
 " General Baynes, my father, ain't 
 at home. He shall have the paste- 
 board when he comes in. ' Mrs. 
 Hely ? ' O Mac, it 's the same j 
 name as that young swell who called , 
 the other day ! Ain't at home, John. \ 
 Gone out to pay some visits. Had . 
 a fly on purpose. Gone out with my 
 sister. ' Pon my word, they have, 
 John." And from this accurate re- 
 port of the boy's behavior, I fear 
 that the ^young Baynes must have 
 been brought up at a classical and 
 commercial academy, where economy 
 was more studied than politeness. 
 
 Philip comes trudging up to din- 
 ner, and as this is not his post day, 
 arrives early ; he hopes, perhaps, for 
 a walk with Miss Charlotte, or a coze 
 in Madame Smolensk's little private 
 room. He finds the two boys in the 
 forecourt ; and they have Mrs. Hely's 
 cards in their hands ; and they nar- 
 rate to him the advent and departure 
 of the lady in the swell carriage, the 
 mother of the young swell with the 
 flower in his button-hole, who came 
 the other day on such a jolly horse. 
 " Yes. And he was at church last 
 Sunday, Philip, and he gave Char- 
 lotte a hymn-book. And he sang: 
 he sang like the piper who played 
 before Moses, Pa said. And Ma said 
 it was wicked, but it wasn't: only 
 Pa's fun, you know. And Ma said 
 you never came to church. Why 
 don't you ? " 
 
 Philip had no taint of jealousy in 
 his magnanimous composition, and 
 would as soon have accused Charlotte 
 of flirting with other men as of steal- 
 ing madame's silver spoons. " So you 
 have had some fine visitors," he says, 
 as the fly drives up. " I remember 
 that rich Mrs. Hely, a patient of my 
 father's. My poor mother used to 
 drive to her house." 
 
 " O, we have seen a great deal of 
 Mr. Hely, Philip ! " cries Miss Char- 
 lotte, not heeding the scowls of her 
 mother, who is nodding and beckon- 
 ing angrily to the girl. 
 
 " You never once mentioned him. 
 He is one of the greatest dandies alx.ut 
 Paris : ctiite a lion," remarks Philip. 
 
 " Is he? What a funny little lion ! 
 I never thought about him," s:iys 
 Miss Charlotte, quite simply. O in- 
 gratitude ! ingratitude! And we 
 have told how Mr. Wnlsinglium was 
 crying his eyes out for her. 
 
 " She never thought about him 1 " 
 cries Mrs. Baynes, quite eagerly. 
 
 " The piper, is it, you 're talking 
 about l " asks papa. "I called him 
 piper, you see, because he piped so 
 sweetly at ch Well, my love 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Baynes was nudging her Gen- 
 eral at this moment. She did nof
 
 2G8 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 wish that the piper should form the 
 subject of conversation, I suppose. 
 
 " The piper's mother is very rich, 
 and the piper will inherit after her. 
 She has a line house in London. 
 She gives very fine parties. She 
 drives in a great carriage, and she has 
 come to call upon you, and ask you 
 to her balls, I suppose." 
 
 Mrs. Baynes was delighted at this 
 call. And when she said, " I 'm sure 
 / don't value fine people, or their fine 
 parties, or their fine carriages, but I 
 wish that my dear child should see 
 the world," I don't believe a word 
 which Mrs. Baynes said. She was 
 much more pleased than Charlotte at 
 the idea of visiting this fine lady ; or 
 else, why should she have coaxed, and 
 wheedled, and been so particularly 
 gracious to the General all the even- 
 ing ? She wanted a new gown. 
 The truth is, her yellow was very 
 shabby ; whereas Charlotte, in plain 
 white muslin, looked pretty enough 
 to be able to dispense with the aid of 
 any French milliner. I fancy a con- 
 sultation with madame and Mrs. 
 Bunch. I fancy a fly ordered, and 
 a visit to the milliner's the next day. 
 And when the pattern of the gown is 
 settled with the milliner, I fancy the 
 terror on Mrs. Baynes's wizened face 
 when she ascertains the amount of 
 the bill. To do her justice, the Gen- 
 eral's wife had spent little upon her 
 own ho:nely person. She chose her 
 gowns ugly, but cheap. There were 
 so many backs to clothe in that fam- 
 ily that the thrifty mother did not 
 heed the decoration of her own. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 NEC DULCES AMORES 8PERVE, PUER, 
 NEQUE TU CHOREAS. 
 
 "Mr dear," Mrs. Baynes said to 
 her daughter, " you are going out a 
 great deal in the world now. You 
 will go to a great number of places 
 where poor Philip cannot hope to be 
 admitted." 
 
 " Not admit Philip, mamma ! then 
 I 'm sure I don't want to go," cries 
 the girl. 
 
 " Time enough to leave off going 
 to parties when you can't afford it 
 and marry him. When I was a lieu- 
 tenant's wife, I did n't go to any par- 
 ties out of the regiment, my dear ! " 
 
 " O, then, I am sure I shall never 
 want to go out ! " Charlotte declares. 
 
 " You fancy he will always stop at 
 home, I dare say. Men are not all 
 so domestic as your papa. Very few 
 love to stop at home like him. In- 
 deed, I may say that I have made his 
 home comfortable. But one thing is 
 clear, my child. Philip can't always 
 expect to go where we go. He is not 
 in the position in life. Recollect, 
 your father is a general officer, C.B., 
 and may be K. C. B. soon, and your 
 mother is a general officer's lady. 
 We may go anywhere. I might have 
 gone to the drawing-room at home if 
 I chose. Lady Biggs would have 
 been delighted to present me. Your 
 aunt has been to the drawing-room, 
 and she is only Mrs. Major Mac- 
 Whirter ; and most absurd it was of 
 Mac to let her go. But she rules 
 him in everything, and they have no 
 children. I have, goodness knows ! 
 I sacrifice myself for my children. 
 You little know what I deny myself 
 for my children. I said to Lady 
 Biggs, ' No, Lady Biggs ; my hus- 
 band may go. He should go. He 
 has his uniform, and it will cost him 
 nothing except a fly and a bouquet for 
 the man who drives ; but / will not 
 spend money on myself for the hire 
 of diamonds and feathers, and, though 
 I yield in loyalty to no person, I dare 
 say my Sovereign won't miss me.' And 
 I don t think her Majesty did. She 
 has other things to think of besides 
 Mrs. General Baynes, I suppose. 
 She is a mother, and can appreciate 
 a mother's sacrifices for her children." 
 
 If I have not hitherto given you 
 detailed reports of Mrs. General 
 Baynes's conversation, I don't think, 
 my esteemed reader, you will be very 
 angry.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 269 
 
 "Now, child," the General's lady 
 continued, " let me warn you not to 
 talk much to Philip about those places 
 to which you go without him, and to 
 which his position in life does not al- 
 low of his coming. Hide anything 
 from him ? O dear, no ! Only for 
 his own good, you understand. I 
 don't tell everything to your papa. I 
 should only worrit him and vex him. 
 When anything will please him and 
 make him happy, then I tell him. 
 And about Philip ? Philip, I must 
 say it, my dear, I must as a mother 
 say it has his faults. He is an en- 
 vious man. Don't look shocked. He 
 thinks very well of himself; and hav- 
 ing been a great deal spoiled, and 
 made too much of in his unhappy 
 father's time, he is so proud and 
 haughty that he forgtts his position, 
 and thinks he ought to live with the 
 highest society. Had Lord Ring- 
 wood left him a fortune, as Philip led 
 vs to expect when we gave our consent 
 to this most unlucky match, for 
 that my dear child should marry a 
 beggar is most unlucky and most de- 
 plorable; I can't help saying so, 
 Charlotte, if I were on my death- 
 bed I could n't help saying so ; and I 
 wish with all my heart we had never 
 seen or heard of him. There ! 
 Don't go off in one of your tantrums ! 
 What was I saying, pray 1 ? I say 
 that Philip is in no position, or rather 
 in a very humble one, which a 
 mere newspaper-writer and a subaltern 
 too everybody acknowledges to be. 
 And if he hears us talking about our 
 parties to which we have a right to 
 go, to which you have a right to 
 go with your mother, a general offi- 
 cer's lady, why he '11 be offended. 
 He won't like to hear about them and 
 thiHk he can't be invited ; and you 
 had better not talk about them at all, 
 or about the people you meet, you 
 dance with. At Mrs. Hely's you 
 may dance with Lord Head-bury, the 
 ambassador's son. And if you tell 
 Philip he will be offended. He will 
 say that you boast about it. When I 
 was only a lieutenant's wife at Bar- 
 
 rackpore, Mrs. Captain Capers used 
 to go to Calcutta to the Government 
 House balls. I did n't go. But I 
 j was offended, and I used to say that 
 ' Flora Capers gave herself airs, and 
 j was always boasting of her intimacy 
 with the Marchioness of Hastings. 
 We don't like our equals to be better 
 off than ourselves. Mark my words. 
 And if you talk to Philip about the 
 people whom you meet in society, and 
 whom he can t from his unfortunate 
 station expect to know, you wil] 
 offend him. That was why I nudged 
 you to-day when you were going on 
 about Mr. Hely. Anything so ab- 
 surd ! I saw Philip getting angry at 
 once, and biting his mustaches, as 
 he always does when he is angry, 
 and swears quite out loud, so vul- 
 gar ! There ! you are going to be 
 angry again, my love ; I never saw 
 anything like you ! Is this my 
 Charly who never was angry 1 I 
 know the world, dear, and you don't. 
 Look at me, how I manage your 
 papa, and I tell you don't talk to 
 Philip about things whkh offend 
 him ! Now, dearest, kiss your poor 
 old mother who loves you. Go up 
 stairs and bathe your eyes, and come 
 down happy to dinner." And at 
 dinner Mrs. General Baynes was un- 
 commonly gracious to Philip : and 
 when gracious she was especially 
 odious to Philip, whose magnanimous 
 nature accommodated itself ill to the 
 wheedling artifices of an ill-bred old 
 woman. 
 
 Following this wretched mother's 
 advice, my poor Charlotte spoke 
 scarcely at all to Philip of the parties 
 to which she went, and the amuse- 
 ments which she enjoyed without 
 him. I dare say Mrs. Baynes was 
 quite happy in thinking that she was 
 " guiding her child rightly. As if 
 a coarse woman, because she is mean, 
 and greedy, and hypocritical, and 
 fifty years old, has a right to lead a 
 guileless nature into wrong ! Ah ! if 
 some of us old folks were to go to 
 school to our children, I am sure, 
 madam, it would do us a great deal
 
 270 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 of good. There is a fund of good 
 sense and honorable feeling about my 
 great-grandson Tommy, which is 
 more valuable than all his grand- 
 papa's experience and knowledge of 
 the world. Knowledge of the world 
 forsooth ! Compromise, selfishness 
 modified, and double dealing. Tom 
 disdains a lie : when he wants a peach, 
 he roars for it. If his mother wishes 
 to go to a party, she coaxes, and 
 wheedles, and manages, and smirks, 
 and courtesies for months, in order to 
 get her end; takes twenty rebuffs, 
 and comes up to the scratch again 
 smiling ; and this woman is forever 
 lecturing her daughters, and preach- 
 ing to her sons upon virtue, honesty, 
 and moral behavior ! 
 
 Mrs. Hely's little party at the 
 " Hotel de la Terrasse " was very 
 pleasant and bright ; and Miss Char- 
 lotte enjoyed it, although her swain 
 was not present. But Philip was 
 pleased that his little Charlotte should 
 be happy. She beheld with wonder- 
 ment Parisian duchesses, American 
 millionnaires, dandies from the em- 
 bassies, deputies and peers of France 
 with large stars and wigs like papa. 
 She gayly described her party to 
 Philip ; described, that is to say, 
 everything but her own success, which 
 was undoubted. There were many 
 beauties at Mrs. Holy's, but nobody 
 fresher or prettier. The Miss Black- 
 locks retired very early and in the 
 worst po-sible temper. Prince Sly- 
 boots did not in the least heed their 
 going away. His thoughts were all 
 fixed upon little Charlotte. Char- 
 lotte's mamma saw the imp'rcssion 
 which the girl made, and was filled 
 with a hungry joy. Good-natured 
 Mrs. Hely complimented her on her 
 daughter. " Thank God, she is as 
 good as she is pretty," said the 
 mother, I am sure speaking seriously 
 this time regarding her daughter. 
 Prince Slyboots danced with scarce 
 anybody else. He raised a perfect 
 whirlwind of compliments round 
 about Charlotte. She was quite a 
 simple person, and did not under- 
 
 stand one tenth part of what he said 
 to her. He strewed her path with 
 roses of poesy : he scattered garlands 
 of sentiment before her all the way 
 from the antechamber down stairs, 
 and so to the fly which was in wait- 
 ing to take her and parents home to 
 the boarding-house. " By George, 
 Charlotte, I think you have smitten 
 that fellow," cries the General, who 
 was infinitely amused by young Hely, 
 his raptures, his affectations, his 
 long hair, and what Baynes called 
 his low dress. A slight white tape 
 and a ruby button confined Hely's 
 neck. His hair waved over his shoul- 
 ders. Baynes had never seen such a 
 specimen. At the mess of the stout 
 120th, the lads talked of their dogs, 
 horses, and sport. A young civilian, 
 smattering in poetry, chattering in a 
 dozen languages, scented, smiling, 
 perfectly at ease with himself and the 
 world, was a novelty to the old officer. 
 And now the Queen's birthday ar- 
 rived, and that it may arrive for 
 many scores of years yet to come is, 
 I am sure, the prayer of all of us, 
 and with the birthday his Excellency 
 Lord Estridge's grand annual fete in 
 honor of his sovereign. A card for 
 their ball was left at Madame 
 Smolensk's, for General, Mrs and 
 Miss Baynes ; and no doubt Mon- 
 sieur Slyboots Walsingham Hely 
 was the artful agent by whom the in- 
 vitation was forwarded. Once more 
 the General's veteran uniform came 
 out from the tin-box, with its dingy 
 epaulets and little cross and ribbon. 
 His wife urged on him strongly the 
 necessity of having a new wig, wigs 
 being very cheap and good at Paris, 
 but Baynes said a new wig would 
 make his old coat look very shabby, 
 and a new uniform would cost more 
 money than he would like to afford. 
 So shabby he went de cap a pied, 
 with a moulting feather, a threadbare 
 suit, a tarnished wig, and a worn-out 
 lace, sibi constans. Boots, trousers, 
 sash, coat, were all old and worse for 
 wear, and " Faith," says he, " my 
 face follows suit." A brave, silent
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 271 
 
 man was Baynes ; with a twinkle of 
 humor in his lean, wrinkled face. 
 
 And if General Baynes was shab- 
 bily attired at the Embassy ball, I 
 think I know a friend of mine who was 
 shabby too. In the days of his pros- 
 perity, Mr. Philip was jmrcus cidtor et 
 infreqmns of balls, routs, and ladies' 
 company. Perhaps because his father 
 was angered at Philip's neglect of his 
 social advantages and indifference as 
 to success in the world, Philip was 
 the more neglectful and indifferent. 
 The elder's comedy - smiles, and 
 solemn, hypocritical politeness caused 
 scorn and revolt on the part of the 
 younger man. Philip despised the 
 humbug, and the world to which such 
 humbug could be welcome. He kept 
 aloof from tea-parties then : his even- 
 ing-dress clothes served him for a 
 long time. I cannot say how old his 
 dress-coat was at the time of which 
 we are writing. But he had been 
 in the habit of respecting that gar- 
 ment and considering it new and 
 handsome for many years past. 
 Meanwhile the coat had shrunk, or 
 its wearer had grown stouter ; and 
 his grand embroidered, embossed, 
 illuminated, carved and gilt velvet 
 dress waistcoat, too, had narrowed, 
 had become absurdly tight and short, 
 and I dare say was the laughing-stock 
 of many of Philip's acquaintances, 
 whilst he himself, poor simple fellow, 
 was fancying that it was a most 
 splendid article of apparel. You 
 know in the Palais Royal they hang 
 out the most splendid reach-me-down 
 dressing-gowns, waistcoats, and so 
 forth. " No," thought Philip coming 
 out of his cheap dining-house, and 
 swaggering along the arcades, and 
 looking at the tailors' shops, with his 
 hands in his pockets. " My brown 
 velvet dress waistcoat with the gold 
 sprigs, which I had made at college, is 
 a much more tasty thing than these 
 gaudy ready-made articles. And my 
 coat is old certainly, but the brass 
 buttons are still very bright and 
 handsome, and, in fact, it is a most 
 becoming and gentlemanlike thing." 
 
 And under this delusion the honest 
 fellow dressed himself, in his old 
 clothes, lighted a pair of candles, and 
 looked at himself with satisfaction in 
 the looking-glass, drew on a pair of 
 cheap gloves which he had bought, 
 walked by the Quays, and over the 
 Deputies' Bridge, across the Place 
 Louis XV., and strutted up the 
 Faubourg St. Honore' to the Hotel of 
 the British Embassy. A half-mile 
 queue of carriages was formed along 
 the street, and of course the entrance 
 to the hotel was magnificently illum- 
 inated. 
 
 A plague on those cheap gloves ! 
 Why had not Philip paid three francs 
 for a pair of gloves, instead of twenty- 
 nine sous ? Mrs. Baynes had found 
 a capital cheap glove shop, whither 
 poor Phil had gone in the simplicity 
 of his heart ; and now as he went in 
 under the grand illuminated porte- 
 cochere, Philip saw that the gloves had 
 given way at the thumbs, and that his 
 hands appeared through the rents, as 
 red as raw beefsteaks. It is wonder- 
 ful how red hands will look through 
 holes in white gloves. " And there 's 
 that hole in my boot, too," thought 
 Phil ; but he had put a little ink over 
 the seam, and so the rent was impercep- 
 tible. The coat and waistcoat were 
 tight, and of a past age. Never mind. 
 The chest was broad, the arms were 
 muscular and long, and Phil's face, 
 in the midst of a halo of fair hair and 
 flaming whiskers, looked brave, hon- 
 est, and handsome. For a while his 
 eyes wandered fiercely and restlessly 
 all about the room from group to 
 group ; but now ah ! now they 
 were settled. They had met another 
 pair of eyes, which lighted up with 
 glad welcome when they beheld him. 
 Two young cheeks mantled with a 
 sweet blush. These were Charlotte's 
 cheeks : and hard by them were mam- 
 ma's of a very different color. But 
 Mrs. General Baynes had a knowing 
 turban on, and a set of garnets round 
 her old neck, like gooseberries set in 
 gold. 
 They admired the rooms : they heard
 
 272 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 the names of the great folks who ar- 
 rived, and beheld many famous per- 
 sonages. Tliey made their courtesies 
 to the ambassadress. Confusion ! 
 With a great rip, the thumb of one of 
 those cheap gloves of Philip's parts 
 company from the rest of the glove, 
 and he is obliged to wear it crumpled up 
 in his hand: a dreadful mishap, 
 for he is going to dance with Char- 
 lotte, and he will have to give his 
 hand to the vis-a-vis. 
 
 Who comes np smiling, with a low 
 neck, with waving curls and whiskers, 
 pretty little hands exquisitely gloved, 
 and "tiny feet? 'T is Walsingham 
 Hely, lightest in the dance. Most 
 affably does Mrs. General Bayncs 
 greet the young fellow. Very brightly 
 and happily do Charlotte's eyes glance 
 towards her favorite partner. It is 
 certain that poor Phil can't hope at 
 all to dance like Hely. " And see 
 what nice neat feet and hands he has 
 got," says Mrs. Baynes. " Comme il 
 est bien gante ! A gentleman ought 
 to be always well gloved." 
 
 " Why did you send me to the 
 twenty-nine-sous shop ? " says poor 
 Phil, looking at his tattered hand- 
 shoes and red obtrusive thumb. 
 
 "O you!" (here Mrs. Baynes 
 shrugs her yellow old shoulders.) 
 " Your hands would burst through 
 any gloves! How do you do, Mr. 
 Holy? Is your mamma here? Of 
 course she is ! What a delightful 
 party she gave us ! The dear ambas- 
 sadress looks quite unwell, most 
 pleasing manners, I am sure ; Lord 
 Estridge, what a perfect gentleman ! " 
 
 The Bayneses were just come. For 
 what dance was Miss Baynes disen- 
 gaged ? " As many as ever you 
 hke!" cries Charlotte, who, in fact, 
 called Hely her little dancing-master, 
 and never thought of him except as 
 a partner. " O, too much happiness ! 
 O that this could last forever ! " 
 sighed Hely, after a waltz, polka, 
 mazurka, I know not what, and fixing 
 on Charlotte the full blaze of his 
 beauteous blue eyes. " Forever ; " 
 cries Charlotte, laughing. " I 'm 
 
 very fond of dancing, indeed ; and 
 you dance beautifully: but I don't 
 know that I should like to dance for- 
 ever." Ere the words are over, he is 
 whirling her round the room again. 
 His little feet fly with surprising 
 agility. His hair floats behind him. 
 He scatters odors as he spins. The 
 handkerchief with which he fans his 
 pale brow is like a cloudy film 
 of muslin, and poor old Philip sees 
 with terror that AM pocket-handker- 
 chief has got three great holes in it. 
 His nose and one eye appeared through 
 one of the holes while Phil was wiping 
 his forehead. It was very hot. He 
 was very hot. He was hotter, though 
 standing still, than young Hely who 
 was dancing. " He ! he ! I compli- 
 ment you on your gloves, and your 
 handkerchief, I 'm sure," sniggers 
 Mrs. Baynes, with a toss of her tur- 
 ban. Has it not been said that a bull 
 is a strong, courageous, and noble 
 animal, but a bull in a china-shop is 
 not in his place ? " There you go. 
 Thank you ! I wish you'd go some- 
 where else," cries Mrs. Baynes in a 
 fury. Poor Philip's foot has just gone 
 through her flounce. How red is he ! 
 how much hotter than ever ! There 
 go Hely and Charlotte, whirling round 
 like two opera-dancers ! Philip grinds 
 his teeth, he buttons his coat across 
 his chest. How very tight it feels ! 
 How savagely his eyes glare ! Do 
 young men still look savage and 
 solemn at balls ? An ingenuous 
 young Englishman ought to do that 
 duty of dancing, of course. Society 
 calls upon him. But I doubt whether 
 he ought to look cheerful during the 
 performance, or flippantly engage in 
 so grave a matter. 
 
 As Charlotte's sweet round face 
 beamed smiles upon Philip over He- 
 ly's shoulders, it looked so happy 
 that he never thought of grudging 
 her her pleasure : and happy he 
 might have remained in this contem- 
 plation, regarding not the circle of 
 dancer*, who were galloping and 
 whirling on at their usual swift rate, 
 but her, who was the centre of all
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 273 
 
 joy and pleasure for him ; when 
 suddenly a shrill voice was heard be- 
 hind him, crying, " Get out of the 
 way, hang you ! " and suddenly there 
 bounced against him Ringwood Twys- 
 den, pulling Miss Flora Trotter round 
 the room, one of the most powerful 
 and intrepid dancers of that season 
 at Paris. They hurtled past Philip ; 
 they shot him forward against a pil- 
 lar. He heard a screech, an oath, 
 and another loud laugh from Twys- 
 den, and beheld the scowls of Miss 
 Trotter as that rapid creature bumped 
 at length into a place of safety. 
 
 I told you about Philip's coat It 
 was very tight. The daylight had long 
 been struggling to make an entry at 
 the seams. As he staggered up 
 against the wall, crack ! went a great 
 hole at his back ; and crack ! one of 
 his gold buttons came off, leaving a 
 rent in his chest. It was in those 
 days when gold buttons still lingered 
 on the breasts of some brave men, 
 and we have said simple Philip still 
 thought his coat a fine one. 
 
 There was not only a rent of the 
 seam, there was not only a burst but- 
 ton, but there was also a rip in Phil- 
 ip's rich cut-velvet waistcoat, with 
 the gold sprigs, which he thought so 
 handsome, a great heart-rending 
 scar. What was to be done ? Re- 
 treat was necessary. He told Miss 
 Charlotte of the hurt he had received, 
 whose face wore a very comical look 
 of pity at his misadventure, he 
 covered part of his wound with his 
 gibus hat, and he thought he would 
 try and make his way out by the gar- 
 den of the hotel, which, of course, 
 was illuminated, and bright, and 
 crowded, but not so very bright and 
 crowded as the saloons, galleries, 
 supper-rooms, and halls of gilded 
 light in which the company, for the 
 most part, assembled. 
 
 So our poor wounded friend wan- 
 dered into the garden, over which the 
 moon was shining with the most blank 
 indifference at the fiddling, feasting, 
 and party-colored lamps. He says 
 that his mind was soothed by the as- 
 12* 
 
 pect of yonder placid moon and 
 twinkling stars, and that he had 
 altogether forgotten his trumpery lit- 
 tle accident and torn coat and waist- 
 coat : but I doubt about the entire 
 truth of this statement, for there have 
 been some occasions when he, Mr. 
 Philip, hits mentioned the subject, and 
 owned that he was mortified and in a 
 rage. 
 
 Well. He went into the garden, 
 and was calming himself by contem- 
 templating the stars, when, just by that 
 fountain where there is Pradier's little 
 statue of Moses in the Bulrushes, 
 let us say, round which there was 
 a beautiful row of illuminated lamps, 
 lighting up a great coronal of flowers, 
 which my dear readers are at liberty 
 to select and arrange according to 
 | their own exquisite taste ; near this 
 | little fountain he found three gentle- 
 men talking together. 
 
 The high voice of one Philip could 
 hear, and knew from old days. Ring- 
 wood Twysden, Esquire, always liked 
 to talk and toexcite himself with other 
 persons' liquor. He had been drink- 
 ing the Sovereign's health with great 
 assiduity, I suppose, and was exceed- 
 ingly loud and happy. With Ring- 
 wood was Mr. Woolcomb, whose 
 countenance the lamps lit up in a fine 
 lurid manner, and whose eyeballs 
 gleamed in the twilight : and the 
 third of the group was our young 
 friend Mr. Lowndes. 
 
 " I owed him one, you see, 
 Lowndes," said Mr. Rinywood Twys- 
 den. " I hate the fellow ! Hang 
 him, always did ! I saw the great 
 hulkin' brute standin' there. Couldn't 
 help myself. Give you my honor, 
 could n't help myself. I just drove 
 Miss Trotter at him, sent her ellow 
 well into him, and spun him up against 
 the wall. The buttons cracked off' the 
 beggar's coat, begad ! What business 
 had he there, hang him 1 Gad, sir, 
 he made a cannon off an old woman 
 in blue, and went into . . . . " 
 
 Here Mr. Rmgwood's speech came 
 to an end ; for his cousin stood before 
 him, grim and biting his mustache.
 
 274 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 "Hullo' 1 ' piped the other. "Who 
 wante you to overhear my conversa- 
 tion ? Dammy, I say ! I . ..." 
 
 Philip put out that hand with the 
 torn glove. The glove was in a 
 dreadful state of disruption now. He 
 worked the hand well into his kins- 
 jnan's neck, and twisting Ringwood 
 round into a proper position, brought 
 that poor old broken boot so to bear 
 upon the proper quarter, that Ring- 
 wood was discharged into the little 
 font, and lighted amidst the flowers, 
 and the water, and the oil-lamps, and 
 made a dreadful mess and splutter 
 amongst them. And as for Philip's 
 coat, it was torn worse than ever. 
 
 I don't know how many of the 
 brass buttons had revolted and parted 
 company from the poor old cloth, 
 which cracked and split, and tore 
 under the agitation of that beating 
 angry bosom. I blush as I think of 
 Mr. Firmin in this ragged state, a 
 great rent all across his back, and his 
 prostrate enemy lying howling in the 
 water, amidst the sputtering, crash- 
 ing oil-lamps at his feet. When 
 Cinderella quitted her first ball, just 
 after the clock struck twelve, we all 
 know how shabby she looked. Philip 
 was a still more disreputable object 
 when he slunk away. I don't know 
 by what side door Mr. Lowndes elim- 
 inated him. He also benevolently 
 took charge of Philip's kinsman and 
 antagonist, Mr. Ringwood Twysden. 
 Mr. Twysden's hands, coat-tails, &c., 
 were very much singed and scalded 
 by the oil, and cut by the broken 
 glass, which was all extracted at the 
 Beaujon Hospital, but not without 
 much suffering on the part of the pa- 
 tient. But though young Lowndes 
 spoke up for Philip, in describing the 
 scene (I fear not without laughter), 
 his Excellency caused Mr. Firmin's 
 name to be erased from his party 
 lists : and I am sure no sensible man 
 will defend Philip's conduct for a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 Of this lamentable fracas which oc- 
 curred in the Hotel Garden, Miss 
 Baynes and her parents had no 
 
 knowledge for a while. Charlotte 
 was too much occupied with her 
 dancing, which she pursued with all 
 her might ; papa was at cards with 
 some sober male and female veterans, 
 and mamma was looking with delight 
 at her daughter, whom the young 
 gentlemen of many embassies were 
 charmed to choose for a partner. 
 
 j When Lord Headbury, Lord Est- 
 ridge's son, was presented to Miss 
 Baynes, her mother was so elated that 
 she was ready to dance too. I do not 
 
 I envy Mrs. Major MacWhirter, at 
 Tours, the perusal of that immense 
 manuscript in which her sister re- 
 corded the events of the ball. Here 
 was Charlotte, beautiful, elegant, ac- 
 complished, admired everywhere, with 
 young men, young noblemen of im- 
 mense property and expectations, wild 
 about her ; and engaged by a promise 
 
 I to a rude, ragged, presumptuous, ill- 
 bred young man, without a penny in 
 the world, was n't it provoking ? 
 Ah, poor Philip! How that little 
 sour, yellow mother-in-law elect did 
 scowl at him when he came with 
 rather a shamefaced look to pay his 
 duty to his sweetheart on the day 
 after the ball ! Mrs. Baynes had 
 caused her daughter to dress with ex- 
 tra smartness, had forbidden the poor 
 child to go out, and coaxed her, and 
 wheedled her, and dressed her with I 
 
 ; know not what ornaments of her own, 
 with a fond expectation that Lord 
 
 i Headbury, that the yellow young 
 
 i Spanish attache", that the sprightly 
 Prussian secretary, and Walsingham 
 Hely, Charlotte's partners at the ball, 
 would certainly call ; and the only 
 equipage that appeared at Madame 
 Smolensk's gate was a hack cab, 
 which drove up at evening, and out 
 of which poor Philip's well-known 
 tattered boots came striding. Such 
 a fond mother as Mrs. Baynes may 
 well have been out of humor. 
 
 As for Philip, he was unusually shy 
 and modest. He did not know in 
 what light his friends would regard 
 his escapade of the previous evening. 
 He had been sitting at home all the
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 275 
 
 morning in state, and in company 
 with a Polish colonel, who lived in 
 liis hotel, and whom Philip had se- 
 lected to be his second in case the 
 battle of the previous night should 
 have any suite. He had left that 
 colonel in company with a bag of 
 tobacco and an order for unlimited 
 beer, whilst he himself ran up to catch 
 a glimpse of his beloved. The 
 Bayneses had not heard of the battle 
 of the previous night. They were 
 full of the ball, of Lord Estridge's 
 affability, of the Golconda ambassa- 
 dor's diamonds, of the appearance of 
 the royal princes who honored the 
 fete, of the most fashionable Paris 
 talk in a word. Philip was scolded, 
 snubbed, and coldly received by mam- 
 ma ; but he was used to that sort 
 of treatment, and greatly relieved bv 
 finding that she was unacquainted 
 with his own disorderly behavior. 
 He did not tell Charlotte about the 
 quarrel : a knowledge of it might 
 alarm the little maiden ; and so for 
 once our friend was discreet, and held 
 his tongue. 
 
 But if he had any influence with 
 the editor of Galignani's Messenger, 
 why did he not entreat the conductors 
 of that admirable journal to forego all 
 mention of the fracas at the Embassy 
 ball ? Two days after the fete, I am 
 sorry to say, there appeared a para- 
 graph in the paper narrating the 
 circumstances of the fight. And the 
 guilty Philip found a copy of that pa- 
 per on the table before Mrs. Baynes 
 and the General when he came to the 
 Champs Elyse'es according to his 
 wont. Behind that paper sat Major- 
 General Baynes, C. B., looking con- 
 fused, and beside him his lady frown- 
 ing like Rhadamanthus. But no Char- 
 lotte was in, the room. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 INFANDl DOLORES. 
 
 PHILIP'S heart beat very quickly 
 at seeing this grim pair, and the guilty 
 
 j newspaper before them, on which Mrs. 
 Baynes s lean right hand was laid. 
 " ISo, sir," she cried, >( you still honor 
 us with your company : after distin- 
 guishing yourself as you did the night 
 before last. Fighting and boxing like 
 a porter at his Excellency's ball. It's 
 disgusting ! I have no other word for 
 it : disgusting ! " And here I suppose 
 she nudged the General, or gave him 
 some look or signal by which he knew 
 he was to come into action ; ' for 
 Baynes straightway advanced and de- 
 livered his fire. 
 
 " Faith, sir, more bub-ub-black- 
 ! guard conduct I never heard of in my 
 ! life ! That 's the only word for it : 
 i the only word for it," cries Baynes. 
 
 " The General knows what black- 
 guard conduct is, and yours is that 
 | conduct, Mr. Firmin ! It is all over 
 I the town : is talked of everywhere : 
 ! will be in all the newspapers. When 
 his Lordship heard of it, he was furi- 
 ous. Never, never, will you be ad- 
 mitted into the Embassy again, after 
 j disgracing yourself as you have done," 
 cries the lady. 
 
 " Disgracing yourself, that 's the 
 word. And disgraceful your con- 
 duct was, begad ! " cries the officer 
 second in command. 
 
 " You don't know my provoca- 
 tion," pleaded poor Philip. "As I 
 came up to him Twysden was boast- 
 ing that he had struck me, and 
 and laughing at me." 
 
 " And a pretty figure you were to 
 come to a ball. Who could help 
 laughing, sir ? " 
 
 " He bragged of having insulted 
 i me, and I lost my temper, and struck 
 , him in return. The thing is done 
 and can't be helped," growled Philip. 
 " Strike a little man before ladies ! 
 Very brave indeed ! " cries the lady. 
 " Mrs. Baynes ! " 
 
 " I call it cowardly. In the army 
 we consider it cowardly to quarrel 
 before ladies," continues Mrs. Gen- 
 eral B. 
 
 " I have waited at home for two 
 days to see if he wanted any more." 
 groaned Philip.
 
 276 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 " O yea ! After insulting and 
 knocking a little man down, you 
 want to murder him ! And you call 
 that the conduct of a Christian, 
 the conduct of a gentleman ! " 
 
 " The conduct of a ruffian, by 
 George ! " says General Baynes. 
 
 " It was prudent of you to choose 
 a very little man, and to have the 
 ladies within hearing ! " continues 
 Mrs. Baynes. " Why, I wonder you 
 havu n't beaten my dear children 
 next. Don't you, General, wonder 
 he has not knocked down our poor 
 boys ? They are quite small. And 
 it is evident that ladies being present 
 is no hindrance to Mr. Firmin's box- 
 iiuj-ni'ilc/i-x." 
 
 " The conduct is gross and un- 
 worthy of a gentleman," reiterates 
 the General. 
 
 " You hear what that man says, 
 that old man, who never says an un- 
 kind word ? That veteran, who has 
 been iu twenty battles, and never 
 struck a man before women yet 1 
 Did you, Charles ? He has given 
 you his opinion. He has called you 
 a name which I won't soil my lips 
 with repeating, but which you de- i 
 serve. And do you suppose, sir, 
 that I will give my blessed child to a j 
 man who has acted as you have 
 
 acted, and been called a ? 
 
 Charles ! General ! I will go to 
 my grave rather than see my daugh- 
 ter given up to such a man ! " 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " said Philip, 
 his knees trembling under him. 
 " You don't mean to say that you 
 intend to go from your word, 
 and " 
 
 "Oh ! you threaten about money, 
 do you ? Because your father was a 
 cheat, you intend to try and make us 
 suffer, do you?" shrieks the lady. 
 ' A man who strikes a little man be- 
 fore ladies will commit any act of 
 cowardice, I dare say. And if you 
 wish to beggar my family, because 
 your father was a rogue " 
 
 " My dear ! " interposes the Gen- 
 eral. 
 
 "Wasn't he a. rogue, Baynes? 
 
 Is there any denying it ? Have n't 
 you said so a hundred and a hundred 
 times ? A nice family to marry in- 
 .to ! No, Mr. Firmin ! You may 
 insult me as . you please. You may 
 strike little men before ladies. You 
 may lift your great wicked hand 
 against that poor old man, in one of 
 your tipsy fits : but I know a mother's 
 love, a mother's duty, and I desire 
 that we see you no more." 
 
 " Great Powers ! " cries Philip, 
 aghast. "You don't mean to to 
 separate me from Charlotte, General ? 
 I have your word. You encouraged 
 me. I shall break my heart. I '11 
 go down on my knees to that fellow. 
 I'll oh! you don't mean what 
 you say ! " And, scared and sob- 
 bing, the poor fellow clasped hig 
 strong hands together, and appealed 
 to the General. 
 
 Baynes was under his wife's eye. 
 " I think," he said, " your conduct 
 has been confoundedly bad, disorder- 
 ly, and ungentlemanlike. You can't 
 support my child, if you marry her. 
 And if you have the least spark of 
 honor in you, as you say you have, it 
 is you, Mr. Firmin, who will break 
 off" the match, and release the poor 
 child from certain misery. By George, 
 sir, how is a man who fights and 
 quarrels in a nobleman's ball-room to 
 get on in the world ? How is a man, 
 who can't afford a decent coat to his 
 back, to keep a wife 1 The more I 
 have known you, the more I have felt 
 that the engagement would bring 
 misery upon my child ! Is that what 
 you want ? A man of honor " 
 ("Honor!" in italics, from Mrs. 
 Baynes.) "Hush, my dear! A 
 man of spirit would give her up, sir. 
 What have you to offer but beggary, 
 by George ? Do you want my girl 
 to come home to your lodgings, and 
 mend your clothes ? " "I think 
 I put that point pretty well, Bunch, 
 my boy," said the General, talking 
 of the matter afterwards. " I hit 
 him there, sir." 
 
 The old soldier did indeed strike 
 his adversary there with a vital stab.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 277 
 
 Philip's coat, no doubt, was ragged, 
 and his purse but light. He had sent 
 money to his father out of his small 
 stock. There were one or two ser- 
 vants in the old house in Parr Street, 
 who had been left without their 
 wages, and a part of these debts 
 Philip had paid. He knew his own 
 violence of temper, and his unruly 
 independence. He thought very 
 humbly of his talents, and often 
 doubted of his capacity to get on in 
 the world. In his less hopeful moods, 
 he trembled to think that he might 
 be bringing poverty and unhappiness 
 upon his dearest little maiden, for 
 whom he would joyfully have sacri- 
 ficed his blood, his life. Poor Philip 
 sank back sickening and fainting 
 almost under Baynes's words. 
 
 " You '11 let me you '11 let me see 
 her 1 " he gasped out. 
 
 " She 's unwell. She is in her bed. 
 She can't appear to-day ! " cried the 
 mother. 
 
 " O Mrs. Baynes ! I must I 
 must see her," Philip said, and fairly 
 broke out in a sob of pain. 
 
 " This is the man that strikes men 
 before women ! " said Mrs. Baynes. 
 "Very courageous, certainly!" 
 
 " By George, Eliza ! " the General 
 cried out, starting up, " it 's too 
 bad " 
 
 " Infirm of purpose, give me the 
 daggers ! " Philip yelled out, whilst 
 describing the scene to his biographer 
 in after days. " Macbeth would 
 never have done the murders but for 
 that little quiet woman at his side. 
 When the Indian prisoners are killed, 
 the squaws always invent the worst 
 tortures. You should have seen that 
 fiend and her livid smile, as she was 
 drilling her gimlets into my heart. 
 I don't know how I offended her. 
 I tried to like her, sir. I had humbled 
 myself before her. I went on her er- 
 rands. I played cards with her. I 
 sat and listened to her dreadful sto- 
 ries about Barrackpore and the Gov- 
 ernor-General.- I wallowed in the 
 dust before her, and she hated me. 
 I can see her face now, her cruel 
 
 yellow face, and her sharp teeth, and 
 her gray eyes. It was the end of 
 August, and pouring a storm that 
 day. I suppose my poor child was 
 cold and suffering up stairs, for I 
 heard the poking of a lire in her little 
 room. When I hear a fire poked 
 overhead now, twenty years after, 
 the whole thing comes back to me ; 
 and I suffer over again that infernal 
 agony. Were 1 to live a thousand 
 years, I could not forgive her. I 
 never did her a wrong, but I can't 
 forgive her. Ah ! my Heaven, how 
 that woman tortured me ! " 
 
 " I think I know one or two simi- 
 lar instances," said Mr. Eirmin's bi- 
 ographer. 
 
 " You are always speaking ill of 
 women," said Mr. Jnimin's biogra- 
 pher's wife. 
 
 " No, thank Heaven ! " said the 
 gentleman. " I think I know some 
 of whom I never thought or spoke a 
 word of evil. My dear, will you give 
 Philip some more tea ? " and with 
 this the gentleman's narrative is re- 
 sumed. 
 
 The rain was beating down the 
 avenue as Philip went into the street. 
 He looked up at Charlotte's window : 
 but there was no sign. There was a 
 flicker of a fire there. The poor girl 
 had the fever, and was shuddering in 
 her little room, weeping and sobbing 
 on Madame Smolensk's shoulder. 
 " Que c'e'tait pitie' a voir," madame 
 said. Her mother had told her she 
 must break from Philip ; had in- 
 vented and spoken a hundred calum- 
 nies against him; declared that he 
 never cared for her ; that he had 
 loose principles, and was forever 
 haunting theatres and bad company. 
 " It 's not true, mother, it 's not 
 true ! " the little girl had cried, nam- 
 ing up in revolt for a moment; but 
 she soon subsided in tears and misery, 
 utterly broken by the thought of her 
 calamity. Then her father had been 
 brought to her, who had been made 
 to believe some of the stories against 
 poor Philip, and who was commanded 
 by his wife to impress them upon tbo
 
 278 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 girl. And Baynes tried to obey or- 
 ders ; but he was scared and cruelly 
 pained by the sight of his little maid- 
 en's grief and suffering. He attempted 
 a weak expostulation, and began a 
 speech or two. But his heart failed 
 him. He retreated behind his wife. 
 She never hesitated in speech or reso- 
 lution, and her language became more 
 bitter as her ally faltered. Philip 
 was a drunkard ; Philip was a prod- 
 igal ; Philip was a frequenter of dis- 
 solute haunts and loose companions. 
 She had the best authority for what 
 she said. Was not a mother anxious 
 for the- welfare of her own child ? 
 (" Begad, you don't suppose your 
 own mother would do anything that 
 was not for your welfare, now 7 " 
 broke in the General, feebly.) "Do 
 you think if he had not been drunk 
 he would have ventured to commit 
 such an atrocious outrage as that at 
 the Embassy ? And do you suppose 
 I want a drunkard and a beggar to ! 
 marry my daughter ? Your ingrati- i 
 tude, Charlotte, is horrible ! " cries I 
 mamma. And poor Philip, charged j 
 with drunkenness, had dined for i 
 seventeen sous, with a carafon of beer, 
 and had counted on a supper that ' 
 night by little Charlotte's side : so, i 
 while the child lay sobbing on her ; 
 bed, the mother stood over her, and j 
 lashed her. For General Baynes 
 a brave man, a kind-hearted man 
 to have to look on whilst this torture 
 was inflicted, mnst huvc been a hard ; 
 duty. He could not eat the boarding- j 
 house dinner, though he took his I 
 place at the table at the sound of the ] 
 dismal bell. Madame herself was not 
 present at the meal ; and you know 
 poor Charlotte's place was vacant. 
 Her father went up stairs, and paused 
 by her bedroom door, and listened. 
 He heard murmurs within, and ma- 
 dame's voice, as he stumbled at tho 
 door, cried harshly, " Qui est la?" 
 He entered. Madame was sitting on 
 the bed, with Charlotte's head on her 
 lap. The thick brown tresses were 
 falling over the child's white night- 
 dress, and she lay almost motionless, 
 
 and sobbing feebly. "Ah, it is you, 
 General ! " said madame. " You have 
 done a pretty work, sir ! " " Mamma 
 says, won't you take something, 
 Charlotte dear ? " faltered the old 
 man. " Will you leave her tran- 
 quil ? " said madame, with her deep 
 voice. The father retreated. When 
 madame went out presently, to get 
 that panacea, une tasse de the, for her 
 poor little friend, she found the old 
 gentleman seated on a portmanteau 
 at his door. " Is she is she a little 
 better now ? " he sobbed out. Ma- 
 dame shrugged her shoulders, and 
 looked down on the veteran with su- 
 perb scorn. " Vous n'etes qu'un pol- 
 tron, Gene'ral ! " she said, and swept 
 down stairs. Baynes was beaten in- 
 deed. He was suffering horrible pain. 
 He was quite unmanned, and tears 
 were trickling down his old cheeks as 
 he sat wretchedly there in the dark. 
 His wife did not leave the table as 
 long as dinner and dessert lasted. 
 She read Galignani resolutely after- 
 wards. She told the children not to 
 make a noise, as their sister was up 
 stairs with a bad headache. But she 
 revoked that statement, as it were 
 (as she revoked at cards presently), 
 by asking the Miss Bolderos to play 
 one of their duets. 
 
 I wonder whether Philip walked 
 up and down before the house that 
 night ? Ah ! it was a dismal night 
 for all of them : a racking pain, a 
 cruel sense of shame, throbbed under 
 Baynes's cotton tassel ; and as for 
 Mrs. Baynes, I hope there was not 
 much rest or comfort under her old 
 nightcap. Madame passed the great- 
 er part of the night in a great chair 
 in Charlotte's bedroom, where the 
 poor child heard the hours toll one 
 after the other, and found no comfort 
 in the dreary rising of the dawn. 
 
 At a very early hour of the dismal 
 rainy morning, what made poor little 
 Charlotte fling her arms round 
 madame, and cry out, " Ah, que je 
 vou* aime ! ah, que vous etes bonne, 
 madame ! " and smile almost happily 
 through her tears ? In the first place,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 279 
 
 madame went to Charlotte's dressing- " I hope you are in a less wicked 
 table, whence she took a pair of frame of mind than when I left 
 scissors. Then the little maid sat up j you last night," continues the ma- 
 
 on her bed, with her brown hair 
 clustering over her shoulders ; and 
 madame took a lock of it, and cut a 
 thick curl ; and kissed poor little Char- 
 
 " Was I wicked for loving Philip ? 
 Then I am wicked still, mamma ! " 
 cries the child, sitting up in her bed. 
 
 lotte's red eyes ; and laid her pale cheek ! And she clutches that little lock 
 on the pillow, and carefully covered I of hair which nestles under her 
 her ; and bade her, with many tender pillow. 
 
 words, to go to sleep. " If you are 
 very good, and will go to sleep, he 
 
 " What nonsense, child ! This is 
 what you get out of your stupid 
 novels. I tell you he does not think 
 
 shall have it in half an hour," 
 
 madame said. " And as I go down j about you. He is quite a reckless, 
 
 stairs, I will tell Francoise to have careless libertine." 
 
 " Yes, so reckless and careless that 
 we owe him the bread we eat. He 
 does n't think of me ! Does n't he 1 
 Here she paused as a clock 
 in a neighboring chamber began to 
 strike. " Now," she thought, " he 
 
 some tea ready for you when you 
 ring." And this promise, and the 
 thought of what madame was going j 
 to do, comforted Charlotte in her ! Ah ' 
 misery. And with many fond, fond 
 prayers for Philip, and consoled by 
 
 thinking, " Now she must have gone 
 the greater part of the way ; now she 
 must be with him ; now he knows I 
 will never, never love any but him," 
 she fell asleep at length on her 
 moistened pillow : and was smiling in 
 her sleep, and I dare say dreaming 
 
 has got my message ! " A smile 
 dawned over her face. She sank 
 back on her pillow, turning her head 
 from her mother. She kissed the 
 locket, and murmured : " Not think 
 of me ! Don't you, don't you, my 
 dear ! " She did not heed the wo- 
 
 of Philip, when the noise of the fall man by her side, hear her voice, or 
 of a piece of furniture roused her, .for a moment seem aware of her 
 and she awoke out of her dream to i presence. Charlotte was away in 
 see the grim old mother, in her white Philip's room ; she saw him talking 
 
 nightcap and white dressing-gown, 
 ntanding by her side. 
 
 Never mind. " She has seen him 
 now. She has told him now," was 
 the child's very first thought as her 
 eyes fairly opened. " He knows 
 that I never, never will think of 
 any but him." She felt as if she 
 was actually there in Philip's room, 
 speaking herself to him ; murmuring 
 vows which her fond lips had whis- 
 pered many and many a time to her 
 lover. And now he knew she would 
 never break them, she was consoled 
 and felt more courage. 
 
 " You hava had some sleep, Char- 
 lotte ? " asks Mrs. Baynes. 
 
 " Yes, I have been asleep, mamma." 
 As she speaks, she feels under the 
 pillow a little locket containing 
 what ? I suppose a scrap of Mr. 
 Philip's lank hair. 
 
 with her messenger; heard his 
 voice so deep and so sweet ; knew 
 that the promises he had spoken 
 he never would break. With gleam- 
 ing eyes and flushing cheeks she 
 looked at her mother, her enemy. 
 She held her talisman locket and 
 pressed it to her heart. No, she 
 would never be untrue to him ! No, 
 he would never, never desert her ! 
 And as Mrs. Baynes looked at the 
 honest indignation beaming in the 
 child's face, she read Charlotte's 
 revolt, defiance, perhaps victory. The 
 meek child who never before had 
 questioned an order or formed a 
 wish which she would not sacrifice at 
 her mother's order, was now in arms 
 asserting independence. But I should 
 think mamma is not going to give up 
 the command after a single act of 
 revolt ; and that she will try mor
 
 280 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 attempts than one to cajole or coerce 
 her rebel. 
 
 Meanwhile let Fancy leave the 
 talisman locket nestling on Char- 
 lotte's little heart (in which soft shel- 
 ter methinks it were pleasant to lin- 
 ger). Let her wrap a shawl round 
 her, and affix to her feet a pair of 
 stout goloshes ; let her walk rapidly 
 through the muddy Champs Elyse'es, 
 where, in this inclement season, only 
 a few policemen and artisans are to 
 l.e found moving. Let her pay a half- 
 penny at the Pont des Invalides, and 
 so march stoutly along the quays, by 
 the Chamber of Deputies, where as 
 yet deputies assemble : and trudge 
 along the river-side, until she reaches 
 Seine Street, into which, as you all 
 know, the Rue Poussin debouches. 
 This was the road brave Madame 
 Smolensk took on a gusty, rainy au- 
 tumn morning, and on foot, for five- 
 franc pieces were scarce with the good 
 woman. Before the " Hotel Poussin " 
 (ah, qu'on y etait bien a vingt ans!) is 
 a little painted wicket which opens, 
 ringing, and then there is the passage, 
 you know, with the stair leading to 
 the upper regions, to Monsieur 
 Philippe s room, which is on the first 
 floor, as is that of Bouchard, the 
 painter, who has his atelier over the 
 way. A bad painter is Bouchard, 
 but a worthy friend, a cheery com- 
 panion, a modest, amiable gentleman. 
 And a rare good fellow is Laberge of 
 the second floor, the poet from Car- 
 cassonne, who pretends to be study- 
 ing law, but whose heart is with the 
 Muses, and whose talk is of Victor 
 Hugo and Alfred de Musset, whose 
 verses he will repeat to all comers. 
 Near Laberge (I think I have heard 
 Pi i ili p say) lived Escasse, a Southern 
 man too, a capitalist, a clerk in 
 a bank, quoi!) whose apartment 
 was decorated sumptuously with his 
 own furniture, who had Spanish wine 
 and sausages in cupboards, and a bag 
 of dollars for a friend in need. Is 
 Escasse alive still ? Philip Firmin 
 wonders, and that old Colonel, who 
 lived on the same floor, and who had 
 
 been a prisoner in England ? What 
 wonderful descriptions that Colonel 
 Dujarret had of les Meess Anglaises 
 and their singularities of dress and 
 behavior ! Though conquered and a 
 prisoner, what a conqueror and en- 
 slaver he was, when in our country ! 
 You see, in his rough way, Philip 
 used to imitate- these people to his 
 friends, and we almost fancied we 
 could see the hotel before us. It was 
 very clean ; it was very cheap ; it was 
 very dark ; it was very cheerful ; 
 capital coffee and bread-and-butter 
 for breakfast for fifteen sous ; capital 
 bedroom au premier for thirty francs 
 a month, dinner if you would for 
 I forget how little, and a merry talk 
 round the pipes and the grog after- 
 wards, the grog, or the modest 
 eau sucree. Here Colonel Dujarret 
 recorded his victories over both sexes. 
 Here Colonel Tymowski sighed over 
 his enslaved Poland. Tymowski was 
 the second who was to act for Philip, 
 in case the Ringwood Twysden affair 
 should have come to any violent con- 
 clusion. Here Laberge bawled poetry 
 to Philip, who no doubt in his turn 
 confided to the young Frenchman his 
 own hopes and passion. Deep into 
 the night he would sit talking of his 
 love, of her goodness, of her beauty, 
 of her innocence, of her dreadful 
 mother, of her good old father. Que 
 sai's-je ? Have we not said that when 
 this man had anything on his mind, 
 straightway he bellowed forth his 
 opinions to the universe? Philip, 
 away from his love, would roar out 
 her praises for hours and hours to 
 Laberge, until the candles burned 
 down, until the hour for rest was 
 come and could be delayed no longer. 
 Then he would hie to bed with a 
 prayer for her ; and the very instant 
 he awoke begin to think of her, and 
 bless her, and thank God for her love. 
 Poor as Mr. Philip was, yet as the 
 possessor of health, content, honor, 
 and that priceless pure je\vel the girl's 
 love, I think we will not pity him 
 much ; though, on the night when ha 
 received his dismissal from Mrs.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 281 
 
 Baynes, he must have passed an aw- I 
 ful time, to be sure. Toss, Philip, on 
 your bed of pain, and doubt, and ; 
 fear. Toll, heavy hours, from night j 
 till dawn. Ah ! 't was a weary night 
 through which two sad young hearts 
 heard you tolling. 
 
 At a pretty early hour the various 
 oceupants of the crib at the Hue 
 Poussin used to appear in the dingy 
 little salle-a-manger, and partake of 
 the breakfast there provided. Mon- 
 sieur Menou, in his shirt-sleeves, 
 shared and distributed the meal. 
 Madame Menou, with a Madras 
 handkerchief round her grizzling head, 
 laid down the smoking coffee on the 
 shining oil-cloth, whilst each guest 
 helped himself out of a littl>; museum 
 of napkins to his own particular 
 towel. The room was small ; the 
 breakfast was not fine ; the guests who 
 partook of it were certainly not re- 
 markable for the luxury of clean lin- 
 en ; but Philip who is many years 
 older now than when he dwelt in this 
 hotel, and is not pinched for money 
 at all you will be pleased to hear 
 (and between, ourselves has become 
 rather a gourmand) declares he 
 was a very happy youth at this hum- 
 ble " Hotel Poussin," and sighs for 
 the days when he was sighing for Miss 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Well, he has passed a dreadful night 
 of gloom and terror. I doubt that he 
 has bored Laberge very much with his 
 tears and despondency. And now 
 morning has come, and, as he is having 
 his breakfast with one or more of the 
 before-named worthies, the little boy- 
 of-all-work enters, grinning, his plumet 
 under his arm, and cries " Une dame 
 pour M. Philippe ! " 
 
 " Une dame ! " says the French 
 colonel, looking up from his paper. 
 " Allez, mauvais sujet ! " 
 
 " Grand Dieu ! what has happen- 
 ed ? " cries Philip, running forward, 
 as he recognizes madame's tall figure 
 in the passage. They go up to his 
 room, I suppose, regardless of the 
 grins and sneers of the little boy with 
 t, who aids the maid-servant 
 
 to make the beds ; and who thinks 
 Monsieur Philippe has a very elderly 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Philip closes the door upon his 
 visitor, who looks at him with so 
 much hope, kindness, confidence in 
 her eyes, that the poor fellow is en- 
 couraged almost ere she begins to 
 speak. " Yes, you have reason ; I 
 come from the little person," Madame 
 Smolensk said. " The means of re- 
 sisting that poor dear angel! She 
 has passed a sad night 1 What 1 
 You, too, have not been to bed, poor 
 youngman !" Indeed Philip had only 
 thrown himself on his bed, and had 
 kicked there, and had groaned there, 
 and had tossed there ; and had tried to 
 read, and I dare say, remembered 
 afterwards, with a strange interest, 
 the book he read, and that other 
 thought which was throbbing in his 
 brain all the time whilst he was read- 
 ing, and whilst the wakeful hours 
 went wearily tolling by. 
 
 " No, in effect," says poor Philip, 
 rolling a dismal cigarette ; " the night 
 has not been too fine. And she has 
 suffered too t Heaven bless her ! " 
 And then Madame Smolensk told how 
 the little dear angel had cried all the 
 night long, and how the Smolensk 
 had not succeeded in comforting her, 
 until she promised she would go to 
 Philip, and tell him that his Charlotte 
 would be his forever and ever ; that 
 she never could think of any man but 
 him ; that he was the best, and the 
 dearest, and the bravest, and the truest 
 Philip, and that she did not believe 
 one word of those wicked stories told 
 against him by "Hold, Monsieur 
 Philippe, I suppose Madame la Gene- 
 rale has been talking about you, and 
 loves you no more," cried Madame 
 Smolensk. " We other women are 
 assassins assassins, see you ! But 
 Madame la Gene'rale went too far with 
 the little maid. She is an obedient 
 little maid, the dear Miss ! trem- 
 bling before her mother, and always 
 ready to yield, only now her spirit 
 is roused ; and she is yours and yours 
 only. The little dear, gentle child '
 
 282 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Ah, how pretty she was, leaning on 
 my shoulder. I held her there, yes, 
 there, my poor ga^on, and I cut this 
 from her neck, and brought it to thee. 
 Come, embrace me. Weep ; that 
 does good, Philip. I love thee well. 
 Go and thy little it is an angel ! " 
 And so, in the hour of their pain, 
 myriads of manly hearts have found 
 woman's love ready to soothe their 
 anguish. 
 
 Leaving to Philip that thick curling 
 lock of brown hair (from a head 
 where now, mayhap, there is a line 
 or two of matron silver), this Samar- 
 itan plods her way back to her own 
 house, where her own cares await her. 
 But though the way is long, madame's 
 step is lighter now, as she thinks how 
 Charlotte at the journey's end is wait- 
 ing for news of Philip ; and I suppose 
 there are more kisses and embraces, 
 when the good soul meets with the 
 little suffering girl, and tells her how 
 Philip will remain forever true and 
 faithful ; and how true love must 
 come to a happy ending ; and how she, 
 Smolensk, will do all in her power to 
 aid, comfort, and console her young 
 friends. As for the writer of Mr. 
 Philip's memoirs, you see I never 
 try to make any concealments. I 
 have told you, all along, that Charlotte 
 and Philip are married, and I believe 
 they are happy. But it is certain that 
 they suffered dreadfully at this time 
 of their lives ; and my wife says that 
 Charlotte, if she alludes to the period 
 and the trial, speaks as though they 
 had both undergone some hideous op- 
 eration, the remembrance of which 
 forever causes a pang to the memory. 
 So, my young lady, will you have 
 your trial one day, to be borne, pray 
 Heaven, with a meek spirit. Ah, how 
 surely the turn comes to all of us ! 
 Look at Madame Smolensk at her 
 luncheon-table, this day after her visit 
 to Philip at his lodging, after com- 
 forting little Charlotte in her pain. 
 How brisk she .is ! How good-na- 
 tured ! How she smiles ! How she 
 speaks to all her company, and carves 
 for her guests ! You do not suppose 
 
 she has no griefs and cares of her own * 
 You know better. I dare say she is 
 thinking of her creditors ; of her 
 poverty ; of that accepted bill which 
 will come due next week, and so forth. 
 The Samaritan who rescues you, most 
 likely, has been robbed and has bled 
 in his day, and it is a wounded arm 
 that bandages yours when bleeding. 
 
 If Anatole, the boy who scoured 
 the plain at the " Hotel Poussin," 
 with his plumet in his jacket-pocket, 
 and his slippers soled with scrubbing 
 brushes, saw the embrace between 
 Philip and his good friend, I believe, 
 in his experience at that hotel, he never 
 witnessed a transaction more honora- 
 ble, generous, and blameless. Put 
 what construction you will on the 
 business, Anatole, you little imp of 
 mischief! your mother never gave 
 you a kiss more tender than that which 
 Madame Smolensk bestowed on Philip 
 than that which she gave Philip 
 than that which she carried back from 
 him and faithfully placed on poor lit- 
 tle Charlotte's pale round cheek. The 
 world is full of love and pity, I say. 
 Had there been less suffering, there 
 would have been less kindness. I, for 
 one, almost wish to be ill again, so 
 that the friends who succored me 
 might once more come to my rescue. 
 
 To poor little wounded Charlotte 
 in her bed, our friend the mistress of 
 the boarding-house brought back in- 
 expressible comfort. Whatever might 
 betide, Philip would never desert her ! 
 " Think you I would ever have gone 
 on such an embassy for a French girl, 
 or interfered between her and her par- 
 ents ? " Madame asked. " Never, 
 never ! But you and Monsieur Phi- 
 lippe are already betrothed before 
 Heaven ; and I should despise you, 
 Charlotte, I should despise him, were 
 either to draw back." This little 
 point being settled in Miss Charlotte's 
 mind, I can fancy she is immensely 
 soothed and comforted ; that hope and 
 courage settle in her heart ; that the col- 
 or comes back to her young cheeks ; 
 that she can come and join her family 
 as she did yesterday. " I told you sh
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 283 
 
 never cared about him," says Mrs. 
 Baynes to her husband. "Faith, no, 
 she can't have cared much," says 
 Baynes, with something of a sorrow- 
 that his girl should be so light-minded. 
 But you and I, who have been behind 
 the scenes, who have peeped into Phil- 
 ip's bedroom and behind poor Char- 
 lotte's modest curtains, know that 
 the girl had revolted from her parents ; 
 and so children will'if the authority 
 exercised over them is too tyrannical 
 or unjust. Gentle Charlotte, who 
 scarce ever resisted, was aroused and 
 in rebellion : honest Charlotte, who 
 used to speak all her thoughts, now 
 hid them and deceived father and 
 mother; yes, deceived: what a 
 confession to make regarding a young 
 lady, the prima donna of our opera ! 
 Mrs. Baynes is, as usual, writing her 
 lengthy scrawls to Sister MacWhirter 
 at Tours, and informs the Major's 
 lady that she has very great satisfac- 
 tion in at last being able to announce 
 " that that most imprudent and in all 
 respects ineligible engagement be- 
 tween her Charlotte and a certain 
 young man, son of a bankrupt London 
 physician, is come to an end. Mr. 
 F.'s conduct has been so wild, so gross, 
 so disorderly, and ungentlemanlike, that 
 the General (and you know, Maria, 
 how soft and sweet a tempered man 
 Baynes is) has told Mr. Firmin his 
 opinion in unmistakable words, and 
 forbidden him to continue his visits. 
 After seeing him every day for six 
 months, during which time she has 
 accustomed herself to his peculiarities, 
 and his often coarse and odious ex- 
 pressions and conduct, no wonder 
 the separation has been a shock to 
 dear Char, though I believe the young 
 man feels nothing who has been the 
 cause of all this grief. That he cares 
 but little for her has been my opinion 
 all along, though she, artless child, 
 gave him her whole affection. He 
 has been accustomed to throw over 
 women ; and the brother of a young 
 lady whom Mr. F. had courted and left 
 ( and who has made a most excellent 
 match since) showed his indignation 
 
 at Mr. F.'s conduct at the Embassy 
 ball the other night, on which the 
 young man took advantage of his 
 greatly superior size and strength to 
 begin a vulgar boxing-match, in which 
 i both parties were severely wounded. 
 Of course you saw the paragraph in 
 Galignani about the whole affair. I 
 sent our dresses, but it did not print 
 I them, though our names appeared as 
 j amongst the company. Anything 
 ! more singular than the appearance 
 of Mr. F. you cannot well imagine. 
 I wore my garnets; Charlotte (who 
 attracted universal admiration) was 
 in, c. &c. Of course, the separation, 
 has occasioned her a good deal of 
 pain ; for Mr. F. certainly behaved 
 with much kindness and forbearance 
 on a previous occasion. But the Gen- 
 eral will not hear of the continuance of 
 the connection. He says the young 
 man's conduct has been too gross and 
 shameful ; and when once roused, you 
 know, I might as well attempt to 
 chain a tiger as Baynes. Our poor 
 Char will suffer no doubt in conse- 
 quence of the behavior of this brute, 
 but she has ever been an obedient 
 child, who knows how to honor her 
 father and mother. She bears up won- 
 derfully, though, of course, the dear 
 child suffers at the parting. I think if 
 she were to go to you and Mac Whirter at 
 Tours for a month, or two, she would be 
 all the better for change of air, too, 
 dear Mac. Come and fetch her, and 
 we will pay the dawk. She would go 
 to certain poverty and wretchedness 
 did she marry this most violent and 
 disreputable young man. The Gen- 
 eral sends regards to Mac, and I am," 
 &c. 
 
 That these were the actual words 
 of Mrs. Baynes's letter I cannot, as a 
 veracious biographer, take upon my- 
 self to say. I never saw the docu- 
 ment, though I have had the good 
 fortune to peruse others from the 
 same hand. Charlotte saw the letter 
 some time after, upon one of those 
 not unfrequent occasions, when a 
 quarrel occurred between the two sis- 
 ters, Mrs. Major and Mrs. General,
 
 284 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 and Charlotte mentioned the con- 
 tents of the letter to a friend of mine 
 who has talked to me about his affairs, 
 and especially his love-affairs, for 
 many and many a long hour. And 
 shrewd old woman as Mrs. Baynes 
 may be, you may see how utterly she 
 was mistaken in fancying that her 
 daughter's obedience was still secure. 
 The little maid had left father and 
 mother, at first with their eager sanc- 
 tion ; her love had been given to Fir- 
 min ; and an inmate a prisoner if 
 you will under her father's roof, 
 her heart remained with Philip, how- 
 ever time or distance might separate 
 them. 
 
 And now, as we have the command 
 of Philip's desk, and are free to open 
 and read the private letters which re- 
 late to his history, I take leave to put 
 in a document which was penned in 
 his place of exile by his worthy fa- 
 ther, upon receiving the news of the 
 quarrel described in the last chapter 
 of these memoirs : 
 
 " ASTOB HcmsB, NEW YORK, 
 
 " September 27. 
 
 "DEAR PHILIP, I received the 
 news in your last kind and affection- 
 ate letter with not unmingled pleas- 
 ure: but ah, what pleasure in life 
 does not carry its amari aliquid along 
 with it ! That you are hearty, cheer- 
 ful, and industrious, earning a small 
 competence, I am pleased indeed to 
 think: that you talk about being 
 married to a penniless girl I can't say 
 gives me a very sincere pleasure. 
 With your good looks, good manners, 
 attainments, you might have hoped 
 for a better match than a half-pay 
 officer's daughter. But 'tis useless 
 speculating on what might have been. 
 We are puppets in the hands of fate, 
 most of us. We are carried along by 
 a power stronger than ourselves. It 
 has driven me, at sixty years of age, 
 from competence, general respect, 
 high position, to poverty and exile. 
 So be it! laudo manentem, as my de- 
 lightful old friend and philosopher 
 teaches me, si celeres quatit pennas, 
 
 you know the rest. Whatever our 
 fortune may be, I hope that my Philip 
 and his father will bear it with the 
 courage of gentlemen. 
 
 " Our papers have announced the 
 death of your poor mother's uncle, 
 Lord Ringwood, and I had a fond 
 lingering hope that he might have left 
 some token o$ remembrance to his 
 brother's grandson. He has not. 
 You have prokarn pauperien sine dote. 
 You have courage, health, strength, 
 and talent. I was in greater straits 
 than you are at your age. My father 
 was not as indulgent as yours, I hope 
 and trust, has been. From debt and 
 dependence I worked myself up to a 
 proud position by my own efforts. 
 That the storm overtook me and en- 
 gulfed me afterwards, is true. But 
 I am like the merchant of my favor- 
 ite poet : I still hope ay, at sixty- 
 three ! to mend my shattered ships, 
 indocilis pauper iem pati. I still hope 
 to pay back to my dear boy that for- 
 tune which ought to have been his, 
 and which went down in my own 
 shipwreck. Something tells me I 
 must, I will ! 
 
 " I agree with yon that your escape 
 from Agnes Twysden has been a piece 
 of good fortune for you, and am much 
 diverted by your account of her dusky 
 innamorato! Between ourselves, the 
 fondness of the Twysdens for money 
 amounted to meanness. And though 
 I always received Twysden in dear 
 old Parr Street, as I trust a gentle- 
 man should, his- company was insuf- 
 ferably tedious to me, and his vulgar 
 loquacity odious. His son also was 
 little to my taste. Indeed I was 
 heartily relieved when I found your 
 connection with that family was over, 
 knowing their rapacity about money,, 
 and that it was your fortune, not you, 
 they were anxious to secure for Agnes. 
 " You will be glad :o hear that I am 
 in not inconsiderable practice already. 
 My reputation as a physician had pre- 
 ceded me to this country. My work 
 on Gout was favorably noticed here, 
 and in Philadelphia, and in Boston, 
 by the scientific journals of those
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 285 
 
 great cities. People are more gene- 
 rous and compassionate towards mis- 
 fortune here than in our cold-hearted 
 island. I could mention several gen- 
 tlemen of New York who have suf- 
 fered shipwreck like myself, and are 
 now prosperous and respected. 1 had 
 the good fortune to be of considerable 
 professional service to Colonel J. B. 
 Fogle, of New York, on our voyage 
 out ; and the Colonel, who is a lead- 
 ing personage here, has shown him- 
 self not at all ungrateful. Those 
 who fancy that at New York people 
 cannot appreciate and understand the 
 manners of a gentleman, are not a lit- 
 tle mistaken; and a man who, like 
 myself, has lived with the best society 
 in London, has, I flatter myself, not 
 lived in that society quite in vain. 
 The Colonel is proprietor and editor 
 of one of the most brilliant and influ- 
 ential journals of the city. You 
 know that arms and the toga are 
 often worn here by the same individ- 
 ual, and 
 
 "I had actually written thus far 
 when I read in the Colonel's paper 
 the New York Emerald an account 
 of your battle with your cousin at the 
 Embassy ball ! O you pugnacious 
 Philip ! Well, young Twysden was 
 very vulgar, very rude and overbear- 
 ing, and, I have no doubt, deserved 
 the chastisement you gave him. By 
 the way, the correspondent of the Em- 
 erald makes some droll blunders re- 
 garding you in his letter. We are all 
 fair game for publicity in this coun- 
 try, where the press is free with a ven- 
 geance; and your private affairs, or 
 mine, or the President's, or our gra- 
 cious Queen's, for the matter of that, 
 arc discussed with a freedom which 
 certainly amounts to license. The 
 Colonel's lady is passing the winter 
 in Paris, where I should wish you to 
 pay your respects to her. Her hus- 
 band has been most kind to me. I 
 am told that Mrs. F. lives in the very 
 choicest French society, and the 
 friendship of this family may be use- 
 ful to you as to your affectionate fa- 
 ther, " G. B. F. 
 
 " Address as usual, until you hear 
 further from me, as Dr. Brandon, 
 New York. I wonder whether Lord 
 Es fridge has asked you after his old 
 college friend 1 When he was Head- 
 bury and at Trinity, he and a certain 
 pensioner whom men used to nick- 
 name Brummell Firmin were said to 
 be the best-dressed men in the Uni- 
 versity. Estridge has advanced to 
 rank, to honors ! Yon may rely on 
 it, that he will have one of the i-ery 
 next vacant garters. What a differ- 
 ent, what an unfortunate career, has 
 been his quondam friend's ! an ex- 
 ile, an inhabitant of a small room in 
 a great liotel, where I sit at a scram- 
 bling public table with all sorts of 
 coarse people ! The way in which 
 they bolt their dinner, often with a 
 knife, shocks me. Your remittance 
 was most welcome, small as it was. 
 It shows my Philip has a kind heart. 
 Ah ! why, why are you thinking of 
 marriage, who are so poor? By the 
 way, your encouraging account of 
 your circumstances has induced me 
 to draw upon you for 100 dollars. 
 The bill will go to Europe by the 
 packet which carries this letter, and 
 has kindly been cashed for me b\ my 
 friends, Messrs. Plaster and Shin man, 
 of Wall Street, respected bankers of 
 this city. Leave your card with Mrs. 
 Fogle. Her husband himself may be 
 useful to you and your ever attached 
 " FATHER." 
 
 We take the New York Emerald at 
 " Bays's," and in it I had read a very 
 amusing account of our friend Philip, 
 in an ingenious correspondence en- 
 titled " Letters from an Attache'," 
 which appeared in that journal. I 
 even copied the paragraph to show to 
 my wife, and perhaps to forward to 
 our friend. 
 
 " I promise you," wrote the at- 
 tache, " the new country did not dis 
 grace the old at the British Embassy 
 ball on Queen Vic's birthday. Colo- 
 nel Z. B. Hoggins's lady, of Albany, 
 and the peerless bride of Elijah J. 
 Dibbs, of Twenty-ninth Street in
 
 286 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 your city, were the observed of all 
 observers for splendor, for elegance, 
 for refined native beauty. The Roy- 
 al Dukes danced with nobody else ; 
 and at the attention of one of the 
 Princes to the lovely Miss Dibbs, I 
 observed his Royal Duchess looked as 
 black as thunder. Supper handsome. 
 Back Delmonico to beat it. Cham- 
 pagne so-so. By the way, the young 
 fellow who writes here for the Pall 
 Mall Gazette got too much of the 
 champagne on board, as usual, I 
 am told. The Honorable R. Twys- 
 den, of London, was rude to my 
 young chap's partner, or winked at 
 him offensively, or trod on his toe, or 
 I don't know what, but young F. 
 followed him into the garden ; hit 
 out at him ; sent him flying like a 
 spread eagle into the midst of an il- 
 lumination, and left him there sprawl- 
 ing. Wild, rampageous fellow this 
 young F. ; has already spent his own 
 fortune, and ruined his poor old fa- 
 ther, who has been forced to cross 
 the water. Old Louis Philippe went 
 away early. He talked long with 
 our Minister about his travels in our 
 country. I was standing by, but in 
 course ain't so ill-bred as to say what 
 passed between them." 
 
 In this way history is written. I 
 dare say about others besides Philip, 
 in English papers as well as Ameri- 
 can, have fables been narrated. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 CONTAINS A TUG OF WAR. 
 
 WHO was the first to spread the 
 report that Philip was a prodigal, and 
 had ruined his poor confiding father ? 
 I thought I knew a person who might 
 be interested in getting under any 
 shelter, and sacrificing even his own 
 son for his own advantage. I thought 
 I knew a man who had done as much 
 already, and surely might do so 
 again ; but my wife flew into one of 
 her tempests of indignation, when I 
 hinted something of this, clutched her 
 
 own children to her heart, according 
 to her maternal wont, asked me was 
 there any power would cause me to 
 belie them ? and sternly rebuked me 
 for daring to be so wicked, heartless, 
 and cynical. My dear creature, 
 wrath is no answer. You call me 
 heartless and cynic, for saying men 
 are false and wicked. Have you 
 never heard to what lengths some 
 bankrupts will go ? To appease the 
 wolves who chase them in the winter 
 forest, have you not read how some 
 travellers will cast all their provisions 
 out of the sledge ? then, when all the 
 provisions are gone, don't you know 
 that they will fling out perhaps the 
 sister, perhaps the mother, perhaps 
 the baby, the little dear tender inno- 
 cent ? Don't you see him tumbling 
 among the howling pack, and the 
 wolves gnashing, gnawing, crashing, 
 gobbling him up in the snow ? O 
 horror horror ! My wife draws all 
 the young ones to her breast as I utter 
 these fiendish remarks. She hugs 
 them in her embrace, and says, " For 
 shame ! " and that I am a monster, 
 and so on. Go to ! Go down on 
 your knees, woman, and acknowledge 
 the sinfulness of our humankind. 
 How long had our race existed ere 
 murder and violence began ? and how 
 old was the world ere brother slew 
 brother ? 
 
 Well, my wife and I came to a 
 compromise. I might have my 
 opinion, but was there any need to 
 communicate it to poor, Philip ? No, 
 surely. So I never sent him the 
 extract from the New York Emerald ; 
 though, of course, some other good- 
 natured friend did, and I don't think 
 my magnanimous friend cared much. 
 As for supposing that his own father, 
 to cover his own character, would lie 
 away his son's, such a piece of 
 artifice was quite beyond Philip's 
 comprehension, who has been all his 
 life slow in appreciating roguery, or 
 recognizing that there is meanness 
 and double-dealing in the world. 
 When he once comes to understand 
 the fact ; when he once comprehends
 
 THE ADVENTURES 0V PHILIP. 
 
 287 
 
 that Tartuffe is a humbug and swell- 
 ing Bufo is a toady; then my friend 
 becomes as absurdly indignant and 
 mistrustful as before he was admiring 
 and confiding. Ah, Philip ! Tartuffe 
 has a number of good, respectable 
 qualities ; and Bufo, though an under- 
 ground odious animal, may have a 
 precious jewel in his head. 'T is you 
 are cynical. / see the good qualities 
 in these rascals whom you spurn. I 
 see. I shrug my shoulders. 1 smile : 
 and you call me cynic. 
 
 It was long before Philip could 
 comprehend why Charlotte's mother 
 turned upon him, and tried to force 
 her daughter to forsake him. "I 
 have offended the old woman in a 
 hundred ways," he would say. " My 
 tobacco annoys her ; my old clothes 
 offend her ; the very English I speak 
 is often Greek to her, and she can no 
 more construe my sentences than I 
 can the Hindostanee jargon she talks 
 to her husband at dinner." " My 
 dear fellow, if you had ten thousand 
 a year she would try and construe 
 your sentences, or accept them even 
 if not understood," I would reply. 
 And some men, whom you and I know 
 to be mean, and to be false, and to 
 be flatterers and parasites, and to be 
 inexorably hard and cruel in their 
 own private circles, will surely pull a 
 long face to-morrow, and say, " Oh ! 
 the man 's so cynical." 
 
 I acquit Baynes of what ensued. I 
 hold Mrs. B. to have been the crimi- 
 nal, the stupid criminal. The hus- 
 band, like many other men extremely 
 brave in active life, was at home timid 
 and irresolute. Of two heads that lie 
 side by side on the same pillow for 
 thirty years, one must contain the 
 stronger power, the more enduring 
 resolution. Baynes, away from his 
 wife, was shrewd, courageous, gay at 
 times ; when with her he was fasci- 
 nated, torpid under the power of this 
 baleful superior creature. " Ah, 
 when we were subs together in camp 
 in 1803, what a lively fellow Charley 
 Baynes was ! " his comrade, Colonel 
 Bunch, would say. " That was 
 
 before he ever saw his wife's yellow 
 face ; and what a slave she has made 
 of him ! " 
 
 After that fatal conversation which 
 ensued on the day succeeding the 
 ball, Philip did not come to dinner at 
 madame's according to his custom. 
 Mrs. Baynes told no family stories, 
 and Colonel Bunch, who had no 
 special liking for the young gentle- 
 man, did not trouble himself to make 
 any inquiries about him. One, two, 
 three days passed, and no Philip. At 
 last the Colonel says to the Gen- 
 eral, with a sly look at Charlotte, 
 " Baynes, where is our young friend 
 with the mustache ? We have not 
 seen him these three days." And he 
 gives an arch look at poor Charlotte. 
 A burning blush flamed up in little 
 Charlotte's pale face, as she looked at 
 her parents and then at their old 
 friend. " Mr. Firmin does not come, 
 because papa and mamma have for- 
 bidden him," says Charlotte. " I 
 suppose he only comes where he is 
 welcome." And, having made this 
 audacious speech, I suppose the little 
 maid tossed her little head vip ; and 
 wondered, in the silence which en- 
 sued, whether all the company could 
 hear her heart thumping. 
 
 Madame, from her central place, 
 where she is carving, sees, from the 
 looks of her guests, the indignant 
 flushes on Charlotte's face, the confu- 
 sion on her father's, the wrath on 
 Mrs. Baynes's, that some dreadful 
 words are passing ; and in vain en- 
 deavors to turn the angry current of 
 talk. " Un petit canard de'licicux, 
 goutez-en, madame ! " she cries. 
 Honest Colonel Bunch sees the little 
 maid with eyes flashing with anger, 
 and trembling in every limb. The 
 offered duck having failed to create 
 a diversion, he, too, tries a feeble 
 commonplace. "A little difference, 
 my dear," he says, in an under voice. 
 " There will bo such in the best-regu- 
 lated families. Canard sauvage tres 
 bong, madame, avec " but he is al- 
 lowed to speak no more, for 
 
 " What would you do, Colonel
 
 288 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Bunch," little Charlotte breaks out 
 with her poor little ringing, trembling 
 voice, " that is, if you were a young 
 man, if another young man struck 
 you, and insulted you 1 " I say she 
 utters this in such a clear voice, that 
 Framboise, the femme-de-chambre, that 
 Auguste, the footman, that all the 
 guests hear, that all the knives and 
 forks stop their clatter. 
 
 " Faith, my dear, I 'd knock him 
 down if I could," says Bunch ; and 
 he catches hold of the little maid's 
 sleeve, and would stop her speaking 
 if he could. 
 
 "And that is what Philip did," 
 cries Charlotte aloud ; " and mamma 
 has turned him out of the house, 
 yes, out of the house, for acting like 
 a man of honor ! " 
 
 " Go to your room this instant, 
 Miss ! " shrieks mamrna. As for old 
 Baynes, his stained old uniform is not 
 more dingy-red than his wrinkled 
 face and his throbbing temples. He 
 blushes under his wig, no doubt, could 
 we see beneath that ancient artifice. 
 
 " What is it ? madume your moth- 
 er dismisses you of my table ? I will 
 come with you, my dear Miss Char- 
 lotte ! " says Madame, with much 
 dignity. " Serve the sugared plate, 
 Auguste ! My ladies, you will ex- 
 cuse me ! I go to attend the dear 
 miss, who seems to me ill." And she 
 rises up, and she follows poor little 
 blushing, burning, weeping Char- 
 lotte : and again, I have no doubt, 
 takes her in her arms, and kisses, and 
 cheers, and caresses her, at the 
 threshold of the door, there by the 
 staircase, among the cold dishes of 
 the dinner, where Moira and Mac- 
 grigor had one moment before been 
 marauding. 
 
 " Courage, ma fille, courage, mon 
 enfant ! Tenez ! Behold something 
 to console thee ! " and madame takes 
 out of her pocket a little letter, and 
 gives it to the girl, who at sight of it 
 kisses the superscription, and then, in 
 an anguish of love, and joy, and grief, 
 falls on the neck of the kind woman, 
 who consoles her in her misery. 
 
 Whose writing is it Charlotte kisses ? 
 Can you guess by any means 1 Upon 
 my word, Madame S'molensk, I never 
 recommend ladies to take daughters 
 to your boarding-house. And I like 
 you so much, I would not tell of you, 
 but you know the house is shut up 
 this many a long day. Oh ! the years 
 slip away fugacious ; and the grass 
 has grown over graves ; and many 
 and many joys and sorrows have been 
 born and have died since then for 
 Charlotte and Philip : but that grief 
 aches still in their bosoms at times ; 
 and that sorrow throbs at Charlotte's 
 heart again whenever she looks at a 
 little yellow letter in her trinket-box : 
 and she says to her children, " Papa 
 wrote that to me before we were mar- 
 ried, my dears." There are scarcely 
 half a dozen words in the little let- 
 ter, I believe ; and two of them are 
 " for ever." 
 
 I could draw a ground-plan of ma- 
 dame's house in the Champs Elysees 
 if I liked, for has not Philip shown 
 me the place and described it to me 
 many times ? In front, and facing 
 the road and garden, were madame's 
 room and the salon ; to the back was 
 the salle-a-manger ; and a stair ran 
 up the house (where the dishes used 
 to be laid during dinner-time, and 
 where Moira and Macgrigor fingered 
 the meats and puddings). Mrs. Gen- 
 eral Baynes's rooms were on the first 
 floor, looking on the Champs Elysees, 
 and into the garden-court of the house 
 below. And on this day, as the din- 
 ner was necessarily short (owing to 
 unhappy circumstances), and the gen- 
 tlemen were left alone glumly drink- 
 ing their wine or grog, and Mrs. 
 Baynes had gone up stairs to her own 
 apartment, had slapped her boys and 
 was looking out of window, was it 
 not provoking that of all dav- in the 
 I world young Hely should riil up to 
 i the house on his capering nimv, with 
 his flower in his button-hol<% with 
 his little varnished toe-tips just touch- 
 ing his stirrups, and after performing 
 various caracolades and gambadoes 
 in the garden, kiss his yellow-kidded
 
 THE ADVKNTUKKS OF PHILIP. 
 
 289 
 
 hand to Mrs. General Baynes at the ] 
 window, hope Miss Baynes was quite ] 
 well, and ask if he might come in and j 
 take a cup of tea ? Charlotte, lying j 
 on madame's bed in the ground-floor 
 room, heard Mr. Hely's sweet voice 
 asking after her health, and the 
 crunching of his horse's hoofs on the ! 
 gravel, and she could even catch j 
 glimpses of that little form as the 
 horse capered about in the court, 
 though of course he could not see her 
 where she was lying on the bed with 
 her letter in her hand. Mrs. Baynes 
 at her window had to wag her with- 
 ered head from the casement, to groan 
 out, " My daughter is lying down, 
 and has a bad headache, I am sorry 
 to say," and then she must have had 
 the mortification to see Hely caper | 
 off, after waving her a genteel adieu. [ 
 The ladies in the front salon, who as- j 
 sembled after dinner, witnessed the 
 transaction, and Mrs. Bum-h, I dare ' 
 say, had a grim pleasure at seeing | 
 Eliza Baynes's young sprig of fashion, ! 
 of whom Eliza was forever bragging, 
 come at last, and obliged to ride 
 away, not bootless, certainly, for 
 where were feet more beautifully 
 chatisses ? but after a bootless errand. 
 
 Meanwhile the gentlemen sat awhile 
 in the dining-room, after the British 
 custom which such veterans liked too 
 well to give up. Other two gentle- 
 men boarders went away, rather 
 alarmed by that storm and outbreak 
 in which Charlotte had quitted the 
 dinner-table, and left the old soldiers 
 together, to enjoy, according to their 
 after-dinner custom, a sober glass of 
 " something hot," as the saying is. 
 In truth, madame's wine was of the 
 poorest ; but what better could you 
 expect for the money ? 
 
 Baynes was not eager to be alone 
 with Bunch, and I have no doubt be- 
 gan to blush again when he found 
 himself tete-a-tete with his- old friend. 
 But what was to be done ? The 
 General did not dare to go up stairs to 
 his own quarters, where poor Char- 
 lotte was probably crying, and her 
 mother in one of her tantrums. 
 13 
 
 Then in the salon there were the 
 ladies of the boarding-house party, 
 and there Mrs. Bunch would be sure 
 to be at him. Indeed, since the 
 Baynes were launched in the great 
 world, Mrs. Bunch was untiringly 
 sarcastic in her remarks about lords, 
 ladies, attaches, ambassadors, and 
 tine people in general. 80 Baynes 
 sat with his friend, in the falling 
 evening, in much silence, dipping his 
 old nose in the brandy-and-water. 
 
 Little square-faced, red-faced, whis- 
 ker-dyed Colonel Bunch sat opposite 
 his old companion, regarding him not 
 without scorn. Hunch had a wife. 
 Bunch had feelings. Do you suppose 
 those feelings had not been worked 
 upon by that wife in private collo- 
 quies ? Do you suppose, when two 
 old women have livt d together in 
 pretty much the same rank of life, 
 if one suddenly gets promotion, is 
 carried off to higher spheres, and talks 
 of her new friends, the countesses, 
 duchesses, ambassadresses, as of 
 course she will, do you s-uppose, I 
 say, that the unsuccessful woman will 
 be pleased at the successful woman's 
 success 1 Your knowledge of your 
 own heart, my dear lady, must tell 
 you the truth in this matter. I don't 
 want you to acknowledge that you 
 arc angry because your sister has been 
 staying with the Duchess of Fit/hat- 
 tleaxe, but you are, you know. You 
 have made sneering remarks to your 
 husband on the subject, and such re- 
 marks, I have no doubt, were made 
 by Mrs. Colonel Bunch to her hus- 
 band, regarding her poor friend Mrs. 
 General Baynes. 
 
 During this parenthesis we have 
 left the General dipping his nose in 
 the brandy-and-water. He can't keep 
 it there forever. He must come up 
 for air presently. His face, must come 
 out of the drink, and sigh over the 
 table. 
 
 " What 's this business. Baynes ? " 
 says the Colonel. " What 's the 
 matter with poor Charley ? " 
 
 " Family affairs, differences will 
 happen," says the General.
 
 290 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 " I do hope and trust nothing has 
 gone wrong with her and young Fir- 
 min, Baynes ? " 
 
 The General does not like those 
 fixed eyes staring at him under those 
 bushy eyebrows, between those bushy, 
 blackened whiskers. 
 
 " Well, then, yes, Bunch, some- 
 thing has gone wrong ; and given me 
 and and Mrs. Baynes a deuced 
 deal of pain too. The young i'ellow 
 has acted like a blackguard, brawling 
 and fighting at an ambassador's ball, 
 bringing us all to ridicule. He 's not 
 a gentleman ; that 's the long and 
 short of it, Bunch ; and so let 's 
 change the subject." 
 
 " Why, consider the provocation 
 he had ! " cries the other, disregard- 
 ing entirely his friend's prayer. " I 
 heard them talking about the business ' 
 at Galignani's this very day. A fel- : 
 low swears at Firmin ; runs at him ; \ 
 brags that he has pitched him over ; ! 
 and is knocked down for his pains. : 
 By George ! I think Firmin was ! 
 quite right. Were any man to do as 
 much to me or you, what should we j 
 do, even at our age 1 " 
 
 " We are military men. I said I 
 did n't wish to talk about the subject, 
 Bunch," says the General, in rather a 
 lofty manner. 
 
 " You mean that Tom Bunch has 
 no need to put his oar in ? " 
 
 " Precisely so," says the other, ! 
 curtly. 
 
 " Mum's the word ! Let us talk 
 about the dukes and duchesses at the 
 ball. Tluit 's more in your line, now," 
 says the Colonel, with rather a sneer, i 
 " What do you mean by duchesses I 
 and dukes ? What do you know 
 about them, or what the deuce do I 
 care ? " asks the General. 
 
 " O, they are tabooed too ! Hang 
 it, there 's no satisfying you," growls 
 the Colonel. 
 
 " Look here, Bunch," the General 
 broke out ; " I must speak, since you 
 won't leave me alone. I am unhap- 
 py. You can see that well enough. 
 For two or three nights past I have 
 had no rest. This engagement of 
 
 my child and Mr. Firmin can't come 
 to any good. You see what he is, 
 an overbearing, ill-conditioned, quar- 
 relsome fellow. What chance has 
 Charley of being happy with such a 
 fellow ? " 
 
 " I hold my tongue, Baynes. You 
 told me not to put my oar in," growls 
 the Colonel. 
 
 " O, if that 's the way you take it, 
 Bunch, of course there 's no need for 
 me to go on any more," cries General 
 Baynes. " If an old friend won'tgive 
 an old friend advice, by George, or 
 help him in a strait, or say a kind word 
 when he 's unhappy, I have done. I 
 have known you for forty years, and 
 I am mistaken in you, that 's all." 
 " There 's no contenting you. 
 You say, ' Hold your tongue,' and I 
 shut my mouth. I hold my tongue, 
 and you say, ' Why don't you speak ? ' 
 Why don't 1 1 Because you won't like 
 what I say, Charles Baynes : and so 
 what 's the good of more talking ? " 
 
 " Confound it ! " cries Baynes, with 
 a thump of his glass on the table, 
 " but what do you say ? " 
 
 " I say, then, as you will have it," 
 cries the other, clenching his fists in 
 his pockets, "I say you are want- 
 ing a pretext for breaking off this 
 match, Baynes. I don't say it is a 
 good one, mind ; but your word is 
 passed, and your honor engaged to a 
 young fellow to whom you are under 
 deep obligation." 
 
 " What obligation ? Who has 
 talked to you about my private 
 affairs ? " cries the General, redden- 
 ing. " Has Philip Firmin been brag- 
 ging about his 1" 
 
 " You have yourself, Baynes. 
 When you arrived here, you told me 
 over and over again what the young 
 fellow had done : and you certainly 
 thought he acted like a gentleman 
 then. If you choose to break your 
 word to him now " 
 
 " Break my word ! Great powers, 
 do you know what you are saying, 
 Bunch ? " 
 
 " Yes, and what you are doing, 
 Baynes."
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 291 
 
 " Doing ? and what ? " 
 
 " A damned shabby action ; that 's 
 what you are doing, if you want to 
 know. Don't tell me. Why, do you 
 suppose Sarah do you suppose "ev- 
 erybody does n't see what you are at f 
 You think you can get a better match 
 for the girl, and you and Eliza arc 
 going to throw the young fellow over : 
 and the fellow who held his hand, 
 and might have ruined you, if he 
 liked. I say it is a cowardly action ! " 
 
 " Colonel Bunch, do you dare to 
 vise such a word to me ? " calls out 
 the General, starting to his feet. 
 
 " Dare be hanged ! I say it 's a 
 shabby action ! " roars the other, 
 rising too. 
 
 " Hush ! unless you wish to disturb 
 the ladies ! Of course you know 
 what your expression means, Colonel 
 Bunch ? " and the General drops his 
 voice and sinks back to his chair. 
 
 " I know what my words mean, 
 and I stick to 'em, Baynes," growls 
 the other ; " which is more than you 
 can say of yours." 
 
 " I am dee'd if any man alive shall 
 use this language to me," says the 
 General, in the softest whisper, " with- 
 out accounting to me for it." 
 
 " Did you ever find me backward, 
 Baynes, at that kind of thing ? " 
 growls the Colonel, with a face like a 
 lobster and eyes starting from his 
 head. 
 
 " Very good, sir. To-morrow, at 
 your earliest convenience. I shall be 
 at Galignani's from eleven till one. 
 With a friend, if possible. What is 
 it, my love '! A game at whist 1 Well, 
 no, thank you ; I think I won't play 
 cards to-night." 
 
 It was Mrs. Baynes who entered the 
 room when the two gentlemen were 
 quarrelling ,- and the bloodthirsty 
 hypocrites instantly smoothed their 
 ruffled brows and smiled on her with 
 perfect courtesy. 
 
 " Whist, no ! I was thinking 
 should we send out to meet him 1 He 
 has never been in Paris." 
 
 " Never been in Paris 1 " said the 
 General, puzzled. 
 
 " He will be here to-night, you 
 know. Madame has a room ready 
 for him." 
 
 " The very thing, the very thing ! " 
 cries General Baynes, with great glee. 
 And Mrs. Baynes, all unsuspicious 
 of the quarrel between the old friends, 
 proceeds to inform Colonel Bunch that 
 Major MacWhirter was expected that 
 evening. And then that tough old 
 Colonel Bunch knew the cause of 
 Baynes's delight. A second was pro- 
 vided for the General, the very thing 
 Baynes wanted. 
 
 We have seen how Mrs. Baynes, 
 after taking counsel with her General, 
 had privately sent for MacWhirter. 
 Her plan was that Charlotte's uncle 
 should take her for a while to Tours, 
 and make her hear reason. Then 
 Charley's foolish passion for Philip 
 would pass away. Then, if he dared 
 to follow her so far, her aunt and un- 
 cle, two dragons of virtue andcircum- 
 spe< tion, would watch and guard her. 
 Then, if Mrs. Hely was still of the 
 same mind, she and her son might 
 easily take the post to Tours, where, 
 Philip being absent, young Walsing- 
 ham might plead his passion. The 
 best part of the plan, perhaps, was the 
 separation of our young couple. Char- 
 lotte would recover. Mrs. Baynes 
 was sure tf that. The little girl had 
 made no outbreak until that sudden 
 insurrection nt dinner which we have 
 witnessed ; and her mother, who had 
 domineered over the child all" her life, 
 thought she was still in her power. 
 She did not know that she had passed 
 the bounds of authority, and that with 
 her behavior to Philip her child's al- 
 legiance had revolted. 
 
 Bunch then, from Baynes's look 
 and expression, perfectly understood 
 what his adversary meant, and that 
 the General's second was found. His 
 own he had in his eye, a tough litile 
 old army surgeon of Peninsular and 
 Indian times, who lived hard by, who 
 would aid as second and doctor too, 
 if need were, and so kill two birds 
 with one stone, as they say. The Col- 
 onel would go forth that very instant
 
 292 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 and seek for Dr. Martin, and be 
 hanged to Baynes, and a plague on 
 the whole transaction and the folly 
 of two old friends burning powder in 
 such a quarrel. But he knew what a ; 
 blood-thirsty little fellow that hen- 
 pecked, silent Baynes was when j 
 roused ; and as for himself, a fellow | 
 use that kind of language to me ? By ; 
 George, Tom Bunch was not going 
 to balk him ! 
 
 Whose was that tall figure prowl- 
 ing about madame's house in the 
 Champs Elysees when Colonel Bunch 
 issued forth in quest of his friend ; 
 who had been watched by the police j 
 and mistaken for a suspicious charac- j 
 ter ; who had been looking up at ma- j 
 dame's windows now that the evening 
 shades had fallen ? O you goose of a : 
 Philip ! (for of course, my dears, you 
 guess that the spy was P. F. r Esq.) , 
 you look up at the premier, and there j 
 is the Beloved in madame's room on i 
 the ground floor; in yonder room, j 
 where a lamp is burning and casting , 
 a faint light across the bars of the j 
 jalousie. If Philip knew she was there j 
 he would be transformed into a clem- 
 atis, and climb up the bars of the 
 window, and twine round them all i 
 night. But you see he thinks she is \ 
 on the first floor ; and the glances of 
 his passionate eyes are taking aim at 
 the wrong windows. And now Colo- , 
 nel Bunch comes forth in his stout 
 strutting way, in his little military ! 
 cape, quick march, and Philip is 
 startled like a guilty thing surprised, 
 and dodges behind a tree in the ave- 
 nue. 
 
 The Colonel departed on his murder- 
 ous errand. Philip still continues to 
 ogle the window of his heart (the 
 wrong, window), defiant of the police- 
 man, who tells him to circuler. He 
 has not watched here many minutes 
 more, ere a hackney-coach drives up 
 with portmanteaus on the roof and a 
 lady and gentleman within. 
 
 You see Mrs. MacVVhirter thought 
 she, as well as her husband, might 
 have a peep at Paris. As Mac's coach- 
 hire was paid, Mrs. Mac could afford 
 
 a little outlay of money. And if 
 were to bring Charlotte back, Cnar 
 lotte in grief and agitation, poor child, 
 
 a matron, an aunt, would be a 
 much fitter companion for her than 
 a major, however gentle. So the pair 
 of MacWhirters journeyed from Tours, 
 
 a long journey it was before rail- 
 ways were invented, and after four- 
 and-twenty hours of squeeze in the 
 diligence, presented themselves at 
 nightfall at Madame Smolensk's. 
 
 The Baynes boys dashed into the 
 garden at the sound of wheels. 
 " Mamma mamma ! it's Uncle 
 Mac ! " these innocents cried, as they 
 ran to the railings. " Uncle Mac ! 
 what could bring him 1 Oh ! they 
 are going to send me to him! they 
 are going to send me to him ! " thought 
 Charlotte, starting on her bed. And 
 on this, I dare say, a certain locket 
 was kissed more vehemently than 
 ever. 
 
 " I say, Ma ! " cries the ingenuous 
 Moira, jumping back to the house ; 
 " it 's Uncle Mac, and Aunt Mac, 
 too ! " 
 
 " What ? " cries mamma, with any- 
 thing but pleasure in her voice ; and 
 then turning to the dining - room, 
 where her husband still sat, she called 
 out, " General ! here 's MacWhirter 
 and Emily ! " 
 
 .Mrs. Baynes gave her sister a very 
 grim kiss. 
 
 " Dearest Eliza, I thought it was 
 such a good opportunity of coming, 
 and that I might be so useful, you 
 know ! " pleads Emily. 
 
 " Thank you. How do you do, 
 MacWhirter ? " says the grim Ge'ne'- 
 rale. 
 
 " Glad to see you, Baynes my 
 boy ! " 
 
 " How d'ye do, Emily ? Boys, 
 bring your uncle's traps. Did n't 
 know Emily was coming, Mac. Hope 
 there 's room for her ! " sighs the 
 General, coming forth from his par- 
 lor. 
 
 The Major was struck by the sad 
 looks and pallor of his brother-in-law. 
 " By George, Baynes, you look as
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 293 
 
 yellow as a guinea. How 's Tom 
 Bunch?" 
 
 " Come into this room along with 
 me. Have some brandy-and- water, 
 Mac. Auguste ! Odevie sho ! " 
 calls the General ; and Auguste, who 
 out of the new-comer's six packages 
 has daintily taken one very small 
 mackintosh cushion, says " Com- 
 ment ? encore du grog, General ? " 
 and, shrugging his shoulders, disap- 
 pears to procure the refreshment at 
 his leisure. 
 
 The sisters disappear to their em- 
 braces ; the brothers-in-law retreat to 
 the salle-a-manger, where General 
 Baynes has been sitting, gloomy and 
 lonely, for half an hour past, think- 
 ing of his quarrel with his old com- 
 rade, Bunch. He and Bunch have 
 been chums for more than forty years. 
 They have been in action together, 
 and honorably mentioned in the same 
 report. They have had a great re- 
 gard for each other ; and each knows 
 the other is an obstinate old mule, 
 and, in a quarrel, will die rather than 
 give way. They have had a dispute 
 out of which there is only one issue. 
 Words have passed which no man, 
 however old, by George ! can brook 
 from any friend, however intimate, 
 by Jove ! No wonder Baynes is 
 grave. His family is large ; his 
 means are small. To-morrow he may 
 be under fire of an old friend's pistol. 
 In such an extremity he knows how 
 each will behave. No wonder, I say, 
 the General is solemn. 
 
 " What 's in the wind now, 
 Baynes ? " asks the Major, after a 
 little drink and a long silence. " How 
 is poor little Char ? " 
 
 "Infernally ill I mean behaved 
 infernally ill," says the General, bit- 
 ing his lips. 
 
 " Bad business ! Bad business ! 
 Foor little child ! " cries the Major. 
 
 " Insubordinate little devil ! " says 
 the pale General, grinding his teeth. 
 " We '11 see which shall be master ! " 
 
 ' What ! you have had words ? " 
 
 " At this table, this very day. She 
 sat here and defied her mother and 
 
 me, by George ! and flung out of the 
 room like a tragedy queen. She must 
 be tamed, Mac, or my name's not 
 Baynes." 
 
 MacWhirter knew his relative of 
 old, and that this quiet, submissive 
 man, when angry, worked up to a 
 white heat as it were. " Sad affair ; 
 hope you '11 both come round, Bay- 
 nes," sighs the Major, trying bootless 
 commonplaces ; and seeing this last 
 remark Lad no effect, he bethought 
 him of recurring to their mutual 
 friend. " How 's Tom Bunch '( " the 
 Major asked, cheerily. 
 
 At this question Baynes grinned in 
 such a ghastly way that MacWhirter 
 eyed him with wonder. . " Colonel 
 Bunch is very well," the General 
 said, in dismal voice ; " at least, he 
 was half an hour ago. He was sitting 
 there " ; and he pointed to an empty 
 spoon lying in an empty beaker, 
 whence the spirit-and-water had de- 
 parted. 
 
 " What has been the matter, 
 Baynes ? " asked the Major. " Has 
 anything happened between you and 
 Tom ? " 
 
 " I mean that, half an hour ago, 
 Colonel Bunch used words to me 
 which I'll bear from no man alive; 
 and you have arrived just in the nick 
 of time, MacWhirter, to take my 
 message to him. Hush ! here 's the 
 drink." 
 
 " Voici, Messieurs ! " Auguste at 
 length has brought up a second sup- 
 ply of brandy-and-water. The vete- 
 rans mingled their jorums ; and whilst 
 his brother-in-law spoke, the alarmed 
 MacWhirter sipped occasionally in- 
 tentusque or a tenebat. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 I CHARGE YOU, DROP YOUR 
 DAGGERS ! 
 
 GENERAL BAYNES began the story 
 which you and I have heard at length. 
 He told it in his own way. He grew 
 very angry with himself whilst de-
 
 294 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 fending himself. He had to abuse 
 Philip very fiercely, in order to ex- 
 cuse his own act of treason. He had 
 to show that his act was not his act ; 
 that, after all he never had promised, 
 and that, if he had promised, Philip's 
 atrocious conduct ought to absolve 
 him from any previous promise. I 
 do not wonde'r that the General was 
 abusive, and out of temper. Such a 
 crime as he was committing can't be 
 performed cheerfully by a man who is 
 habitually gentle, generous, and hon- 
 est. I do not say that men cannot 
 cheaf, cannot lie, cannot inflict torture, 
 cannot commit rascally actions, with- 
 out in the least losing their equanim- 
 ity ; but these are men habitually false, 
 knavish, and cruel. They are accus- 
 tomed to break their promises, to 
 cheat their neighbors in bargains, and 
 what not. A roguish word or action 
 more or less is of little matter to , 
 them : their remorse only awakens , 
 after detection, and they don't begin 
 to repent till they come sentenced out : 
 of the dock. But here was an ordi- | 
 narily just man withdrawing from his i 
 promise, turning his back on his j 
 benefactor, and justifying himself to ! 
 himself by maligning the man whom 
 he injured. It is not an uncommon j 
 event, my dearly beloved brethren and 
 esteemed miserable sister sinners ; 
 but you like to say a preacher is 
 " cynical " who admits this sad truth, 
 and, perhaps, don't care to hear 
 about the subject on more than one 
 day in the week. 
 
 So, in order to make out some sort 
 of case for himself, our poor good old 
 General Baynes chose to think and 
 declare that Philip was so violent, 
 ill-conditioned, and abandoned a fel- 
 low, that no faith ought to be kept 
 with him ; and that Colonel Bunch 
 had behaved with such brutal inso- 
 lence that Baynes must call him to 
 account. As for the fact that there 
 was another, a richer, and a much 
 more eligible suitor, who was likely 
 to offer for his daughter, Baynes did 
 not happen to touch on this point at 
 all; preferring to speak of Philip's 
 
 hopeless poverty, disreputable con- 
 duct, and gross and careless behavior. 
 Now MacWhirter, having, I sup. 
 pose, little to do at Tours, had read 
 Mrs. Baynes's letters to her sister 
 Emily, and remembered them. In- 
 deed, it was but very few months since 
 Eliza Baynes's letters had been full 
 of praise of Philip, of his love for Char- 
 lotte, and of his noble generosity in 
 foregoing the great claim which he 
 had upon the General, his mother's 
 careless trustee. Philip was the first 
 suitor Charlotte had had : in her first 
 glow of pleasure, Charlotte's mother 
 had covered yards of paper with 
 compliments, interjections, and those 
 scratches or dashes under her words, by 
 which some ladies are accustomed to 
 point their satire or emphasize their 
 delight. He was an admirable young 
 man, wild, but generous, handsome, 
 noble! He had forgiven his father 
 thousands and thousands of pounds 
 which the Doctor owed him, all his 
 mother's fortune ; and he had acted 
 most nobly by her trustees, that she 
 must say, though poor dear weak 
 Baynes was one of them! Baynea 
 who was as simple as a child. Major 
 Mac and his wife had agreed that 
 Philip's forbearance was very gene- 
 rous and kind, but after all that there 
 was no special cause for rapture at the 
 notion of their niece marrying a strug- 
 gling young fellow without a penny 
 in the world ; and they had been not 
 a little amused with the change of 
 tone in Eliza's later letters, when she 
 began to go out in the great world, 
 and to look coldly upon poor, penni- 
 less Firmin, her hero of a few months 
 since. Then Emily remembered how 
 Eliza had always been fond of great 
 people ; how her head was turned by 
 going to a few parties at Government 
 House ; how absurdly she went on 
 with that little creature Fitzrickets 
 (because he was an Honorable, for- 
 sooth) at Dumdum. Eliza 'was a 
 good wife to Baynes ; a good mother 
 to the children ; and made both ends 
 of a narrow income meet with surpris- 
 ing dexterity ; but Emily was bound
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 295 
 
 to say of her sister Eliza, that a more, 
 &c., &c., &c. And when the news 
 came at length that Philip was to he 
 thrown overboard, Emily chipped her 
 hands toy-ether, and said to her hus- 
 band, " Now, Mac, did n't I always 
 tell you so ? If she could get a fash- 
 ionable husband for Charlotte, I knew 
 my sister would put the Doctor's son 
 to the door ! " That the poor child 
 would suffer considerably, her aunt 
 was assured. Indeed, before her own 
 union with Mac, Emily had under- 
 gone heart-breakings and pangs of sep- 
 aration on her own account. The 
 poor child would want comfort and 
 companionship. She would go to 
 fetch her niece. And though the Ma- 
 jor said, " My dear, you want to go to 
 Paris, and buy a new bonnet," Mrs. 
 MacWhirter spurned the insinuation, 
 and came to Paris from a mere sense 
 of duty. 
 
 So Baynes poured out his history of 
 wrongs to his brother-in-law, who 
 marvelled to hear a man, ordinarily 
 chary of words and cool of demeanor, 
 so angry and so voluble. If he had 
 done a bad action, at least, after do- 
 ing it, Baynes had the grace to be 
 very much out of humor. If I ever, 
 for my part, do anything wrong in 
 my family, or to them, I accompany 
 that action with a furious rage and 
 blustering passion. I won't have wife 
 or children question it. No querulous 
 Nathan of a family friend (or an 
 incommodious conscience, maybe,) 
 shall come and lecture me about my 
 ill doings. No no. Out of the 
 house with him ! Away, you preach- 
 ing bugbear, don't try to frighten me ! 
 Baynes, I suspect, to browbeat, bully, 
 and outtalk the Nathan pleading m 
 his heart, Baynes will outbawl that 
 prating monitor, and thrust that in- 
 convenient preacher out of sight, out 
 of hearing, drive him with angry 
 words from our gate. Ah ! in vain 
 we expel him ; and bid John say, not 
 at home ! There he is when we wake, 
 sitting at our bed-foot. We throw 
 him overboard for daring to put 
 an oar in our boat. Whose ghastly 
 
 : head is that looking up from the wa- 
 tor and swimming alongside us, row 
 we never so swiftly ? Fire at him. 
 Brain him with an oar, one of you, 
 ami pull on ! Flash goes the pistol. 
 Surely that oar has stove the old skull 
 j in f Sec ! there comes the awful 
 companion popping up out of wa- 
 ter again, and crying, " Remember, 
 remember, I am here, I am here ! " 
 Baynes had thought to bully away 
 one monitor by the threat of a pistol, 
 and here was another swimming 
 alongside of his boat. And would 
 you have it otherwise, my dear reader, 
 for you, for me ? That you and I 
 shall commit sins, in this, and ensu- 
 ing years, is certain; but I hope 
 I hope they won't be past praying for. 
 Here is Baynes, having just done a 
 bad action, in a dreadfully wicked, 
 murderous, and dissatisfied state of 
 mind. His chafing, bleeding temper 
 is one raw ; his whole soul one rage, 
 and wrath, and fever. Charles Baynes, 
 thou old sinner, I pray that Heaven 
 may turn thee to a better state of 
 mind. I will kneel down by thy side, 
 scatter ashes on my own bald pate, 
 and we will quaver out Peccavimus 
 together. 
 
 " In one word, the young man's 
 conduct has been so outrageous and 
 disreputable that I can't, Mac, as a 
 father of a family, consent to my 
 girl's marrying him. Out of a re- 
 gard for her happiness, it is my duty 
 to break off the engagement," cries 
 the General, finishing the story. 
 
 " Has he formally released you 
 from that trust business ? " asked the 
 Major. 
 
 " Good Heavens, Mac ! " cries the 
 General, turning very red. " You 
 know I am as innocent of all wrong 
 towards him as you are ! " 
 
 " Innocent only you did not 
 look to your trust ' 
 
 " I think ill of him, sir. T think 
 he is a wild, reckless, overbearing 
 young fellow," calls out the General, 
 very quickly, " who would make my 
 child miserable ; but I don't think he 
 is such a blackguard as to come down
 
 290 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 on a retired elderly man with a poor 
 family, a numerous family ; a man 
 who has bled and fought for his sov- 
 ereign in the Peninsula, and in India, 
 as the ' Army List ' will show you, 
 by George ! I don't think Firmin 
 will IK; such a scoundrel as to come 
 down on me, I sav ; and I must say, 
 Mat-Winner, I think it most unhand- 
 some of you to allude to it, most 
 unhandsome, by George ! " 
 
 ' Wiiy, you are going to break off 
 your b'irg-.lin with him ; why should 
 he keep his compact with you 1 " asks 
 the gruff .Major. 
 
 " Because," shouted- the General, : 
 " it would be a sin and a shauie that 
 an old man with seven children, and 
 broken health, who has served in 
 every phc;-, yes, in the West and 
 East Indies, by George! in Canada 
 in the Peninsula, and at New Or- j 
 leans ; because he has been deceiv- 
 ed and humbugged by a miserable 
 scoundrel of a doctor into signing a , 
 sham paper, by George ! should be \ 
 ruined, and his poor children and : 
 wife driven to beggary, by Jove ! as \ 
 you seem to recommend young Fir- 
 min to do, Jack MacWhirter ; and 
 I'll tell you what, Major Mac Whir- i 
 ter, I take it dee'd unfriendly of you ; 
 and I '11 trouble you not to put your 
 oar into my Inat, and meddle with my \ 
 affairs, that 's all, and I '11 know who 's 
 at the bottom of it, by Jove ! It 's 
 the gray mare, Mac, it 's your bet- 
 ter-full f, MacWhirter it's that con- 
 founded, meddling, sneaking, backbit- 
 ing, domineering " 
 
 " What next ? " roared the Major. 
 " Hi, ha, hi ! Do you think I don't 
 know, Baynes, who has put you on 
 doing what I have no hesitation in 
 calling a most sneaking and rascally 
 action, yes, a rascally action, by 
 George ! I am not going to mince 
 matters ! Don't come your Major- 
 General or your Mrs. Major-General 
 over me ! It 's Eliza that has set 
 you on. And if Tom Bunch has 
 been telling you that you have been 
 Keaking from your word and are act- 
 ing shabbily, Tom is right ; and you 
 
 may get somebody else to go out 
 with you, General Bay lies, for, by 
 George, I won't ! " 
 
 " Have you come all the way from 
 Tours, Mac, in order to insult me ? " 
 asks the General. 
 
 " I came to do you a friendly turn , 
 to take charge of your poor girl, up- 
 
 I on whom you are being very hard, 
 
 j Baynes. And this is the reward I tret ! 
 
 1 Thank you. No more grog ! What 
 I have had is rather too stroiii/ for me 
 already." And the Major looks down 
 with an expression of scorn at the 
 
 1 emptied beaker, the idle spoon before 
 him. 
 
 As the warriors were quarrelling 
 over their cups, there came to them a 
 noise as of brawling and of female 
 voices without. " Mais, mad a me ! " 
 pleads Madame Smolensk, in her 
 grave Way. " Taisex-vous, madame, 
 laissez - inoi tranquille, s'il vous 
 plait ! " exclaims the well - known 
 voice of Mrs. General Baynes, which 
 I own was never very pleasant to me, 
 either in anger or good-humor. 
 " And your Little who tries to 
 sleep in my chamber ! " again pleads 
 the mistress of the boarding-house. 
 '' Vous n'avez pas droit d'appeler 
 Mademoiselle Baynes petite ! " calls 
 out the General's lady. And Baynes, 
 who was fighting and quarrelling 
 himself just now, trembled when he 
 heard her. His angry face assumed 
 an alarmed expression. He looked 
 for means of escape. He appealed for 
 protection to MacWhirter, whose 
 nose he had been ready to pull anon. 
 Samson was a mighty man, but he 
 was a fool in the hands of a woman. 
 Hercules was a brave man and a 
 strong, but Omphale twisted him 
 round her spindle. Even so Baynes, 
 who had fought in India, Spain, 
 America, trembled before the partner 
 of his bed and name. 
 
 It was an unlucky afternoon. 
 Whilst the husbands had been quar- 
 relling in the dining-room over bran- 
 dy-and- water, the wives, the sisters, 
 had been fighting over their tea in the 
 salon I don't know what the other
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 297 
 
 boarders were about. Philip never 
 told me. Perhaps they had left the 
 room to give the sisters a free opportu- 
 nity for embraces and confidential 
 communication. Perhaps there were 
 no lady boarders left. Howbeit, Em- 
 ily and Eliza had tea ; and before that 
 refreshing meal was concluded, those 
 dear women were fighting as hard as 
 tlieir husbands in the adjacent cham- 
 ber. 
 
 Eliza, in the first place, was very 
 angry at Emily's coming without in- 
 vitation. Emily, on her part, was 
 angry with Eliza for being angry. 
 " I am sure, Eliza," said the spirited 
 and injured MacWhirter, " that is the 
 third time you have alluded to it since 
 we have been here. Had you and all 
 your family come to Tours, Mac and 
 I would have made them welcome, 
 children and all ; and I am sure 
 yours make trouble enough in a 
 house." 
 
 " A private house is not like a 
 boarding-house, Emily. Here ma- 
 dame makes us pay frightfully for ex- 
 tras," remarks Mrs. Baynes. 
 
 " I am sorry I came, Eliza. Let 
 us say no more about it. I can't go 
 away to-night," says the other. 
 
 " Arid most unkind it is that speech 
 to make, Emily. Any more tea ? " 
 
 " Most unpleasant to have to make 
 that speech, Eliza. To travel a 
 whole day and night, and I never 
 able to sleep in a diligence, to has- 
 ten to my sister because I thought she 
 was in trouble, because I thought a 
 sister might comfort her ; and to be 
 received as you re as you O, O, 
 O boh ! How stoopid I am ! " 
 A handkerchief dries the tears : a smell- 
 ing-bottle restores a little composure. 
 " When you came to us at Dumdum, 
 with two o o children in the 
 whooping-cough, I am sure Mac 
 and I gave you a very different wel- 
 come." 
 
 The other was smitten with a re- 
 morse. She remembered her sister's 
 kindness in former days. " I did not 
 mean, sister, to give you pain," she 
 said. " But I am very unhappy my- 
 13* 
 
 self, Emily. My child's conduct is 
 making me most unhappy." 
 
 " And very good reason you have 
 to be unhappy, Eliza, if woman ever 
 had," says the other. 
 
 " 0, indeed, yes ! " gasps the Gen- 
 eral's lady. 
 
 " If any woman ought to feel re- 
 morse, Eliza Baynes, I am sure it 's 
 you. Sleepless nights ! What was 
 mine in the diligence, compared to 
 the nights you must have 1 I said so 
 to myself. ' I am wretched,' I said, 
 ' but what must site be ? ' " 
 
 " Of course, as a feeling mother, I 
 feel that poor Charlotte is unhappy, 
 my dear." 
 
 " But what makes her so, my 
 dear 1 " cries Mrs. MacWhirter, who 
 presently showed that she was mis- 
 tress of the whole controversy. " No 
 wonder Charlotte is unhappy, dear 
 love ! Can a girl be engaged to a 
 young man, a most interesting young 
 man, a clever, accomplished, highly 
 educated young man " 
 
 " What f " cries Mrs. Baynes. 
 
 " Have n't I your letters ? I have 
 them all in my desk. They are in 
 that hall now. Did n't you tell me 
 so over and over again ; and rave 
 about him, till I thought you were in 
 love with him yourself almost ? " cries 
 Mrs. Mac. 
 
 " A most indecent observation ! " 
 cries out Eliza Baynes, in her deep, 
 awful voice. " Ko woman, no sister, 
 shall say that to me ! " 
 
 " Shall I go and get the letters ? 
 It used to be, ' Dear Philip has just 
 left us. Dear Philip has been more 
 than a son to me. He is our pre- 
 server ! ' Did n't you write all that 
 over and over again ? And because 
 you have found a richer husband for 
 Charlotte, you arc going to turn your 
 preserver out of doors ! " 
 
 " Emily MacWhirter, am I to sit 
 here and be accused of crimes, uninvit- 
 ed, mind, uninvited, mind, by my 
 sister ? Is a general officer's lady to 
 be treated in this way by a brevet- 
 major's wife? Though you arc my 
 senior in age, Emily, I am yours in
 
 298 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 rank. Out of any room in England, 
 but this, I go before you ! And if 
 you have come uninvited all the way 
 from Tours to insult me in my own 
 house " 
 
 ' House, indeed ! pretty house ! 
 Everybody else's house as well as 
 yours ! " 
 
 " Such as it is, I never asked you 
 to come into it, Emily ! " 
 
 " O yes ! You wish me to go out 
 in the night. MAC ! I say ! " 
 
 " Emily ! " cries the Generaless. 
 
 " MAC, I say ! " screams the Major- 
 ess, flinging open the door of the 
 salon, " my sister wishes me to go. 
 Do you hear me 1 " 
 
 " Au nom de Dieu, madame, pen- 
 sez a cette pauvre petite, qui souffre a 
 cote," cries the mistress of the house, ] 
 pointing to her own adjoining cham- j 
 ber, in which, we have said, our poor 
 little Charlotte was lying. 
 
 " Nappley pas Madamaselle Baynes 
 petite, sivoplay ! " booms out Mrs. 
 Baynes's contralto. 
 
 " MacWhirter, I say, Major Mac- 
 Whirter ! " cries Emily, flinging open 
 the door of the dining-room where 
 the two gentlemen were knocking 
 their own heads together. " Mac- 
 Whirter! My sister chooses to in- 
 sult me and say that a brevet-major's 
 wife " 
 
 " By George ! are you fighting, 
 too ? " asks the General. 
 
 " Baynes, Emily MacWhirter has 
 insulted me ! " cries Mrs. Baynes. 
 
 " It seems to have been a settled ; 
 thing beforehand," yells the General. 
 " Major MaeWhirter has done the 
 same thing by me ! He has forgotten 
 that he is a gentleman, and that I am." i 
 
 " He only insults you because he j 
 thinks you are his relative, and must i 
 bear everything from him," says the 
 General's wife. 
 
 " By George ! I will NOT bear 
 everything from him ! " shouts the 
 General. The two gentlemen and 
 their two wives are squabbling in the 
 hall. Madame and the servants are 
 
 nring up from the kitchen-regions, 
 are say the boys from the topmost 
 
 banisters are saying to each other, 
 " Row between Ma and Aunt Mac ! " 
 I dare say scared little Charlotte, in 
 her temporary apartment, is, for 
 a while, almost forgetful of her own 
 grief; and wondering what quarrel is 
 agitating her aunt and mother, her 
 father and uncle ? Place the remain- 
 ing male and female boarders about 
 in the corridors and on the landings, 
 in various attitudes expressive of in- 
 terest, of satiric commentary, wrath 
 at being disturbed by unseemly do- 
 mestic quarrel : in what posture 
 you will. As for Mrs. Colonel 
 Bunch, she, poor thing, does not 
 know that the General and her own 
 Colonel have entered on a mortal 
 quarrel. She imagines the dispute is 
 only between Mrs. Baynes and her 
 sister as yet ; and she has known this 
 pair quarrelling for a score of years 
 past. " Toujours comme 93, fighting 
 vous savez, et puis make it up again. 
 Oui," she explains to a French friend 
 on the landing. 
 
 In the very midst of this storm 
 Colonel Bunch returns, his friend and 
 second, Dr. Martin, on his arm. He 
 does not know that two battles have 
 been fought since his own combat. 
 His, we will say, was Ligny. Then 
 came Quatre-Bras, in which Baynes 
 and MacWhirter were engaged. 
 Then came the general action of 
 Waterloo. And here enters Colonel 
 Bunch, quite unconscious of the 
 great engagements which have taken 
 place since his temporary retreat in 
 search of reinforcements. 
 
 " How are you, MacWhirter ? " 
 cries the Colonel of the purple 
 whiskers. " My friend. Dr. Mar- 
 tin ! " And as he addresses himself 
 to the General, his eyes almost start 
 out of his head, as if they would 
 shoot themselves into the breast of 
 that officer. 
 
 "My dear, hush! Emily Mac- 
 Whirter, had we not better defer this 
 most painful dispute ? The whole 
 house is listening to us ! " whispers 
 the General, in a rapid low voice. 
 "Doctor Colonel Bunch Major
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 299 
 
 MacWhirter, had we not better go 
 into the dining-room ? " 
 
 The General and the Doctor go 
 first, Major MacWhirter and Colonel 
 Bunch pause at the door. Says 
 Bunch to MacWhirter : " Major, you 
 act as the General's friend in this 
 aft'air ? It 's most awkward, but, by 
 George ! Baynes has said things to 
 me that I won't bear, were he my 
 own flesh and blood, by George ! 
 And I know him a deueed deal too 
 well to think he will ever apologize ! " 
 
 " He has said things to ME, Bunch, 
 that I won't bear from fifty brother- 
 in-laws, by George ! " growls Mac- 
 Whirter. 
 
 " What ? Don't you bring me any 
 message from him ? " 
 
 " I tell you, Tom Bunch, I want 
 to send a message to him. Invite me 
 to his house, and insult me and Emily 
 when we come ! By George, it makes 
 my blood boil ! Insult us after trav- 
 elling twenty-four hours in a con- 
 founded diligence, and say we 're not 
 invited ! He and his little catama- 
 ran." 
 
 " Hush ! " interposed Bunch. 
 
 " I say catamaran, sir ! don't tell 
 me! They came and stayed with us 
 four months at Dumdum, the chil- 
 dren ill with the pip, or some con- 
 founded thing, went to Europe, and 
 left me to pay the doctor's bill ; and 
 now, by 
 
 Was the Major going to invoke 
 George, the Cappadocian champion, 
 or Olympian Jove ? At this moment 
 a door, by which they stood, opens. 
 You may remember there were three 
 doors, all on that landing ; if you 
 doubt me, go and see the house 
 ( Avenue de Valmy, Champs Ely sees, 
 Paris). A third door opens, and a 
 young lady comes out, looking very 
 pale and sad, and her hair hanging 
 over her shoulders ; her hair, 
 which hung in rich clusters generally, 
 but I suppose tears have put it all 
 out of curl. 
 
 " Is it you, Uncle Mac ? I thought 
 I knew your voice, and I heard Aunt 
 Emily's," says the little person. 
 
 " Yes, it is I, Charley," says Uncle 
 Mac. And he looks into the round 
 face, which looks so 'wild and is so 
 full of grief unutterable that Uncle 
 Mac is quite melted, and takes the 
 child to his arms, and says, " What 
 is it, my dear ? " And he quite for- 
 gets that he proposes to blow her 
 father's brains out in the morn- 
 ing. " How hot your little hands 
 are ! " 
 
 " Uncle, uncle ! " she says, in a 
 swift febrile whisper, "you re come 
 to take me away, I know. I heard 
 you and papa, I heard mamma and 
 Aunt Emily speaking quite loud ! But 
 if I go I '11 I '11 never love any 
 but him ! " 
 
 " But whom, dear 1 " 
 
 " But Philip, uncle." 
 
 "By George, Char, no more you 
 shall ! " says the Major. And here- 
 with the poor child, who had been sit- 
 ting up on her bed whilst this quar- 
 relling of sisters, whilst this brawl- 
 ing of majors, generals, colonels, 
 whilst this coming of hackney- 
 coaches, whilst this arrival and de- 
 parture of visitors on horseback, 
 had been taking place, gave a fine 
 hysterical scream, and fell into her 
 uncle's arms laughing and crying 
 wildly. 
 
 This outcry, of course, brought the 
 gentlemen from their adjacent room, 
 and the ladies from theirs. 
 
 " What are you making a fool 
 of yourself about ? " growls Mrs. 
 Baynes, in her deepest bark. 
 
 " By George, Eliza, you are too 
 bad ! says the General, quite white. 
 
 " Eliza, you are a brute ! " cries 
 Mrs. MacWhirter. 
 
 " So SHE is ! " shrieks Mrs. Bunch 
 from the landing-place overhead, 
 where other lady- boarders were as- 
 sembled looking down on this awful 
 family battle. 
 
 Eliza Baynes knew she had gone 
 too far. Poor Charley was scarco 
 conscious by this time, and wildly 
 screaming, " Never, never ! " . . . 
 When, as I live, who should burst in- 
 to the premises but a young man with
 
 300 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 fair hair, with flaming whiskers, with 
 flaming eyes, who calls out, " What 
 is it ? I 'am here, Charlotte, Char- 
 lotte ! " 
 
 Who is that young man ? We had 
 a glimpse of him, prowling about the 
 Champs Elysc'es just now, and dodg- 
 ing behind a tree when Colonel Bunch 
 went out in search of his second. 
 Then the young man saw the Mac- 
 Whirter hackney-coach approach the 
 house. Then he waited and waited, 
 looking to that upper window behind 
 which we know his beloved was not 
 reposing. Then he beheld Bunch and 
 Doctor Martin arrive. Then he 
 passed through the wicket into the 
 garden, and heard Mrs. Mac and 
 Mrs. Baynes fighting. Then there 
 came from the passage where, you 
 see, this battle was going on that 
 ringing dreadful laugh and scream of 
 poor Charlotte; and Philip Firmin 
 burst like a bombshell into the midst 
 of the hall where the battle was 
 raging, and of the family circle who 
 were fighting and screaming. 
 
 Here is a picture I protest. We 
 have first, the boarders on the first 
 landing, whither, too, the Baynes 
 children have crept in their night- 
 gowns. Secondly, we have Auguste, 
 Fran9oise the cook, and the assistant 
 coming up from the basement And, 
 third, we have Colonel Bunch, Doc- 
 tor Martin, Major MacWhirter, with 
 Charlotte in his arms ; Madame, Gen- 
 eral B., Mrs. Mac, Mrs. General B., 
 all in the passage, when our friend 
 the bombshell bursts in amongst 
 them. 
 
 " What is it ? Charlotte, I am 
 here!" cries Philip, with his great 
 Toice; at hearing which, little Char 
 gives one final scream, and, at the 
 next moment, she has fainted quite 
 dead, but this time she is on 
 Philip's shoulder. 
 
 " You brute, how dare yon do 
 this ? " asks .Mrs. Baynes, glaring at 
 the young man-. 
 
 " It is you who have done it, 
 Eliza ! " says Aunt Emily. 
 
 " And so she has, Mrs. MacWhir- 
 
 ter ! " calls out Mrs. Colonel Bunch, 
 from the landing above. 
 
 And Charles Baynes felt he had 
 acted like a traitor, and hung down 
 his head. He had encouraged his 
 daughter to give her heart away, and 
 she had obeyed him. When he saw 
 Philip I think he was glad : so was 
 the Major, though Firmin, to be sure, 
 pushed him quite roughly up against 
 the wall. 
 
 " Is this vulgar scandal to go on 
 in the passage before the whole 
 house 1 " gasped Mrs. Baynes. 
 
 "Bunch brought me here to pre- 
 scribe for this young lady," says little 
 Doctor Martin, in a very courtly 
 way. " Madame, will you get a little 
 sal-volatile from Anjubeau's in the 
 Faubourg; and let her be kept very 
 quiet ! " 
 
 " Come, Monsieur Philippe, it is 
 enough like that ! " cries Madame, 
 who can't repress a smile. " Come 
 to your chamber, dear little ! " 
 
 " Madame ! " cries Mrs. Baynes, 
 " une mere " 
 
 Madame shrugs her shoulders. 
 " Une mere, une belle mere, ma 
 foi ! " she says. " Come, mademoi- 
 selle ! " 
 
 There were only very few people in 
 the boarding-house : if they knew, if 
 they saw, what happened, how can 
 we help ourselves ? But that they 
 had all been sitting over a powder- 
 magazine, which might have blown 
 up and destroyed one, two, three, five 
 people, even Philip did not know, 
 until afterwards, when, laughing, 
 Major MacWhirter told him how that 
 meek but most savage Baynes had 
 first challenged Bunch, had then chal- 
 lenged his brother-in-law, and how 
 all sorts of battle, murder, sudden 
 death might have ensued had the 
 quarrel not come to an end. 
 
 Were your humble servant anxious 
 to harrow his reader's feelings, or 
 display his own graphical powers, 
 you understand that I never would 
 have allowed those two gallant officers 
 to quarrel and threaten each other's 
 very noses, without having the insult
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 301 
 
 vriped out in blood. The Bois de 
 Boulogne is hard by the Avenue de 
 Valmy, with plenty of cool fighting- 
 ground. The octroi officers never 
 stop gentlemen going out at the 
 neighboring barrier upon duelling 
 business, or prevent the return of the 
 slain victim in the hackney-coach 
 when the dreadful combat is over. 
 From my knowledge of Mrs. Baynes's 
 character, I have not the slightest 
 doubt that she would have encouraged 
 her husband to fight; and, the Gen- 
 eral down, would have put pistols 
 into the hands of her boys, and bid- 
 den them carry on the vendetta; but 
 as I do not, for my part, love to see 
 brethren at war, or Moses and Aaron 
 tugging white handfuls out of each 
 other's beards, I am glad there is 
 going to be no fight between the 
 veterans, and that cither's stout old 
 breast is secure from the fratricidal 
 bullet. 
 
 Major MacWhirter forgot all about 
 bullets and battles when poor little 
 Charlotte kissed him, and was not in 
 the least jealous when he saw the 
 little maiden clinging on Philip's 
 arm. He was melted at the sight of 
 that grief and innocence, when Mrs. 
 Baynes still continued to bark out 
 her private rage, and said : " If the 
 General won't protect me from insult, 
 I think I had better go." 
 
 " By Jove, I think you had ! " 
 exclaimed MacWhirter, to which 
 remark the eyes of the Doctor 
 and Colonel Bunch gleamed an ap- 
 proval. 
 
 " Allans, Monsieur Philippe. 
 Enough like that, let me take her 
 to bed again," Madame resumed. 
 " Come, dear miss ! " 
 
 What a pity that the bedroom was 
 but a yard from where they stood ! 
 Philip felt strong enough to carry his 
 little Charlotte to the Tuileries. 
 The thick brown locks, which had 
 fallen over his shoulders, are lifted 
 away. The little wounded heart 
 that had laid against his own parts 
 from him with a reviving throb. 
 Madame and her mother carry away 
 
 little Charlotte. The door of the 
 neighboring chamber closes on her. 
 The sad little vision has disappeared. 
 The men, quarrelling anon in the 
 passage, stand there silent. 
 
 " I heard her voice outside," said 
 i Philip, after a little pause (with love, 
 I with grief, with excitement, I sup- 
 pose his head was in a whirl). " I 
 heard her voice outside, and I could 
 n't help coming in." 
 
 " By George, I should think not, 
 young fellow ! " says Major Mac- 
 Whirter, stoutly shaking the young 
 man by the hand. 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " whispers the 
 Doctor ; " she must be kept quite 
 quiet. She has had quite excite- 
 ment enough for to-night. There 
 must be no more scenes, my young 
 ! fellow." 
 
 And Philip says, when in this 
 I agony of grief and doubt he found a 
 friendly hand put out to him, he him- 
 self was so exceedingly moved that 
 he was compelled to fly out of the 
 company of the old men, into the 
 night, where the rain was pouring, 
 the gentle rain. 
 
 While Philip, without Madame 
 Smolensk's premises, is saying his 
 tenderest prayers, offering up his 
 tears, heart-throbs, and most passion- 
 ate vows of love for little Charlotte's 
 benefit, the warriors assembled with- 
 in once more retreat to a colloquy in 
 the salle-a-manger ; and, in conse- 
 quence of the rainy state of the night, 
 the astonished Auguste has to bring 
 a third supply of hot water for the 
 four gentlemen attending the con- 
 gress. The Colonel, the Major, the 
 Doctor, ranged themselves on one 
 side the table, defended, as it were, 
 by a line of armed tumblers, flanked 
 by a strong brandy-bottle and a stout 
 earthwork, from an embrasure in 
 which scalding water could be dis- 
 charged. Behind these fortifications 
 the veterans awaited their enemy, 
 who, after marching up and down 
 the room for a while, takes position 
 finally in their front and prepares to 
 attack. The General remounts his
 
 302 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 cheval de bataitte, but cannot bring the 
 animal to charge as fiercely as before, j 
 Charlotte's white apparition has come ' 
 amongst them, and flung her fair j 
 arms between the men of war. In 
 vain Baynes tries to get up a bluster, j 
 and to enforce his passion with by : 
 Georges, by Joves, and words naugh- 
 tier still. That weak, meek, quiet, 
 henpecked, but most blood-thirsty old 
 General found himself forming his 
 own minority, and against him his old 
 comrade Bunch, whom he had in- 
 sulted and nose-pulled ; his brother-in- 
 law MacWhirter, whom he had nose- 
 pulled and insulted ; and the Doctor, 
 who had been called in as the friend 
 of the former. As they faced him, 
 shoulder to shoulder, each of those 
 three acquired fresh courage from his 
 neighbor. Each, taking his aim, 
 deliberately poured his fire into 
 Baynes. To yield to such odds, on 
 the other hand, was not so distaste- 
 ful to the veteran as to have to give 
 up his sword to any single adversary. 
 Before he would own himself in the ! 
 wrong to any individual, he would ' 
 eat that individual's ears and nose : ' 
 but to be surrounded by three ene- j 
 mies, and strike your flag before 
 such odds, was no disgrace ; and i 
 Baynes could take the circumbendi- 
 bus way of apology to which some 
 proud spirits will submit. Thus he 
 could say to the Doctor, " Well, 
 Doctor, perhaps I was hasty in ac- 
 cusing Bunch of employing bad ! 
 language to me. A bystander can 
 see these things sometimes when a 
 principal is too angry ; and as you ! 
 go against me well there, then,! 
 I ask Bunch's pardon." That busi- 
 ness over, the MacWhirter reconcilia- 
 tion was very speedily brought about. 
 "Fact was, was in a confounded ill- 
 temper, very much disturbed by : 
 events of the day, did n't mean 
 anything but this, that, and so forth." j 
 If this old chief had to eat humble- 
 pie, his brave adversaries were anx- 
 ious that he should gobble up his 
 portion as quickly as possible, and j 
 turned away their honest old heads as | 
 
 he swallowed it. One of the party 
 told his wife of the quarrel which had 
 arisen, but Baynes never did. "I 
 declare, sir," Philip used to say, " had 
 she known anything about the quar- 
 rel that night", Mrs. Baynes would 
 have made her husband turn out of 
 bed at midnight, and challenge his 
 old friends over again ! " But then 
 there was no love between Philip and 
 Mrs. Baynes, and in those whom he 
 hates he is accustomed to see little 
 good. 
 
 Thus, any gentle reader who ex- 
 pected to be treated to an account of 
 the breakage of the sixth command- 
 ment will close this chapter disap- 
 pointed. Those stout old rusty 
 swords which were fetched off their 
 hooks by the warriors, their owners, 
 were returned undrawn to their flan- 
 nel cases. Hands were shaken after 
 a fashion, at least no blood was 
 shed. But, though the words spoken 
 between the old boys were civil 
 enough, Bunch, Baynes, and the 
 Doctor could not alter their opinion 
 that Philip had been hardly used, 
 and that the benefactor of his family 
 merited a better treatment from Gen- 
 eral Baynes. 
 
 Meanwhile, that benefactor strode 
 home through the rain in a state of 
 perfect rapture. The rain refreshed 
 him, as did his own tears. The dear- 
 est little maiden had sunk for a mo- 
 ment on his heart, and, as she lay 
 there, a thrill of hope vibrated 
 through his whole frame. Her fa- 
 ther's old friends had held out a hand 
 to him, and bid him not despair. 
 Blow wind, fall autumn rains ! In 
 the midnight, under the gusty trees, 
 amidst which the lamps of the re'ver- 
 heres are tossing, the young fellow 
 strides back to his lodgings. He is 
 poor and unhappy, but he has Hope 
 along with him. He looks at a cer- 
 tain breast-button of his old coat ere 
 he takes it off to sleep. " Her cheek 
 was lying there," he thinks, "just 
 there." My poor little Charlotte! 
 what could she have done to the 
 breast-button of the old coat 1
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 303 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 IW WHICH MRS. MACWIIIRTER HAS 
 A NEW BONNET. 
 
 Now though the unhappy Philip 
 slept quite soundly, so that his boots, 
 those tramp-worn sentries, remained 
 en faction at his door until quite a 
 late hour next morning ; and though 
 little Charlotte, after a prayer or two, 
 sank into the sweetest and most re- 
 freshing girlish slumber, Charlotte's 
 father and mother had a bad night ; 
 and, for my part, I maintain that 
 they did not deserve a good one. It 
 was very well for Mrs. Baynes to de- 
 clare that it was MacWhirter's snor- 
 ing which kept them awake ( Mr. and 
 Mrs. Mac being lodged in the bed- 
 room over their relatives), I don't 
 say a snoring neighbor is pleasant, 
 but what a bedfellow is a bad con- 
 science ! Under Mrs. Baynes's night- 
 cap the grim eyes lie open all night ; 
 on Baynes's pillow is a silent, wake- 
 ful head that hears ihe hours toll. 
 "A plague upon the young man ! " 
 thinks the female bonnet de nuit; 
 " how dare he come in and disturb 
 everything? How pale Charlotte 
 will look to-morrow when Mrs. Hely 
 calls with her son ! When she has 
 been crying she looks hideous, and 
 her eyelids and nose are quite red. 
 She may fly out, and say something 
 wicked and absurd, as she did to-day. 
 I wish I had never seen that insolent 
 young man, with his carroty beard 
 and vulgar blucher boots ! If my 
 toys were grown up, he should not 
 come hectoring about the house as he 
 does ; they would soon find a way of 
 punishing his impudence ! " Balked 
 revenge and a hungry disappoint- 
 ment, I think, arc keeping that old 
 woman awake; and, if she hears the 
 hours tolling, it is because wicked 
 thoughts make her sleepless. 
 
 As for Baynes, I believe that old 
 man is awake because he is awake to 
 the shabbiness of his own conduct. 
 His conscience has got the better of 
 him, which he has been trying to 
 bully out of doors. Do what he will, 
 
 that reflection forces itself upon him. 
 Mac, Bunch, and the Doctor all saw 
 the thing at once, and went dead 
 against him. He wanted to break 
 his word . to a young fellow, who, 
 j whatever his faults might be, had 
 acted most nobly and generously by 
 the Baynes family. He might have 
 been ruined but for Philip's forbear- 
 ance; and showed his gratitude by 
 breaking his promise to the young 
 fellow. He was a henpecked naan, 
 that was the fact. He allowed his 
 wife to govern him : that little old 
 plain, cantankerous woman asleep 
 yonder. Asleep was she ? No. He 
 knew she was n't. Both were lying 
 quite still, wide awake, pursuing their 
 dismal thoughts. Only Charles was 
 owning that he was a sinner, whilst 
 Eliza his wife, in a rage at her last 
 defeat, was meditating how she could 
 continue and still win her battle. 
 
 Then Baynes reflects how persever- 
 ing his wife is ; how, all through life, 
 she has come back and back and back 
 to her point, until he has ended by an 
 almost utter subjugation. He will re- 
 sist for a day : she will fight for a 
 year, for a life. If once she hates 
 people, the sentiment always remains 
 with her fresh and lively. Her jeal- 
 ousy never dies ; nor her desire to 
 rule. What a life she will lead poor 
 Charlotte now she has declared 
 against Philip! The poor child will 
 be subject to a dreadful tyranny : the 
 father knows it. As soon as he 
 leaves the house on his daily walks 
 the girl's torture will begin. Baynes 
 knows how his wife can torture a 
 woman. As she groans out a hollow 
 cough from her bed in the midnight, 
 the guilty man lies quite mum under 
 his own counterpane. If she fancies 
 him awake, it will be his' turn to re- 
 ceive the torture. Ah, Othello mon 
 ami! when you look round at mar- 
 ried life, and know what you know, 
 don't you wonder that the bolster is 
 not used a great deal more freely on 
 both sides 1 Horrible cynicism ! Yes, 
 I know. These propositions served 
 raw are savage, and shock your sen-
 
 304 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 aibility ; cooked with a little piquant 
 sauce, they are welcome at quite po- 
 lite tables. 
 
 " Poor child ! Yes, by George ! 
 What a life her mother will lead 
 her ! " thinks the General, rolling un- 
 easy on the midnight pillow. " No 
 rest for her, day or night, until she 
 marries the man of her mother's 
 choosing. And she has a delicate ! 
 chest, Martin says she has ; and I 
 she wants coaxing and soothing, and ; 
 pretty coaxing she will have from 
 m.imma ! " Then, I dare say, the I 
 p ist rises up in that wakeful old j 
 man's uncomfortable memory. His i 
 little Charlotte is a child again, I 
 laughing on his knee, and playing i 
 with his accoutrements as he comes 
 home from parade. He remembers 
 the fever which she had, when she 
 would take medicine from no other 
 hand; and how, though silent with 
 her mother, with him she would never 
 tire of prattling, prattling. Guilt- 
 stricken old man ! are those tears 
 trickling down thy old nose? It is i 
 midnight. We cannot see. When I 
 you brought her to the river, and 
 parted with her to send her to Eu- j 
 rope, how the little maid clung to 
 you, and cried, " Papa, papa ! " 
 Staggering up the steps of the ghaut, 
 how you wept yourself, yes, wept 
 tears of passionate, tender grief at 
 parting with the darling of your soul. 
 And now, deliberately, and for the 
 sake of money, you stab her to the 
 heart, and break your plighted honor 
 to your child. "And it is yonder ' 
 cruel, shrivelled, bilious, plain old 
 woman who makes me do all this, 
 and trample on my darling, and tor- 1 
 tureher!" he thinks. In Zoffanv's 
 famous picture of Garrick and Mrs. 
 Pritciiard as Macbeth and Ladv M;ic- 
 beth, Macbeth stands in an attitude 
 hideously contorted and constrained, 
 while Lady Mac is firm and easy. 
 Was this the actor's art, or the poet's 
 device? Baynes is wretched, then. 
 He is wrung with remorse, and 
 shame, and pity. Well, I am glad of 
 it. Old man, old man ! how darest 
 
 thou to cause that child's tender littl* 
 bosom to bleed ? How bilious he 
 looks the next morning ! I declare, 
 as yellow as his grim old wife. 
 When Mrs. General B. hears the chil- 
 dren their lessons, how she will scold 
 them ! It is my belief she will bark 
 through the morning chapter, and 
 scarce understand a word of its mean- 
 ing. As for Charlotte, when she ap- 
 pears with red eyes, and ever so little 
 color in her round cheek, there is that 
 in her look and demeanor which 
 warns her mother to refrain from too 
 familiar abuse or scolding. The girl 
 is in rebellion. All day Char was in 
 a feverish state, her eyes flashing 
 war. There was a song which Philip 
 loved in those days : the song of 
 Ruth. Char sat down to the piano, 
 and sang it with a strange energy. 
 " Thy people shall be my people " 
 she sang with all her heart " and 
 thy God my God ! " The slave had 
 risen. The little heart was in arms 
 and mutiny. The mother was scared 
 by her defiance. 
 
 As for the guilty old father : pur- 
 sued by the fiend remorse, he fled early 
 from his house, and read all the papers 
 at Galignani's without comprehending 
 them. Madly regardless of expense, 
 he then plunged into one of those 
 luxurious restaurants in the Palais 
 Royal, where you get soup, three 
 dishes, a sweet, and a pint of delicious 
 wine for two frongs, by George ! But 
 all the luxuries there presented to him 
 could not drive away cure, or create 
 appetite. Then the poor old wretch 
 went off, and saw a ballet at the 
 Grand Opera. In vain. The pink 
 nymphs had not the slightest fascina- 
 tion for him. He hardly was aware 
 of their ogles, bounds, and capers. 
 He saw a little maid with round, sad 
 eyes : his Iphigenia whom he was 
 stabbing. He took more brandy -and- 
 water at cafe's on his way home. In 
 vain, in vain, I tell you ! The old 
 wife was sitting up for him, scared at 
 the unusual absence of her lord. She 
 dared not remonstrate with him when 
 he returned. His face was pale. His
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 305 
 
 eyes were fierce and bloodshot. When 
 the General had a particular look, 
 Eliza Baynes cowered in silence. Mac, 
 the two sisters, and, I think, Colonel 
 Bunch (but on this point my infor- 
 mant, Philip, cannot be sure), were 
 having a dreary rubber when the 
 General came in. Mrs. B. knew by 
 the General's face that he had been 
 having recourse to alcoholic stimulus. 
 But she dared not speak. A tiger in 
 a jungle was not more savage than 
 Baynes sometimes. " Where 's 
 Char '( " he asked in his dreadful, his 
 Bluebeard voice. " Char was gone 
 .to bed," said Mamma, sorting her 
 trumps. " Mm ! Augoost, Odevee, 
 Osho ! " Did Eliza Baynes interfere, 
 though she knew he had had enough ? 
 As soon interfere with a tiger, and 
 tell him he had eaten enough Sepoy. 
 After Lady Macbeth had induced Mae 
 to go through that business with Dun- 
 can, depend upon it she was very 
 deferential and respectful to her gen- 
 eral. No groans, prayers, remorses 
 could avail to bring his late Majesty 
 back to life again. As for you, old 
 man, though your deed is done, it is 
 not past recalling. Though you have 
 withdrawn from your word on a sordid 
 money pretext ; made two hearts 
 miserable, stabbed cruelly that one 
 which you love best in the world ; 
 acted with wicked ingratitude towards 
 a young man, who has been nobly 
 forgiving towards you and yours ; and 
 are suffering with rage and remorse, 
 as you own your crime to yourself ; 
 your deed is not past recalling as yet. 
 You may soothe that anguish, and 
 dry those tears. It is but an act of 
 resolution on your part, and a firm 
 resumption of your marital authority. 
 Mrs. Uaynes, after her crime, is quite 
 humble and gentle. She has half 
 murdered her child, and stretched 
 Philip on an infernal rack of torture ; 
 but she is quite civil to everybody at 
 nmdame's house. Not one word does 
 she say respecting Mrs. Colonel 
 Bunch's outbreak of the night before. 
 She talks to sister Emily about Paris, 
 the fashions, and Emily's walks on 
 
 the Boulevard and the Palais Royal 
 with her Major. She bestows ghastly 
 smiles upon sundry lodgers at table. 
 She thanks Augoost when he serves 
 her at dinner, and says, " Ah, ma- 
 danie, que le boof est bong aujourdhui, 
 rien que j'aime comme le potofou." 
 O you old hypocrite ! But you know 
 J, for my part, always disliked the wo- 
 man, and said her good-humor was 
 ! more detestable than her anger. You 
 hypocrite! I say again: ay, and 
 avow that there were other hypocrites 
 at the table, as you shall presently 
 hear. 
 
 When Baynes got an opportunity 
 of speaking unobserved, as he 
 thought, to inadame, you may be sure 
 the guilty wretch asked her how his 
 little Charlotte was. Mrs. Baynes 
 trumped her partner's best heart at 
 that moment, but pretended to ob- 
 serve or overhear nothing. " She 
 goes better, she sleeps," Madame 
 said. "Mr. the Doctor Martin has 
 commanded her a calming potion." 
 And what if I were to tell you that 
 somebody had taken a little letter 
 from Charlotte, and actually had 
 given fifteen sous to a Savoyard 
 youth to convey that letter to some- 
 body else 7 What if I were to tell 
 you that the party to whom that let- 
 ter was addressed straightway wrote 
 an answer, directed to Madame de 
 Smolensk, of course? I know it was 
 very wrong ; but I suspect Philip's 
 prescription did quite as much good 
 as Doctor Martin's, and don't intend 
 to be very angry with madame for 
 consulting the unlicensed practitioner. 
 Don't preach to me, madam, about 
 morality, and dangerous examples 
 set to young people. Even at your 
 present mature age, and with your 
 dear daughters around you, if your 
 ladyship goes to hear the " Barber of 
 Seville," on which side are your 
 sympathies, on Dr. Bartolo's, or 
 Miss Kosina's 1 
 
 Although, then, Mrs. Baynes was 
 most respectful to her husband, and 
 by many grim blandishments, hum- 
 ble appeals, and forced humiliations,
 
 306 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 strove to conciliate and soothe him, 
 the General turned a dark, lowering 
 face upon the partner of his existence : 
 her dismal smiles were no longer 
 pleasing to him : he returned curt 
 " Oh's ! " and " Ah's ! " to her re- 
 marks. When Mrs. Hely and her 
 son and her daughter drove up in 
 their family coach to pay yet a sec- 
 ond visit to the Baynes family, the 
 General flew in a passion, and cried, 
 "Bless my soul, Eliza, you can't 
 think of receiving visitors, with our 
 poor child sick in the next room ? 
 It 's inhuman ! " The scared wo- 
 man ventured on no remonstrances. 
 She was so frightened that she did not 
 attempt to scold the younger chil- 
 dren. She took a piece of work, and 
 sat amongst them, furtively weeping. 
 Their artless queries and unseason- 
 able laughter stabbed and punished 
 the matron. You see people do 
 wrong, though they are long past fifty 
 years of age. It is not only the schol- 
 ars, but the ushers, and the head- 
 master himself, who sometimes de- 
 serve a chastisement. I, for my part, 
 hope to remember this sweet truth, 
 though I live into the year 1900. 
 
 To those other ladies boarding at 
 madame's establishment, to Mrs. 
 Mac and Mrs. Colonel Bunch, 
 though they had declared against 
 him, and expressed their opinions in 
 the frankest way on the night of the 
 battle royal, the General was provok- 
 ingly polite and amiable. They had 
 said but twenty-four hours since, that 
 the General was a brute ; and Lord 
 Chesterfield could not have been more 
 polite to a lovely young duchess than 
 was Baynes to these matrons next 
 day. You have heard how Mrs. Mac 
 had a strong desire to possess a new 
 Paris bonnet, so that she might appear 
 with proper lustre among the ladies 
 on the promenade at Tours ? Major 
 and Mrs. Mac and Mrs. Bunch talked 
 of going to the Palais Royal (where 
 MacWhirter said he had remarked 
 some uncommonly neat things, by 
 George ! at the corner shop under the 
 glas gallery). On this, Baynes 
 
 started up, and said he would accom- 
 pany his friends, adding, " You know, 
 Emily, I promised you a hat ever so 
 long ago ! " And those four went 
 away together, and not one offer did 
 Baynes make to his wife to join the 
 party ; though her best bonnet, poor 
 thing, was a dreadfully old perform- 
 ance, with moulting feathers, rum- 
 pled ribbons, tarnished flowers, and 
 lace bought in St. Martin's Alley 
 months and months before. Emily, 
 to be sure, said to her sister, " Eliza, 
 won't you be of the party ? Wo can 
 take the omnibus at the corner, which 
 will land us at the very gate." But 
 as Emily gave this unlucky invita- 
 tion, the General's face wore an ex- 
 pression of ill-will so savage and ter- 
 I rific, that Eliza Baynes said, " No, 
 I thank you, Emily ; Charlotte is still 
 I unwell and I I may be wanted at 
 home." And the party went away 
 without Mrs. Baynes ; and they were 
 absent I don't know how long : and 
 Emily MacWhirter came back to the 
 boarding-house in a bonnet, the 
 sweetest thing you ever saw ! green, 
 pique velvet, with a ruche full of rose- 
 buds, and a bird of paradise perched 
 on the top, pecking at a bunch of the 
 most magnificent grapes, poppies, 
 ears of corn, barley, &c., all indica- 
 tive of the bounteous autumn season. 
 Mrs. General Baynes had to see her 
 sister return home in this elegant 
 bonnet ; to welcome her ; to acqui- 
 esce in Emily's remark that the Gen- 
 eral had done the genteel thing ; to 
 hear how the party had further been 
 to Tortoni's and had ices ; and then 
 to go up stairs to her own room, and 
 look at her own battered, blowzy old 
 chapeau, with its limp streamers, 
 hanging from its peg. This humilia- 
 tion, I say, Eliza Baynes had to bear 
 in silence, without wincing, and, if 
 possible, with a smile on her face. 
 
 In consequence of circumstances 
 before indicated. Miss Charlotte was 
 pronounced to be very much better 
 when her papa returned from his Pa- 
 lais Royal trip. He found her seated 
 on madame's sofa, pale, but with the
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 307 
 
 wonted sweetness in her smile. lie 
 kissed and caressed her with many 
 tender words. I dare say he told her 
 there was nothing in the world he 
 loved so much as his Charlotte. lie 
 would never willingly do anything- to 
 give her pain, never ! She had been 
 his good girl, and his blessing, all his 
 life ! Ah ! that is a prettier little pic- 
 ture to imagine that repentant 
 man, and his child clinging to him 
 than the tableau overhead, viz. Mrs. 
 Baynes looking at her old bonnet. 
 Not one word was said ahout Philip 
 in the talk between Baynes and his 
 daughter, but those tender paternal 
 looks and caresses carried hope into 
 Charlotte's heart ; and when her papa 
 went away (she said afterwards to a 
 female friend), " I got up and followed 
 him, intending to show him Philip's 
 letter. But at the door I saw mam-. 
 ma coming down the stairs ; and she 
 looked so dreadful, and frightened 
 me so, that I went back." There are 
 some mothers I have heard of, who 
 won't allow their daughters to read 
 the works of this humble homilist, 
 lest they should imbibe " dangerous " 
 notions, &c., &c. My good ladies, 
 give them " Goody Twoshoes," if you 
 like, or whatever work, combining in- 
 struction and amusement, you think 
 most appropriate to their juvenile un- 
 derstandings ; but I beseech you to be 
 gentle with them. I never saw peo- 
 ple on better terms with each other, 
 more frank, affectionate, and cordial, 
 than the parents and the grown-up 
 young folks in the United States. 
 And why ? Because the children 
 were spoiled, to be sure ! I say to 
 you, get the confidence of yours, 
 before the day comes of revolt and in- 
 dependence, after which love return- 
 eth not. 
 
 Now, when Mrs. Baynes went in 
 to her daughter, who had been sitting 
 pretty comfortably kissing her father 
 on the sofa in madame's chamber, all 
 those soft tremulous smiles and twink- 
 ling dewdrops of compassion and 
 forgiveness which anon had come to 
 soothe the little maid, fled from cheek 
 
 and eyes. They began to flash again 
 with their febrile brightness, and her 
 heart to throb with dangerous rapid- 
 ity. " How are you now 1 " asks 
 mamma with her deep voice. " I am 
 much the same," says the girl, begin- 
 ning to tremble. " Leave the child ; 
 you agitate her, madam," cries the 
 mistress of the house, coming in after 
 Mrs. Baynes. That sad, humiliated, 
 deserted mother goes out from her 
 daughter's presence, hanging her 
 head. She put on the poor old bon- 
 net, and had a walk that evening on 
 the Champs Elysees with her little 
 ones, and showed them Guignol : she 
 gave a penny to Guignol's man. It 
 is my belief that she saw no more of 
 the performance than her husband 
 had seen of the ballet the night previ- 
 ous, when Taglioni, and Noblet, and 
 Duvcrnay, danced before his hot eyes. 
 But then, you see, the hot eyes had 
 been waslied with a refreshing water 
 since, which enabled them to view the 
 world much more cheerfully and 
 brightly. Ah, gracious Heaven gives 
 us eyes to see our own wrong, how- 
 ever dim age may make them ; and 
 knees not too stift'to kneel in spite of 
 years, cramp, and rheumatism ! That 
 stricken old woman, then, treated her 
 children to the trivial comedy of Guig- 
 nol. She did not cry out when the 
 two boys climbed up the trees of the 
 Elysiaii Fields, though the guardians 
 bade them descend. She bought pink 
 sticks of barley-sugar for the young 
 ones. Withdrawing the glistening 
 sweetmeats from their lips, they point- 
 ed to Mrs. Hely's splendid barouche 
 as it rolled citywards from the Bois 
 de Boulogne. The gray shades were 
 falling, and Auguste was in the act of 
 ringing the first dinner-bell at Ma- 
 dame Smolensk's establishment, when 
 Mrs. General Baynes returned to her 
 lodgings. 
 
 Meanwhile Aunt MacWhirter had 
 been to pay a visit to little Miss Char- 
 lotte, in the new bonnet which the 
 General, Charlotte's papa, had bought 
 for her. This elegant article had fur- 
 nished a subject of pleasing conversa-
 
 308 
 
 THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 
 
 tion between niece and aunt, who held 
 each other in very kindly regard, and 
 all the details of the bonnet, the blue 
 flowers, scarlet flowers, grapes, sheaves 
 of corn, lace, &c., were examined and 
 admired in detail. Charlotte remem- 
 bered the dowdy old English thing 
 which Aunt Mac wore when she went 
 out? Charlotte did remember the 
 bonnet, and laughed when Mrs. Mac 
 described how papa, in the hackney- 
 coach on their return home, insisted 
 upon raking the old wretch of a bon- 
 net, and flinging it out of the coach 
 window into the road, where an old 
 chiffonnier, passing, picked it up with 
 his iron hook, put it on his own head, 
 and walked away grinning. I declare, 
 at the recital of this narrative, Char- 
 lotte laughed as pleasantly and happily 
 as in former days; and no doubt, 
 there were more kisses between this 
 poor little maid and her aunt. 
 
 Now, you will remark, that the 
 General and his party, though they 
 returned from the Palais Royal in a 
 hackney-coach, went thither on foot, 
 two and two, viz. Major MacWhir- 
 ter leading, and giving his arm to 
 Mrs. Bunch (who, I promise you, 
 knew the shops in the Palais Royal 
 well), and the General following at 
 some distance, with his sister-in-law 
 for a partner. 
 
 In that walk a conversation very 
 important to Charlotte's interests 
 took place between her aunt and her 
 father. 
 
 " Ah, Baynes ! this is a sad busi- 
 ness about dearest Char," Mrs. Mac 
 broke out with a sigh. 
 
 "It is, indeed, Emily," says the 
 General, with a very s"ad groan on 
 his part. 
 
 "It goes to my heart to see you, 
 Baynes ; it goes to Mac's heart. We 
 talked about it ever so late last night. 
 You were suffering dreadfully; and 
 all the brandy-pawnee in the world 
 won't cure you, Charles." 
 
 " No, faith," says the General, with 
 a dismal screw of the mouth. " You 
 see, Emily, to see that child suffer 
 tears my heart out, by George, it 
 
 does. She has been the best child, 
 and the most gentle, and the merriest, 
 and the mo.^t obedient, and I never 
 had a word of fault to find with her ; 
 and poo-ooh ! " Here the General 'a 
 eyes, which have been winking with 
 extreme rapidity, give way; and 
 at the signal pooh ! there issue ou( 
 from them two streams of that eye. 
 waier which we have said is some' 
 times so good for the sight. 
 
 " My dear kind Charles, you wer* 
 always a good creature," says Emily, 
 patting the arm on which hers rests. 
 Meanwhile Major-General Baynes, 
 C. B., puts his bamboo cane undei 
 his disengaged arm, extracts from his 
 hind pocket a fine large yellow ban. 
 danna pocket-handkerchief, and per. 
 forms a prodigious loud obligate, 
 just under the spray of the Rond- 
 point fountain, opposite the Bridge of 
 the Invalides, over which poor Philip 
 has tramped many and many a day 
 and night to see his little maid. 
 
 " Have a care with your cane, then, 
 old imbecile ! " cries an approaching 
 foot-passenger, whom the General 
 meets and charges with his iron 
 ferule. 
 
 "Mille pardong, mosoo; je vous 
 demande mille pardong," says the old 
 man, quite meekly. 
 
 " You are a good soul, Charles," 
 the lady continues; "and my little 
 Char is a darling. You never would 
 have done this of your own accord. 
 Mercy ! And see what it was coming 
 to ! Mac only told me last night. 
 You horrid, blood - thirsty creature ! 
 Two challenges, and dearest Mac as 
 hot as pepper ! O Charles Baynes, I 
 tremble when I think of the danger 
 from which you have all been res- 
 cued ! Suppose you brought home to 
 Eliza, suppose dearest Mac brought 
 home to me killed by this arm on 
 which I am leaning. " O, it is dread- 
 fill, dreadful ! We are sinners all, 
 that we are, Baynes ! " 
 
 " I humbly ask pardon for having 
 thought of a great crime. I ask par- 
 don," says the General, very pale and 
 solemn.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 309 
 
 * If you had killed dear Mac. 
 would you ever have had rest again, 
 Charles ? " 
 
 " No ; I think not. I should not 
 deserve it," answers the contrite 
 Baynes. 
 
 " You have a good heart. It was 
 not you who did this. I know who it 
 was. She always had a dreadful 
 temper. The way in which she used 
 to torture our poor dear Louisa who 
 is dead, I can hardly forgive now, | 
 Baynes. Poor suffering angel ! Eliza 
 was at her bedside nagging and tor- 
 turing her up to the very last day. 
 Did you ever see her with nurses and 
 servants in India ? The way in which 
 she treated them was " 
 
 " Don't say any more. I am aware 
 of my wife's faults of temper. Heaven 
 knows it has made me suffer enough ! " 
 says the General, hanging his head 
 down. 
 
 "Why, man, do you intend to 
 give way to her altogether ? I said 
 to Mac last night, ' Mac, does he in- 
 tend to give way to her altogether 1 ? 
 The " Army List " does n't contain 
 the name of a braver man than 
 Charles Baynes, and is my sister 
 Eliza to rule him entirely, Mac ! ' I 
 said. No, if you stand up to Eliza, I 
 know from experience she will give 
 way. We have had quarrels, scores 
 and hundreds, as you know, Baynes." 
 
 " Faith, I do," owns the General, 
 with a sad smile on his countenance. 
 
 " And sometimes she has had the 
 best and sometimes I have had the 
 best, Baynes ! But I never yielded, 
 as you do, without a fight for my 
 own. No, never, Baynes ! And me 
 and Mac are shocked, I tell you fairly, 
 when we see the way in which- you 
 give up to her '" 
 
 " Come, come ! I think you have 
 told me often enough that I am hen- 
 pecked," says the General. 
 
 " And you give up not yourself 
 only, Charles, hut your dear, dear 
 child, poor little sutlering love ! " 
 
 " The young man 's a beggar ! " 
 cries the General, biting his lips. 
 
 " What were you, what was Mac 
 
 and me when we married ? We 
 hadn't much beside our pay, had 
 we 'i we rubbed on through bad 
 weather and good, managing as best 
 we could, loving each other, God be 
 praised ! And here we are, owing 
 nobody anything, and me going to 
 have a new bonnet ! " and she tossed 
 up her head, and gave her companion 
 a good - natured look through her 
 twinkling eyes. 
 
 " Emily, you have a good heart ! 
 that 's the truth," says the General. 
 
 "And you have a good heart, 
 Charles, as sure as my name 's Mac- 
 Whirter; and I want you to act up- 
 on it, and I propose " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Well, I propose that " But 
 now they have reached the Tuileries 
 garden gates, and pass through, and 
 continue their conversation in the 
 midst of such a hubbub that we can- 
 not overhear them. They cross the 
 garden, and so make their way into 
 the Palais Royal, and the purchase of 
 the bonnet takes place; and in the 
 midst of the excitement occasioned 
 by that event, of course, all discus- 
 sion of domestic affairs becomes unin- 
 teresting. 
 
 But the gist of Baynes's talk with 
 his sister-in-law may be divined from 
 the conversation which presently oc- 
 curred between Charlotte and her 
 aunt. Charlotte did not come in to 
 the public dinner. She was too weak 
 for that ; and " un ban bouillon " and 
 a wing of fowl were served to her in 
 the private apartment, where she had 
 been reclining all day. At dessert, 
 however, Mrs. MacWhirter took a 
 fine bunch of grapes and a plump 
 rosy peach from the table, and carried 
 them to the little maid, and their in 
 terview may be described with suffl 
 cient accuracy, though it passed with- 
 out other witnesses. 
 
 From the outbreak on the night of 
 quarrels, Charlotte knew that her 
 aunt was her friend. The glances of 
 Mrs. MacWhirter's eyes, and the ex- 
 pression of her bonny, homely face, 
 told her sympathy to the girl. There
 
 310 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 were no pallors now, no angry 
 elances, no heart-beatin 
 
 Miss Char 
 
 " aunt, aunt ! Don't take me 
 away, don't take me away ! " cries 
 could even make a little joke when 
 her aunt appeared, and say, " What 
 beautiful grapes ! Why, aunt, you I your old aunt, and your uncle Mac, 
 must have taken them out of the new '> who is so kind, and has always loved 
 bonnet." 'you? Major Mac Whirter has a will 
 
 " You should have had the bird of of his own, too, though of course I 
 paradise, too, dear, only I see you [ make no allusions. We know how 
 have not eaten your chicken. She is admirably somebody has behaved to 
 a kind woman, Madame Smolensk, your family. Somebody who has 
 I like her. She gives very nice din- been most ungratefully treated, though 
 I can't think how she does it of course I make no allusions. If you 
 
 for the money, I am sure ! " 
 
 _ iu ( have given away your heart to your 
 
 She has "been very, very kind to j fathers greatest benefactor, dp^you sup- 
 and I love her with all my pose 
 
 with 
 
 me 
 
 heart ! " cries Charlotte. 
 
 " Poor darling ! We have all our 
 trials, and yours have begun, my 
 love ! " 
 
 Yes, indeed, aunt ! " whimpers 
 
 I and Uncle Mac will quarrel 
 you ? When Eliza married 
 
 Baynes (your father was a penniless 
 subaltern, then, my dear, and my 
 sister was certainly neither a fortune 
 nor a beauty) didn't she go dead 
 
 the young person ; upon which oscu- ' against the wishes of our father ? 
 lation possibly takes place. | Certainly she did ! But she said she 
 
 " My dear ! when your papa took ; was of age, that she was, and a 
 me to buy the bonnet, we had a long great deal more, too, and she would 
 
 warbles Miss 
 
 talk, and it was about you." 
 " About me, aunt ? " war! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 " He would not take mamma ; he 
 
 would only 30 with me, alone. I 
 
 knew he wanted to say somethin 
 
 do as she liked, and she made Baynes 
 marry her. Why should you be 
 afraid of coming to us, love ? You 
 are nearer somebody here, but can 
 you see him ? Your mamma will 
 never let you go out, but she will 
 
 about you ; and what do you think it j follow you like a shadow. You may 
 was ? My dear, you have been very ! write to him. Don't tell mr, child, 
 much agitated here. You and your i Haven't I been young myself; and 
 poor mamma are likely to disagree when there was a difficulty between 
 for some time. She will drag you to ; Mac and poor papa, did n't Mac write 
 
 those balls and fine parties, and bring 
 
 you those fine partners." 
 
 " O, I hate them ! " cries Charlotte. 
 
 to me, though he hates letters, poor 
 
 dear, and certainly is a stick at the-m ? 
 
 And, though we were forbidden, had 
 
 Poor little Walsingham Hely, what I we not twenty ways of telegraphing 
 had he done to be hated ? | to each other ? Law ! your poor 
 
 " Well. It is not for me to speak of dear grandfather was in such a rage 
 a mother to her own daughter. But with me once, when he found one, 
 you know mamma has a way with j that he took down his great buggy- 
 her. She expects to be obeyed. She I whip to me, a grown girl ! " 
 will give you no peace. She will Charlotte, who has plenty of hti. 
 come back to her point again and mor, would have laughed at this con- 
 again. You know how she speaks j fession some other time, but now she 
 of some one a certain gentleman 1 \ was too much agitated bv that invita- 
 If ever she sees him, she will be rude ! tion to quit Paris, which her aunt 
 to him. Mamma can be rude at j had just given her. Quit Paris ? 
 times, that I must say of my own Lose the chance of seeing her dearest 
 
 sister. As 
 here " 
 
 long as you remain 
 
 friend, her protector ? If he was not 
 with her, was he not near her ? Yes,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 311 
 
 near her always ! On that horrible i 
 night, when all was so desperate, did j 
 not her champion burst forward to j 
 her rescue? O the dearest and 
 bravest ! O the tender and true ! 
 
 " You are not listening, you poor 
 child ! " said Aunt.Mac, surveying her 
 niece with looks of kindness. " Now j 
 listen to me once more. Whisper ! " 
 And sitting down on the settee by 
 Charlotte's side, Aunt Emily first ] 
 kissed the girl's round cheek, and 
 then whispered into her ear. 
 
 Never, I declare, was medicine so 
 efficacious, or rapid of effect, as that 
 wondrous distilment which Aunt 
 Emily poured into her niece's ear ! 
 " O you goose ! " she began by say- 
 ing, and the rest of the charm she 
 whispered into that pearly little pink 
 shell round which Miss Charlotte's 
 soft brown ringlets clustered. Such 
 a sweet blush rose straightway to the 
 cheek ! Such sweet lips began to 
 cry " O you dear, dear aunt," and 
 then began to kiss aunt's kind face, 
 that, I declare, if I knew the spell, I 
 would like to pronounce it right off, 
 with such a sweet young patient to 
 practise on. 
 
 " When do we go ? To-morrow, 
 aunt, n'est-ce pas ? O, I am quite 
 strong ! never felt so well in my life ! 
 I '11 go and pack up this instant," cries 
 the young person. 
 
 " Doucement ! Papa knows of the 
 plan. Indeed, it was he who pro- 
 posed it." 
 
 " Dearest, best father ! " ejaculates 
 Miss Charlotte. 
 
 " But mamma does not ; and if 
 you show yourself very eager, Char- 
 lotte, she may object, you know. 
 Heaven forbid that / should counsel 
 dissimulation to a child ; but under 
 the circumstances, my love At 
 least I own what happened between 
 Mac and me. Law ! / did n't care for 
 papa's buggy-whip ! I knew it would 
 not hurt ; and as for Baynes, I am 
 sure he would not hurt a fly. Never 
 was man more sorry for what he 
 has done. He told me so whilst we 
 walked away from the bonnet-shop, 
 
 whilst he was carrying my old yellow. 
 We met somebody near the Bourse. 
 How sad he looked, and how hand- 
 some, too ! 1 bowed to him, and 
 kissed my hand to him, that is, the 
 knob of my parasol. Papa could n't 
 shake hands with him, because of my 
 bonnet, you know, in the brown-pa- 
 per bag. He has a grand beard, in- 
 deed ! He looked like a wounded 
 lion. I said so to papa. And I said, 
 ' It is you who wound him, Charles 
 Baynes ! ' 'I know that,' papa said. 
 ' I have been thinking of it. I can't 
 sleep at night for thinking about it . 
 and it makes me dee'd unhappy.' 
 You know what papa sometimes says ? 
 Dear me ! You should have heard 
 them, when Eliza and I joined the 
 army, years and years ago ! " 
 
 For once, Charlotte Baynes was 
 happy at her father's being unhappy. 
 The little maiden's heart had been 
 wounded to think that her father 
 1 could do his Charlotte a wrong. Ah ! 
 ! take warning by him, ye graybeards ! 
 \ And however old and toothless, if 
 you have done wrong, own that you 
 have done so ; and sit down and say 
 grace, and mumble your humble-pie ! 
 The General, then, did not shake 
 hands with Philip ; but Major Mac- 
 Whirter went up in the most marked 
 way, and gave the wounded lion his 
 own paw, and said, " Mr Firmin, 
 glad to see you ! If ever you come to 
 Tours, mind, don't forget my wife 
 and me. Fine day. Little patient 
 much better ! Bon courage, as they 
 say ! " 
 
 *I wonder what sort of a bungle 
 Philip made of bis correspondence 
 with the Pall Mall Gazette that night '' 
 Every man who lives by his pen, if by 
 chance he looks back at his writings 
 of former years, lives in the past 
 again. Our griefs, our pleasures, our 
 youth, our sorrows, our dear, dear 
 friends, resuscitate. How we tingle 
 with shame over some of those fine 
 passages! How dreary are those 
 disinterred jokes ! It was Wednes- 
 day night. Philip was writing oft' at 
 home, in his inn, one of his grand
 
 312 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 tirades, dated " Paris, Thursday " 
 so as to be in time, you understand, 
 for the post of Saturday, when the 
 little waiter comes and says, wink- 
 ing, "Again that lady, Monsieur 
 Philippe ! " 
 
 " What lady ? " asks our own in- 
 telligent correspondent. 
 
 " That old lady who came the 
 other day, you know." 
 
 " C'est moi, mon ami ! " cries 
 Madame Smolensk's well - known 
 grave voice. " Here is a letter, d'- 
 abord. But that says nothing. It 
 was written before the grand nouvelle 
 the great news the good news ! " 
 
 " What good news 1 " asks the gen- i 
 tleman. 
 
 " In two days miss goes to Tours 
 with her aunt and uncle, this good 
 Macvirterre. They have taken their ] 
 places by the diligence of Lafitte and 
 Caillard. They are thy friends. ! 
 Papa encourages her going. Here is 
 their card of visit. Go thou also ; 
 they will receive thee witli open arms. 
 What hast thou, my son ? " 
 
 Philip looked dreadfully sad. An 
 injured and unfortunate gentleman at 
 New York had drawn upon him, and 
 he had paid away everything he had 
 but four francs, and he was living on 
 credit until his next remittance ar- 
 rived. 
 
 " Thou hast no money ! I have 
 thought of it. Behold of it ! Let 
 him wait the proprietor!" And 
 she takes out a bank-note, which she 
 puts in the young man's hand. 
 
 " Tiens, il 1'embrasse encor c'te 
 vieille ! " says the little knife-boy. 
 " J'aimcrai pas 9a, moi, par examp ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 IN THE DEPARTMENTS OF SEINE, 
 LOIRE, AND STYX (INFERIEUR). 
 
 OUR dear friend Mrs. Baynes was 
 suffering under the influence of one 
 of those panics which sometimes 
 seized her, and during which she re- 
 mained her husband's most obedient 
 
 Eliza and vassal. When Baynes 
 wore a certain expression of counte- 
 nance, we have said that his wife 
 knew resistance to be useless. That 
 expression I suppose he assumed, 
 when he announced Charlotte's de- 
 parture to her mother, and ordered 
 Mrs. General Baynes to make the 
 necessary preparations for the girl. 
 " She might stay some time with her 
 aunt," Baynes stated. " A change 
 of air would do the child a great deal 
 of good. Let everything necessary in 
 the shape of hats, bonnets, winter 
 clothes, and so forth, be got ready." 
 " Was Char, then, to stay away so 
 long?" asked Mrs. B. "She has 
 been so happy here that you want to 
 keep her, and fancy she can't be hap- 
 py without you ! " I can fancy the 
 General grimly replying to the part- 
 ner of his existence. Hanging down 
 her withered head, with a tear may- 
 hap trickling down her cheek, I can 
 fancy the old woman silently depart- 
 ing to do the bidding of her lord. 
 She selects a trunk out of the store of 
 Baynes's baggage. A young lady's 
 trunk was a trunk in those clays. 
 Now it is a two or three storied edifice 
 of wood, in which two or three full- 
 grown bodies of young ladies (without 
 crinoline) might be packed. I saw a 
 little old countrywoman at the Folke- 
 stone station last year with her travel- 
 ling baggage contained in a bandbox 
 tied up in an old cotton handkerchief 
 hanging on her arm ; and she surveyed 
 Lady Knightsbridge's twenty-three 
 black trunks, each wellnigh as large 
 as her Ladyship's opera-box. Before 
 these great edifices that old woman 
 stood wondering dumbly. That old 
 lady and I had lived in a time when 
 crinoline was not ; and yet, I think, 
 women looked even prettier in that 
 time than they do now. Well, a 
 trunk and a bandbox were fetched 
 out of the baggage heap for little 
 Charlotte, and I dare say her little 
 brothers jumped and danced on the 
 box with much energy to make the 
 lid shut, and the General brought out 
 his hammer and nails, and nailed a
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 313 
 
 card on the box with " Mademoiselle 
 Baynes " thereon printed. And mum- 
 ma had to look on arid witness those 
 preparations. And Walsingham Ho- 
 ly had called ; and he would n't 
 call again, she knew ; and that fair 
 chance for the establishment of her 
 child was lost by the obstinacy of her 
 self-willed, reckless husband. That 
 woman had to water her soup with 
 her furtive tears, to sit of nights be- 
 hind hearts and spades, and brood 
 over her crushed hopes. If I contem- 
 plate that wretched old Niobe much 
 longer, I shall begin to pity her. 
 Away, softness ! Take out thy ar- 
 rows, the poisoned, the barbed, the 
 rankling, and prod me the old crea- 
 ture well, god of the silver bow ! 
 Eliza Baynes had to look on, then, 
 and see the trunks packed ; to see 
 her own authority over her own 
 daughter wrested away from her ; to 
 see the undutiful girl prepare with 
 perfect delight and alacrity to go 
 away, without feeling a pang at leav- 
 ing a mother who had nursed her 
 through adverse illnesses, who had 
 scolded her for seventeen years. 
 
 The General accompanied the 
 party to the diligence office. Little 
 Char was very pale and melancholy 
 indeed when she took her place in 
 the coupe'. " She should have a 
 corner : she had been ill, and ought 
 to have a corner," Uncle Mac said, 
 and cheerfully consented to be bodkin. 
 Our three special friends are seated. 
 The other passengers clamber into 
 their places. Away goes the clatter- 
 ing team, as the General waves an 
 adieu to his friends. " Monstrous 
 fine horses those gray Normans ; 
 famous breed, indeed," he remarks to 
 his wife on his return. 
 
 "Indeed," she echoes. "Pray, in 
 what part of the carriage was Mr. 
 Finnin 1 " she presently asks. 
 
 " In no part of the carriage at all ! " 
 Baynes answers fiercely, turning beet- 
 root red. And thus, though she 
 had been silent, obedient, hanging 
 her head, the woman showed that she 
 was aware of her master's schemes, 
 14 
 
 | and why her girl had been taken 
 away She knew ; but she was 
 I beaten. It remained for her but to 
 i be silent and bow her head. I dare 
 i say she did not sleep one wink that 
 i night. She followed the diligence in 
 its journey. " Char is gone," she 
 thought. " Yes ; in due time he will 
 take from me the obedience of my 
 other children, and tear them out of 
 my lap." He that is, the General 
 was sleeping meanwhile. He had 
 had in the last few days four aw- 
 ful battles, with his child, with his 
 friends, with his wife, in which 
 I latter combat he had been conqueror. 
 | No wonder Baynes was tired, and 
 ' needed rest. Any one of those en- 
 gagements was enough to weary the 
 veteran. 
 
 If we take the liberty of looking 
 into double-bedded rooms, and peer- 
 ing into the thoughts which are pass- 
 ing under private nightcaps, may we 
 not examine the coupe' of a jingling 
 diligence with an open window, in 
 which a young lady sits wide awake 
 by the side of her uncle and aunt ? 
 j These perhaps arc asleep ; but she is 
 not. Ah! she is thinking 1 of another 
 journey ! that blissful one from Bou- 
 logne, when he was there yonder in 
 : the imperial, by the side of the con- 
 j ducior. When the Mac Whirtei party 
 had come to the diligence office, how 
 her little heart had beat ! How she 
 i had looked under the lamps at all the 
 I people lounging about the court ! 
 ! How she hail listened when the clerk 
 called out the names of the passen- 
 gers ; and, mercy, what a fright she 
 had been in, lest he should be there 
 after all, while she stood yet leaning 
 on her father's arm ! But there 
 was no well, names, I think, need 
 scarcely be mentioned. There was 
 no sign of the individual in question. 
 Papa kissed her, and sadly said good 
 | by. Good Madame Smolensk came 
 with an adieu and an embrace for her 
 dear Miss, and whispered, " Courage, 
 mon enfant," and then said, " Hold, 
 I have brought you some bonbons." 
 They were in a little packet. Little
 
 314 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Charlotte put the packet into her 
 little basket. Away uoes the dili- 
 gence, but the individual had made 
 no sign. 
 
 Away goes the diligence ; and 
 every now and then Charlotte feels the 
 little packet in her little basket. What 
 does it contain O, what ? If Char- 
 lotte could but read with her heart, 
 she would see in that little packet 
 the sweetest bonbon of all perhaps it 
 might be, or, ah me ! the bitterest 
 almond! Through the night goes 
 the diligence, passing relay after re- 
 lay. Uncle Mac sleeps. I think I 
 have said he snored. Aunt Mac is 
 quite silent, and Char sits plaintively 
 with her lonely thoughts and her bon- 
 bons, as miles, hours, relays pass. 
 
 " These ladies will they descend 
 and take a cup of coffee, a cup of bou- 
 illon ? " at last cries a waiter at the 
 coupe door, as the carriage stops in 
 Orleans. "By all means a cup of 
 coffee," says Aunt Mac. " The little 
 Orleans wine is good," cries Uncle 
 Mac. " Descendons ! " " This way, 
 madame," says the waiter. " Char- 
 lotte my love, some coffee ? " 
 
 " I will I will stay in the car- 
 riage. I don't want anything, thank 
 you," says Miss Charlotte. And the 
 instant her relations are gone, enter- 
 ing the gate of the " Lion Noir," 
 where, you know, are the Bureaux 
 des Messageries Lafitte, Caillard et 
 C" I say, on the very instant when 
 her relations have disappeared, what 
 do you think Miss Charlotte does ? 
 
 She opens that packet of bonbons 
 with fingers that tremble tremble 
 so I wonder how she could undo the 
 knot of the string (or do you think 
 she had untied that knot under her 
 shawl in the dark ? I can't sav. We 
 never shall know). Well; she opens 
 the packet. She does not care one 
 fig for the lollipops, almonds, and so 
 forth. She pounces on a little scrap 
 of paper, and is going to read it by 
 the light of the steaming stable lan- 
 terns, when O, what made her 
 start so ? 
 
 In those old days there used to be 
 
 two diligences which travelled night- 
 ly to Tours, setting out at the same 
 hour, and stopping at almost the 
 same relays. The diligence of La- 
 fitte and Caillard supped at the " Lion 
 Xoir," at Orleans, the diligence of 
 the Messageries Royales stopped at 
 the " Ecu de Fram-e," hard by. 
 
 Well, as the Messageries Royales 
 
 are supping at the " Ecu de France," 
 
 a passenger strolls over from that 
 
 coach, and strolls and strolls until 
 
 j he comes to the coach of Lufitte, 
 
 | Caillard, and Company, and to the 
 
 I coupe' window where Miss Baynes is 
 
 trying to dec-ipher her bonbon. 
 
 He comes up, and as the night- 
 lamps fall on his face and beard, his 
 rosy face, his yellow be.ird oil ! 
 what means that scream of the 
 young lady in the coupe' of Lafitte, 
 Caillard, et Compagnie ! I declare 
 1 she has dropped the letter which she 
 was about to read. It has dropped 
 into a pool of mud under the dili- 
 gence off fore-wheel. And he with 
 i the yellow beard, and a sweet happy 
 laugh, and a tremble in his deep 
 voice, says, " You need not read it. 
 It was only to tell you what you 
 know." 
 
 Then the coupe window says, " O 
 Philip! Omy " 
 
 My what 1 You cannot hear the 
 words, because the gray Norman 
 horses come squealing and clattering 
 up to their coach pole with such ac- 
 companying cries and imprecations 
 from the horsekeepers and postilions, 
 that no wonder the little warble is 
 lost. It was not intended for you 
 and me to hear ; but perhaps you can 
 guess the purport of the words. Per- 
 haps in quite old, old days, you may 
 remember having heard such little 
 whispers, in a time when the song- 
 birds in your grove carolled that kind 
 of song very pleasantly and freely. 
 But this, my good madam, is writ- 
 ten in February. The birds are gone : 
 the branches are bare : the gardener 
 has actually swept the leaves off the 
 walks : and the whole affair is an 
 affair of a past year, you understand.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 315 
 
 Well ! carpe diem, fugit hora, &c., &c. 
 There, for one minute, for two min- 
 utes, stands Philip over the diligence 
 off fore-wheel, talking to Charlotte 
 at the window, and their heads are 
 quite close quite close. What are 
 those two pairs of lips warbling, whis- 
 pering ? " Hi ! Gare ! Ohe ! " The 
 horsekeepers, I say, quite prevent 
 you from hearing; and here come 
 the passengers out of the " Lion 
 Noir, Aunt Mac still munching a 
 great slice of bread-and-butter. Char- 
 lotte is quite comfortable, and does 
 not want anything, dear aunt, thank 
 you. I hope she nestles in her cor- 
 ner, and has a sweet slumber. On 
 the journey the twin diligences pass 
 and repass each other. Perhaps 
 Charlotte looks out of her window 
 sometimes and towards the other 
 carriage. I don't know. It is a 
 long time ago. What used you to 
 do in old days, ere railroads were, 
 and when diligences ran? They 
 were slow enough : but they have got 
 to their journey's end somehow. 
 They were tight, hot, dusty, dear, 
 stuffy, and uncomfortable ; but, for 
 all that, travelling was good sport 
 sometimes. And if the world would 
 have the kindness to go back for five 
 and twenty or thirty years, some of 
 us who have travelled on the Tours 
 and Orleans Railway very comfort- 
 ably would like to take the diligence 
 journey now. 
 
 Having myself seen the city of 
 Tours only last year, of course I 
 don't remember much about it. A 
 man remembers boyhood, and the 
 first sijrht of Calais, and so forth. 
 But after much travel or converse 
 with the world, to see a new town is 
 to be introduced to Jones. He is 
 like Brown ; he is not unlike Smith. 
 In a little while you hash him up 
 with Thompson. I dare not be par- 
 ticular, then, regarding Mr. Firmin's 
 life at Tours, lest I should make 
 typographical errors, for which the 
 critical schoolmaster would justly in- 
 flict chastisement In the last novel I 
 read about Tours there were blunders 
 
 from the effect of which you know tho 
 wretched author never recovered. It 
 was by one Scott, and had young 
 Quentin Durward for a hero, and Isa- 
 bel de Crove for a heroine ; and she 
 sat, in her hostel, and sang, " Ah, 
 County Guy, the hour is nigh." A 
 pretty ballad enough: but what 
 ignorance, my de:ir sir! What de- 
 scriptions of Tours, of Liege, are in 
 that fallacious story ! Yes, so falla- 
 cious and misleading, that I remem- 
 ber I was sorry, not because the 
 description was unlike Tours, but 
 because Tours was unlike the descrip- 
 tion. 
 
 So Quentin Firmin went and put 
 up at the snug little hostel of the 
 " Faisan " ; and Isabel de Bnynes 
 took up her abode with her uncle the 
 Sire de MacWhiner: and I believe 
 Master Firmin had no more money 
 in his pocket than the Master Dur- 
 ward whose story the Scottish novel- 
 ist told some forty years since. And 
 I cannot promise you that our young 
 English adventurer shall many a 
 noble heiress of vast property, and 
 engage the Boar of Ardennes in a 
 hand-to-hand combat ; that sort of 
 Boar, madam, does not appear in 
 our modern drawing-room histories. 
 Of others, not wild, there be plenty. 
 They gore you in clubs. They seize 
 you by the doublet, and pin you 
 against posts in public streets. They 
 run at you in parks. I have seen 
 them sit at bay after dinner, ripping, 
 gashing, tossing, a whole company. 
 These our young adventurer had in 
 good sooth to encounter, as is the 
 case with most knights. Who escapes 
 them? I remember an eminent per- 
 son talking to me about bores for 
 two hours once. you stupid 
 eminent person ! You never knew 
 that you yourself had tusks, little 
 eyes in your Awe; a bristly mane to 
 cut into" tooth-brushes ; and a curly 
 tail ! I have a notion that the multi- 
 tude of bores is enormous in the 
 world. If a man is a bore himself, 
 when he is bored, and yon can't 
 deny this statement, then what am
 
 316 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 I, what are you, what your father, 
 grandfather, son, all your amiable 
 acquaintance in a word ? Of this I 
 am sure. Major and Mrs. Mac Whir- 
 ter were not brilliant in conversation. 
 What would you and I do, or say, if 
 we listen to the tittle tattle of Tours. 
 How the clergyman was certainly too 
 fond of cards, and going to the cafe ; 
 how the dinners those Popjoys gave 
 were too absurdly ostentatious ; and 
 Popjoy, we know, in the Bench last 
 year. How Mrs. Flights, going on 
 with that Major of French Carabi- 
 niers, was really too, &c., c. " How 
 could I endure those people ? " Philip 
 would ask himself, when talking of 
 that personage in after days, as he 
 loved, and loves to do. " How could 
 1 endure them, I say ? Mac was a 
 good man ; but I knew secretly in 
 my heart, sir, that he was a bore. 
 Well . I loved him. I liked his old 
 stories. I liked his bad old dinners : 
 there is a very comfortable Touraine 
 wine, by the way, a very wanning 
 little wine, sir. Mrs. Mac you never 
 saw, my good Mrs. Pendennis. Be 
 sure of this, you never would have i 
 liked her. Well, I did. I liked her 
 house, though it was damp, in a 
 damp garden, frequented by dull 
 people. I should like to go and see 
 that old house now. I am perfectly 
 happy with my wife, but I so;netimes 
 go away from her to enjoy the luxury 
 of living over our old days again. 
 With nothing in the world but an al- 
 lowance which was precarious, and 
 had been spent in advance ; with no 
 particular plans for the future, and a 
 few five-franc pieces for the present, 
 by Jove, sir, how did I dare to be 
 so happy ? What idiots we were, 
 my love, to be happy at all ! We 
 were mad to marry. Don't tell me : 
 with a purse which didn't contain 
 three months' consumption, would we 
 dare to marry now ? We should be 
 put into the mad ward of the work- 
 house : that would be the only place 
 for us. Talk about trusting in Heav- 
 en. Stuff and nonsense, ma'am ! I 
 have as good a right to go and buy a 
 
 house in Belgrave Square, and trust 
 to Heaven for the payment, as I had 
 to marry when I did. We were 
 paupers, Mrs. Char, and you know- 
 that very well ! " 
 
 "O yes. We were very wrong: 
 very ! " says Mrs. Charlotte, looking 
 up to her chandelier (which, by the 
 way, is of very handsome Venetian 
 old" glass). " We were very wrong, 
 were not we, my dearest 1 " And 
 herewith she will begin to kiss and 
 fondle two or more babies that dis- 
 port in her room, as if two or 
 more babies had anything to do with 
 Philip's argument, that a man has 
 no right to marry who has no pretty 
 well-assured means of keeping a 
 wife. 
 
 Here, then, by the banks of Loire, 
 although Philip had but a very few 
 francs in his pocket and was obliged 
 to keep a sharp lookout on his ex- 
 penses at the Hotel of the " Golden 
 Pheasant," he passed a fortnight of 
 such happiness as I, for my part, 
 wish to all young folks who read his 
 veracious history. Though he was 
 so poor, and ate and drank so modest- 
 ly in the house, the maids, waiters, 
 the landlady of the " Pheasant," were 
 as civil to him, yes, as civil as they 
 were to the gouty old Marchioness of 
 Carabas herself, who stayed here on 
 her way to the south, occupied the 
 grand apartments, quarrelled with 
 her lodging, dinner, breakfast, bread- 
 and-butter in general, insulted the 
 landlady in bad French, and only 
 paid her bill under compulsion. 
 Philip's was a little bill, but he paid 
 it cheerfully. He gave only a small 
 gratuity to the servants, but he was 
 kind and hearty, and they knew he 
 was poor. He was kind and hearty, 
 I suppose, because he was so happy. 
 I have known the gentleman to be by 
 no means civil ; and have heard him 
 storm, and hector, and browbeat land- 
 lord and waiters, as fiercely as the 
 Marquis of Carabas himself. But 
 now Philip the Bear was the most 
 gentle of bears, because his little 
 Charlotte was leading him.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Away with trouble and doubt, with 
 squeamish pride and gloomy care 
 
 not much to leave, and Mac's relations 
 would want all he could spare when 
 But Charlotte should 
 
 Philip had enough money for a tort- , lie was gone. 
 
 night, during which Tom Glazier, of I have her garnets, and her teapot, and 
 the Monitor, promised to supply Phil- ber India shawl, that she should.* 
 ip's letters for the Pall Mall Gazette, j And with many blessings tins en- 
 All the designs of France, Spain, j thusiastic old lady took leave of her 
 Russia, gave that idle " own corre- future nephew-in-law when he re- 
 spondent " not the slightest anxiety, turned to Paris and duty. Crack your 
 In the morning it was Miss Baynes ; j whip and scream your hi! and be off 
 in the afternoon it was Miss Baynes. quick, postilion and diligence ! I am 
 At six it was dinner and Charlotte ; ; glad we have taken Mr. Firmin out 
 
 of that dangerous, lazy, love-making 
 place ! Nothing is to me so sweet as 
 sentimental writing. I could have 
 ivritten hundreds of pages describing 
 
 had a glorious appetite ; and health Philip and Charlotte, Charlotte and 
 bloomed in Miss Charlotte's cheek, i Philip. But a stern sense of duty 
 and beamed in her happy little heart, intervenes. My modest Muse puts a 
 Dr. Firmin, in the height of his piac- finger on her lip, and says, " Hush 
 tice, never completed a cure more i about that business ! " Ah, my 
 
 at nine it was Charlotte and tea. 
 "Anyhow, love-making does not [uutu : ru 
 spoil his appetite," Major Mac Whirter j sentimental 
 correctly remarked. Indeed, Philip 
 
 skilfully than that which was per- 
 formed by Dr. Firmin, junior. 
 
 " I ran the thing so close, sir," I 
 remember Philip bawling out, in his 
 usual energetic way, whilst describ- 
 ing this period of his life's greatest 
 happiness to his biographer, " that 
 I came back to Paris outside the dili- 
 gence, and had not money enough to 
 dine on the road. But I bought a 
 sausage, sir, and a bit of bread, 
 and a brutal sausage it was, sir, 
 and I reached my lodgings with ex- 
 actly two sous in my pocket." Roger 
 Bontemps himself was not more con- 
 tent than our easy philosopher. 
 
 So Philip and Charlotte ratified 
 and sealed a treaty of Tours, which 
 they determined should never be 
 broken by either party. Marry with- 
 out papa's consent ? O, never ! 
 Marry anybody but Philip 1 O, 
 never never ! Not if she lived to 
 be a hundred, when Philip would in 
 consequence be in his hundred and 
 ninth or tenth year, would this young 
 Joan have any but her present Dar- 
 by. Aunt Mac, though she may not 
 have been the most accomplished or 
 highly bred of ladies, was a warm- 
 hearted and affectionate aunt Mac. 
 She caught in a mild form the fever 
 from these young people. She had 
 
 worthy friends, you little know what 
 soft-hearted people those cynics are ! 
 If you could have come on Diogenes 
 by surprise, I dare say you might 
 have found him reading* sentimental 
 novels and whimpering in his tub. 
 Philip shall leave his sweetheart and 
 go back to his business, and we will not 
 have one word about tears, promises, 
 raptures, parting. Never mind about 
 these sentimentalities, but please, 
 rather, to depict to yourself our young 
 fellow so poor that when the coach 
 stops for dinner at Orleans he can 
 only afford to purchase a penny-loaf 
 and a sausage for his own hungry 
 cheek. When he reached the " Ho- 
 tel Poussin " with his meagre carpet" 
 bag, they served him a supper which 
 he ate to the admiration of all be- 
 holders in the little coffee-room. He 
 was in great spirits and gayety. He 
 did not care to make any secret of 
 his poverty, and how he had been un 
 able to afford to pay for dinner. Mosl 
 of the guests at " Hotel Poussin " 
 knew what it was to be poor. Often 
 
 * I am sorry to say thnt in later days, 
 after Mrs. Major MacWhirter's decease, it 
 was found that she had promised these treas- 
 ures in writing to several members of her 
 husband's family, and that much heart-burn- 
 ing arose in consequence. But our story has 
 nothing to do with these painful disputes.
 
 318 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 and often they had dined on credit 
 when they put back their napkins into 
 their respective pigeon-holes. But 
 my landlord knew his guests. They 
 were poor men, honest men. They 
 paid him in the end, and each could 
 help his neighbor in a strait. 
 
 After Mr. Firmin's return to Paris, 
 he did not care for a while to go to 
 the Elysian Fields. They were not 
 Elysian for him, except in Miss 
 Charlotte's company. He resumed 
 his newspaper correspondence, which 
 occupied but a day in each week, 
 and he had the other six, nay, he 
 scribbled on the seventh day likewise, 
 and covered immense sheets of letter- 
 paper with remarks upon all man- 
 ner of subjects, addressed to a certain 
 Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle Bayncs, 
 chez M. le Major Mac, &c. On these 
 sheets of paper Mr. Firmin could talk 
 so long, so loudly, so fervently, so 
 eloquently to Miss Baynes, that she 
 was never tired of hearing, or he of 
 holding forth. He began imparting 
 his dreams and his earliest sensations 
 to his beloved before breakfast. At 
 noonday he gave her his opinion of 
 the contents of the morning papers. 
 His packet was ordinarily full and 
 brimming over by post-time, so that 
 his expressions of love and fidelity 
 leaked from under the cover, or were 
 squeezed into the queerest corners, 
 where, no doubt, it was a delightful 
 task for Miss Baynes to trace out and 
 detect those little Cupids which a 
 faithful lover despatched to her. It 
 would be, " I have found this little 
 corner unoccupied. Do you know 
 what I have to say in it ? " O Char- 
 lotte, I," &c., &c. My sweet young 
 lady, you can guess, or will one day 
 guess, the rest ; and will receive such 
 dear, delightful, nonsensical double 
 letters, and will answer them with 
 that elegant propriety which I have 
 no doubt Miss Baynes showed in her 
 replies. Ah! if all who are writing 
 and receiving such letters, or who 
 have written and received such, or 
 who remember writing and receiving 
 such letters, Avould order a copy of 
 
 this novel from the publishers, what 
 reams, and piles, and pyramids of 
 paper our ink would have to blacken ! 
 Since Charlotte and Philip had been 
 engaged to each other, he had scarce- 
 ly, except in those dreadful, ghastly 
 days of quarrel, enjoyed the luxury 
 of absence from his soul's blessing, 
 the. exquisite delights of writing to 
 her. He could do few things in ' 
 moderation, this man, and of this 
 delightful privilege of writing to Char- 
 lotte he now enjoyed his heart's fill. 
 
 After brief enjoyment of the weeks 
 of this rapture, when winter was come 
 on Paris, and icicles hung on the 
 bough, how did it happen that one 
 day, two days, three days passed, and 
 the postman brought no little letter in 
 the well-known little handwriting for 
 Monsieur, Monsieur Philip Firmin a 
 Paris ? Three days, four days, and 
 no letter. O torture, could she be ill 1 
 Could her aunt and uncle have turn- 
 ed against her, and forbidden her to 
 write, as her father and mother had 
 done before ? O grief, and sorrow, 
 and rage ! As for jealousy, our 
 leonine friend never knew such a 
 passion. It never entered into his 
 lordly heart to doubt of his little 
 maiden's love. But still four, five 
 days have passed, and not one word 
 has come from Tours. The little 
 " Hotel Poussin" was in a commotion. 
 I have said that when our friend felt 
 any passion very strongly he was sure 
 to speak of it. Did Don Quixote 
 lose any opportunity of declaring to 
 the world that Dulcinea del Toboso 
 was peerless among women ? Did 
 not Antar bawl out in battle, " I am 
 the lover of Ibla ? " Our knight had 
 taken all the people of the hotel into 
 his confidence somehow. They all 
 knew of his condition, all, the 
 painter, the poet, the half-pay Polish 
 officer, the landlord, the hostess, down 
 to the little knife-boy who used to 
 come in with, "The factor comes of to 
 pass, no letter this morning." 
 
 No doubt Philip's political letters 
 became, under this outward pressure, 
 very desponding and gloomy. One
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 319 
 
 day, as he sat gnawing his mustaches 
 at his desk, the little Anatole enters 
 his apartment and cries, " Tcnez, M. 
 Philippe. That lady again ! " And 
 the faithful, the watchful, the active 
 Madame Smolensk once more made 
 her appearance in his chamber. 
 
 Philip blushed and hung his head 
 for shame. " Ungrateful brute that 
 I am," he thought ; " I have been 
 back more than a week, and never 
 thought a bit about that good, kind 
 soul who came to my succor. I 
 am an awful egotist. Love is always 
 so." 
 
 As he rose up to greet his friend, 
 she looked so grave, and pale, and 
 sad, that he could not but note her 
 demeanor. " Bon Dieu ! had any- 
 thing happened 1 " 
 
 " Ce pauvre General is ill, very ill, 
 Philip, Smolensk said, in her grave 
 voice. 
 
 He was so gravely ill, madame 
 said, that his daughter had been sent 
 for. 
 
 " Had she come ? " asked Philip, 
 with a start. 
 
 " You think but of her, you care 
 not for the poor old man. You are 
 all the same, you men. All egotists, 
 all. Go ! I know you ! 1 never 
 knew one that was not," said Ma- 
 dame. 
 
 Philip has his little faults : perhaps 
 egotism is one of his defects. Perhaps 
 it is yours, or even mine. 
 
 " You have been here a week since 
 Thursday last, and you have never 
 written or sent to a woman who loves 
 you well. Go ! It was not well, 
 Monsieur Philippe." 
 
 As soon as he saw her, Philip felt 
 that he had been neglectful and un- 
 grateful. We have owned so much 
 already. But how should madame 
 know that he had returned on Thurs- 
 day week ? When they looked up 
 after her reproof, his eager eyes seemed 
 to ask this question. 
 
 " Could she not write to me and 
 tell me that you were come back 7 
 Perhaps she knew that you would 
 not do so yourself. A woman's heart 
 
 teaches her these experiences early," 
 continued the lady, sadly ; then she 
 added : " I tell you, you are good-for- 
 nothings, all of you ! And I repent 
 me, see you, of having had the betise 
 to pity you ! " 
 
 " I shall have my quarter's pay on 
 Saturday. I was coming to you 
 then," said Philip. 
 
 " Was it that I was speaking of? 
 What ! you are all cowards, men all ! 
 O, that I have been beast, beast, to 
 think at last I had found a man of 
 heart ! " 
 
 How much or how often this poor 
 Ariadne had trusted and been for- 
 saken, I have no means of knowing, 
 or desire of inquiring. Perhaps it is 
 as well for the polite reader, who is 
 taken into my entire confidence, that 
 we should not know Madame de 
 Smolensk's history from the first 
 page to the last. Granted that Ari- 
 adne was deceived by Theseus: but 
 then she consoled herself, as we may 
 all read in " Smith's Dictionary " ; 
 and then she must have deceived her 
 father in order to run away with The- 
 seus. I suspect I suspect, I say, 
 that these women who are so very 
 much betrayed, are but we are 
 speculating on this French lady's an- 
 tecedents, when Charlotte, her lover, 
 and her family are the persons with 
 whom we have mainly' to do. 
 
 These two, I suppose, forgot self, 
 about which each for a moment had 
 been busy, and Madame resumed : 
 " Yes, you have reason ; Miss is here. 
 It was time. Hold ! Here is a note 
 from her." And Philip's kind mes- 
 senger once more put a paper into his 
 hands. 
 
 " My dearest father is very, very ill. 
 O Philip ! I am so unhappy ; and he 
 is so good, and gentle, and kind, and 
 loves me so ! " 
 
 " It is true," Madame resumed. 
 " Before Charlotte came, he thought 
 only of her. When his wife comes 
 up to him, he turns from her. I have 
 not loved her much, that lady, that is 
 true. But to see her now, it is 
 navrant. He will take no medicine
 
 320 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 from her. He pushes her away. Be- 
 fore Charlotte came, he sent for me, 
 and spoke as well as his poor throat 
 would let him, this poor General ! 
 His daughter's arrival seemed to com- 
 fort him. But he says, ' Not my 
 wife ! not my wife ! ' And the poor 
 thing has to go away and cry in the 
 chamber at the side. He says in 
 his French, you know he has never 
 been well since Charlotte went away. 
 He has often been out. He has dined 
 but rarely at our table, and there has 
 always been a silence between him 
 and Madame la Ge'ne'rale. Last week 
 he had a great inflammation of the 
 chest. Then he took to bed, and 
 Monsieur the Docteur came, the lit- 
 tle doctor whom you know. Then a 
 quinsy has declared itself, and he now 
 is scarce able to speak. His condition 
 is most grave. He lies suffering, dy- 
 ing, perhaps, yes, dying, do you 
 hear ? And you are thinking of your 
 little school-girl ! Men are all tlie 
 same. Monsters ! Go ! " 
 
 Philip, who, I have said, is very 
 fond of talking about Philip, surveys 
 his own faults with great magnanim- 
 ity and good-humor, and acknowl- 
 edges them without the least intention 
 to correct them. " How selfish we 
 are ! " I can hear him say, looking at 
 himself in the glass. " By George ! 
 sir, when I heard simultaneously the 
 news of that poor old man's illness, 
 and of Charlotte's return, I felt that 
 I wanted to see her that instant. I 
 must go to her, and speak to her. 
 The old man and his suffering did 
 not seem to affect me. It is humili- 
 ating to have to own that we are self- 
 ish beasts. But we are, sir, we are 
 brutes, by George ! and nothing else." 
 And he gives a finishing twist to 
 the ends of his flaming mustaches as 
 he surveys them in the glass. 
 
 Poor little Charlotte was in such 
 affliction that of course she must have 
 Philip to console her at once. No 
 time was to be lost. Quick ! a cab 
 this moment : and, coachman, you 
 shall have an extra for drink if you 
 go quick to the Avenue de Valmy ! 
 
 Madame puts herself into the carriage, 
 and as they go along, tells Philip 
 more at length of the gloomy occur- 
 rences of the last few days Four 
 days since the poor General was so 
 bad with his quinsy that he thought 
 he should not recover, and Charlotte 
 was sent for. He was a little better 
 on the day of her arrival ; but yester- 
 day the inflammation had increased ; 
 he could not swallow ; he could not 
 speak audibly ; he was in very great 
 suffering and danger. He turned 
 away from his wife. The unhappy 
 Generaless had been to Madame 
 Bunch in her tears and grief, com- 
 plaining that after twenty years' lidel- 
 ity and attachment her husband had 
 withdrawn his regard from her. 
 Baynes attributed even his illness to 
 his wife ; and at other times said it 
 was a just punishment for his wicked 
 conduct in breaking his word to Philip 
 and Charlotte. If he did not see his 
 dear child again he must beg her for- 
 giveness for having made her suffer 
 so. He had acted wickedly and un- 
 gratefully, and his wife had forced 
 him to do what he did. He prayed 
 that Heaven might pardon him. And 
 he had behaved with wicked injustice 
 towards Philip, who had acted most 
 generously towards his family. And 
 he had been a scoundrel, he knew 
 he had, and Bunch, and MacWhir- 
 ter, and the Doctor all said so, and 
 it was that woman's doing. And he 
 pointed to the scared wife as he pain- 
 fully hissed out these words of anger 
 and contrition : " When I saw that 
 child ill, and almost made mad, be- 
 cause I broke my word, I felt I was a 
 scoundrel, Martin ; and I was ; and 
 that woman made me so ; and I de- 
 serve to be shot ; and I sha' n't re 
 cover ; I tell you I sha' n't." Dr. 
 Martin, who attended the General, 
 thus described his patient's last talk 
 and behavior to Philip. 
 
 It was the doctor who sent ma- 
 dame in quest of the young man. He 
 found poor Mrs. Baynes with hot, 
 tearless eyes and livid face, a wretched 
 sentinel outside the sick - chamber.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 321 
 
 " You will find General Baynes very 
 ill, sir," she said to Philip with a 
 ghastly calmness, and a gaze he could 
 scarcely face. "My daughter is in 
 the room with him. It appears 
 I have offended him, and he refuses 
 to see me." And she squeezed a dry 
 handkerchief which she held, and put 
 on her spectacles again, and tried 
 again to read the Bible in her lap. 
 
 Philip hardly knew the meaning 
 of Mrs. Baynes's words as yet. He 
 was agitated by the thought of the 
 General's illness, perhaps by the no- 
 tion that the beloved was so near. 
 Her hand was in his a moment after- 
 wards ; and, even in that sad cham- 
 ber, each could give the other a soft 
 pressure, a fond, silent signal of mu- 
 tual love and faith. 
 
 The poor man laid the hands of 
 the young people together, and his 
 own upon them. The suffering to 
 which he had put his daughter seemed 
 to be the crime which specially af- 
 fected him. He thanked Heaven he 
 was able to see he was wrong. He 
 whispered to his little maid a prayer 
 for pardon in one or two words, which 
 caused poor Charlotte to sink on her 
 knees and cover his fevered hand with 
 tears and kisses. Out of all her 
 heart she forgave him. She had felt 
 that the parent she loved and was 
 accustomed to honor had heen mer- 
 cenary and cruel. It had wounded 
 her pure heart to be obliged to think 
 that her father could be other than 
 generous, and just, and good. That 
 he should humble himself before her 
 smote her with the keenest pang of 
 tender commiseration. I do not care 
 to pursue this last scene. Let us 
 close the door as the children kneel 
 by the sufferer's bedside, and to the 
 old man's petition for forgiveness, 
 and to the young girl's sobbing vows 
 of love and fondness, say a reverent 
 Amen. 
 
 By the following letter, which he 
 wrote a few days before the fatal ter- 
 mination of his illness, the worthy 
 General, it would appear, had already 
 despaired of his recovery : My dear 
 14* 
 
 Mac, I speak and breathe with such 
 difficulty as I write this from my bed, 
 that I doubt whether I shall ever leave 
 it. I do not wish to vex poor Eli/a, 
 and in my state cannot enter into dis- 
 putes which I know would ensue 
 regarding settlement of property. 
 When I left England there was a 
 claim hanging over me (young l"ir- 
 min's) at which I was needlessly 
 frightened, as having to satisfy it 
 would swallow up much more 'than 
 everything I possessed in the woi-ld. 
 Hence made arrangements for leaving 
 everything in Eliza's name and the 
 children after. Will with Smith and 
 Thompson, Raymond Buildings, 
 Gray's Inn. Think Char won't be 
 happy for a long time with htr mother 
 To break from F., who has been 
 most generous to us, will break her 
 heart. Will you and Emily keep her 
 for a little 1 I gave F. my promise. 
 As you told me, I have acted ill by 
 him, which I own and deeply lament. 
 If Char marries, she ottflht to have her 
 share. May God bless her, her father 
 prays, in case he should not see her 
 again. And with best love to Emily, 
 am yours, dear Mac, sincerely, 
 CHAKLES BAYNES. 
 
 On the receipt of this letter, Char- 
 lotte disobeyed her father's wish, and 
 set forth from Tours instantly, un- 
 der her worthy uncle's guardianship. 
 The old soldier was in his comrade's 
 room when the General put the 
 hands of Charlotte and her lover 
 together. He confessed his fault, 
 though it is hard for those who ex- 
 pect love and reverence to have to own 
 to wrong and to ask pardon. Old 
 knees are stiff to bend : brother reader, 
 young or old, when our last hour 
 comes, may ours have grace to do so. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 RETURNS TO OLD FRIENDS. 
 
 THE three old comrades and Philip 
 formed the little mourning procession 
 u
 
 322 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 which followed the General to his 
 place of rest at Montmartre. When 
 the service has been read, and the last 
 volley has been h'red over the buried 
 soldier, the troops march to quarters 
 with a quick step, and to a lively 
 tune. Our veteran has been laid in 
 the grave with brief ceremonies. We 
 do not even prolong his obsequies 
 with a sermon. His place knows him 
 no longer. There are a few who re- 
 member him : a very, very few who 
 grieve for him, so few that to think 
 of them is a humiliation almost. 
 The sun sets on the earth, and our 
 dear brother has departed off its face. 
 Stars twinkle; dews fall; children 
 go to sleep in awe and maybe tears ; 
 the sun rises on a new day, which he 
 has never seen, and children wake 
 hungry. They are interested about 
 their new black clothes, perhaps. 
 They are presently at their work, 
 plays, quarrels. They are looking 
 forward to the day when the holidays 
 will be over, and the eyes which shone 
 here yesterday so kindly are gone, 
 gone, gone. A drive to the cemetery, 
 followed by a coach with four acquaint- 
 ances dressed in decorous black, who 
 separate and go to their homes or 
 clubs, and wear your crape for a few 
 days after, can most of us expect 
 much more ? The thought is not en- 
 nobling or exhilarating, worthy sir. 
 And, pray, why should we be proud of 
 ourselves ? Is it because we have been 
 so good, or are so wise and great, that 
 we expect to be beloved, lamented, re- 
 membered ? Why, great Xerxes or 
 blustwing Bobiidil must know in that 
 last hour and resting-place how abject, 
 how small, how low, how lonely they 
 are, and what a little dust will cover 
 them. Quick, drums and fifes, a 
 lively tune ! Whip the black team, 
 coachman, and trot back to town 
 again, to the world, and to busi- 
 ness, and duty ! 
 
 I am for saying no single unkind- 
 ness of General Baynes which is not 
 forced upon me by my story-teller's 
 office. We know from Marlbor- 
 ough'a story that the bravest man 
 
 and greatest military genius is not 
 always brave or successful in his bat- 
 tles with his wife ; that some of the 
 greatest warriors have committed er- 
 rors in accounts and the distribution 
 of jneum and tuum. We can't dis- 
 guise from ourselves the fact that 
 Baynes permitted himself to be mis- 
 led, and had weaknesses not quite 
 consistent with the highest virtue. 
 
 When he became aware that his 
 carelessness in the matter of Mrs. 
 Firmin's trust-money had placed him 
 in her son's power, we have seen how 
 the old General, in order to avoid be- 
 ing called to account, fled across the 
 water with his family and all his lit- 
 tle fortune, and how terrified he was 
 on landing on a foreign shore to find 
 himself face to face with this dread- 
 ful creditor. Philip's renunciation of 
 all claims against Baynes soothed 
 and pleased the old man wonderfully. 
 But Philip might change his mind, 
 an adviser at Baynes's side repeatedly 
 i urged. To live abroad was cheaper 
 I and safer than to live at home. Ac- 
 cordingly Baynes, his wife, family, 
 and money, all went into exile, and 
 remained there. 
 
 What savings the old man had I 
 i don't accurately know. He and his 
 ' wife were very dark upon this subject 
 i with Philip : and when the General 
 j died, his widow declared herself to be 
 j almost a pauper ! It was impossible 
 that Baynes should have left much 
 money; but that Charlotte's share 
 | should have amounted to that sum 
 which may or may not presently be 
 stated was a little too absurd ! You 
 I see Mr. and Mrs. Firmin are travel- 
 ling abroad just now. When I wrote 
 to Firmin, to ask if I might mention 
 the amount of his wife's fortune, he 
 gave me no answer ; nor do I like to 
 enter upon these matters of calcula- 
 tion without his explicit permission. 
 He is of a hot temper ; he might, on 
 his return, grow angry with the friend 
 of his youth, and say, " Sir, how dare 
 you to talk about my private affairs ? 
 and what has the public to do with 
 Mrs. Firmin's private fortune ? "
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 323 
 
 When, the last rites over, good- 
 natured uncle Mac proposed to take 
 Charlotte back to Tours her mother 
 made no objection. The widow had 
 tried to do the girl such an injury, 
 that perhaps the latter felt for- 
 giveness was impossible. Little 
 Char loved Philip with all her heart 
 and strength; had been authorized 
 and encouraged to do so, as we have 
 seen. To give him up now, because 
 a richer suitor presented himself, was 
 an act of treason from which her faith- 
 ful heart revolted, and she never could 
 pardon the instigator. You see, in 
 this simple story, I scarcely care even 
 to have reticence or secrets. I don't 
 want you to understand for a moment 
 that Walsingham Hely was still cry- 
 ing his eyes out about Charlotte. 
 Goodness bless you ! It was two or 
 three weeks ago, four or five weeks 
 ago, that he was in love with her ! 
 He had not seen the Duchesse d'lvry 
 then, about whom you may remember 
 he had the quarrel with Podichon, at 
 the club in the Rue de Grammont. 
 (He and the Duchesse wrote poems to 
 each other, each in the other's native 
 language.) The Charlotte had long 
 passed out of the young fellow's mind. 
 That butterfly had fluttered off from 
 our English rosebud, and had settled 
 on the other elderly flower ! I don't 
 know that Mrs. Baynes was aware of 
 young Hely's fickleness at this present 
 time of which we are writing ; but his 
 visits had ceased, and she was angry 
 and disappointed ; and not the less 
 angry because her labor had been in 
 vain. On her part, Charlotte could 
 also be resolutely unforgiving. Take 
 her Philip from her ! Never, never ! 
 Her mother force her to give up the 
 man whom she had been encouraged 
 to love ? Mamma should have de- 
 fended Philip, not betrayed him ! If 
 I command my son to steal a spoon, 
 shall he obey me ! And if he do obey 
 and steal, and be transported, will he 
 love me afterwards ? I think I can 
 hardly ask for so much filial affection. 
 
 So there was strife between mother 
 and daughter ; and anger not the less 
 
 bitter, on Mrs. Baynes's part, because 
 her husband, whose cupidity or fear 
 had, at first, induced him to take her 
 side, had deserted her and gone over 
 to her daughter. In the anger of that 
 controversy Baynes died, leaving the 
 victory and right with Charlotte. He 
 shrank from his wife : would not 
 speak to her in his last moments. 
 The widow had these injuries against 
 her daughter and Philip : and thus 
 neither side forgave the other. She was 
 not averse to the child's going away 
 to her uncle : put a lean, hungry face 
 against Charlotte's lip, and received 
 a kiss which I fear had but little love 
 in it. I don't envy those children who 
 remain under the widow's lonely com- 
 mand ; or poor Madame Smolensk, 
 who has to endure the arrogance, 
 the grief, the avarice of that grim wo- 
 man. Nor did madame suffer under 
 this tyranny long. Galignani's Mes- 
 senger very soon announced that she 
 had lodgings to let, and I remember 
 being edified by reading one day in 
 the Pall Mall Gazette, that elegant 
 apartments, select society, and an ex- 
 cellent table, were to be found in one 
 of the most airy and fashionable quar- 
 ters of Paris. Inquire of Madame la 
 Baronne de S sk, Avenue de 
 Valmy, Champs Elysees. 
 
 We guessed without difficulty how 
 this advertisement found its way to 
 the Pall Mall Gazette ; and very soon 
 after its appearance Madame de 
 Smolensk's friend, Mr. Philip, made 
 his appearance at our tea-table in 
 London. He was always welcome 
 amongst us elders and children. He 
 wore a crape on his hat. As soon as 
 the young ones were gone, you may 
 be sure he poured his story out ; and 
 enlarged upon the death, the burial, 
 the quarrels, the loves, the partings 
 we have narrated. How could he be 
 put in a way to earn three or four 
 hundred a year ? That was the pres- 
 ent question. Ere he .came to see us, 
 he had already been totting up ways 
 and means. He had been with our 
 friend Mrs. Brandon : was staying 
 with her. The Little Sister thought
 
 324 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 three hundred would be sufficient. 
 They could have her second floor, 
 not for nothing; no, no, but at a 
 moderate price, which would pay her. 
 They could have attics, if more rooms 
 were needed. They could have her 
 kitchen fire, and one maid for the 
 present would do all their work. Poor 
 little thing! She was very young. 
 She would be past eighteen by the 
 time she could marry ; the Little 
 Sister was for early marriages, against 
 long courtships. " Heaven helps those 
 u helps themselves," she said. And 
 Mr. Philip thought this excellent ad- 
 vice, and Mr. Philip's friend, when 
 asked for his opinion, " Candidly 
 now, what's your opinion ? " said, 
 " Is she in the next room ? Of 
 course you mean you are married al- 
 ready." 
 
 Philip roared one of his great 
 laughs. No, he was not married al- 
 ready. Had he not said that Miss 
 Baynes was gone away to Tours to 
 her aunt and uncle ? But that he 
 wanted to be married ; but that he 
 could never settle down to work till 
 he married ; but that he could have 
 no rest, peace, health, till he married 
 that angel, he was ready to confess. 
 Ready ? All the street might hear 
 him calling out the name and ex- 
 patiating on the angelic charms and 
 goodness of his Charlotte. He spoke 
 so loud and long on this subject that 
 my wife grew a little tired ; and my 
 wife always likes to hear other women ' 
 praised, that (she says) I know she 
 does. But when a man goes on roar- 
 ing for an hour about Dulcinea ? You 
 know such talk becomes fulsome at 
 last ; and, in fine, when he was gone, 
 my wife said, " Well, he is very much 
 in love ; so were you, I mean long 
 before my time, sir ; hut does love pay 
 the housekeeping bills, pray 1 " 
 
 " No, my dear. And love is always 
 controlled by other people's advice : 
 always," says Philip's friend ; who, 
 I hope, you will perceive was speak- 
 ing ironically. 
 
 Philip's friends h.-id listened not 
 impatiently to Philip's talk about 
 
 Philip. Almost all women will give 
 a sympathizing hearing to men who 
 are in love. Be they ever so old, 
 they grow young again with that 
 conversation, and renew their own 
 early times. Men are not quite 
 so generous : Tityrus tires of hearing 
 Corydon discourse endlessly on the 
 charms of his shepherdess. And yet 
 egotism is good talk. Even dull 
 biographies are pleasant to read : and 
 if to read, why not to hear? Had 
 Master Philip not been such an egotist, 
 he would not have been so pleasant 
 a companion. Can't you like a man 
 at whom you laugh a little ? I had 
 rather such an open-mouthed conver- 
 sationist than your cautiousjaws that 
 never unlock without a careful applica- 
 tion of the key. As for the entrance 
 to Mr. Philip's mind, that door was 
 always open when he was awake, or 
 not hungry, or in a friend's company. 
 Besides his love, and his prospects in 
 life, his poverty, &c., Philip had other 
 favorite topics of conversation. His 
 friend the Little Sister was a great 
 theme with him ; his father was an- 
 other favorite subject of his talk. By 
 the way, his father had written to the 
 Little Sister. The Doctor said he 
 was sure to prosper in his newly 
 adopted country. He and another 
 physician had invented a new medi- 
 cine, which was to effect wonders, 
 and in a few years would assuredly 
 make the fortune of both of them. 
 He was never without one scheme or 
 another for making that fortune 
 which never came. Whenever he 
 drew upon Philip for little sums, his 
 letters were sure to be especially mag- 
 niloquent and hopeful. " Whenever 
 the Doctor says he has invented the 
 philosopher's stone," said poor Philip, 
 " I am sure there will be a postscript 
 to say that a little bill will be presented 
 for so much, also many days' date." 
 Had he drawn on Philip lately? 
 Philip told iis when, and how often. 
 We gave him all the benefit of our 
 virtuous indignation. As for my 
 wife's eyes, they gleamed with anger. 
 What a man : what a father ! O, he
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 325 
 
 hicomgible ! " Yes, I am afraid 
 he tJ," says poor Phil, comically, 
 with his hands roaming at ease in his 
 pockets. They contained little else 
 than those big hands. " My father 
 is of a hopeful turn. His views re- 
 garding property are peculiar. It is 
 a comfort to have such a distinguished 
 parent, is n't it ? I am always sur- 
 prised to hear that he is not married 
 again. I sigh for a mother-in-law," 
 Philip continued. 
 
 " O, don't, Philip ! " cried Mrs. 
 Laura, in a pet. " Be generous : be 
 forgiving : be noble : be Christian ! 
 Don't be cynical, and imitating 
 you know whom ! " 
 
 Whom could she possibly mean, I 
 wonder ? After flashes there came 
 showers in this lady's eyes. From 
 long habit I can understand her 
 thoughts, although she does not utter 
 them. She was thinking of those 
 poor, noble, simple, friendless young 
 people ; and asking Heaven's protec- 
 tion for them. I am not in the habit 
 of over-praising my friends, goodness 
 knows. The foibles of this one I 
 have described honestly enough. But 
 if I write down here that he was 
 courageous, cheerful in adversity, 
 generous, simple, truth-loving, above 
 a scheme, after having said that he 
 was a noble young fellow, dixi ; 
 and I won't cancel the words. 
 
 Ardent lover as he was, our friend 
 was glad to be back in the midst of 
 the London smoke, and wealth, and 
 bustle. The fog agreed with his 
 lungs, he said. He breathed more 
 freely in our great city than in that 
 little English village in the centre of 
 Paris which he had been inhabiting. 
 In his hotel, and at his cafe (where 
 he composed his eloquent " own 
 correspondence"), he had occasion to 
 speak a little French, but it never 
 came very trippingly from his stout 
 English tongue. " You don't suppose 
 I would like to be taken for a French- 
 man," he would say, with much 
 gravity. I wonder who ever thought 
 of mistaking friend Philip for a 
 frenchman ? 
 
 As for that faithful Little Sister, 
 her house and heart were still at the 
 young man's service. We have not 
 visited Thornhaugh Street for some 
 time Mr. Philip, whom we have 
 been bound to attend, has been too 
 much occupied with his love-making 
 to bestow much thought on his affec- 
 tionate little friend. She has been 
 trudging meanwhile on her humble 
 course of life, cheerful, modest, la- 
 borious, doing her duty, with a help- 
 ing little hand ready to relieve many 
 a fallen wayfarer o'n her road. She 
 had a room vacant in her house when 
 Philip came : a room, indeed ! 
 Would she not have had a house va- 
 cant, if Philip wanted it ? But in the 
 interval since we saw her last, the 
 Little Sister, too, has had to assume 
 black robes. Her father, the old Cap- 
 tain, has gone to his rest. His place is 
 vacant in the little parlor : his bed- 
 room is ready for Philip, as long as 
 Philip will stay. She did not profess 
 to feel much affliction for the loss of 
 the captain. She talked of him con- 
 stantly as though he were present ; 
 and made a supper for Philip, and 
 seated him in her Pa's chair. How 
 she bustled about on the night when 
 Philip arrived ! What a beaming 
 welcome there was in her kind eyes ! 
 Her modest hair was touched with 
 silver now ; but her cheeks were like 
 apples ; her little figure was neat, and 
 light, and active : and her voice, with 
 its gentle laugh, and little sweet bad 
 grammar, has always seemed one of 
 the sweetest of voices to me. 
 
 Very soon after Philip's arrival in 
 London, Mrs. Brandon paid a visit to 
 the wife of Mr. Firmin's humble ser- 
 vant and biographer, and the two 
 women had a fine sentimental con- 
 sultation. All good women, you 
 know, are sentimental. The idea of 
 young lovers, of match-making, of 
 amiable poverty, tenderly excites and 
 interests them. My wife, at this 
 time, began to pour off fine long let- 
 ters to Miss Baynes, to which the 
 latter modestly and dutifully replied, 
 with many expressions of fervor and
 
 326 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 gratitude for the interest which her 
 friend in London was pleased to take 
 in the little maid. I saw by these 
 answers that Charlotte's union with 
 Philip was taken as a received point 
 by these two ladies. They discussed 
 the ways and means. They did not 
 talk about broughams, settlements, 
 town and country houses, pin-moneys, 
 trousseaux : and my wife, in comput- 
 ing their sources of income, always 
 pointed out that Miss Charlotte's for- 
 tune, though certainly small, would 
 give a very useful addition to the 
 young couple's income. " Fifty 
 pounds a year not much ! Let me 
 tell you, sir. that fifty pounds a year 
 is a very pretty little sum: if Philip 
 can but make three hundred a year 
 himself, Mrs. Brandon says they 
 ought to be able to live quite nicely." 
 You ask, my genteel friend, is it pos- 
 sible that people can live for four 
 hundred a year ? How do they man- 
 age, ces pauvres gens? They eat, 
 they drink, they are clothed, they are 
 warmed, they have roofs over their 
 heads, and glass in their windows; 
 and some of them are as good, happy, 
 and well-bred as their neighbors who 
 are ten times as rich. Then, besides 
 this calculation of money, there is the 
 fond woman's firm belief that the day 
 will bring its daily bread for those 
 wlio work for it and ask for it in the 
 proper quarter ; against which reason- 
 ing many a man knows it is in vain 
 to argue. As to my own little ob- 
 jections and doubts, my wife met 
 them by reference to Philip's former j 
 love-affair with his cousin, Miss Twys- j 
 den. " You had no objection in that : 
 case, sir," this logician would say. 
 "You would have had him take a ; 
 creature without a heart. You would i 
 cheerfully have seen him made mis- 
 erable for life, because you thought 
 there was money enough and a gen- 
 teel connection. Money indeed ! 
 Very happy Mrs. Woolcomb is with 
 her money. Very creditably to all 1 
 sides has that marriage turned out ! " j 
 I need scarcely remind my readers of 
 the unfortunate result of that mar- , 
 
 riage. Woolcomb's behavior to his 
 wife was the agreeable talk of London 
 society and of the London clubs very 
 soon after the pair were joined to- 
 gether in holy matrimony. l)o we 
 not all remember how Woolcomb was 
 accused o.f striking his wife, of starv- 
 ing his wife, and how she took refuge 
 at home and came to her father's 
 house with a black eye? The two 
 Twysdens were so ashamed of this 
 transaction, that father and son left 
 off coming to " Bays's," where I 
 never heard their absence regretted 
 but by one man, who said that Tal- 
 bot owed him money for losses at 
 whist, for which he could get no 
 settlement. 
 
 Should Mr. Firmin go and see his 
 aunt in her misfortune ? Bygones 
 might be bygones, some of Philip's 
 advisers thought. Now Mrs. Twys- 
 den was unhappy, her heart might re- 
 lent to Philip, whom she certainly 
 had loved as a boy. Philip had the 
 magnanimity to call upon her; and 
 found her carriage waiting at the 
 door. But a servant, after keeping 
 the gentleman waiting in the dreary, 
 well-remembered hall, brought him 
 word that his mistress was out, 
 smiled in his face with an engaging 
 insolence, and proceeded to put 
 cloaks, court-guides, and other female 
 gear into the carriage in the presence 
 of this poor deserted nephew. This 
 visit, it must be owned, was one of 
 Mrs. Laura's romantic efforts at rec- 
 onciling enemies : as if, my good crea- 
 ture, the Twysdens ever let a man 
 into their house who was poor or out 
 of fashion ! The}' lived in a constant 
 dread lest Philip should call to bor- 
 row money of them. As if they ever 
 lent money to a man who was in 
 need ! If they ask the respected read- 
 er to their house, depend upon it they 
 think he is well to do. On the other 
 hand, the Twysdens made a very 
 handsome entertainment for the new 
 Lord of Whipham and Ringwood 
 who no\v reigned after his kinsman's 
 death. They affably went and passed 
 Christmas with him in the country ;
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 327 
 
 id they cringed and bowed before 
 Sir John Ringwood as they had 
 bowed and cringed before the earl in 
 his time. The old earl had been a 
 Tory in his latter days, when Talbot 
 Twysden's views were also very con- 
 servative. The present Lord of Ring- 
 Wood was a Whig. It is surprising 
 how liberal the Twysdens grew in 
 the course of a fortnight's after-din- 
 ner conversation and pheasant-shoot- 
 ing talk at Ringwood. " Hang it ! 
 you know," young Twysden said, in 
 his office afterwards, " a fellow must 
 go with the politics of his family, you 
 know ! " and he bragged about the 
 dinners, wines, splendors, cooks, and 
 preserves of Ringwood as freely as in 
 the time of his noble grand- uncle. 
 Any one who has kept a house-dog 
 in London, which licks your boots 
 and your platter, and fawns for the 
 bones in your dish, knows how the 
 animal barks and flies at the poor 
 who come to the door. The Twys- 
 dens, father and son, were of this ca- 
 nine species : and there are vast packs 
 of such dogs here and elsewhere. 
 
 If Philip opened his heart to us, 
 and talked unreservedly regarding 
 his hopes and his plans, you may be 
 sure he had his little friend, Mrs. 
 Brandon, also in his confidence, and 
 that no person in the world was more 
 eager to serve him. Whilst we were 
 talking about what was to be done, 
 this little lady was also at work in 
 her favorite's behalf. She had a firm 
 ally in Mrs. Mugford, the proprie- 
 tor's lady of the Pall Mall Gazette. 
 Mrs. Mugford had long been inter- 
 ested in Philip, his misfortunes and 
 his love-afliiirs. These two good wo- 
 men had made a sentimental hero of 
 him. Ah ! that they could devise some 
 feasible scheme to help him ! And such 
 a chance actually did very soon pre- 
 sent itself to these delighted women. 
 
 In almost all the papers of the new 
 year appeared a brilliant advertise- 
 ment, announcing the speedy ap- 
 pearance in Dublin of a new paper. 
 It was to be called THE SHAMROCK, 
 and its first number was to be issued 
 
 on the ensuing St. Patrick's day. 
 I need not quote at length the adver- 
 tisement which heralded the advent 
 I of this new periodical. The most 
 j famous pens of the national party in 
 I Ireland were, of course, engaged to 
 contribute to its columns. Those 
 pens would be hammered into steel 
 of a different shape when the oppor- 
 tunity should otter. Beloved prel- 
 ates, authors of world-wide fame, 
 bards, the bold strings of whose lyres 
 had rung through the isle already, 
 and made millions of noble hearts to 
 beat, and, by consequence, double 
 the number of eyes to fill ; philoso- 
 phers, renowned for science; and 
 illustrious advocates, whose manly 
 voices had ever spoken the language 
 of hope and freedom to an, &e., &c., 
 would be found rallying round the 
 journal, and proud to wear the sym- 
 bol of THE SHAMROCK. Finally, 
 Michael Cassidy, Esq., was chosen to 
 be the editor of this new journal. 
 
 This was the M. Cassidy, Esq , who 
 appeared, I think, at Mr. Firmin's 
 call-supper ; and who had long been 
 the sub-editor of the Pall Mall Gazette. 
 If Michael went to Dame Street, why 
 should not Philip be sub-editor at 
 Pall Mall? Mrs. Brandon argued. Of 
 course there would be a score of can- 
 didates for Michael's office. The ed- 
 itor would like the patronage. Bar- 
 net, Mugford 's partner in the Gazette, 
 would wish to appoint his man. Oas- 
 sidy, before retiring, would assuredly 
 intimate his approaching resignation 
 to scores of gentlemen of his nation, 
 who would not object to take the 
 Saxon's pay until they finally shook 
 his yoke off, and would eat his bread 
 until the happy moment arrived when 
 they could knock out his brains in 
 fair battle. As soon as Mrs. Brandon 
 heard of the vacant place, that mo- 
 ment she determined that Philip 
 should have it. It was surprising 
 what a quantity of information our 
 little friend possessed about artists, 
 and press-men, and their lives, fami- 
 lies, ways and means. Many gentle- 
 men of both professions came to Mr.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Ridley's chambers, and called on the 
 Little Sister on their way to and 
 fro. How Tom Smith had left the 
 Herald, and gone to the Post ; what 
 price Jack Jones had for his picture, 
 and who sat for the principal figures. 
 I promise you Madam Brandon 
 had all these interesting details by 
 heart ; and I think I have described 
 this little person very inadequately if 
 I have not made you understand that 
 she was as intrepid a little jobber as 
 ever lived, and never scrupled to go 
 any length to serve a friend. To be 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, to be 
 professor of Hebrew, to be teacher of 
 ii dancing-school, to be organist for a 
 church : for any conceivable place or 
 function this little person would have 
 asserted Philip's capability. " Don't, 
 tell me ! He can dance or preach (as 
 the case may be), or write beautiful ! 
 And as for being unfit to be a sub- 
 editor, I want to know, has he not as 
 good a head a'nd as good an educa- 
 tion as that Cassidy, indeed ? And 
 is not Cambridge College the best 
 college in the world ? It is, I say. 
 And he went there ever so long. And 
 he might have taken the very best 
 prize, only money was no object to 
 him then, dear fellow, and he did not 
 like to keep the poor out of what he 
 did n't want ! " 
 
 Mrs. Mugford had always consid- 
 ered the young man as very haughty, 
 but quite the gentleman, and speedily 
 was infected by her gossip's enthusi- 
 asm about him. My wife hired a fly, 
 packed several of the children into it, 
 called upon Mrs. Mugford, and chose 
 to be delighted with that lady's gar- 
 den, with that lady's nursery, with 
 everything that bore the liame of 
 Mugford. It was a curiosity to re- 
 mark in what a flurry of excitement 
 these women plunged, and how they 
 schemed, and coaxed and caballed, in 
 order to get this place for their pro- 
 tege'. My wife thought she mere- 
 ly happened to surmise : nothing 
 more, of course that Mrs. Mug- 
 ford's fond dotdru was to shine in the 
 world. " Could we not ask some 
 
 people with with what you call 
 handles to their names, I think I 
 before heard you use some such term, 
 sir to meet the Mugfords ? Some 
 of Philip's old friends, who I am sure 
 would be very happy to serve him." 
 Some such artifice was, I own, prac- 
 tised. We coaxed, cajoled, fondled 
 the Mugfords for Philip's sake, and 
 Heaven forgive Mrs. Laura her 
 hypocrisy. We had an entertainment 
 then, I own. We asked our finest 
 company, and Mr. and Mrs. Mug- 
 ford to meet them : and we prayed 
 that unlucky Philip to be on his best 
 behavior to all persons who were in- 
 vited to the feast. 
 
 Before my wife this lion of a Fir- 
 min was as a lamb. Rough, captious, 
 and overbearing in general society, 
 with those whom he loved and es- 
 teemed Philip was of all men the 
 most modest and humble. He would 
 never tire of playing with our chil- 
 dren, joining in their games, laugh- 
 ing and roaring at their little sports. 
 I have never had such a laugher at 
 my jokes as P.hilip Firmin. I think 
 my wife liked him for that noble guffaw 
 with which he used to salute those 
 pieces of wit. He arrived a little late 
 sometimes with his laughing chorus, 
 but ten people at table were not 
 so loud as this faithful friend. On 
 the contrary, when those people for 
 whom he has no liking venture on 
 a pun or other pleasantry, I am bound 
 to own that Philip's acknowledgment 
 of their waggery must be anything 
 but pleasant or flattering to them. 
 Now, on occasion of this important 
 dinner, I enjoined him to be very 
 kind, and very civil, and very much 
 pleased with everybody, and to stamp 
 upon nobody's corns, as, indeed, why 
 should he, in life 1 Who was he to 
 be censor moruin? And it has been 
 said that no man could admit his 
 own faults with a more engaging 
 candor than our friend. 
 
 We invited, then, Mugford, the 
 proprietor of the Pall Mall Gazette, 
 and his wife; and Bickcrton, the edit- 
 or of that periodical ; Lord Egham,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 329 
 
 Philip's old College friend ; and one 
 or two more gentlemen. Our invita- 
 tions to the ladies were not so fortu- j 
 nate. Some were engaged, others j 
 away in the country keeping Christ- 
 mas. In fine, we considered ourselves 
 rather lucky in securing old Lady 
 Hixie, who lives hard by in West- 
 minster, and who will pass for a lady : 
 of fashion when no person of greater 
 note is present. My wife told her 
 that the object of the dinner was 
 to make our friend Firmin acquainted 
 with the editor and proprietor of the 
 Pail Mall Gazette, with whom it was j 
 important that he should be on the 
 most amicable footing. Oh ! very 
 well. Lady Hixie promised to be 
 quite gracious to the newspaper 
 gentleman and his wife ; and kept her 
 promise most graciously during the 
 evening. Our good friend Mrs. 
 Mugford was the first of our guests 
 to arrive. She drove " in her trap" 
 from her villa in the suburbs ; and 
 after putting up his carriage at a 
 neighboring livery-stable, her groom 
 volunteered to help our servants in 
 waiting at dinner. His zeal and 
 activity were remarkable. China 
 smashed, and dish-covers clanged in 
 the passage. Mrs. Mugford said that 
 " Sam was at his old tricks " ; and I 
 hope the hostess showed she was 
 mistress of herself amidst that fall of 
 china. Mrs. Mugford came before 
 the appointed hour, she said, in order 
 to see our children. " With our late 
 London dinner-hours," she remarked, 
 " children was never seen now. At 
 Hampstead, hers always appeared at 
 the dessert, and enlivened the table 
 with their innocent outcries for oranges 
 and struggles for sweetmeats. In the 
 nursery, where one little maid, in her 
 crisp long nightgown, was saying 
 her prayers ; where another little 
 person, in the most airy costume, was 
 standing before the great barred fire ; 
 where a third Liliputian was sitting 
 up in its nightcap and surplice, 
 surveying the scene below from its 
 crib ; the ladies found our dear 
 Little Sister installed. She had 
 
 come to see her little pets (she had 
 known two or three of them from the 
 very earliest times). She was a great 
 favorite amongst them all; and, I 
 believe, conspired with the cook down 
 below in preparing certain delicacies 
 for the table. A fine conversation 
 then ensued about our children, about 
 the Mugford children, about babies 
 in general. And then the artful 
 women (the house mistress and the 
 Little Sister) brought Philip on the 
 tapis, and discoursed, a qui mievx, 
 about his virtues, his misfortunes, his 
 engagement, and that dear little 
 creature to whom he was betrothed. 
 This conversation went on until 
 carriage-wheels were heard in the 
 square, and the knocker (there were 
 actually knockers in that old-fash- 
 ioned place and time) began to peal. 
 " O, bother ! There 's the company 
 a-comin'," Mrs. Mugford said ; and 
 arranging her cap and flounces, with 
 neat-handed Mrs. Brandon's aid, 
 came down stairs, after taking a tender 
 leave of the little people, to whom 
 she sent a present next day of a pile 
 of fine Christmas books, which had 
 come to the Pall Mall Gazette for 
 review. The kind woman had been 
 coaxed, wheedled, and won over to 
 our side, to Philip's side. He had her 
 vote for the sub-editorship, whatever 
 might ensue. 
 
 Most of our guests had already ar- 
 rived, when at length Mrs. Mugford 
 was announced. I am bound to say 
 that she presented a remarkable ap- 
 pearance, and that the splendor of 
 her attire was such as is seldom be- 
 held. 
 
 Bickerton and Philip were pre- 
 sented to one another, and had a talk 
 about French politics before dinner, 
 during which conversation Philip be- 
 haved with perfect discretion and po- 
 liteness. Bickerton had happened to 
 hear Philip's letters well spoken of, 
 in a good quarter, mind ; and his 
 cordiality increased when Lord Eg- 
 ham entered, called Philip by his 
 surname, and entered into a perfectly 
 free conversation with him. Old
 
 330 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Lady Hixie went into perfectly good 
 society, Bickerton condescended to ac- 
 knowledge. " As for Mrs. Mugford," 
 says he, with a glance of wondering 
 compassion at that lady, " of course 
 I need not tell you that she is seen 
 nowhere, nowhere." This said, 
 Mr. Bickerton stepped forward, and 
 calmly patronized my wife, gave me 
 a good-natured nod for my own part, 
 reminded Lord Egham that he had 
 had the pleasure of meeting him at 
 Egham ; and then fixed on Tom 
 Page, of the Bread-and-Butter Office 
 (who, I own, is one of our most gen- 
 teel guests), with whom he entered 
 into a discussion of some political 
 matter of that day, I forget what : 
 but the main point was that he 
 named two or three leading public 
 men with whom he had discussed the 
 question, whatever it might be. He 
 named very great names, and led us 
 to understand that with the proprie- 
 tors of those very great names he was 
 on the most intimate and confidential 
 footing. With his owners, with 
 the proprietor of the Pall Mall Ga- 
 zette, he was on the most distant 
 terms, and indeed I am afraid that 
 his behavior to myself and my wife 
 was scarcely respectful. I fancied I 
 saw Philip's brow gathering wrinkles 
 as his eye followed this man strutting 
 from one person to another, and 
 patronizing each. The dinner was a 
 little late, from some reason best 
 known in the lower regions. " I 
 take it," says Bickerton, winking at 
 Philip, in a pause of the conversation, 
 " that our good friend and host is not 
 much used to giving dinners. The 
 mistress of the house is evidently in a 
 state of perturbation." Philip gave 
 such a horrible grimace that the 
 other at first thought he was in 
 pain. 
 
 " You, who have lived a great deal 
 with old Ringwood, know what a 
 good dinner is," Bickerton continued, 
 giving Firmin a knowing look. 
 
 " Any dinner is good which is ac- 
 companied with such a welcome as I 
 get here," said Philip. 
 
 " Oh ! very good people, very good 
 people, of course ! " cries Bicker- 
 ton. 
 
 I need not say he thinks he has 
 perfectly succeeded in adopting the 
 air of a man of the world. He went 
 off to Lady Hixie and talked with her 
 about the last great party at which 
 he had met her ; and then he turned 
 to the host, and remarked that my 
 friend, the Doctor's son, was a fierce- 
 looking fellow. In five minutes he 
 had the good fortune to make him- 
 self hated by Mr. Firmin. He walks 
 through the world patronizing his 
 betters. " Our good friend is not 
 much used to giving dinners," is 
 n't he ? I say, what do you mean by 
 continuing to endure this man ? Tom 
 Page, of the Bread-and-Butter Office, 
 is a well-known diner-out ; Lord 
 Egham is a peer ; Bickerton, in a 
 pretty loud voice, talked to one or 
 other of these during dinner and 
 across the table. He sat next to Mrs. 
 Mugford, but he turned his back on 
 that bewildered woman, and never 
 condescended to address a word to 
 her personally. " Of course, I under- 
 stand you, my dear fellow," he said 
 to me when, on the retreat of the la- 
 dies, we approached within whisper- 
 ing distance. " You have these peo- 
 ?le at dinner for reasons of state. 
 ou have a book coming out, and 
 want to have it noticed in the paper. 
 I make a point of keeping these peo- 
 ple at a distance, the only way 
 of dealing with them, I give you my 
 word." 
 
 Not one offensive word had Philip 
 said to the chief writer of the Pall 
 Mall Gazette; and I began to con- 
 gratulate myself that our dinner 
 would pass without any mishap, 
 when some one unluckily happening 
 to praise the wine, a fresh supply 
 was ordered. " Very good claret. 
 Who is your wine-merchant ? Upon 
 my word, I get better claret here 
 than I do in Paris, don't you think 
 so, Mr. Fermor ? Where do you gen- 
 erally dine at Paris ? " 
 
 " 1 generally dine for thirty sous,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 331 
 
 and three francs on grand days, Mr. 
 Beckerton, " growls Philip. 
 
 " My name is Bickerton. " (What 
 a vulgar thing for a fellow to talk 
 about his thirty-sous dinners ! " mur- 
 mured my neighbor to me.) " Well, 
 there is no accounting for tastes ! 
 When I go to Paris, I dine at the 
 ' Trois Freres. ' Give me the Bur- 
 gundy at ' Trois Freres. ' ' 
 
 " That is because you great leader- 
 writers are paid better than poor 
 correspondents. I shall lie delighted 
 to be able to dine better. " And 
 with this Mr. Firmin smiles at Mr. 
 Mugford, his master and owner. 
 
 " Nothing /so vulgar as talking 
 shop, " says Bickerton, rather loud. 
 
 " I am not ashamed of the shop 
 I keep. Are you of yours, Mr. 
 Bickerton ? " growls Philip. 
 
 " F. had him there, " says Mr. 
 Mugford. 
 
 Mr. Bickerton got up from table, 
 turning quite pale. " Do you mean 
 to be offensive, sir 1 ? " he asked. 
 
 " Offensive, sir 1 No, sir. Some 
 men are offensive without meaning it. 
 You have been several times to- 
 night ! " says Lord Philip. 
 
 " I don't see that I am called upon 
 to bear this kind of thing at any man's 
 table ! " cried Mr. Bickerton. " Lord 
 Egham, I wish you good night ! " 
 
 " I say, old boy, what 's the row 
 about ? " asked his Lordship. And 
 we were all astonished as my guest 
 rose and left the table in great wrath. 
 
 " Serve him right, Firmin, I say ! " 
 said Mr. Mugford, again drinking off 
 a glass. 
 
 "Why, don't you know?" says 
 Tom Page. " His father keeps a 
 haberdasher's shop at Cambridge, 
 and sent him to Oxford, where he 
 took a good detrree." 
 
 And this had come of a dinner of 
 conciliation, a dinner which was to 
 advance Philip's interest in life ! 
 
 " Hit him again, I say, " cried 
 Mugford, whom wine had rendered 
 eloquent. " He 's a supercilious beast 
 that Bickerton is, and I hate him, 
 und so does Mrs. M." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 NARRATES THAT FAMOUS JOKE 
 ABOUT MISS GRIGSBY. 
 
 FOR once Philip found that he had 
 offended without giving general of- 
 fence. In the confidence of female 
 intercourse, Mrs. Mugford had al- 
 ready, in her own artless but power- 
 ful language, confirmed her husband's 
 statement regarding Mr. Bickerton, 
 and declared that B. was a beast, and 
 she was only sorry that Mr. F. had 
 not hit him a little harder. So differ- 
 ent are the opinions which different 
 individuals entertain of the same 
 event ! I happen to know that Bick- 
 erton, on his side, went away, aver- 
 ring that we were quarrelsome, un- 
 der-bred people ; and that a man of 
 any refinement had best avoid that 
 kind of society. He does really and 
 seriously believe himself our superior, 
 and will lecture almost any gentle- 
 man on the art of being one. This 
 assurance is not at all uncommon 
 with your parvenu. Proud of his 
 newly acquired knowledge of the art 
 of exhausting the contents of an egg, 
 the well-known little boy of the apo- 
 logue rushed to impart his knowledge 
 to his grandmother, who had been for 
 many years familiar with the process 
 which the child had just discovered. 
 Which of us has not met with some 
 such instructors 1 I know men who 
 would l)e ready to step forward and 
 teach Taglioni how to dance, Tom 
 Sayers how to box, or the Chevalier 
 Bayard how to be a gentleman. We 
 most of us know such men, and un- 
 dergo, from time to time, the ineffable 
 benefit of their patronage. 
 
 Mugford went away from our little 
 entertainment vowing, by George, 
 that Philip should n't want for a 
 friend at the proper season ; and this 
 
 ? roper season very speedily arrived, 
 laughed one day, on going to the 
 Pall Mall Gazette office, 10 find Philip 
 installed in the sub-editor's room, 
 with a provision of scissors, wafers, 
 and paste-pots, snipping paragraphs 
 from this paper and that, altering,
 
 332 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 condensing, giving titles, and so 
 fortli ; and, in a word, in regular har- 
 ness. The three-headed calves, the 
 great prize gooseberries, the old 
 maiden ladies of wonderful ages who 
 at length died in country places, it 
 was wonderful (considering his little 
 experience) how Firmin hunted out 
 these. He entered into all the spirit 
 of his business. He prided himself | 
 on the clever titles which he found 
 for his paragraphs. When his paper 
 was completed at the week's end, he 
 surveyed it fondly, not the leading 
 articles, or those profound and yet 
 brilliant literary essays which ap- 
 
 E eared in the Gazette, but the 
 irths, deaths, marriages, markets, 
 trials, and what not. As a shop-boy, 
 having decorated his master's win- 
 dow, goes into the street, and pleased 
 surveys his work ; so the fair face of 
 the Pall Mall Gazette rejoiced Mr. 
 Firmin, and Mr. Bince, the printer 
 of the paper. They looked with an 
 honest pride upon the result of their 
 joint labors. Nor did Firmin relish 
 pleasantry on the subject. Did his 
 friends allude to it, and ask if he had 
 shot any especially fine canard that 
 week ? Mr. Philip s brow would cor- 
 rugate and his cheeks redden. He 
 did not like jokes to be made at 
 his expense : was not his a singular 
 antipathy ? 
 
 In his capacity of sub-editor, the 
 good fellow had the privilege of tak- 
 ing and giving away countless theatre 
 orders, and panorama and diorama 
 tickets : the Pall Mall Gazette was 
 not above accepting such little bribes 
 in those days, and Mrs. Mugford's 
 familiarity with the names of opera 
 singers, and splendid appearance in 
 an opera-box, was quite remarkable. 
 Friend Philip would bear away a heap 
 of these cards of admission, delighted 
 to carry off our young folks to one 
 exhibition or another. But once at 
 the diorama, where our young people 
 sat in the darkness, very much fright- 
 ened as usual, a voice from out the 
 midnight gloom cried out : " Who has 
 come in with orders from the Pall Mall 
 
 Gazette ? " A lady, two scared chil- 
 dren, and Mr. Sub-editor Philip, all 
 trembled at this dreadful summons. 
 I think I should not dare to print the 
 story even now, did I not know that 
 Mr. Firmin was travelling abroad. 
 It was a blessing the place was dark, 
 so that none could see the poor sub- 
 editor's blushes. Rather than cause 
 any mortification to this lady, I am 
 sure Philip would have submitted to 
 rack and torture. But, indeed, her 
 annoyance was very slight, except in 
 seeing her friend annoyed. The hu- 
 mor of the scene surpassed the annoy- 
 ance in the lady's mind, and caused 
 her to laugh at the mishap ; but I 
 own our little boy (who is of an aris- 
 tocratic turn, and rather too sensitive 
 to ridicule from his school -fellows) 
 was not at all anxious to talk upon 
 the subject, or to let the world know 
 that he went to a place of public 
 amusement " with an order." 
 
 As for Philip's landlady, the Little 
 Sister, she, you know, had been famil- 
 iar with the press, and pressmen, and 
 orders for the play for years past. 
 She looked quite young and pretty, 
 with her kind smiling face and neat 
 tight black dress, as she came to the 
 theatre it was to an Easter piece 
 on Philip's arm one evening. Our 
 children saw her from their cab, as 
 they, too, were driving to the same 
 performance. It was, " Look, mam- 
 ma ! There 's Philip and the Little 
 Sister ! " And then came such smiles, 
 and nods, and delighted recognitions 
 from the cab to the two friends on 
 foot ! Of course I have forgotten 
 what was the piece which we all saw on 
 that Easter evening. But those chil- 
 dren will never forget ; no, though they 
 live to be a hundred years old, and 
 though their attention was distracted 
 from the piece by constant observation 
 of Philip and his companion in the 
 public boxes opposite. 
 
 Mr. Firmin's work and pay were 
 both light, and he accepted both very 
 cheerfully. He saved money out of 
 his little stipend. It was surprising 
 how economically he could live with
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 333 
 
 his little landlady's aid and counsel. 
 He would come to ns, recounting his 
 feats of parsimony with a childish de- 
 light ; he loved to contemplate his 
 sovereigns, as week by week the little 
 pile accumulated. He kept a sharp 
 eye upon sales, and purchased now 
 and again articles of furniture. In 
 this way he brought home a piano to 
 his lodgings, on which he could no 
 more play than he could on the tight- 
 rope ; but he was given to understand 
 that it was a very fine instrument ; 
 and my wife played on it one day 
 when we went to visit him, and he sat 
 listening, with his great hands on his 
 knees, in ecstasies. He was thinking 
 how one day, please Heaven, he 
 should see other hands touching the 
 keys, and player and instrument 
 disappeared in a mist before his hap- 
 py eyes. His purchases were not al- 
 ways lucky. For example, he was 
 sadly taken in at an auction about a 
 little pearl ornament. Some artful 
 Hebrews at the sale conspired and 
 " ran him up," as the phrase is, to a 
 price more than equal to the value of 
 the trinket. " But yon know who it 
 was for, ma'am," one of Philip's apolo- 
 gists said. " If she would like to 
 wear his ten fingers he would cut 'em 
 off and send 'em to her. But he 
 keeps 'em to write her letters and 
 verses, and most beautiful they are 
 too." 
 
 "And the dear fellow, who was 
 bred up in splendor and luxury, Mrs. 
 Mugford, as you, ma'am, know too 
 well, he won't drink no wine now. 
 A little whiskey and a glass of beer 
 is all he takes. And his clothes 
 he who used to be so grand you see 
 how he is now, ma'am. Always the 
 gentleman, and, indeed, a finer or 
 grander looking gentleman never en- 
 tered a room ; but he is saving, you 
 know for what, ma'am." 
 
 And indeed, Mrs. Mugford did 
 know ; and so did Mrs. Pendcnnis 
 and Mrs. Brandon. And these three 
 women worked themselves into a per- 
 fect fever, interesting themselves for 
 Mr. Firmin. And Mugford, in his 
 
 rough, funny way, used to say, "Mr. 
 P.. a curtain Mr. Heft' has come and 
 put our noses out of joint. He has, 
 as sure as my name is Hem. And I 
 am getting quite jealous of our sub- 
 editor, and that is the long and short 
 of it. But it 's good to see him haw- 
 haw Bickerton if ever they meet in 
 the office, that it is ! Bickerton won't 
 bully him any more, I promise you ! " 
 
 The conclaves and conspiracies of 
 these women were endless in Philip's 
 behalf. One day, I let the Little Sis- 
 ter out of my house with a handker- 
 chief to her eyes, and in a great state 
 of flurry and excitement, which per- 
 haps communicates itself to the gen- 
 tleman who passes her at his own 
 door. The gentleman's wife is, on 
 her part, not a little moved and ex- 
 cited. " What do you think Mrs. 
 Brandon says ? Philip is learning 
 short-hand. He says he docs not think 
 he is clever enough to be a writer of 
 any mark ; but he can be a report- 
 er, and with this, and his place at 
 Mr. Mugford' s, he thinks he can earn 
 enough to 0, he is a fine fellow ! " 
 I suppose feminine emotion stopped 
 the completion of this speech. But 
 when Mr. Philip slouched in to din- 
 ner that day, his hostess did homage 
 before him ; she loved him ; she treat- 
 ed him with a tender respect and sym- 
 pathy which her like are ever wont to 
 bestow upon brave and honest men in 
 misfortune. 
 
 Why should not Mr. Philip Fir- 
 min, barrister-at-law, bethink him that 
 he belonged to a profession which 
 has helped very many men to com- 
 petence, and not a few to wealth and 
 honors 1 A barrister might surely 
 hope for as good earnings as could 
 be made by a newspaper reporter. 
 We all know instances of men who, 
 having commenced their careers as 
 writers for the press, had carried 017 
 the legal profession simultaneously 
 and attained the greatest honors of 
 the bar and the bench. "Can I sit 
 in a Pump Court garret waiting for 
 attorneys 1 " asked poor Phil ; " I 
 shall break my heart before they
 
 334 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 come. My brains are not worth 
 much : I should addle them altogeth- 
 er in poring over law books. I am 
 not at all a clever fellow, you see ; and 
 I haven't the ambition and obstinate 
 will to succeed which carry on many 
 a man with no greater capacity than 
 my own. I may have as good brains 
 as Bickerton, for example : but I am 
 not so bumptious as he is. By claim- 
 ing the first place wherever he goes, 
 he gets it very often. My dear 
 friends, don't you see how modest I 
 am ? There never was a man less 
 likely to get on than myself, you I 
 must own that ; and I tell you that j 
 Charlotte and I must look forward to i 
 a life of poverty, of cheese-parings, 
 and second-floor lodgings at Penton- 
 ville or Islington. That 's about my 
 mark. I would let her off, only I 
 know she would not take me at my 
 word, the dear little thing ! She 
 has set her heart upon a hulking 
 pauper ; that 's the truth. And I tell 
 you what I am going to do. I am 
 going seriously to learn the profession 
 of poverty, and make myself master 
 of it. What 's the price of cowheel 
 and tripe 1 You don't know. I do ; 
 and the right place to buy 'em. I am 
 as good a judge of sprats as any man 
 in London. My tap in life is to be 
 small-beer henceforth, and I am grow- 
 ing quite to like it, and think it is 
 brisk, and pleasant, and wholesome." 
 There was not a little truth in Philip's 
 account of himself, and his capacities 
 and incapacities. Doubtless, he was 
 not born to make a great name for 
 himself in the world. But do we 
 like those only who are famous ? 
 As well say we will only give our 
 regard to men who have ten thou- 
 sand a year, or are more than six feet 
 high. 
 
 While of his three female friends 
 and advisers, my wife admired Phil- 
 ip's humility, Mrs. Brandon and Mrs. 
 Mugford were rather disappointed at 
 his want of spirit, and to think that 
 he aimed so low. I shall not say 
 which side Firmin's biographer took 
 in this matter. Was it my business 
 
 to applaud or rebuke him for being 
 humble-minded, or was I called upon 
 to advise at all 1 My amiable reader, 
 acknowledge that you and I in life 
 pretty much go our own way. We 
 eat the dishes we like because we like 
 them, not because our neighbor rel- 
 ishes them. We rise early, or sit up 
 late; we work, idle, smoke, or what 
 not, because we choose so to do, not 
 because the doctor orders. Philip, 
 then, was like you and me, who will 
 have our own way when we can. 
 Will we not ? If you won't, you do 
 not deserve it. Instead of hungering 
 after a stalled ox, he was accustoming 
 himself to be content with a dinner 
 of herbs. Instead of braving the tem- 
 pest, he chose to take in sail, creep 
 along shore, and wait for calmer 
 weather. 
 
 So, on Tuesday of every week let 
 us say, it was this modest sub-editor's 
 duty to begin snipping and pasting 
 paragraphs for the ensuing Satur- 
 day's issue. He cut down the par- 
 liamentary speeches, giving due fa- 
 voritism to the orators of the Pall 
 Mall Gazette party, and meagre out- 
 lines of their opponent's discourses. 
 If the leading public men on the side 
 of the Pall Mall Gazette gave enter- 
 tainments, you may be sure they were 
 duly chronicled in the fashionable 
 intelligence ; if one of their party 
 wrote a book it was pretty sure to 
 get praise from the critic. I am 
 speaking of simple old days, you un- 
 derstand. Of course there is no puff- 
 ing, or jobbing, or false praise, or un- 
 fair censure now. Every critic knows 
 what he is writing about, and writes 
 with no aim but to tell truth. 
 
 Thus Philip, the dandy of two 
 years back, was content to wear the 
 shabbiest old coat ; Philip, the Phi- 
 lippus of one-and-twenty, who rode 
 showy horses, and rejoiced to display 
 his horse and person in the park, now 
 humbly took his place in an omnibus, 
 and only on occasions indulged in a 
 cab. From the roof of the larger 
 vehicle he would salute his friends 
 with perfect affability, and stare down
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 335 
 
 on his aunt as she passed in her ba- 
 rouche. He never could be quite made 
 to acknowledge that she purposely 
 would not see him ; or he would at- 
 tribute her blindness to the quarrel 
 which they had had, not to his pov- 
 erty and present position. As for 
 his cousin Ringwood, " That fellow 
 would commit any baseness," Philip 
 acknowledged ; " and it is I who have 
 cut him," our friend averred. 
 
 A real danger was lest our friend 
 should in his poverty become more 
 haughty and insolent than he had 
 been in his days of better fortune, and 
 that he should make companions of 
 men who were not his equals. Wheth- 
 er was it better for him to be slighted 
 in a fashionable club, or to swagger 
 at the head of the company in a tav- 
 ern parlor ? This was the danger we 
 might fear for Firmin. It was im- 
 possible not to confess that he was 
 choosing to take a lower place in the 
 world than that to which he had been 
 born. 
 
 " Do you mean that Philip is low- 
 ered, because he is poor?" asked an 
 angry lady, to whom this remark was 
 made by her husband, man and 
 wife being both very good friends to 
 Mr. Firmin. 
 
 " My dear," replies the worldling 
 of a husband, " suppose Philip were 
 to take a fancy to buy a donkey and 
 sell cabbages? He would be doing 
 no harm ; but there is no doubt he 
 would lower himself in the world's 
 estimation. 
 
 " Lower himself! " says the lady, 
 with a toss of her head. " No man 
 lowers himself by pursuing an honest 
 calling. No man ! " 
 
 " Very good. There is Grundsell, 
 the green-grocer, out of Tuthill Street, 
 who waits at our dinners. Instead 
 of asking him to wait, we should beg 
 him to sit down at table ; or perhaps 
 we should wait, and stand with a nap- 
 kin behind Grundsell." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " 
 
 " Grundsell's calling is strictly hon- 
 est, unless he abuses his opportuni- 
 ties, and smuggles away 
 
 " Smuggles away stuff and non- 
 sense ! " 
 
 " Very good ; Grundsell is not a fit- 
 ting companion, then, for us, or the 
 nine little Grundsell.s for our children. 
 Then why should Philip give up the 
 ! friends of his youth, and forsake a 
 : club for a tavern parlor? You cnn't 
 ! say our little friend, Mrs. Brandon, 
 good as she is, is a fitting companion 
 for him ? " 
 
 "If he had a good little wife, he 
 j would have a companion of his own 
 degree ; and he would be twice as 
 happy ; and he would be out of all 
 danger and temptation, and the best 
 thing he can do is to marry directly ! " 
 cries the lady. "And, my dear, I 
 think I shall write to Charlotte and 
 ask her to come and stay with us." 
 
 There was no withstanding this ar- 
 gument. As long as Charlotte was 
 with us we were sure that Philip 
 would be out of harm's way, and 
 seek for no other company. There 
 was a snug little bedroom close by the 
 quarters inhabited by our own chil- 
 dren. My wife pleased herself by 
 adorning this chamber, and Uncle 
 Mac happening to come to London 
 on business about this time, the young 
 lady came over to us under his con- 
 voy, and I should like to describe the 
 meeting between her and Mr. Phiiip 
 in our parlor. No doubt it was very 
 edifying. But my wife and I were 
 not present, vous ccmccvez. We only 
 heard one shout of surprise and de- 
 light from Philip as he went into the 
 room where the young lady was wait- 
 ing. We had but said, " Go into the 
 parlor, Philip. You will find your 
 old friend Major Mac there. He has 
 come to London on business, and has 
 news of " There was no need to 
 speak, for here Philip straightway 
 bounced into the room. 
 
 And then came the shout. And 
 then out came Major Mac, with such 
 a droll twinkle in his eyes ! What 
 artifices and hypocrisies had we not 
 to practise previously, so as to keep 
 our secret from our children, who as- 
 suredly would have discovered it ! I
 
 336 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 must tell you that the paterfamilias 
 had guarded against the innocent 
 prattle and inquiries of the children 
 regarding the preparation of the little 
 bedroom, by informing them that it 
 was intended for Miss Grigsby, the 
 governess, with whose advent they 
 had long been threatened. And one 
 of our girls, when the unconscious 
 Philip arrived, said, " Philip, if you 
 go into the parlor, you will find Miss 
 Grigsby, the governess, there." And 
 then Philip entered into that parlor, 
 and then arose that shout, and then 
 out came Uncle Mac, and then, &c., 
 &c. And we called Charlotte Miss 
 Grigsby all dinner-time ; and we called 
 her Miss Grigsby next day ; and 
 the more we called her Miss Grigs- 
 bv the more we all laughed. And 
 the baby, who could not speak plain 
 yet, called her Miss Gibby, and 
 laughed loudest of all; and it was 
 such fun. But I think Philip and 
 Charlotte had the best of the fun, my 
 dears, though they may not have 
 laughed quite so loud as we did. 
 
 As for Mrs. Brandon, who, you 
 may be sure, speedily came to pay us 
 a visit, Charlotte blushed, and looked 
 quite beautiful when she went up and 
 kissed the Little Sister. " He have 
 told you about me, then ! " she said, 
 in her soft little voice, smoothing the i 
 young lady's brown hair. " Should j 
 I have known him at all but for you, i 
 and did you not save his life for , 
 me when he was ill?" asked Miss 
 Baynes. " And may n't I love every- ' 
 body who loves him ? " she asked. 
 And we left these women alone for a 
 quarter of an hour, during which they 
 became the most intimate friends in 
 the world. And all our household, 
 great and small, including the nurse 
 (a woman of a most jealous, domi- 
 neering, and uncomfortable fidelity), 
 thought well of our gentle young 
 guest, and welcomed Miss Grigsby. 
 
 Charlotte, you see, is not so exceed- 
 ingly handsome as to cause other wo- 
 men to perjure themselves by protest- 
 ing that she is no great things after 
 all. At the period with which we are 
 
 concerned, she certainly had a lovely 
 complexion, which her black dress set 
 off, perhaps. And when Philip used 
 to come into the room, she had al- 
 ways a fine garland of roses ready to 
 offer him, and growing upon her 
 cheeks, the moment he appeared. 
 Her manners are so entirely unaf- 
 fected and simple that they can't be 
 otherwise than good : for is she not 
 grateful, truthful, unconscious of self, 
 easily pleased and interested in oth- 
 ers ? Is she very witty ? I never 
 said so, ' though that she appreciated 
 some men's wit (whose names need 
 not be mentioned) I cannot doubt. 
 " I say," cries Philip, on that memo- 
 rable first night of her arrival, and 
 when she and other ladies had gone 
 to bed, " by George ! is n't she glori- 
 ous, I say ! What can I have done 
 to win such a pure little heart as 
 that? Non sum dignus. It is too 
 much happiness, too much, by 
 George ! " And his voice breaks be- 
 hind his pipe, and he squeezes two 
 fists into eyes that are brimful of joy 
 and thanks. Where Fortune bestows 
 such a bounty as this, I think we need 
 not pity a man for what she with- 
 draws. As Philip walks away at 
 midnight (walks away ? is turned out 
 of doors ; or surely he would have 
 gone on talking till dawn), with the 
 rain beating in his face, and fifty or a 
 hundred pounds for all his fortune in 
 his pocket, I think there goes one of 
 the happiest of men, the happiest 
 and richest. For is he not possessor 
 of a treasure which he could not buy, 
 or would not sell, for all the wealth 
 of the world 1 
 
 My wife may say what she will, 
 but she assuredly is answerable for 
 the invitation to Miss Baynes, and 
 for all that ensued in consequence. 
 At a hint that she would be a wel- 
 come guest in our house, in London, 
 where all her heart and treasure lay, 
 Charlotte Baynes gave up straightway 
 her dear aunt at Tours, who had been 
 kind to her ; her dear uncle, her dear 
 mamma, and all her dear brothers, 
 following that natural law which or-
 
 THE ADVKNTUCKS OF PHILIP. 
 
 337 
 
 dains that a woman, under certain 
 circumstances, shall resign home, 
 parents, brothers, sisters, for the sake 
 of that one individual who is hence- 
 forth to lie dearer to her than all. 
 Mrs. Baynes, the widow, growled a 
 complaint at her daughter's ingrati- 
 tude, but did not refuse her consent. 
 She may have known that little He- 
 ly, Charlotte's volatile admirer, had 
 fluttered off to another flower by this 
 time, and that a pursuit of that but- 
 terfly was in vain ; or she may 
 have heard that he was going to pass 
 the spring the butterfly season 
 in London, and hoped that he per- 
 chance might again light on her girl, 
 llowbeit, she was glad enough that 
 her daughter should accept an invita- 
 tion to our house, and owned that as 
 yet the poor child's share of this life's 
 pleasures had been but small. Char- 
 lotte's modest little trunks were again 
 packed, then, and the poor child was 
 sent off, I won't say with how small 
 a provision of pocket-money, by her 
 mother. But the thrifty woman had 
 but little, and of it was determined to 
 give as little as she could. " Heaven 
 will provide for my child," she would 
 piously say ; and hence interfered 
 very little with those agents whom 
 Heaven sent to befriend her children. 
 " Her mother told Charlotte that she 
 would send her some money next 
 Tuesday," the Major told us ; " but, 
 between ourselves, I v doubt whether 
 she will. Between ourselves, my 
 sister-in-law is always going- to give 
 money next Tuesday : but somehow 
 Wednesday comes, and the money 
 has not arrived. I could not let the 
 little maid be without a few guineas, 
 and have provided her out of a half- 
 pay purse ; but mark me, that pay- 
 day Tuesday will never come." Shall 
 I deny or confirm the worthy Major's 
 statement ? Thus far I will say, that 
 Tuesday most certainly came ; and a 
 letter from her mamma to Charlotte, ! 
 which said that one of her brothers ' 
 and a younger sister were going to 
 stay with Aunt Mac ; and that as 
 Char was so happy with her most 
 15 
 
 hospitable and kind friends, a fond 
 widowed mother, who had given up 
 all pleasures for herself, would not 
 interfere to prevent a darling child's 
 happiness. 
 
 It has been said that three women, 
 whose names have been given up, 
 were conspiring in the behalf of this 
 young person and the young man her 
 sweetheart. Three days after Char- 
 lotte's arrival at our house, my wife 
 persists in thinking that a drive into 
 the country would do the child good, 
 orders a brougham, dresses Charlotte 
 in her best, and trots away to see Mrs. 
 Mug ford at Hampstead. Mrs. Bran- 
 don is at Mrs. Mug-ford's, of course 
 quite bv chance and I feel sure that 
 Charlotte's friend compliments Mrs. 
 Mug ford upon her garden, upon her 
 nursery, upon her luncheon, upon 
 everything that is hers. " Why, dear 
 me," says Mrs. Mngford (as the ladies 
 discourse upon a certain subject), 
 what does it matter ? Me and Alug- 
 ford married on two pound a week ; 
 and on two pound a week my dear 
 eldest children were born. It was a 
 hard struggle sometimes, but we were 
 all the happier for it ; and I 'm sure 
 if a man won't risk a little he don't 
 deserve much. I know /would risk, 
 if I were a man, to marry such a 
 pretty young dear. And I should take 
 a young man to be but a mean-spirited 
 fellow who waited and went shilly- 
 shallying when he had but to say the 
 word and be happy. I thought Mr. F. 
 was a brave, courageous gentleman, I 
 did, Mrs. Brandon. Do you want 
 me for to have a bad opinion of him "? 
 My dear, a little of that cream. It 's 
 very good. We 'ad a dinner yester- 
 day, and a cook down from town, on 
 purpose." This speech, with appro- 
 priate imitations of voice and gesture, 
 was repeated to the present biogra- 
 pher by the present biographer's 
 wife, and he now began to sec in 
 what webs and meshes of conspira- 
 cy these artful women had enveloped 
 the subject of the present biography 
 Like Mrs. Brandon, and the other 
 matron, Charlotte's friend, Mrs.
 
 338 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Mugford became interested in the 
 gentle young creature, and kissed her 
 kindly, and made her a present on 
 going away. It was a brooch in the 
 shape of a thistle, if I remember 
 aright, set with amethysts and a 
 lovely Scottish stone called, I believe, 
 a carumgorum. " She ain't no 
 stvle about her ; and I confess, from 
 a "general's daughter, brought up on 
 the Continent, I should have expected 
 better. But we '11 show her a little 
 of the world and the opera, Brandon, 
 and she '11 do very well, of that I 
 make no doubt." And Mrs. Mug- 
 ford took Miss Baynes to the opera, 
 and pointed out the other people of 
 fashion there assembled. And de- 
 lighted Charlotte was. I make no 
 doubt there was a young gentleman 
 of our acquaintance at the back of 
 the box who was very happy too. 
 And this year, Philip's kinsman's 
 wife, LADY RINGWOOD, had a box, 
 in which Philip saw her and her 
 daughters, and little Ringwood Twys- 
 den paying assiduous court to her 
 Ladyship. They met in the crush- 
 room by chance again, ^and Lady 
 Ringwood looked hard at Philip and 
 the blushing young lady on his arm. 
 And it happened that Mrs. Mugford's 
 carriage, the little one-horse trap 
 which opens and shuts so conveniently, 
 and Lady Ringwood's tall, embla- 
 zoned chariot of state, stopped the 
 way together. And from the tall em- 
 blazoned chariot the ladies looked not 
 unkindly at the trap which contained 
 the beloved of Philip's heart : and the 
 carriages departed each on its way ; 
 and Ringwood Twysden, seeing his 
 cousin advancing towards him, turned 
 A'cry pale, and dodged at a double- 
 quick down an arcade. But he need 
 not have been afraid of Philip. Mr. 
 Firmin's heart was all softness and 
 benevolence at that time. He was 
 thinking of those sweet, sweet eyes 
 that had just glanced to him a tender 
 good-night ; of that little hand which 
 a moment since had hung witlj fond 
 pressure on his arm. Do you sup- 
 pose in such a frame of mind he had 
 
 leisure to think of a nauseous little 
 reptile crawling behind him 1 He 
 was so happy that night, that Philip 
 was King Philip again. And he 
 went to the " Haunt," and sang his 
 song of Garryoiven na gloria, and 
 greeted the boys assembled, and 
 spent at least three shillings over his 
 supper and drinks. But the next 
 day being Sunday, Mr. Firmin was 
 at Westminster Abbey, listening to 
 the sweet church chants, by the side 
 of the very same young person whom 
 he had escorted to the opera on the 
 night before. They sat together so 
 close that one must have heard exact- 
 ly as well as the other. I dare say it 
 is edifying to listen to anthems a deux. 
 And how complimentary to the cler- 
 gyman to have to wish that the ser- 
 mon was longer ! Through the vast 
 cathedral aisles the organ notes peal 
 gloriously. Ruby and topaz and 
 amethyst blaze from the great church 
 windows. Under the tall arcades the 
 young people went together. Hand in. 
 hand they passed, and thought no ill. 
 Do gentle readers begin to tire of 
 this spectacle of billing and cooing ? 
 I have tried to describe Mr. Philip's 
 love-affairs with as few words and in 
 as modest phrases as may be, omit- 
 ting the raptures, the passionate 
 vows, the reams of correspondence, 
 and the usual commonplaces of his 
 situation. And yet, my dear madam, 
 though you and I may be past the 
 age of billing and cooing, though 
 your ringlets, which I remember a 
 lovely auburn, are now well 
 are now a rich purple and green 
 black, and my brow may be as bald 
 as a cannon-ball ; I say, though we 
 are old, we are not too old to forget. 
 We may not care about the panto- 
 mime much now, but we like to take 
 the young folks, and see them re- 
 joicing. From the window where I 
 write, I can look down into the gar- 
 den of a certain square. In that 
 garden I can at this moment see a 
 young gentleman and lady of my ac- 
 quaintance pacing up and down. 
 They are talking some such talk aa
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Milton imagines our first parents 
 engaged in ; and yonder garden is a 
 paradise to my young friends. Did 
 they choose to look outside the rail- 
 ings of the square, or at any other 
 objects than each other's noses, they 
 might see the tax-gatherer we will 
 say, with his book, knot king at 
 one door, the doctor's brougham at 
 a second, a hatchment over the win- 
 dows of a third mansion, the baker's 
 boy discoursing with the house-maid 
 over the railings of a fourth. But 
 what to them are these phenomena of 
 life ? Arm in arm my young folks 
 go pacing up and down their Eden, 
 and discoursing about that happy ! 
 time which I suppose is now drawing 
 near, about that charming little snug- 
 gery for which the furniture is or- 
 dered, and to which, miss, your old 
 friend and very humble servant will 
 take the liberty of forwarding his best 
 regards and a neat silver teapot. I 
 dare say, with these young people, as 
 with Mr. Philip and Miss Charlotte, . 
 all occurrences of life seem to have, \ 
 reference to that event whii'h forms j 
 the subject of their perpetual longing j 
 and contemplation. There is the j 
 doctor's brougham driving away, and 
 Imogcne says to Alonzo, " What 
 anguish I shall have if you are ill ! " 
 Then there is the carpenter putting up 
 the hatchment. "Ah, my love, if 
 you were to die, I think they might 
 put up a hatchment for both of us," 
 says Alonzo with a killing sigh. 
 Both sympathize with Mary and the 
 baker's boy whispering over the rail- 
 ings. Go" to, gentle baker's boy, we 
 also know what it is to love ! 
 
 The whole soul and strength of 
 Charlotte and Philip being bent upon 
 marriage, I take leave to put in a 
 document which Philip received at 
 this time; and can imagine that it 
 occasioned no little sensation : 
 
 " ASTOR HOUSE, NEW YORK. 
 
 " And so you arc returned to the 
 
 great city, to ihefumum, the strepi- 
 
 tum, and I sincerely hope the opes of 
 
 our Rome ! Your own letters are 
 
 but brief; but I have an occasional 
 correspondent (there are few, alas ! 
 who remember the exile ! ) who keeps 
 me au cotirant of my Philip's history, 
 and tells me that you are industrious, 
 that you arc cheerful, that you pros- 
 per. Cheerfulness is the companion 
 of Industry, Prosperity their offspring. 
 That that prosperity may attain the 
 fullest growth is an absent father's 
 fondest prayer ! Perhaps erelong I 
 shall be able to announce to you that 
 I too am prospering. I am engaged 
 in pursuing a scientific discovery here 
 (it is medical, and connected with my 
 own profession), of which the results 
 ought to lead to Fortune, unless the 
 jade has forever deserted George 
 Brand Firmin ! So you have em- 
 barked in the drudgery of the press, 
 and have become a member of the 
 fourth estate. It has been despised, 
 and pressman and poverty were for a 
 long time supposed to be synonymous. 
 But the power, the wealth of the press 
 are daily developing, and they will 
 increase yet further. I confess I 
 should have liked to hear that my 
 Philip was pursuing his profession 
 of the bar, at which honor, splendid 
 competence, nay, aristocratic rank, 
 are the prizes of the bo'd, I he industrious, 
 and the deserrinc/. Why should you 
 not 1 should I not still hope that you 
 may gain legal eminence and posi- 
 tion ? A father who has had much 
 to suffer, who is descending the vale 
 of years alone and in a distant land, 
 would be soothed in his exile if he 
 thought his son would one day be 
 able to repair the shattered fortunes 
 of his race. But it is not yet, 1 fondly 
 think, too late. You may yet qualify 
 for the bar, and one of its prizes may 
 fall to you. I confess it was not with- 
 out a pang of grief I heard from our 
 kind little friend Mrs. B., you were 
 studying short-hand, in order to be- 
 come a newspaper reporter. And has 
 Fortune, then, been so relentless to 
 me that my son is to be compelled to 
 follow such a calling ? I shall try 
 and be resigned. I had hoped higher 
 things for you for me.
 
 310 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 " My dear boy, with regard to your 
 romantic attachment for Miss Baynes, 
 which our good little Brandon 
 narrates to me, in her peculiar ortho- 
 graphy, but with much touching simpli- 
 city, I make it a rule not to say a 
 word of comment, of warning, or re- 
 monstrance. As sure as you are your 
 father's son, you will take your own 
 line in any matter of attachment to a 
 woman, and all the fathers in the world 
 won't stop you. In Philip of four-and- 
 twenty I recognize his father thirty 
 years ago. My father scolded, entreat- 
 ed, quarrelled with me, never forgave 
 me. I will learn to be more generous 
 towards my son. I may grieve, but I 
 bear you no malice. If ever I achieve 
 wealth again, you shall not be de- 
 prived of it. I suffered so myself 
 from a harsh father, that I will never 
 be one to my son ! 
 
 " As you have put on the livery of 
 the Muses, and regularly entered 
 yourself of the Fraternity of the Press, 
 what say you to a little addition to 
 your income by letters addressed to 
 my friend, the editor of the new 
 journal, called here the Gazette of the 
 Upper Ten Thousand. It is the 
 fashionable journal published here ; 
 and your qualifications are precisely 
 those widen would make your services 
 valuable as a contributor. Doctor 
 Geraldine, the editor, is not, I believe, 
 a relative of the Leinster family, but 
 a self-made man, who arrived in this 
 country soms years since, poor, and 
 an exile from his native country. He 
 advocates Itepeal politics in Ireland ; 
 but with theso of course you need 
 have nothing to do. And he is much 
 too liberal to expect these from his 
 contributors. I have been of service 
 professionally to Mrs. Geraldine and 
 himself. My friend of the Emerald in- 
 troduced me to the Doctor. Terrible 
 enemies in print, in private they are 
 perfectly good friends, and the little 
 passages of arms between the two 
 journalists serve rather to amnse than 
 to irritate. ' The grocer's boy from 
 Ormond Quay' (Geraldine once, it 
 appears, engaged in that useful but 
 
 humble calling) and the ' miscreant 
 from Cork the editor of the Emerald 
 comes from that city assail each 
 j other in public, but drink whiskey-and- 
 water galore in private. If you write 
 for Geraldine, of course you will say 
 nothing disrespectful about grocers' 
 boys. His dollars are good silver, of 
 that you may be sure. Dr. G. knows 
 a part of your history : he knows that 
 you are now fairly engaged in literary 
 pursuits ; that you are a man of 
 education, a gentleman, a man of the 
 world, a man of courage. I have 
 answered for your possessing all these 
 qualities. (The Doctor, in his droll, 
 humorous way, said that if you were 
 a chip of the old block you would be 
 just what he called ' the grit.') Politi- 
 cal treatises are not so much wanted 
 as personal news regarding the nota- 
 bilities of London, and these, I assured 
 him, you were the very man to be 
 able to furnish. You, who know 
 everybody ; who have lived with the 
 great world, the world of lawyers, 
 the world of artists, the world of the 
 University, have already had an 
 experience which few gentlemen of 
 the press can boast of, and may turn 
 that experience to profit. Suppose 
 you were to trust a little to your 
 imagination in composing these let- 
 ters ? there can be no harm in being 
 fioetical. Suppose an intMiyent corre- 
 spondent writes that he has met the 
 D-ke of W-11-ngt-n, had a private 
 interview with the Pr-m-r, and so 
 forth, who is to say him nay 1 And 
 this is the kind of talk our yobemouc/ies 
 of New York delight in. My worthy 
 friend, Doctor Geraldine, for example, 
 between ourselves his name is 
 Finnigan, but his private history is 
 strictly entre nous, when he first came 
 to New York astonished the people 
 by the copiousness of his anecdotes 
 regarding the Enc/lish aristocracy, of 
 whom he knows as much as he does 
 of the Court of Pekin. He was smart, 
 ready, sarcastic, amusing ; he found 
 readers : from one success he advanced 
 to another, and the Gazette of the 
 Upper Ten Thousand is likely to make
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 341 
 
 this worthy man's fortune. You really 
 may be serviceable to him, and may 
 justly earn the liberal remuneration 
 which he offers for a weekly letter. 
 Anecdotes of men and women of 
 fashion the more gay and lively 
 the more welcome the tjuiajtiid 
 agunt homines, in a word should be 
 the famicjo libelli. Who are the reign- 
 ing beauties of London ? and Beauty, 
 you know, has a rank and fashion of 
 its own. Has any one lately won or 
 lost on the turf or at play ? What 
 are the clubs talking about ? 
 Are there any duels ? What is the 
 last scandal ? Does the good old 
 Duke keep his health? Is that 
 affair over between the Duchess of 
 This and Captain That ? 
 
 " Such is the information which 
 our badauds here like to have, and 
 for which my friend tbe Doctor will 
 
 pay at the rate of dollars per 
 
 letter. Your name need not appear 
 at all. The remuneration is certain. 
 C'est a prendre ou a laisser, as our 
 lively neighbors say. Write in the 
 first place in confidence to me ; and 
 in whom can you confide more safely 
 than in your father ? 
 
 " You will, of course, pay your re- 
 spects to your relative the new Lord 
 of Ringwood. For a young man 
 whose family is so powerful as yours, 
 there can surely be no derogation in 
 entertaining some feudal respect, and 
 who knows whether and how soon 
 Sir John Ringwood may be able to 
 help his cousin ? By the way, Sir 
 John is a Whig, and your paper is a 
 Conservative. But you are, above 
 all, hommedu monde. In such a sub- 
 ordinate place as you occupy with 
 the Pall Mall Gazette, a man's private 
 
 folitics do not surely count at all. 
 f Sir John Ringwood, your kins- 
 man, sees any way of helping you, so 
 much the better, and of course your 
 politics will be those of your family. 
 I have no knowledge of him. He 
 was a very quiet man at college, 
 where, I regret to say, your father's 
 friends were not of the quiet sort at 
 all. I trust I have repented. I have 
 
 sown my wild oats. And ah ! how 
 pleased I shall be to hear that my 
 Philip has bent his proud head a 
 little, and is ready to submit more 
 than he used of old to the customs of 
 the world. Call upon Sir John, then. 
 As a Whig gentleman of large estate, 
 I need not tell you that he will ex- 
 pect rtspcct from you. He is your 
 kinsman ; the representative of your 
 grandfather's gallant and noble race. 
 He bears the name your mother bore. 
 To her my Philip was always gentle, 
 and for her sake you will comply 
 with the wishes of 
 
 " Your affectionate father, 
 
 " G. B. F." 
 
 " I have not said a word of compli- 
 ment to mademoiselle. I wish her so 
 well that I own I wish she were about 
 to marry a richer suitor than my dear 
 son. Will fortune ever permit me to 
 embrace my daughter-in-law, and 
 take your children on my knee ? 
 You will speak kindly to them of 
 their grandfather, will you not ? 
 Poor General Baynes, I have heard, 
 used violent and unseemly language 
 regarding me, which I most heartily 
 pardon. I am grateful when I think 
 that I never did General B. an injury : 
 grateful and proud to accept benefits 
 from my own son. These I treasure 
 up in my heart ; and still hope I shall 
 be able to repay with something more 
 substantial than my fondest prayers. 
 Give my best wishes, then, to Miss 
 Charlotte, and try and teach her to 
 think kindly of her Philip's father." 
 
 Miss Charlotte Baynes, who kept 
 the name of Miss Grigsby, the govern- 
 ess, amongst all the roguish children 
 of a facetious father, was with us one 
 month, and her mamma expressed 
 great cheerfulness at her absence, and 
 at- the thought that she had found 
 such good friends. After two months, 
 her uncle, Major MacWhirter, return- 
 ed from visiting his relations in the 
 North, and offered to take his niece 
 back to France again. He made this 
 proposition with the jolliest air in th^
 
 342 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 world, and as if his niece would jump 
 for joy to go back to her mother. 
 But to the Major's astonishment, 
 Miss Baynes turned quite pale, ran to 
 her hostess, flung herself into that 
 lady's arms, and then there began an 
 osculatory performance which perfect- 
 ly astonished the good Major. Char- 
 lotte's friend, holding Miss Baynes 
 tight in her embrace, looked fiercely 
 at the Major over the girl's shoulder, 
 and defied him to take her away from 
 that sanctuary. 
 
 " O you dear, good dear friend ! " 
 Charlotte gurgled out, and sobbed I 
 know not what more expressions of 
 fondness and gratitude. 
 
 But the truth is, that two sisters, 
 or mother and daughter, could not 
 love each other more heartily than 
 these two personages. Mother and 
 daughter forsooth ! You should have 
 seen Charlotte's piteous look when 
 sometimes the conviction would come 
 on her that she ought at length to 
 go home to mamma ; such a look as I 
 can fancy Iphigenia casting on Aga- 
 memnon, when, in obedience to a 
 painful sense of duty, he was about to 
 to use the sacrificial knife. No, 
 we all loved her. The children would 
 howl at the idea of parting with their 
 Miss Grigsby. Charlotte, in return, 
 helped them to very pretty lessons in 
 music and French, served hot, as it 
 were, from her own recent studies at 
 Tours, and a good daily governess 
 operated on the rest of their education 
 to everybody's satisfaction. 
 
 And so months rolled on and our 
 young favorite still remained with us. 
 Mamma fed the little maid's purse 
 with occasional remittances ; and 
 begged her hostess to supply her with 
 all necessary articles from the milliner. 
 Afterwards, it is true, Mrs. General 
 Baynes * * But why enter upon 
 these painful family disputes in a 
 chapter which has been devoted to 
 sentiment 1 
 
 As soon as Mr. Firmin received the 
 letter above faithfully copied (with 
 the exception of the pecuniary offer, 
 which I do not consider myself at liber- 
 
 ty to divulge,) he hurried down from 
 Thornhaugh Street to Westminster. 
 He dashed by Buttons, the page ; he 
 took no notice of my wondering wife 
 at the drawing-room door ; he rushed 
 to the second floor, bursting open the 
 school-room door, where Charlotte 
 was teaching our dear third daughter 
 to play " In iny Cottage near a 
 Wood." 
 
 " Charlotte ! Charlotte ! " he cried 
 out. 
 
 " La, Philip ! don't you see Miss 
 Grigsby is giving us lessons ? " said 
 the children. 
 
 But lie would not listen to those 
 wags, and still beckoned Charlotte to 
 him. That young woman rose up 
 and followed him out of the door, as, 
 indeed, she would have followed him 
 out of the window; and there, on the 
 stairs, they read Doctor Firmin's let- 
 ter, with their heads quite close to- 
 gether, you understand. 
 
 " Two hundred a year more," said 
 Philip, his heart throbbing so that he 
 could hardly speak ; " and your fifty, 
 and two hundred the Gazette, 
 and " 
 
 " O Philip ! " was all Charlotte 
 could say, and then There was 
 a pretty group for the children to see, 
 and for an artist to draw ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 WATS AND MEAXS. 
 
 OF course any man of the world, 
 who is possessed of decent prudence, 
 will perceive that the idea of mar- 
 rying on four hundred and fifty pounds 
 a year, so secured as was Master Phil- 
 ip's income, was preposterous and ab- 
 surd. In the first place, you can't 
 live On four hundred and fifty pounds 
 a yua.?, that is a certainty. People do 
 live on less, I believe. But a life 
 without a brougham, without a decent 
 house, without claret for dinner, and a 
 footman to wait, can hardly be called 
 existence. Philip's income might 
 fail any day He might not please
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 343 
 
 the American paper. He might quar- 1 
 rel with the Pull Mall Gazette. And ; 
 then what would remain to him 1 j 
 Only poor little Charlotte's fifty j 
 pounds a year ! So Philip's most in- 
 timate male friend a man of the 
 world, and with a good deal of expe- 
 rience argued. Of course I was 
 iiot surprised that Philip did not 
 choose to take my advice ; though I 
 did not expect he would become so 
 Violently angry, call names almost, j 
 and use most rude expressions, when, ; 
 nt his express desire, this advice was 
 tendered to him. If he did not want 
 it, why did he ask for it ? The ad- j 
 Vice might be unwelcome to him, but : 
 Why did he choose to tell me at my ! 
 own table, over my own claret, that it 
 was the advice of a sneak and a world- 
 ling ? My good fellow, that claret, 
 though it is a. second growth, and I 
 can afford no better, costs seventy-two 
 shillings a dozen. How much is six 
 times three hundred and sixty-five 'f 
 A bottle a day is the least you can cal- 
 culate (the fellow would come to my 
 house and drink two bottles to him- 
 self, with the utmost nonchalance). 
 A bottle per diem of that light claret 
 of that second-growth stuff costs 
 one hundred and four guineas a year, 
 do you understand ? or, to speak 
 plainly with you, one hundred and nine 
 \>ounds four shillings 1 " 
 
 " Well," says Philip, " apres ? 
 We '11 do without. Meantime I will 
 take what I can get ! " and he tosses 
 off about a pint as he speaks (these 
 Miousseline glasses are not only enor- 
 mous, but they break by dozens.) He 
 tosses off a pint of my Larose, and 
 gives a great roar of laughter, as if he 
 had said a good thing ! 
 
 Philip Firmin is coarse and offen- 
 sive at times, and Bickerton in holding 
 this opinion is not altogether wrong. 
 
 " I '11 drink claret when I come to 
 Vou, old boy," he says, grinning ; 
 " and at home I will have whiskey- 
 and-water." 
 
 " But suppose Charlotte is ordered 
 tlaret ? " 
 
 " Well, she can have it," says this 
 
 liberal lover ; " a bottle will last her a 
 week." 
 
 " Don't you see," I shriek out, 
 " that even a bottle a week costs 
 something like six by fifty-two 
 eighteen pounds a year ! " (I own it 
 is really only fifteen twelve; but, in 
 the hurry of argument, a man may 
 stretch a figure or so.) "Eighteen 
 pounds for Charlotte's claret ; as 
 much, at least, you great boozy toper, 
 for your whiskey and beer. Why, 
 you actually want a tenth part of 
 your income for the liquor you con- 
 sume ! And then clothes ; and then 
 lodging ; and then coals ; and then 
 doctor's bills ; and then pocket- 
 money ; and then sea-side for the little 
 dears. Just have the kindness to add 
 these things up, and you will find that 
 you have about two-and-ninepence left 
 to pay the grocer and the butcher." 
 
 " What you call prudence," says 
 Philip, thumping the table, and, of 
 course, breaking a glass, " 1 call 
 cowardice, I call blasphemy ! Do 
 you mean, as a Christian man, to tell 
 me that two young people and a 
 family, if it should please Heaven to 
 send them one, cannot subsist upon 
 five hundred pounds a year ? Look 
 round, sir, at the myriads of God's 
 creatures who live, love, are happy 
 and poor, and be ashamed of the 
 wicked doubt which you utter ! " 
 And he starts up, and strides up and 
 down the dining-room, curling his 
 flaming mustache, and rings the bell 
 fiercely, and says, "Johnson, I 've 
 broke a glass. Get me another." 
 
 In the drawing-room, my wife asks 
 what we two were fighting about ? 
 And, as Charlotte is up stairs, telling 
 the children stories as they are put to 
 bed, or writing to her dear mamma, 
 or what not, our friend bursts out 
 with more rude and violent expressions 
 than he had used in the dining-room 
 over my glasses which he was smash- 
 ing, tells my own wife that I am an 
 atheist, or at best a miserable sceptic 
 and Sadducee ; that I doubt of the 
 goodness of Heaven, and am not 
 thankful for my daily bread. And,
 
 344 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 with one of her kindling looks directed 
 towards the young man, of course my 
 wife sides with him. Miss Char 
 presently came down from the young 
 folks, and went to the piano, and ' 
 plaved us Beethoven's " Dream of j 
 Safnt Jerome," which always soothes 
 me, and charms me, so that I fancy it is ! 
 a pojm of Tennyson in music. And j 
 oar children, as they sink off to sleep i 
 overhead, like to hear soft music, j 
 which soothes them into slumber, 
 Miss B.vynes says. And Miss Char- 
 lotte looks very pretty at her piano : 
 and Philip lies "gazing'at her, with his 
 great feet and hands tumbled over one 
 of our arm-chairs. And the music, 
 with its solemn cheer, makes us all 
 very happy and kind-hearted, and 
 ennobles us somehow as we listen. 
 And my wife wears her benedictory 
 look whenever she turns towards these 
 young people. She has worked her- 
 self up to the opinion that yonder 
 couple ought to marry. She can give 
 chapter and verse for her belief. To 
 doubt about the matter at all is wicked 
 according to her notions. And there 
 are certain points upon which, I 
 humbly own, that I don't dare to 
 argue with her. 
 
 When the women of the house have 
 settled a matter, is there much use in 
 man's resistance ? If my harem 
 orders that I shall wear a yellow coat 
 and pink trousers, I know that, before 
 three months are over, I shall be 
 walking alx>ut in rose-tendre and 
 canary-colored garments. It is the 
 perseverance which conquers, the daily i 
 return to the object desired. Take 
 my advice, my dear sir, when you see 
 your womankind resolute about a 
 matter, give up at once, and have a i 
 quiet life. Perhaps to one of these 
 evening entertainments, where Miss 
 Baynes plaved the piano, as she did 
 very pleasantly, and Mr. Philip's great 
 clumsy fist turned the leaves, little 
 Mrs. Brandon would come tripping 
 in, and as she surveyed the young 
 couple, her remark would be, " Did 
 vou ever see a better-suited couple ? " 
 When I came home from chambers, I 
 
 and passed the dining-room door, my 
 eldest daughter with a knowing face 
 would bar the way and say, " You 
 must n't go in there, papa ! Miss 
 Grigsby is there, and Master Philip 
 is not to be disturbed at his lesson* ! 
 Mrs. Mugford had begun to arrange 
 marriages between her young people 
 and ours from the very first day she 
 saw us ; and Mrs. M.'s ch. filly 
 Toddles, rising two years, and our 
 three-year-old colt Billyboy, were re- 
 hearsing in the nursery the endless 
 little comedy which the grown-up 
 persons were performing in the draw- 
 ing-room. 
 
 With the greatest frankness Mrs. 
 Mugford gave her opinion that Phil- 
 ip, with four or five hundred a year, 
 would be no better than a sneak if he 
 delayed to marry. How much had 
 she and Mugford w'.en they married, 
 she would like to know ? " Emily 
 Str.-et, Pentonville, was where we 
 had apartments." she remarked ; " we 
 were pinched sometimes ; but we 
 owed nothing : and our house-keep- 
 ing books I can show you." I be- 
 lieve Mrs. M. actually brought these 
 dingy relics of her honeymoon for my 
 wife's inspection. I tell you, my 
 house was peopled with these friends 
 of matrimony. Flies were forever in 
 requisition, and our boys were very 
 sulky at having to sit for an hour at 
 Shoolbred's while certain ladies lin- 
 gered there over blankets, table-cloths, 
 and what not. Once I found my 
 wife and Charlotte flitting about 
 Wardour Street, the former lady 
 much interested in a great Dutch cab- 
 inet, with a glass cu-pboard and cor- 
 pulent drawers. And that cabinet 
 was, erelong, carted off to Mrs. Bran- 
 don's, Thorn haugh Street ; and in 
 that glass cupboard there was pres- 
 ently to be seen a neat set of china 
 for tea and breakfast. The end was 
 approaching. That event, with which 
 the third volume of the old novels used 
 to close, was at hand. I am afraid 
 our young people can't drive off from 
 St. George's in a chaise find four, and 
 that no noble relative will lend them
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 345 
 
 his castle for the honeymoon. Well : 
 some people cannot drive to happiness, 
 even with four horses ; and other folks 
 can reach the goal on foot. My ven- 
 erable Muse stoops down, unlooses 
 her cothurnus with some difficulty, and 
 prepares to fling that old shoe after 
 the pair. 
 
 Tell, venerable Muse ! what were 
 the marriage gifts which friendship 
 provided for Philip and Charlotte '( 
 Philip's cousin, Ringwood Twysden, 
 came simpering up to me at " Bays's 
 Club " one afternoon, and said : " I 
 hear my precious cousin is going to 
 marry. I think I shall send him a 
 broom to sweep a crossin'." I was 
 nearly going to say, " This was a 
 piece of generosity to be expected 
 from your father's son " ; but the fact 
 is, that I did not think of this wither- 
 ing repartee until I was crossing St. 
 James's Park on my way home, when 
 Twysden of course was out of ear-shot. 
 A great number of my best witticisms 
 have been a little late in making their 
 appearance in the world. If we could 
 but hear the w?;spoken jokes, how we 
 should all laugh ; if we could but 
 speak them, how witty we should be ! 
 When you have left the room, you 
 have no notion what clever things I 
 was going to say when you balked 
 me by going away. Well, then, the 
 fact is, the Twysdcn's family gave 
 Philip nothing on his marriage, being 
 the exact sum of regard which they 
 professed to have for him. 
 
 MRS. MAJOR MACWHIRTER gave 
 the bride an Indian brooch, represent- 
 ing the Taj Mahal at Agra which Gen- 
 eral Baynes had given to his sister-in- 
 law in old days. At a later period, it 
 is true, Mrs. Mac asked Charlotte for 
 the brooch back again ; but this was 
 when many family quarrels had 
 raged between the relatives, quar- 
 rels which to describe at length 
 would be to tax too much the writer 
 and the readers of this history. 
 
 MRS. MUGFORD presented an ele- 
 gant plated coffee-pot, six drawing- 
 room almanacs (spoils of the Pall 
 Mall Gazette), and fourteen richly 
 15* 
 
 cut jelly-glasses, most useful for ne- 
 gus if the young couple gave evening- 
 parties, which dinners they would not 
 be able to atfbrd. 
 
 MRS. BRANDON made an offering 
 of two table-cloths and twelve dinner 
 napkins, most beautifully worked, 
 and I don't know how much house 
 linen. 
 
 THE LADY OF TH*: PRESENT 
 WRITER Twelve teaspoons iic bul- 
 lion, and a pair of sugar-tongs. Airs. 
 Baynes, Philip's mother-in-law, seiit 
 him also a pair of sugar-tongs, of a 
 light manufacture, easily broken. Ho 
 keeps a long to the present day, and 
 speaks very satirically regarding that 
 relic. 
 
 PHILIP'S INN OF COURT A bill 
 for commons and Inn taxes, with the 
 Treasurer's compliments. 
 
 And these, I think, formed the 
 items of poor little Charlotte's mea- 
 gre trousseau. Before Cinderella 
 went to the ball she was almost as rich 
 as our little maid. Charlotte's mother 
 sent a grim consent to the child's mar- 
 riage, but declined herself to attend it. 
 She was ailing and poor. Her year's 
 widowhood was just over. She had 
 her other children to look after. My 
 impression is that Mrs. Baynes 
 thought that she could be out of Phil- 
 ip's power so long as she remained 
 abroad, and that the General's savings 
 woidd be secure from him. So she 
 delegated her authority to Philip's 
 friends in London, and sent her 
 daughter a moderate wish for her 
 happiness, which may or may not 
 have profited the young people. 
 
 " Well, my dear, you are rich, com- 
 pared to what I was, when I married," 
 little Mrs. Brandon said to her young 
 friend. " You will have a good hus- 
 band. That is more than I had. 
 You will have good friends ; and I 
 was almost alone for a time, until it 
 pleased God to befriend me." It was 
 not without a feeling of awe that we 
 saw these young people commence 
 that voyage of life on which hence- 
 forth they were to journey together; 
 and I am sure that of the small com-
 
 346 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 pany who accompanied them to the 
 silent little chapel where they were 
 joined in marriage there was not one 
 who did not follow them with tender 
 good wishes and heartfelt prayers. 
 They had a little purse provided for 
 a month's holiday. They had health, 
 hope, good spirits, good friends. I 
 have never learned that life's trials 
 were over after marriage ; only lucky 
 is he who has a loving companion to 
 share them. As for the lady with 
 whom Charlotte had stayed before her 
 marriage, she was in a state of the 
 most lachrymose sentimentality. She 
 sat on the bed in the chamber which 
 the little maid had vacated. Her 
 tears flowed copiously. She knew 
 not why, she could not tell how the 
 girl had wound herself round her ma- 
 ternal heart And I think if Heaven 
 had decreed this young creature 
 should be poor, it had sent her many 
 blessings and treasures in compensa- 
 tion. 
 
 Every respectable man and woman 
 in London will, of course, pity these 
 young people, and reprobate the mad 
 risk which they were running, and 
 yet by the influence and example of a 
 sentimental wife probably, so madly 
 sentimental have I become, that I 
 own sometimes I almost fancy these 
 misguided wretches are to be envied. 
 
 A melancholy little chapel it is 
 where they were married, and stands 
 hard by our house. We did not deco- 
 rate the church with flowers, or adorn 
 the beadles with white ribbons. We 
 had, I must confess, a drearv little 
 breakfast, not in the least enlivened 
 l>y Mugford's jokes, who would make 
 a speech de circonstance, which was 
 not, I am thankful to say, reported in 
 the Pall Mall Gazette. "" We sha' n't 
 charge you for advertising the mar- 
 riage there, my dear," Mrs. Mugford 
 said. " And I 've already took it 
 myself to Mr. Burjoyce." Mrs. Mug- 
 ford had insisted upon pinning a large 
 white favor upon John, who drove 
 her from Hampstead : but that was 
 the only ornament present at the 
 nnptial ceremony, much to the dis- 
 
 appointment of the good lady. There 
 was a very pretty cake, with two 
 doves in sugar, on the top, which the 
 Little Sister made and sent, and no 
 
 ! other hymeneal emblem. Our little 
 girls as bridesmaids appeared, to be 
 
 \ sure, in new bonnets and dresses, but 
 
 I everybody else looked so quiet and 
 demure, that when we went into the 
 
 | church, three or four street urchins 
 
 j knocking about the gate, said, " Look 
 at 'em, they 're going to be 'ung." 
 
 j And so the words are spoken, and 
 
 ! the indissoluble knot is tied. Amen. 
 For better, for worse, for good days 
 
 ' or evil, love each other, cling to each 
 other, dear friends. Fulfil your course, 
 and accomplish your life's toil. In 
 sorrow soothe each other ; in illness, 
 watch and tend. Cheer, fond wife, 
 the husband's struggle ; lighten his 
 gloomy hours with your tender 
 
 i smiles, and gladden his home with 
 your love. Husband, father, whatso- 
 ever your lot, be your heart pure, 
 your life honest. For the sake of 
 those who bear your name, let no bad 
 action sully it. As you look at those 
 innocent faces which ever tenderly 
 greet you, be yours, too, innocent, 
 and your conscience witliQut reproach. 
 As the young people kneel before the 
 altar-railing, some such thoughts as 
 these pass through a friend's mind 
 who witnesses the ceremony of their 
 marriage. Is not all we hear in that 
 place meant to apply to ourselves, 
 and to be carried away for every-day 
 cogitation ? 
 
 After the ceremony we sign the 
 book, and walk back demurely to 
 breakfast. And Mrs. Mugford does 
 not conceal her disappointment at the 
 small preparations made for the re- 
 ception of the marriage party. " I 
 call it shabby, Brandon ; and I speak 
 my mind. No favors. Only your 
 cake. No speeches to speak of. No 
 lobster-salad : and wine on the side- 
 Itoard. I thought your Queen Square 
 
 | friends knew how to do the thing 
 better ! When one of my gurls is 
 married, I promise you we sha' n't let 
 
 ! her go out of the back door ; and at
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 347 
 
 least we shall have the best four prays 
 that Newman's can furnish. It 's my 
 belief your young friend is getting too 
 fond of money, Brandon, and so I 
 have told Mugford." But these, you 
 see, were only questions of taste. 
 Good Mrs. Mugford's led her to a 
 green satin dress and a pink turban, 
 when other ladies were in gray 
 or quiet colors. The intimacy be- 
 tween our two families dwindled im- 
 mediately after Philip's marriage ; 
 Mrs. M., I am sorry to say, setting 
 us down as shabby-genteel people, 
 and she could n't bear screwing, 
 never could ! 
 
 Well : the speeches were spoken. 
 The bride was kissed, and departed 
 with her bridegroom : they had not 
 even a valet and lady's-maid to bear 
 them company. The route of the hap- 
 py pair was to be Canterbury, Folke- 
 stone, Boulogne, Amiens, Paris, and 
 Italy perhaps, if their little stock of 
 pocket-money would serve them so far. 
 But the very instant when half was 
 spent, it was agreed that these young 
 people should turn their faces home- 
 ward again ; and meanwhile the prin- 
 ter and Mugford himself agreed that 
 they would do Mr. Sub-editor's duty. 
 How much had they in the little purse 
 for their pleasure journey ? That is 
 no business of ours surely ; but 
 with youth, health, happiness, love, 
 amongst their possessions, I don't 
 think our young friends had need to 
 be discontented. Away then they 
 drive in their cab to the railway sta- 
 tion. Farewell, and Heaven bless 
 you, Charlotte and Philip! I have 
 said how I found my wife crying in 
 her favorite's vacant bedroom. The 
 marriage table did coldly furnish 
 forth a funeral kind of dinner. The 
 cold chicken choked as all, and 
 the jelly was but a sickly compound 
 to my taste, though it was the Little 
 Sister's most artful manufacture. I 
 own for one I was quite miserable. I 
 found no comfort at clubs, nor could 
 the last new novel fix my attention. 
 \ saw Philip's eyes, and heard the 
 warble of Charlotte's sweet voice. I 
 
 walked off from " Bays's, " and 
 through Old Parr Street, where 
 Philip had lived, and his parents 
 entertained me as a boy ; and then 
 tramped to Thornhaugh Street, rather 
 ashamed of myself. The maid said 
 mistress was in Mr. Philip's rooms, 
 the two pair, and what was that I 
 heard on the piano as I entered the 
 apartment ? Mrs. Brandon sat there 
 hemming some chintz window-cur- 
 tains, or bed-curtains, or what not : 
 by her side sat my own eldest girl 
 stitching away very resolutely ; and 
 at the piano the piano which Phil- 
 ip had bought there sat my own 
 wife picking out that " Dream of 
 Saint Jerome," of Beethoven, which 
 Charlotte used to play so delicately. 
 We had tea out of Philip's tea-things, 
 and a nice hot cake, which consoled 
 some of us. But I have known few 
 evenings more melancholy than that. 
 It felt like the first night at school 
 after the holidays, when we all used 
 to try and appear cheerful, you know. 
 But ah ! how dismal the gayety 
 was ; and how dreary that lying 
 awake in the night, and thinking of 
 the happy days just over ! 
 
 The way in which we looked for- 
 ward for letters from our bride and 
 bridegroom was quite a curiosity. 
 At length a letter arrived from these 
 personages : and as it contains no 
 secret, I take the liberty to print it in 
 extenso. 
 
 "AMIENS, Friday. PARIS, Saturday. 
 "DEAREST FRIENDS, (For the 
 dearest friends you are to us, and 
 will continue to be as long as we live) 
 We perform our promise of writing 
 to you to say that we are well, and 
 safe, and happy! Philip says I must 
 n't use dashes, but I can't kelp it ! He 
 says, he supposes I am dashing off a 
 letter. You know his joking way. 
 O, what a blessing it is to see him so 
 happy. And if he is happy I am. I 
 tremble to think how happy. He sits 
 opposite me, smoking his cigar, look- 
 ing so noble ! / like it, and I went 
 to our room and brought him this one
 
 348 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 He says, ' Char, if I were to say bring 
 me your head, you would order a 
 waiter to cut it off.' Pray, did I not 
 promise three days ago to love, hon- 
 or, and obey him, and am I going to 
 break my promise already ? I hope 
 not. I fray not. All my life I hope 
 I shall be trying to keep that promise 
 of mine. We liked Canterbury al- 
 most as much as dear Westminster. 
 We had an open carriage and took a 
 fjlorims drive to Folkestone, and in the 
 crossing Philip was ill, and I was n't. 
 And he looked very droll ; and he 
 was in a dreadful bad humor ; and 
 that w.is my first appearance as 
 nurse. I think I should like him to 
 be a little ill sometimes, so that I may 
 sit up and take care of him. We 
 went through the cords at the cus- 
 tom-house at Boulogne ; and I re- 
 member how, two years ago, I passed 
 through those very cords with my 
 poor papa, and he stood outside, and 
 saw us ! We went to the ' Hotel des 
 Bains.' We walked about the town. 
 We went to the Tintelleries, where 
 we used to live, and to your house in 
 the Haute Ville, where I remember 
 everything as if it was yesterday. Don 't 
 you remember, as we were walking 
 one day, you said, ' Charlotte, there 
 is the steamer coming ; there is the 
 smoke of his funnel ' ; and I said, 
 ' What steamer ? ' and you said, ' Tiie 
 Philip, to be sure.' And he came up, 
 smoking his pipe ! We passed over 
 and over the old ground where we 
 used to walk. We went to the pier, 
 and gave money to the poor little 
 hunchback who plays the guitar, and 
 he said, ' Meici, madaine.' How droll 
 it sounded ! And that good kind 
 Marie at the ' Hotel des Bains ' re- 
 membered us, and called us 'mes 
 e.nfans.' And if you were not the 
 most good-nature'l woman in the 
 world, I think I should be ashamed 
 to write such nonsense. 
 
 " Think of Mrs. Brandon having 
 knitted me a purse, which she gave 
 me as we went away from dear, dear 
 Queen Square ; and when I opened 
 it. there were five sovereigns iu it ! 
 
 When we found-what the purse con- 
 tained, Philip used one of his great 
 jurons (as he always does when he is 
 most tender-hearted), and he said that 
 woman was an angel, and that we 
 would keep those five sovereigns, 
 
 | and never change them. Ah ! I 
 am thankful my husband has such 
 friends ! I will love all who love 
 him, you most of all. For were 
 not you the means of bringing this 
 noble heart to me ? I fancy I have 
 known biyyer people, since I have 
 known you, and some of your friends. 
 Their talk is simpler, their thoughts 
 are greater than those with whom 
 I used to live. P. says, Heaven has 
 given Mrs. Brandon such a great 
 heart, that she must have a good in- 
 tellect. If loving my Philip be wis- 
 dom, I know some one who will be 
 very wise ! 
 
 " If I was not in a very great hurry 
 to see mamma. Philip said we might 
 
 j stop a day at Amiens. And we went 
 to the Cathedral, -and to whom do 
 
 | you think it is dedicated ? to my 
 saint : to SAINT FIRMIN ! and oh ! I 
 prayed to Heaven to give me strength 
 to devote my life to my saint's service, 
 to love him always, as a pure, true 
 wife : in sickness to guard him, in 
 sorrow to soothe him. I will try and 
 learn and study, not to make my in- 
 tellect equal to his, very few women 
 can hope for that, but that. I may 
 better comprehend him, and give him 
 a companion more worth} 1 of him. I 
 wonder whether there are many men 
 in the world as clever as our hus- 
 bands ? Though Philip is so modest. 
 He says he is not clever at all. Yet 
 
 j I know he is, and grander somehow 
 than other men. I said nothing, but 
 
 I used to listen at Queen Square ; 
 
 : and some who came who thought 
 best of themselves seemed to me pert, 
 and worldly, and small ; and some 
 
 ' were like princes somehow. My 
 Philip itt one of the princes. Ah, 
 dear friend ! may I not give thanks 
 where thanks are due, that I am 
 chosen to be the wife of a true gen- 
 
 ! t Ionian ? Kind, and brave, and loyal
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 349 
 
 Philip ! Honest and generous, 
 above deceit or selfish scheme. Oh ! 
 I hope it is not wrong to be so 
 happy ! 
 
 " We wrote to mamma and dear 
 Madame Smolensk to say we were 
 coming. Mamma tinds Madame 
 de Valentinois' boarding-house even 
 dearer than dear Madame Smolensk's. 
 I don't mean a pun ! She suys she 
 has found out that Madame de Valen- 
 tinois' real name is Corniehon ; that 
 she was a person of the worst charac- 
 ter, and that cheating at ecarte was 
 practised at her house. She took up 
 her own two francs and another two- 
 franc piece from the card-table, say- 
 ing that Colonel Boulotte was cheat- 
 ing, and by rights the money was 
 hers. She is going to leave Madame 
 de Valentinois at the end of her 
 month, or as soon as our children, 
 who have the measles, can move. 
 She desired that on no account I 
 would come to see her at Madame 
 V.'s; and she brought Philip 12 
 10s. in five-franc pieces, which she 
 laid down on the table before him, and 
 said it was my first quarter's payment. 
 It is not due yet, I know. ' But do 
 you think I will be beholden,' says 
 she, ' to a man like you ! ' And P. 
 shrugged his shoulders, and put the 
 rouleau of silver pieces into a drawer. 
 He did not say a word, but, of course, 
 I saw he was ill pleased. ' What 
 shall we do with your fortune, Char ?' 
 he said, when mamma went away. 
 And a part we spent at the opera and 
 at Ve'ry's restaurant, where we took 
 our dear kind Madame Smolensk. 
 Ah, how good that woman was to 
 me ! Ah, how I suffered in that 
 house when mamma wanted to part 
 me from Philip ! We walked by 
 and saw the windows of the room 
 where that horrible, horrible tragedy 
 was performed, and Philip shook his 
 fist at the green jalousies. ' Good 
 Heavens ! ' he said : ' how, my dar- 
 ling, how I was made to suffer there ! ' 
 I bear no malice. I will do no injury. 
 But I can never forgive : never ! I 
 can forgive mamma, who made my 
 
 husband so unhappy ; but can I love 
 
 her again ? Indeed' and indeed I have 
 
 tried. Often and often in my dreams 
 
 that horrid tragedy is acted over 
 
 j again ; and they are taking him from 
 
 i me, and I feel as if I should die. 
 
 When I was with you I used often 
 
 j to be afraid to go to sleep for fear of 
 
 i that dreadful dream, and I kept one 
 
 I of his letters under my pillow so that 
 
 I I might hold it in the night. And 
 
 now ! No one can part us ! O, 
 
 no one ! until the end comes ! 
 
 " He took me about to all his old 
 
 bachelor /taunts ; to the ' Hotel Pous- 
 
 sin,' where he used 10 live, which is 
 
 very dingy but comfortable. And he 
 
 introduced me to the landlady, in a 
 
 Madras handkerchief, and to the 
 
 landlord (in car-rings and with no 
 
 j coat on), and to the little boy who 
 
 frottes the floors. And he said, 
 
 j ' Tiens ' and ' merci, madame ! ' as we 
 
 | gave him a five-franc piece out of my 
 
 fortune. And then we went to the 
 
 cafe opposite the Bourse, where Philip 
 
 j used to write his letters ; and then 
 
 : we went to the Palais Royal, where 
 
 I Madame de Smolensk was in waiting 
 
 | for us. And then we went to the 
 
 : play. And then we went to Tor- 
 
 toni's to take ices. And then we 
 
 walked a part of the way home with 
 
 Madame Smolensk under a hundred 
 
 I million blazing stars ; and then we 
 
 , walked down the Champs Elysees 
 
 | avenues, by which Philip used to 
 
 come to me, and beside the plashing 
 
 | fountains shining under the silver 
 
 i moon. And, O Laura ! I wonder 
 
 I under the silver moon was anybody 
 
 so happy as your lociny and grateful 
 
 " C. F. 
 
 " P. S." [In the handwriting of 
 'Philip Firmin, Esq.] " MY DEAR 
 I FRIENDS, I 'm so jolly that it 
 j seems like a dream. I have been 
 j watching Charlotte scribble, scribble 
 j for an hour past ; and wondered and 
 | thought is it actually true ? and 
 1 gone and convinced myself of the 
 i truth by looking at the paper and the 
 dashes which she will put under the
 
 350 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 words. My dear friends, what have I 
 done in life that I am to be made 
 a present of a little angel 7 Once 
 there was so much wrong in me, and 
 my heart was so black, and revenge- 
 ful, that I knew not what might hap- j 
 pen to me. She came and rescued 
 me. The love of this creature puri- j 
 fies me, and and I think that is : 
 all. I think I only want to say that j 
 I am the happiest man in Europe. 
 That Saint Firmin at Amiens ! 
 Did n't it seem like a good omen ? 
 By St. George! I never heard of j 
 St. F. until I lighted on him in | 
 the cathedral. When shall we write j 
 next ? Where shall we tell you to j 
 direct ? We don't know where we I 
 are going. We don't want letters. : 
 But we are not the less grateful to 
 dear kind friends ; and our names 
 are P. AND C. F." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 DESCRIBES A SITUATION INTER 
 ESTING BUT NOT UNEXPECTED. 
 
 ONLY very wilful and silly children 
 cry after the moon. Sensible people 
 who have shed their sweet tooth can't 
 be expected to be very much inter- 
 ested about money. We may hope 
 Mr. and Mrs. Philip Firmin enjoyed 
 a pleasant wedding tour and that sort 
 of thing : but as for chronicling its 
 delights or adventures, Miss Sowerby 
 and I vote that the task is altogether 
 needless and immoral. Young people 
 are already much too sentimental, 
 and inclined to idle, maudlin reading. 
 Life is earnest, Miss Sowerby re- 
 marks (with a strong inclination to 
 spell " earnest " with a large E). Life 
 is labor. Life is duty. Life is rent. 
 Life is taxes. Life brings its ills, 
 bills, doctor's pills. Life is not a 
 mere calendar of honey and moon- 
 shine. Very good. But without love 
 Miss Sowerby, life is just death, and 
 I know, my dear, you would *~o more 
 care to go on with it, than with a 
 new chapter of of our dear friend 
 Boreham's new story. , 
 
 Between ourselves, Philip's hu- 
 mor is not much more lightsome 
 than that of the ingenious con- 
 temporary above named ; but if it 
 served to amuse Philip himself, why 
 balk him of a little sport ? Well 
 then : he wrote us a great ream of 
 lumbering pleasantries, dated Paris, 
 Thursday ; Geneva, Saturday. Sum- 
 mit of Mont Blanc, Monday ; Tim- 
 buctoo, Wednesday. Pekin, Friday, 
 with facetious descriptions of those 
 spots and cities. He said that in 
 the last-named place, Charlotte's 
 shoes being worn out, those which 
 she purchased were rather tight for 
 her, and the high heels annoyed 
 her. He stated that the beef at 
 Timbuctoo was not cooked enough 
 for Charlotte's taste, and that the 
 Emperor's attentions were becoming 
 rather marked, and so forth ; where- 
 as poor little Char's simple post- 
 scripts mentioned no travelling at 
 all ; but averred that they were 
 staying at Saint Germain, and as 
 happy as the day was long. As 
 happy as the day was long ? A3 
 it was shorr, a! is ! Their little purse 
 was very slen.lerly furnished ; and 
 in a very, very brief holiday, poor 
 Philip's few napoleons had almost 
 all rolled away. Luckily, it was pay- 
 day when the young people came 
 back to London. They were almost 
 reduced to the Little Sister's wedding 
 present : and surely they would rather 
 work than purchase a few hours' 
 more ease with that poor widow's 
 mite. 
 
 Who talked and was afraid of pov- 
 erty ? Philip, with his two newspa- 
 pers, averred that he had enough ; more 
 than enough; could save; could put 
 by. It was at this time that Ridley, 
 the Academician, painted that sweet 
 picture, No. 1,5)76, of course you re 
 member it, ' Portrait of a Lady.' 
 He became romantically attached to 
 the second-floor lodger ; would have 
 no noisy parties in his rooms, or smok- 
 ing, lest it should annoy her. Would 
 Mrs. Firmin desire to give entertain- 
 ments of her own ? His studio and
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 351 
 
 sitting-room were at her orders. He 
 fetched and carried. He brought pres- 
 ents, and theatre-boxes. He was her 
 slave of slaves. And she gave him 
 back in return for all this romantic 
 adoration a condescending shake of 
 a soft little hand, and a kind look from 
 a pair of soft eyes, with which the 
 painter was fain to be content. Low 
 of stature, and of misshapen form, J. 
 J. thought himself naturally outcast 
 from marriage and love, and looked 
 in with longing eyes at the paradise 
 which he was forbidden to enter. 
 And Mr. Philip sat within this Palace 
 of Delight ; and lolled at his ease, and 
 took his pleasure, and Charlotte 
 ministered to him. And once in a 
 way, my lord sent out a crumb of 
 kindness, or a little cup of comfort, to 
 the outcast at the gate, who blessed 
 his benefactress, and my lord his 
 benefactor, and was thankful. Char- 
 lotte had not twopence : but she had 
 a little court. It was the fashion for 
 Philip's friends to come and bow 
 before her. Very fine gentlemen who 
 had known him at college, and forgot 
 him, or sooth to say, thought him 
 rough and overbearing, now suddenly 
 remembered him, and his young wife 
 had quite fashionable assemblies at 
 her five o'clock tea-table. All men 
 liked her, and Miss Sowerby of course 
 says Mrs. Firinin was a good-natured, 
 quite harmless little woman, rather 
 pretty, and you know, my dear 
 such as men like. Look you, if I like 
 cold veal, dear Sowerby, it is that my 
 tastes are simple. A fine tough old 
 dry camel, no doubt, is a much nobler 
 and more sagacious animal, and 
 perhaps you think a double hump is 
 quite a delicacy. 
 
 Yes : Mrs. Philip was a success. 
 She had scarce any female friends as 
 yet, being too poor to go into the 
 world : hut she had Mrs. Pendennis, 
 and dear little Mrs. Brandon, and 
 Mrs. Mugford, whose celebrated trap 
 repeatedly brought delicacies for the 
 bride from Hampstead, whose chaise 
 was once or twice a week at Philip's 
 door, and who was very much exer- 
 
 cised and impressed by tht fine com- 
 pany whom she met in Mrs. Firmin's 
 apartments. " Lord Thingambury's 
 card ! what next, Brandon, upon my 
 word ? Lady Slowby at home 1 well, 
 I never, Mrs. B. ! " In such artless 
 phrases Mrs. Mugford would express 
 her admiration and astonishment 
 during the early time, and when 
 Charlotte still retained the good 
 lady's favor. That a state of things 
 far less agreeable ensued, I must own. 
 But though there is ever so small a 
 cloud in the sky even now, let us not 
 heed it for a while, and bask and be 
 content and happy in the sunshine. 
 " Laura, I tremble when I think 
 how happy I am ! " was our little 
 -bird's perpetual warble. " How did I 
 live when I was at home with mam- 
 ma?" she would say. "Do you 
 know that Philip never even scolds 
 me 1 If he were to say a rough word 
 I think I should die ; whereas mamma 
 was barking, barking from morning 
 till night, and I did n't care a pin." 
 This is what comes of injudicious 
 scolding, as of any other drug. The 
 wholesome medicine loses its effect. 
 The inured patient calmly takes a 
 dose that would frighten or kill a 
 stranger. Poor Mrs. Bayncs's crossed 
 letters came still, and 1 am not pre- 
 pared to pledge my word that Char- 
 lotte read them all. Mrs. B. offered 
 to come and superintend and take 
 care of dear Philip when an interest- 
 ing event should take place. But 
 Mrs. Brandon, was already engaged 
 for this important occasion, and 
 Charlotte became so alarmed lest her 
 mother should invade her, that Philip 
 wrote curtly, and positively forbade 
 Mrs. Baynes. You remember the 
 picture '"' A Cradle " by J. J. 1 the 
 two little rosy feet brought I don't 
 know how many hundred guineas 
 apiece to Mr. Ridley. The mother 
 herself did not study babydom more 
 fondly and devotedly than Kidley did 
 in the ways, looks, features, anatomies, 
 attitudes, babv-dothes, &c. of this first- 
 born infant of Charlotte and Philip 
 Firmin. My wife is very angry be-
 
 352 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 cause I have forgotten whether the first 
 of the young Firmin brood was a boy 
 or a girl, and says I shall forget the 
 names of my own children next. 
 Well ? " At this distance of time, I 
 think it was a boy, for their boy is 
 very tall, you know, a great deal 
 taller Not a boy 1 Then, between 
 ourselves, I have no doubt it was 
 a " "A goose," says the lady, 
 which is not even reasonable. 
 
 This is certain, we all thought the 
 young mother looked very pretty, 
 with her pink cheeks and beaming 
 eyes, as she bent over the little infant. 
 J. J. says he thinks there is some- 
 thing heaven/i/ in the looks of young 
 mothers at that time. Nay, he goes 
 so far as to declare that a tigress at 
 the Zoological Gardens looks beauti- 
 ful and gentle as she bends her black 
 nozzle over her cubs. And if a 
 tigress, wliy not Mrs. Philip ? O ye 
 
 Sowers of sentiment, in what a state 
 . J. was about this young woman ! 
 There is a brightness in a young 
 mother's eye : there are pearl and 
 rose tints on her cheek, which are 
 sure to fascinate a painter. This art- 
 ist used to hang about Mrs. Bran- 
 don's rooms, till it was droll to see 
 him. I believe he took off his shoes 
 in his own studio, so as not to dis- 
 turb by his creaking the lady over- 
 head. He purchased the most pre- 
 posterous mug, and other presents 
 for the infant. Philip went out to 
 his club or his newspaper as he was 
 ordered to do. But Mr. J. J. could 
 not be got away from Thornhaugh 
 Street, so that little Mrs. Brandon 
 laughed at him : absolutely laughed 
 at him. 
 
 During all this while Philip and 
 his wife continued in the very greatest 
 favor with Mr. and Mrs. "Mugfbrd, 
 and were invited by that worthy 
 couple to go with their infant to 
 Mugford's villa at Hampstead, where 
 a change of air might do good to 
 dear baby and dear mamma. Philip 
 went to this village retreat. Streets 
 and terraces now cover over the 
 house and grounds which worthy 
 
 Mugford inhabited, and which people 
 say he used to call his Russian Irby. 
 He had amassed in a small space a 
 heap of country pleasures. He had 
 a little garden ; a little paddock ; a 
 little greenhouse ; a little cucumber- 
 frame ; a little stable for his little 
 trap ; a little Guernsey cow ; a little 
 dairy ; a little pigsty ; and with this 
 little treasure the good man was not 
 a little content. He loved and prais- 
 ed everything that was his. No man 
 admired his own port more than 
 Mugford, or paid more compliments 
 to his own butter and home-baked 
 bread. He enjoyed his own happi- 
 ness. He appreciated his own worth, 
 lie loved to talk of the days when he 
 was a poor boy on London streets, and 
 now " Now try that glass of port, 
 my boy, and say whether the Lord 
 Mayor has got any better," he would 
 say, winking at his glass and his 
 company. To be virtuous, to be 
 lucky, and constantly to think and 
 own that you are so, is not this 
 true happiness ' To sing hymns in 
 praise of himself is a charming amuse- 
 ment, at least to the performer ; 
 and anybody who dined at Mugford's 
 table was pretty sure to hear some of 
 this music after dinner. I am sorry 
 to say Philip did not care for this 
 trumpet-blowing. He was frightfully 
 bored at Haverstock Hill : and when 
 bored, Mr. Philip is not altogether an 
 agreeable companion. He will yawn 
 in a man's face. He will contradict 
 you freely. He will say the mutton 
 is tough, or the wine not fit to drink ; 
 that such and such an orator is over- 
 rated, and such and such a politician 
 is a fool. Mugford and his guest had 
 battles after dinner, had actually high 
 words. " What-hever is it, Mugford ? 
 and what were you quarrelling about 
 in the dining-room ? " asks Mrs. 
 Mugford. "Quarrelling? It's only 
 the sub-editor snoring," said the 
 gentleman, with a flushed face. " My 
 wine ain't good enough for him ; and 
 now my gentleman must put his 
 boots upon a chair and go to sleep 
 under my nose. He is a cool hand,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 353 
 
 and no mistake, Mrs. M." At this 
 juncture poor little Char would gently 
 glide down from a visit to her baby : 
 and would play something on the 
 piano, and soothe the rising anger ; 
 and thus Philip would come in from 
 i little walk in the shrubberies, where 
 he had been blowing a little cloud. 
 Ah ! there was a little cloud rising 
 indeed : quite a little one, nay, 
 not so little. When you consider 
 that Philip's bread depended on the 
 good-will of these people, you will 
 allow that his friends might be 
 anxious regarding the future. A 
 won! from Mugford, and Philip and 
 Charlotte and the child were adrift 
 on the world. And these points Mr. 
 Firmin would freely admit, while he 
 stood discoursing of his own affairs 
 (as he loved to do), his hands in his 
 pockets, and his back warming- at our 
 lire. 
 
 " My dear fellow," says the candid 
 bridegroom, " these things are con- 
 stantly in my head. I used to talk 
 about 'em to Char, but I don't now. 
 They disturb her, the poor thing; 
 and she clutches hold of the baby ; 
 and and it tears my heart out to 
 think that any grief should come to 
 her. I try and do my best, my good 
 people, but when I 'm bored I can't 
 help showing I 'm bored, don't you 
 see ? I can't be a hypocrite. No, ' 
 not for two hundred a year, or for 
 twenty thousand. You can't make a 
 silk purse out of that sovv's-ear of a j 
 Mugford. A very good man. I don't 
 say no. A good father, a good hus- 
 band, a generous host, and a most 
 tremendous bore, and cad. Be agree- 
 able to him? How can I be agree- 
 able when I am being killed ? He 
 has a story about Leigh Hunt being 
 put into Newgate, where Mugford, 
 bringing him proof, saw Lord Byron. 
 I cannot keep awake during that 
 story any longer; or, if awake. I 
 grind my teeth, and swear inwardly, 
 so that I know I'm dreadful to hear 
 and see. Well, Mngford has yellow 
 satin sofas in the ' droaring-room ' " 
 " O Philip ! " says a lady ; and j 
 
 two or three circumjacent children set 
 up an insane giggle, which is speedily 
 and sternly silenced. 
 
 " I tell you she calls it ' droaring- 
 room.' You know she does, as well 
 as I do. She is a good woman : a 
 kind woman : a hot-tempered woman. 
 I hear her scolding the servants in the 
 kitchen with immense vehemence, and 
 at prodigious length. But how can 
 Char frankly be the friend of a woman 
 who calls a drawing-room a droaring- 
 room 1 With our dear little friend in 
 Thornhaugh Street, it is different. 
 She makes no pretence even at equal- 
 ity. Here is a patron and patroness, 
 don't you see ? When Mugford walks 
 me round his paddock and gardens, 
 and says, ' Look year, Firmin ' ; or 
 scratches one of his pigs on the back, 
 ; and says, ' We '11 'ave a cut of this 
 fellow on Saturday'" (explosive 
 I attemps at insubordination and deris- 
 ion on the part of the children again 
 I are severely checked by the parental 
 I authorities) " ' we '11 'ave a cut of 
 I this fellow on Saturday,' I feel inclined 
 to throw him or myself into the trough 
 '. over the palings. Do you know that 
 that man put that hand into his 
 pocket and offered me some fil- 
 berts 1 " 
 
 Here I own the lady to whom 
 Philip was addressing himself turned 
 pale and shuddered. 
 
 " I can no more be that man's 
 friend que celui du domestique qui 
 vient d'apporter le what-d'you-call- 
 'em ? le coal-scuttle," (John entered 
 the room with that useful article 
 during Philip's oration, and we 
 allowed the elder children to laugh 
 this time, for the fact is, none of us 
 knew the French for coal-scuttle, and 
 I will wager there is no such word in 
 Chambaud). '' This holding back is 
 not arrogance," Philip went on. 
 " This reticence is not want of humil- 
 ity. To serve that man honestly is 
 one thing ; to make friends with him, 
 to laugh at his dull jokes, is to make 
 friends with the mammon of un- 
 righteousness, is subserviency and 
 hypocrisy on my part. I ought to 
 w
 
 354 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 say to him, Mr. Mugford, I will give 
 you my work for your wage ; I will 
 compile your paper, I will produce an 
 agreeable miscellany containing prop- 
 er proportions of news, politics, and 
 scandal, put titles to your paragraphs, 
 see the Pall Mall Gazette ship-shape 
 through the press, and go home to 
 my wife and dinner. You are my 
 employer, but you are not my friend, 
 and _"bless my soul! there is five 
 o'clock striking!" (The timepiece 
 in our drawing-room gave that an- 
 nouncement as he was speaking.) 
 " We have what Mugford calls a 
 white-choker dinner to-day, in honor 
 of the pig ! " And with this Philip 
 plunges out of the house, and I hope 
 reached Hampstead in time for the 
 entertainment. 
 
 Philip's friends in Westminster felt 
 no little doubt about his prospects, 
 and the Little Sister shared their 
 alarm. " They are not fit to be with 
 those folks," Mrs. Brandon said, 
 " though as for Mrs, Philip, dear 
 thing, I am sure nobody can ever quar- 
 rel with her. With me it 's different. 
 I never had no education, you know, 
 no more than the Mugfords, but I 
 don't like to see my Philip sittin' 
 down as if he was the guest and equal 
 of that fellar." Nor indeed did it ever 
 enter " that fellar's " head that Mr. 
 Frederick Mugford could be Mr Philip 
 Firmin's equal. With our knowledge 
 of the two men, then, we all dis- 
 mally looked forward to a rupture be- 
 tween Firmin and his patron. 
 
 As for the New York journal, we 
 were more easy in respect to Philip's 
 success in that quarter. Several of 
 his friends made a vow to help him. 
 We clubbed club-stories ; we begged 
 from our polite friends anecdotes (that 
 would bear sea-transport) of the fash- 
 ionable world. We happened to over- 
 hear the most remarkable conversa- 
 tions between the most influential pub- 
 lic characters who had no secrets from 
 us. We had astonishing intelligence 
 at most European courts ; exclusive 
 reports of the Emperor of Russia's 
 last joke, his last ? his next, very 
 
 likely. We knew the most secret de- 
 signs of the Austrian Privy Council ; 
 the views the Pope had in his eye; 
 who was the latest favorite of the 
 Grand Turk, and so on. The Upper 
 Ten Thousand at New York were 
 supplied with a quantity of informa- 
 tion which I trust profited them. It 
 was " Palmerston remarked yesterday 
 at dinner," or, " The good old Duke 
 said last night at Apsley House to 
 the French Ambassador," and the 
 rest. The letters were signed " Phila- 
 lethes " ; and, as nobody was wounded 
 by the shafts of our long bow, I trust 
 Mr. Philip and his friends may be 
 pardoned for twanging it. By infor- 
 mation procured from learned female 
 personages, we even managed to give 
 accounts, more or less correct, of the 
 latest ladies' fashions. We were mem- 
 bers of all the clubs : we were present 
 at the routs and assemblies of the 
 political leaders of both sides. We 
 had little doubt that Philalethes would 
 be successful at New York, and 
 looked forward to an increased pay- 
 ment for his labors. At the end of 
 the first year of Philip Firmin's mar- 
 ried life, we made a calculation by 
 which it was clear that he had actual- 
 ly saved money. His expenses, to be 
 sure, were increased. There was a 
 baby in the nursery ; but there was a 
 little bag of sovereigns in the cup- 
 board, and the thrifty young fellow 
 hoped to add still more to his store. 
 
 We were relieved at finding that Fir- 
 min and his wife were not invited to re- 
 peat their visit to their employer's 
 house at Hampstead. An occasional 
 invitation to dinner was still sent to the 
 young people ; hut Mugford, a haugh- 
 ty man in his way, with a proper 
 spirit of his own, had the good sense 
 to see that much intimacy could not 
 arise between him and his sub-editor, 
 and magnanimously declined to be an- 
 gry at the young fellow's easy super- 
 ciliousness. I think that indefatigable 
 Little Sister was the peacemaker be- 
 tween the houses of Mugford and Fir- 
 min junior, and that she kept both 
 Philip and his master on their good
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 355 
 
 behavior. At all events, and when i radiant happiness there is, and what 
 a quarrel did arise between them, I ! a rapturous smile t Over the sleep- 
 grieve to have to own it was poor j ing infant and the happy mother the 
 Philip who was in the wrong father looks with pride and thanks 
 
 You know in the old, old days the j in his eyes. Happiness and gratitude 
 young king and queen never gave any I fill his simple heart, and prayer invol- 
 christening entertainment without ! untary to the Giver of good, that he 
 negleeting to invite some old fairy ; may have strength to do his duty as 
 who was furious at the omission. I father, husband ; that he may be 
 am sorry to say Charlotte's mother enabled to keep want and care from 
 was so angry at not being appointed i those dear innocent beings ; that he 
 
 godmother to the new baby, that she may 
 omitted to make her little quarterly leave 
 payment of .12 10s. , and has alto- 
 gether discontinued that payment 
 
 from that remote period up to the 
 present time ; so that Philip says his 
 
 defend them, befriend them, 
 them a good name. I am 
 bound to say that Philip became 
 thrifty and saving for the sake of 
 
 Char and the child ; that he came 
 home early of nights ; that he thought 
 
 wife has brought him a fortune of his child a wonder; that he never 
 .45, paid in four instalments. There tired of speaking about that infant in 
 was the first quarter paid when the our house, about its fatness, its 
 old lady " would not be beholden to strength, its weight, its wonderful 
 a man like him." Then there came a 
 second quarter, and then but I 
 dare say I shall be able to tell when 
 
 and how Philip's mamma-in-law paid 
 the rest of her poor little daughter's 
 fortune. 
 
 Well, Regent's Park is a fine 
 healthy place for infantine diversion, 
 and I don't think Philip at all de- 
 meaned himself in walking therewith 
 his wife, her little maid, and his baby 
 on his arm. " He is as rude as a 
 bear, and his manners are dreadful ; 
 but he has a good heart, that I will 
 say for him," Mugford said to me. 
 In his drive from London to Hamp- 
 stead Mugford once or twice met the 
 little family group, of which his sub- 
 editor formed the principal figure; 
 and for the sake of Philip's young 
 wife and .child Mr. M. pardoned the 
 young man's vulgarity, and treated 
 him with long-suffering. 
 
 Poor as he was, this was his hap- 
 piest time, my friend is disposed to 
 think. A young child, a young wife, 
 whose whole life was a tender caress 
 of love for child and husband, a 
 young husband watching both: I 
 recall the group, as we used often to 
 see it in those days, and see a some- 
 thing sacred in the homely figures. 
 On th wife's bright face what a 
 
 early talents and humor. He felt 
 himself a man now for the first time, 
 he said. Life had been play and 
 folly until now. And now especially 
 
 he regretted that he had been idle, 
 and had neglected his opportunities as 
 a lad. Had he studied for the bar, he 
 might have made that profession now 
 profitable, and a source of honor and 
 competence to his family. Our friend 
 estimated his own powers very 
 humbly : I am sure he was not the 
 less amiable on account of that hu- 
 mility. O fortunate he, of whom 
 Love is the teacher, the guide and 
 master, the reformer, and chastener! 
 Where was our friend's former arro- 
 gance, self-confidence, and boisterous 
 profusion 1 He was at the feet of his 
 wife and child. He was quite hum- 
 bled about himself; or gratified him- 
 self in fondling and caressing these. 
 They taught him, he said ; and as he 
 thought of them his heart turned in 
 awful thanks to the gracious Heaven 
 which had given them to him. As 
 the tiny infant hand closes round his 
 fingers, I can see the father bending 
 over mother and child, and inter- 
 pret those maybe unspoken blessings 
 which he asks and bestows. Happy 
 wife, happy husband ! However poor 
 his little home may be, it holds treas-
 
 356 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 ures and wealth inestimable ; what- 
 ev.er storms may threaten without, 
 the home fireside is brightened with 
 the welcome of the dearest eyes. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 IK WHICH I OWN THAT PHILIP TELLS 
 AN UNTRUTH. 
 
 CHARLOTTE (and the usual little 
 procession of nurse,, baby, &c.) once 
 made their appearance at our house 
 in Queen Square, where they were 
 ever welcome by the lady of the man- 
 sion. The young woman was in a 
 great state of elation, and when we 
 came to hear the cause of her de- 
 light, her friends too opened the eyes 
 of wonder. She actually announced 
 that Dr. Firmin had sent over a bill 
 of forty pounds (I may be incorrect 
 as to the sum) from New York. It 
 had arrived that morning, and she 
 had seen the bill, and Philip had 
 told her that his father had sent it ; 
 and was it not a comfort to think 
 that poor Doctor Firmin was endeav- 
 oring to repair some of the evil 
 which he had done ; and that he was 
 repenting, and, perhaps, was going 
 to become quite honest and good ? 
 This was indeed an astounding piece 
 of intelligence : and the two women 
 felt joy at the thought of that sinner 
 repenting, and some one else was ac- 
 cused of cynicism, scepticism, and so 
 forth, for doubting the correctness of 
 the information. " You believe in 
 no one, sir. You are always incred- 
 ulous about good," &c., &c., &c. 
 was the accusation brought against 
 the reader's very hum'ile servant. 
 Weil, about the contrition of this 
 sinner I confess I still continued to 
 have doubts ; and thought a present 
 of forty pounds to a son, to whom he 
 owed thousands, was no great proof 
 of the Doctor's amendment. 
 
 And oh ! how vexed some people 
 were when the real story came out at 
 last ! Not for the money's sake, 
 not because they were wrong in ar- 
 
 gument, and I turned out to be right. 
 
 no ! But because it was proved 
 that this unhappy doctor had no 
 present intention of repenting at all. 
 This brand would not come out of 
 the burning, whatever we might 
 hope; and the Doctor's supporters 
 were obliged to admit as much when 
 they caine to know the real story. 
 " O Philip," cries Mrs. Laura, when 
 next she saw Mr. Firmin. " How 
 pleased I was to hear of that, let- 
 ter !" 
 
 " What letter 1 " asks the gentle- 
 man. 
 
 " That letter from your father at 
 New York," says the lady. 
 
 " O," says the gentleman address- 
 ed, with a red face. 
 
 " What then ? Is it not is it 
 not all true ? " we ask. 
 
 " Poor Charlotte does not under- 
 stand about business," says Philip ; 
 " I did not read the letter to her. 
 Here it is." And he hands over the 
 document to me, and I have the 
 liberty to publish it. 
 
 "New YORK, 
 
 " AND so, my dear Philip, I may 
 congratulate myself on having achiev- 
 ed ancestral honor, and may add 
 grandfather to my titles ? How 
 quickly this one has come ! I feel 
 myself a young man still, in spite of 
 the blows of misfortune, at least I 
 know I was a young man but yester- 
 day, when I may say with our dear 
 old poet, Non sine yloria militavi. 
 Suppose I too were to tire of solitary 
 widowhood and re-enter the married 
 state? There are one or two ladies 
 here who would still condescend to 
 look not unfavorably on the retired 
 j English gentleman. Without vanity I 
 j may say it, a man of birth and posi- 
 tion in England acquires a polish 
 | and refinement of manner which dol- 
 lars cannot purchase, and many a 
 Wall Street millionary might envy ! 
 
 " Your wife has been pronounced 
 
 to be an angel by a little correspondent 
 
 | of mine, who gives me much fuller in- 
 
 1 telligence of my family than my sou
 
 THE ADVENTUKES OF PHILIP. 
 
 3,37 
 
 condescends to furnish. Mrs. Philip 
 I hear is gentle ; Mrs. Brandon says 
 she is beautiful, she is all rood- 
 humored. I hope you have taught 
 her to think not ien/ badly of her 
 hushand's father '{ I was the dupe of 
 villains who lured me into their 
 schemes ; who robbed me of a life's 
 earnings ; who induced me by their 
 false representations to have such con- 
 fidence in them, that I embarked all 
 my own property, and yours, my 
 poor boy, alas ! in their undertakings. 
 Your Charlotte will take the liberal, 
 the wise, the just view of the case, 
 and pity rather than blame my mis- 
 fortune. Such is the view, I am hap- 
 py to say, generally adopted in this 
 city : where there are men of the 
 world who know the vicissitudes of 
 a mercantile career, and can make 
 allowances for misfortune ! What 
 made Koine at first great and pros- 
 perous 1 Were its first colonists all 
 wealthy patricians ? Nothing can be 
 more satisfactory than the disregard 
 shown here to mere pecuniary difficulty. 
 At the same time to he a gentleman 
 is to possess no trifling privilege in 
 this society, where the advantages of 
 birth, respected name, and early edu- 
 cation aaeayt tell in the possessor's 
 favor. Many persons whom I visit 
 here have certainly not these advan- 
 tages, and in the highest society of 
 the city I could point out individuals 
 who have had pecuniary misfortunes | 
 like myself, who have gallantly re- j 
 newed the combat after their fall, 
 and are now fully restored to compe- 
 tence, to wealth, and the respect of 
 the world ! I was in a house in Fifth 
 Avenue last night. Is Washington 
 White shunned by his fellow-men 
 because he has been bankrupt three 
 times 1 Anything more elegant or 
 profuse than his entertainment I have 
 not witnessed on this continent. His 
 lady had diamonds which a duchess 
 might envy. The most cosily wines, 
 the most magnificent supper, and 
 myriads of canvas-backed ducks 
 covered his board. Dear Charlotte, 
 my friend Captain Colpoys brings 
 
 you over three brace of these from 
 your father-in-law, who hopes they 
 will furnish your little dinner-table. 
 Wo cat currant-jelly with them here, 
 but I like an old English lemon and 
 cayenne sauce tetter. 
 
 " By the way, dear Philip, I trust 
 you will not be inconvenienced by a 
 little financial operation, which neces- 
 sity (alas !) has compelled me to per- 
 form. Knowing that your quarter 
 with the Upper Ten Thousand Gazette 
 was now due, I have made so bold as 
 
 to request Colonel to pay it over 
 
 to me. Promises to pay must be met 
 here as with us, an obdurate holder 
 of an unlucky acceptance of mine (I 
 am happy to say there are very few 
 such) would admit of no delay, and I 
 have been compelled to appropriate 
 my poor Philip's earnings. 1 have 
 only put you oft' for ninety days : with 
 your credit and wealthy friends you 
 can easily negotiate the bill enclosed, and I 
 promise yon that when presented it 
 shall be honored by my Philip's ever 
 affectionate father, 
 
 "G. B. F. 
 
 " By the way your Philalethes let- 
 ters are not </nite spicy enough, my 
 worthy friend the Colonel says. They 
 are elegant and gay, but the public 
 here desires to have more personal n<ws ; 
 a little scandal about Queen Elizabeth, 
 you understand ? Can't you attack 
 somebody ? Look at the letters and 
 articles published by my respected 
 friend of the New York Emerald ! 
 The readers here like a hiyli-sfriced ar- 
 ticle : and I recommend P. F. to put 
 a little more pepper in his dishes. 
 What a comfort to me it is to think 
 that I have procured this place for 
 you, and have been enabled to help 
 my son and his young familv ! 
 
 "G/B. F." 
 
 Enclosed in this letter was a slip of 
 paper which poor Philip supposed to 
 be a check when lie first beheld it, 
 but which turned out to be his papa's 
 
 ?-omissory note, payable at New 
 ork four months after date AnU
 
 333 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 this document was to represent the 
 money which the elder Firmin had 
 received in his son's name ! Philip's 
 eye met his friend's when they talked 
 about this matter. Firmin looked 
 almost as much ashamed as if he 
 himself had done the wrong. 
 
 " Does the loss of this money an- 
 noy you ? " asked Philip's friend. 
 
 " The manner of the loss does," < 
 said poor Philip. " I don't care | 
 about the money. But he should not j 
 have taken this. He should not have | 
 taken this. Think of poor Charlotte 
 and the child being in want possibly ! j 
 
 friend, it 's hard to bear, is n't it ? j 
 
 1 'm an honest fellow, ain't I ? I 
 think I am. I pray Heaven I am. ! 
 In any extremity of poverty could I 
 have done this ? Well. It was my 
 father who introduced me to these 
 people. I suppose he thinks he has a 
 right to my earnings : and if he is in 
 want, you know, so he has." 
 
 " Had you not better write to the 
 New York publishers and beg them 
 henceforth to remit to you directly ? " 
 asks Philip's friend. 
 
 " That would be to tell them that 
 he has dispo^d of the money," groans 
 Philip. " I can't tell them that my 
 father is a " 
 
 " No ; but you can thank them for 
 having handed over such a sum on 
 your account to the Doctor : and 
 warn them that you will draw on i 
 them from this country henceforth. ' 
 They won't in this case pay the next 
 quarter to the Doctor." 
 
 " Suppose he is in want, ought I 
 not to supply him ? " Firmin said. 
 " As long as there are four crusts in 
 the house, the Doctor ought to have 
 one. Ought I to be angry with him 
 for helping himself, old boy ? " and 
 he drinks a glass of wine, poor fellow, 
 with a rueful smile. By the way, it 
 is my duty to mention here, that" the 
 elder Firmin was in the habit of giv- 
 ing very elegant little dinner-parties 
 at New York, where little dinner-par- 
 ties are much more costly than in 
 Europe, " in order," he said, " to es- 
 tablish and keep up his connection as 
 
 a physician." As a bon-vivant, I am 
 informed, the Doctor began to be 
 celebrated in his new dwelling-place, 
 where his anecdotes of the British 
 aristocracy were received with pleas- 
 ure in certain circles. 
 
 But it would be as well henceforth 
 that Philip should deal directly with 
 his American correspondents, and 
 not employ the services of so very ex- 
 pensive a broker. To this suggestion 
 he could not but agree. Meanwhile, 
 and let this be a warning to men 
 never to deceive their wives in any 
 the slightest circumstances ; to tell 
 them everything they wish to know, to 
 keep nothing hidden from those dear 
 and excellent beings, you must 
 know, ladies, that when Philip's famous 
 ship of dollars arrived from America, 
 Firmin had promised his wife that 
 baby should have a dear delightful 
 white cloak trimmed with the most 
 lovely tape, on which poor Charlotte 
 had often cast a longing eye as she 
 passed by the milliner and curiosity 
 shops in Hanway Yard, which, I own, 
 she loved to frequent. Well ; when 
 Philip told her that his father had 
 sent home forty pounds, or what not, 
 thereby deceiving his fond wife, the 
 little lady went away straight to her 
 darling shop in the Yard (Hanway 
 Yard has become a street now, but 
 ah ! it is always delightful), Char- 
 lotte, I say, went off, ran off to Han- 
 way Yard, pavid with fear lest the 
 darling cloak should be gone, found 
 it O joy ! still in Miss Isaacson's 
 window ; put it on baby straightway 
 then and there ; kissed the dear in- 
 fant, and was delighted with the effect 
 of the garment, which all the young 
 ladies at Miss Isaacson's pronounced 
 to be perfect ; and took the cloak 
 away on baby's shoulders, promising 
 to send the money, five pounds, if you 
 please, next day. And in this cloak 
 baby and Charlotte went to meet 
 papa when he came home ; and I 
 don't know which of them, mamma 
 or baby, was the most pleased and 
 absurd and happy baby of the two. 
 On his way home from his newspac
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 359 
 
 per, Mr. Philip had orders to pursue a 
 certain line of streets, and when his 
 accustomed hour for returning from 
 his business drew nigh, Mrs. Char 
 went down Thornhaugh Street, down 
 Charlotte Street, down Rathbone 
 Place, with Betsy the nursekin and 
 baby, in the new cloak. Behold, he 
 comes at last papa striding down 
 the street. He sees the figures : he 
 sees the child, which laughs, and 
 holds out its little pink hands, and 
 crows a recognition. And " Look 
 look, papa, cries the happy mother. 
 (Away ! I cannot keep up the mys- 
 tery about the baby any longer, and 
 though I had forgotten for a moment 
 the child's sex, remembered it the in- 
 stant after, and that it was a girl to be 
 sure, and that its name was Laura 
 Caroline. ) " Look, look, papa ! " 
 cries the happy mother. "She has 
 got another little tooth since the 
 morning, such a beautiful little tooth, 
 and look here, sir, don't you ob- 
 serve anything ? " 
 
 " Any what ? " asks Philip. 
 
 " La ! sir," says Betsy, giving 
 Laura Caroline a great toss, so that 
 her white cloak floats in the air. 
 
 " Is n't it a dear cloak ? " cries 
 mamma ; " and does n't baby look 
 like an angel in it ? I bought it at 
 Miss Isaacson's to-day, as you got 
 your money from New York ; and 
 O my dear, it only cost five guineas." 
 
 " Well, it's a week's work," sighs 
 poor Philip ; " and I think I need 
 not grudge that to give Charlotte 
 pleasure." And he feels his empty 
 pockets rather ruefully. 
 
 " God bless you, Philip," says my 
 wife, with her eyes full. " They 
 came here this morning, Charlotte 
 and the nurse and the baby in the 
 new the new " Here the lady 
 seized hold of Philip's hand, and 
 fairly broke out into tears. Had she 
 embraced Mr. Firmin before her hus- 
 band's own eyes, I should not have 
 been surprised. Indeed she confessed 
 that she was on the point of giving 
 way to this most sentimental out- 
 break 
 
 And now, my brethren, see how 
 one crime is the parent of many, and 
 one act of duplicity leads to a whole 
 | career of deceit. In the first place, 
 you see, Philip had deceived his wife, 
 i with the pious desire, it is true, of 
 screening his father's little peculiar- 
 ities, but, mat calum, we must tell 
 no lies. No : and from this day forth 
 I order John never to say Not at 
 home to the greatest bore, dun, 
 dawdle of my acquaintance. If 
 Philip's father had not deceived him, 
 j Philip would not have deceived his 
 j wife ; if he had not deceived his wife, 
 she would not have given five guineas 
 for that cloak for the baby. If she 
 had not given five guineas for the 
 cloak, my wife would never have en- 
 tered into a secret correspondence 
 with Mr. Firmin, which might, but 
 for my own sweetness of temper, have 
 bred jealousy, mistrust, and the most 
 awful quarrels nay, duels be- 
 tween the heads of the two families. 
 Fancy Philip's body lying stark upon 
 Hampstead Heath with a bullet 
 through it, despatched by the hand of 
 his friend ! Fancy a cab driving up 
 to my own house, and from it un- 
 der the eyes of the children at the 
 parlor windows their father's bleed- 
 ing corpse ejected ! Enough of this 
 dreadful pleasantry ! Two days after 
 the affair of the cloak, I found a let- 
 ter in Philip's handwriting addressed 
 to my wife, and thinking that the 
 note had reference to a matter of din- 
 ner then pending between our fami- 
 lies, I broke open the envelope and 
 read as follows ! 
 
 " THORNHAUGH STREET, Thursday. 
 
 "MY DEAR, KIND GoDMAMMA, 
 
 As soon us ever I can write and 
 speak, I will thank you for being so 
 kind to me. My mamma says she 
 is very jealous, and as she bought 
 my cloak she can't think of allowing 
 you to pay for it. But she desires 
 me never to forget your kindness^ to 
 us, and though I don't know anything 
 about it now, she promises to tell me 
 when I am old enough. Meanwhile
 
 3 GO 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 I am your grateful and affectionate 
 little goddaughter, L. C. F." 
 
 Philip was persuaded by his friends 
 at home to send out the request to 
 his New York employers to pay his 
 salary henceforth to himself; and I 
 remember a dignified letter came 
 from his parent, in which the matter 
 was spoken of in sorrow rather than 
 in anger ; in which the Doctor point- 
 ed out that this precautionary measure 
 seemed to imply a doubt on Philip's 
 side of his father's honor ; and surely, 
 surely he was unhappy enough and un- 
 fortunate enough already without mer- 
 iting this mistrust from his son. The 
 duty of a son to honor his father and 
 mother was feelingly pointed out, and 
 the Doctor meekly trusted that 
 Philip's children would give him more 
 confidence than he seemed to be in- 
 clined to award to his unfortunate 
 father. Never mind. He should 
 bear no malice. If Fortune ever 
 smiled on him again, and something 
 told him she would, he would show 
 Philip that he could forgive ; although 
 he might not perhaps be able to for- 
 get that in his exile, his solitude, his 
 declining years, his misfortune, his 
 own child had mistrusted him. This 
 lie said was the most cruel blow of 
 all for his susceptible heart to bear. 
 
 This letter of paternal remon- 
 strance was enclosed in one from the 
 Doctor to his old friend the Little Sis- 
 ter, in which he vaunted a discovery 
 which he and some other scientific 
 gentlemen were engaged in perfect- 
 ing, of a medicine which was to be 
 extraordinarily efficacious in cases in 
 which Mrs. Brandon herself was often 
 specially and professionally engaged, 
 and he felt sure that the sale of this 
 medicine would go far to retrieve his 
 shattered fortune. He pointed out 
 the complaints in which this medicine 
 was most efficacious. He would send 
 some of it, and details regarding its 
 use, to Mrs. Brandon, who might try 
 its efficacy upon her patients. He 
 was advancing slowly, but steadily, 
 in his medical profession, he said ; 
 
 though of course, he had to suffer 
 from the jealousy of his professional 
 brethren. Never mind. Better times, 
 
 i he was sure, were in store for all ; 
 
 ! when his son should see that a 
 
 i wretched matter of forty pounds more 
 should not deter him from paying all 
 just claims upon him. Amen ! We 
 
 ! all heartily wished for the day when 
 Philip's fa'ther should be able to set- 
 tle his little accounts. Meanwhile, 
 the proprietors of the Gazette of the 
 Upper Ten Thousand were instructed 
 to write directly to their London cor- 
 respondent. 
 
 Although Mr. Firmin prided him- 
 self, as we have seen, upon his taste 
 and dexterity as sub-editor of the 
 Pall Mall Gazette I must own that 
 he was a very insubordinate officer, 
 with whom his superiors often had 
 cause to be angry. Certain people 
 were praised in the Gazette, cer- 
 tain others were attacked. Very dull 
 books were admired, and very lively 
 works attacked. Some men were 
 praised for everything they did ; 
 some others were satirized, no matter 
 what their works were. " I find," 
 poor Philip used to say with a groan, 
 " that in matters of criticism especial- 
 ly there are so often private reasons 
 for the praise and blame administered, 
 that I am glad, for my part, my only 
 duty is to see the paper through the 
 press. For instance, there is Har- 
 rocks, the tragedian, ofDruryLane: 
 every piece in which he appears is a 
 masterpiece, and his performance the 
 greatest triumph ever witnessed. 
 Very good. Harrocks and my ex- 
 cellent employer are good friends, 
 and dine with each other ; and it is 
 natural that Mugford should like to 
 have his friend praised, and to help 
 him in every way. But Balderson, 
 of Covent Garden, is also a very fine 
 actor. Why can't our critic see his 
 merit as well as Harrocks's. Poor 
 Balderson is never allowed any merit 
 at all. He is passed over with a 
 sneer, or a curt word of cold com- 
 mendation, while columns of flattery 
 are not enough for his rival/'
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 3G1 
 
 "Why, Mr. F., what a flat you 
 must be, askin' your pardon," re- 
 marked Mugford, in reply to his sub- 
 editor's simple remonstrance. " How 
 can we praise Balderson, when Har- 
 rocks is our friend ? Me and Har- 
 rocks are thick. Our wives arc close 
 friends. If I was to let Balderson be 
 praised, I should drive Harrocks 
 mad. I can't praise Balderson, don't 
 you see, out of justice to Harrocks ! " 
 Then there was a certain author 
 whom Bickerton was forever attack- 
 ing. They had had a private quarrel, 
 iind Bickerton revenged himself in 
 this way. In reply to Philip's out- 
 cries and remonstrances, Mr. Mug- 
 ford only laughed : " The two men 
 are enemies, and Bickerton hits 
 him whenever he can. Why, that 's 
 only human nature, Mr. F.," says 
 Philip's employer. 
 
 " Great Heavens ! " bawls out Fir- 
 min, " do you mean to say that the 
 man is base enough to strike at his 
 private enemies through the press 1 " 
 "Private enemies! private gam- 
 mon, Mr. Firmin ! " cries Pl.ilip's 
 employer. " If I have enemies, 
 and I have, there's no doubt about 
 that, I serve them out whenever 
 and wherever I can. And let me 
 tell you I don't half relish having my 
 conduct called base. It's only nat- 
 ural ; and it 's right. Perhaps you 
 would like to praise your enemies, 
 and abuse your friend ? If that 's 
 your line, let me tell you you won't 
 do in the noospaper business, and had 
 better take to some other trade." 
 And the employer parted from his 
 subordinate in some heat. 
 
 Mugford, indeed, feelingly spoke 
 to me about this insubordination of 
 Philip. " What does the fellow 
 mean by quarrelling with his bread- 
 and-butter ? " Mr. Mugford asked. 
 " Speak to him, and show him what's 
 what, Mr. P., or we shall come to a 
 quarrel, mind you, and I don't 
 want that, for the sake of his little 
 wife, poor little delicate thing. What- 
 ever is to happen to them, if we don't 
 tand by them ? " 
 
 16 
 
 What was to happen to them, in- 
 deed ? Any one who knew Philip's 
 temper as we did was aware how 
 little advice or remonstrance were 
 likely to affect that gentleman. " Good 
 Heavens ! " he said to me, when I 
 endeavored to make him adopt a con- 
 ciliatory tone towards his employer, 
 " do you want to make me Mugford's 
 galley - slave ? I shall have him 
 standing over me and swearing at 
 me as he docs at the printers. He 
 looks into my room at times when he is 
 in a passion, atid glares at me as if he 
 would like to seize me by the throat ; 
 and after a word or two he goes off, 
 and I hear him curse the boys in the 
 passage. One day it will be on me 
 that he will turn, I feel sure of that. 
 I tell you the slavery is beginning to 
 be awful. I wake of a night and groan 
 and chafe, and poor Char, too, wakes 
 and asks, ' What is it, Philip ? ' I 
 say it is rheumatism. H hcumatism ! " 
 Of course to Philip's malady his friends 
 tried to apply the commonplace ano- 
 dynes and consolations. He must be 
 gentle in his bearing. He must re- 
 member that his employer had not 
 been bred agentleman, and that though 
 rough and coarse in language, Mug- 
 ford had a kind heart. " There is no 
 need to tell me he is not a gentleman, I 
 know that," says poor Phil. " He is 
 kind to Char and the child, that is the 
 truth, and so is his wife. I am a slave 
 for all that. He is my driver. He 
 feeds me. He has n't beat me yet. 
 When I was away at Paris I did not 
 feel the chain so much. But it is 
 scarcely tolerable now when I have 
 to see my jailer four or live times a 
 week. My poor little Char, vvh) did 
 I drag you into this slavery ? " 
 
 ' Because you wanted a consoler, I 
 suppose," remarks one of Philip's 
 comforters. " And do you suppose 
 Charlotte would be happier it' she 
 were away from you ? Though you 
 live up two pair of stairs, is any home 
 happier than yours, Philip 1 You 
 often own as much, when you are in 
 happier moods. Who has not his 
 work to do, and his burden to bear ?
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 You say sometimes that you are im- 
 perious and hot-tempered. Perhaps 
 your slavery, as you call it, may be 
 good for you." 
 
 " I have doomed myself and her to 
 it," savs Philip, hangingdown his head. 
 
 " Does she ever repine ? " asks his 
 adviser. " Does she not think her- 
 self the happiest little wife in the 
 world ? See here, Philip, here is a 
 note from her yesterday in which she 
 says as much. Do you want to 
 know what the note is about, sir 1 " 
 savs the lady with a smile. " Well, 
 then, she wanted a receipt for that 
 dish which you liked so much on 
 Friday, and she and Mrs. Brandon 
 will make it for you." 
 
 " And if it consisted of minced 
 Charlotte," says Philip's other friend, I 
 " you know she would cheerfully chop j 
 herself up, and have herself served 
 with a little cream sauce and sippets 
 of toast for your honor's dinner." 
 
 This was undoubtedly true. Did 
 not Job's friends make many true re- 
 marks when they visited him in his 
 affliction ? Patient as he was, the 
 patriarch groaned and lamented, and 
 why should not poor Philip be al- 
 lowed to grumble, who was not a 
 model of patience at all ? He was 
 not broke in as yet. The mill-horse 
 was restive and kicked at his work. 
 He would chafe not seldom at the 
 daily drudgery, and have his fits 
 of revolt and despondency. Well ? 
 Have others not had to toil, to bow 
 the proud head, and carry the daily 
 hurden ? Don't you see Pegasus, 
 who was going to win the plate, a 
 weary, broken-knee'd, broken-down 
 old cab-hack shivering in the rank ; 
 or a sleek gelding, mayhap, pac- 
 ing under a corpulent master in 
 Rotten Row ? Philip's crust began 
 to be scanty, and was dipped in bitter 
 waters. I am not going to make a 
 long story of this part of his ca- 
 reer, or parade my friend as too hun- 
 gry and poor. He is safe now, and 
 out of all peril, Heaven be thanked ! 
 but he had to pass through hard 
 times, and to look out very wistfully 
 
 lest the wolf should enter at the door. 
 He never laid claim to be a man of 
 genius, nor was he a successful quack 
 who could pass as a man of genius. 
 When there were French prisoners 
 in England, we know how stout old 
 officers who had plied their sabres 
 against Mamelouks, or Russians, or 
 Germans, were fain to carve little 
 gimcracks in bone with their pen- 
 knives, or make baskets and boxes of 
 chipped straw, and piteously sell 
 them to casual visitors to their prison. 
 Philip was poverty's prisoner. He 
 had to make such shifts, and do such 
 work, as he could find in his captiv- 
 ity. I do not think men who have 
 undergone the struggle and served the 
 dire task-master like to look back and 
 recall the grim apprenticeship. When 
 Philip says now, " What fools we 
 were to marry, Char," she looks up 
 radiantly, with love and happiness in 
 her eyes, looks up to heaven, and 
 is thankful ; but grief and sadness 
 come over her husband's face at the 
 thought of those days of pain and 
 srloom. She may soothe him, and he 
 may be thankful too; but the wounds 
 are still there which were dealt to 
 him in the cruel battle with fortune. 
 Men are ridden down in it. Men are 
 poltroons and run. Men maraud, 
 break ranks, are guilty of meanness, 
 cowardice, shabby plunder. Men 
 are raised to rank and honor, or drop 
 and perish unnoticed on the field. 
 Happy he who comes from it with 
 his honor pure ! Philip did not win 
 crosses and epaulets. He is like us, 
 my dear sir, not a heroic genius at all. 
 And it is to be hoped that all three 
 have behaved with an average pluck, 
 and have been guilty of no meanness, 
 or treachery, or desertion. Did you 
 behave otherwise, what would wife 
 and children say ? As for Mrs. Phil- 
 ip, I tell you she thinks to this day 
 that there is no man like her hus- 
 band, and is ready to fall down and 
 worship the boots in which he walks. 
 How do men live ? How is rent 
 paid ? How docs the dinner come 
 day after day ? As a rule there is
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 363 
 
 You might live longer with 
 less of it, but you can't go without it 
 and live long. How did iny neigh- 
 bor 23 earn his carriage, and how did 
 24 pay for his house ? As I am writ- 
 ing this sentence, Mr. Cox, who col- 
 lects the taxes in this quarter, walks 
 in. How do you do, Mr. Cox ? We 
 are not in the least afraid of meeting 
 one another. Time was two, three 
 years of time when poor Philip 
 was troubled at the sight of Cox ; 
 and this troublous time his biogra- 
 pher intends to pass over in a very 
 few pages. 
 
 At the end of six months the Up- 
 per Ten Thousand of New York ! 
 heard with modified wonder that the 
 editor of that fashionable journal had 
 made a retreat from the city, carry- 
 ing with him the scanty contents of ! 
 the till ; so that the contributions of 
 Philalethes never brought our poor 
 friend any dollars at all. But though 
 one fish is caught and eaten, are there 
 not plenty more left in the sea ? At 
 this very time when I was in a natu- \ 
 ral state of despondency about poor 
 Philip's affairs, it struck Tregarvan, 
 the wealthy Cornish Member of Par- | 
 liament, that the Government and 
 the House of Commons slighted his 
 speeches and his views on foreign 
 politics ; that the wife of the Foreign 
 Secretary had been very inattentive 
 to Lady Tregarvan ; that the designs 
 of a certain Great Power were most 
 menacing and dangerous, and ought 
 to be exposed and counteracted ; and 
 that the peerage which he had long 
 desired ought to be bestowed on him. 
 Sir John Tregarvan applied to cer- 
 tain literary and political gentlemen 
 witli whom he was acquainted. He 
 would bring out the European Re- 
 view. He would expose the designs 
 of that Great Power which was men- 
 acing Europe. He would show up 
 in his proper colors a Minister who 
 was careless of the country's honor, 
 and forgetful of his own : a Minister 
 whose arrogance ought no longer to be 
 tolerated by the country gentlemen of 
 England. Sir John, a little man in 
 
 brass buttons, and a tall head, who 
 loves to hear his own voice, came and 
 made a speech on the above topics to 
 the writer of the present biography ; 
 that writer's lady was in his study as 
 Sir John expounded his views at 
 some length. She listened to him 
 with the greatest attention and re- 
 spect. She was shocked to hear of 
 the ingratitude of Government ; as- 
 tounded and terrified by his exposi- 
 tion of the designs of of that Great 
 Power whose intrigues were so men- 
 acing to European tranquillity. She 
 was most deeply interested in the idea 
 of establishing the Review. lie 
 would, of course, be himself the ed- 
 itor ; and and (here the woman 
 looked across the table at her husband 
 with a strange triumph in her eyes) 
 she knew, they both knew, the 
 very man of all the world who was 
 most suited to act as sub-editor under 
 Sir John, a gentleman, one of the 
 truest that ever lived, a university 
 man ; a man remarkably versed in 
 the European languages, that is, in 
 French most certainly. And now 
 the reader, I dare say, can guess who 
 this individual was. " I knew it at 
 once," says the lady, after Sir John 
 had taken his leave. "I told you 
 that those dear children would not be 
 forsaken." And I would no more try 
 and persuade her that the European 
 Review was not ordained of all time 
 to afford maintenance to Philip, than 
 I would induce her to turn Mormon, 
 and accept all the consequences to 
 which ladies must submit when t! cy 
 make profession of that creed. " You 
 see, my love," I say to the partner of 
 my existence, " what other things 
 must have been ordained of all time 
 as well as Philip's appointment to lie 
 sub-editor of the European Review. 
 It must have been decreed <il> milio 
 that Lady Plinliinmon should give 
 evening-parties, in order that she 
 might offend Lady Tregarvan by not 
 asking her to those parties. It must 
 have been ordained by fate that Lady 
 Tregarvan should be of a jealous dis- 
 position, so that she might hate Lady
 
 364 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Plinlimmon, and was to work upon her 
 husband, and inspire him with anger 
 and revolt against his chief. It must 
 have been ruled by destiny that Tre- 
 garvan should be rather a weak and 
 wordy personage, fancying that he 
 had a talent for literary composition 
 Else he would not have thought of 
 setting up the Review. Else he would 
 never have been angry with Lord 
 Pliulimmon for not inviting him to 
 tea. Else he would not have engaged 
 Philip as sub-editor. So, you see, in 
 order to bring about this event, and 
 put a couple of hundred a year into 
 Philip Firmin's pocket, the Tregar- 
 vans have to be born from the earliest 
 times : the Plinlimmons have to 
 spring up in the remotest ages, and 
 come down to the present day : Doc- 
 tor Firmin has to be a rogue, and 
 undergo his destiny of cheating his 
 son of money : aJl mankind up to 
 the origin of our race are involved in 
 your proposition, and we actually 
 arrive at Adam and Eve, who are but 
 fulfilling their destiny, which was to 
 be the ancestors of Philip Firmin." 
 
 " Even in our first parents there 
 was doubt and scepticism and misgiv- 
 ing," says the lady, with strong em- 
 phasis on the words. " If you mean 
 to say that th^re is no such thing as 
 a Superior Power watching over us, 
 and ordaining things for our good, 
 you arc an atheist, and such a 
 thing as an atheist does not exist in 
 the world, and I would not believe 
 you if you said you were one twenty 
 times over." 
 
 I mention these points by the way, 
 and as samples of ladylike logic. I 
 acknowledge that Philip himself, as he 
 looks back at his past career, is very 
 much moved. " I do not deny," he 
 says gravely, " that these things hap- 
 pened in the natural order. I say I 
 am grateful for what happened ; and 
 look back at the past not without 
 awe. In great grief and danger may- 
 be, I have had timely rescue. Under 
 great suffering I have met with su- 
 preme consolation. When the trial 
 has seemed almost too hard for me it 
 
 has ended, and our darkness has been 
 i lightened. Ut vivo et valeo si vaJeo, 
 ' I know by whose permission this is, 
 I and would you forbid me to be 
 j thankful ? to be thankful for my life ; 
 j to be thankful for my children ; to be 
 i thankful for the daily bread which 
 has been granted to me, and the 
 I temptation from which I have been 
 | rescued 1 As I think of the past and 
 its bitter trials, I bow my head in 
 thanks and awe. I wanted succor, 
 and I found it. I fell on evil times, 
 j and good friends pitied and helped 
 i me, good friends like yourself, your 
 dear wife, many another I could 
 name. In what moments of depres- 
 j sion, old friend, have you not seen 
 j me, and cheered me ? Do yon know 
 j in the moments of our grief the inex- 
 j pressible value of your sympathy ? 
 j Your good Samaritan takes out only 
 twopence maybe for the wayfarer 
 ! whom he has rescued, but the little 
 timely supply saves a life. You re- 
 member dear old Ned St. George, 
 I dead in the West Indies years ago ? 
 j Before he got his place Ned was 
 hanging on in London, so utterly 
 j poor and ruined, that he had not 
 often a shilling to buy a dinner. He 
 used often to come to ns, and my 
 wife an-,1 our children loved him ; 
 and I used to leave a heap of shillings 
 on my study table, so that he might 
 take two or three as he wanted them. 
 Of course you remeinber him. You 
 were at the dinner which we gave 
 him on his getting his place. I forget 
 the cost of that dinner ; but I reinem- 
 ber my share amounted to the exact 
 number of shillings which poor Ned 
 had taken off my table. He gave me 
 j the money then and there at the 
 tavern at Blackwall. He said it 
 i seemed providential. But for those 
 I shillings, and the constant welcome 
 i at our poor little table, he said he 
 thought he should have made away 
 | with his life. I am not bragging of 
 i the twopence which I gave, but 
 thanking Go 1 for sending me there to 
 I give it. Benedico benedictus. I won- 
 i der sometimes am I the I of twenty
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 365 
 
 years ago ? before our heads were 
 bald, friend, and when the little ones 
 reached up to our knees ? Before 
 dinner you saw me in the library 
 reading in that old European Review 
 which your friend Tregarvan estab- 
 lished. I came upon an article of my 
 own, and a very dull one, on a sub- 
 ject which I knew nothing about. 
 ' Persian politics, and the intrigues 
 at the Court of Teheran.' It was 
 done to order. Tregarvan had some 
 special interest about Persia, or want- 
 ed to vex Sir Thomas Nobbles, who 
 was minister there. I breakfasted 
 with Tregarvan in the ' Albany,' 
 the facts (we will call them facts) aiul 
 papers were supplied to me, and I 
 went home to point out the delin- 
 quencies of Sir Thomas, and the 
 atrocious intrigues of the Russian 
 Court. Well, sir, Nobbles, Tregar- 
 van, Teheran, all disappeared as I 
 looked at the text in the old volume 
 of the Review. I saw a deal table in 
 a little room, and a reading-lamp, 
 and a young fellow writing at it, with 
 a sad heart, and a dreadful apprehen- 
 sion torturing him. One of our 
 children was ill in the adjoining room, 
 and I have before me the figure of my 
 wife coming in from time to time to 
 my room and saying, ' She is asleep 
 now, and the fever is much lower.' " 
 
 Here our conversation was inter- 
 rupted by the entrance of a tall young 
 lady, who says, " Papa, the coffee is 
 quite cold : and the carriage will be 
 here very soon, and both mamma and 
 my godmother say they are growing 
 very angry. Do you know you have 
 been talking here for two hours 1 " 
 
 Had two hours actually slipped 
 away as we sat prattling about old 
 times? As I narrate them, I prefer 
 to give Mr. Firmin's account of his 
 adventures in his own words, where 
 I can recall or imitate them. Both 
 of us are graver and more reverend 
 seigniors than we were at the time of 
 which I am writing-. Has not Fir- 
 min's girl grown up to be taller than 
 her godmother ? Veterans both, we 
 tove to prattle about the merry days 
 
 when we were young, (the merry 
 days ? no, the past is never merrv), 
 about the days when we were young ; 
 and do we grow young in talking of 
 them, or only indulge in a senile 
 cheerfulness and prolixity ? 
 
 Tregarvan sleeps with his Cornish 
 fathers : Europe for many years has 
 gone on without her Review : but it 
 is a certainty that the establishment 
 of that occult organ of opinion tended 
 very much to benefit Philip Firmin, 
 and helped for a while to supply him 
 and several innocent people dependent 
 on him with their daily bread. Of 
 course, as they were so poor, this 
 worthy family increased and multi- 
 plied ; and as they increased, and as 
 they multiplied, my wife insists that 
 1 should point out how support was 
 found for them. When there was a 
 second child in Philip's nursery, ho 
 would have removed from his lodgings 
 in Thornhaugh Street, but for the 
 prayers and commands of the affec- 
 tionate Little Sister, who insisted 
 that there was plenty of room in the 
 house for everybody, and who said 
 that if Philip went away she would 
 cut off her little godchild with a 
 shilling. And then indeed it was 
 discovered for the first time, that this 
 faithful and affectionate creature had 
 endowed Philip with all her little 
 property. These are the rays of sun- 
 shine in the dungeon. These are the 
 drops of water in the desert. And 
 with a full heart our friend acknowl- 
 edges how comfort came to him in 
 his hour of need. 
 
 Though Mr. Firmin has a very 
 grateful heart, it has been admitted 
 that he was a loud, disagreeable Fir- 
 min at times, impetuous in his talk, 
 and violent in his behavior : and we 
 are now come to that period of his 
 history, when he had a quarrel in 
 which I am sorry to say Mr. Philip 
 was in the wrong. Why do we con- 
 sort with those whom we dislike ? 
 Why is it that men will try and asso- 
 ciate between whom no love is ? I 
 think it was the ladies who tried to 
 reconcile Philip and his master ; who
 
 366 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 brought them together, and strove to 
 make them friends ; but the more 
 they met the more they disliked each 
 other ; and now the Muse has to re- 
 late their final and irreconcilable 
 rupture. 
 
 Of Mugford's wrath the direful tale 
 relate, O Muse! and Philip's pitiable 
 fate. I have shown how the men had 
 long been inwardly envenomed one 
 against the other. " Because Firmin 
 is as poor as a rat, that 's no reason 
 why he should adopt that hawhaw 
 manner, and them high and mighty 
 airs towards a man who gives him 
 the bread he eats," Mugford argued 
 not unjustly. " What do / care for 
 his being a university man ? I am 
 as good as he is. I am better than 
 his old scamp of a father, who was a 
 college man too, and lived in fine 
 company. I made my own way in 
 the world, independent, and supported 
 myself since I was fourteen years of 
 age, and helped my mother and 
 brothers too, and that 's more than 
 my sub-editor can say, who can't sup- 
 port himself yet. I could get fifty 
 sub-editors as good as he is, by calling 
 out of window into the street, I 
 could. I say, hang Firmin ! I 'm a 
 losing all patience with him." On 
 the other hand, Mr. Philip was in 
 the habit of speaking his mind with 
 equal candor. " What right has that 
 person to call me Firmin 1 " he 
 asked. " I am Firmin to my equals 
 and friends. I am this man's laborer 
 at four guineas a week. I give him 
 his money's worth, and on every Sat- 
 urday evening we are quits. Call 
 me Philip indeed, and strike me in 
 the side! I choke, sir, as I think of 
 the confounded familiarity ! ' " Con- 
 found his impudence ! " was the crv, 
 and the not unjust cry, of the laborer 
 and his employer. The men should 
 have been kept apart : and it was a 
 most mistaken Christian charity and 
 female conspiracy which brought 
 them together. " Another invitation 
 from Mugford. It was agreed that I 
 was never to go again, and I won't 
 go," says Philip to his meek wife. 
 
 "Write and say we are engaged, 
 Charlotte." 
 
 " It is for the 18th of next month, 
 and this is the 23d," said poor Char- 
 lotte. " We can't well say that we 
 are engaged so far off." 
 
 " It is for one of his grand cere- 
 mony parties," urged the Little Sis- 
 j ter. " You can't come to no quarrel- 
 i ling there. He has a good heart So 
 I have you. There 's no good quar- 
 | relling with him. O Philip, do for- 
 give, and be friends ! " Philip yielded 
 j to the remonstrances of the women, 
 | as we all do ; and a letter was sent 
 | to Hampstead, announcing that Mr. 
 I and Mrs. P. F. would have the honor 
 of, &c. 
 
 In his quality of newspaper pro- 
 prietor, musical professors and opera 
 singers paid much court to Mr. Mug- 
 ford ; and he liked to entertain them 
 at his hospitable table ; to brag about 
 his wines, cookery, plate, garden, pros- 
 perity, and private virtue, during 
 dinner, whilst the artists sat respect- 
 fully listening to him ; and to go to 
 sleep, and snore, or wake up and join 
 cheerfully in a chorus, when the pro- 
 fessional people performed in the 
 drawing-room. Now, there was a lady 
 who was once known on the theatre 
 by the name of Mrs. llavenswing, 
 and who had been forced on to the 
 stage by the misconduct of her hus- 
 band, a certain Walker, one of the 
 greatest scamps who ever entered a 
 jail. On Walker's death, this lady 
 married a Mr. Woolsey, a wealthy 
 tailor, who retired from his business, 
 as he caused his wife to withdraw from 
 ben. 
 
 Now, more worthy and honorable 
 people do not live than Woolsey and 
 his wife, as those know who were ac- 
 quainted with their history. Mrs. 
 Woolsey is loud. Her h's are by no 
 means where they should be ; her 
 knife at dinner is often where it should 
 not be. She calls men aloud by their 
 names, and without any prefix of 
 courtesy. She is very fond of porter, 
 and has no scruple in asking for it. 
 She sits down to play the piano and to
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 367 
 
 sing with perfect good-nature, and if 
 you look at her hands as they wander 
 over the keys, well, I don t wish to 
 say anything unkind, but I am forced 
 to own that those hands are nut so 
 white as the ivory which they thump. 
 Woolsey sits in perfect rapture listen- 
 ing to his wife. Mugford presses her 
 to take a glass of " somethink " after- 
 wards ; and the good-natured soul 
 says she will take "something 'ot." 
 She sits and listens with infinite 
 patience and good-humor whilst the 
 little Mugfbrds go through their hor- 
 rible little musical exercises ; and these 
 over, she is ready to go back to the 
 piano agaiu, and sing more songs, and 
 drink more " 'ot." 
 
 I do not say that this was an elegant 
 woman, or a fitting companion for 
 Mrs. Philip ; but I know that Mrs. 
 Woolsey was a good, clever, and 
 kindly woman, and that Philip be- 
 haved rudely to her. He never meant 
 to be rude to her, he said ; but the 
 truth is, he treated her, her husband, 
 Mugford, and Mrs. Mugford, with a 
 haughty ill-humor which utterly ex- 
 asperated and perplexed them. 
 
 About this poor lady, who was 
 modest and innocent as Susannah, 
 Philip had heard some wicked elders 
 at wicked clubs tell wicked stories in 
 old times. There was that old Trail, 
 for instance, what woman escaped from 
 his sneers and slander ? There were 
 others who could be named, and whose 
 testimony was equally untruthful. On 
 an ordinary occasion Philip would 
 never have cared or squabbled about 
 a question of precedence, and would 
 have taken any place assigned to him 
 at any table. But when Mrs. Woolsey 
 in crumpled satins and blowsy lace 
 made her appearance, and was eagerly 
 and respectfully saluted by the host 
 and hostess, Philip remembered those 
 early stories about the poor lady : his 
 eyes flashed wrath, and his breast beat 
 with an indignation which almost 
 choked him. Ask that woman to 
 meet my wife ? he thought to himself 
 and looked so ferocious and desperate 
 that the timid little wife gazed with 
 
 I nliirm at her Philip, and crept up to 
 ; him and whispered, " What is it 
 j dear ? " 
 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Mugford and Mrs. 
 j Woolsey were in full colloquy about 
 the weather, the nursery, and M> forth, 
 I and Woolsey and Mugford giving 
 each other the hearty grasp of friend- 
 ship. Philip, then, scowling at the 
 1 newly arrived guests, turning his 
 j great hulking back upon the com- 
 pany, and talking to his wife, presented 
 a not agreeable figure to his enter- 
 tainer. 
 
 " Hang the fellow's pride ! " thought 
 Mugford. " He chooses to turn his 
 back upon my company because 
 Woolsey was a tradesman. An honest 
 tailor is better than a bankrupt, 
 swindling doctor, I should think. 
 Woolsey need not be ashamed to show 
 his face, I suppose. Why did you 
 make me ask that fellar again, Mrs. 
 M. ? Don't you sec, our society ain't 
 good enough for him ? " 
 
 Philip's conduct, then, so irritated 
 Mugford, that when dinner was an- 
 nounced, he stepped forward and 
 offered his arm to Mrs. Woolsey ; 
 having intended in the first instance 
 to confer that honor upon Charlotte. 
 " I '11 show him," thought Mugford, 
 " that an honest tradesman's lady who 
 pays his way, and is not afraid of any- 
 body, is better than my sub-editor's 
 wife, the daughter of a bankrupt 
 swell." Though the dinner was il- 
 luminated by Mugford 's grandest 
 plate, and accompanied by his very 
 best wine, it was a gloomy and weary 
 repast to several people present, and 
 Philip and Charlotte, and I dare say 
 Mugford, thought it never would be 
 done. Mrs. Woolsey, to be sure, 
 placidly ate her dinner, and drank 
 her wine ; whilst, remembering these 
 wicked legends against her, Philip 
 sat before the poor unconscious lady, 
 silent, with glaring eyes, insolent and 
 odious ; so much so, that Mrs. Wool- 
 sey imparted to Mrs. Mugford her 
 surmise that the tall gentleman must 
 have got out of bed the wrong leg 
 foremost.
 
 368 
 
 THE ADVENTUKES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Well, Mrs. Woolsey's carriage and ' 
 Mr. Firmiu's cab were announced at 
 the same moment; and immediately 
 Philip started up and beckoned his 
 wife away. But Mrs. Woolsey's car- 
 riage and lamps of course had the j 
 precedence ; ami this lady Mr. Mug- j 
 ford accompanied t her carriage ! 
 step. 
 
 He did not pay the same attention 
 to Mrs. Firmin. Most likely he for- i 
 got. Possibly he did not think eti-.| 
 queue required he should show that j 
 sort of politeness to a sub-editor's 
 wife : at any rate, he wa-i not so rude 
 as Pailip himself had been during the 
 evening, but he stood in the hall look- 
 ing at his guests departing in their 
 cab, when, in a sudden gust of pas- 
 sion, Philip stepped out of the car- 
 riage, and stalked up to his host, who 
 stood there in his own hall confront- j 
 ing him, Philip declared, with a most 
 impudent smile on his face. 
 
 " Come back to light a pipe, I sup- 
 pose ? Nice thing for your wife, ain't : 
 it ? " said Mugford, relishing his own | 
 joke. 
 
 " I am come back, sir," said Philip, 
 glaring at Mugford, " to ask how you 
 dared invite Mrs. Philip Firmin to 
 meet that woman ? " 
 
 Here, on his side, Mr. Mugford 
 lost his temper, and from this mo- 
 ment his wrong begins. When he 
 was in a passion, the language used by j 
 Mr. Mugford was not, it appears, 
 choice. VVe have heard that, when 
 angry, he was in the habit of swear- 
 ing freely at his subordinates. He 
 broke out on this occasion also with 
 many oaths. He told Philip that he 
 would stand his impudence no longer ; 
 that he was as good as a swindling 
 doctor's son ; that though he had n't 
 been to college he could buy and pay 
 them as had; and that if Philip liked 
 to come into the back yard for ten 
 minutes, he'd give him one two, 
 and show him whether he was a man 
 or not. Poor Char, who, indeed, fan- 
 cied that her husband had pone back 
 to light his cigar, sat awhile uncon- 
 scious in her cab, and supposed that 
 
 the two gentlemen were engaged on 
 newspaper business. When Mugford 
 began to pull his coat off, she sat 
 wondering, but not in the least under- 
 standing the meaning of the action. 
 Philip had described his employer as 
 walking about his office without a 
 coat and using energetic language. 
 
 But when, attracted by the loud- 
 ness of the talk, Mrs. Mugford came 
 forth from her neighboring drawing- 
 room, accompanied by such of her 
 children as had not yet gone to roost, 
 when, seeing Mugford pulling off 
 his dress-coat, she began to scream, 
 when, lifting his voice over hers, Mug- 
 ford poured forth oaths, and franti- 
 cally shook his fists at Philip, asking 
 how that blackguard dared insult him 
 in his own house, and proposing to 
 knock his head off at that moment, 
 then poor Char, in a wild alarm, 
 sprang out of the cab, ran to her hus- 
 band, whos; who e frame was throb- 
 lung, whose nostrils were snorting 
 with passion. Then Mrs. Mugford, 
 springing forward, placed her ample 
 form before her husband's, and call- 
 ing Philip a great cowardly beast, 
 asked him if he was going to attack 
 that little old man ? Then Mugford, 
 dashing his coat down to the ground, 
 called with fresh oaths to Philip to 
 come on. And, in fine, there wa> a 
 most unpleasant row, occasioned by 
 Mr. Philip Firmin's hot temper. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 RES ANGUSTA DOMI. 
 
 To reconcile these two men was im- 
 possible, after such a quarrel as that 
 described in the last chapter. The 
 only chance of peace was to keep the 
 two men apart. If they met, they 
 would fly at each other. Mugford al- 
 ways persisted that he could have got 
 the better of his great hulking sub-ed- 
 itor, who did not know the use of his 
 fists In Mugford's youthful time, 
 bruising was a fashionable art ; and 
 the old gentleman still believed in his
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 369* 
 
 own skill and prowess. " Don't tell 
 me," he would say ; " though the fel- 
 lar is as big as a life-guardsman, I 
 would have doubled him up in two 
 minutes." I am very glad, for poor 
 Charlotte's sake and his own, that 
 Philip did not undergo the doubling- 
 up process. He himself felt such a 
 wrath and surprise at his employer 
 as, I suppose, a lion does when a little 
 dog attacks him. I should not like 
 to be that little dog ; nor does my mod- 
 est and peaceful nature at all prompt 
 and impel me to combat with lions. 
 It was mighty well Mr. Philip Fir- 
 min had known his spirit, and quar- 
 relled with his bread-and-butter ; but 
 when Saturday came, what philan- 
 thropist would hand four sovereigns 
 and four shillings over to Mr. F., as 
 Mr. Burjoyce, the publisher of the 
 Pall Mall Gazette, had been ac- 
 customed to do ? I will say for my 
 friend that a still keener remorse than 
 that which he felt about money thrown 
 away attended him when he found that 
 Mrs. Woolsey, towards whom he had 
 cast a sidelong stone of persecution, 
 was a most respectable and honorable 
 lady. " I should like to go, sir, and 
 grovel before her," Philip said, in his 
 energetic way. " If I see that tailor, I 
 will request him to put his foot on my 
 head, and trample on me with his high- 
 lows O, for shame ! for shame ! 
 Shall I never learn charity towards my 
 neighbors, and always go on believing 
 in the lies which people tell me ? 
 When I meet that scoundrel Trail at 
 the club, I must chastise him. How 
 dared he take away the reputation of 
 an honest woman ? " Philip's friends 
 besought him, for the sake of society 
 and peace, not to carry this quarrel 
 farther. "If," we said, "every woman 
 whom Trail has maligned had a 
 champion who should box Trail's ears 
 at the club, what a vulgar, quarrel- 
 some place that club would become ! 
 My dear Philip, did you ever know 
 Mr. Trail say a good word of man or 
 woman ? " and by these or similar 
 entreaties and arguments, we succeed- 
 ed in keeping the Queen's peace. 
 16* 
 
 i Yes : but how find another Pall 
 Mall Gazette 1 ? Had Philip possessed 
 seven thousand pounds in the three 
 
 i per cents, his income would have been 
 no greater than that which he drew 
 from Mugford's faithful bank. Ah! 
 how wonderful ways and means are ! 
 When I think how this very line, this 
 very word, which I am writing repre- 
 sents money, I am lost in a respectful 
 astonishment. A man takes his own 
 case, as he says his own prayers, on 
 behalf of himself and his family. I 
 am paid, we will say, for the sake of 
 illustration, at the rate of sixpence 
 per line. With the words, "Ah, how 
 wonderful," to the words " per line," 
 I can buy a loaf, a piece of butter, a 
 jug of milk, a modicum of tea, act- 
 ually enough to make breakfast for 
 the family ; and the servants of the 
 house ; and the charwoman, their ser- 
 
 ; vant, can shake up the tea-leaves with 
 a fresh supply of water, sop the crusts, 
 and get a meal tant, trim que mat. 
 Wife, children, guests, servants, char- 
 woman, we are all actually making a 
 meal oif Philip Firmin's bones as it 
 
 . were. And my next-door neighbor, 
 whom I see marching away to cham- 
 bers, umbrella in hand 1 And next 
 door but one the City man 1 And 
 next door but two the doctor! I 
 know the baker has left loaves at ev- 
 
 | cry one of their doors this morning, 
 that all their chimneys arc smoking, 
 and they will all have breakfast. 
 Ah, thank God for it ! I hope, friend, 
 you and I are not too proud to ask 
 for our daily bread, and to be grate- 
 ful for getting it ? Mr. Philip had to 
 work for his, in care and trouble, like 
 other children of men : to work 
 for it, and I hope to pray for it, too. 
 It is a thought to me awful and beau- 
 tiful, that of the daily prayer, and of 
 the myriads of fellowmen uttering it, 
 
 i in care and in sickness, in doubt and 
 
 I in poverty, in health and in wealth. 
 
 I Panem nostrum da nMs luxlie. Philip 
 whispers it by the bedside where wife 
 
 ! and child lie sleeping, and goes to his 
 
 j early labor with a stouter heart : as 
 
 I he creeps to his rest when the day's
 
 370 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 labor is over, and the quotidian bread 
 is earned, and breathes his hushed 
 thanks to the bountiful Giver of the 
 meal. All over this world what an 
 endless chorus is singing of love, and j 
 thanks, and prayer. Day tells to day ! 
 the wondrous story, and night re- 
 counts it unto night. How do I j 
 come to think of a sunrise which I j 
 saw near twenty years ago on the j 
 Nile, when the river and sky flushed j 
 and glowed with the dawning light, ; 
 and as the luminary appeared, the ! 
 boatmen knelt on the rosy deck, and 
 adored Allah ? So, as thy sun rises, j 
 friend, over, the humble housetops j 
 round about your home, shall you j 
 wake many and many a day to duty j 
 and labor. May the task have been 
 honestly done when the night comes ; j 
 and the steward deal kindly with the 
 laborer. 
 
 So two of Philip's cables cracked 
 and gave way dfter a very brief strain, 
 and the poor fellow held by nothing 
 now but that wonderful European 
 Review established by the mysterious 
 Tregarvan. Actors, a people of su- 
 perstitions and traditions, opine that 
 Heaven, in some mysterious way, 
 makes managers for their benefit. In 
 like manner, Review proprietors are 
 sent to provide the pabulum for us 
 men of letters. With what compla- 
 cency did my wife listen to the some- 
 what long-winded and pompous ora- 
 tory of Tregarvan ! He pompous and ; 
 commonplace ? Tregarvan spoke 
 with excellent good sense. That i 
 wily woman never showed she was 
 tired of his conversation. She praised 
 him to Philip behind his back, and J 
 would not allow a word in his dispar- 
 agement. As a doctor will punch ; 
 your chest, your liver, your heart, j 
 listen at your lungs, squeeze your i 
 pulse, and what not, so this practi- 
 tioner studied, shampooed, ausculta- 1 
 ted Tregarvan. Of course he allowed 
 himself to be operated upon. Of 
 course he had no idea that the lady 
 \vas flattering, wheedling, humbug- 
 ging him ; but thought that he was 
 a, very well-informed, eloquent man, 
 
 who had seen and read a great deal, 
 and had an agreeable method of im- 
 parting his knowledge, and that the 
 lady in- question was a, sensible wo- 
 man, naturally eager for more infor- 
 mation. Go, Delilah ! I understand 
 your tricks ! I know many another 
 Omphale in London who will coax 
 Hercules away from his club to come 
 and listen to her wheedling talk. 
 
 One great difficulty we had was to 
 make Philip read Tregarvan'sown ar- 
 ticles in the Review. He at first said he 
 could not, or that he could not remem- 
 ber them ; so that there was no use in 
 reading them. And Philip's new mas- 
 ter used to make artful allusions to his 
 own writings in the course of conversa- 
 tion so that our unwary friend would 
 find himself under examination in any 
 casual interview with Tregarvan, 
 whose opinions on free-trade, malt- 
 tax, income-tax, designs of Russia, or 
 what not, might be accepted or 
 denied, but ought at least to be 
 known. We actually made Philip 
 get up his owner's articles. We put 
 questions to him, privily, regarding 
 them, "coached" him, according 
 to the university phrase. My wife 
 humbugged that wretched Member of 
 Parliament in a way which makes 
 me shudder, when I think of what 
 hypocrisy the sex is capable. Those 
 arts and dissimulations with which 
 she wheedles others, suppose she 
 exercise them on me ? Horrible 
 thought ! No, angel ! To others 
 thou mayest be a coaxing hypocrite ; 
 to me thou art all candor. Other men 
 may have been humbugged by other 
 women ; but I am not to be taken in 
 by that sort of thing; and thou art 
 all candor ! 
 
 We had then so much per annum 
 as editor. We were paid, besides, for 
 our articles. We had really a snug 
 little pension out of this Review, and 
 we prayed it might last forever. We 
 might write a novel. We might con- 
 tribute articles to a daily paper ; get 
 a little parliamentary practice as a 
 barrister. We actually did get Philip 
 into a railway case or two, and my
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 371 
 
 wife must be coaxing and hugging 
 solicitors' ladies, as she had wheedled 
 and coaxed Members of Parliament. 
 Why, I do believe my Delilah set up 
 a flirtation with old Bishop Crossticks 
 with an idea of getting her prote'ye a 
 living ; and though the lady indig- 
 nantly repudiates this charge, will she 
 be pleased to explain how the bishop's 
 sermons were so outrageously praised 
 jn the Review ? 
 
 Philip's roughness and frankness 
 /lid not displease Tregarvan, to the 
 wonder of us all, who trembled lest 
 he should lose this as he had lost his 
 former place. Tregarvan had more 
 country-houses than one, and at these 
 not only was the editor of the Review 
 made welcome, but the editor's wife 
 and children whom Tregarvan's wife 
 took into especial regard. In London 
 Lady Mary had assemblies where our 
 little friend Charlotte made her ap- 
 pearance ; and half a dozen times in 
 the course of the season the wealthy 
 Cornish gentleman feasted his retain- 
 ers of the Review. His wine was ex- 
 cellent and old ; his jokes were old, 
 too ; his table pompous, grave, plen- 
 tiful. If Philip was to eat the bread 
 of dependence, the loaf was here 
 very kindly prepared for him ; and 
 he ate it humbly, and with not too 
 much grumbling. This diet chokes 
 some proud stomachs and disagrees 
 with them ; but Philip was very hum- 
 ble now, and of a nature grateful for 
 kindness. He is one who requires 
 the help of friends, and can accept 
 benefits without losing independence, 
 not all men's gifts, but some men's, 
 whom he repays not only with coin, 
 but with an immense affection and 
 gratitude. How that man did laugh 
 at my witticisms ! How he wor- 
 shipped the ground on which my wife 
 walked ! He elected himself our 
 champion. He quarrelled with other 
 people, who found fault with our 
 characters, or would not see our per- 
 fections. There was something affect- 
 ing in the way in which this big man 
 took the humble place. We could do 
 no wrong in his eyes ; and woe betide 
 
 the man who spoke disparagingly of 
 us in his presence ! 
 
 One day, at his patron's table, 
 Philip exercised his valor and cham- 
 pionship in our behalf by defending 
 
 ! us against the evil-speaking of that 
 Mr. Trail, who has been mentioned 
 
 j before as a gentleman difficult to 
 please, and credulous of ill regarding 
 his neighbor. The talk happened to 
 fall upon the character of the reader's 
 most humble servant, and Trail, as 
 may be imagined, spared me no more 
 than the rest of mankind. Would 
 you like to be liked by all people ? 
 That would be a reason why Trail 
 should hate you. Were you an angel 
 fresh dropped from the skies, he would 
 espy dirt on your robe, and a black 
 feather or two in your wing. As for 
 me, I know I am not angelical at all ; 
 and in walking my native earth, can't 
 help a little mud on my trousers. 
 Well : Mr. Trail began to paint my 
 portrait, laying on those dark shad- 
 ows which that well-known master is 
 in the habit of employing. I was a 
 parasite of the nobility ; I was a heart- 
 less sycophant, house-breaker, drunk- 
 ard, murderer, returned convict, &c., 
 &c. With a little imagination, Mrs. 
 Candor can fill up the outline, and 
 arrange the colors so as to suit her 
 amiable fancy. 
 
 Philip had come late to dinner ; 
 of-this fault, I must confess, he is guil- 
 ty only too often. The company were 
 at table ; he took the only place va- 
 cant, and this happened to be at the 
 side of Mr. Trail. On Trail's other 
 side was a portly individual, of a heal- 
 thy and rosy countenance and volumi- 
 nous white waistcoat, to whom Trail 
 directed much of his amiable talk, and 
 whom he addressed once or twice as 
 Sir John. Once or twice already we 
 have seen how Philip has quarrelled 
 at table. He cried men culjta loudly 
 and honestly enough. He made vows 
 of reform in this particular. He suc- 
 ceeded, dearly beloved brethren, not 
 much worse or better than you and I 
 do, who confess our faults, and go on 
 promising to improve, and stumbling
 
 372 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 and picking ourselves tip every day. 
 The pavement of life is strewed with 
 orange-peel ; and who has not slipped 
 on the Hags 1 
 
 " He is the most conceited man in 
 London," Trail was going on, 
 " and one of the most worldly. He 
 will throw over a colonel to dine with 
 a general. He would n't throw over 
 you two baronets, he is a great deal 
 too shrewd a fellow for that. He 
 would n't give you up, perhaps, to dine 
 with a lord ; but any ordinary bar- 
 onet hy would." 
 
 " And why not us as well as the 
 rest ? " asks Tregarvan, who seemed 
 amused at the speaker's chatter. 
 
 " Because you are not like common 
 baronets at all. Because your estates 
 are a great deal too large. Because, 
 I suppose, you might either of you go 
 to the Upper House any day. Be- 
 cause, as an author, he may be sup- 
 posed to be afraid of a certain Re- 
 view," cries Trail, with a loud laugh. 
 
 " Trail is speaking of a friend of 
 yours," said the host, nodding and 
 smiling, to the new-comer. 
 
 " Very lucky for my friend," growls 
 Philip, and eats his soup in silence. 
 
 " By the way, that article of his on 
 Madame de Sevigne is poor stuff. 
 No knowledge of the period. Three 
 gross blunders in French. A man 
 can't write of French society unless 
 he has lived in French society. 
 What does Pendennis know of it? 
 A man who makes blunders like those 
 can't understand French. A man 
 who can't speak French can't get on 
 in French society. Therefore he 
 can't write about French society. All 
 these propositions are clear enough. 
 Thank you. Dry champagne, if you 
 
 ? lease. He is enormously overrated, 
 tell you ; and so is his wife. They 
 used to put her forward as a beauty : 
 and she is only a dowdy woman out 
 of a nursery. She has no style about 
 her." 
 
 " She is only one of the best women 
 in the world," Mr. Finnin called out, 
 turning very red ; and hereupon en- 
 tered into a defence of our characters, 
 
 and pronounced a eulogitim upon 
 both and each of us, in which I hope 
 there was some little truth. How- 
 ever, he spoke with great enthusiasm, 
 and Mr. Trail found himself in a 
 minority. 
 
 " You are right to stand up for 
 your friends, Firmin ! " cried the host. 
 " Let me introduce you to " 
 
 " Let me introduce myself," said 
 the gentleman on the other side of 
 Mr. Trail. " Mr. Firmin, you and I 
 are kinsmen, lam Sir John King- 
 wood." And Sir John reached a 
 hand to Philip across Trail's chair. 
 They talked a great deal together in 
 the course of the evening : and when 
 Mr. Trail found that the great county 
 gentleman was friendly and familiar 
 with Philip, and claimed a relation- 
 ship with him, bis manner towards 
 Firmin altered. He pronounced af- 
 terwards a warm eulogy upon Sir 
 John for his frankness and good-na- 
 ture in recognizing his unfortunate 
 relative, and charitably said, " Philip 
 might not be like the Doctor, and 
 could not help having a rogue for a 
 father." In former days, Trail had 
 eaten and drunken freely at that 
 rogue's table. But we must have 
 truth, you know, before all things : 
 and if your own brother has com- 
 mitted a sin, common justice requires 
 that you should stone him. 
 
 In former days, and not long after 
 Lord Ringwood's death, Philip had 
 left his card at this kinsman's door, 
 and Sir John's butler, driving in his 
 master's brougham, had left a card 
 upon Philip, who was not over well 
 pleased by this acknowledgment of 
 his civility, and, in fact, employed 
 abusive epithets when he spoke of the 
 transaction. But when the two gen- 
 tlemen actually met, their intercourse 
 was kindly and pleasant enough. 
 Sir John listened to his relative's frilk 
 and it appears, Philip comported 
 himself with his usual free and easy 
 manner with interest and curios- 
 ity ; and owned afterwards that evil 
 tmigui's had previously been busy 
 with the young man's character, and
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 373 
 
 that slander and untruth had been 
 spoken regarding him. In this re- 
 spect, if Philip is worse off than his 
 neighbors, I can only say his neigh- 
 bors are fortunate. 
 
 Two days after the meeting of the 
 cousins, the tranquillity of Tliorn- 
 haugh Street was disturbed by the 
 appearance of a magnificent yellow 
 chariot, with crests, hammer-cloths, a 
 bewigged coachman, and a powdered 
 footman. Betsy, the nurse, who was 
 going to take baby out for a walk, 
 encountered this giant on the thre*h- 
 old of Mrs. Brandon's door : and a 
 lady within the chariot delivered three 
 cards to the tall menial, who trans- 
 ferred them to Betsy. And Betsy 
 persisted in saying that the lady in 
 the carriage admired baby very much, 
 and asked its age, at which baby's 
 mamma was not in the least sur- 
 prised. In due course, an invitation 
 to dinner followed, and our friends 
 became acquainted with their kins- 
 folk. 
 
 If you have a good memory for 
 
 pedigrees and in my youthful time 
 every man de bonne mutson studied 
 genealogies, and had his English fam- 
 ilies in his memory you know that 
 this Sir John Ringwood, who suc- 
 ceeded to the principal portion of the 
 estates, but not to the titles of the 
 late Earl, was descended from a mu- 
 tual ancestor, a Sir John, whose elder 
 son was ennobled (temp. Geo. I.), 
 whilst the second son, following the 
 legal profession, became a judge, and 
 had a son, who became a baronet, and 
 who begat that present Sir John who 
 has just been shaking hands with 
 Philip across Trail's back.* Thus 
 the two men were cousins ; and in 
 right of the heiress, his poor mother, 
 Philip might quarter the Kingwood 
 arms on his carnage, whenever he 
 drove out. These, you know, are ar- 
 gent, a dexter sinople on a fesse wavy 
 of the first, or pick out, my dear 
 friend, any coat you like out of the 
 whole heraldic wardrobe, and accom- 
 modate it to our friend Firrnin. 
 When he was a young man at col- 
 
 * Copied, by permission of P. Firmin, Esq., from the Genealogical Tree in his possession. 
 
 Sir J. Ringwood, Bart., 
 
 of Wingate and Whipham. 
 
 b. 1649 ; ob. 1V25. 
 
 Sir J., Bart., 
 
 1st Baron Ringwood. 
 
 ob. 1770. 
 
 John, 2d Baron, 
 
 created Earl of Ringwood 
 
 and Visct. Cinqbars. 
 
 Charles, Visct. Cinqbars 
 b. 1802 ; ob. 1824. 
 
 Maria, 
 b. 1801, 
 
 m* Talbot Twysden, 
 and had issue. 
 
 Philip, 
 
 a Colonel in the Army, 
 ob. 1803. 
 
 Louisa, 
 
 b. 1802, 
 
 Q. B. Firmin, Esq., M. D. 
 
 PHILIP, h. 1825, 
 
 subject of the 
 present Memoir. 
 
 Sir Philip, Knt., 
 Baron of the Exchequer 
 
 Sir John, Bart., 
 of the Hays. 
 
 Sir John of the Hays, 
 
 and now of 
 
 Wingate and Whipham, 
 has issue. 
 
 Oliver, Philip, 
 
 Hampden, Franklin, 
 
 and daughters.
 
 374 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 lege, Philip had dabbled a little in 
 this queer science of heraldry, and 
 used to try and believe the legends 
 about his ancestry, which his fond 
 mother imparted to him. He had a 
 great book-plate made for himself, 
 with a prodigious number of quarter- 
 ings, and could recite the alliances by 
 which such and such a quartering 
 came into his shield. His father 
 rather confirmed these histories, and 
 spoke of them and of his wife's noble 
 family with much respect : and Phil- 
 ip, artlessly whispering to a vulgar j 
 boy at school that he was descended 
 from King John, was thrashed very 
 unkindly by the vulgar upper boy, 
 and nicknamed King John for many 
 a long day after. I dare say many 
 other gentlemen who profess to trace 
 their descent from ancient kings have 
 no better or worse authority for their 
 pedigree than friend Philip. 
 
 When our friend paid his second 
 visit to Sir John Ringwood, he was 
 introduced to his kinsman's library; 
 a great family-tree hung over the 
 mantel-piece, surrounded by a whole 
 gallery of defunct Ringwoods, of 
 whom the Baronet was now the rep- 
 resentative. He quoted to Philip the 
 hackneyed old Ovidian lines (some 
 score of years ago a great deal of that 
 old coin was current in conversation). 
 As for family, he said, and ancestors, 
 and what we have not done ourselves, 
 these things we can hardly call ours. 
 Sir John gave Philip to understand 
 that he was a stanch Liberal. Sir 
 John was for going with the age. Sir 
 John ha I fired :i shot from the Paris 
 barricades. Sir John was for the 
 rights of man everywhere all over 
 the world. He had pictures of Frank- 
 lin, Lafayette, Washington, and the 
 first Consul Buonaparte, on his walls 
 along with his ancestors. He had 
 lithograph copies of Magna Charta, 
 the Declaration of American Inde- 
 pendence, and the Signatures to the 
 Death of Charles I. He did not 
 scruple to own his preference for re- 
 publican institutions. He wished to 
 know what right had any man the 
 
 late Lord Ringwood, for example 
 to sit in a hereditary House of Peers 
 and legislate over him? That lord 
 had had a son, Cinqbars, who died 
 many years before, a victim of his 
 own follies and debaucheries. Had 
 Lord Cinqbars survived his father, he 
 would now be sitting an earl in the 
 House of Peers, the most ignorant 
 young man, the most unprincipled 
 young man, reckless, dissolute, of 
 the feeblest intellect, and the worst 
 life. Well, had he lived and inher- 
 ited the Ringwood property, that 
 creature would have been an earl : 
 whereas he, Sir John, his superior in 
 morals, in character, in intellect, his 
 equal in point of birth (for had they 
 not both a common ancestor ? ) was 
 Sir John still. The inequalities in 
 men's chances in life were monstrous 
 and ridiculous. He was determined, 
 henceforth, to look at a man for him- 
 self alone, and not esteem him for 
 any of the absurd caprices of fortune. 
 As the republican was talking to 
 his relative, a servant came into the 
 room and whispered to his master 
 that the plumber had come with his 
 bill as by appointment ; upon which 
 Sir John rose up in a fury, asked the 
 servant how he dared to disturb him, 
 and bade him tell the plumber to go 
 to the lowest depths of Tartarus. 
 Nothing could equal the insolence and 
 rapacity of tradesmen, he said, except 
 the insolence and idleness of servants ; 
 and he called this one back, and asked 
 him how he dared to leave the fire in 
 that state ? stormed and raged at 
 him with a volubility which aston- 
 ished his new acquaintance ; and, the 
 man being gone, resumed his pre- 
 vious subject of conversation, viz. 
 natural equality and the outrageous 
 injustice of the present social system. 
 After talking for half an hour, during 
 which Philip found that he himself 
 could hardly find an opportunity of 
 uttering a word, Sir John took out 
 his watch, and got up from his chair ; 
 at which hint Philip too rose, not 
 sorry to bring the interview to an 
 end. And herewith Sir John accom-
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 375 
 
 panied his kinsman into the hall, and 
 to the street door, before which the 
 Baronet's groom was riding, leading 
 his master's horse. And Philip heard 
 the Baronet using violent language 
 to the groom as he had done to the 
 servant within doors. Why, the army 
 in Flanders did not swear more terri- 
 bly than this admirer of republican 
 institutions and advocate of the rights 
 of man. 
 
 Philip was not allowed to go away 
 without appointing a day when he j 
 and his wife would partake of their J 
 kinsman's hospitality. On this occa- 
 sion, Mrs. Philip comported herself 
 with so much grace and simplicity, 
 that Sir John and Lady Ringwood 
 pronounced her to be a very pleasing 
 and ladylike person ; and I dare say 
 wondered how a person in her rank of 
 life could have acquired manners that 
 were so refined and agreeable. Lady 
 llingwood asked after the child which 
 she had seen, praised its beauty ; of 
 course, won the mother's heart, and 
 thereby caused her to speak with per- 
 haps more freedom than she would 
 otherwise have felt at a first interview. 
 
 Mrs. Philip has a dainty touch on j 
 the piano, and a sweet singing voice 
 that is charmingly true and neat. 
 She performed after dinner some of 1 
 the songs of her little re/wloire, and ' 
 pleased her audience. Lady Ring- 
 wood loved good music, and was her- 
 self a fine performer of the ancient 
 school, when she played Haydn and I 
 MozHrt under the tuition of good old 
 Sir George Thrum. The tall and 
 handsome beneficed clergyman who | 
 acted as niitjor-domo of Sir John's j 
 establishment placed a parcel in the 
 carriage when Mr. and Mrs. Philip 
 took their leave, and announced with 
 much respectful deference that the cab 
 was paid. Our friends no doubt 
 would have preferred to dispense with 
 this ceremony ; but it is ill looking 
 even a gift cab-horse in the mouth, 
 and so Philip was a gainer of some 
 two shillings by his kinsman's liber- 
 ality. 
 
 When Charlotte came to open the 
 
 parcel which major-domo, with hi 
 lady's compliments, had placed in the 
 cab, I fear she did not exhibit that 
 elation which we ought to feel for the 
 favors of our friends. A couple of 
 little frocks, of the cut of George IV., 
 some little red shoes of the same 
 period, some crumpled sashes, and 
 other small articles of wearing-ap- 
 parel, by her Ladyship's order by her 
 Ladyship's lady's-maid ; and Lady 
 Ringwood, kissing Charlotte at her 
 departure, told her that she had 
 caused this little packet to be put 
 away for her. " H 'm," says Philip, 
 only half pleased. " Suppose Sir 
 John had told his butler to put up 
 one of his blue coats and brass but- 
 tons for me, as well as pay the cab ? " 
 
 " If it was meant in kindness, 
 Philip, we must not be angry, "plead- 
 ed Philip's wife ; " and I am sure if 
 you had heard her and the Miss Ring- 
 woods speak of baby, you would like 
 them, as I intend to do." 
 
 But Mrs. Philip never put those 
 mouldy old red shoes upon baby ; and 
 as for the little frocks, children's frocks 
 are made so much fuller now that 
 Lady Ringwood's presents did not 
 answer at all. Charlotte managed to 
 furbish up a sash, and a pair of 
 epaulets for her child, epaulets are 
 they called 1 Shoulder-knots, what 
 you will, ladies; and with these orna- 
 ments Miss Firmin was presented to 
 Lady Ringwood and some of her 
 family. 
 
 The good-will of these new-found 
 relatives of Philip's was laborious, 
 was evident, and yet I must say was 
 not altogether agreeable. At the 
 first period of their intercourse Cor 
 this, too, I am sorry to say, came to 
 an end, or presently suffered inter- 
 ruption tokens of' affection in the 
 shape of farm produce, country but- 
 ter and poultry, and actual butcher's 
 meat, came from Berkeley Square to 
 Thornhaugh Street. The Duke of 
 Double-glo'ster I know is much rich- 
 er than you are ; but if he were to 
 offer to make you a present of half a 
 crown, I doubt whether you would be
 
 376 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 quite pleased. And so with Philip j 
 and his relatives. A hamper brought ' 
 in the brougham, containing hot- 
 house grapes and country butter, is 
 very well, but a leg of mutton I own 
 was a gift that was rather tough to 
 swallow. It was tough. That point we 
 ascertained and established amongst 
 roars of laughter one day when we 
 dined with our friends. Did Lady 
 Ringwood send a sack of turnips in 
 the brougham too? la a word, we 
 ate Sir John's mutton, and we laugh- 
 ed at him, and be sure many a man 
 has done the same by you and me. 
 List Friday, for instance, as Jon,;s 
 anJ Brown go away after dining with 
 your humble servant. " Did you 
 ever see such profusion and extrava- 
 gance ? " asks Brown. " Profusion 
 and extravagance ! " cries Jones, that 
 well-known epicure. " I never saw 
 anything so shabby in my life. 
 What does the fellow mean by asking 
 me to such a dinner ? " " True," 
 says the other, " it was an abomina- 
 hle dinner, Jones, as you justly say ; 
 but it was very profuse in him to give 
 it. Don't you see ? " and so both 
 our good friends are agreed. 
 
 Ere many days were over the great 
 yellow chariot and its powdered at- 
 tendants again made their appearance 
 before Mrs. Brandon's modest door in 
 Thornhaugh Street, and Lady Ring- 
 wood and two daughters descended 
 from the carriage and made their way 
 to Mr. Philip's apartments in the 
 second floor, just as that worthy gen- 
 tleman wns sitting down to dinner 
 with his wife. Lady Ringwood, bent 
 upon being gracious, was in ecstasies 
 with everything she saw a clean 
 house, a nice little maid, pretty 
 picturesque rooms, odd rooms, 
 and what charming pictures ! Sever- 
 al of these were the work of the fond 
 pencil of poor J. J., who, as has been 
 told, had painted Philip's beard and 
 Charlotte's eyebrow, and Charlotte's 
 baby a thousand and a thousand 
 times. " May we come in ? Are we 
 disturbing you ? What dear little 
 bits of china ! What a beautiful 
 
 mug, Mr. Firmin ! " This was poor 
 J. J.'s present to his goddaughter. 
 " How nice the luncheon looks ! 
 Dinner, is it ? How pleasant to dine 
 at this hour ! " The ladies were de- 
 termined to be charmed with every- 
 thing round about them. 
 
 " We are dining on your poultry. 
 May we offer some to you and Miss 
 Ringwood," says the master of the 
 house. 
 
 " Why don't you dine in the din- 
 ing-room? Why do you dine in a 
 bedroom ? " asks Franklin Ringwood, 
 the interesting young son of the Baron 
 of Ringwood. 
 
 " Somebody else lives in the par- 
 lor," says Mrs. Philip. On which the 
 boy remarks, " We have two dining- 
 rooms in Berkeley Square. I mean 
 for us, besides papa's study, which 
 I mustn't go into. And the ser- 
 vants have two dining-rooms and " 
 
 " Hush ! " here cries mamma, with 
 the usual remark regarding the beauty 
 of silence in little boys. 
 
 But Franklin persists in spite of 
 the " Hushes ! " " And so we have at 
 Ringwood; and at Whipham there's 
 ever so many dining-rooms, ever so 
 many, and I like Whipham a great 
 deal better than Ringwood, because 
 my pony is at Whipham. You have 
 not got a pony. You are too poor." 
 
 " Franklin ! " 
 
 " You said he was too poor ; and 
 you would not have had chickens 
 if we had not given them to you. 
 Mamma, you know you said they 
 were very poor, and would like them." 
 
 And liere mamma looked red, and 
 I dare say Philip's cheeks and ears 
 tingled, and for once Mrs. Philip was 
 thankful at hearing her baby cry, for 
 it gave her a pretext for leaving the 
 room ami flying to thenursery whither 
 the other two ladies accompanied her. 
 
 " Meanwhile Master Franklin went 
 on with his artless conversation, 
 " Mr. Philip, why do they say you 
 are wicked ? You do not look wick- 
 ed ; and I am sure Mrs. Philip docs 
 not look wicked, she looks very 
 good."
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 377 
 
 " Who says I am wicked ' " asks 
 Mr. Firmin of his candid young rel- 
 ative. 
 
 " O, ever so many ! Cousin King- 
 wood says so ; and Blanche says so ; 
 and Woolcomb says so ; only I don't 
 !ike him, he 's so very brown. And 
 when they heard you had been to din- 
 ner, ' Has that beast been here '? ' 
 Ringwood says. And I don't like 
 him a bit. But I like you, at least I 
 think I do. You only have oranges 
 for dessert. We always have lots of 
 things for dessert at home. You don't, 
 1 suppose, because you 've got no 
 money, only a very little." 
 
 "Well: 1 have got only a very 
 little," says Philip. 
 
 " 1 have some, ever so much. 
 And I '11 buy something for your wife ; 
 and 1 shall like to have you better at 
 home than Blanche, and Ringwood, 
 and that Woolcomb ; and they never 
 give me anything. You can't, you 
 know ; because you are so very poor, 
 vou are ; but we '11 often send you 
 things, I dare say. And I '11 have 
 an orange, please, thank you. And 
 there 's a chap at our school, and his 
 name is- Suckling, and he ate eighteen 
 oranges, and would n't give one away 
 to anybody. Was n't he a greedy 
 pig ? And I have wine with my 
 oranges, I do : a glass of wine, 
 thank you. That's jolly. But you 
 don't have it often, I suppose, because 
 you 're so very poor." 
 
 I am glad Philip's infant could not 
 understand, being yet of too tender 
 age, the compliments which Lady 
 Kingwood and her daughter passed 
 upon her. As it was, the compli- 
 ments charmed the mother, for whom 
 indeed they were intended, and did 
 not inflame the unconscious baby's 
 vanity. 
 
 What would the polite mamma and 
 sister have said, if they had heard 
 that unlucky Franklin's prattle ? The 
 boy's simplicity amused his tall cous- 
 in. " Yes," says Philip, " we are very 
 poor, but we are very happy, and don't 
 mind, that 's the truth." 
 
 " Mademoiselle, that 's the German 
 
 governess, said she wondered how yon 
 could live at all ; and I don't think 
 you could if you ate as much as she 
 did. You should see her eat; she is 
 such a oner at eating. Fred, my broth- 
 er, that's the one who is at college, 
 one day tried to see how Mademoiselle 
 Walltisch could eat, and she had twice 
 of soup, and then she said sii-opluy ; 
 and then twice of fish, and she said siro- 
 ]>/ay for more ; and then she had roast 
 mutton, no, I think, roast beef it 
 was ; and she eats the peas with her 
 knii'e ; and then she had raspberry- 
 jam pudding, and ever so much beer, 
 and then ' But what came then 
 we never shall know; because while 
 young Franklin was choking with 
 laughter (accompanied with a large 
 piece of orange) at the ridiculous rec- 
 ollection of Miss Wallfisch's appetite, 
 his mamma and sister came down 
 stairs from Charlotte's nursery, and 
 brought the dear boy's conversation 
 to an end. The ladies chose to go 
 home, delighted with Philip, baby, 
 Charlotte. Everything was so proper. 
 Everything was so nice. Mrs. Fir- 
 min was so ladylike. The fine ladies 
 watched her, and her behavior, with 
 that curiosity which the Brobdingnag 
 ladies displayed when they held up 
 little Gulliver on their palms, and saw 
 him bow, smile, dance, draw his sword, 
 and take off his hat, just like a man. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 IN WHICH THE DRAWING-ROOMS 
 ARE NOT FURNISHED AFTER ALL. 
 
 WE cannot expect to be loved by 
 a relative whom we have knocked 
 into an illuminated pond, and whose 
 coat-tails, pantaloons, nether limbs, 
 and test feelings we have lacerated 
 with ill treatment and broken glass. 
 A man whom you have so treated 
 behind his back will not be sparing 
 of his punishment behind yours. Of 
 course all the Twysdens, male and 
 female, and Woolcomb, the dusky
 
 378 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 husband of Philip's former love, hated 
 and feared, and maligned him ; and 
 were in the habit of speaking of him 
 as a truculent and reckless savage and 
 monster, coarse and brutal in his 
 language and behavior, ragged, dirty 
 and reckless in his personal appear- 
 ance ; reeking with smoke, perpetual- 
 ly reeling in drink, indulging in 
 oaths, actions, laughter which ren- 
 dered him intolerable in civilized so- 
 ciety. The Twysdens, during Phil- 
 ip's absence abroad, had been very 
 respectful and assiduous in courting 
 the new head of the Ringwood family. 
 They had nattered Sir John, and 
 paid court to my Lady. They had 
 been welcomed a"t Sir "John's houses 
 in town and country. They had 
 adopted his politics in a great meas- 
 ure, as they had adopted the politics 
 of the deceased peer. They had 
 never lost an opportunity of abusing 
 poor Philip and of ingratiating them- 
 selves. They had never refused any 
 invitation from Sir John in town or 
 country, and had ended by utterly 
 boring him and Lady Ringwood and 
 the Ringwood family in general. 
 Lady Ringwood learned somewhere 
 how pitilessly Mrs. Woolcomb had 
 jilted her cousin when a richer suitor 
 appeared in the person of the VVest- 
 Indian. Then news came how Phil- 
 ip had administered a beating to 
 Woolcomb, to young Twysden, to a 
 dozen who set on him. The early 
 prejudices began to pass away. A 
 friend or two of Philip's told Ring- 
 wood how he was mistaken in the 
 young man, and painted a portrait 
 of him in colors much more favorable 
 than those which his kinsfolk em- 
 ployed. Indeed, dear relations, if the 
 public wants to know our little faults 
 and errors, I think I know who will 
 not grudge the requisite information. 
 Dear aunt Candor, are you not still 
 alive, and don't you know what we 
 had for dinner yesterday, and the 
 amount (monstrous extravagance!) 
 of the washerwoman's bill '? 
 
 Well, the Twysden family so be- 
 pattered poor Philip with abuse, and 
 
 represented him as a monster of such 
 hideous mien, that no wonder the 
 Ringwoods avoided him. They then 
 began to grow utterly sick and tired 
 of his detractors. And then Sir John, 
 happening to talk with his brother 
 Member of Parliament, Tregarvan, 
 in the House of Commons, heard quite 
 a different story regarding our friend 
 to that with which the Twysdens had 
 regaled him, and, with no little sur- 
 prise on Sir John's part, was told 
 by Tregarvan how honest, rough, 
 worthy, affectionate, and gentle this 
 poor maligned fellow was, how he 
 had been sinned against by his wretch 
 of a father, whom he had forgiven 
 and actually helped out of his wretch- 
 ed means, and how he was making a 
 brave battle against poverty, and had 
 a sweet little loving wife and child, 
 whom every kind heart would willing- 
 ly strive to help. Because people are 
 rich they are not of necessity ogres. 
 Because they are born gentlemen and 
 ladies of good degree, are in easy cir- 
 cumstances, and have a generous edu- 
 cation, it does not follow that they 
 are heartless and will turn their back 
 on a friend. Moi qui votis parle, I 
 have been in a great strait of sickness 
 near to death, and the friends who 
 came to help me with every comfort, 
 succor, sympathy, were actually gen- 
 tlemen, who lived in good houses, and 
 had a good education. They didn't 
 turn away because I was sick, or fly 
 from me because they thought I was 
 poor ; on the contrary, hand, purse, 
 succor, sympathy were ready, and 
 praise be to Heaven. And so too did 
 Philip find help when he needed it, 
 and succor when he was in poverty. 
 Tregarvan, we will own, was a pom- 
 pous little man, his House of Com- 
 mons speeches were dull, and his 
 written documents awfully slow ; but 
 he had a kind heart : he was touched 
 by that picture which Laura drew of 
 the young man's poverty, and hon- 
 esty, and simple hopefulness in the 
 midst of hard times : and we have 
 seen how the European Review was 
 thus intrusted to Mr. Philip's man-
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 379 
 
 agement. Then some artful friends 
 of Philip's determined that he should 
 be reconciled to his relations, who 
 were well to do in the world, and 
 might serve him. And I wish, dear 
 reader, that your respectable relatives 
 and mine would bear this little para- 
 graph in mind and leave us both 
 handsome legacies. Then Tregarvan 
 spoke to Sir John Ringwood, and that 
 meeting was brought about, where, 
 for once at least, Mr. Philip quarrelled 
 with nobody. 
 
 And now came another little piece 
 of good luck, which, I suppose, must 
 be attributed to the same kind friend 
 who had been scheming for Philip's 
 benefit, and who is never so happy as 
 when her little plots for her friends' 
 benefit can be made to succeed. Yes : 
 when that arch-jobber don't tell 
 me ; I never knew a woman worth 
 a pin who was n't when that arch- 
 jobber, I say, has achieved a job by 
 which some friend is made happy, her 
 eyes and cheeks brighten with tri- 
 umph. Whether she has put a sick 
 man into a hospital, or got a poor 
 woman a family's washing, or made 
 a sinner repent and return to wife, 
 husband, or what not, that woman 
 goes off and pays her thanks, where 
 thanks are due, with such fervor, 
 with such lightsomeness, with such 
 happiness, that I assure you she is a 
 sight to behold. Hush ! When one 
 sinner is saved, who are glad 1 Some 
 of us know a woman or two pure as 
 angels, know, and are thankful. 
 
 When the person about whom I 
 have been prattling has one of her be- 
 nevolent jobs in hand, or has com- 
 pleted it, there is a sort of triumph 
 and mischief in her manner, which I 
 don't know otherwise how to describe. 
 She does not understand my best 
 jokes at this period, or answers them 
 at random, or laughs very absurdly 
 and vacantly. She embraces her chil- 
 dren wildly" and, at the most absurd 
 moments, is utterly unmindful when 
 they are saying their lessons, prattling 
 their little questions and so forth. I 
 recall all these symptoms (and put 
 
 this and that together, as the saying 
 is) as happening on one especial day, 
 at the commencement of Easter Term, 
 eighteen hundred and never mind 
 what, as happening on one especial 
 morning when this lady had been as- 
 toundingly distraite and curiously ex- 
 cited. I now remember, how during 
 her children's dinner-time, she sat 
 looking into the square out of her 
 window, and scarcely attending to 
 the little innocent cries for mutton 
 which the children were offering up. 
 
 At last there was a rapid clank 
 over the pavement, a tall figure passed 
 the parlor windows, which our kind 
 friends know look into Queen Square, 
 and then came a loud ring at the bell, 
 and I thought the mistress of the 
 house gave an ah a sigh as 
 though her heart was relieved. 
 
 The street door was presently 
 opened, and then the dining-room 
 door, and Philip walks in with his 
 hat on, his blue eyes staring before 
 him, his hair flaming about, and " La, 
 Uncle Philip ! " cry the children. 
 " What have you done to yourself 1 
 You have shaved off your mustache." 
 Anil so he had, I dec-Lire ! 
 
 " I say, Pen, look here ! This has 
 been left at chambers; and Cassidy 
 has sent it on by his clerk," our friend 
 said. I forget whether it has been 
 stated that Philip's name still re- 
 mained on the door of those chambers 
 in Parchment Buildings, where we 
 once heard his song of " Doctor Lu- 
 ther," and were present at his call- 
 supper. 
 
 The document which Philip pro- 
 duced was actually a brief. The pa- 
 pers were superscribed, " In Parlia- 
 ment, Polwheedle and Tredyddlum 
 Railway. To support bill, Mr. Fir- 
 min ; retainer, five guineas ; brief, 
 fifty guineas ; consultation, five guin- 
 eas. With you Mr. Armstrong, 
 Sir J. Whitworth, Mr. Pinkerton." 
 Here was a wonder of wonders ! A 
 shower of gold was poured out on my 
 friend. A light dawned upon me. 
 The proposed bill was for a Cornish 
 line. Our friend Tregarvan was con-
 
 380 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 cerned in it, the line passing through 
 his property, and my wife had can- 
 vassed him privately, and by her 
 wheedling and blandishments had 
 persuaded Tregarvan to use his inter- 
 est with the agents and get Philip this 
 welcome aid. 
 
 Philip eyed the paper with a queer 
 expression. He handled it as some 
 men handle a baby. He looked as if 
 he did not know what to do with it, 
 and as if he should like to drop it. I 
 believe I made some satirical remark 
 to this effect as I looked. at our friend 
 with his paper. 
 
 " He holds a child beautifully," said 
 my wife with much enthusiasm, 
 ' much better than some people who 
 laugh at him." 
 
 " And he will hold this no doubt 
 much to his credit. May this be the 
 father of man v briefs. Mav you have 
 bags full cf them ! " Philip had all 
 our good wishes. They did not cost 
 much, or avail much, but they were 
 sinc-ere. I know men who can't for 
 the lives of them give even that cheap 
 coin of good-will, but hate their neigh- 
 bors' prosperity, and are angry with 
 them when they cease to be dependent 
 and poor. 
 
 We have said how Cassidy's aston- 
 ished clerk had brought the relief 
 from chambers to Firmin at his lodg- 
 ings at Mrs. Brandon's in Thorn- 
 haugh Street. Had a bailiff served 
 him with a writ, Philip could not 
 have been more surprised, or in a 
 greater tremor. A brief? Grands 
 Dieux ! What was he to do with a 
 brief? He thought of going to bed, 
 and being ill, or flying from home, 
 country, family. Brief? Charlotte, 
 of course, seeing her husband alarmed, 
 lieiian to quake too. Indeed, if his 
 "Worship's tinker aches, does not her 
 whole body suffer ? But Charlotte's 
 and Philip's constant friend, the Lit- 
 tle Sister, felt no such fear. "Now 
 there 's this opening, you must take 
 it, my dear," she said. " Suppose 
 you don't know much about law " 
 " Much ! nothing," interposed Philip. 
 " You might ask me to play the 
 
 piano ; but as I never happened to 
 have learned " 
 
 " La, don't tell me ! You must 
 n't show a faint heart. Take the 
 business, and do it best you can. 
 You '11 do it better next time, and 
 | next. The Bar 's a gentleman's 
 I business. Don't I attend a judge's 
 j-lady, which I remember her with her 
 ' first in a little bit of a house in Ber- 
 nard Street, Russell Square ; and now 
 have n't I been to her in Eaton 
 Square, with a butler and two foot- 
 men, and carriages ever so many ? 
 I You may work on at your newspa- 
 ; pers, and get a crust, and when 
 ' you 're old, and if you quarrel, 
 and you have a knack of quarrelling, 
 he has, Mrs. Firmin. I knew him 
 before you did. Quarrelsome he is, 
 and he "will be, though you think him 
 an angel, to be sure. Suppose you 
 quarrel with your newspaper masters, 
 and your reviews, and that you lose 
 your place ? A gentleman like Mr. 
 Philip ought n't to have a master. I 
 could n't bear to think of your going 
 down of a Saturday to the publish- 
 ing office to get your wages like a 
 workman." 
 
 " But / am a workman," interposes 
 Philip. 
 
 " La ! But do yon mean to remain 
 
 one forever ? I would rise, if I was 
 
 a man ! " said the intrepid little 
 
 woman ; " I would rise, or I 'd know 
 
 | the reason why. Who knows how 
 
 j many in family you 're going to be ? 
 
 I 'd have more spirit than to live in a 
 
 second floor, I would ! " 
 
 And the Little Sister .said this, 
 
 though she clung round Philip's child 
 
 ; with a rapture of fondness which she 
 
 i tried in vain to conceal ; though she 
 
 j felt that to part from it would be to 
 
 ' part from her life's chief happiness ; 
 
 though she loved Philip as her own 
 
 j son : and Charlotte well, Charlotte 
 
 for Philip's sake as women love 
 
 other women. 
 
 Charlotte came to her friends in 
 Queen Square, and told us of the 
 resolute Little Sister's advice and con- 
 versation. She knew that Mrs. Bran-
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 381 
 
 don only loved her as something be- 
 longing to 1'hilip. She admired this 
 Little Sister ; and trusted her ; and 
 could afford to bear that little some- 
 what scornful domination which 
 Brandon exercised. " she does not 
 love me, because Philip does," Char- 
 lotte said. " Do you think I could 
 like her, or any woman, it' I thought 
 Philip loved them ? I could kill 
 them, Laura, that I could ! " And 
 at this sentiment I imagine dag- 
 gers shooting out of a pair of eyes 
 that were ordinarily very gentle and 
 bright. 
 
 Not having been engaged in the 
 case in which Philip had the honor 
 of rirst appearing, I cannot enter into 
 particulars regarding it, but am sure 
 that case must have been uncommon- 
 ly strong in itself which could sur- 
 vive such an advocate. He passed a 
 frightful night of torture before ap- 
 pearing in committee-room. During 
 that night, he says, his hair grew 
 gray. His old college friend and 
 comrade Pinkerton, who was with 
 him in the case, " coached " him on 
 the day previous ; and indeed it must 
 be owned that the work which he had 
 to perform was not of a nature to im- 
 pair the inside or the outside of his 
 skull. A great man was his leader ; 
 his friend Pinkerton followed ; and 
 all Mr. Philip's business was to ex- 
 amine a half-dozen witnesses by ques- 
 tions previously arranged between 
 them and the agents. 
 
 When you hear that, as a reward 
 of his services in this case, Mr. Fir- 
 min received a sum of money suffi- 
 cient to pay his modest family ex- 
 penses for some four months, I am 
 sure, dear and respected literary 
 friends, that you will wish the lot of 
 a parliamentary barrister had been 
 yours, or that your immortal works 
 could be paid with such a liberality 
 as rewards the labors of these law- 
 yers. " JV'n WT erschfinfn die Go/ter 
 attein." After one agent had em- 
 ployed Philip, another came and se- 
 cured his valuable services : him two 
 or three others followed, and our 
 
 friend positively had money in bank. 
 Mot only were apprehensions of pov- 
 erty removed for the present, but we 
 had every reason to hope that Fir- 
 min's prosperity would increase and 
 continue. And when a little son and 
 heir was born, which blessing was 
 conferred upon Mr. Philip about a 
 year after his daughter, our godchild, 
 saw the light, we should have thought 
 it shame to have any misgivings about 
 the future, so cheerful did Philip's 
 prospects appear. " Did 1 not tell 
 you, ' said my wife, with her usual 
 kindling romance, " that comfort and 
 succor would be found for these in 
 the hour of their need 1 " Amen. 
 We were grateful that comfort and 
 succor should come. No one, I am 
 sure, was more humbly thankful than 
 Philip himself for the fortunate 
 chances which befell him. 
 
 He was alarmed rather than elated 
 by his sudden prosperity. " It can't 
 last," he said. " Don't tell me. 
 The attorneys must find me out be- 
 fore long. They cannot continue to 
 give their business to such an igno- 
 ramus : and I really think I must re- 
 monstrate with them." You should 
 have seen the Little Sister's indigna- 
 tion when Philip uttered this senti- 
 ment in her presence. " Give up 
 your business ? Yes, do ! " she cried, 
 tossing up Philip's youngest lorn. 
 " Fling this baby out of window, 
 why not indeed, which Heaven has 
 sent it you ! You ought to go down 
 on your knees and ask pardon for 
 having thought anything so wicked." 
 Philip's heir, by the way, immediate- 
 ly on his entrance to the world, had 
 become the prime favorite of this mi- 
 reasoning woman. The little daugh- 
 ter was passed over as a little person 
 of no account, and so began to enter- 
 tain the passion of jealousy at almost 
 the very earliest age at which even 
 the female breast is capable of enjoy- 
 ing it. 
 
 And though this Little Sister 
 loved all these people with an almost 
 ferocious passion of love, and lay 
 awake, I believe, hearing their in fan-
 
 382 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 tine cries, or crept on stealthy feet in 
 darkness to their mother's chamber 
 door, behind which they lay sleeping ; 
 though she had, as it were, a rage for 
 these infants, and was wretched out 
 of their sight, yet, when a third and 
 a fourth brief came to Philip, and he 
 was enabled to put a little money 
 aside, nothing would content Mrs. 
 Brandon but that he should go into a 
 house of his own. "A gentleman," 
 she said, " ought not to live in a two- 
 pair lodging ; he ought to have a 
 house of his own." So, you see, she 
 hastened on the preparations for her 
 own execution. She trudged to the 
 brokers' shops and made wonderful 
 bargains of furniture. She cut 
 chintzes, and covered sofas, and sewed, 
 and patched, and fitted. She found 
 a house and took it, Milman Street, I 
 Guildford Street, opposite the Fond- j 
 ling (as the dear little soul called j 
 it), a most genteel, quiet little street,' I 
 " and quite near for me to come," she j 
 said, " to see my dears." Did she : 
 speak with dry eyes ? Mine moisten 
 sometimes when I think of the faith, ] 
 of the generosity, of the sacrifice, of 
 that devoted loving creature. 
 
 I am very fond of Charlotte. Her 
 sweetness and simplicity won all our 
 hearts at home. No wife or mother 
 ever was more attached and affec- 
 tionate ; but I own there was a time 
 when I hated her, though of course 
 that highly principled woman, the 
 wife of the author of the present me- 
 moirs, says that the statement I am 
 making here is stuff and nonsense, 
 not to say immoral and irreligious. 
 Well, then, I hated Charlotte for the 
 horrible eagerness which she showed 
 in getting away from this Little 
 Sister, who clung round those chil- 
 dren, whose first cries she had heard. 
 I hated Charlotte for a cruel happiness 
 which she felt as she hugged the 
 children to her heart : her own chil- 
 dren in their own room, whom she 
 would dress, and watch, and wash, 
 and tend ; and for whom she wanted 
 no aid. No aid, entendcz-vous ? O, 
 it was a shame, a shame ! In the 
 
 new house, in the pleasant little trim 
 new nursery (fitted up by whose fond 
 hands we will not say), is the mother 
 glaring over the cot, where the little, 
 soft, round cheeks are pillowed ; and 
 yonder in the rooms in Thornhaugh 
 Street, where she has tended them for 
 two years, the Little Sister sits lone- 
 ly, as the moonlight streams in. God 
 help thee, little suffering faithful 
 heart ! Never but once in her life 
 before had she known so exquisite a 
 pain. 
 
 Of course, we had an entertainment 
 in the new house ; and Philip's 
 friends, old and new, came to tlie 
 house-warming. The family coach 
 of the Ringwoods blocked up that 
 astonished little street. The powdur 
 on their footmen's heads nearly 
 brushed the ceiling, as the monsters 
 rose when the guests passed in and 
 out of the hall. The Little Sister 
 merely took charge of the tea-room. 
 Philip's " library " was that usual 
 little cupboard beyond the dining- 
 room. The little drawing-room was 
 dreadfully crowded by an ex-nursery 
 piano, which the Ringwoods bestowed 
 upon their friends ; and somebody was 
 in duty bound to play upon it on the 
 evening of this soir&e: though the 
 Little Sister chafed down stairs at the 
 music. In fact her very words were 
 " Rat that piano ! " She " ratted " 
 the instrument, because the music 
 would wake her little dears up stairs. 
 And that music did wake them ; and 
 they howled melodiously, and the 
 Little Sister, who was about to serve 
 Lady Jane Tregarvan with some tea, 
 dashed up stairs to the nursery : and 
 Charlotte had reached the room 
 already : and she looked angry when 
 the Little Sister came in : and she 
 said, " I am sure, Mrs. Brandon, the 
 people down stairs will be wanting 
 their tea " ; and she spoke with some 
 asperity. And Mrs. Brandon went 
 down stairs without one word ; and, 
 happening to be on the landing, con 
 versing with a friend, and a little out 
 of the way of the duet which the 
 Miss Ringwoods were performing,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 383 
 
 riding their great old horse, as it 
 were, and putting it through its paces 
 in Mrs. Firmin's little paddock ; 
 happening, I say, to be on the land- 
 ing when Caroline passed, I took a 
 hand as cold as stone, and never saw 
 a look of grief more tragic than that | 
 worn by her poor little face as it 
 passed. "My children cried," she 
 said, " and 1 went up to the nursery, j 
 But she don't want me there now." 
 Poor Little Sister ! She humbled j 
 herself and grovelled before Char- j 
 lotte. You could not help trampling 
 upon her then, madam ; and I hated 
 you, and a great number of other ; 
 women. Hidley and I went down to 
 her tea-room, where Caroline resumed 
 her place. She looked very nice and 
 pretty, with her pale sweet face, and 
 her neat cap and blue ribbon. Tor- 
 tures I know she was suffering. 
 Charlotte had been stabbing her. 
 Women will use the edge sometimes, 
 and drive the steel in. Charlotte 
 said to me, some time afterwards, " I 
 was jealous of her, and you were 
 right ; and a dearer, more faithful 
 creature never lived." But who told 
 Charlotte I said she was jealous ? 
 fool ! I told Ridley, and Mr. Ridley 
 told Mrs. Firmin. 
 
 If Charlotte stabbed Caroline, Car- 
 oline could not help coming back 
 again and again to the knife. On 
 Sundays, when she was free, there j 
 was always a place for her at Philip's ! 
 modest table ; and when Mrs. Philip j 
 went to church, Caroline was allowed 
 to reign in the nursery. Sometimes 
 Charlotte was generous enough to 
 give Mrs. Brandon this chance. 
 When Philip took a house, a whole 
 house to himself, Philip's mother- 
 in-law proposed to come and stay with 
 him, and said that, wishing to be be- 
 holden to no one, she would pay for 
 her board and lodging. But Philip 
 declined this treat, representing, just-, 
 ly, that his present house was no big- 
 ger than his former lodgings. " My 
 poor love is dying to have me," Mrs. 
 Baynes remarked on vhis. " But her 
 husband is so cruel to her, and keeps I 
 
 her under such terror, that she dares 
 not call her life her own." Cruel to 
 her ! Charlotte was the happiest of 
 the happy in her little house. In 
 consequence of his parliamentary suc- 
 cess, Philip went regularly to cham- 
 bers now, in the fond hope that more 
 briefs might come. At chambers he 
 likewise conducted the chief business 
 of his Review : and, at the accustomed 
 hour of his return, that usual little 
 procesMon of mother and child and 
 nurse would be seen on the watch for 
 him ; and the young woman the 
 happiest young woman in Christen- 
 dom would walk back clinging 
 on her husband's arm. 
 
 All this while letters came from 
 Philip's dear father at New York, 
 where, it appeared, he was engaged 
 not only in his profession, but in va- 
 rious speculations, with which he was 
 always about to make his fortune. 
 One day Philip got a newspaper ad- 
 vertising a new insurance company, 
 and saw, to his astonishment, the 
 announcement of " Counsel in Lon- 
 don, Philip Firmin, Esq., Parch- 
 ment Buildings, Temple." A pater- 
 nal letter promised Philip great fees 
 out of this insurance company, but I 
 never heard that poor Philip was any 
 the richer. In fact his friends ad- 
 vised him to have nothing to do with 
 this insurance company, and to make 
 no allusion to it in his letters. " They 
 feared the Danai, and the gifts they 
 brought," as old Firmin would have 
 said. They had to impress upon 
 Philip an abiding mistrust of that 
 wily old Greek, his father. Firmin 
 senior always wrote hopefully and 
 magnificently, and persisted in be- 
 lieving or declaring that ere very 
 long he should have to announce to 
 Philip that his fortune was made. 
 He speculated in Wall Street, I don't 
 know in what shares, inventions, 
 mines, railways. One day, some 
 few months after his migration to 
 Milman Street, Philip, blushing and 
 hanging down his head, had to tell 
 me that his father had drawn upon 
 him again. Had he not paid up his
 
 384 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 shares iu a certain mine, they would 
 have been forfeited, and he and Ais 
 son after him would have lost a cer- 
 tain fortune, old Danaus said. I 
 fear an artful, a long-bow-pulling 
 Danaus. What, shall a man have 
 birth, wealth, friends, high position, 
 and end so that we dare not leave 
 him alone in the room with our 
 spoons ? " And you have paid this 
 bill which the old man drew ? " we 
 asked. Yes, Philip had paid the bill. 
 He vowed he would pay no more. 
 But it was not difficult to see that the 
 Doctor would draw more bills upon 
 this accommodating banker. " I 
 dread the letters which begin with a 
 flourish about the fortune which he 
 is just going to make," Philip said. 
 He knew that the old parent pref- 
 aced his demands for money in that 
 way. 
 
 Mention has been made of a great 
 medical discovery which he had an- 
 nounced to his correspondent, Mrs. 
 Brandon, and by which the Doctor 
 declared as usual that he was about 
 to make a fortune. In New York and 
 Boston he had tried experiments 
 which had been attended with the 
 most astonishing success. A remedy 
 was discovered, the mere sale of which 
 in Europe and America must bring 
 an immense revenue to the fortunate 
 inventors. For the ladies whom Mrs. 
 Brandon attended, the remedy was of 
 priceless value. He would send her 
 some. His friend, Captain Morgan, 
 of the Southampton packet-ship, would ' 
 bring her some of this astonishing j 
 medicine. Let her try it. Let her 
 show the accompanying cases to Doc- 
 tor Goodenough, to any of his 
 brother physicians in London. 
 Though himself an exile from his 
 country, he loved it, and was proud 
 in being able to confer upon it one of 
 the greatest blessings with which sci- 
 ence had endowed mankind. 
 
 Goodenough, I am sorry to say, had 
 such a mistrust of his confrere that he 
 chose to disbelieve any statement 
 Firmin made. " I don't believe, my 
 good Brandon, the fellow has nous 
 
 enough to light upon any scientific 
 discovery more useful than a new 
 sauce for cutlets. He invent any- 
 thing but fibs, never ! " You see this 
 Goodenough is an obstinate old hea- 
 then ; and when he has once found rea- 
 son to mistrust a man, he forever after 
 declines to believe him. 
 
 However, the Doctor is a man forev- 
 er on the lookout for more knowledge 
 of his profession, and for more reine- 
 di3s to benefit mankind; he hummed 
 and ha'd over the pamphlet, as the 
 Little Sister sat watching him in his 
 study. He clapped it down after a 
 while, and slapped his hands on his 
 little legs as his wont is. " Brandon," 
 he says, " I think there is a great deal 
 in it, and I think so the more because 
 it turns out that Firmin has nothing 
 to do with the discovery, which has 
 been made at Boston." In fact, Dr. 
 Firmin, late of London, had only been 
 present in the Boston hospital, where 
 the experiments were made with the 
 new remedy. He had cried " Halves," 
 and proposed to sell it as a secret rem- 
 edy, and the bottle which he forward- 
 ed to our friend the Little Sister was 
 labelled" Firmin's Anodyne." What 
 Firmin did, indeed, was what he had 
 been in the habit of doing. He had 
 taken another man's property, and 
 was endeavoring to make a nourish 
 with it. The Little Sister returned 
 home, then, with her bottle of Chloro- 
 form, for this was what Dr. Firrnin 
 chose to call his discovery, and he had 
 sent home a specimen of it; as he 
 sent home a cask of petroleum from 
 Virginia; as he sent proposals for 
 new railways upon which he promised 
 Philip a munificent commission, if his 
 son could but place the shares amongst 
 his friends. 
 
 And with regard to these valuables, 
 the sanguine doctor got to believe that 
 he really was endowing his son with 
 large sums of money. " My boy has 
 set up a house, and has a wife and 
 two children, the young jackanapes ! " 
 he would say to people in New York ; 
 " as if he had not been extravagant 
 enough in former days ! When I
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 385 
 
 married, I had private means, and 
 married a nobleman's niece with a 
 large fortune. Neither of these two 
 young folks has a penny. Well, well, 
 the old father must help them as well 
 as he can ! " And I am told there 
 were ladies who dropped the tear 
 of sensibility and said, " What a 
 fond father this doctor is ! llo\v he 
 sacrifices himself for that scapegrace 
 of a son ! Think of the dear doctor 
 at his age, toiling cheerfully for that 
 young man, who helped to ruin him ! " 
 And Firmin sighed ; and passed a 
 beautiful white handkerchief over his 
 eyes with a beautiful white hand ; 
 and, I believe, really cried ; and 
 thought himself quite a good, affec- 
 tionate, injured man. He held the 
 plate at church ; he looked very hand- 
 some and tall, and bowed with a 
 charming melancholy grace to the la- 
 dies as they put in their contributions. 
 The dear man ! His plate was fuller 
 than other people's, so a traveller 
 told us who saw him in New York ; 
 and described a very choice dinner 
 which the Doctor gave to a few friends, 
 at one of the smartest hotels just then 
 opened. 
 
 With all the Little Sister's good 
 management Mr. and Mrs. Philip 
 were only able to install themselves in 
 their new house at a considerable ex- 
 pense, and beyond that great Ring- 
 wood piano which swaggered in 
 Philip's little drawing-room, I am con- 
 strained to say that there was scarce 
 any furniture at all. One of the rail- 
 way accounts was not paid as yet, and 
 poor Philip could not feed upon mere 
 paper promises to pay. Nor was he 
 inclined to accept the offers of private 
 friends, who were willing enough to 
 be his bankers. " One in a family is 
 enough for that kind of business,' he 
 said, gloomily ; and it came out that 
 again and again the interesting exile 
 at New York who was deploring his 
 son's extravagance and foolish mar- 
 riage had drawn bills upon Philip 
 which our friend accepted and paid, 
 bills, who knows to what amount? 
 He has never told ; and the engaging 
 17 
 
 parent who roMied him must I use 
 a word so impolite '! will never now 
 tell to what extent he helped himself 
 to Philip's small means. This I know, 
 that when autumn came when Sep- 
 tember was past we in our coscy 
 little retreat at the seaside received a 
 letter from the Little Sister, in her 
 dear little bad spelling (about which 
 there used to be somehow a pathos 
 which the very finest writing docs not 
 possess) ; there came, 1 say, a letter 
 from the Little Sister in which she 
 told us, with many dashes, that dear 
 Mrs. Philip and the children were 
 pining and sick in London, and " that 
 Philip, he had too much pride and 
 sperit to take money from any one ; 
 that Mr. Tregarvim was away travelr 
 ling on the Continent, and that wretch 
 that monster, you k/.oic irfio have 
 drawn upon Philip again for money, 
 and again he have paid, and the dear, 
 dear children can't have fresh air." 
 
 " Did she tell you," said Philip, 
 brushing his hands across his eyes 
 win n a friend e.mie 10 remonstrate 
 with him, " did she tell you that she 
 brought me money herself, but we 
 would not use it < Look! I have 
 her little marriage gift yonder in my 
 desk, and pray (iod I shall be able to 
 leave it to my children. The fact is, 
 the Doctor has drawn upon me as 
 usual ; he is goinu- to make a fortune 
 next week. I have paid another bill 
 of his. The parliamentary agents 
 are out of town, at their moors in 
 Scotland, I suppose. The air of Rus- 
 sell Square is uncommonly whole- 
 some, and when the babies have had 
 enough of that, why, they must 
 change it for Brunswick Square. 
 Talk about the country ! what coun- 
 try can be more quiet than Guildford 
 Street in September? I stretch out 
 of a morning, and breathe the moun- 
 tain air on Ludgate Hill." And with 
 these dismal pleasantries and jokes 
 our friend chose to put a good face 
 upon bad fortune. The kinsmen of 
 Ringwood offered hospitality kindly 
 enough, but how was poor Philip to 
 pay railway expenses for servants,
 
 386 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 babies, and wife ? In this strait Tre- 
 garvan from abroad, having found out 
 
 some monstrous designs of Russ , 
 
 of the great Power of which he stood 
 in daily terror, and which, as we are 
 in strict amity with that Power, no 
 other Power shall induce me to name, 
 Tregarvan wrote to his editor, and 
 communicated to him in confidence a 
 most prodigious and nefarious plot 
 against the liberties of all the rest of 
 Europe, in which the Power in ques- 
 tion was engaged, and in a postscript 
 added, " By the way, the Michaelmas 
 quarter is due, and I send you a 
 check," &c., &c. O precious post- 
 script. 
 
 " Did n't I tell you it would be 
 so? " said my wife, with a self-satis- 
 fied air. " Was I not certain that 
 succor would come ? " 
 
 And succor did come, sure enough ; 
 and a very happy little party went 
 down to Brighton in a second-class 
 carriage, and got an extraordinarily 
 cheap lodging, and the roses came 
 back to the little pale cheeks, and 
 mamma was wonderfully invigorated 
 and refreshed, as all her friends could 
 have seen when the little family came 
 back to town, only there was such a 
 thick dun fog that it was impossible 
 to see complexions at all. 
 
 When the shooting-season was come 
 to an end, the parliamentary agents 
 who had employed Philip came back 
 to London ; and, I am happy to say, 
 gave him a check for his little ac-- 
 count. My wife cried, " Did I not 
 tell you so?" more than ever. "Is 
 not everything for the best ? I knew 
 dear Philip would prosper ! " 
 
 Everything was for the best, was 
 it? Philip was sure to prosper, was 
 he ? What do you think of the next 
 news which the poor fellow brought 
 to us ? One night in December he 
 came to us, and I saw by his face 
 that some event of importance had 
 befallen him. 
 
 " I am almost heart-broken," he 
 said, thumping on the table when the 
 young ones had retreated from it. " I 
 don't know what to do. I have not 
 
 told you all. I have paid four bills 
 for him already, and now he has 
 he has signed my name." 
 
 " Who has ? " 
 
 " He at New York. You know," 
 said poor Philip. " I tell you he has 
 put my name on a bill, and without 
 my authority." 
 
 " Gracious Heavens ! You mean 
 
 your father has for " I could not 
 
 say the word. 
 
 " Yes," groaned Philip. " Here is 
 a letter from him " ; and he handed 
 a letter across the table in the Doctor's 
 well-known handwriting. 
 
 " DEAREST PHILIP," the father 
 wrote, " a sad misfortune has befallen 
 me, which I had hoped to conceal, or 
 at any rate, to avert from my dear 
 son. For you, Philip, are a partici- 
 pator in that misfortune through the 
 imprudence must I say it? of 
 your father. Would I had struck off 
 the hand which has done the deed, ere 
 it had been done ! But the fault has 
 taken wings and flown out of my 
 reach. Immeritus, dear boy, you have 
 to suffer for the dtlicta majarum. Ah, 
 that a father should have to own his 
 fault ; to kneel and ask pardon of his 
 son ! 
 
 " I am engaged in many specula- 
 tions. Some have succeeded beyond 
 my wildest hopes : some have taken 
 in the most rational, the most pru- 
 dent, the least sanguine of our cap- 
 italists in Wall Street, and promising 
 the greatest results have ended in the 
 most extreme failure ! To meet a 
 call in an undertaking which seemed 
 to offer the MOST CERTAIN PROSPECTS 
 of success, which seemed to promise 
 a fortune for me and my boy, and 
 your dear children, I put in amongst 
 other securities which I had to realize 
 on a sudden, a bill, on which I used 
 your name. I dated it as drawn six 
 months back by me at New York, on 
 you at Parchment Buildings, Tem- 
 ple ; and I wrote your acceptance, as 
 though the signature were yours. I 
 give myself up to you. I tell you 
 what I have done. Make the matter
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 387 
 
 public. Give my confession to the 
 world, as here I write, and sign it, 
 and your father is branded forever to 
 the world as a Spare me the word ! j 
 "As I live, as I hope for your for- 
 
 fiveness, long ere that bill became ; 
 ue, it is at five months' date, for 
 386 4 s. 3 d. value received, and dated 
 from the Temple, on the 4th of July, i 
 I passed it to one who promised to j 
 keep it until I myself should redeem 
 it ! The commission which he charged 
 me was enormous, rascally ; and not 
 content with the immense interest 
 which he extorted from me, the 
 scoundrel has passed the bill away, 
 and it is in Europe, in the hands of 
 an enemy. 
 
 " You remember Tufton Hunt 1 
 Yes. You most justly chastised him. 
 The wretch lately made his detested ' 
 appearance in this city, associated 
 with the lowest of the base, and endeav- 
 ored to resume his old practice of 
 threats, cajoleries, and extortions ! In 
 a fatal hour the villain heard of the 
 bill of which I have warned you. He , 
 purchased it from the gambler to | 
 whom it had been passed. As New 
 York was speedily too hot to hold 
 him (for the unhappy man has even left j 
 me to pay his hotel, score) he has fled, 
 and fled to Europe, taking with him 
 that fatal bill, which he says he knows 
 you will pay. Ah ! dear Philip, if 
 that bill were but once out of the j 
 wretch's hands ! What sleepless 
 hours of agony should I be spared ! 
 I pray you, I implore you, make every j 
 sncririce to meet it! You will not 
 disown it ? No. As you have chil- 
 dren of your own, as you love them, 
 you would not willingly let them 
 leave a dishonored 
 
 " FATHER. 
 
 " I have a share in a great medical 
 discovery* regarding which I have 
 written to our friend, Mrs. Brandon, 
 and which is sure to realize an im- 
 
 * JEther was first employed. I believe, in 
 America ; and I hope the reader will excuse 
 the substitution of Chloroform in this in- 
 stance. W. M. T. 
 
 mense profit, as introduced into 
 England by a physician so well known 
 may I not say professionally 1 re- 
 spected as myself. The very first profits 
 resulting from that discovery 1 prom- 
 ise, on my honor, to devote to you. 
 They will very soon far more than 
 repay the loss which my imprudence 
 has brought on my dear boy. Fare- 
 well ! Love to your wife and little 
 ones. G. B. F." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 NEC PLENA CRUOHIS IIIRUDO. 
 
 THE reading of this precious letter 
 filled Philip's friend with an inward 
 indignation which it was very hurd 
 to control or disguise. It is no pleas- 
 ant task to tell a gentleman that his 
 father is a rogue. Old Firmin would 
 have been hanged a few years earlier, 
 for practices like these. As you talk 
 with a very great scoundrel, or with 
 a madman, has not the respected 
 reader sometimes reflected, with a 
 grim self-humiliation, how the fellow 
 is of our own kind ;- and homo est ? 
 Let us, dearly deloved, who are out- 
 side, I mean outside the hulks or 
 the asylum, be thankful that we 
 have to" pay a barber for snipping our 
 hair, and are intrusted with the 
 choice of the cut of our own jerkins. 
 As poor Philip read his father's letter, 
 my thought was : " And I can re- 
 member the soft white hand of that 
 scoundrel, which has just been forging 
 his own son's name, putting sover- 
 eigns into my own palm, when I was 
 a school-boy." I always liked that 
 man : but the story is not dc me, 
 it regards Philip. 
 
 " You won't pay this bill 1 " Phil 
 ip's friend indignantly said, then. 
 
 " What can I do 1 " says poor 
 Phil, shaking a sad head. 
 
 " You are not worth live hundred 
 pounds in the world," remarks the 
 friend. 
 
 " Who ever said I was ? I am
 
 388 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 worth this bill : or my credit is," 
 answers the victim. 
 
 " If you pay this, he will draw 
 more." 
 
 " I dare say he will " : that Firmin 
 admits. 
 
 " And he will continue to draw as 
 long as there is a drop of blood to be 
 had out of you." 
 
 " Yes," owns poor Philip, putting 
 a finger to his lip. He thought I 
 might be about to speak. His artless 
 wife and mine were conversing at 
 that moment upon the respective 
 merits of some sweet chintzes which 
 they had seen at Shoolbred's, in Tot- 
 tenham Court Road, and which were 
 so cheap and pleasant, and lively to 
 look at ! Really those drawing-room 
 curtains would cost scarcely any- 
 thing ! Our Regulus, you see, before 
 stepping into his torture-tub, was 
 smiling on his friends, and talking 
 upholstery with a cheerful, smirking 
 countenance. On chintz, or some 
 other household errand, the ladies 
 went prattling off : but there was no 
 care, save for husband and children, 
 in Charlotte's poor little innocent 
 heart just then. 
 
 "Nice to hear her talking about 
 sweet drawing-room chintzes, is n't 
 it ? " says Philip. " Shall we try 
 Shoolbred's or the other shop ? " 
 And then he laughs. It was not a 
 very lively laugh. 
 
 " You mean that you are deter- 
 mined, then, on " 
 
 " On acknowledging my signature ? 
 Of course," says Philip, " if ever it is 
 presented to me, I would own it." 
 And having formed and announced 
 this resolution, I knew my stubborn i 
 friend too well to think that he ever 
 would shirk it. 
 
 The most exasperating part of the 
 matter was, that however generously 
 Philip's friends might be disposed 
 toward^ him, they could not in this 
 case give him a helping hand. The 
 Doctor would draw more bills and 
 more. As sure as Philip supplied, 
 the parent would ask ; and that de- 
 vouring dragon of a doctor had 
 
 stomach enough for the blood of all 
 of us, were we inclined to give it. 
 In fact, Philip saw as much, and 
 owned everything witli his usual can- 
 dor. " I see what is going on in your 
 mind, old boy," the poor fellow said, 
 "as well as if you spoke. You mean 
 j that I am helpless and irreclaimable, 
 | and doomed to hopeless ruin. So it 
 | would seem. A man can't escape 
 I his fate, friend, and my father has 
 made mine for me. If I manage to 
 I struggle through the payment of this 
 bill, of course he will draw another. 
 j My only chance of escape is, that he 
 i should succeed in some of his specula- 
 tions. As he is always gambling, there 
 | may be some luck for him one day or 
 i another. He won't benefit me, then. 
 That is not his way. If he makes a 
 coup he will keep the money, or spend 
 it. He won't give me any. But he 
 1 will not draw upon me as he does 
 now, or send forth fancy imitations of 
 ; the filial autograph. It is a blessing 
 to have such a father, is n't it "? I 
 ! say, Pen, as I think from whom I am 
 j descended, and look at your spoons, 
 I am astonished I have not put any 
 of them in my pocket. You leave 
 me in the room with 'em quite un- 
 protected. I say, it is quite affecting 
 the way in which you and your dear 
 wife have confidence in me." And 
 with a bitter execration at his fate, 
 the poor fellow pauses for a moment 
 in his lament. 
 
 His father was his fate, he seemed 
 to think, and there were no means of 
 averting it. " You remember that 
 picture of Abraham and Isaac in the 
 Doctor's study in Old Parr Street 1 " 
 he would say. " My patriarch has 
 tied me up, and had the knife in me 
 repeatedly. He does not sacrifice me 
 at one operation ; but there will be a 
 final one some day, and I shall bleed 
 no more. It 's gay and amusing, 
 is n't ? Especially when one has a 
 wife and children." I, for my part, 
 felt so indignant, that I was minded 
 to' advertise in the papers that all 
 acceptances drawn in Philip's name 
 were forgeries ; and let his father take
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 389 
 
 the consequences of his own act. 
 But the consequences would have 
 been life imprisonment for the old 
 man, and almost as much disgrace 
 and ruin for the young one as were 
 actually impending. He pointed out 
 this clearly enough ; nor could we 
 altogether gainsay his dismal logic. 
 It was better, at any rate, to meet his 
 bill, and give the Doctor warning for 
 the future. Well : perhaps it was ; 
 only suppose the Doctor should take 
 the warning in good part, accept the 
 rebuke with perfect meekness, and at 
 an early opportunity commit anoth- 
 er forgery ? To this Philip replied, 
 that no man could resist his fate : 
 that he had always expected his own 
 doom through his father : that when 
 the elder went to America he thought 
 possibly the charm was broken ; " But 
 you see it is not," groaned Philip, 
 " and my father's emissaries reach 
 me, and I am still under the spell." 
 The bearer of the bowstring, we know, 
 was on his way, and would deliver 
 his grim message erelong. 
 
 Having frequently succeeded in ex- 
 torting money from Dr. Firmin, Mr. 
 Tufton Hunt thought he could not 
 do better than follow his banker 
 across the Atlantic ; and we need not 
 describe the annoyance and rage of 
 the Doctor on finding this black care 
 still behind his back. He had not 
 much to give ; indeed the sum which 
 he took away with him, and of which 
 he robbed his son and his other cred- 
 itors, was but small : but Hunt was 
 bent upon having a portion of this ; 
 and, of course, hinted that if the 
 Doctor refused, he would carry to the 
 New York press the particulars of 
 Firmin's early career and latest de- 
 falcations. Mr. Hunt had been under j 
 the gallery of the House of Com- 
 mons half a dozen times, and knew , 
 our public men by sight. In the j 
 course of a pretty long and disrepu- 
 table career he had learned anecdotes 
 regarding members of the aristocracy, 
 turfmen, and the like ; and he offered 
 to sell this precious knowledge of his 
 to more than one American paper, as 
 
 other amiable exiles from our country 
 have done. But Hunt was too old, 
 and his stories too stale for the New 
 j York public. They dated from 
 George IV., and the boxing and 
 couching times. He found hut little 
 market for his wares ; and the tipsy 
 par.-on reeled from tavern to bar, 
 only the object of scorn to younger 
 reprobates who despised his old- 
 fashioned stories, and tould top them 
 with blackguardism of a much more 
 modern date. 
 
 After some two years' sojourn in 
 the United States, this worthy felt 
 the passionate longing to revisit his 
 native country which generous hearts 
 often experience, and made his way 
 from Liverpool to London ; and when 
 in London directed his steps to the 
 house of the Little Sister, of which 
 he expected to find Philip still an in- 
 mate. Although Hunt had been 
 once kicked out of the premises, he 
 felt little shame now about re-enter- 
 ing them. He had that in his pocket 
 which would insure him respectful 
 behavior from Philip. What were the 
 circumstances under which that forged 
 bill was obtained '? Was it a specula- 
 tion between Hunt and Philip's father? 
 Did Hunt suggest that, to screen the 
 elder Firmin from disgrace and ruin, 
 Philip would assuredly take the bill 
 up ? That a forged signature was, 
 in fact, a better document than a 
 genuine acceptance ? We shall never 
 know the truth regarding this trans- 
 action now. We have but the state- 
 ments of the two parties concerned ; 
 and as both of them, I grieve to say, 
 are entirely unworthy of credit, we 
 must remain in ignorance regarding 
 this matter. Perhaps Hunt forged 
 Philip's acceptance : perhaps his un- 
 happy father wrote it : perhaps the 
 Doctor's story that the paper was ex- 
 torted from him was true, perhaps 
 false. What matters ? Both the 
 men have passed away from amongst 
 us, and will write and speak no more 
 lies. 
 
 Caroline was absent from home 
 when Hunt paid his first visit after
 
 390 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 his return from America. Her ser- 
 vant described the man, and his ap- 
 pearance. Mrs. Brandon felt sure 
 that Hunt was her visitor, and fore- 
 boded no good to Philip from the 
 parson's arrival. In former days we 
 have seen how the Little Sister had 
 found favor in the eyes of this man. 
 The besotted creature, shunned of 
 men, stained with crime, drink, debt, 
 had still no little vanity in his com- 
 position, and gave himself airs in the 
 tavern parlors which he frequented. 
 Because he had been at the University 
 thirty years ago, his idea was that he 
 was superior to ordinary men who had 
 not had the benefit of an education 
 at Oxford or Cambridge ; and that 
 the " snobs," as he called them, re- 
 spected him. He would assume 
 grandiose airs in talking to a trades- 
 man ever so wealthy ; speak to such 
 a man by his surname ; and deemed 
 that he honored him by his patronage 
 and conversation. The Little Sis- 
 ter's grammar, I have told you, was 
 not good ; her poor little h's were sad- 
 ly irregular. A letter was a painful 
 task to her. She knew how ill she 
 performed it, and that she was for- 
 ever making blunders. 
 
 She would invent a thousand funny 
 little pleas and excuses for her faults 
 of writing. With all the blunders of 
 spelling, her little letters had a pa- 
 thos which somehow brought tears 
 into the eyes. The Rev. Mr. Hunt be- 
 lieved himself to be this woman's su- 
 perior. He thought his university 
 education gave him a claim upon her 
 respect, and draped himself and swag- 
 gered before her and others in his 
 dingy college gown. He had paraded 
 his Master of Arts degree in many 
 thousand tavern parlors, where hfs 
 Greek and learning had got him a 
 kind of respect. He patronized land- 
 lords, and strutted by hostesses' 
 bars with a vinous leer or a tipsy 
 solemnity. He must have been very 
 far gone and debased indeed when he 
 could still think that he was any liv- 
 ing man's better : he, who ought 
 to have waited on the waiters, and 
 
 blacked Boots's own shoes. When 
 he had reached a certain stage of 
 liquor he commonly began to brag 
 about the University, and recite the 
 titles of his friends of early days. 
 Never was kicking more righteously 
 administered than that which Philip 
 once bestowed on this miscreant. 
 The fellow took to the gutter as 
 naturally as to his bed, Firmin 
 used to say ; and vowed that the 
 washing there was a novelty which 
 did him good. 
 
 Brandon soon found that her sur- 
 mises were correct regarding her 
 nameless visitor. Next day, as she 
 was watering some little flowers in 
 her window, she looked from it into 
 the street, where she saw the sham- 
 bling parson leering up at her. When 
 she saw him he took off his greasy 
 hat and made her a bow. At the 
 moment she saw him, she felt that he 
 was come upon some errand hostile 
 to Philip. She knew he meant mis- 
 chief as he looked up with that sod- 
 den face, those bloodshot eyes, those 
 unshorn, grinning lips. 
 
 She might have been inclined to 
 faint, or disposed to scream, or to 
 hide herself from the man, the sight 
 of whom she loathed. She did not 
 faint, or hide herself, or cry out : but 
 she instantly nodded her head and 
 smiled in the most engaging manner 
 on that unwelcome, dingy stranger. 
 She went to her door ; she opened it 
 (though her heart beat so that you 
 might have heard it, as she told her 
 friend afterwards). She stood there 
 a moment archly smiling at him, and 
 she beckoned him into her house with 
 a little gesture of welcome. " Law 
 bless us" (these, I have reason to be- 
 lieve, were her very words) " Law 
 bless us, Mr. Hunt, where ever have 
 you been this ever so long ? " And 
 a smiling face looked at him resolute- 
 ly from under a neat cap and fresh 
 ribbon. Why, I know some women 
 can smile, and look at ease, when 
 they sit down in a dentist's chair. 
 
 " Law bless me, Mr. Hunt," then 
 says the artless creature, " who ever
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 391 
 
 would have thought of seeing you, I 
 do declare ! " And she makes a nice 
 - cheery little courtesy, and looks quite 
 gay, pleased, and pretty ; and so did 
 Judith look gay, no doubt, and smile, 
 and prattle before Holofernes ; and 
 then of course she said, " Won't vou 
 step in ? " And then Hunt swaggered 
 up the steps of the house, and entered 
 the little parlor, into -which the kind 
 reader has often been conducted, with 
 its neat little ornaments, its pictures, 
 its glistening corner cupboard, and 
 its well-scrubbed, shining furniture. 
 
 " How is the captain 1" asks the man 
 (alone in the company of this Little 
 Sister, the fellow's own heart began to 
 beat, and his bloodshot eyes toglisten ) . 
 
 He had not heard about poor Pa 
 " That shows how long you have been 
 away ! " Mrs. Brandon remarks, and 
 mentions the date of her father's fatal 
 illness. Yes : she was alone now, 
 and had to care for herself; and 
 straightway, I have no doubt, Mrs. 
 Brandon asked Mr. Hunt whether he 
 would " take " anything. Indeed, 
 that good little woman was forever 
 pressing her friends to " take " some- 
 thing, and would have thought the 
 laws of hospitality violated unless she 
 had made this offer. 
 
 Hunt was never known to refuse a 
 proposal of this sort. He would take 
 a taste of something of something 
 warm. He had had fever and ague 
 at New York, and the malady hung 
 about him. Mrs. Brandon was 
 straight way very much interested to 
 hear about Mr. Hunt's complaint, 
 and knew that a comfortable glass 
 was very efficacious in removing 
 threatening fever. Her nimble, neat 
 little hands mixed him a cup. He 
 could not but see what a trim little 
 housekeeper she was. " Ah, Mrs. 
 Brandon, if I had had such a kind 
 friend watching over me, I should not 
 be such a wreck as I am ! " he sighed. 
 He must have advanced to a second, 
 nay, a third glass, when he sighed 
 and became sentimental regarding 
 his own unhappy condition ; and 
 Brandon owned to her friends after- 
 
 wards that she made those glasses 
 i very strong. 
 
 Having " taken something," in 
 considerable quantities, then, Hunt 
 ; condescended to ask how his hostess 
 ; was getting on, and how were her 
 lodgers 1 How she was getting on ? 
 Brandon drew the most cheerful pic- 
 I ture of herself and her circumstances. 
 j The apartments let well, and were 
 I never empty. Thanks to good Dr. 
 ! Goodenough and other friends, she 
 had as much professional occupation 
 as she could desire. Since yon know 
 iL'ho has left the country, she said, her 
 mind had been ever so much easier. 
 As long as he was near, she never 
 felt secure. But he was gone, and 
 bad luck go with him ! said this vin- 
 dictive Little Sister. 
 
 " Was hi-; son still lodging up 
 stairs 1 " asked Mr. Hunt. 
 
 On this, what does Mrs. Brandon 
 do but begin a most angry attack 
 upon Philip and his family. He 
 lodge there ? No, thank goodness ! 
 She had hud enough of him and his 
 wife, with her airs and graces, and 
 the children crying all night, and the 
 furniture spoiled, and the bills not 
 even paid ! " J wanted him to think 
 that me and Philip was friends no 
 longer; and Heaven forgive me for 
 telling stories ! I know this fellow 
 means no good to Philip ; arid before 
 long I will know what he means, that 
 I will," she vowed. 
 
 For, on the very day when Mr. 
 Hunt paid her a visit, Mrs. Brandon 
 came to see Philip's friends, and ac- 
 quaint them with Hunt's arrival. 
 We could not be sure that he was the 
 bearer of the forged bill with which 
 poor Philip was threatened. As yet 
 Hunt had made no allusion to it. 
 But, though we are far from sanction- 
 ing deceit or hypocrisy, we own that we 
 were not very angry with the Little Sis- 
 ter for employing dissimulation in the 
 present instance, and inducing Hunt 
 to believe that she was by no means 
 an accomplice of Philip. If Philip's 
 wife pardoned her, ought his friends 
 to be less forgiving ? To do right,
 
 392 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 you know you must not do wrong, 
 though I own this was one of the 
 cases in which I am inclined not to 
 deal very hardly with the well-mean- 
 ing little criminal. 
 
 Now, Charlotte had to pardon (and 
 for this fault, if not for some others, 
 Charlotte d,d most heartily pardon) 
 our little friend, for this reason, that 
 Brandon most wantonly maligned 
 h^r. When Hunt asked what sort of 
 wife Philip had married ? Mrs. Bran- 
 don declared that Mrs. Piiilip was a 
 pert, odious little tiling ; that she gave 
 herself airs, neglected her children, 
 bullied her husband, and what not ; 
 and, finally, Brandon vowed that she 
 disliked Chariot t , and was very glad j 
 to get her out of the house : and that 
 Philip was not the same Philip since 
 he married her, and that he gave him- 
 self airs, and was rude, and in all 
 things led by his wifc ; and to get rid 
 of them was a good riddance. 
 
 Hunt gracefully suggested that 
 quarrels between landladies and ten- 
 ants were not unusual ; that lodgers 
 sometimes did not pay their rent 
 punctually ; that others were unrea- 
 sonably anxious about the consump- 
 tion of their groceries, liquors, and so 
 forth ; and little Brandon, who, rather 
 than steal a pennyworth from her 
 Philip, would have cut her hand off, 
 laughed at her guest's joke, and pre- 
 tended to be amused with his know- 
 ing hints that she was a rogue. 
 There was not a word he said but she 
 received it with a gracious acquies- 
 cence : she might shudder inwardly 
 at the leering familiarity of the odious 
 tipsy wretch, but she gave no outward 
 sign of disgust or fear. She allowed 
 him to talk as much as he would, in 
 hopes that he would come to a sub- 
 ject which deeply interested her. 
 She asked about the Doctor, and what 
 he was doing, and whether it was 
 likely that he would ever be able to 
 pay back any of that money which he 
 h id tak'.-n from his son ? And she 
 spoke with an indifferent tone, pre- 
 tunding t> be very busy over some 
 work at which she was stitching. 
 
 " O, you are still hankering after 
 him," says the Chaplain, winking a 
 bloodshot eye. 
 
 "Hankering after that old man'. 
 What should I care for him ? As if 
 he have n't done me harm enough 
 already ! " cries poor Caroline. 
 
 " Yes. But women don't dislike a 
 man the worse for a little ill-usage," 
 suggests Hunt. No doubt the fellow 
 had made his own experiments on 
 woman's fidelity. 
 
 " Well, I suppose," says Brandon, 
 with a toss of her head, " women 
 may get tired as well as men, may n't 
 they J I found out that man, and 
 wearied of liim years and years ago. 
 Another little drop out of the green 
 bottle, Mr. Hunt ! It 's very good 
 for ague-fever, and keeps the cold 
 fit off wonderful ! " 
 
 And Hunt drank, and he talked a 
 little more, much more : and he 
 gave his opinion of the elder Firmin, 
 and spoke of his chances of success, 
 and of his rage for speculations, and 
 doubted whether he would ever be 
 able to lift his head again, though 
 he might, he might still. He was in 
 tne country where, if ever a man 
 could retrieve himself, he had a 
 chance. And Philip was giving him- 
 self airs, was he ? He was always 
 an arrogant chap, that Mr. Philip. 
 And he had left her house ? and was 
 gone ever so long ? and where did he 
 live now ? 
 
 Then I am sorry to say Mrs. Bran- 
 don asked, how should she know 
 where Philip lived now ? She be- 
 lieved it was near Gray's Inn, or 
 Lincoln's Inn, or somewhere; and 
 she was for turning the conversation 
 away from this subject altogether : 
 and sought to do so by many lively 
 remarks and ingenious little artifices 
 which I can imagine, but which she 
 only in part acknowledged to me. 
 for you must know that as soon as her 
 visitor took leave, to turn into the 
 " Admiral Byng " public-house, and 
 renew acquaintance with the worthies 
 assembled in the parlor of that tav- 
 ern, Mrs. Brandon ran away to a cab,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 393 
 
 drove in it to Philip's house in Mil- 
 man Street, where only Mrs. Philip ' 
 was at home, and after ii banal e 
 conversation with her, which puzzled 
 Charlotte not a little, for Brandon 
 would not say on what errand 
 she came, and never mentioned 
 Hunt's arrival and visit to her, the 
 Little Sister made her way to another 
 cab, and presently made her appear- 
 ance at the house of Philip's friends 
 in Queen Square. And here she 
 informed me, how Hunt had arrived, ' 
 and how she was sure he meant no 
 good to Philip, and how she had told 
 certain certain stories which were 
 not founded in fact to Mr. Hunt ; 
 for the telling of which fibs I am not 
 about to endeavor to excuse her. 
 
 Though the interesting clergyman 
 had not said one word regarding that 
 bill of which Philip's father had 
 warned him, we believed that the docu- 
 ment was in Hunt's possession, and 
 that it would be produced in due sea- 
 son. We happened to know where 
 Philip dined, and sent him word to 
 come to us. 
 
 " What can he mean ? " the people 
 asked at the table, a bachelors' 
 table at the Temple (for Philip's good 
 wife actually encouraged him to go 
 abroad from time to time, and make 
 merry with his friends). "What 
 can this mean 1 " and they read out 
 the scrap of paper which he had cast 
 down as he was summoned away. 
 
 Philip's correspondent wrote: "Dear 
 Philip, I believe the BEARER OF 
 THE BOWSTRING has arrived ; and 
 has been with the L. S. this very 
 day." 
 
 The L. S. ? the bearer of the bow- 
 string ? Not one of the bachelors din- 
 ing in Parchment Buildings could 
 read the riddle. Only after receiving 
 the scrap of paper Philip had jumped 
 up and left the room ; and a friend 
 of ours, a sly wag and Don Juan of 
 Pump Court, offered to take odds 
 that there was a lady in the case. 
 
 At the hasty little council which 
 was convened at our house on the re- 
 ceipt of the news, the Little Sister, 
 17* 
 
 whose instinct had not betrayed her, 
 was made acquainted with the precise 
 nature of the danger which menaced 
 Philip ; and exhibited a tine hearty 
 wrath when she heurcl how he pro- 
 posed to meet the enemy He had 
 a certain sum in hand. He would 
 borrow more of his friends, who 
 knew that he was an honest man. 
 This bill he would meet, whatever 
 might come ; and avert at least thia 
 disgrace from his father. 
 
 What ? Give in to those rogues ? 
 Leave his children to starve, and his 
 poor wife to turn drudge and house- 
 servant, who was not fit for anything 
 but a fine lady 1 (There was no love 
 lost, you sec, between these two la- 
 dies, who both loved Mr. Philip.) It 
 was a sin and a shame ! Mrs. Bran- 
 don averred, and declared she thought 
 Philip had been a man of more spirit. 
 Philip's friend has liefure stated his 
 own private sentiments regarding the 
 calamity which menaced Firmin. 
 To pay this bill was to bring a dozen 
 more down upon him. Philip might 
 as well resist now as at a later day. 
 Such, in fact, was the opinion given 
 by the reader's very humble servant 
 at command. 
 
 My wife, on the other hand, took 
 Philip's side. She was very much 
 moved at his announcement that he 
 would forgive his father this once at 
 least, and endeavor to cover his sin. 
 
 "As you hope to be forgiven your- 
 self, deiir Philip, I am sure you are 
 doing right," Laura said ; " I am sure 
 Charlotte will think so." 
 
 " O, Charlotte, Charlotte ! " inter- 
 poses the Little Sister, rather peevish- 
 ly ; "of course, Mrs. Philip thinks 
 whatever her husband tells her ! " 
 
 " In his own time of trial Philip 
 has been met with wonderful succor 
 and kindness," Laura urged. " See 
 how one thing after another has con- 
 tributed to help him ! When he 
 wanted, there were friends always at 
 his need. If he wants again, I am 
 sure my husband and I will share 
 with him." (I may have made a wry 
 face at this ; for, with the best feel-
 
 394 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 ings towards a man, and that kind of 
 thing, you know it is not always con- 
 venient to be lending him five or six 
 hundred pounds without security.) 
 " My dear husband and I will share 
 with him," goes on Mrs. Laura; 
 " won't we, Arthur ? Yes, Brandon, 
 that we will. Be sure, Charlotte and 
 the children shall not want because 
 Philip covers his father's wrong, and 
 hides it from the world ! God bless 
 you, dear friend ! " and what does 
 this woman do next, and before her 
 husband's face ? Actually she goes 
 up to Philip ; she takes his hand 
 and Well, what took place be- 
 fore my own eyes, I do not choose to 
 write down. 
 
 " She 's encouraging him to ruin 
 the childreu for the sake of that 
 that wicked old brute ! " cries Mrs. 
 Brandon. " It 's enough to provoke 
 a saint, it is ! " And she sei/.es up 
 her bonnet from the table, and claps 
 it on her head, and walks out of our 
 room in a little tempest of wrath. 
 
 My wife, clasping her hands, whis- 
 pers a few words, which say : " For- 
 give us our trespasses, as we forgive 
 them who trespass against us." 
 
 " Yes," says Philip, very much 
 moved. "It is the Divine order. 
 You are right, dear Laura. I have 
 had a weary time ; and a terrible 
 gloom of doubt and sadness over my 
 mind whilst I have been debating this 
 matter, and before I had determined 
 to do as you would have me. But a 
 great weight is off my heart since I 
 have been enabled to see what my 
 conduct should be. What hundreds 
 of struggling men as well as myself 
 have met with losses, and faced 
 them ! I will pay this bill, and I will 
 warn the drawer to to spare me for 
 the future." 
 
 Now that the Little Sister had 
 gone away in her fit of indignation, 
 you see I was left in a minority in the 
 council of war, and the opposition 
 was quite too strong for me. I began 
 to be of the majority's opinion. I 
 dare say I am not the only gentle- 
 man who has been led round by a 
 
 woman. We men of great strength 
 of mind very frequently are. "Yes, 
 my wife convinced me with passages 
 from her text-book, admitting of no 
 contradiction according to her judg- 
 ment, that Philip's duty was to for- 
 give his father. 
 
 " And how lucky it was we did not 
 buy the chintzes that day ! " says 
 Laura, with a laugh. " Do you know 
 there were two which were so pretty 
 that Charlotte could not make up her 
 mind which of the two she would 
 take ? " 
 
 Philip roared out one of his laughs, 
 which made the windows shake. He 
 was in great spirits. For a man who 
 was going to ruin himself, he was in 
 the most enviable good-humor. Did 
 Charlotte know about this this 
 claim which was impending over him ? 
 No. It might make her anxious, 
 poor little thing ! Philip had not 
 told her. He had thought of conceal- 
 ing the matter from her. What need 
 was there to disturb her rest, poor 
 innocent child ? You see, we all 
 treated Mrs. Charlotte more or less 
 like a child. Philip played with her. 
 J. J., the painter, coaxed and dandled 
 her, so to speak. The Little Sister 
 loved her, but certainly with a love 
 that was not respectful ; and Charlotte 
 took everybody's good-will with a 
 pleasant meekness and sweet smiling 
 content. It was not for Laura to 
 give advice to man and wife ; (as if the 
 woman was not always giving lectures 
 to Philip and his young wife!) but 
 in the present instance she thought 
 Mrs. Philip certainly ought to know 
 what Philip's real situation was ; what 
 danger was menacing ; " and how ad- 
 mirable and right, and Christian 
 and you will have your reward for it, 
 dear Philip ! " interjects the enthusi- 
 astic lady " your conduct has 
 been ! " 
 
 When we came, as we straightway 
 did in a cab, to Charlotte's house, to 
 expound the matter to her, goodness 
 bless us ! she was not shocked, or 
 anxious, or frightened at all. Mrs. 
 Brandon had just been with her, and
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 395 
 
 told her of what was happening, and 
 she had said, " Of course, Philip 
 ought to help his father ; and Bran- 
 don had gone away quite in a tantrum 
 of anger, and had really been quite 
 rude ; and she should not pardon her, 
 only she knew how dearly the Little 
 Sister loved Philip ; and of course 
 they must help Dr. Firmin ; and what 
 dreadful, dreadful distress he must 
 have been in to do as he did ! But 
 he had warned Philip, you know," 
 and so forth. " And as for the chint- 
 zes, Laura, why I suppose we must 
 ?) on with the old shabby covers, 
 ou know they will do very well till 
 next year." This was the way in 
 which Mrs. Charlotte received the 
 news which Philip had concealed from 
 her, least it should terrify her. As 
 if a loving woman was ever very 
 much frightened at being called upon 
 to share her husband's misfortune ! 
 
 As for the little case of forgery, I 
 don't believe the young person could 
 ever be got to see the heinous nature 
 of Dr. Firmin's offence. The des- 
 perate little logician seemed rather to 
 pity the father than the son in the 
 business. " How dreadfully pressed 
 he must have been when he did it, 
 poor man ! " she said. " To be sure, 
 he ought not to have done it at all ; but 
 think of his necessity ! That is what 
 I said to Brandon. Now there 's little 
 Philip's cake in the cupboard which 
 you brought him. Now suppose papa 
 was very hungry, and went and took 
 some without asking Philly, he would 
 n't be so very wrong, I think, would 
 he 1 A child is glad enough to give 
 for his father, is n't he f And when 
 I said this to Brandon, she was so 
 rude and violent, I really have no 
 patience with her ! And she forgets 
 that I am a lady, and," &c., &c. So 
 it appeared the Little Sister had made 
 a desperate attempt to bring over 
 Charlotte to her side, was still minded 
 to rescue Philip in spite of himself, 
 and had gone off in wrath at her 
 defeat. 
 
 We looked to the Doctor's letters, 
 and ascertained the date of the bill. 
 
 It had crossed the water and would 
 be at Philip's door in a very few days. 
 Had Hunt brought it? The rascal 
 would have it presented through some 
 regular channel, no doubt ; and Philip 
 and all of us totted up ways and means, 
 and strove to make the slender figures 
 look as big as possible, as the thrifty 
 housewife puts a patch here and a 
 darn there, and cuts a little slice out 
 of this old garment, so as to make the 
 poor little frock serve for winter wear. 
 We had so much at the banker's. 
 A friend might help with a little ad- 
 vance. We would fairly ask a loan 
 from the Review. We were in a 
 scrape, but we would meet with it. 
 And so with resolute hearts, we would 
 prepare to receive the Bearer of the 
 Bowstring. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THE BEARER OF THE BOWSTRING. 
 
 THE poor Little Sister trudged 
 away from Milman Street exasper- 
 ated with Philip, with Philip's wife, 
 and with the determination of the pair 
 to accept the hopeless ruin impending 
 over them. " Three hundred and 
 eighty-six pounds four and three- 
 pence," she thought, "to pay for that 
 wicked old villain ! It is more than 
 poor Philip is worth, with all his sav- 
 ings and his little sticks of furniture. 
 I know what he will do : he will bor- 
 row of the money-lenders, and give 
 those bills, and renew them, and end 
 by ruin. When he have paid this 
 bill, that old villain will forge another, 
 and that precious wife of his will tell 
 him to pay that, I suppose ; and those 
 little darlings will be begging for 
 bread, unless they come and eat mine, 
 to which God bless them ! they 
 are always welcome." She calcu- 
 lated it was a sum not difficult to 
 reckon the amount of her own little 
 store of saved ready money. To pay 
 four hundred pounds out of such an 
 income as Philip's, she _felt, was an 
 attempt vain and impossible. " And 
 he must n't have my poor little stock-
 
 396 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 ing now," she argued ; " they will want 
 that presently when their pride is 
 hroken down, as it will be, and ray 
 darlings are hungering for their din- 
 ner!" Revolving this dismal matter 
 in her mind, and scarce knowing 
 where to go for comfort and counsel, 
 she made her way to her good friend, 
 Dr. Goodenough, and found that 
 worthy man, who had always a wel- 
 come for his Little Sister. 
 
 She found Goodenough alone in 
 his great dining-room, taking a very 
 slender meal, after visiting his hos- 
 pital and his fifty patients, among 
 whom I think there were more poor 
 than rich : and the good sleepy doctor 
 woke up with a vengeance, when he 
 heard his little nurse's news, and fired 
 off a volley of angry language against 
 Philip and his scoundrel of a father ; 
 " which it was a comfort to hear him," 
 little Brandon told us afterwards. 
 Then Goodenough trotted out of the 
 dining-room into the adjoining library 
 and consulting-room, whither his old 
 friend followed him. Then he pulled 
 out a bunch of keys and opened a 
 secretaire, from which he took a 
 parchment-covered volume, on which 
 J. Goodenough, Esq., M. D., was writ- 
 ten in a fine legible hand, and 
 which, in fact, was a banker's book. 
 The inspection of the MS. volume in 
 question must have pleased the wor- 
 thy physician ; for a grin came over 
 his venerable features, and he straight- 
 way drew out of the desk a slim vol- 
 ume of gray paper, on each page of 
 which were inscribed the highly re- 
 spectable names of Messrs. Stumpy and 
 Rowdy and Co., of Lombard Street, 
 Hankers. On a slip of gray paper 
 the Doctor wrote a prescription for a 
 draught, statim sumendus (a draught 
 mark my pleasantry) which he 
 handed over to his little friend. 
 
 " There, you little fool ! " said he. 
 " The father is a rascal, but the boy is 
 a fine fellow ; and you, you little silly 
 thing, I must help in this business my- 
 self, or you will go and ruin yourself: 
 I know you will ! Otter this to the I 
 fellow for his bill. Or, stay ! How 
 
 much money is there in the house 1 
 Perhaps the sight of notes and gold 
 will tempt him more than a check." 
 And the Doctor emptied his pockets 
 of all the fees which happened to be 
 therein, I don't know how many 
 fees of shining shillings and sover- 
 eigns, neatly wrapped up in paper ; 
 and he emptied a drawer in which 
 there was more silver and gold ; and 
 he trotted up to his bedroom, and came 
 panting, presently, down stairs with a 
 fat little pocket-book, containing a 
 bundle of notes, and with one thing 
 or another, he made up a sum of 
 I won't mention what ; but this sum 
 of money, I say, he thrust into the 
 Little Sister's hand, and said, " Try 
 the fellow with this, Little Sister; 
 and see if you can get the bill from 
 him. Don't say it 's my money, or 
 the scoundrel will be for having 
 twenty shillings in the pound. Say 
 it 's yours, and there 's no more where 
 that came from ; and coax him, and 
 wheedle him, and tell him plenty of 
 lies, my dear. It won't break your 
 heart to do that. What an immortal 
 scoundrel Brummel Firmin is, to be 
 sure ! Though, by the way, in two 
 more cases at the hospital I have tried 
 that " And here the Doctor went 
 off' into a professional conversation 
 with his favorite nurse, which I could 
 not presume to repeat to any non-med- 
 ical men. 
 
 The Little Sister bade God bless Doc- 
 tor Goodenough, and wiped her glis- 
 tening eyes with her handkerchief, and 
 put away the notes and gold with a 
 trembling little hand, and trudged off 
 with a lightsome step and a happy 
 heart. Arrived at Tottenham Court 
 Road, she thought, shall I go home, or 
 shall I go to poor Mrs. Philip and take 
 her this money ? No. Their talk that 
 day had not been very pleasant : 
 words, very like high words, had 
 passed between them, and our Little 
 Sister had to own to herself that she 
 had been rather rude in her late col- 
 lo(|iiy with Charlotte. And she was 
 a proud Little Sister : at least she did 
 not care tor to own that she had been
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 397 
 
 hasty or disrespectful in her conduct 
 to that young woman. She had too 
 much spirit for that. Have we ever 
 said that our little friend was exempt 
 from the prejudices and vanities of 
 this wicked world? Well, to rescue 
 Philip, to secure the fetal bill, to go 
 with it to Charlotte, and say, 
 " There, Mrs. Philip, there 's your 
 husband's liberty." It would be a 
 rare triumph, that it would ! And 
 Philip would promise, on his honor, 
 that this should be the last and only 
 biil he would pay for that wretched 
 old father. With these happy 
 thoughts swelling in her little heart, 
 Mrs. Brandon made her way to the 
 familiar house in Thornhaugh Street, 
 and would have a little bit of supper, 
 so she would. And laid her own lit- 
 tle cloth ; and set forth her little forks 
 and spoons, which were as bright as 
 rubbing could make them ; and I am 
 authorized to state that her repast 
 consisted of two nice little lamb-chops, 
 which she purchased from her neigh- 
 bor, Mr. Chump, in Tottenham Court 
 Road, after a pleasant little conversa- 
 tion with that gentleman and his 
 good lady. And, with her bit of sup- 
 per, after a day's work, our little 
 friend would sometimes indulge in a 
 glass a little glass of some- 
 thing comfortable. The case-bottle 
 was in the cupboard, out of which her 
 poor Pa had been wont to mix his 
 tumblers for many a long day. So, 
 having prepared it with her own 
 hands, down she sat to her little meal 
 tired and happy ; and as she thought 
 of the occurrences of the day, and of 
 the rescue which had come so oppor- 
 tunely to her beloved Philip and his 
 children, I am sure she said a grace 
 before her meat. 
 
 Her candles being lighted and her 
 blind up, any one in the street could 
 see that her chamber was occupied ; 
 and at about ten o'clock at night there 
 came a heavy step clinking along the 
 pavement, the sound of which, I have 
 no doubt, made the Little Sister start 
 a little. The heavy foot paused be- 
 fore her window, and presently clat- 
 
 tered up the steps of her door. 
 Then, as her bell rang, I consider 
 it is most probable that her cheek 
 flushed a little, she went to her 
 hall door and opened it herself. 
 " Lor', is it you, Mr. Hunt? Well, 
 I never ! that is, I thought you might 
 come. lleally, now," "and with 
 the moonlight behind him, the dingy 
 Hunt swaggered in. 
 
 " How comfortable you looked at 
 j your little table," says Hunt, with his 
 hat over his eye. 
 
 " Won't you step in and sit down 
 to it, and take something ? " asks the 
 smiling hostess. 
 
 Of course Hunt would take some- 
 thing. And the greasy hat is taken 
 off his head with a flourish, and he 
 struts into the poor Little Sister's lit- 
 tle room, pulling a wisp of grizzling 
 hair, and endeavoring to assume a 
 careless, fashionable look. The din- 
 gy hand had seized the case-bottle in 
 a moment. " What ! you do a little 
 in this way, do you ? " he says, and 
 winks amiably at Mrs. Brandon and 
 the bottle. She takes ever so little, 
 she owns ; and reminds him of days 
 which he must remember, when she 
 had a wineglass out of poor Pa's 
 tumbler. A bright little kettle is 
 singing on the fire, will not Mr. 
 Hunt mix a glass for himself? She 
 takes a bright beaker from the corner 
 cupboard, which is near her, with her 
 keys hanging from it. 
 
 "0 ho ! that 's where we keep 
 the ginnims, is it?" says the grace- 
 ful Hunt with a laugh. 
 
 " My papa always kept it there," 
 says Caroline meekly. And whilst 
 her back is turned to fetch a canister 
 from the cupboard, she knows that 
 the astute Mr. Hunt has taken the 
 opportunity to nil a good large meas- 
 ure from the square bottle. " Make 
 yourself welcome," says the Little 
 Sister, in her gay, artless way ; 
 " there 's more where that came 
 from ! " And Hunt drinks his hos- 
 tess's health : and she bows to him, 
 and smiles, and sips a little from her 
 own glass : and the little lady looks
 
 398 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 quite pretty, and rosy, and bright. 
 Her cheeks are like apples, her figure 
 is trim and graceful, and always 
 attired in the neatest-fitting gown. 
 By the comfortable light of the can- 
 dles on her sparkling tables, you 
 scarce see the silver lines in her light 
 hair, or the marks which time has 
 made round her eyes. Hunt gazes 
 on her with admiration. 
 
 " Why," says he, " I vow you look 
 younger and prettier than when 
 when I saw you first." 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Hunt ! " cries Mrs. Bran- 
 don, with a flush on her cheek, which 
 becomes it, " don't recall that time, 
 or that that wretch who served me 
 so cruel ! " 
 
 " He was a scoundrel, Caroline, to 
 treat as he did such a woman as 
 you ! The fellow has no principle ; 
 he was a bad one from the beginning. 
 Why, he ruined me as well as you : 
 got me to play ; run me into debt by 
 introducing me to his fine companions. 
 I was a simple young fellow then, and 
 thought it was a fine thing to live with 
 fellow-commoners and noblemen who 
 drove their tandems and gave their 
 grand dinners. It was he that led me 
 astray, I tell you. I might have been 
 Fellow of my college, had a living, 
 married a good wife, risen to be a 
 bishop, by George ! for I had great 
 talents, Caroline ; only I was so con- 
 founded idle, and fond of the cards 
 and the bones." 
 
 " The bones 1 " cries Caroline, with 
 a bewildered look. 
 
 " The dice, my dear ! ' Seven 's the 
 main ' was my ruin. ' Seven 's the 
 main ' and eleven 's the nick to seven. 
 That used to be the little game ! " 
 And he made a graceful gesture with 
 his empty wineglass, as though he 
 were tossing a pair of dice on the ta- 
 ble. " The man next to me in lec- 
 ture is a bishop now, and I could 
 knock his head off in Greek iambics 
 and Latin hexameters too. In my sec- 
 ond year I got the Latin declamation 
 prize, I tell you " 
 
 " Brandon always said you were 
 one of the cleverest men at the college. 
 
 I He always said that, I remember," 
 : remarks the lady, very respectfully. 
 
 "Did he ? He did say a good 
 word for me then 1 Brummell Fir- 
 min was n't a clever man ; he was n't 
 a reading man. Whereas I would 
 back myself, for a Sapphic ode 
 against any man in my college, 
 against any man ! Thank you. 
 You do mix it so uncommon hot and 
 well, there 's no saying no ; indeed, 
 there ain't! Though I have had 
 enough, upon my honor, I have." 
 
 " Lor' ! I thought you men could 
 drink anything ! And Mr. Brandon 
 Mr. Firmin you said 1 " 
 
 " Well, I said Brummell Firmin 
 was a swell somehow. He had a sort 
 of grand manner with him " 
 
 " Yes, he had," sighed Caroline. 
 And I dare say her thoughts wan- 
 dered back to a time long, long ago, 
 when this grand gentleman had cap- 
 j tivated her. 
 
 " And it was trying to keep up with 
 
 i him that ruined me. I quarrelled with 
 
 1 my poor old governor about money, 
 
 : of course ; grew idle, and lost my 
 
 1 Fellowship. Then the bills came 
 
 down upon me. I tell you, there are 
 
 some of my college ticks ain't paid 
 
 now." 
 
 " College ticks ? Law ! " ejacu- 
 lates the lady. " And " 
 
 " Tailors' ticks, tavern ticks, livery- 
 stable ticks, for there were famous 
 i hacks in our days, and I used to hunt 
 with the tip-top men. I was n't bad 
 | across country, I was n't. But we 
 can't keep the pace with those rich 
 fellows. We try, and they go ahead, 
 | they ride us down. Do you think, 
 ' if I had n't been very hard up, I 
 ; would have done what I did to you, 
 , Caroline ? You poor little innocent 
 ] suffering thing. It was a shame. 
 It was a shame ! " 
 
 " Yes, a shame it was," cries Car- 
 oline. " And that I never gainsay. 
 ': You did deal hard with a poor girl, 
 both of you." 
 
 " It was rascally. But Firmin was 
 I the worst. He had me in his power. 
 1 It was he led me wrong. It was he
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 399 
 
 drove me into debt, and then abroad, 
 and then into qu into jail, per- 
 haps : and then into this kind of 
 thing. ("This kind of thing" has 
 before been explained elegantly to 
 signify a tumbler of hot grog. ) " And 
 my father would n't see me on his 
 death-bed ; and my brothers and sis- 
 ters broke with me ; and I owe it all 
 to Brummell Firmin, all. Do you 
 think, after ruining me, he ought n't 
 to pay me ? " and again he thumps a 
 dusky hand upon the table. It made 
 
 gy marks on the poor Little Sister's 
 itless table-cloth. It rubbed its 
 
 din 
 
 spot 
 
 owner's forehead, and lank, grizzling 
 
 hair. 
 
 " And me, Mr. Hunt ? What do 
 he owe me ? " asks Hunt's hostess. 
 
 " Caroline ! " cries Hunt, " I have 
 made Brummell Firmin pay me a 
 good bit back already, but I '11 have 
 more " ; and he thumped his breast, 
 and thrust his hand into his breast- 
 pocket as he spoke, and clutched at 
 something within. l 
 
 " It is there ! " thought Caroline. 
 She might turn pale ; but he did not 
 remark her pallor. He was all intent 
 on drink, on vanity, on revenge. 
 
 " I have him," I say. " He owes 
 me a good bit ; and he has paid me a 
 good bit ; and he shall pay me a good 
 bit more. Do you think I am a fel- 
 low who will be ruined and insulted, 
 and won't revenge myself? You 
 should have seen his face when I 
 turned up at New York at the 'As- 
 tor House/ and said, ' Brummell, old 
 fellow, here I am,' 1 said : and he 
 turned as white as white as this 
 table-cloth. ' I '11 never leave you, 
 my boy,' I said. ' Other fellows may 
 go from you, but old Tom Hunt will 
 stick to you. Let 's go into the bar 
 and have a drink ! ' and he was 
 obliged to come. And I have him 
 now in my power, I tell you. And 
 when I say to him, ' Brummell, have 
 a drink,' drink he must. His bald 
 old head must go into the pail ! " 
 And Mr. Hunt laughed a laugh which 
 I dare say was not agreeable. 
 After a pause he went on : " Caro- 
 
 line ! Do you hate him, I say? or 
 do yon like a fellow who deserted you 
 raid treated you like a scoundrel? 
 Some women do. I could tell of wo- 
 men who do. I could tell you of 
 other fellows, perhaps, but l" won't. 
 Do you hate Brummell Firmin, that 
 bald-headed Bruin hypocrite, and 
 that that insolent rascal who laid 
 his hand on a clergyman, and an old 
 man, by George, and hit me and 
 hit me in that street. Do you hate 
 him, I say? Hoo ! hoo ! hick ! I've 
 got 'em both ! here, in my pocket, 
 both!" 
 
 " You have got what ? " gasped 
 Caroline. 
 
 "I have got their hallo! stop, 
 whiit 's thnt to you what I 've got? " 
 And he sinks back in his chair, and 
 grins, and leers, and triumphantly 
 tosses his glass. 
 
 "Well, it ain't much to me ; I I 
 never got any good out of either of 
 'em yet," says poor Caroline, with a 
 sinking heart. " Let 's talk about 
 somebody else than them two plagues. 
 Because you were a little merry one 
 night, and I don't mind what a 
 gentleman says when he has had a 
 glass, for a great big strong man to 
 hit an old one " 
 
 " To strike a clergyman ! " yells 
 Hunt. 
 
 "It was a shame, a cowardly 
 shame ! And 1 gave it him for it, I 
 promise you ! " cries Mrs. Brandon. 
 
 " On your honor, now, do you hate 
 'em?" cries Hunt, starting up, and 
 clenching his fist, and dropping again 
 into his chair. 
 
 " Have I any reason to love 'em, 
 Mr. Hunt? Do sit down and have a 
 little " 
 
 " No : you have no reason to like 
 'em. You hate 'em, I hate 'em. 
 Look here. Promise 'pon your 
 honor, now, Caroline I 've got 'em 
 both, I tell you. Strike a clergy- 
 man, will he '! What do you say to 
 that ? " 
 
 And starting from his chair once 
 more, and supporting himself against 
 the wall (where hung one of J. J-'i
 
 400 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 pictures of Philip), Hunt pulls out 
 the greasy pocket-book once more, 
 and fumbles amongst the greasy con- 
 tents : and as the papers flutter on to 
 the floor and the table, ha pounces 
 down on one with a dingy hand, and 
 yells a laugh, and says, " I 've 
 cotched you ! That 's it. What do 
 you say to that ? ' London, July 
 4th. Five months after date, I prom- 
 ise to pay to ' No, you don't." 
 
 " La ! Mr. Hunt, won't you let 
 m-3 look at it ? " cries the hostess. 
 " Whatever is it? A bill? My Pa 
 hail plenty of 'era." 
 
 " What ? with candles in the room ? 
 No, you don't, I say." 
 
 " What is it ? Won't you tell me ? " 
 
 " It 's the young one's acceptance 
 of the old man's draft," says Hunt, 
 hissing and laughing. 
 
 " For how much ? " 
 
 " Three hundred and eighty-six 
 four three, that 's all ; and I guess 
 I can get more where that came 
 from ! " says Hunt, laughing more 
 and more cheerfully. 
 
 " What will you take for it 1 I '11 
 buy it of you," cries the Little Sister. 
 "I I 've seen plenty of my Pa's 
 bills; and I'll I'll discount this, 
 if you like." 
 
 " What ! are you a little dis- 
 counter ? Is that the way you make 
 your money, and the silver spoons, 
 and the nice supper, and everything 
 delightful about you 1 A little dis- 
 countess, are you, you little rogue ? 
 Little discountess, by George ! How 
 much will you give, little discount- 
 ess ? " And the reverend gentleman 
 laughs and winks, and drinks and 
 laughs, and tears twinkle out of his tip- 
 sy old eyes, as he wipes them with one 
 hand, and again says, " How much 
 will you give, little discountess ? " 
 
 When poor Caroline went to her 
 cupboard, and from it took the notes 
 and the g >ld which she had had we 
 know from whom, and added to these 
 out of a cunning box a little heap of 
 her own private savings, and with 
 trembling hands poured the notes, 
 and the sovereigns, and the shillings 
 
 into a dish on the table, I never heard 
 accurately how much she laid down. 
 But she must have spread out every- 
 thing she had in the world ; for she 
 felt her pockets and emptied them; 
 and, tapping her head, she again ap- 
 plied to the cupboard, and took from 
 thence a little store of spoons and 
 forks, and then a brooch, and then a 
 watch ; and she piled these all up in 
 a dish, and she said, " Now, Mr. 
 Hunt, I will give you all these for 
 that bill." And she looked up at 
 Philip's picture, which hung over 
 the parson's bloodshot, satyr face. 
 " Take these," she said, " and give 
 me that ! There 's two hundred 
 pound, I know ; and there 's thirty- 
 four, and two eighteen, thirty-six 
 eighteen, and there 's the plate and 
 watch, and I want that bill." 
 
 " What ? have you got all this, you 
 little dear ? " cried Hunt, dropping 
 back into his chair again. " Why, 
 you 're a little fortune, by Jove, a 
 pretty little fortune, a little discount- 
 ess, a little wife, a little fortune. I 
 say, I 'm a University man ; I could 
 write alcaics once as well as any 
 man. I 'm a gentleman. I say, how 
 much have you got ? Count it over 
 again, my dear." 
 
 And again she told him the amount 
 of the gold, and the notes, and the 
 silver, and the number of the poor 
 little spoons. 
 
 A thought came across the fellow's 
 boozy brain : " If you offer so much," 
 says he, " and you 're a little discount- 
 | ess, the bill 's worth more ; that fel- 
 low must be making his fortune ! 
 i Or do you know about it ? I say, 
 j do you know about it ? No. I '11 
 I have my bond. I '11 have my bond ! " 
 ! And he gave a tipsy imitation of 
 Shylock, and lurched back into his 
 chair, and laughed. 
 
 " Let 's have a little more, and talk 
 about things," said the poor Little 
 Sister ; and she daintily heaped her 
 little treasures and arranged them in 
 her dish, and smiled upon the parson 
 laughing in his chair. 
 " Caroline," says he, after a pause,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 401 
 
 " you are still fond of that old bald- 
 headed scoundrel ! That's it ! Just 
 like you women, just like, but I 
 won't tell ! No, no, I won't tell ! 
 You are fond of that old swindler 
 still, I say ! Wherever did you get 
 that lot of money ? Look here now, 
 
 with that, and this little bill in my 
 pocket, there's enough to carry us 
 on for ever so long. And when this 
 money 's gone, 1 tell you I know 
 who '11 give us more, and who can't 
 refuse us, I tell you. Look here, 
 Caroline, dear Caroline ! I' m nn old 
 fellow, I know ; but I 'rn a good fellow : 
 I 'm a classical scholar : and I 'm a 
 gentleman." 
 
 The classical scholar and gentle- 
 man bleared over his words as he ut- 
 tered them, and with his vinous eyes 
 and sordid face gave a leer which 
 must have frightened the poor little 
 lady to whom he proffered himself as 
 a suitor, for she started back with a 
 pallid face, and an aspect of such dis- 
 like and terror, that even her guest 
 remarked it. 
 
 " I said I was a scholar and gentle- 
 man," he shrieked again. " Do you 
 doubt it ? I am as good a man as 
 Brummell Firmin, I say. I ain't so 
 tall. But I '11 do a copy of Latin 
 alcaics or Greek iambics against him 
 or any man of my weight. Do you 
 mean to insult me ? Don't I know 
 who you are ? Are you better than 
 a Master of Arts and a clergyman ? 
 He went out in medicine, Firmin did. 
 Do you mean, when a Master of Arts 
 and classical scholar offers you his 
 hand and fortune, that you 're above 
 him and refuse him, by George ? " 
 
 The Little Sister was growing be- 
 wildered and frightened by the man's 
 energy and horrid looks. " Mr. 
 Hunt ! " she cried, " see here, take 
 this ! See, there are two hundred 
 arid thirty thirty-six pounds and 
 all these things ! Take them, and 
 give me that paper." 
 
 " Sovereigns, and notes, and 
 spoons, and a watch, and what I have 
 in my pocket, and that ain't much, 
 
 and Firmin's bill 1 Three hundred 
 
 and eighty-six four three. It 's a 
 fortune, my dear, with economy ! I 
 won't have you going on being a 
 nurse and that kind of thing. I 'm a 
 scholar and a gentleman, I am, 
 and that place ain't fit for Mrs. Hunt. 
 We '11 first spend your money. No : 
 we'll first spend my money, three 
 hundred and eighty-six and and 
 hang the change, and when that's 
 gone, we '11 have another bill from 
 that bald-headed old scoundrel : and 
 
 his son who struck a poor cler 
 
 We u'ill, I say, Caroline, we " 
 
 The wretch was suiting actions to 
 his words, and rose once more, ad- 
 vancing towards his hostess, who 
 shrank back, laughing half-hysteri- 
 cally, and retreating as the other 
 ncared her. Behind her was that 
 cupboard which had contained her 
 poor little treasure and other stores, 
 and appended to the lock of which 
 her keys were still hanging. As the 
 brute approached her, she flung back 
 the cupboard door smartly upon him. 
 The keys struck him on the head ; 
 and bleeding, and with a curse and a 
 cry, he fell back on his chair. 
 
 "in the cupboard was that bottle 
 which she had received from America 
 not long since ; and about which sho 
 had talked with Goodeuough on that 
 very day. It had been used twice or 
 thrice by his direction, by hospital 
 surgeons, and under her eye. She 
 suddenly seized this bottle. As the 
 ruffian before her uttered his impre- 
 cations of wrath, she poured out a 
 quantity of the contents of the bottle 
 on her handkerchief. She said, " Oh ! 
 Mr. Hunt, have I hurt you 1 I did n't 
 mean it. But you should n't you 
 should n't frigliteu a lonely woman 
 so! Here let me bathe you. Smell 
 this! It will it will do you 
 good it will it will, indeed." 
 The handkerchief was over his face. 
 Bewildered by drink before, the fumes 
 of the liquor which he was absorbing 
 served almost instantly to overcome 
 him. He struggled for a moment or 
 two. " Stop stop ! you '11 be better 
 in a moment," she whispered. " yea J
 
 402 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 better, quite better ! " She squeezed 
 more of the liquor from the bottle on to 
 the handkerchief. In a minute Hunt 
 was quite inanimate. 
 
 Then the little pale woman leant 
 over him, and took the pocket-book 
 out of his pocket, and from it the bill 
 which bore Philip's name. As Hunt 
 lay in . stupor before her, she now 
 sq'ueezed more of the liquor over his 
 head ; and then thrust the bill into 
 the fire, and saw it burn to ashes. 
 Then she put back the pocket-book 
 into Hunt's breast. She said after- 
 wards that she never should have 
 thought about that Chloroform, but 
 for her brief conversation with Dr. 
 Goodenough that evening, regarding 
 a case in which she had employed the 
 new remedy under his orders. 
 
 How long did Hunt lie in that stu- 
 por ? It seemed a whole long night 
 to Caroline. She said afterwards 
 that the thought of that act that night 
 made her hair grow gray. Poor lit- 
 tle head ! Indeed, she would have 
 laid it down for Philip. 
 
 Hunt, I suppose, came to himself 
 when the handkerchief was with- 
 drawn, and the fumes of the potent 
 liquor ceased to work on his brain. 
 He was very much frightened and 
 bewildered. " What was it ? Where 
 am II" he asked, in a husky voice. 
 
 " It was the keys struck you in 
 the cupboard door when you you 
 ran against it," said pale Caroline. 
 " Look ! you are all bleeding on the 
 head. Let me dry it." 
 
 " No ; keep off ! " cried the terrified 
 man. 
 
 " Will you have a cab to go home ? 
 The poor gentleman hit himself 
 against the cupboard door, Mary. 
 You remember him here before, don't 
 you, one night ? " And Caroline, 
 with a shrug, pointed out to her 
 maid, whom she had summoned, the 
 great square bottle of spirits still on 
 the table, and indicated that there lay 
 the cause of Hunt's bewilderment. 
 
 " Are you better now ? Will you 
 will you take a little more re- 
 freshment ? " asked Caroline. 
 
 " No ! " he cried with an oath, and 
 with glaring, bloodshot eyes he 
 lurched towards his hat. 
 
 " Lor', mum ! whatever is it ? 
 And this smell in the room, and all 
 this here heap of money and things 
 on the table ? " 
 
 Caroline flung open her window. 
 " It 's medicine, which Dr. Goode- 
 nough has ordered for one of his pa- 
 tients. I must go and see her to- 
 night," she said. And at midnight, 
 looking as pale as death, the Litrle 
 Sister went to the Doctor's house, 
 and roused him up from his bed, and 
 told him the story here narrated. " I 
 offered him all you gave me," she 
 said, " and all I had in the world be- 
 sides, and he would n't and " 
 Here she broke into a fit of hysterics. 
 The Doctor had to ring up his ser- 
 vants ; to administer remedies to his 
 little nurse ; to put her to bed in his 
 own house. 
 
 " By the immortal Jove," he said 
 afterwards, " I had a great mind to 
 beg her never to leave it ! But that 
 my housekeeper would tear Caroline's 
 eyes out, Mrs. Brandon should be 
 welcome to stay forever. Except her 
 h's, that woman has every virtue : 
 constancy, gentleness, generosity, 
 cheerfulness, and the courage of a 
 lioness ! To think of that fool, that 
 dandified idiot, that triple ass, Fir- 
 min " (there were few men in the 
 world for whom Goodenough enter- 
 tained a greater scorn than for his late 
 confrere, Firmin of Old Parr Street), 
 ' think of the villain having pos- 
 sessed such a treasure, let alone his 
 having deceived and deserted her, 
 of his having possessed such a treas- 
 ure and flung it away ! Sir, I always 
 admired Mrs. Brandon ; but I think 
 ten thousand times more highly of 
 her, since her glorious crime, and 
 most righteous robbery. If the vil- 
 lain had died, dropped dead in the 
 street, the drunken miscreant, for- 
 ger, housebreaker, assassin, so that 
 no punishment could have fallen upon 
 poor Brandon, I think I should have 
 respected her only the more ! "
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 403 
 
 At an early hour Dr. Goodenough 
 nad thought proper to send off mes- 
 sengers to Philip and myself, and to 
 make us acquainted with the strange 
 adventure of the previous night. We 
 both hastened to him. I myself was 
 summoned, no doubt, in consequence 
 of my profound legal knowledge, 
 which might be of use in poor lit- 
 tle Caroline's present trouble. And 
 Philip came because she longed to sec 
 him. By some instinct she knew 
 when he arrived. She crept down 
 from the chamber where the Doctor's 
 housekeeper had laid her on a bed. 
 She knocked at the Doctor's study, 
 where we were all in consultation. 
 She came in quite pale, and tottered 
 towards Philip, and flung herself into 
 his arms, with a burst of tears that 
 greatly relieved her excitement and 
 fever. Firmin was scarcely less 
 moved. 
 
 " You '11 pardon me for what I have 
 done, Philip," she sobbed. " If they, 
 if they take me up, you won't for- 
 eake me ? " 
 
 " Forsake you ? Pardon you ? 
 Come and live with us, and never 
 leave us ! " cried Philip. 
 
 " I don't think Mrs. Philip would 
 like that, dear," said the little woman 
 sobbing on his arm ; " but ever since 
 the Grey friars school, when you was 
 so ill, you have been like a son to me, 
 and somehow I could n't help doing 
 that last night to that villain, I 
 could n't. 
 
 " Serve the scoundrel right Nev- 
 er deserved to come to life again, my 
 dear," said Dr. Goodenough. " Don't 
 you be exciting yourself, little Bran- 
 don ! I must have you sent back to 
 lie down on your bed. Take her up, 
 Philip, tothelittleroomnextmhnjand 
 order her to lie down and be as quiet 
 as a mouse. You are not to move till I 
 give you leave, Brandon, mind that, 
 and come back to us, Firmin, or we 
 shall have the patients coming." 
 
 So Philip led away this poor Little 
 Sister; and trembling, and clinging 
 to his arm, she returned to the room 
 assigned to her. 
 
 " She wants to be alone with him," 
 the Doctor said ; and he spoke a brief 
 word or t\vo of that strange delusion 
 under which the little woman labored, 
 that this was her dead child come back 
 to her. 
 
 " I know that is in her mind," Good- 
 enough said ; " she never got over that 
 brain fever in which I found her. If I 
 were to swear her on the book, and 
 say, 'Brandon, don't you believe he 
 is your son alive again ? ' she would 
 not dare to say no. She will leave 
 him everything she has got. I only 
 gave her so much less than that scoun- 
 drel's bill yesterday, because I knew 
 she would like to contribute her own 
 share. It would have offended her 
 mortally to have been left out of the 
 subscription. They like to sacrifice 
 themselves. Why, there arc women 
 in India who, if not allowed to roast 
 with their dead husbands, would die 
 of vexation." And by this time Mr. 
 Philip came striding back into the 
 room again, rubbing a pair of very 
 red eyes.- 
 
 " Long ere this, no doubt, that 
 drunken ruffian is sobered, and knows 
 that the bill is gone. He is likely 
 enough to accuse her of the robbery," 
 says the Doctor. 
 
 *" Suppose," says Philip's other 
 friend, " I had put a pistol to your 
 head, and was going to shoot you, 
 and the Doctor took the pistol out 
 of my hand, and flung it into the 
 sea, would you help me to prosecute 
 the Doctor for robbing me of the pis- 
 tol ? " 
 
 " You don't suppose it will be a 
 pleasure to me to pay that bill ? " 
 said Philip. " I said, if a certain bill 
 were presented to me, purporting to 
 be accepted by Philip Firmin, I would 
 pay it. But if that scoundrel, Hunt, 
 only soys that he had such a bill, and 
 has lost it, I will cheerfully take my 
 oath that I have never signed any bill 
 at all, and they can't find Brandon 
 guilty of stealing a thing which never 
 existed." 
 
 "Let us hope, then, that the bill 
 was not in duplicate ! "
 
 404 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 And to this wish all three gentle- 
 men heartily said Amen ! 
 
 And now the Doctor's door-bell be- 
 gan to be agitated by arriving patients. 
 His dining-room was already full of 
 them. The Little Sister must lie still, 
 and the discussion of her affairs must 
 be deferred to a more convenient hour ; 
 and Philip and his friend agreed to 
 reconnoitre the house in Thornhaugh 
 Street, and see if anything had hap- 
 pened since its mistress had left 
 it. 
 
 Yes : something had happened. 
 Mrs. Brandon's maid, who ushered 
 us into her mistress's little room, told 
 us that in the early morning that hor- 
 rible man who had come overnight, 
 and been so tipsy, and behaved so ill, 
 the very same man who had come 
 there tipsy afore once, and whom Mr. 
 Philip had flung into the street, had 
 come battering at the knocker, and 
 pulling at the bell, and swearing and 
 cursing most dreadful, and calling 
 for " Mrs. Brandon ! Mrs. Brandon ! 
 Mrs. Brandon ! " and frightening the 
 whole street. After he had rung, he 
 knocked and battered ever so long. 
 Mary looked out at him from her up- 
 per window, and told him to go along 
 home, or she would call the police. 
 On this the man roared out that he 
 would call the police himself if Mary 
 did not let him in ; and as he went on 
 calling " Police ! " and yelling from 
 the door, Mary came down stairs, and 
 opened the hall door, keeping the 
 chain fastened, and asked him what 
 he wanted 1 
 
 Hunt, from the steps without, be- 
 gan to swear and rage more loudly, 
 and to demand to be let in. He must 
 and would sec Mrs. Brandon. 
 
 Mary, from behind her chain bar- 
 ricade, said that her mistress was not 
 at home, but that she had been called 
 out that night to a patient of Dr. 
 Goodenough's. 
 
 Hunt, with more shrieks and curses, 
 said it was a lie : and that she was at 
 home ; and that he would see her ; 
 and that he must go into her room ; 
 and that he had left something there ; 
 
 that he bad lost something ; and that 
 he would have it. 
 
 "Lost something nereV cried 
 Mary. " Why here ? when you 
 reeled out of this house, you could n't 
 scarce walk, and you almost fell into 
 the gutter, which I have seen you 
 there before. Get away, and go 
 home ! You are not sober yet, you 
 horrible man ! " 
 
 On this, clinging on to the area- 
 railings, and demeaning himself like 
 a madman, Hunt continued to call 
 out, " Police, police ! I have been 
 robbed, I 've been robbed ! Police ! " 
 until astonished heads appeared at 
 various windows in the quiet street, 
 and a policeman actually came up. 
 
 When the policeman appeared, 
 Hunt began to sway and pull at the 
 door, confined by its chain : and he 
 frantically reiterated his charge, that he 
 had been robbed and hocussed in that 
 house, that night, by Mrs. Brandon. 
 
 The policeman, by a familiar ex- 
 pression, conveyed his utter disbelief 
 of the statement, and told the dirty, 
 disreputable man to move on, and go 
 to bed. Mrs. Brandon was known 
 and respected all round the neighbor- 
 hood. She had befriended numerous 
 poor round about ; and was known 
 for a hundred charities. She attend- 
 ed many respectable families. In 
 that parish there was no woman more 
 esteemed. And by the word " Gam- 
 mon," the policeman expressed his 
 sense of the utter absurdity of the 
 charge against the good lady. 
 
 Hunt still continued to yell out 
 that he had been robbed and hocussed ; 
 and Mary from behind her door re- 
 peated to the officer (with whom she 
 perhaps had relations not unfriendly) 
 her statement that the beast had gone 
 reeling away from the house the night 
 before, and if he had lost anything, 
 who knows where he might not have 
 lost it 1 
 
 " It was taken out of this pocket, 
 and out of this pocket-book," howled 
 Hunt, clinging to the rail. " I give 
 her in charge. I give the house in 
 charge ! It 's a den of thieves ! "
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 405 
 
 During this shouting and turmoil, 
 the sash of a window in Ridley's stu- 
 dio was thrown up. The painter was 
 going to his morning work. lie had 
 appointed an early model. The sun 
 could not rise too soon for Ridley ; 
 and as soon as ever it gave its light 
 found him happy at his labor. He 
 had heard from his bedroom the 
 brawl going on about the door. 
 
 " Mr. Ridley ! " says the policeman, 
 touching the glazed hat with much 
 respect (in fact, and out of uniform, 
 Z 25 has figured in more than one of 
 J. J.' s pictures), " Here 's a fellow 
 disturbing the whole street, and 
 shouting out that Mrs. Brandon have 
 robbed and hoeussed him ! " 
 
 Ridley ran down stairs in a high 
 state of indignation. He is nervous, 
 like men of his tribe ; quick to feel, 
 to pity, to love, to be angry. He un- 
 did the chain, and ran into the street. 
 
 " I remember that fellow drunk 
 here before," said the painter ; " and 
 lying in that very gutter." 
 
 " Drunk and disorderly ! Come 
 along ! " cries Z 25 ; and his hand 
 was quickly fastened on the parson's 
 greasy collar, and under its strong 
 grasp Hunt is forced to move on. 
 He goes, still yelling out that he has 
 been robbed. 
 
 " Tell that to his Worship," says 
 the incredulous Z. And this was the 
 news which Mrs. Brandon's friends 
 received from her maid, when they 
 tailed at her house. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 IN WHICH SEVERAL PEOPLE HAVE 
 THEIR TRIALS. 
 
 IF Philip and his friend had 
 happened to pass through High 
 Street, Marylebone, on their way to 
 Thornhaugh Street to reconnoitre 
 the Little Sister's house, they would 
 have seen the Reverend Mr. Hunt, in 
 a very dirty, battered, crestfallen and 
 unsatisfactory state, marching to 
 Marylebone from the station, where 
 
 the reverend gentleman had passed 
 the night, and tinder the custody of 
 the police. A convoy of street hoys 
 followed the prisoner and his guard, 
 making sarcastic remarks on both. 
 Hunt's appearance was not improved 
 since we had the pleasure of meeting 
 him on the previous evening. With 
 a grizzled beard and hair, a dingy 
 face, a dingy shirt, and a countenance 
 mottled with dirt and drink, we may 
 fancy the reverend man passing in 
 tattered raiment through the street 
 to make his appearance before the 
 magistrate. 
 
 You have no doubt forgotten the 
 narrative which appeared in the 
 morning papers two days after the 
 Thornhaugh Street incident, but my 
 clerk has been at the pains to hunt 
 up and copy the police report, in 
 which events connected with our his- 
 tory arc briefly recorded. 
 
 " MARYLEHOXE, Wednesday. 
 Thomas Tuft on Hunt, professing to 
 be a clergyman, but wearing an ap- 
 pearance of extreme squalor, was 
 brought before Mr. Bcaksby at this 
 office, charged by Z '25 with being 
 drunk and very disorderly on Tuesday 
 se'nnight, and endeavoring by force 
 and threats to effect his re-entiance 
 into a house in Thornhaugh Street, 
 from which he had been previously 
 ejected in a most unclerical and in- 
 ebriated state. 
 
 " On being taken to the station- 
 house, the reverend gentleman lodged 
 a complaint on his own side, and 
 averred that he had been stupefied and 
 hoeussed in the house in Thornhaugh 
 Street by means of some drug, and 
 that, whilst in this state, he had been 
 robbed of a bill for .386 4s. 3d., 
 drawn by a person in New York, and 
 accepted by Mr. P. Firmin, barrister, 
 of Parchment Buildings, Temple. 
 
 "Mrs. Brandon, the landlady of 
 the house, No. Thornhaugh Street, 
 has been in the hnln't of letting lodg- 
 ings for many years past, and several 
 of her friends, including Mr. Firmin, 
 Mr. Ridley, the Rl. Acad., and other 
 gentlemen, were in attendance t
 
 406 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 speak to her character, which is most 
 respectable. After Z 25 had given 
 evidence, the servant deposed that 
 Hunt had been more than once disor- 
 derly and drunk before that house, 
 and had been forcibly ejected from it. 
 On the night when the alleged rob- 
 bery was said to have taken place, he 
 had visited the house in Thornhaugh 
 Street, had left it in an inebriated 
 state, and returned some hours after- 
 wards, vowing that he had been 
 robbed of the document in question. 
 
 " Mr. P. Firmin said : ' I am a 
 barrister, and have chambers at Parch- 
 ment Buildings, Temple, and know 
 the person calling himself Hunt. I 
 have not accepted any bill of ex- 
 change, nor is my signature affixed 
 to any such document.' 
 
 " At this stage the worthy magis- 
 trate interposed, and said that this 
 only went to prove that the bill was 
 not completed by Mr. F.'s acceptance, 
 and would by no means conclude the 
 case set up before him. Dealing with 
 it, however, on the merits, and look- 
 ing at the way in which the charge 
 had been preferred, and the entire ab- 
 sence of sufficient testimony to warrant 
 him in deciding that even a piece of 
 paper had been abstracted in that 
 house, or by the person accused, and 
 believing that if he were to commit, a 
 conviction would be impossible, he 
 dismissed the charge. 
 
 " The lady left the court with her 
 friends, and the accuser, when called 
 upon to pay a fine for drunkenness, 
 broke out into very unclerical lan- 
 guage, in the midst of which he was 
 forcibly removed." 
 
 Philip Firmin's statement, that he 
 had given no bill of exchange, was 
 made not without hesitation on his 
 part, and indeed at his friends' strong 
 entreaty. It was addressed not so 
 much to the sitting magistrate, as 
 to that elderly individual at New 
 York, who was warned no more to 
 forge his son's name. I fear a cool- 
 ness ensued between Philip and his 
 parent in consequence of the younger 
 man's behavior. The Doctor had 
 
 thought better of his boy than to 
 suppose that, at a moment of necessity, 
 Philip would desert him. He for- 
 gave Philip, nevertheless. Perhaps 
 since his marriage other influences 
 were at work upon him, &c. The 
 parent made further remarks in this 
 strain. A man who takes your 
 money is naturally offended if you 
 remonstrate ; you wound his sense 
 of delicacy by protesting against his 
 putting his hand in your pocket. 
 The elegant doctor in New York con- 
 tinued to speak of his unhappy son 
 with a mournful shake of the head ; 
 he said, perhaps believed, that Philip's 
 imprudence was in part the cause of 
 his own exile. " This is not the 
 kind of entertainment, to which I 
 would have invited you at my own 
 house in England," he would say. 
 " I thought to h-.tve ended my days 
 there, and to have left my son in com- 
 fort, nay, splendor. I am an ex- 
 ile in poverty : and he but I will 
 use no hard words." And to his 
 female patients he would say : " No, 
 my dear madam ! not a syllable of 
 reproach shall escape these lips regard- 
 ing that misguided boy ! But you 
 can feel for me ; I know you can feel 
 for me." In the old days, a high- 
 spirited highwayman, who took a 
 coach-passenger's purse, thought 
 himself injured, and the traveller a 
 shabby fellow, if he secreted a guinea 
 or two under the cushions. In the 
 Doctor's now rare letters, he breathed 
 a manly sigh here and there, to think 
 that he had lost the confidence of his 
 boy. I do believe that certain ladies 
 of our acquaintance were inclined to 
 think that the elder Firmin had been 
 not altogether well used, however 
 much they loved and admired the 
 Little Sister for her lawless act in her 
 boy's defence. But this main point 
 we had won. The Doctor at New 
 York took the warning, and wrote his 
 son's signature upon no more bills of 
 exchange. The good Goodenough's 
 loan was carried back to him in the 
 very coin which he had supplied. 
 He said that his little nurse Brandon
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 407 
 
 was splendide mendax, and that her 
 robbery was a sublime and courageous 
 act of war. 
 
 In so far, since his marriage, Mr. 
 Philip had been pretty fortunate. At 
 need, friends had come to him. In 
 moments of peril he had had succor and 
 relief. Though he had married with- 
 out money, fate had sent him a suf- 
 ficiency. His flask had never been 
 empty, and there was always meal in 
 his bin. But now hard trials were in 
 store for him : hard trials which we 
 have said were endurable, and which 
 he has long since lived through. Any j 
 man who has played the game of life 
 or whist knows how for one while he 
 will have a series of good cards dealt 
 him, and again will get no trumps at 
 all. After he got into his house in 
 Milman Street and quitted the Lit- 
 tle Sister's kind roof, our friend's 
 good fortune seemed to desert him. 
 " Perhaps it was a punishment for 
 my pride, because I was haughty 
 with her, and and jealous of that 
 dear good little creature," poor Char- 
 lotte afterwards owned in conversation 
 with other friends, " but our for- 
 tune seemed to change when we were 
 away from her, and that I must 
 own." 
 
 Perhaps, when she was yet under 
 Mrs. Brandon's roof, the Little Sis- 
 ter's provident care had done a great 
 deal more for Charlotte than Char- 
 lotte knew. Mrs. Philip had the 
 most simple tastes in the world, and 
 upon herself never spent an unneces- 
 sary shilling. Indeed, it was a won- 
 der, considering her small expenses, 
 how neat and nice Mrs. Philip ever 
 looked. But she never could deny 
 herself when the children were in 
 question ; and had them arrayed in 
 all sorts of fine clothes ; and stitched 
 and hemmed all day and night to 
 decorate their little persons ; and in 
 reply to the remonstrances of the 
 matrons her friends, showed how it 
 was impossible children could be 
 dressed for less cost. If anything 
 ailed them, quick, the doctor must be 
 sent for. Not worthy Goodenough, 
 
 who came without a fee, and pooh- 
 poohed her alarms and anxieties ; 
 but dear Mr. Bland, who had a feel- 
 ing heart, and w;is himself a father 
 of children, and who supported those 
 children by the produce of the pills, 
 draughts, powders, visits, which he 
 bestowed on all families into whose 
 doors he entered. Bland's sympa- 
 thy was very consolatory ; but it was 
 found to be very costly at the end 
 of the year. " And, what then 1 " says 
 Charlotte, with kindling cheeks. " l3o 
 you suppose we should grudge that 
 money, which was to give health to 
 our dearest, dearest babies 1 No. 
 You can't have such a bad opinion 
 of me as that ! " And accordingly 
 Mr. Bland received a nice little an- 
 nuity from our friends. Philip had a 
 joke about his wife's housekeeping 
 which perhaps may apply to other 
 young women who are kept by over- 
 watchful mothers too much in statu 
 pupillari. When they were married, 
 or about to he married, Philip asked 
 Charlotte what she would order for 
 dinner 1 She promptly said she 
 would order leg of mutton. " And 
 after leg of mutton ? " " Leg of 
 beef, to be sure ! " says Mrs. Char- 
 lotte, looking very pleased, and know- 
 ing. And the fact is, as this little 
 housekeeper was obliged demurely to 
 admit, their household bills increased 
 prodigiously after they left Thornhaugh 
 Street. " And I can't understand, 
 my dear, how the grocer's book should 
 mount up so ; and the butter-man's, 
 and the beer," &c., &c. We have 
 often seen the pretty little head bent 
 over the dingy volumes, puzzling, 
 puzzling : and the eldest child would 
 hold up a warning finger to ours, 
 and tell them to be very quiet, as 
 mamma was at her " atouuts." 
 
 And now, I grieve to say, money 
 became scarce for the payment of 
 these accounts ; and though Philip 
 fancied he hid his anxieties from his 
 wife, be sure she loved him too much 
 to be deceived by one of the clumsiest 
 hypocrites in the world. Only, being 
 a much cleverer hypocrite than her
 
 408 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 husband, she pretended to be deceived, 
 and acted her part so well that poor 
 Philip was mortified with her gayety, 
 and chose to fancy his wife was in- 
 different to their misfortunes. She 
 ought not to be so smiling and happy, 
 he thought ; and, as usual, bemoaned 
 his lot to his friends. " I come 
 home racked with care, and think- 
 ing of those inevitable bills ; I shud- 
 der, sir, at every note that lies on the 
 hall table, and would tremble as I 
 dashed them open as they do on the 
 stage. But I laugh and put on a 
 jaunty air, and humbug Char. And 
 I hear her singing about the house 
 and laughing and cooing with the 
 children, by Jove. She 's not aware 
 of anything. She does not know how 
 dreadfully the res domi is squeezing 
 me. But before marriage she did, I 
 tell you. Then, if anything annoyed 
 me, she divined it. If I felt ever so 
 little unwell, you should have seen the 
 alarm on her face ! It was, ' Philip 
 dear, how pale you are ' ; or, ' Philip, 
 how flushed you are ' ; or, ' I am 
 sure you have had a letter from your 
 father. Why do yon conceal any- 
 thing from me, sir ? You never 
 should, never!' And now when 
 the fox is gnawing at my side under 
 my cloak, I laugh and grin so natu- 
 rally that she believes I am all right, 
 and she comes to meet me flouncing 
 the children about in my face, and 
 wearing an air of consummate hap- 
 piness ! I would not deceive her 
 for the world, you know. But it 's 
 mortifying. Don't tell me ! It 
 is mortifying to be tossing awake 
 all night, and racked with care all 
 day, and have the wife of your bosom 
 chattering and singing and laughing, 
 as if there were no cares," or doubts, 
 or duns in the world. If I had the 
 gout and she were to laugh and sing, 
 I should not call that sympathy. If 
 I were arrested for debt, and she were 
 to come grinning and laughing to 
 the sponging-house, I should not call 
 that consolation. Why does n't she 
 fe^l 1 She ought to fee*. There 's 
 Betsy, our parlor-maitf. There 's the 
 
 old fellow who comes to clean the 
 boots and knives. They know how 
 hard up I am. And my wife sings 
 and dances whilst I am on the verge 
 of ruin, by Jove ; and giggles and 
 laughs as if life was a pantomime! " 
 Then the man and woman into 
 whose ears poor Philip roared out his 
 confessions and griefs hung down 
 j their blushing heads in humbled si- 
 1 lence. They are tolerably prosper- 
 ous in life, and, I fear, are pretty well 
 satisfied with themselves and each 
 other. A woman who scarcely ever 
 does any wrong, and rules and gov- 
 erns her own house and family as my 
 , as the wife of the reader's hum- 
 ble servant most notoriously does, of- 
 ten becomes must it be said ? 
 too certain of her own virtue, and is 
 too sure of the correctness of her own 
 opinion. We virtuous people give 
 advice a good deal, and set a consid- 
 erable value upon that advice. We 
 meet a certain man who has fallen 
 among thieves, let us say. We suc- 
 cor him readily enough. We take 
 him kindly to the inn, and pay his 
 score there ; but we say to the land- 
 lord, " You must give this poor man 
 his bed ; his medicine at such a time, 
 and his broth at such another. But, 
 mind you, he must have that physic, 
 and no other ; that broth when we 
 order it. We take his case in hand, 
 you understand. Don't listen to him 
 or anybody else. We know all about 
 everything. Good by. Take care 
 of him. Mind the medicine and the 
 broth ! " and Mr. Benefactor or Lady 
 Bountiful goes away, perfectly self- 
 satisfied. 
 
 Do you take this allegory ? When 
 Philip complained to us of his wife's 
 friskiness and gayety ; when he bit- 
 terly contrasted her levity and care- 
 lessness with his own despondency 
 and doubt, Charlotte's two principal 
 friends were smitten by shame. " O 
 Philip ! dear Philip ! " his female ad- 
 viser said (having looked at her hus- 
 band once or twice as Firmin spoke, 
 and in vain endeavored to keep her 
 guilty eyes down on her work),
 
 THE ADVENTURES 
 
 PHILIP 
 
 400 
 
 " Charlotte has done this, because 
 she is humble, and because she takes 
 the advice of friends who are not. 
 She knows everything, and more than 
 everything ; for her dear tender heart 
 is rilled with apprehension. But we 
 told her to show no sign ot care, lest 
 her husband should be disturbed. 
 And she trusted in us ; and she puts 
 her trust elsewhere, Philip ; and she 
 has hidden her own anxieties, lest 
 yours should be increased ; and has 
 met you gayly when her heart 
 was full of dread. We think she has 
 done wrong now ; but she did so be- 
 cause she was to simple, and trusted 
 in us who advised her wrongly. Now 
 we see that there ought to have been 
 perfect confidence always between 
 you, and that it is her simplicity and 
 faith in us which have misled her." 
 
 Philip hung down his head for a 
 moment, and hid his eyes ; and we 
 knew, during that minute when his 
 face was concealed from us, how his 
 grateful heart was employed. 
 
 " And you know, dfrar Philip " 
 says Laura, looking at her hn.-band, 
 and nodding to that person, who cer- 
 tainly understood the hint. 
 
 " And I say, Firmin," breaks in 
 the lady's husband, " you understand, 
 if you are at all that is, if you 
 that is, if we can " 
 
 " Hold your tongue ! " shouts Fir- 
 min, with a face beaming over with 
 happiness. "I know what you mean. 
 You beggar, you are going to offer 
 me money ! I see it in your face ', 
 bless you both ! But we '11 try and 
 do without, please Heaven. And 
 and it 's worth feeling a pinch of pov- 
 erty to find such friends as I have 
 had, and to share it with such a 
 dash dear little thing as I have at 
 home. And I won't try and humbug 
 Char any more. I 'm bad at that j 
 sort of business. And good night, | 
 and I '11 never forget your kindness, 
 never ! " And he is off a moment af- 
 terwards, and jumping down the steps 
 of our door, and so into the park. 
 And though there wre not five 
 pounds in the poor little house in 
 18 
 
 Milman Street, there were not two 
 happier people in London that night 
 than Charlotte and Philip Firmin. 
 If he hud his troubles, our friend had 
 his immense consolations. Fortu- 
 nate he, however poor, who has 
 friends to help, and love to console 
 him in his trials. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 IN WHICH THE LUCK GOES VERY 
 MUCH AGAINST US. 
 
 EVERY man and woman amongst 
 us has made his voyage to I.iliput, 
 and his tour in the kingdom of Biob- 
 dingnag. When I ^o to my native 
 country town, the local paper an- 
 nounces our arrival ; the lal orers 
 touch their liats, as the pony-chaise 
 passes, the girls and old women drop 
 courtesies ; Mr. Ilieks, the groier and 
 hatter, comes to his door and makes 
 a bow, and smirks and smiles. When 
 our neighbor Sir John arrives at the 
 hall, he is a still greater personage; 
 the bell-ringers greet the hall family 
 with a peal ; the rector walks over on 
 an early day. and pays his visit ; and 
 the farmers at market press round for 
 a nod of recognition. Sir John at 
 home is in Lilijmt : in Belgrave 
 Square he is in Brobdingnag, where 
 almost everybody we meet is ever so 
 much taller than ourselves. " Which 
 do you like liest, to be a giant amongst 
 the" pygmies, or a pygmy amongst the 
 giants'?" 1 know what sort of com- 
 pany I prefer myself: but that is not 
 the point. What I would hint is, 
 that we possibly give ourselves pat- 
 ronizing airs before small people, as 
 folks higher placed than ourselves 
 give themselves airs before us. Pat- 
 ronizing airs? Old Miss Mumbles, 
 the half-pay lieutenant's daughter, 
 who lives over the plumber's with 
 her maid, gives herself in her degree 
 more airs than any duchess in Hel- 
 gravia, and would leave the room if 
 a tradesman's wife sat down in it. 
 
 Now it has been said that few men
 
 410 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 in this city of London are so simple 
 in their manners as Philip Firmm, 
 and that he treated the patron whose 
 hread he ate, and the wealthy relative 
 who condescended to visit him, with 
 a like freedom. He is blunt but not 
 familiar, and is not a whit more po- 
 lite to my Lord than to Jack or Tom 
 at the coffee-house. He resents fa- 
 miliarity from vulgar persons, and 
 those who venture on it retire maimed 
 and mortified after coming into col- 
 lision with him. As for the people 
 he loves, he grovels before them, wor- 
 ships their boot-tips, and their gown- 
 hems. But he submits to them, not 
 for their wealth or rank, but for love's 
 sake. He submitted very magnani- 
 mously, at first, to the kindnesses 
 and caresses of Lady Ringwood and 
 her daughters, being softened and 
 won by the regard which they showed 
 for his wife and children. 
 
 Although Sir John was for the 
 Rights of Man everywhere, all over 
 the world, and had pictures of Frank- 
 lin, Lafayette, and Washington in his 
 library, he likewise had portraits of 
 his own ancestors in that apartment, 
 and entertained a very high opinion 
 of the present representative of the 
 Ringwood family. The character of 
 the late chief of the house was noto- 
 rious. Lord Ringwood's life had been > 
 irregular and his morals loose. His 
 talents were considerable, no doubt, 
 but they had not been devoted to se- 
 rious study or directed, to useful ends. 
 A wild man in early life, he had only 
 changed his practices in later life in 
 consequence of ill health, and became 
 a hermit as a Certain Person became 
 a monk. He was a frivolous person ; 
 to the end, and was not to be con- \ 
 sidered as a public man and states- 
 man ; and this light-minded man of 
 pleasure had been advanced to the 
 third rank of the peerage, whilst his ' 
 successor, his superior in intellect and j 
 morality, remained a baronet still. ! 
 How blind the Ministry was which j 
 refused to recognize so much talent 
 and worth ! Had there been public 
 yirtue or common sense in the gov- 
 
 ernors of the nation, merits like Sir 
 John's never could have been over- 
 looked. But Ministers were notori- 
 ously a family clique, and only helped 
 each other. Promotion and patron- 
 age were disgracefully monopolized 
 by the members of a very few families 
 who were not better men of business, 
 men of better character, men of more 
 ancient lineage (though birth, of 
 course, was a mere accident) than Sir 
 John himself. In a word, until they 
 gave him a peerage, he saw very little 
 hope for the cabinet or the country. 
 
 In a very early page of this history 
 mention was made of a certain Philip 
 Ringwood, to whose protection Philip 
 Finnin's mother confided her boy 
 when he was first sent to school. 
 Philip Ringwood was Firmin's senior 
 by seven years ; he came to Old Parr 
 Street twice or thrice during his stay 
 at school, condescended to take the 
 " tips," of which the poor doctor was 
 liberal enough, but never deigned to 
 take any notice of young Firmin, who 
 looked up to his kinsman with awe 
 and trembling. From school Philip 
 Ringwood speedily departed to col- 
 lege, and then entered upon public 
 life. He was the eldest son of Sir 
 John Ringwood, with whom our 
 friend has of late made acquaintance. 
 
 Mr. Ringwood was a much greater 
 personage than the Baronet his father. 
 Even when the latter succeeded to 
 Lord Ringwood's estates and came to 
 London, he could scarcely be said 
 to equal his son in social rank ; and 
 the younger patronized his parent. 
 What is the secret of great social suc- 
 cess ? It is not to be gained l>y beau- 
 ty, or wealth, or birth, or wit, or val- 
 or, or eminence of any kind. It is a 
 gift of Fortune, bestowed, like that 
 goddess's favors, capriciously. Look, 
 dear madam, at the most fashionable 
 ladies at present reigning in London. 
 Are they better bred, or more amiable, 
 or richer, or more beautiful than 
 yourself? See, good sir, the men 
 who lead the fashion, and stand in 
 the bow-window at " Black's " ; are 
 they wiser, or wittier, or more agree-
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 411 
 
 able people than you ? And yet you 
 know what your fate would be if you 
 were put up at that club. Sir John 
 Ringwood never dared to be proposed 
 there, even after his great accession of 
 fortune on the Earl's death. His son 
 did not encourage him. People even 
 said that Ringwood would blackball 
 his father if he dared to offer himself 
 as a candidate. 
 
 I never, I say, could understand the 
 reason of Philip Ringwood's success 
 in life, though you must acknowledge 
 that he is one of our most eminent 
 dandies. He is affable to dukes. He 
 patronizes marquises. He is not wit- 
 ty. He is not clever. He docs not 
 give good dinners. How many baron- 
 ets are there in the British empire ? 
 Look to your book, and see. I tell 
 you there are many of these whom 
 Philip Ringwood would scarcely ad- 
 mit to wait at one of his bad dinners. 
 By calmly asserting himself in life, 
 this man has achieved his social emi- 
 nence. We may hate him ; but we 
 acknowledge his superiority. For in- 
 stance, I should as soon think of ask- 
 ing him to dine with me, as I should 
 of slapping the Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury on the back. 
 
 Mr. Ringwood has a meagre little 
 house in May Fair, and belongs to a 
 public office, where he patronizes his 
 chef. His own family bow down be- 
 fore him ; his mother is humble in his 
 company; his sisters are respectful; 
 his father does not brag of his own 
 liberal principles, and never alludes to 
 the rights of man in the son's pres- 
 ence. He is called " Mr. Ringwood " 
 in the family. The person who is 
 least in awe of him is his younger 
 brother, who has been known to 
 make faces behind the elder's back. 
 But he is a dreadfully headstrong and 
 ignorant child, and respects nothing. 
 Lady Ringwood, by the way, is Mr. 
 Ringwood's step-mother. His own 
 mother was the daughter of a noble 
 house, and died in giving birth to this 
 paragon. 
 
 Philip Firmin, who had not set 
 eyee upon his kinsman since they 
 
 were at school together, remembered 
 some stories which were current 
 about Ringwood, and by no means to 
 that eminent dandy's credit, stories 
 of intrigue, of play, of various liber- 
 tine exploits on" Mr. Ringwood's 
 part. One day, Philip and Charlotte 
 dined with Sir John, who was talk- 
 ing and chirping, and laying down 
 the law. and bragging away accord- 
 ing to his wont, when his son entered 
 and asked for dinner. He had ac- 
 cepted an invitation to dine at Gar- 
 terton House. The Duke had one of 
 his attacks of gout just before dinner. 
 The dinner was off. If Lady King- 
 would give him a slice of mutton, he 
 would be very much obliged to her. 
 A place was soon found for him. 
 "And, Philip, this is your namesake, 
 and our cousin, Mr. Philip Fivmin," 
 said the Baronet, presenting his son 
 to his kinsman. 
 
 " Your father used to give me sov- 
 ereigns, when I was at school. I 
 have a faint recollection of you, too. 
 Little white-headed boy, were n't you? 
 How is the Doctor, and Mrs. Finnin 1 
 All right?" 
 
 " Why, don't you know his father 
 ran away?" calls out the youngest 
 member of the family. "Don't kick 
 me, Emily. He did run away." 
 
 Then Mr. Ringwood remembered, 
 and a faint blush tinged his face. 
 " Lapse of time, I know. Should n't 
 have asked, after such a lapse of 
 time." And he mentioned a case in 
 which a duke, who was very forget- 
 ful, had asked a marquis about his 
 wife who had run away with an carl, 
 and made inquiries about the mar- 
 quis's son, who, as everybody knew, 
 was not on terms witli his father. 
 
 " This is Mrs. Firmin. Mrs. 
 Philip Firmin," cried Lady Ring- 
 wood, rather nervously ; and I sup- 
 pose Mrs. Philip blushed, and the 
 blush became her ; for Mr. Ringwood 
 afterwards condescended to say to one 
 of his sisters, that their new-found rel- 
 ative seemed one of your rough-and- 
 ready sort of gentlemen, but his wife 
 was really very well bred, and quite
 
 412 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 a pretty young woman, and present- 
 able anywhere, really anywhere. 
 Charlotte was asked to sing one or 
 two of her little songs after dinner. 
 Mr. Ringwood was delighted. Her 
 voice was perfectly true. What she 
 sang, she sang admirably. And he 
 was good enough to hum over one of 
 her songs (during which performance 
 he showed that his voice was not ex- 
 empt from little frailties), and to say 
 he had heard Lady Philomela Shaker- 
 ley sing that very song at Glenmavis, 
 last autumn ; and it was such a favor- 
 ite that the Duchess asked for it every 
 night, actually every night. When 
 our friends were going home, Mr. 
 Ringwood gave Philip almost the 
 whole of one finger to shake; and 
 while Philip was inwardly raging at 
 his impertinence, believed that he had 
 entirely fascinated his humble rela- 
 tives, and that he had been most 
 good-natured and friendly. 
 
 I cannot tell why this man's patron- 
 age chafed and goaded our worthy 
 friend so as to drive him beyond the 
 bounds of all politeness and reason. 
 The artless remarks of the little boy, 
 and the occasional simple speeches of 
 the young ladies, had only tickled 
 Philip's humor, and served to amuse 
 him when he met his relatives. I sus- 
 pect it was a certain free-and-easy 
 manner which Mr. Rimrwood chose 
 to adopt towards Mrs. Philip, whii-k 
 annoyed her husband. He had said 
 nothing at which offence could be j 
 taken : perhaps he was quite uncon- ' 
 scious of offending; nay, thought 
 himself eminently pleasing: perhaps 
 he was not more impertinent towards 
 her th-m towards other women : but, i 
 in talking about him, Mr. Firmin's 
 eyes flashed very fiercely, and he 
 spoke of his new acquaintance and 
 relative, with his usual extreme can- 
 dor, as an upstart, and an arrogant | 
 conceited puppy whose ears he would 
 like to pull. 
 
 How do good women learn to dis- 
 cover men who are not good ? Is it 
 by instinct ? How do they learn 
 those stories about men * I protest 
 
 I never told my wife anything good 
 or bad regarding this Mr. Ringwood, 
 though, of course, as a man about 
 town, I have heard who has not? 
 little anecdotes regarding his ca- 
 reer. His conduct in that affair with 
 Miss Willowby was heartless and 
 cruel ; his behavior to that unhappy 
 Blanche Painter nobody can defend. 
 My wife conveys her opinion regard- 
 ing Philip Ringwood, his life, prin- 
 ciples, and morality, by looks and 
 silences which are more awful and 
 killing than the bitterest words of sar- 
 casm or reproof. Philip Finn in, who 
 knows her ways, watches her features, 
 and, as I have said, humbles himself 
 at her feet, marked the lady's awful 
 looks, when he came to describe to us 
 his meeting with his cousin, and the 
 magnificent patronizing airs which 
 Mr. Ringwood assumed. 
 
 " What ? " he said, " you don't like 
 him any more than I do 1 I thought 
 you would not ; and I am so glad." 
 
 Philip's friend said she did not 
 know Mr. Ringwood, and had never 
 spoken a word to him in her life. 
 
 "Yes; but you know of him," 
 cries the impetuous Firmin. " What 
 do you know of him with his mon- 
 strous puppyism and arrogance 1 " 
 <), Mrs. Laura knew very little of 
 him. She did not believe she had 
 much rather not believe what the 
 world said about Mr. Ringwood. 
 
 " Suppose we were to ask the Wool- 
 combs their opinion of your charac- 
 ter, Philip?" cries that gentleman's 
 biographer, with a laugh. 
 
 "My dear!" says Laura, with a 
 yet severer look, the severity of which 
 glance I must explain. The differ- 
 ences of Woolcomb and his wife were 
 notorious. Their unhappiness was 
 known to all the world. Society was 
 beginning to look with a very, very 
 cold face upon Mrs. Woolcomb. Af- 
 ter quarrels, jealousies, battles, recon- 
 ciliations, scenes of renewed violence 
 and furious language, .had come indif- 
 ference, and the most reckless gayety 
 on the woman's i.art. Her home 
 was splendid, but mean and misera'
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 413 
 
 ble; all sorts of stories were rife re- 
 garding her husband's brutal treat- 
 ment of poor Agnes, and her own 
 imprudent behavior. Mrs. Laura 
 was indignant when this unhappy 
 Woman's name was ever mentioned, 
 except when she thought how our 
 warm, true-hearted Philip had escaped 
 from the heartless creature. " What 
 a blessing it was that you were ruined, 
 Philip, and that she deserted you ! " 
 Jjaura would say. " What fortune 
 would repay you for marrying such a 
 woman ? " 
 
 " Indeed it was worth all I had to 
 lose her," says Philip, " and so the 
 Doctor and I are quits. If he had 
 not spent my fortune, Agnes would 
 have married me. If she bad married 
 me, I might have turned Othello, and 
 have been hung for smothering her. 
 Why, if I had not been poor, I 
 should never have been married to 
 little Char, and fancy not being 
 married to Char ! " The worthy fel- 
 low here lapses into silence, and in- 
 dulges in an inward rapture at the 
 idea of his own excessive happiness. 
 Then he is scared again at the thought 
 which his own imagination has raised. 
 
 " I say ! Fancy being without the 
 kids and Char ! " he cries with a blank 
 look. 
 
 " That horrible father that dread- 
 ful mother pardon me, Philip; but 
 when I think of the worldliness of 
 those unhappy people, and how that 
 poor unhappy woman has been bred 
 in it, and ruined by it, I am so, so, 
 so enraged, that I can't keep my tem- 
 per ! " cries the lady. " Is the woman 
 answerable, or the parents, who hard- 
 ened her heart, and sold her sold 
 her to that O!" Our illustrious 
 friend Woolcomb was signified by 
 " that O," and the lady once more 
 paused, choked with wrath as she 
 thought about that O, and that O's 
 wife. 
 
 " I wonder he has not Othello'd 
 her," remarks Philip, with his hands 
 in his pockets. " I should, if she had 
 been mine, and gone on as they say 
 she is going on." 
 
 | " It is dreadful, dreadful to con- 
 
 I template ! " continues the lady " To 
 think she was sold by her own parents, 
 poor thing, poor thing ! The guilt is 
 with them who led her wrong." 
 
 " Nay," says one of the three inter- 
 locutors. " Why stop at poor Mr. 
 and Mrs. Twysdcn ? Why not let 
 them off, and accuse their parents ? 
 who lived worldly too in their genera- 
 tion Or stay, "they descend from 
 
 I William the Conqueror. Let us ab- 
 solve poor Weldone Twysdcn and 
 his heartless wife, and have the Nor- 
 
 j man into court." 
 
 " Ah, Arthur ! Did not our sin be- 
 gin with the beginning," cries the la- 
 dy, " and have we not its remedy ? O, 
 this poor creature, this poor creature ! 
 May she know where to take refuge 
 from it, and learn to repent in time ! " 
 The Georgian and Circassian girls, 
 they say, used to submit to their lot 
 very complacently, and were quite 
 eager to get to market at Constanti- 
 nople and be sold. Mrs. Woolcomb 
 wanted nobody to tempt her away 
 from poor Philip. She hopped away 
 from the old love as soon as ever the 
 new one appeared with his bag of 
 money. She knew quite well to whom, 
 she was selling herself and for what. 
 The tempter needed no skill, or arti- 
 fice, or eloquence. He had none. 
 But he showed her a purse, and three 
 fine houses, and she came. Inno- 
 cent child, forsooth ! She knew quite 
 as much about the world as papa and 
 mamma ; and the lawyers did not look 
 to her settlement more warily, and 
 coolly, than she herself did. Did she 
 not live on it afterwards 1 I do not 
 say she lived reputably, but most com- 
 fortably; as Paris, and Rome, and 
 Naples, and Florence can tell you, 
 where she is well known ; where she 
 receives a great deal of a certain kind 
 of company; where she is scorned 
 and flattered, and splendid, and lone- 
 ly, and miserable. She is not misera- 
 ble when she sees children : she does 
 not care for other persons' children, 
 as she never did for her own, even 
 when they were taken from her.
 
 414 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 She is of course hurt and angry, when 
 quite common, vulgar people, not in 
 society, you understand, turn away 
 from her, and avoid her, and won't 
 come to her parties. She gives ex- 
 cellent dinners which jolly fogies, 
 rattling bachelors, and doubtful ladies 
 frequent : but she is alone and unhap- 
 py, unhappy because she does not 
 see parents, sister, or brother ? Allans, 
 tnon Inn Monsieur ! She never cared 
 for parents, sister, or brother ; or for 
 baby; or for man (except once for 
 Philip a little, little bit, when her 
 heart would sometimes go up two j 
 beats in a minute at his appearance.) 
 But she is unhappy, because she is 
 losing her figure, and from tight lac- 
 ing her nose has become very red, and 
 the pearl-powder won't lie on it some- 
 how. And though you may have 
 thought Woolcomb an odious, igno- j 
 rant, and underbred little wretch, you | 
 must own that at least he had red 
 blood in his veins. Did he not spend 
 a great part of his fortune for the 
 possession of this cold wife. For 
 whom did she ever make a sacrifice, 
 or feel a pang ? I am sure a greater 
 misfortune than any which has befall- 
 en friend Philip might have happened 
 to him, and so congratulate him on 
 his escape. 
 
 Having vented his wrath upon the 
 arrogance and impertinence of this 
 solemn puppy of a Philip Ilingwood, 
 our friend went away somewhat 
 soothed to his club in St. James's 
 Street. The " Megatherium Club " 
 is only a very few doors from the much 
 more aristocratic establishment of 
 " Black's." Mr. Philip Ringwood 
 and Mr. Woolcomb were standing on 
 the steps of " Black's." Mr. Ring- 
 wood waved a graceful little kid- 
 gloved hand to Philip, and smiled on 
 him. Mr. Woolcomb glared at our 
 friend out of his opal eyeballs. Philip j 
 had once proposed to kick Woolcomb i 
 into the sea. He somehow felt as if i 
 he would like to treat Ringwood to 
 the same bath. Meanwhile, Mr. 
 Ringwood labored under the notion 
 that he and his pew-found acquaint- 
 
 ance were on the very best possible 
 terms. 
 
 At one time poor little Woolcomb 
 loved to be seen with Philip Ring- 
 wood. He thought he acquired dis- 
 tinction from the companionship of 
 that man of fashion, and would hang 
 on Ringwood as they walked the 
 Pall Mall pavement. 
 
 "" Do you know that great hulking, 
 overbearing brute ? " says Woolcomb 
 to his companion on the steps of 
 " Black's." Perhaps somebody over- 
 heard them from the bow-window. 
 (I tell you everything is overheard 
 in London, and a great deal more 
 too.) 
 
 " Brute, is he ? " says Ringwood ; 
 " seems a rough, overbearing sort of 
 chap." 
 
 " Blackguard doctor's son. Bank- 
 rupt. Father ran away," says the 
 dusky man with the opal eyeballs. 
 
 " I have heard he was a rogue, 
 the Doctor; but I like him. Remem- 
 ber he gave me three sovereigns when 
 I was at school. Always like a fellow 
 who tips you when you are at school." 
 And here Ringwood beckoned his 
 brougham which was in waiting. 
 
 "Shall we see you at dinner? 
 Where are you going ? " asked Mr. 
 Woolcomb. " " If you are going to- 
 wards " 
 
 " Towards Gray's Inn, to see my 
 lawyer; have an appointment there; 
 be with you at eight ! " And Mr. 
 Ringwood skipped into his little 
 brougham and was gone. 
 
 Tom Eaves told Philip. Tom 
 Eaves belongs to " Black's Club," to 
 " Bays's," to the " Megatherium," I 
 don't know to how many clubs in St. 
 James's Street. Tom Eaves knows 
 everybody's business, and all the 
 scandal of all the clubs for the last 
 forty years. He knows who has lost 
 money and to whom ; what is the 
 talk of the opera-box and what the 
 scandal of the coulisses ; who is mak- 
 ing love to whose daughter. What- 
 ever men and women are doing in 
 May Fair is the farrago of Tom's 
 libel. He knows so many stories,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 415 
 
 that of course he makes mistakes in 
 names sometimes, and says that Jones 
 is on the verge of ruin, when he is 
 thriving and prosperous, and it is 
 poor Brown who is in difficulties ; 
 or informs us that Mrs. Fanny is 
 flirting with Captain Ogle when both 
 are as innocent of a flirtation as you 
 and I are. Tom certainly is mis- 
 chievous, and often is wrong , but 
 when he speaks of our neighbors he 
 is amusing. 
 
 " It is as good as a play to see 
 Ringwood and Othello together," 
 says Tom to Philip. " How proud 
 the black man is to be seen with him ! 
 .Heard him abuse you to Ringwood. 
 Ringwood stuck up for you and for 
 your poor governor, spoke up like 
 a man, like a man who sticks up for 
 a fellow who is down. How the black 
 man brags about having Kingwood 
 to dinner ! Always having him to 
 dinner. You should have seen Ring- 
 wood shake him off! Said he was 
 going to Gray's Inn. Heard him say 
 Gray's Inn Lane to his man. Don't 
 believe a word of it." 
 
 Now I dare say you are much foo 
 fashionable to know that Milman 
 Street is a little ad de sac of a street, 
 which leads into Guildford Street, 
 which leads into Gray's Inn Lane. 
 Philip went his way homewards, 
 shaking off Tom Eaves, who, for his 
 part, trotted off to his other clubs, 
 telling people how he had just been 
 talking with that bankrupt doctor's 
 son, and wondering how Philip should 
 get money enough to pay his club 
 subscription. Philip then went on 
 his way, striding homewards at his 
 usual manly pace. 
 
 Whose black brougham was that ? 
 the black brougham with the chest- 
 nut horse walking up and down 
 Guildford Street. Mr. Bingwood's 
 crest was on the brougham. When 
 Philip entered his drawing-room, hav- 
 ing opened the door with his own 
 key, there sat Mr. llingwood, talking 
 to Mrs. Charlotte, who was taking a 
 cup of tea at five o'clock. She and 
 the children liked that cup of tea. 
 
 Sometimes it served Mrs. Char for 
 dinner when Philip dined from home. 
 
 " If I had known you were coming 
 here, you might have brought me 
 home and saved me a long walk," 
 said Philip, wiping a burning fore- 
 head. 
 
 " So I might, so I might ! " said 
 the other. " I never thought of it, 
 I had to see my lawyer in Gray's 
 Inn ; and it was then I thought "of 
 coming on to see you, as I was telling 
 Mrs. Firmin ; and a very nice quiet 
 place you live in ! " 
 
 This was very well. But for the 
 first and only time of his life, Philip 
 was jealous. 
 
 "Don't drub so with your feet! 
 Don't like to ride when you jog so on 
 the floor," said Philip's eldest dar- 
 ling, who had clambered on papa's 
 knee. " Why do you look so 1 Don't 
 squeeze my arm, papa ! " 
 
 Mamma was utterly unaware that 
 Philip had any cause for agitation. 
 " You have walked all the way from 
 Westminster, and the club, and you 
 are quite hot and tired ! " she said. 
 " Some tea, my dear? " 
 
 Philip nearly choked with the tea. 
 From under his hair, which fell over 
 his forehead, he looked into his wife's 
 face. It wore such a sweet look of 
 innocence and wonder, that, as he re- 
 garded her, the spasm of jealousy 
 passed off. No : there was no look 
 of guilt in those tender eyes. Philip 
 could only read in them the wife's 
 tender love and anxiety for himself. 
 
 But what of Mr. Ringwood's face? 
 When the first little blush and hesi- 
 tation had passed away, Mr. Ring- 
 wood's pale countenance reasstimed 
 that calm self-satisfied smile, which it 
 customarily wore. " The coolness of 
 the man maddened me," said Philip, 
 talking about the little occurrence 
 afterwards, and to his usual confi- 
 dant. 
 
 " Gracious powers," cries the other. 
 " If I went to see Charlotte and the 
 children, would you be jealous of me, 
 you bearded Turk ? Are you pre- 
 pared with sack and bowstring for
 
 416 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 every man who visits Mrs. Firmin ? 
 If you are to come out in this charac- 
 ter, you will lead yourself and your 
 wife pretty lives. Of course you 
 quarrelled with Lovelace then and 
 there, and threatened to throw him 
 out of window then and there ? Your 
 custom is to strike when you are hot, 
 witness " 
 
 "O dear, no!" cried Philip, inter- 
 rupting me. " I have not quarrelled 
 with him yet." And he ground his 
 teeth, and gave a very fierce glare 
 with his eyes. " I sat him out quite 
 civilly. I went with him to the door ; 
 and 1 have left directions that he is 
 never to pass it again, that's all. 
 But I have not quarrelled with him 
 in the least. Two men never be- 
 haved more politely than we did. 
 We bowed and grinned at each other 
 quite amiably. But 1 own, when he 
 held out his hand, I was obliged to 
 keep mine behind my back, for they 
 felt very mischievous, and inclined 
 to Well, never mind. Perhaps it 
 is, as you say ; and he meant no sort 
 of harm." 
 
 Where, I say again, do women 
 learn all the mischief they know ? 
 Why should my wife have such a I 
 mistrust and horror of this gentle- j 
 man ? She took Philip's side en- 
 tirely. She said she thought he was 
 quite right in keeping that person out 
 ot' his house. What did she know 
 about that person ? Did I not know 
 myself? He was a libertine, and led 
 a bad life. He had led young men 
 astray, and taught them to gamble, 
 and helped them to ruin themselves. 
 We have all heard stories about the 
 late Sir Philip Ringwood ; that last 
 scandal in which he was engaged, 
 three years ago, and which brought 
 his career to an end at Naples, I need 
 not, of course, allude to. But four- 
 teen or fifteen years ago, about which 
 time this present portion of our little 
 story is enacted, what did she know 
 about Ringwood's misdoings ? 
 
 No : Philip Firmin did not quarrel 
 with Philip Ringwood on this occa- 
 sion. But he shut his door on Mr. 
 
 , Ringwood. He refused all invita- 
 I tions to Sir John's house, which, of 
 ! course, came less frequently, and 
 which then ceased to come at all. 
 Rich folks do not like to be so treated 
 I by the poor. Had Lady Ringwood a 
 notion of the reason why Philip kept 
 j away from her house ? I think it is 
 | more than possible. Some of Philip's 
 , friends knew her ; and she seemed 
 1 only pained, not surprised or angry, 
 j at a quarrel which somehow did take 
 place between the two gentlemen not 
 I very long after that visit of Mr. 
 Ringwood to his kinsman in Milman 
 ; Street. 
 
 " Your friend seems very hot- 
 i headed and violent tempered," Lady 
 ! Ringwood said, speaking of that very 
 | quarrel. " I am sorry he keeps that 
 kind oi' company. I am sure it must 
 be too expensive for him." 
 
 As luck would have it, Philip's old 
 school-friend, Lord Egham, met us 
 a very few days after the meeting and 
 parting of Philip and his cousin in 
 Milman Street, and invited us to a 
 bachelor's dinner on the river. Our 
 wives (without whose sanction no good 
 man would surely ever look a white- 
 bait in the face) gave us permission 
 to attend this entertainment, and re- 
 mained at home, and partook of a 
 tea-dinner (blessings on them ! ) with 
 the dear children. Men grow young 
 again when they meet at these par- 
 tics. We talk of flogging, proctors, 
 old cronies ; we recite old school and 
 college jokes. I hope that some of 
 us may carry on these pleasant enter- 
 tainments until we arc fourscore, and 
 that our toothless old gums will 
 mumble the old stories, and will 
 laugh over the old jokes with ever- 
 renewed gusto. Does the kind read- 
 er remember the account of such a 
 dinner at the commencement of this 
 history ? On this afternoon, Egham, 
 Maynard, Burroughs (several of the 
 men formerly mentioned), reassem- 
 bled. I think we actually like each 
 other well enough to be pleased to 
 hear of each other's successes. 1 
 know that one or two good fellows,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 417 
 
 upon whom fortune has frowned, 
 have found other good fellows in 
 that company to help and aid them ; 
 and that all are better for that 
 kindly freemasonry. 
 
 Before the dinner was served, the 
 guests met on the green of the hotel, 
 and examined that fair landscape, 
 which surely does not lose its charm 
 in our eyes because it is commonly 
 seen before a good dinner. The 
 crested elms, the shining river, the 
 emerald meadows, the painted par- 
 terres of flowers around, all wafting an 
 agreeable smell of friture, of flowers 
 and flounders exquisitely commin- 
 gled. Who has not enjoyed these de- 
 lights ? May some of us, J say, live 
 to drink the '58 claret in the year 
 1900 ! I have no doubt that the 
 survivors of our society will still 
 laugh at the jokes which we used to 
 relish when the present century was 
 still only middle-aged. Egham was 
 going to be married. Would he be 
 allowed to dine next year ? Frank 
 Berry's wife would not let him come. 
 Do you remember his tremendous 
 fight with Biggs ? Remember ? who 
 did n't ? Marston was Berry's bot- 
 tle-holder ; poor Marston, who was 
 killed in India. And Biggs and Ber- 
 ry were the closest friends in life ever 
 after. Who would ever have thought 
 of Brackley becoming serious, and 
 being made an archdeacon ? Do you 
 remember his fight with Ringwood ? 
 What an infernal bully he was, and 
 how glad we all were when Brackley 
 thrashed him. What different fates 
 await men ! Wh"> would ever have 
 imagined Nosey Brackley a curate in 
 the mining districts, and ending by 
 wearing a rosette in his hat ? Who 
 would ever have thought of Ring- 
 wood becoming such a prodigious 
 swell and leader of fashion ? He was 
 a very shy fellow ; not at all a good- 
 looking fellow : and what a wild fel- 
 low he had become, and what a lady- 
 killer ! Is n't he some connection of 
 yours, Firmin ? Philip said yes, hut 
 that he had scarcely met Ringwood at 
 all. And one man after another told 
 18* 
 
 anecdotes of Ringwood ; how he had 
 
 young men to play in his house ; how 
 
 he hud played in that verv " Star 
 
 and Garter " ; and how he always 
 
 won. You must please to remember 
 
 ! that our story dates back some six- 
 
 I teen years, when the dice-box still 
 
 rattled occasionally, and the king 
 
 ; was turned. 
 
 As this old school gossip is going 
 on, Lord Egham arrives, and with 
 him this very Ringwood about whom 
 the old school-fellows had just been 
 talking. He came down in Eglumi's 
 phaeton. Of course, the greatest m;m 
 of the party always waits for Ring- 
 wood. " If we liad had a duke at 
 Greyfriars," says some grumbler, 
 "Ringwood would have made the 
 duke bring him down." 
 
 Philip's friend, when he beheld the 
 arrival of Mr. Ringwood, seized Fir- 
 min's big arm and whispered, 
 
 " Hold your tongue. No fighting. 
 No quarrels. Let bygones be by- 
 gones. Remember, there can be no 
 earthly use in a scandal." 
 
 " Leave me alone," says Philip, 
 " and don't be afraid." 
 
 I thought Ringwood seemed to 
 start back for a moment, and perhaps 
 fancied that he looked a little pale, 
 but he advanced with a gracious smile 
 towards Philip, and remarked, " It is 
 a long time since we have seen you at 
 my father's." 
 
 Philip grinned and smiled too. 
 " It was a long time since he had 
 been in Hill Street." But Philip's 
 smile was not at all pleasing to be- 
 hold. Indeed, a worse performer of 
 comedy than our friend docs not walk 
 the stage of this life. 
 
 On this the other gayly remarked 
 he was glad Philip had leave to join 
 the bachelor's party. "Meeting of 
 old school-fellows very pleasant. 
 Had n't been to one of them for a 
 long time : though the ' Friars ' was 
 an abominable hole : that was the 
 truth. Who was that in the shovel- 
 hat ? a bishop ? what bishop ? " 
 
 It was Brackley, the Archdeacon, 
 who turned very red on seeing Ring- 
 AA
 
 418 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 wood. For the fact is, Brackley was 
 talking to Penuystone, the little boy 
 about whom the quarrel and fight had 
 taken place at school, when Ringwood 
 had proposed forcibly to take Penny- 
 stone's money from him. " I think, 
 Mr. Ringwood, that Pennystone is 
 big enough to hold his own now, 
 don't you 1 " said the Archdeacon ; 
 and with this the Venerable man 
 turned on his heel, leaving Ringwood 
 to face the little Pennystone of former 
 years ; now a gigantic country squire, 
 with health ringing in his voice, and 
 a pair of great arms and fists that 
 would have demolished six Ring- 
 woods in the field. 
 
 The sight of these quondam ene- 
 mies rather disturbed Mr. Ringwood's 
 tranquillity. 
 
 " I was dreadfully bullied at that 
 school," he said, in an appealing 
 manner, to Mr. Pennystone. " I did 
 as others did. It was a horrible 
 place, and I hate the name of it. I 
 say, Egham, don't you think that 
 Barnaby's motion last night was 
 very ill 'timed, and that the Chancellor 
 of the Exchequer answered him very 
 neatly ? " 
 
 This became a cant phrase amongst 
 some of us wags afterwards. When- 
 ever wo wished to change a conver- 
 sation, it was, " I say, Egham, don't 
 you think Barnaby's motion was very 
 ill timed ; and that the Chancellor of 
 the Exchequer answered him very 
 neatly ? " You know Mr. Ringwood 
 would scarcely have thought of coming 
 amongst such common people as his 
 old school-fellows, but seeing Lord 
 Egham's phaeton at " Black's," he 
 condescended to drive down to Rich- 
 mond with his Lordship, and I hope a 
 great number of his friends in St. 
 James's Street saw him in that noble 
 company. 
 
 Windham was the chairman of the 
 evening, elected to that post because 
 he is very fond of making speeches to 
 which he does not in the least expect 
 you to listen. All men of sense are 
 glad to hand over this office to him : 
 and I hope, for my part, a day will 
 
 soon arrive (but I own, mind yon, 
 that I do not carve well) when we 
 shall have the speeches done by a 
 skilled waiter at the side-table, as we 
 now have the carving. Don't you 
 find that you splash the gravy, that 
 you mangle the meat, that you can't 
 nick the joint in helping the company 
 to a dinner-speech ? I, for my part, 
 own that I am in a state of tremor 
 and absence of mind before the opera- 
 tion; in a condition of imbecility 
 during the business ; and that I am 
 sure of a headache and indigestion 
 the next morning. What then? 
 Have I not seen one of the bravest 
 men in the world, at a City dinner 
 last year, in a state of equal panic 1 
 I feel that I am wandering from 
 Philip's adventures to his biograph- 
 er's, and confess I am thinking of the 
 dismal fiasco I myself made on this 
 occasion at the Richmond dinner. 
 
 You see, the order of the day at 
 these meetings is to joke at everything, 
 to joke at the chairman, at all 
 the speakers, at the army and navy, 
 at the venerable the legislature, at 
 the bar and bench, and so forth. If 
 we toast a barrister, we show how 
 admirably he would have figured in 
 the doc-k : if a sailor, how lamentably 
 sea-sick he was: if a soldier, how 
 nimbly he ran away. For example, 
 we drank the Venerable Archdeacon 
 Brackley and the army. We deplored 
 the perverseness which had led him to 
 adopt a black coat instead of a red. 
 War had evidently been his vocation, 
 as he had shown by the frequent 
 battles in which he had been engaged 
 at school. For what was the other 
 great warrior of the age famous 1 for 
 that Roman feature in his face, which 
 distinguished, which gave a name to, 
 our Brackley, a name by which 
 we fondly clung (cries of " Nosey, 
 Nosey ! ") Might that feature orna- 
 ment erelong the face of of one of 
 the chiefs of that army of which 
 he was a distinguished field-officer! 
 Might Here I confess I fairly 
 broke down, lost the thread of my 
 joke, at which Brackley seemed to
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 419 
 
 look rather severe, and finished the 
 speech with a gobble about regard, 
 esteem, everybody respect you, and 
 good health, old boy, which answer- 
 ed quite as well as a finished oration, 
 however the author might be discon- 
 tented with it. 
 
 The Archdeacon's little sermon 
 was very brief, as the discourses of 
 sensible divines sometimes will be. 
 He was glad to meet old friends, to 
 make friends with old foes (loud cries 
 of " Bravo, Nosey ! ") In the battle 
 of life, every man must meet with a 
 blow or two; and every brave one 
 would take his facer with good- 
 humor. Had he quarrelled with 
 any old school-fellow, in old times ? 
 He wore peace not only on his coat, 
 but in his heart. Peace and good- 
 will were the words of the day in the 
 army to which he belonged ; and he 
 hoped that all officers in it were 
 animated by one esprit de corps. 
 
 A silence ensued, during which men 
 looked towards Mr. Ringwood, as the 
 " old foe " towards whom the Arch- 
 deacon had held out the hand of 
 amity ; but Ringwood, who had lis- 
 tened to the Archdeacon's speech with 
 an expression of great disgust, did not 
 rise from his chair, only remarking 
 to his neighbor Egham, " Why should 
 I get up "? Hang him, I have nothing 
 to say. I say, Egham, why did you 
 induce me to come into this kind of 
 thing?" 
 
 Fearing that a collision might take 
 place between Philip and his kinsman, 
 I had drawn Philip away from the 
 place in the room to which Lord 
 Egham beckoned him, saying, " Nev- 
 er mind, Philip, about sitting by the 
 lord," by whose side I knew perfectly 
 well that Mr. Ringwood would find a 
 place. But it was our lot to be separ- 
 ated from his Lordship by merely the 
 table's breadth, and some intervening 
 vases of flowers and fruits through 
 which we could see and hear our 
 opposite neighbors. When Ringwood 
 spoke "of this kind of thing," Philip 
 glared across the table, and started as 
 if he was going to speak; but his 
 
 neighbor pinched him on the knee, 
 and whispered to him, " Silence, no 
 scandal. Remember ! " The other 
 fell back, swallowed a glass of wine, 
 and made me far from comfortable by 
 performing a tattoo on my chair. 
 
 The speeches went on. If they 
 were not more eloquent they were 
 more noisy and lively than before. 
 Then the aid of song was called in 
 to enliven the banquet. The Arch- 
 deacon, who had looked a little un- 
 easy for the last half-hour, rose up at 
 the call for a song, and quitted the 
 room. "Let us go too, Philip," said 
 Philip's neighbor. " You don't want 
 to hear those dreadful old college 
 songs over again ? " But Philip 
 sulkily said, " You go, I should like 
 to stay." 
 
 Lord Egham was seeing the last of 
 his bachelor life. He liked those last 
 evenings to be merry; he lingered 
 over them, and did not wish them toend 
 too quickly. His neighbor was long 
 since tired of the entertainment, and 
 sick of our company. Mr. Ringwood 
 had lived of late in a world of such 
 fashion that ordinary mortals were 
 despicable to him. He had no affec- 
 tionate remembrance of his early days, 
 or of anybody belonging to them. 
 Whilst Philip was singing his song 
 of " Doctor Luther," I was glad that 
 he could not see the face of surprise 
 and disgust which his kinsman bore. 
 Other vocal performances followed, 
 including a song by Lord Egham, 
 which, I am bound to say, was hide- 
 ously out of tune ; but was received 
 by his near neighbor complacently 
 enough. 
 
 The noise now began to increase, 
 the choruses were fuller, the speeches 
 were louder and more incoherent. I 
 don't think the company heard a 
 speech by little Mr. Yanjohn, whose 
 health was drunk as representative 
 of the British Turf, and who said that 
 he had never known anything about 
 the turf or about play, until their old 
 school-fellow, his dear friend, hia 
 swell friend, if he might be permit- 
 ted the expression, Mr. Ringwood,
 
 420 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 taught him the use of cards , and once i 
 in his own house, in May Fair, and 
 oni-e in this very house, the " Star ' 
 and Garter," showed him how to play 
 the noble game of Blind Hookey. 
 " The men are drunk. Let us go 
 away, Egham. I did n't come for this 
 kind of thing ! " cried Ringwood, 
 furious, by Lord Egham's side. 
 
 This was the expression which 
 Mr. Ring wood had used a short time 
 before, when Philip was about to in- 
 terrupt him. He had lifted his gun 
 to fire then, but his hand had been 
 ]\Al back. The bird passed him once 
 more, and he could not help taking 
 aim. ' This kind of thing is very 
 dull, is n't it, Ringwood ? " he called 
 across the table, pulling away a 
 flower, and glaring at the other 
 through the little open space. 
 
 " Dull, old boy ? I call it doosed 
 good fun," cries Lord Egham, in the 
 height of good-humor. 
 
 " Dull ? What do you mean ? " 
 asked my Lord's neighbor. 
 
 " I mean you would prefer having 
 a couple of packs of cards, and a little 
 room, where you could win three or 
 four hundred from a young fellow? 
 It 's more profitable and more quiet 
 than ' this kind of thing.' " 
 
 " I say, I don't know what you 
 mean ! " cries the other. 
 
 " What ! You have forgotten al- 
 ready ? Has not Vanjohn just told 
 you, how you and Mr. Deuceace 
 brought him down here, and won his 
 money from him ; and then how you 
 gave him his revenge at your own 
 hems'! in " 
 
 " Did I come here to be insulted by 
 that fellow ? " cries Mr. Ringwood, j 
 appealing to his neighbor. 
 
 "' If that is an insult, you may put ; 
 it in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. 
 Ringwood ! " cries Philip. 
 
 " Come away, come away, Egham ! 
 Don't kee ) me here listening to this 
 bla " 
 
 " If you say another word," says ; 
 Philip, " I '11 send this decanter at 
 your head ! " 
 
 ' Come, come, nonsense ! No 
 
 quarrelling ! Make it up ! Every- 
 body has had too much ! Get the 
 bill, and order the omnibus round '. " 
 A crowd was on one side of the table, 
 and the other. One of the cousins 
 had not the least wish that the quar- 
 rel should proceed any further. 
 
 When, being in a quarrel, Philip 
 Firmin assumes the calm and stately 
 manner, he is perhaps in his most 
 dangerous state. Lord Egham's 
 phaeton (in which Mr. Ringwood 
 showed a great unwillingness to take 
 a seat by the driver) was at the hotel 
 gate, an omnibus and a private car- 
 riage or two were in readiness to take 
 home the other guests of the feast. 
 Egham went into the hotel to light a 
 final cigar, and now Philip springing 
 forward, caught by the arm the gen- 
 tleman sitting on the front seat of the 
 phaeton. 
 
 " Stop ! " he said. " You used a 
 word just now " 
 
 " What word ? I don't know any- 
 thing about words ! " cries the other, 
 in a loud voice. 
 
 " You said ' insulted,' " murmured 
 Philip, in the gentlest tone. 
 
 " I don't know what I said," said 
 Ringwood, peevishly. 
 
 " I said, in reply to the words 
 which you forget, 'that I would 
 knock you down,' or words to that 
 effect. If you feel in the least 
 aggrieved, you know where my cham- 
 bers are, with Mr. Vanjohn, whom 
 you and your mistress inveigled to play 
 cards when he was a boy. You are 
 not fit to come into an honest man's 
 house. It was only because I wished 
 to spare a lady's feelings that I re- 
 frained from turning you out of mine. 
 Good night, Egham ! " and with great 
 majesty Mr. Philip returned to his 
 companion and the Hansom cab 
 which was in waiting to convey these 
 two gentlemen to London. 
 
 I was quite correct in my surmise 
 that Philip's antagonist would take 
 no further notice of the quarrel to 
 Philip personally. Indeed, he affect- 
 ed to treat it as a drunken brawl, re- 
 garding which no man of sense would
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 421 
 
 allow himself to be seriously dis- 
 turbed. A quarrel between two men 
 of the same family : between Philip 
 and his own relative who had only 
 wished him well ? it was absurd 
 and impossible. What Mr. Ring- 
 wood deplored was the obstinate ill 
 temper and known violenee of Philip, 
 which were forever leading- him into 
 these brawls, and estranging his fam- 
 ily from him. A man seized by the 
 coat, insulted, threatened with a de- 
 canter ! A man of station so treated 
 by a person whose own position was 
 most questionable, whose father was 
 a fugitive, and who himself was 
 struggling for precarious subsistence ! 
 The arrogance was too great. With 
 the best wishes for the unhappy young 
 man, and his amiable (but empty- 
 headed) little wife, it was impossible 
 to take further notice of them. Let 
 the visits cease. Let the carriage no 
 more drive from Berkeley Square to 
 Milman Street. Let there be no 
 presents of game, poultry, legs of 
 mutton, old clothes, and what not. 
 Henceforth, therefore, the Kingwood 
 carriage was unknown in the neigh- 
 borhood of the Foundling, and the 
 Ringwood footmen no more scented 
 with their powdered heads the Fir- 
 rains' little hall ceiling. Sir John 
 said to the end that he was about 
 to procure a comfortable place for 
 Philip, when his deplorable violence 
 obliged Sir John to break off' all re- 
 lations with the most misguided 
 young man. 
 
 Nor was the end of the mischief 
 here. We have all read how the gods 
 never appear alone, the gods bring- 
 ing good or evil fortune. When two 
 or three little pieces of good luck had 
 befallen our poor friend, my wife 
 triumphantly cried out, " I told you 
 so ! Did I not always say that 
 Heaven would befriend that d'ear in- 
 nocent wife and children ; that brave, 
 generous, imprudent father '( " And 
 now when the evil days came, this 
 monstrous logician insisted that pov- 
 erty, sickness, dreadful doubt and 
 terror, hunger and want almost, were 
 
 all equally intended for Philip's ad- 
 vantage, and would work for good in 
 the end. So that rain was good, and 
 sunshine was good ; so that sickness 
 was good, and health was good ; that 
 Philip ill was to be as happy as Philip 
 well, and as thankful for a sick house 
 and an empty pocket as for a warm 
 fireside and a comfortable larder. 
 Mind, I ask no Christian philosopher 
 to revile at his ill fortunes, or to 
 despair. I will accept a toothache 
 (or any evil of life), and bear it with- 
 out too much grumbling. But I 
 cannot say that to have a tooth puikd 
 out is a blessing, or fondle the hand 
 which wrenches at my jaw. 
 
 " They can live without their fine 
 relations, and their donations of 
 mutton and turnips," cries my wife 
 with a toss of her head. " The way 
 in which those people patronized 
 Philip and dear Charlotte was per- 
 fectly intolerable. Lady Ringwood 
 knows how dreadful the conduct of 
 that Mr. Ringwood is, and and I 
 have no patience with her ! " How, 
 I repeat, do women know about men ? 
 How do they telegraph to each other 
 their notices of alarm and mistrust ? 
 and fly as birds rise up with a rush 
 and a skurry when danger appears to 
 be near ? All this was very well. 
 But Mr. Tregarvan heard some ac- 
 count of the dispute between Philip 
 and Mr. Ringwood, and applied to 
 Sir John for further particulars ; and 
 Sir John liberal man as he was 
 and ever had been, and priding him- 
 self little, Heaven knew, on the priv- 
 ilege of rank, which was merely ad- 
 ventitious was constrained to con- 
 fess that this young man's conduct 
 showed a great deal too much laisxez 
 alter. He had constantly, at Sir 
 John's own house, manifested an 
 independence which had bordered on 
 rudeness ; he was always notorious 
 for his quarrelsome disposition, and 
 lately had so disgraced himself in a 
 scene with Sir John's eldest son, Mr. 
 Ringwood, had exhibited such bru- 
 tality, ingratitude, and and inebri- 
 ation, that Sir John was free to con-
 
 422 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 fess he had forbidden the gentleman 
 his door. 
 
 " An insubordinate, ill-conditioned 
 fellow, certainly ! " thinks Tregarvan. 
 (And I do not say, though Philip is 
 my friend, that Tregarvan and Sir 
 John were altogether wrong regard- 
 ing their protege. ) Twice Tregarvan 
 had invited him to breakfast, and 
 Philip had not appeared. More than 
 om-e he had contradicted Tregarvan 
 about the Review. He had said that 
 the Review was not getting on, and if 
 you asked Philip his candid opinion, 
 it would not get on. Six numbers 
 had appeared, and it did not meet with 
 that attention which the public ought 
 to pay to it. The public was careless 
 as to the designs of that Great Pow- 
 er which it was Tregarvan 's aim to 
 defy and confound. He took counsel 
 with himself. He walked over to 
 the publisher's, and inspected the 
 books ; and the result of that inspec- 
 tion was so disagreeable, that he 
 went home straightway and wrote a 
 letter to Philip Firmin, Esq., New 
 Milman Street, Guildford Street, 
 which that poor fellow brought to 
 his usual advisers. 
 
 That letter contained a check for 
 a quarter's salary, and bade adieu to j 
 Mr. Firmin. The writer would not 
 recapitulate the causes of dissatisfac- 
 tion which he felt respecting the con- 
 duct of the Review. He was much 
 disappointed in its progress, and dis- 
 satisfied with its general management. 
 He thought an opportunity was lost 
 which never could be recovered for 
 exposing the designs of a Power 
 which menaced the liberty and tran- 
 quillity of Europe. Had it been 
 directed with proper energy that Re- 
 view might have been an asgis to that 
 threatened liberty, a lamp to lighten 
 the darkness of that menaced free- 
 dom. It might have pointed the way 
 to the cultivation bonnnim literarum; 
 it might have fostered rising talent, 
 it might have chastised the arrogance 
 of so-called critics ; it might have 
 served the cause of truth. Tregar- 
 van's hopes were disappointed : he 
 
 would not say by whose remissness 
 or fault. He had done his utmost in 
 the good work, and, finally, would 
 thank Mr. Firmin to print off the 
 articles already purchased and paid 
 for, and to prepare a brief notice for 
 the next number announcing the dis- 
 continuance of the Review ; and 
 Tregarvan showed my wife a cold 
 shoulder for a considerable time after- 
 wards, nor were we asked to his 
 tea-parties, I forget for how many 
 seasons. 
 
 This to us was no great loss or 
 subject of annoyance : but to poor Phil- 
 ip 1 It was a matter of life and almost 
 death to him. He never could save 
 much out of his little pittance. Here 
 were fifty pounds in his hand, it is 
 true ; but bills, taxes, rent, the hun- 
 dred little obligations of a house, 
 were due and pressing upon him ; and 
 in the midst of his anxiety, our dear 
 little Mrs. Philip was about to present 
 him with a third ornament to his 
 nursery. Poor little Tertius arrived 
 duly enough ; and, such hypocrites 
 were we, that the poor mother was 
 absolutely thinking of calling the 
 child Tregarvan Firmin, as a com- 
 pliment to Mr. Tregarvan, who had 
 been so kind to them, and Tregarvan 
 Firmin would be such a pretty name, . 
 she thought. We imagined the 
 Little Sister knew nothing about 
 Philip's anxieties. Of course, she 
 attended Mrs. Philip through her 
 troubles, and we vow that we never 
 said a word to her regarding Philip's 
 own. But Mrs. Brandon went in to 
 Philip one day, as he was sitting 
 very grave and sad with his two first- 
 born children, and she took both his 
 hands, and said, " You know, dear, I 
 have saved ever so much : and I 
 always intended it for you know 
 who." And here she loosened one 
 hand from him, and felt in her pocket 
 for a purse, and put it into Philip's 
 hand, and wept on his shoulder. And 
 Philip kissed her, and thanked God 
 for sending him such a dear friend, 
 and gave her back her purse, though 
 indeed he had but five pounds left in
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 423 
 
 his own when this benefactress came 
 to him. 
 
 Yes, but there were debts owing 
 to him. There was his wife's little 
 portion of fifty pounds a year, which 
 had never been paid since the second 
 quarter after their marriage, which 
 had happened now more than three 
 years ago. As Philip had scarce a 
 guinea in the world, he wrote to 
 Mrs. Baynes, his wife's mother, to 
 explain his extreme want, and to re- 
 mind her that this money was due. 
 Mrs. General Baynes was living at 
 Jersey at this time in a choice society 
 of half-pay ladies, clergymen, cap- 
 tains and the like, among whom I 
 have no doubt she moved as a great 
 lady. She wore a large medallion of 
 the deceased General on her neck. 
 She wept dry tears over that interest- 
 ing cameo at frequent tea-parties. 
 She never could forgive Philip for 
 taking away her child from her, and 
 if any one would take away others 
 of her girls, she would be equally un- 
 forgiving. Endowed with that won- 
 derful logic with which women are 
 blessed, I believe she never admitted, 
 or has been able to admit to her own 
 mind, that she did Philip or her 
 daughter a wrong. In the tea-parties 
 .of her acquaintance she groaned over 
 the extravagance of her son-in-law 
 and his brutal treatment of her bless- 
 ed child. Many good people agreed 
 with her and shook their respectable 
 noddles when the name of that prod- 
 igal Philip was mentioned over her 
 muffins and Bohea. He was prayed 
 for ; his dear widowed mother-in-law 
 was pitied, and blessed with all the 
 comfort reverend gentlemen could 
 supply on the spot. " Upon my 
 honor, Firmin, Emily and I were 
 made to believe that you were a 
 monster, sir," the stout Major Mac- 
 Whirter once said ; " and now I have 
 heard your story, by Jove, I think it 
 is you, and not Eliza Baynes, who 
 were wronged. She has a deuce 
 of a tongue, Eliza has : and a temper, 
 poor Charles knew what that 
 was ! " In fine, when Philip, re- 
 
 duced to his last guinea, asked 
 Charlotte's mother to pay her debt 
 to her sick daughter, Mrs. General 
 B. sent Philip a ten-pound note, 
 open, by Captain Swang, of the 
 Indian army, who happened to be 
 coming to England. And that, 
 Philip says, of all the hard knocks of 
 fate, has been the very hardest which 
 he has had to endure. 
 
 But the poor little wife knew noth- 
 ing of this cruelty, nor, indeed, of the 
 very poverty which was hemming 
 round her curtain ; and in the midst 
 of his griefs, Philip Firmin was im- 
 mensely consoled by the tender fidel- 
 ity of the friends whom God had sent 
 him. Their griefs were drawing to 
 an end now. Kind readers all, may 
 your sorrows, may mine, leave us 
 with hearts not imbittered, and hum- 
 bly acquiescent to the Great Will ! 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 IN WHICH WE REACH THE LAST 
 STAGE BUT ONE OF THIS JOUR- 
 NEY. 
 
 ALTHOUGH poverty was knocking 
 at Philip's humble door, little Char- 
 lotte in all her trouble never knew how 
 menacing the grim visitor had been. 
 She did not quite understand that her 
 husband in his last necessity sent to 
 her mother for his due, and that the 
 mother turned away and refused him. 
 "Ah," thought poor Philip, groaning 
 in his despair. " I wonder whether 
 the thieves who attacked the man in 
 the parable were robbers of his own 
 family, who knew that he carried 
 money with him to Jerusalem, and 
 waylaid him on the journey 1 " But 
 again and again he has thanked God, 
 with grateful heart, for the Samari- 
 tans whom he has met on life's road, 
 and if he has not forgiven, it must be 
 owned he has never done any wrong 
 to those who robbed him. 
 
 Charlotte did not know that her 
 husband was at his last guinea, and a 
 prey to dreadful anxiety for her dear
 
 424 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 sake, for after the birth of her child a 
 fever came upon her ; in the delirium 
 consequent upon which the poor thing 
 was ignorant of all that happened 
 round her. A fortnight with a wife 
 in extremity, with crying infants, 
 with hunger menacing at the door, 
 passed for Philip somehow. The 
 young man became an old man in 
 t iis time. Indeed, his fair hair was 
 streaked with white at the temples 
 afterwards. But it must not be 
 imagined that he had not friends dur- 
 ing his affliction, and he always can 
 gratefully count up the names of j 
 many persons to whom he might ' 
 h ive applied had he been in need. He j 
 did not look or ask for these succors 
 from his relatives. Aunt and Uncle 
 Txvysden shrieked and cried out at j 
 his extravagance, imprudence, and ' 
 folly. Sir John Ringwood said he ! 
 must really wash his hands of a 
 young man who menaced the life of j 
 his own son. Grenville Woolcomb, 
 with many oaths, in which brother-in- 1 
 law Ringwood joined chorus, cursed 
 Philip, and said he did n't care, and 
 the beggar ought to be hung, and his 
 father ought to be hung. But I 
 think I know half a dozen good men 
 and true who told a different tale, and 
 who were ready with their sympathy 
 and succor. Did not Mrs. Flanagan, 
 the Irish laundress, in a voice broken 
 by sobs and gin, offer to go and chare 
 at Philip's house for nothing, and | 
 nurse the dear children 1 Did not 
 Goodenough say, " If you are in 
 need, my dear fellow, of course you 
 know where to come " ; and did he 
 not actually give two prescriptions, 
 one for poor Charlotte, and one for 
 fifty pounds to be taken immediately, 
 which lie handed to the nurse by mis- 
 take ? You may be sure she did not 
 appropriate the money, for of course 
 you know that the nurse was Mrs. 
 Brandon. Charlotte has one re- 
 morse in her life. She owns she was 
 jealous of the Little Sister. And 
 now when that gentle life is over, 
 when Philip's poverty trials are ended, 
 when the children go sometimes and 
 
 look wistfully at the grave of their 
 dear Caroline, friend Charlotte leans 
 her head against her husband's shoul- 
 der, and owns humbly how good, how 
 brave, how generous a friend Heaven 
 sent them in that humble defender. 
 
 Have you ever felt the pinch of pov- 
 erty ? In many cases it is like the 
 dentist's chair, more dreadful in the 
 contemplation than in the actual suf- 
 fering. Philip says he never was 
 fairly beaten, but on that day when, 
 in reply to his solicitation to have his 
 due, Mrs. Baynes's friend, Captain 
 Swang, brought him the open ten- 
 pound note. It was not much of a 
 blow ; the hand which dealt it made 
 the hurt so keen. " I remember," says 
 he, ' bursting out crying at school, 
 because a big boy hit me a slight tap, 
 and other boys said, ' O you coward.' 
 It was that I knew the boy at home, 
 and my parents had been kind to him. 
 It seemed to me a wrong that Bumps 
 should strike me," said Philip ; and 
 he looked, while telling the storv, as 
 if he could cry about this injury now. 
 I hope he has revenged himself by 
 presenting coals of fire to his wife's 
 relations. But this day, when he is 
 enjoying good health, and compe- 
 tence, it is not safe to mention 
 mothers-in-law in his presence. He 
 fumes, shouts, and rages against them, 
 as if all were like his ; and his, I have 
 been told, is a lady perfectly well satis- 
 fied with herself and her conduct in 
 this world ; and as for the next 
 but our story does not dare to point 
 so far. It only interests itself about 
 a little clique of people here below, 
 their griefs, their trials, their weak- 
 nesses, their kindly hearts. 
 
 People there are in our history who 
 do not seem to me to have kindly hearts 
 at all ; and yet, perhaps, if a biography 
 could be written from their point of 
 view, some other novelist might show 
 how Philip and his biographer were a 
 pair of selfish worldlings unworthy of 
 cre.lit : how Uncle and Aunt Twys- 
 den were most exemplar y people, and 
 so forth. Have I not told you how 
 many people at New York shook
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 425 
 
 their heads when Philip's name was 
 mentioned, and intimated a strong 
 opinion that he used his father very 
 ill ? When he fell wounded and 
 bleeding, patron Tregarvan dropped 
 him off his horse, and Cousin Ring- 
 wood did not look behind to .see how 
 he fared. But these, again, may 
 have had their opinion regarding our 
 friend, who ma}' have heen misrepre- 
 sented to them I protest as I look 
 back at the past portions of this his- 
 tory, I begin to have qualms, and ask 
 myself whether the folks of whom we 
 have been prattling have had justiee 
 done to them ; whether Agnes Twys- 
 den is not a suffering martyr justly 
 offended by Philip's turbulent behav- 
 ior, and whether Philip deserves any 
 particular attention or kindness at all. 
 He is not tran seen den tly clever ; he is 
 not gloriously beautiful. He is not 
 about to illuminate the darkness in 
 which the people grovel, with the 
 flashing emanations of his truth. He 
 sometimes owes money, which he 
 cannot pay. He slips, tumbles, blun- 
 ders, brags. Ah ! he sins and re- 
 pents pray Heaven of faults, of 
 vanities, of pride, of a thousand short- 
 comings ! This I say Ego as 
 my friend's biographer. Perhaps I 
 do not understand the other charac- 
 ters round about him so well, and 
 have overlooked a number of their 
 merits, and caricatured and exagger- 
 ated their little defects. 
 
 Among the Samaritans who came 
 to Philip's help in these his straits, he 
 loves to remember the name of J. J., 
 the painter, whom he found sitting 
 with the children one day making 
 drawings for them, which the good 
 painter never tired to sketch. 
 
 Now if those children would but 
 have kept Ridley's sketches, and 
 waited for a good season at Christy's, 
 I have no doubt they might have got 
 scores o pounds for the drawings ; 
 but then, you see, they chose to im- 
 prove the" drawings with their own 
 hands. They painted the soldiers 
 yellow, the horses blue, and so forth. 
 On the horses they put soldiers of 
 
 their own construction. Ridley's 
 landscapes were enriched with rep'rc- 
 scntations of "omnibuses," which the 
 children saw and admired in the 
 neighboring Xew Road. I dare say, 
 as the fever left her, and as she came 
 to sec things as they were, Charlotte's 
 eyes dwelt fondly on the pictures of 
 
 I the omnibuses inserted in Mr. Rid- 
 ley's sketches, and she put some aside 
 and showed them to her friends, and 
 said, " Does n't our darling show ex- 
 traordinary talent for drawing? Mr. 
 
 i Ridley says he does. He did a great 
 part of this etching." 
 
 But, besides the drawings, what do 
 
 \ you think Master Ridley offered to 
 draw for his friends ? Besides the 
 prescriptions of medicine, what drafts 
 did Dr. Goodunongh prescribe ? 
 When nurse Brandon came to Mrs. 
 Philip in her anxious time, we know 
 
 I what sort of payment she proposed 
 
 , for her services. Who says the world 
 is all cold ? There is the sun and 
 the shadows. And the Heaven which 
 
 i ordains poverty and sickness sends 
 
 . pity, and love, and succor. 
 
 During Charlotte's fever and ill- 
 ness, the Little Sister had left her but 
 for one day, when her patient was 
 quiet, and pronounced to be mending. 
 Jt appears that Mrs. Charlotte was 
 very ill indeed on this occasion ; so 
 ill that Dr. Goodenough thought she 
 might have given us all the slip : so 
 ill that, but for Brandon, she would, 
 in all probability, have escaped out of 
 this troublous world, and k-ft Philip 
 and her orphaned little ones. Char- 
 lotte mended then : could take food, 
 and liked it, and was specially pleased 
 with some chickens which her nurse 
 informed her. were " from the coun- 
 try." " From Sir John Ringwood, 
 no doubt 1 " said Mrs. Firmin, re- 
 membering the presents sent from 
 Berkeley Square, and the mutton 
 and the turnips. 
 
 " Well, eat and be thankful ! "says 
 the Little Sister, who was as gay as a 
 little sister could be, and who had 
 prepared a beautiful bread sauce for 
 the fowl; and who had tossed the
 
 426 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 baby, and who sbowed it to its ad- 
 miring brother and sister ever so 
 many times ; and who saw that Mr. j 
 Philip had his dinner comfortable ; | 
 and who never took so much as a j 
 drop of porter, at home a little | 
 glass sometimes was comfortable, but 
 on duty, never, never ! No, not if 
 Dr. Goodenough ordered it ! she j 
 vowed. And the Doctor wished he j 
 could say as much, or believe as 
 much, of all his nurses. 
 
 Milman Street is such a quiet little 
 street that our friends had not carpet- 
 ed it in the usual way ; and three 
 days after her temporary absence, as 
 nurse Brandon sits by her patient's 
 bed, powdering the back of a small , 
 pink infant that makes believe to ! 
 swim upon her apron, a rattle of j 
 wheels is heard in the quiet street, 
 of four wheels, of one horse, of a jing- ' 
 ling carriage, which stops before ! 
 Philip's door. " It 's the trap," says j 
 nurse Brandon, delighted. " It must 
 be those kind Ringwoods," says Mrs. 
 Philip. " But stop, Brandon. Did 
 not they, did not we ? O, how kind : 
 of them ! " She was trying to recall j 
 the past. Past and present for days 
 had been strangely mingled in her 
 fevered brain. " Hush, my dear ! 
 you are to be kep' quite still," says 
 the nurse, and then proceeded to 
 finish the polishing and powdering of 
 the pink frog on her lap. 
 
 The bedroom window was open to- 
 wards the sunny street : but Mrs. j 
 Philip did not hear a female voice ! 
 say, " 'Old the 'orse's 'ead, Jim," or j 
 she might have been agitated. The 
 horse's head was held, and a gentle- 
 man and a lady with a great basket 
 containing pease, butter, greens, 
 flowers, and other rural produce, 
 descended from the vehicle and rang 
 at the bell. 
 
 Philip opened it ; with his little 
 ones, as usual, trotting at his knees. 
 
 " Why, my darlings, how you air 
 grown ! " cries the lady. 
 
 " Bygones be bygones. Give us 
 your 'and, Firmin : here 's mine. My 
 missus has brought some country 
 
 butter and things for your dear good 
 lady. And we hope you liked the 
 chickens. And God bless you, old 
 fellow, how are you ? " The tears 
 were rolling down the good man's 
 cheeks as he spoke. And Mrs. Mug- 
 ford was likewise exceedingly hot, 
 and very much affected. And the 
 children said to her, " Mamma is 
 better now : and we have a little 
 brother, and he is crying now up 
 stairs." 
 
 " Bless you, my darlings ! " Mrs. 
 Mugford was off by this time. She 
 put down her peace-offering of car- 
 rots, chickens, bacon, butter. She 
 cried plentifully. " It was Brandon 
 came and told us," she said ; " and 
 when she told us how all your great 
 people had flung you over, and you 'd 
 been quarrelling again, you naughty 
 fellar, I says to Mugford, ' Let 's go 
 and see after that dear thing, Mug- 
 ford,' I says. And here we are. 
 And year 's two nice cakes for your 
 children " (after a forage in the cor- 
 nucopia), "and, lor', how they are 
 grown ! " 
 
 A little nurse from the up-stairs re- 
 gions here makes her appearance, 
 holding a bundle of cashmere shawls, 
 part of which is removed, and dis- 
 closes a being pronounced to be rav- 
 ishingly beautiful, and "jest like 
 Mrs. Mugford's Emaly ! " 
 
 " I say," says Mugford, " the old 
 shop 's still open to you. T'other 
 chap would n't do at all. He was 
 wild when he got the drink on board. 
 Hirish. Pitched into Bickerton and 
 blacked 'is eye. It was Bickerton who 
 told you lies about that poor lady. 
 Don't see 'im .no more now. Bor- 
 rowed some money of me ; have n't 
 seen him since. We were both wrong, 
 and we must make it up, the mis- 
 sus says we must." 
 
 " Amen ! " said Philip, with a 
 grasp of the honest fellow's hand. 
 And next Sunday he and a trim little 
 sister, and two children, went to an 
 old church in Queen Square, Blooms- 
 bury, which was fashionable in the 
 reign of Queen Anne, when Richard
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 427 
 
 Steele kept house, and did not pay 
 rent, hard by. And when the clergy- 
 man in the thanksgiving particular- 
 ized those who desired now to " ofi'tr 
 up their praises and thanksgivings 
 for late mercies vouchsafed to them," 
 once more Philip Firmin said 
 " Amen," on his knees, and with all 
 his heart. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 THE REALMS OF BLISS. 
 
 You know all good boys and 
 girls at Christmas know that, before 
 the last scene of the pantomime, when 
 the Good Fairy ascends in a blaze of 
 glory, and Harlequin and Columbine 
 take hands, having danced through all 
 their tricks and troubles and tumbles, 
 there is a dark, brief, seemingly mean- 
 ingless, penultimate scene, in which 
 the performers appear to grope about 
 perplexed, whilst the music of bas- 
 soons and trombones, and the like, 
 groans tragically. As the actors, with 
 gestures of dismay and out-stretched 
 arms, move hither and thither, the 
 wary frequenter of pantomimes sees 
 the illuminators of the Abode of Bliss 
 and Hall of Prismatic Splendor nim- 
 bly moving behind the canvas, and 
 streaking the darkness with twinkling 
 fires, fires which shall blaze out 
 presently in a thousand colors round 
 the Good Fairy in the Revolving 
 Temple of Blinding Bliss. Be hap- 
 py, Harlequin ! Love and be happy 
 and dance, pretty Columbine ! Chil- 
 dren, mamma bids you put your 
 thawls on. And Jack and Mary 
 (who are young and love panto- 
 mimes) look lingerinijly still over the 
 ledge of the box, whilst the fairy tem- 
 ple yet revolves, whilst the fireworks 
 play, and ere the Great Dark Cur- 
 tain descends. 
 
 My dear young people, who Tiave 
 sat kindly through the scenes during 
 which our entertainment has lasted, 
 be it known to you that last chapter 
 was the dark scene. Look to your 
 cloaks, and tie up your little throats, 
 
 for I tell you the great baize will 
 soon fall down. Have I had any se- 
 crets from you all through the piece ? 
 I tell you the house will be empty 
 and you will be in the cold air. 
 When the boxes have got their night- 
 gowns on, and you are all gone, and 
 I have turned off the gas, and am in 
 the empty theatre alone in the dark- 
 ness, 1 promise you I shall not be 
 merry. Never mind ! We can make 
 jokes though we are ever so sad. We 
 can jump over head and heels, though 
 I declare the pit is half emptied al- 
 ready, and the last orange-woman 
 has slunk away. Encore une pirou- 
 ette, Columbine ! Saute, Arlequin, 
 inon ami ! Though there are but 
 five bars more of the music, my good 
 people, we must jump over" them 
 briskly, and then go home to supper 
 and bed. 
 
 Philip Firmin, then, was immense- 
 ly moved by this magnanimity and 
 kindness on the part of his old em- 
 ployer, and has always considered 
 Mugford's arrival and friendliness as 
 a special interposition in his favor. 
 He owes it all to Brandon, he says. 
 It was she who bethought herself of 
 his condition, represented it to Mug- 
 ford, and reconciled him to his enemy. 
 Others were most ready with their 
 money. It was Brandon who brought 
 him work rather than alms, and en- 
 abled him to face fortune cheerfully. 
 His interval of poverty was so short, 
 that he actually had not occasion to 
 borrow. A week more, and he could 
 not have held out, and poor Brandon's 
 little marriage present must have 
 gone to the cenotaph of sovereigns, 
 the dear Little Sister's gift which 
 Philip's family cherish to this hour. 
 
 So Philip, with a humbled heart 
 and demeanor, clambered up on his 
 sub-editorial stool once more at the 
 Pall Mall Gazette, and again bran- 
 dished the paste-pot and the scissors. 
 I forget whether Bickerton still re- 
 mained in command at the Pall Mall 
 Gazette, or was more kind to Philip 
 than before, or was afraid of him.
 
 428 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 having heard of his exploits as a fire- 
 eater ; but certain it is, the two did 
 not come to a quarrel, giving each 
 other a wide berth, as the saying is, 
 and each doing his own duty. Good 
 by, Monsieur Bickerton. Except, 
 mayhap, in the final group, round the | 
 FAIRY CHARIOT (when, I promise | 
 you, there will be such a blaze of 
 glory that he will be invisible), we 
 shall never see the little spiteful en- 
 vious creature more. Let him pop 
 down his appointed trap-door; and, 
 quick, fiddles ! let the brisk music jig 
 on. 
 
 Owing to the coolness which had 
 arisen between Philip and his father 
 on account of their different views re- 
 garding the use to be made of Phil- 
 ip's signature, the old gentleman 
 drew no further bills in his son's 
 name, and our friend was spared 
 from the unpleasant persecution. 
 Mr. Hunt loved Dr. Firmin so ar- 
 dently that he could not bear to be 
 separated from the Doctor long. 
 Without the Doctor, London was a 
 dreary wilderness to Hunt Unfor- 
 tunate remembrances of past pecu- 
 niary transactions haunted him here. I 
 We were all of us glad when he final- 
 ly retired from the Covent Garden I 
 taverns and betook himself to the I 
 Bowery once more. 
 
 And now friend Philip was at work 
 again, hardly earning a scanty meal 
 for self, wife, servant, children. It 
 was indeed a meagre meal, and a 
 small wage. Charlotte's illness, and 
 other mishaps, had swept away poor j 
 Philip's little savings. It was" deter- ! 
 mined that we would let the elegant- 1 
 ly furnished apartments on the first : 
 floor. You might have fancied the , 
 proud Mr. Firmin rather repugnant 
 to such a measure. And so he was 
 on the score of convenience, but of i 
 dignity, not a whit. To this dav, if 
 necessity called, Philip would turn a 
 mangle with perfect gravity. I be- 
 lieve the thought of Mrs. General 
 Baynes's horror at the idea of her 
 son-in-law letting lodgings greatly 
 soothed and comforted Philip. The i 
 
 lodgings were absolutely taken by 
 our country acquaintance, Miss Py- 
 bus, who was coining up for the May 
 meetings, and whom we persuaded 
 (Heaven be good to us!) that she 
 would find a most desirable quiet resi- 
 dence in the house of a man with 
 three squalling children. Miss P. 
 came, then, with my wife to look at 
 the apartments ; and we allured her 
 by describing to her the delightful 
 musical services at the Foundling 
 hard by ; and she was very much 
 pleased with Mrs. Philip, and did not 
 even wince at the elder children, 
 whose pretty faces won the kind old 
 lady's heart : and I am ashamed to 
 say we were mum about the baby : 
 and Pybus was going to close for the 
 lodgings, when Philip burst out of his 
 little room, without his coat, I be- 
 lieve, and objurgated a little printer's 
 boy, who was sitting in the hall, 
 waiting for some " copy " regarding 
 which he had made a blunder ; and 
 Philip used such violent language to- 
 wards the little lazy boy, that Pybus 
 said she " never could think of taking 
 apartments in that house," and hur- 
 ried thence in a panic. When Bran- 
 don heard of this project of letting 
 lodgings, she was in a fury. She 
 might let lodgin's, but it was n't for 
 Philip to do so. " Let lodgin's, in- 
 deed ! Buy a broom, and sweep a 
 crossin' ! " Brandon always thought 
 Charlotte a poor-spirited creature, 
 and the way she scolded Mrs. Firmin 
 about this transaction was not a little 
 amusing. Charlotte was not angry. 
 She liked the scheme as little as 
 Brandon. No other person ever 
 asked for lodgings in Charlotte's 
 house. May and its meetings came 
 to an end. The old ladies went back 
 to their country towns. The mission- 
 aries returned to Caffraria. (Ah! 
 where are the pleasant - looking 
 Quakeresses of our youth, with their 
 comely faces, and pretty dove-colored 
 robes ? They say the goodly sect is 
 dwindling, dwindling. ) The Quaker- 
 esses went out of town : then the 
 fashionable world began to move :
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 429 
 
 the Parliament went out of town. ' 
 In a word, evervbo ly who could 
 made away for a holiday, whilst poor 
 Philip remained at his work, snip- 
 ping and pasting his paragraphs, and 
 doing his humble drudgery. 
 
 A sojourn on the sea-shore was 
 prescribed by Dr. Goodenough, as 
 absolutely necessary for Charlotte and 
 her young ones, and when Philip 
 plead'ed certain cogent reasons why j 
 the family could not take the medicine | 
 prescribed by the Doctor, that eccen- | 
 trie physician had recourse to the 
 same pocket-book which we have j 
 known him to produce on a former 
 occasion ; and took from it, for what 
 I know, some of the very same notes 
 which he had formerly given to the 
 Little Sister. " 1 suppose you may 
 as well have them as that rascal- 
 .Hunt?" said the Doctor, scowling 
 very fiercely. " Don't tell me. Stuff" 
 and nonsense. Pooh ! Pay me when 
 you are a rich man ! " And this 
 Samaritan had jumped into his car- 
 riage, and was gone, before Philip or 
 Mrs. Philip could say a word of 
 thanks. Look at him as he is going 
 off. See the green brougham drive 
 away, and turn westward, and mark 
 it well. A shoe go after thee, John 
 Goodenough; we shall see thee no 
 more in this story. You are not in 
 the secret, good reader : but I, who 
 have been living with certain people 
 for many months past, and have a 
 hearty liking for, some of them, grow 
 very soft when the hour for shaking 
 hands comes, to think we are to meet 
 no more. Go to ! when this tale be- 
 gan, and for some months after, a pair 
 of kind old eyes used to read these 
 pages, which are now closed in the 
 sleep appointed for all of us. And so 
 page is turned after page, and behold 
 Finis and the volume's end. 
 
 So Philip and his young folks came 
 down to Periwinkle Bay, where we 
 were staying, and the girls in the two 
 families 'nursed the baby, and the 
 child and mother got health and com- 
 fort from the fresh air, and Mr. Mug- 
 ford, who believes himself to be the 
 
 finest sub-editor in the world, and I 
 can tell you there is a great art in 
 sub-editing a paper, Mr. Mugfbrd, 
 I say, took Philip's scissors and pastc- 
 pot, whilst the latter enjoyed his 
 holiday. And J. J. Ridley, R A., 
 came and joined us present ly, and we 
 had many sketching-parties" and my 
 drawings of the various points about 
 the bay, viz. Lobster Head, the Mol- 
 lusc Rocks, &c., &c., are considered 
 to be very spirited, though my little 
 boy (who certainly has not his father's 
 taste for art) mistook for the rock a 
 really capital portrait of Philip, in a 
 gray hat and paletot, sprawling on 
 the sand. 
 
 Some twelve miles inland from the 
 bay is the little town of Whipham 
 Market, and Whipham skirts the 
 park palings of that castle where 
 Lord Ringwood had lived, and where 
 Philip's mother was born and bred. 
 There is a statue of the late lord in 
 Whipham market-place. Could he 
 have had his will, the borough would 
 have continued to return two Members 
 to Parliament, as in the good old 
 times before us. In ihat ancicni and 
 grass-grown little place, where your 
 footsteps echo as you pass through 
 the street, where you hear distinctly 
 the creaking of the sign of the " 11 lug- 
 wood Arms " hotel and posting-house, 
 and the opposition, creaking of the 
 " Ram Inn " over the way, where 
 the half-pay captain, the curate, and 
 the medical man stand before the. fly- 
 blown window-blind of the " Ring- 
 wood Institute " and survey the 
 strangers, there is still a respect 
 felt for the memory of the great lord 
 who dwelt behind the oaks in yonder 
 hall. He had his faults. His Lord- 
 ship's life was not that of an anchorite. 
 The company his Lordship kept, es- 
 pecially in his latter days, was not 
 of that select description which a 
 nobleman of his Lordship's rank 
 might command. But he was a good 
 friend to Whipham. He was a good 
 landlord to a good tenant. If he had 
 his will, Whipham would have kept 
 its own. His Lordship paid half tho
 
 430 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 expense after the burning of the town- 
 hall. He was an arbitrary man, cer- 
 t r inly, and he flogged Alderman 
 Duffle before his own shop, but he 
 apologized for it most handsome after- 
 wards. Would the gentleman like 
 port or sherry ? Claret not called for 
 in Whipham ; not at all : and no fish, 
 because all the fish at Periwinkle Bay 
 is bought up and goes to London. 
 Such were the remarks made by the 
 landlord of the " Ringwood Arms " to 
 three cavaliers who entered the hos- 
 telry. And you may be sure he told 
 us about Lord Ringwood's death in 
 the post-chaise as he came from Tur- 
 reys Regum ; and how his Lordship 
 went through them gates (pointing to 
 a pair of gates and lodges which 
 skirt the town), and was drove up to 
 the castle and laid in state ; and his 
 Lordship never would take the rail- 
 way, never ; and he always travelled 
 like a nobleman, and when he came 
 to a hotel and changed horses, he al- 
 ways called for a bottle of wine, and 
 only took a glass, and sometimes not 
 even that. And the present Sir John 
 has kept no company here as yet ; 
 and they say he is close of his money, 
 they say he is. And this is certain, 
 Whipham have n't seen much of it, 
 Whipham have n't. 
 
 We went into the inn yard, which 
 may have been once a stirring place, 
 and then sauntered up to the park 
 gate, surmounted by the supporters 
 and armorial bearings of the Ring- 
 woods. " I wonder whether my poor 
 mother came out of that gate when 
 she eloped with my father ? " said 
 Philip. " Poor thing, poor thing ! " 
 The great gates were shut. The 
 westering sun cast shadows over the 
 sward where here and there the deer 
 were browsing, and at some mile dis- 
 tance lay the house, with its towers 
 and porticos and vanes naming in the 
 sun. The smaller gate was open, and 
 a girl was standing by the lodge door. 
 Was the house to be seen ? 
 
 " Yes," says a little red-cheeked 
 girl, with a courtesy. 
 
 " No ! " calls out a harsh voice 
 
 from within, and an old woman 
 comes out from the lodge and looks 
 at us fiercely. " Nobody is to go to 
 the house. The family is a coming." 
 
 That was provoking. Philip would 
 have liked to behold the great house 
 where his mother and her ancestors 
 were born. 
 
 " Marry, good dame," Philip's 
 companion said to the old beldam, 
 " this goodly gentleman hath a right 
 of entrance to yonder castle, which, I 
 trow, ye wot not of. Heard ye never 
 tell of one Philip Ringwood, slain at 
 Busaco's glorious fi " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, and don't chaff 
 her, Pen," growled Firmin. 
 
 " Nay, and she knows not Philip 
 Ringwood's grandson," the other wag 
 continued, in a softened tone. " This 
 will convince her of our right to en- 
 ter. Canst recognize this image of 
 your queen ? " 
 
 " Well, I suppose 'ee can go up," 
 said the old woman, at the sight of 
 this talisman. " There 's only two of 
 them staying there, and they 're out 
 a drivin'." 
 
 Philip was bent on seeing the halls 
 of his ancestors. Gray and huge, 
 with towers, and vanes, and porticos, 
 they lay before us a mile off, separated 
 from us by a streak of glistening 
 river. A great chestnut avenue led 
 up to the river, and in the dappled 
 grass the deer were browsing. 
 
 You know the house of course. 
 There is a picture of it in Watts, 
 bearing date 1783. A gentleman in 
 a cocked hat and pigtail is rowing a 
 lady in a boat on the shining river. 
 Another nobleman in a cocked hat is 
 angling in the glistening river from 
 the bridge, over which a post-chaise 
 is passing. 
 
 " Yes, the place is like enough," 
 said Philip ; " but I miss the post- 
 chaise going over the bridge, and the 
 lady in the punt with the tall parasol. 
 Don't you remember the print in our 
 housekeeper's room in Old Parr 
 Street "? My poor mother used to 
 tell me about the house, and I ima- 
 gined it grander than the palace of
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 431 
 
 Aladdin. It is a very handsome 
 house," Philip went on. " ' It ex- 
 tends two hundred and sixty feet by 
 seventy-five, and consists of a rustic 
 basement and principal story, with an 
 attic in the centre, the whole executed 
 in stone. The grand front towards 
 the park is adorned with a noble por- 
 tico of the Corinthian order, and 
 may with propriety be considered one 
 of the finest elevations in the .' I 
 tell you I am quoting out of Watts's 
 ' Seats of the Nobility and Gentry,' 
 published by John and Josiah Boy- 
 dell, and lying in our drawing-room. 
 Ah, dear me ! I painted the boat and 
 the lady and gentleman in the draw- 
 ing-room copy, and my father boxed 
 my ears, and my mother cried out, 
 poor dear soul ! And this is the 
 river, is it ? And over this the post- 
 chaise went with the club-tailed 
 horses, and here was the pig-tailed 
 gentleman fishing. It gives me a 
 queer sensation," says Philip, stand- 
 ing on the bridge, and stretching out 
 his big arms. " Yes, there are the 
 two people in the punt by the rushes. 
 I can see them, but you can't ; and I 
 hope, sir, you will have good sport." 
 And here he took off his hat to an 
 imaginary gentleman supposed to be 
 angling from the balustrade for 
 ghostly gudgeon. We reach the 
 house " presently. We ring at the 
 door in the basement under the por- 
 tico. The porter demurs, and says 
 some of the family is down, but they 
 are out, to be sure. The same half- 
 crown argument answers with him 
 which persuaded the keeper at the 
 lodge. We go through the show- 
 rooms of the stately but somewhat 
 faded and melancholy palace. In the 
 cedar dining-room there hangs the 
 grim portrait of the late Earl ; and 
 that fair-haired officer in red 1 ? that 
 must be Philip's grandfather. And 
 those two slim girls embracing, surely 
 those are his mother and his aunt. 
 Philip walks softly through the va- 
 cant rooms. He gives the porter a 
 gold piece ere he goes but of the great 
 hall, forty feet cube, ornamented with 
 
 statues brought from Rome, by John 
 first Baron, namely, Heliogabalus, 
 Nero's mother, a priestess of Isis, and 
 a river god; the pictures over the 
 doors by Pedimento ; the ceiling by 
 Leotardi, &c. ; and in a window in 
 the great hall there is a table with a 
 visitors' book, in which Philip writes 
 his name. As we went away, we met 
 a carriage which drove rapidly to- 
 wards the house, and which no doubt 
 contained the members of the King- 
 wood family, regarding whom the 
 porteress had spoken. After the fam- 
 ily differences previously related, we 
 did not care to face these kinsfolks of 
 Philip, and passed on quickly in twi- 
 light beneath the rustling umbrage of 
 the chestnuts. J. J. saw a hundred 
 fine pictorial effects as we walked ; 
 the palace reflected in the water ; the 
 dappled deer under the checkered 
 shadow of the trees. It was, " O 
 what a jolly bit of color," and, " I 
 say, look, how well that old woman's 
 red cloak comes in ! " and so forth. 
 Painters never seem tired of their 
 work. At seventy they are students 
 still, patient, docile, happy. May we 
 too, my good sir, live tor fourscore 
 vears, and never be too old to learn ! 
 the walk, the brisk accompanying 
 conversation, amid stately scenery 
 around, brought us with good appe- 
 tites and spirits to our inn, where we 
 were told that dinner would be served 
 when the omnibus arrived from the 
 railway. 
 
 At " a short distance from the 
 "Ringwood Arms," and on the op- 
 
 fosite side of the street, is the " Ram 
 nn," neat post-chaises and farmers' 
 ordinary ; a house, of which the pre- 
 tensions seemed less, though the trade 
 was somewhat more lively. When 
 the tooting of the horn announced 
 the arrival of the omnibus from the 
 railway, I should think a crowd of at 
 least fifteen people assembled at 
 various doors of the High Street 
 and Market. The half-pay captain 
 and the curate came out from tha 
 " Ringwood Athenaeum." The doc- 
 tor's apprentice stood on the step of
 
 432 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 the surgery door, and the surgeon's 
 lady looked out from the first floor. 
 We shared the general curiosity. 
 We and the waiter stood at the door 
 of the " Ringwood Arms." We were 
 mortified to see that of the five per- 
 sons conveyed by the 'bus, one was a 
 tradesman, who descended at his 
 door (Mr. Packwood, the saddler, 
 so the waiter informed us), three 
 travellers were discharged at the 
 " Ram," and only one came to us. 
 
 " Mostly bagmen goes to the 
 ' Ram,' " the waiter said, with a 
 scornful air ; and these bagmen, and 
 their bags, quitted the omnibus. 
 
 Only one passenger remained for 
 the " Ringwood Arms Hotel," and 
 he presently descended under the 
 porte coc.here ; and the omnibus I 
 own, with regret, it was but a one- 
 horse machine, drove rattling into 
 the court-yard, where the bells of the 
 "Star," the "George," the "Rod- 
 ney," the " Dolphin," and so on, had 
 once been wont to jingle, and the 
 court had echoed with the noise and 
 clatter of hoofs and hostlers, and the 
 cries of " First and second, turn 
 out." 
 
 Who was the merry-faced little 
 gentleman in black, who got out of 
 the omnibus, and cried, when he saw 
 us, " What, you here ? " It was Mr. 
 Bradgate, that lawyer of Lord Ring- 
 wood's with whom we made a brief 
 acquaintance just after his Lordship's 
 death. " What, you here ? " cries 
 Bradgate, then, to Philip. " Come 
 down about this business, of course ? 
 Very glad that you and and certain 
 parties have made it up. Thought 
 you were n't friends." 
 
 What business 1 What parties ? 
 We had not heard the news ? We 
 had only come over from Periwinkle 
 Bay by chance, in order to SBC the 
 house. 
 
 " How very singular ! Did you 
 meet the the people who were stay- 
 ing there 1 " 
 
 We said we had seen a carriage 
 bass, but did not remark who was in 
 it. What, however, was the news ? 
 
 Well. It would be known immedi- 
 ately, arid would appear in Tuesday's 
 Gazette. The news was that Sir 
 John Ringwood was going to take a 
 1 peerage, and that the seat for Whip- 
 j ham would be vacant. And here- 
 with our friend produced from his 
 '' travelling bag a proclamation, which 
 ; he read to us, and which was ad- 
 dressed 
 
 " To the worthy and independent 
 Electors of the Borough of Ring- 
 wood. 
 
 "LONDON, Wednesday. 
 " GENTLEMEN, A gracious Sover- 
 eign having been pleased to order that 
 the family of Ringwood should con- 
 tinue to be represented in the House 
 of Peers, I take leave of my friends 
 and constituents who have given me 
 their kind confidence hitherto, and 
 promise them that my regard for them 
 will never cease, or my interest in the 
 town and neighborhood where my 
 family have dwelt for many centuries. 
 The late lamented Lord Ringwood's 
 brother died in the service of his 
 Sovereign in Portugal, following the 
 same flag under which his ancestors 
 for centuries have fought and bled. 
 My own son serves the Crown in a 
 civil capacity. It was natural that 
 one of our name and family should 
 continue the relations which so long 
 have subsisted between us and 
 this loyal, affectionate, but indepen- 
 dent borough. Mr. Ringwood's on- 
 erous duties in the office which he 
 holds are sufficient to occupy his 
 time. A gentleman united to our 
 family by the closest ties will offer 
 himself as a candidate for your 
 suffrages " 
 
 " Why, who is it 1 He is not go- 
 ing to put in Uncle Twysden, or my 
 sneak of a cousin 1 " 
 
 " No," says Mr. Bradgate. 
 
 " Well, bless my soul ! he can't 
 
 mean me," said Philip. " Who is 
 
 the dark horse he has in his stable 1 " 
 
 Then Mr. Bradgate laughed. 
 
 " Dark horse you may call him. 
 
 The new Member is to be Grenville
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 433 
 
 Woolcomb, Esq., your West India 
 relative, and no other." 
 
 Those who know the extreme en- 
 ergy of Mr. P. Firmin's language 
 when he is excited may imagine the 
 explosion of Philippine wrath which 
 ensued as our friend heard this name. 
 " That miscreant : that skinflint : 
 that wealthy crossing-sweeper: that 
 ignoramus who scarce could do more 
 than sign his name ! O, it was hor- 
 rible, shameful! Why, the man is 
 on such ill terms with his wife that 
 they say he strikes her. When I see 
 him I feel inclined to choke him, and 
 murder him. That brute going into 
 Parliament, and the republican Sir 
 John Ringwood sending him there ! 
 It 's monstrous ! " 
 
 " Family arrangements. Sir John, 
 or, I should say, my Lord Ringwood, 
 is one of the most affectionate of 
 parents," Mr. Bradgate remarked. 
 " He has a large family by his second 
 marriage, and his estates go to his 
 eldest son. We must not quarrel 
 with Lord Ringwood for wishing to 
 provide for his young ones. I don't 
 say that he quite acts up to the ex- 
 treme Liberal principle of which he 
 was once rather fond of boasting. 
 But if you were offered a peerage, 
 what would you do ; what would I 
 do ? If you wanted money for your 
 young ones, and could get it, would 
 you not take it ? Come, come, don't 
 let us have too much of this Spartan 
 virtue! If we were tried, my good 
 friend, we should not be much worse 
 or better than our neighbors. Is my 
 fly coming, waiter ? " We asked Mr. 
 Bradgate to defer his departure, and 
 to share our dinner. But he declined, 
 and said he must go up to the great 
 house, where he and his client had 
 plenty of business to arrange, and 
 where no doubt he would stay for the 
 night. He bade the inn servants put 
 his portmanteau into his carriage 
 when it came. " The old Lord had 
 gome famous port-wine," he said ; 
 " I hope my friends have the key of 
 the cellar." 
 
 The waiter was just putting our 
 19 
 
 meal on the table, as we stood in the 
 bow-window of the " Ringwood 
 Arms " coffee-room, engaged in this 
 colloquy. Hence we could sec the 
 street, and the opposition inn of the 
 " Ram," where presently a great pla- 
 card was posted. At least a dozen 
 street-boys, shopmen, and rustics 
 were quickly gathered round this 
 manifesto, and we ourselves went out 
 to examine it. The " Ram " placard 
 denounced, in terms of unmeasured 
 wrath, the impudent attempt from 
 the Castle to dictate to the free and 
 independent electors of the borough. 
 Freemen were invited not to prom- 
 ise their votes ; to show them- 
 selves worthy of their name ; to submit 
 to no Castle dictation. A country gen- 
 tleman of property, of influence, of 
 liberal principles, no WEST-INDIAN, 
 no CASTLE FLUNKEY, but a TKUE 
 ENGLISH GENTLEMAN, would come 
 forward to rescue them from the ty- 
 ranny under which they labored. 
 On this point the electors might rely 
 on the word of A BRITON. 
 
 " This was brought down by the 
 clerk from Bedloe's. He and a news- 
 paper man came down in the train 
 with me ; a Mr. " 
 
 As he spoke, there came forth from 
 the " Ram " the newspaper man of 
 whom Mr. Bradgate spoke, an old 
 friend and comrade of Philip, that 
 energetic man and able reporter, 
 Phipps of the Daily Intelligencer, 
 who recognized Philip, and cordially 
 greeting him, asked what he did 
 down here, and supposed he had 
 come to support his family. 
 
 Philip explained that we wore 
 strangers, had come from a neighbor- 
 ing watering-place to see the home 
 of Philip's ancestors, and were not 
 even aware, until then, that an elec- 
 tioneering contest was pending in the 
 place, or that Sir John Ringwood 
 was about to be promoted to the peer- 
 age. Meanwhile, Mr. Bradgate's fly 
 had driven out of the hotel yard of 
 the " Ringwood Arms," and the law- 
 yer, running to the house for a bag of 
 papers, jumped into the carriage and 
 BB
 
 434 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 called to the coachman to drive to 
 the Castle. 
 
 " Bon appetit .' " says he, in a con- 
 fident tone, and he was gone. 
 
 " Would Phipps dine with us ? " 
 Phipps whispered, " I am on the 
 other side, and the ' Ram ' is our 
 house." 
 
 \ye, who were on no side, entered 
 into the " Ringwood Arms," and sat 
 down to our meal, to the mutton 
 and the catsup, cauliflower and pota- 
 toes, the copper-edge side-dishes, and 
 the watery melted butter, with which 
 strangers are regaled in inns in 
 declining towns. The town badauds, 
 who had read the placard at the 
 " Ram," now came to peruse the 
 proclamation in our window. I dare 
 say thirty pairs of clinking boots 
 stopped before the one window and 
 the other, the while we ate tough 
 mutton and drank fiery sherry. And 
 J. J., leaving his dinner, sketched 
 some of the figures of the townsfolk 
 staring at the manifesto, with the 
 old-fashioned " Ram Inn " for a 
 background, a picturesque gable 
 enough. 
 
 Our meal was just over, when, 
 somewhat to our surprise, our friend 
 Mr. Bradgate the lawyer returned to 
 the " Ringwood Arms." He wore a 
 disturbed countenance. He asked 
 what he could have for dinner? 
 Mutton, neither hot nor cold. Hum ! 
 That must do. So he had not been 
 invited to dine at the Park ? We 
 rallied him with much facetiousness 
 on this disappointment. 
 
 Little Bradgate's eyes started with 
 wrath. " What a churl the little 
 black fellow is ! " he cried. " I took 
 him his papers. I talked with him 
 till dinner was laid in the very room 
 where we were. French beans and 
 neck of venison, I saw the house- 
 keeper and his man bring them in ! 
 And Mr. Woolcomb did not so much 
 as ask me to sit down to dinner, but 
 told me to come again at nine o'clock ! 
 Confound this mutton, it 's neither 
 hot nor cold I The little skinflint ! 
 The glasses of fiery sherry which 
 
 Bradgate now swallowed served rather 
 to choke than appease the lawyer. 
 We laughed, and this jocularity 
 angered him more. " 0," said he, 
 " I am not the only person Woolcomb 
 was rude to. He was in a dreadful 
 ill temper. He abused his wife : and 
 I when he read somebody's name in 
 the strangers' book, I promise you, 
 \ Firmin, he abused you. I had a mind 
 I to say to him, ' Sir, Mr. Firmin is 
 I dining at the " Ringwood Arms," 
 and I will tell him what you say of 
 him.' What india-rubber mutton 
 this is ! What villanous sherry ! Go 
 back to him at nine o'clock, in- 
 deed ! Be hanged to his impu- 
 dence ! " 
 
 " You must not abuse Woolcomb 
 before Firmin," said one of our party. 
 " Philip is so fond of his cousin's 
 husband, that he cannot bear to hear 
 the black man abused." 
 
 This was not a very brilliant joke, 
 but Philip grinned at it with much 
 savage satisfaction. 
 
 " Hit Woolcomb as hard as you 
 please, he has no friends here, Air. 
 Bradgate," growled Philip. " So he 
 is rude to his lawyer, is he ? " 
 
 " I tell you he is worse than the 
 old Earl," cried the indignant Brad- 
 gate. " At least the old man was a 
 peer of England, and could be a 
 gentleman when he wished. But to 
 be bullied by a fellow who might be 
 a black footman, or ought to be 
 sweeping a crossing ! It 's mon- 
 strous ! " 
 
 " Don't speak ill of a man and a 
 brother, Mr. Bradgate. Woolcomb 
 can't help his complexion." 
 
 " But he can help his confounded 
 impudence, and sha' n't practise it on 
 me ! " the attorney cried. 
 
 As Bradgate called out from his 
 box, puffing and fuming, friend J. J. 
 was scribbling in the little sketch-book 
 which he always carried. He smiled 
 over bis work. " I know," he said, 
 " the Black Prince well enough. I 
 have often seen him driving his chest- 
 nut mares in the Park, with that 
 bewildered white wife by his side. I
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 am sure that woman is miserable, 
 and, poor thing " 
 
 " Serve her right ! What did an 
 English lady mean by marrying such 
 a fellow ! " cries Bradgate. 
 
 " A fellow who does not ask his 
 lawyer to dinner!" remarks one of 
 the company ; perhaps the reader's 
 very humble servant. " lint what an 
 imprudent lawyer he has chosen, a 
 lawyer who speaks his mind." 
 
 " I have spoken my mind to his 
 betters, and be hanged to him ! Do 
 you think I am going to be afraid 
 of him ? " bawls the irascible solicit- 
 or. 
 
 " Contempsi Catilinai glad/os, do 
 you remember the old quotation at 
 school, Philip ? " And here there 
 was a break in our conversation, for 
 chancing to look at friend J. J.'s 
 sketch-book, we saw that he had 
 made a wonderful little drawing, 
 representing Woolcomb and Wool- 
 comb's wife, grooms, phaeton, and 
 chestnut mares, as they were to be 
 seen any afternoon in Hyde Park, 
 during the London season. 
 
 Admirable ! Capital ! Everybody 
 at once knew the likeness of the dusky 
 charioteer. Iracundus himself smiled 
 and sniggered over it. " Unless you 
 behave yourself, Mr. Bradgate, Ridley 
 will make a picture of you," says 
 Philip. Bradgate made a comical 
 face, and retreated into his box, of 
 which he pretended to draw the 
 curtain. But the sociable little man 
 did not long remain in his retirement ; 
 he emerged from it in a short time, 
 his wine decanter in his hand, and 
 joined our little party ; and then we 
 fell to talking of old" times ; and we 
 all remembered a famous drawing by 
 H. B., of the late Earl of Ringwood, 
 in the old-fashioned swallow-tailed 
 coat and tight trousers, on the old- 
 fashioned horse, with the old-fashion- 
 ed groom behind him, as he used to be 
 seen pounding along Rotten Row. 
 
 " 1 speak my mind, do I ? " says 
 Mr. Bradgate, presently. " I know 
 somebody who spoke his mind to 
 that old man, and who would have 
 
 been better off if he had held his 
 tongue." 
 
 " Come tell me, Bradgate," cried 
 Philip. " It is all over and past now. 
 Had Lord Ringwood left me some- 
 thing ( 1 declare I thought at one 
 time that he intended to do so." 
 
 " Nay, has not your friend here 
 been rebuking me "for speaking my 
 mind '. I am going to Ixj as mum 
 as a mouse. Let us talk about the 
 election," and the provoking law- 
 yer would say no more on a subject 
 possessing a dismal interest lor ijoor 
 Phil. 
 
 " I have no more right to repine," 
 said that philosopher, " than a man 
 would have who drew number r in 
 the lottery, when the winning ticket 
 was number y. Let us talk, as you 
 say, about the election. Who is to 
 oppose Mr. Woolcomb?" 
 
 Mr. Bradgate believed a neighbor- 
 ing squire, Mr. Hornblow, was to be 
 the candidate put forward against the 
 Ringwood nominee. 
 
 " Hornblow ! what, Hornblow of 
 Greyfriars '( " cries Philip. " A bet- 
 ter fellow never lived. In this case 
 he shall have our vote and interest ; 
 and I think we ought to go over and 
 take another dinner at the ' Ram.' " 
 
 The new candidate actually turned 
 out to be Philip's old school and 
 college friend, Mr. Hornblow. After 
 dinner we met him with a staff of 
 canvassers on the tramp through 
 the little town. Mr. Hornblow 
 was paying his respects to such 
 tradesmen as had their shops yet 
 open. Next day being market-day, 
 he proposed to canvass the market- 
 people. " If 1 meet the black man, 
 Firmin," said the burly squire, " I 
 think I caii chaff him off his legs. 
 He is a bad one at speaking, I am 
 told." 
 
 As if the tongue of Plato would 
 have prevailed in Whipham and 
 against the nominee of the great 
 house ! The hour was late to be 
 sure, but the companions of Mr. 
 Hornblow on his canvass augured ill 
 of his success after half an hour's walk
 
 436 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 at his heels. Baker Jones would not | when he met Woolcomb at the can- 
 
 promise nohow : that meant Jones 
 would vote for the Castle, Mr. Horn- 
 blow's legal aide-de-camp, Mr. Bat- 
 ley, was forced to allow. Butcher 
 Brown was Iraving his tea, his 
 shrill-voiced wife told ns, looking 
 out from her glazed back parlor; 
 Brown would vote for the Castle. 
 Saddler Briggs would see about it. 
 Grocer Adams fairly said he would 
 vote against us, against us ? 
 against Hornblow, whose part we 
 were taking already. I fear the flat- 
 tering promises of support of a great 
 body of free and unbiassed electors, 
 which had induced Mr. Hornblow to 
 come fonvard and, &c., w<jre but 
 inventions of that little lawyer, Bat- 
 ley, who found his account in having 
 a contest in the borough. When the 
 polling-day came, you see, I dis- 
 dain to make any mysteries in this 
 simple and veracious story, MR. 
 GRENVILLE WOOLCOMB, whose so- 
 licitor and agent spoke for him, 
 Mr. Grenville Woolcomb, who could 
 not spell or speak two sentences of 
 decent English, and whose character 
 fur dulness, ferocity, penuriousness, 
 jealousy, almost fatuity, was noto- 
 rious to all the world, was returned 
 by an immense majority, and the 
 country gentlemen brought scarce a 
 hundred votes to the poll. 
 
 We who were in no wise engaged 
 in the contest, nevertheless found 
 amusement from it in a quiet country 
 place where little else was stirring. 
 We came over once or twice from 
 Periwinkle Bay. We mounted Horn- 
 blow's colors openly. We drove up 
 ostentatiously to the " Ram," forsak- ! 
 ing the " Ringwood Arms," where ! 
 MR. GRENVILLE WOOLCOMB'S COM- I 
 SUTTEE-ROOM was now established , 
 in that very coffee-room where we 
 had dined in Mr. Bradgate's compa- 
 ny. We warmed in the contest. We 
 met Bradgate and his principal more 
 than once, and our Montagues and 
 Capulets defied each other in the 
 public street. It was fine to see 
 Philip's great figure and noble scowl 
 
 vass. Gleams of mulatto hate quiver- 
 ed from the eyes of the little captain. 
 Darts of fire flashed from beneath 
 Philip's eyebrows as he elbowed his 
 way forward, and hustled Woolcomb 
 off the pavement. Mr. Philip never 
 disguised any sentiment of his. " Hate 
 the little ignorant, spiteful, vulgar, av- 
 aricious beast ? Of course I hate him, 
 and I should like to pitch him into 
 the river." " O Philip ! " Charlotte 
 pleaded. But there was no reason- 
 ing with this savage when in wrath. 
 I deplored, though perhaps I was 
 amused by, his ferocity. 
 
 The local paper on our side was 
 filled with withering epigrams against 
 this poor Woolcomb, of which, I 
 suspect, Philip was the author. I 
 think I know that fierce style and 
 tremendous invective. In the man 
 whom he hates he can see no good : 
 and in his friend no fault. When we 
 met Bradgate apart from his princi- 
 pal, we were friendly enough. He 
 said we had no chance in the contest. 
 He did not conceal his dislike and 
 contempt for his client He amused 
 us in later days (when he actually 
 became Philip's man of law) by re- 
 counting anecdotes of Woolcomb, his 
 fury, his jealousy, his avarice, his bru- 
 tal behavior. Poor Agnes had mar- 
 ried for money, and he gave her none. 
 Old Twysdcn, in giving his daughter 
 to this man, had hoped to have the 
 run of a fine house ; to ride in Wool- 
 comb's carriages, and feast at his 
 table. But Woolcomb was so stingy 
 that he grudged the meat which his 
 wife ate, and would give none to her 
 relations. He turned those relations 
 out of doors. Talbot and Ringwood 
 Twysden, he drove them both away. 
 He lost a child, because he would not 
 send for a physician. His wife never 
 forgave him that meanness. Her 
 hatred for him became open and 
 avowed. They parted, and she led 
 a life into which we will look no fur- 
 ther. She quarrelled with parents as 
 well as husband. " Why," she said, 
 " did they sell me to that man 1 "
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 437 
 
 Why did she sell herself? She re- 
 quired little persuasion from father 
 and mother when she committed 
 that crime. To lie sure, they had 
 educated her so well to worldliness, 
 that when the occasion came she 
 was ready. 
 
 We used to see this luckless wo- : 
 man, with her horses and servants 
 decked with Wooleomb's rilibons, 
 driving: about the little town, and 
 making feeble efforts to canvass the 
 towns-people. They all knew how j 
 she and her husband' quarrelled, lie- 
 ports came very quickly from the 
 Hall to the town. Woolcomb had 
 not been at Whipham a week when 
 people began to hoot and jeer at him 
 as he passed in his carriage. " Think 
 how weak you must be," Bradgate 
 said, "when we can win with this 
 horse ! I wish he would stay away, 
 though. We could manage much 
 better without him. He has insulted 
 I don't know many free and indepen- 
 dent electors, and infuriated others, 
 because he will not give them beer 
 when they come to the house. If 
 Woolcomb would stay in the place, 
 and we could have the election next 
 year, I think your man might win. 
 But, as it is, he may as well give in, 
 and spare the expense of a poll." 
 Meanwhile, Horn blow was very con- 
 fident. We believe what we wish to 
 believe. It is marvellous what faith 
 an enthusiastic electioneering agent 
 can inspire in his client. At any 
 rate, if Hornblow did not win this 
 time, he would at the next election. 
 The old Ringwood domination in 
 Whipham was gone henceforth for- 
 ever. 
 
 When the day of election arrived, 
 you may be sure we came over from 
 Periwinkle Bay to see the battle. By 
 this time Philip had grown so enthu- j 
 siastic in Hornblow's cause (Phi'ip, | 
 by the way, never would allow the ! 
 possibility of a defeat) that he had j 
 his children decked in the Hornblow 
 ribbons, and drove from the bay, 
 Wearing a cockade as large as a pan- 
 cake. He, I, and Ridley the painter, 
 
 went together in a dog-cart. We were 
 hopeful, though we knew the enemy 
 was strong ; and cheerful, though, 
 ore we had driven five miles, the rain 
 began to fall. 
 
 Philip was very anxious about a 
 certain great roll of paper which we 
 carried with us. When I asked him 
 what it contained, he said it was a 
 gun ; whii-h was absurd. Ridley 
 smiled in his silent way. When the 
 rain came, Philip cast" a cloak over 
 his artillery, and sheltered his pow- 
 der. We little guessed at the timt 
 what strange game his shot woulc* 
 bring down. 
 
 When we reached Whipham the 
 polling had continued for some hours. 
 The confounded black miscreant, as 
 Philip called his cousin's husband, 
 was at the head of the poll, and with 
 every hour his majority increased. 
 The free and independent electors did 
 not seem to be in the least influenced 
 by Philip's articles in the county pa- 
 per, or by the placards which our 
 side had pasted over the little town, 
 and in which freemen were called up- 
 on to do their duty, to support a fine 
 old English gentleman, to submit to 
 no Castle nominee, and so forth. 
 The pressure of the Ringwood stew- 
 ard and bailiffs was too strong. 
 However much they disliked the black 
 man, tradesman after tradesman, and 
 tenant alter tenant, came up to vote 
 for him. Our drums and trumpets 
 at the "Ram" blew loud defiance to 
 the brass band at the "Ringwood 
 Arms." From our balcony, I flatter 
 myself, we made much finer speeches 
 than the Ringwood people could de- 
 liver. Hornblow was a popular man 
 in the county. When he came for- 
 ward to speak, the market place echo- 
 ed with applause. The farmers and 
 small tradesmen touched their hats to 
 him kiudlv, but slunk off sadly to the 
 polling-booth, and voted according 
 to order. A fine, healthy, handsome, 
 red-cheeked squire, our champion's 
 personal appearance enlisted all tha 
 ladies in his favor. 
 
 " If the two men," bawled I hihpk
 
 438 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 from the "Ram" window, "could 
 decide the contest with their coats 
 oft' before the market-house yonder, 
 which do you think would win, the 
 fair man or the darkey?" "(Loud 
 cries of Hornblow foriver ! " or " Mr. 
 Philip, we '11 have yew.") "But you 
 see, my friends, Mr. Woolcomb does 
 not like a fair fight. Why does n't 
 he show at the ' Ringwood Arms ' 
 and speak ? I don't believe he can 
 sj>eak, not English. Are you men ? 
 Are you Englishmen ? Are yon 
 white slaves to be sold to that fel- 
 low?" (Immense uproar. Mr. 
 Finch, the Ringwood agent, in vain 
 tries to get a hearing from the bal- 
 cony of the "Ringwood Arms.") 
 " Why does not Sir John Ringwood 
 my Lord Ringwood now come 
 down amongst his tenantry, and back 
 the man he has sent down ? I sup- 
 pose he is ashamed to look his ten- 
 ants in the face. I should be, if I or- 
 dered them to do such a degrading 
 job. You know, gentlemen, that I am 
 a Ringwood myself. My grandfather 
 lies buried no, not buried in yon- 
 der church. His tomb is there. His 
 body lies on the glorious field of Bu- 
 saco ! " ("Hurray!") "I am a 
 Ringwood." (Cries of " Hoo 
 down. No Ringwoods year. We 
 wunt have un!") "And before 
 George, if I had a vote, I would give 
 it for the gallant, the good, the ad- 
 mirable, the excellent Hornblow. 
 Some one holds up the state of the 
 poll, and Woolcomb is ahead ! I can 
 only say, electors of Whipham, the more 
 shame for you .' " " Hooray ! Bravo ! " 
 The boys, the people, the shouting, 
 are all on our side. The voting, I 
 regret to say, steadily continues in 
 favor of the enemy. 
 
 As Philip was making his speech, 
 an immense banging of drums and 
 blowing of trumpets arose from the 
 balcony of the " Ringwood Arms," 
 and a something resembling the song 
 of triumph railed, " Sec the Conquer- 
 ing Hero comes," was performed by 
 the opposition orchestra. The lodge 
 gates of the park were now decorated 
 
 with the Ringwood and Woolcomb 
 flags. They were flung open, and a 
 dark green chariot with four gray 
 ', horses issued from the park. On the 
 chariot was an Earl's coronet, and 
 , the people looked rather scared as it 
 came towards us, and said, " Do 'ee 
 . look, now, 't is my Lard's own post- 
 ; chaise ! " On former days Mr. Wool- 
 j comb, and his wife as his aide-de- 
 ! camp, had driven through the town 
 i in an open barouche, but, to-day be- 
 ing rainy, preferred the shelter of the 
 old chariot, and we saw, presently, 
 j within, Mr. Bradgate, the London 
 agent, and by his side the darkling 
 i figure of Mr. Woolcomb. He had 
 i passed many agonizing hours, we 
 were told subsequently, in attempting 
 j to learn a speech. He cried over it. 
 He never could get it by heart. He 
 swore like a frantic child at his wife 
 who endeavored to teach him his les- 
 son. 
 
 " Now 's the time, Mr. Briggs ! " 
 Philip said to Mr. B., our lawyer's 
 clerk, and the intelligent Briggs 
 sprang down stairs to obey his orders. 
 Clear the road there ! make way ! was 
 heard from the crowd below us. The 
 gates of our inn court-yard, which had 
 been closed, were suddenly flung 
 open, and, amidst the roar of the 
 multitude, there issued out a cart 
 drawn by two donkeys, and driven by 
 a negro, beasts and m:m all wearing 
 Woolcomb's colors. In the cart was 
 fixed a placard, on which a most un- 
 deniable likeness of Mr. Woolcomb 
 was designed : who was made to say, 
 " VOTE FOR ME ! AM I NOT v MAX 
 AXD A BRUDDER ? " This cart 
 trotted out of the yard of the " Ram," 
 and, with a cortege of shouting boys, 
 advanced into the market-place, which 
 Mr. Woolcomb's carriage was then 
 crossing. 
 
 Before the market-house stands the 
 statue of the late Earl, whereof men- 
 tion has been made. In his peer's 
 n>!>e-. a liiind extended, he points 
 towards his park gates. An inscrip- 
 tion, not more mendacious than many 
 other epigraphs, records his rank,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 439 
 
 age, virtues, and the esteem in which 
 the people of Whipham held him. 
 The mulatto who drove the team of 
 donkeys was an itinerant tradesman 
 who brought fish from the bay to the 
 little town ; a jolly wag, a fellow of 
 indifferent character, a frequenter of 
 all the ale-houses in the neighbor- 
 hood, and rather celebrated for his 
 skill as a bruiser. He and his steeds 
 streamed with Woolcomb ribbons. 
 With ironical shouts of " Woolcomb 
 forever ! " Yellow Jack urged his 
 cart towards the chariot with the 
 white horses. He took off his hat 
 with mock respect to the candidate 
 sitting within the green chariot. 
 From the balcony of the " Ram " we 
 could see the two vehicles appronch- 
 ing each other ; and the Yellow Jack 
 waving his ribboned hat, kicking his 
 bandy legs here and there, and ur- 
 ging on his donkeys. What with the 
 roar of the people, and the banging 
 and trumpeting of the rival bands, 
 we could hear but little : but I saw 
 Woolcomb thrust his yellow head out 
 of his chaise-window, he pointed 
 towards that impudent donkey cart, 
 and urged, seemingly, his postilions 
 to ride it down. Plying their whips, 
 the post-boys galloped towards Yellow 
 Jack and his vehicle, a yelling crowd 
 scattering from before the horses, and 
 rallying behind them, to utter execra- 
 tions at Woolcomb. His horses were 
 frightened, no doubt ; for just as 
 Yellow Jack wheeled nimbly round 
 one side of the Ringwood statue, 
 Woolcomb's horses were all huddled 
 together and plunging in confusion 
 beside it, the fore-wheel came in ab- 
 rupt collision with the stonework of 
 the statue railing : and then we saw 
 the vehicle turn over altogether, one 
 of the wheelers down with its rider, 
 and the leaders kicking, plunging, 
 lashing out right and left, wild and 
 maddened with fear. Mr. Philip's 
 countenance, I am bound to say, 
 wore a most guilty and queer expres- 
 sion. This accident, this collision, 
 this injury, perhaps death of Wool- 
 comb and his lawyer, arose out of our 
 
 fine joke about the Man and tho 
 Brother. 
 
 We dashed down the stairs from 
 the " Ram," Hornblow, Philip, and 
 half a dozen more, and made a way 
 through the crowd towards the car- 
 riage, with its prostrate occupants. 
 The mob made way civilly for the 
 popular candidate, the losing candi- 
 date. When we reached the chaise, 
 the traces had been cut : the horses 
 were free : the fallen postilion was up 
 and rubbing his leg : and, as soon as 
 the wheelers were taken out of the 
 chaise, Woolcomb emerged from it. 
 He had said from within (accompany- 
 ing his speech with many oaths, which 
 need not be' repeated, and showing a 
 just sense of his danger), " Cut the 
 traces, hang you ! And take the 
 horses away ; I can wait until they 're 
 gone. I'm sittin' on my lawyer; I 
 ain't goin' to have my head kicked 
 off by those wheelers." And just as 
 we reached the fallen post-chaise he 
 emerged from it, laughing and say- 
 ing, " Lie still, you old beggar ! " to 
 Mr. Bradgate, who was writhing un- 
 derneath him. His issue from the 
 carriage was received with shouts of 
 laughter, which increased prodigious- 
 ly when Yellow Jack, nimbly clam- 
 bering up the statue-railings, thrust 
 the outstretched arm of the statue 
 through the picture of the Man and 
 the Brother, and left that cartoon 
 flapping in the air over Woolcomb's 
 head. 
 
 Then a shout arose, the like of 
 which has seldom been heard in that 
 quiet little town. Then Woolcomb, 
 who had been quite good-humored as 
 he issued out of the broken post- 
 chaise, began to shriek, curse, and re- 
 vile more shrilly than before ; and was 
 heard in the midst of his oaths, and 
 wrath, to say " He would give any 
 man a shillin' who would bring him 
 down that confounded thing ! " Then 
 scared, bruised, contused, confused, 
 poor Mr. Bradgatc came out of the 
 carriage, his employer taking not the 
 least notice of him. 
 
 Hornblow hoped Woolcomb was
 
 440 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 not hurt, on which the little gen- 
 tleman turned round and said " Hurt ? 
 no ; who are you ! Is no fellah 
 goin' to bring me down that con- 
 founded thing ? I '11 give a shillin', 
 I say, to the fellah who does ! " 
 
 " A shilling is offered for that pic- 
 ture ! " shouts Philip with a red face, 
 and wild with excitement. " Who 
 will take a whole shilling for that 
 beauty ? " 
 
 On which Woolcomb began to 
 scream, curse, and revile more bitterly 
 than before. " You here ? Hang 
 you, why are you here ? Don't come, 
 bullyin' me. Take that fellah away, 
 some of you fellahs. Bradgate, come 
 to my committee-room. I won't stay 
 here, I say. Let 's have the beast of 
 a carriage, and Well, what's up 
 now ? " 
 
 While he was talking, shrieking, 
 and swearing, half a dozen shoulders 
 in the crowd had raised the carriage 
 np on its three wheels. The panel 
 which had fallen towards the ground 
 had split against a stone, and a great 
 gap was seen in the side. A lad was 
 about to thrust his hand into the or- 
 ifice, when Woolcomb turned upon 
 him. 
 
 " Hands off, you little beggar ! " 
 he cried, " no priggin' ! Drive 
 away some of these fellahs, you post- 
 boys ! Don't stand rubbin' your 
 knee there, you great fool. What 's 
 this ? " and he thrusts his own hand 
 into the place where the boy had just 
 been marauding. 
 
 In the old travelling carriages there 
 used to be a well or sword-case, in | 
 which travellers used to put swords j 
 and pistols in days when such weap- ! 
 ons of defence were needful on the 
 road. Out of this sword-case of Lord 
 Ringwood's old post-chariot, Wool- ; 
 comb did not draw a sword, but a 
 foolscap paper folded and tied with a 
 red tape. And he began to read the 
 superscription, " Will of the Right ] 
 Honorable John, Earl of Ringwood. 
 Bradgate, Smith, and Burrows." 
 
 " God bless my soul ! It 's the will 
 he had back from my office, and 
 
 which I thought he had destroyed. 
 My dear fellow, I congratulate you 
 with all my heart ! " And herewith 
 Mr. Bradgate the lawyer began toshake 
 Philip's hand with much warmth. 
 " Allow me to look at that paper. 
 Yes, this is in my handwriting. Let 
 us come into the ' Ringwood Arms ' 
 the ' Ram ', anywhere, and read 
 it to you ! " 
 
 . . . Here we looked up to the bal- 
 cony of the " Ringwood Arms," and 
 beheld a great placard announcing 
 the state of the poll at 1 o'clock. 
 
 WOOLCOMB . . .216 
 HOKNBLOW ... 92 
 
 " We are beaten, " said Mr. Horn- 
 blow, very good-naturedly. " We 
 may take our flag down. Mr. Wool- 
 comb, I congratulate you. " " I 
 knew we should do it, " said Mr. 
 Woolcomb, putting out a little 
 yellow-kidded hand. "Had all the 
 votes beforehand, knew we should 
 do the trick, I say. Hi ! you What- 
 do-you-call-'im Bradgate ! What is 
 it about, that will? It does not do 
 any good to that beggar, does it? " 
 and with laughter and shouts, and 
 cries of " Woolcomb forever," and 
 "Give us something to drink, your 
 honor," the successful candidate 
 marched into his hotel. 
 
 And was the tawny Woolcomb 
 the f.iiry who was to rescue Philip 
 from grief, debt, and poverty ? Yes. 
 And the old post-chaise of the late 
 Lord Ringwood was the fairy cha- 
 riot. You have read in a past chap- 
 ter how the old lord, being trans- 
 ported with anger against Philip, 
 desired his lawyer to bring back a 
 will in which he had left a hand- 
 some legacy to the young man, as 
 his mother's son. My Lord had in- 
 tended to make a provision for Mrs. 
 Firmin, when she was his dutiful 
 niece, and yet under his roof. When 
 she eloped with Mr. Firmin, Lord 
 Ringwood vowed he would give his 
 niece nothing. But he was pleased 
 with the independent and forgiving
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 441 
 
 spirit exhibited by her son ; and 
 being a person of much grim hu- 
 mor, I dare say chuckled inwardly at 
 thinking how furious the Twysdens 
 would be, when they found Philip 
 was the old lord's favorite. Then 
 Mr. Philip chose to be insubordinate, 
 and to excite the wrath of his great- 
 uncle, who desired to have his will 
 back again. He put the document 
 into his carriage, in the secret box, 
 as he drove away on that last jour- 
 ney, in the midst of which death 
 seized him. Had he survived, would 
 he have made another will, leaving 
 out all mention of Philip? Who 
 shall say ? My Lord made and can- 
 celled many wills. This certainly, 
 duly drawn and witnessed, was the 
 last he ever signed ; and by it Philip 
 is put in possession of a sum of money 
 which is sufficient to insure a provis- 
 ion for those whom he loves. Kind 
 readers, I know not whether the 
 fairies be rife now, or banished from 
 this work-a-day earth, but Philip's 
 biographer wishes you some of those 
 blessings which never forsook Philip 
 in his trials : a dear wife and chil- 
 dren to love you, a true friend or two 
 to stand by you, and in health or sick- 
 ness a clear conscience, and a kindly 
 heart. If you fall upon the way, may 
 succor reach you. And may you, in 
 your turn, have help and pity in store 
 for the unfortunate whom you over- 
 take on life's journey. 
 
 Would you care to know what hap- 
 pened to the other personages of our 
 narrative ? Old Twysden is still bab- 
 bling and bragging at clubs, and 
 though aged is not the least venera- 
 ble. He has quarrelled with his son 
 for not calling Woolcomb out, when 
 that unhappy difference arose between 
 the Black Prince and his wife. He 
 says his family has been treated with 
 cruel injustice by the late Lord Ring- 
 wood, but as soon as Philip had a 
 little fortune left him he instantly 
 was reconciled to his wife's nephew. 
 There are other friends of Firmin's 
 who were kind enough to him in his 
 evil days, but cannot pardon bis pros- 
 19* 
 
 perity. Being in that benevolent 
 mood which must accompany any 
 leave-taking, we will not name these 
 ill-wishers of Philip, but wish that all 
 readers of his story may have like 
 reason to make some of their acquaint- 
 ances angry. 
 
 Our dear Little Sister would never 
 live with Philip and his Charlotte, 
 though the latter tspecially and with 
 all her heart besought Mrs. Brandon 
 to come to them. That pure and 
 useful and modest life ended a few 
 years since. She died of a fever 
 caught from one of her patients. She 
 would not allow Philip or Charlotte 
 to come near her. She said she was 
 justly punished for being so proud as 
 to refuse to live with them. All her 
 little store she left to Philip. He has 
 now in his desk the five guineas 
 which she gave him at his marriage ; 
 and J. J. has made a little picture of 
 her, with her sad smile and her sweet 
 face, which hangs in Philip's drawing- 
 room, where father, mother, and chil- 
 dren talk of the Little Sister as 
 though she were among them still. 
 
 She was dreadfully agitated when 
 the news came from New York of 
 Doctor Firmin's second marriage. 
 " His second ? His third ? " she said. 
 "The villain, the villain!" That 
 strange delusion which we have de- 
 scribed as sometimes possessing her 
 increased in intensity after this news. 
 More than ever, she believed that 
 Philip was her own child. She came 
 wildly to him, and cried that his 
 father had forsaken them. It was 
 only when she was excited that she 
 gave utterance to this opinion. Doc- 
 tor Goodenough says that though 
 generally silent about it, it never left 
 her. 
 
 Upon his marriage Dr. Firmm 
 wrote one of his long letters to his 
 son, announcing the event. He de- 
 scribed the wealth of the lady (a 
 widow from Norfolk, in Virginia) to 
 whom he was about to be united. He 
 would pay back, ay, with interest, 
 every pound, every dollar, every cent 
 he owed his son. Was the lady
 
 442 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 wealthy ? We had only the poor 
 doctor s word. 
 
 Three months after his marriage 
 he died of yellow fever, on his wife's 
 estate. It was then the Little Sister 
 came to see us in widow's mourning, 
 very wild and flushed. She bade our 
 servant say, " Mrs. Firmin was at the 
 door " j to the astonishment of the 
 man, who knew her. She had even 
 caused a mourning-card to be printed. 
 Ah, there is rest now for that little 
 fevered brain, and peace, let us pray, 
 for that fond faithful heart 
 
 The mothers in Philip's, household 
 and mine have already made a match 
 between our children. We had a 
 
 great gathering the other day at Roe- 
 hampton, at the house of our friend, 
 Mr. Clive Newcome (whose tall boy, 
 my wife says, was very attentive to 
 our Helen), and, having been edu- 
 cated at the same school, we sat ever 
 so long at dessert, telling old stories, 
 whilst the children danced to piano 
 music on the lawn. Dance on the 
 lawn, young folks, whilst the elders 
 talk in the shade ! What? The 
 night is falling : we have talked 
 enough over our wine : and it is time 
 to go home ? Good night. Good 
 night, friends, old and young ? The 
 night will fall : the stories must end : 
 and the best friends must part. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Cambridge : Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.