m 
 
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 LI B RAR.Y 
 
 OF THL 
 
 UN IVER.SITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 
 C6741h 
 V. 1
 
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 V. I 
 
 TO 
 
 THE RIGHT HONORABLE 
 
 ^ THE EARL OF CARLISLE, F.R.S., 
 
 ■ \ 
 
 A 
 
 THIS STORY 
 
 IS (\YITH permission) INSCRIBED, BY 
 
 y HIS LORDSHIP S MOST GRATEFUL 
 
 AND MOST OBEDIENT SERVANT, 
 
 U 
 
 ^ ■ THE AUTHOR. 
 
 r-\' 
 
 s
 
 HOPE. 
 
 CRAPTER I. 
 
 FfiANK Nugent was one of those unfortunate 
 fellows who are doomed to taste the reverses 
 of fortune at a most critical period of life. Ad- 
 versity is terrible to the aged, hard to be borne 
 by those in prime of life, and scarcely felt at 
 all (so long as it stops short of actual want) in 
 childhood. But there is an intervening period 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 *L HOPE. 
 
 between early youth and the vigour of man- 
 hood, when its blows fall heavily ; the period 
 when a young man is just about to be launched 
 from the dry-dock of pupilage into the ocean of 
 active life. When the arrows of adversity 
 hit their mark at such an era of our existence, 
 their wound is deep and, in some sense, fatal. 
 The profession just chosen, the career just 
 skecched out, and the prospects colored with 
 the prismatic hues of youth's vision, the studies 
 long addressed to the one object, the nerves 
 strung for the contest — and all is in a moment 
 changed by the advent of ill fortune. The 
 means of joining the profession are wanting 
 — the bright prospects fade into a blank — the 
 study of years is wasted — and the contest must 
 henceforth be, not for fame, success, and honor, 
 but hand-in-hand with grim Want and soul- 
 consuming Poverty. Happy they who fight 
 out the battle nobly and win it ! thrice happy 
 they who pass through the warfare unscathed 
 in innocence of heart, and show no taint of
 
 HOPE. 8 
 
 selfishness, mistrust, and dlssimnlation — sad 
 diseases of the soul which youth too often bears 
 away from the unequal contest ! 
 
 Frank was the son of a London Banker. 
 Ilis father was at the head of one of those 
 firms whose very names seem to chink like the 
 gold shovelled over their counters. One can- 
 not pronounce the patronymics of some of 
 these people without instantly thinking of 
 gigantic capital, crisp bank notes, new 
 sovereigns, cheque books, and all the ad- 
 juncts, and evidences of a banker's wealtli. 
 For ourselves, we look upon such people as a 
 Ixind of abstraction representing ^^ money :'' 
 the idea of a banker, as a man — with thoughts, 
 feelings, and pursuits, like those of other men 
 — never enters into cur head. It is true that 
 we have banker lords, banker M. P.'s, banker 
 statesmen, and even banker poets; but it is 
 difi&cult to realise the idea of the noble lords, 
 M. P.'s, and secretaries of state, being the very 
 B 2
 
 4 HOPE. 
 
 same identities as those whose names figure in 
 the cheque-books, or that the Poet of Memory 
 and Italy, and the Lombard Street millionnaire 
 are one and the same individuaL 
 
 Mr. Nugent was a speculative man. He 
 had a great talent for calculation, a keen fore- 
 sight, and an almost intuitive perception of the 
 results that would follow every event of im- 
 portance in the political world, so far as they 
 would afPect the money market. Many men 
 are able to see the immediate consequences of 
 such events, but the intellect which can grasp 
 the remoter and more permanent ones is of a 
 higher and rarer class. Mr. Nugent regarded 
 not merely the temporary agitation of the 
 money-market, like other ^' bulls" and '' bears'' 
 of the Stock Exchange, but he saw the politi- 
 cal consequences that must ensue from each 
 great movement, he traced beforehand the next 
 measure that would follow as the necessary 
 sequel of the last, and while the eyes of the
 
 HOPE. 
 
 less far-seeing were directed to the objects 
 around them his own mental gaze was fixed on 
 the goal to which they were hastening. 
 
 To apply this judgment and foresight to the 
 practical object of amassing wealth was the 
 end and aim of Mr. Nugent's life. Forgetting 
 that the man who is the trustee of other's pro- 
 perty should be the last to incur risks, by 
 embarking in schemes, which, after all, rest so 
 much on chance ; or, perhaps being unable to 
 resist the temptation to accumulate ridies in 
 a shorter time than through the legitimate 
 channels of commerce, he became one of the 
 most determined — most extensive, and most 
 successful of stock-exchange gamblers. When 
 wealth rolls in, day by day, under the guidance 
 of mere intelligence, when, by a combination 
 of mental powers, that might serve for the 
 highest order of statesmanship, a man feels 
 himself able to control a fortune — ^to make 
 every ebb and flow of public opinion bear gold 
 to his coffers, and extract from the change of a
 
 6 HOPE. 
 
 ministry, or the fall of an empire (eacli foreseen 
 by him) fresh additions to his credit and his 
 possessions — it is scarcely to be wondered at, 
 that the sordid end aimed at is almost lost 
 sight of in the complacent enjoyment of the 
 means by which it is attained. The speculator, 
 such as was Mr. IS'ugent, forgets that the mere 
 accumulation of gold is his object, while he 
 is exerting his god-like intellect to trace out a 
 vision of the future from the faint outlines of 
 the present- 
 
 In the hands of such men riches accumulate 
 as if by magic. But, alas ! they vanish even 
 more suddenly. One great stroke missed — one 
 error of calculation — one financial earthquake 
 deranging all the natural course of events — 
 and the mighty fabric of wealth, reared with 
 such skill, and care, and foresight, falls with a 
 crash. Euined credit and blighted name, 
 disgrace and bankruptcy — these are the lot of 
 those who lose in the great game of speculation, 
 They know that it is so ; but it is that very
 
 HOPE. 7 
 
 knowledge that makes the game itself so 
 terribly fascinating. What but the alternative 
 between wealth and ruin, fortune and starva- 
 tion, life and death, makes the gambler, about 
 to play his last great coujy^ feel a careless and 
 resolute courage, to which men, with less at 
 stake, are perfect strangers ? 
 
 The crash came. Three days sufficed to 
 chansre the man of unbounded credit, and 
 almost as unbounded wealth, into the penniless 
 bankrupt. And, as usual with such men, he 
 fell not alone. As a matter of course, his great 
 house of business fell with him ; his partners 
 were dragged into his ruin, and many a 
 customer of the bank suffered severe and dis- 
 tressing losses, while more than one among the 
 poorer of them followed the man they had so 
 fatally trusted into the Gazette. 
 
 '' What will become of him ?" asked the 
 world of itself, when it heard of Mr. IN'ugent's 
 ruin. 
 
 " What will become of hm V thought the
 
 8 HOPE. 
 
 ruined man himself, as he reflected on his son's 
 probable destiny. 
 
 But the questions are soon answered. The 
 father blew out his brains, and the son was left 
 a penniless orphan. 
 
 He had no mother. He was old enough and 
 good enough to thank God for that — that she, 
 who was the soul of honour, and endowed with 
 even more than a woman's ordinary sensitive- 
 ness on such points, did not live to witness her 
 husband's disgrace — that she who was the 
 fondest and most hopeful of mothers could not 
 behold the beggary of her only son, the anni- 
 hilation of all his schemes of honorable ambition 
 and his expulsion from the station of life in 
 which he had been reared. Thank God she 
 could not see this child of her love and de- 
 votion, struggling in his garret for his daily 
 crust — aye, and often wanting it too — in spite 
 of every struggle. 
 
 He was alone in the world — he had neither 
 sister nor brother, nor any near relatives;
 
 HOPE, 9 
 
 distant ones he had, but he knew little of them, 
 and they made no effort to enquii^e into his fate, 
 consoling themselves with the ready excuse 
 that people so often find on these occasions — 
 '^ Oh, there is always something saved in these 
 bankruptcies." They were wrong, however, 
 for nothing was saved. At two-and-twenty 
 Frank Nugent was an orphan and a beggar. 
 It is true that the barrister, in whose chambers 
 he had just become a pupil on trial, aftel^ 
 leaving college, offered to receive him, (and 
 even begged him to remain,) without any fee ; 
 but where was poor Frank to find the means of 
 existence during his pupilage ? !No, he was 
 compelled to relinquish all thoughts of the 
 profession, and look only at present for some 
 employment, by which he could procure bread. 
 The sentence on Adam for deadly sin was 
 that he should live by the sweat of his brow. 
 We have altered the sentence in these modern 
 days, and it is now decreed that for no sin at 
 all many shall starve by the sweat of their 
 B 5
 
 10 HOPE. 
 
 brow. What a strange and anomalous state of 
 society we live in ! Civilization which should 
 ameliorate life, almost robs us of the power of 
 existing at all. Yf ho that knows the world 
 would not rather see his young son placed 
 down in the midst of the wilds of Australia, 
 without a sou^ than turned loose in any part of 
 our own most civilized country, in a similar 
 condition ? Starvation in the former would be 
 almost impossible — in the latter, if the lad was 
 neither thief nor beggar, it would be the most 
 probable catastrophe. 
 
 The funeral was over — the suicide had been 
 buried at the expense of his creditors, or out of 
 " the estate,'' which is the same thing, and the 
 son — stunned by the rapid succession of sad 
 events — the ruin of his prospects, and the loss 
 in so painful a manner of his sole surviving 
 parent — was left to meditate on his future 
 coarse of life. The prospect was a dreary one, 
 but he knew not how dreary, for he knew 
 nothing of the world. He congratulated him-
 
 HOPE. 11^ 
 
 self on his classical education, and the good use 
 he had made of his time at school and college, 
 and he doubted not that his acquirements 
 would at least insure him a decent, if even a 
 dependent livelihood ; he recollected the many 
 advertisements he had seen of " tutors," in the 
 Times newspaper, and he determined to put one 
 in on his own account — so he sketched out 
 the following : — 
 
 '^ Tutor, A Graduate of College, 
 
 Cambridge, is desirous of reading with one or 
 two pupils, preparing for college, or for either 
 of the public schools. Address, p. p., to F. ^., 
 ISTo. 6, John Street, Maida Hill." 
 
 He took the advertisement to the Times 
 office, paid his five shillings — he had not many 
 to spare — and waited for the morrow in anxiety. 
 When it came, he called in at the nearest 
 newspaper office, and looked at the paper— 
 the advertisement was there safely enough — 
 he went home to await the answers. 
 
 The hours passed on and the postmen came
 
 12 HOPE. 
 
 round, but none of them beat at the door of 
 
 No. 6. 
 
 **It is very strange," lie thought, twice 
 had the postman called at No. 8, but not once 
 at No. 6. Could he have made a mistake and 
 put the wrong number ? He slipped round to 
 the newspaper office again, and examined the 
 advertisement once more. No, it was all right, 
 No. 6, legibly printed. 
 
 He returned home and asked if letters had 
 come for him. He had told the stupid servant 
 girl at least sixteen times to be sure and take 
 in letters addressed for F. N. The stupid 
 servant* assured him that the postman had 
 never been to the house at all. 
 
 " Tat-tat !" There it is. He dashes down 
 stairs to receive it, and hears the postman 
 asking if Mr. Muggs lives here. Yes, Mr. 
 Muggs is the clerk who lives on the ground 
 floor, all that long way off from the bank, 
 because he fancies it's rural, though it's winter 
 now and the sun is hardly up before Mr. Muggs
 
 HOPE. 13 
 
 leaves the house in the morning, and has set 
 long before he returns at night, so that it is 
 difficult to understand the nature of the enjoy- 
 ment, derived by Mr. Muggs, from his "rural," 
 abode. Well, the letter is for Mr. Muggs, 
 and Frank Nugent shrinks back heart- sick to 
 his second-floor apartment. 
 
 The day has passed away and not a single 
 reply to his advertisement ! Poor Frank 
 kicked about far more than he slept in his bed 
 that night. Still the morrow might bring 
 what he hoped. Not so — the morrow was a 
 
 blank also. 
 
 The idea then struck him that he had better 
 
 make a more general advertisement — offering 
 
 to attend private pupils, or to give lessons at 
 
 school and so forth — so he sent another five 
 
 shillings and waited the result. 
 
 '' A letter for F. N.," said the postman. 
 
 " All right," said Frank, dashing down the 
 stairs — a flight at a time— and seizing the
 
 14 HOPE. 
 
 epistle, he ripped it open and read as he re- 
 traced his steps up-stairs, as follows : — 
 
 Sir, 
 
 ^^ Having two little boys of my own, 
 and wishing to make gentlemen of them — 
 should like to know your terms for teaching — 
 of course, latin and greek, and french, and that 
 sort of thing, and everything that's proper. If 
 moderate, (I don't mind a half sovereign a 
 week) shall be happy to send them. I suppose 
 you can give me a character — and that sort of 
 thing. 
 
 " Your obedient servant 
 
 ^^ James Shanks. 
 
 " Butcher and Salesman, 
 . " 78, Whitechapel Eoad.''
 
 HOPE. 15 
 
 Poor Frank ! how he twisted the greasy- 
 thing about ! Ten shillings a week to teach 
 two little butcher boys ! And to give a cha- 
 racter, and '^ that sort of thing ! " 
 
 It was the only reply he received. He now 
 began to fear that his classical attainments 
 were less valuable, in a pecuniary sense, than 
 he had imagined. It seemed even possible 
 that a classical scholar might starve ; and his 
 daily diminishing, though carefully hoarded, 
 little stock of money warned him that such 
 might be his own fate very shortly. How the 
 needy and the wretched pore over the adver- 
 tising columns of the Times^ in hopes of finding 
 some chance of alleviating their own sufferings ! 
 Day by day did Frank Nugent do this ; but, 
 amid the countless wants therein recorded, he 
 could find none which he could supply. 
 
 At length his eye caught sight of an adver- 
 tisement, offering comfortable lodgings to any 
 single gentleman, who, in return for them 
 would devote two hours every day to the in-
 
 i6 HOPE. 
 
 struction of three children — a boy in latin, 
 arithmetic, &c., &c. ; two girls in French, He 
 determined to answer it, and if possible, secure 
 himself by means of it — a decent shelter free 
 of expense. 
 
 Accordingl}' he went to the house indicated, 
 and enquired for the advertiser. He was shown 
 into a neat little front parlour, and requested 
 to take a seat ; and in a few minutes, a smart 
 looking middle aged dame sailed into the room. 
 Upon Frank telling her the object of his call, 
 she began simpering and expressing her fears 
 that the apartments would not be good enough 
 for a gentleman of his appearance — and did he 
 understand that there was no other remunera- 
 tion ? Frank understood everything, and w£!S 
 quite sure the apartments would do. So the 
 lady showed him the rooms which were two 
 decidedly diminutive garrets, rather scantily 
 furnished, though one made pretensions to 
 being a sitting room, and the other a bed-room. 
 
 Frank asked to see the pupils, but they were
 
 HOPE. 17 
 
 out. The landlady, poor woman, was evidently 
 anxious to know something about Frank's ac- 
 quirements, but was afraid to ask " such a 
 gentleman as he looked." However, the gen- 
 tleman gave her a little information as to his 
 stock of learning; and though he told it 
 modestly enough, it quite overwhelmed the 
 listener — and within five minutes more it was 
 understood, and finally arranged, that Frank 
 Nugent should, on the morrow, become the 
 tenant of the two garrets at No. 98, Charles 
 Street, Pentonville, and the tutor for two hours 
 per diem of Master Marsden, and the two Misses 
 Marsden. 
 
 Frank walked away with a lightened heart, 
 though it was not much the poor fellow had 
 secured. The '' bed " was gained, but the 
 " board " was a problem still to be solved.
 
 HOPE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The house of which Frank Nugent now found 
 himself an inmate was inhabited by Mr. and 
 Mrs. Marsden, their family of four children, 
 and two clerks, who lodged on the first floor. 
 "We have mentioned that Frank's pupils were 
 to consist of a boy, and two girls ; but in ad- 
 dition to these scions of the house of Marsden, 
 there was an elder daughter. Fanny Marsden 
 was eighteen years old — many years older than 
 the next child, so that she was more a com- 
 panion for the teacher, than for her brother or
 
 HOPE. 19 
 
 sisters. But we must not describe the young 
 lady out of her turn. 
 
 ^Ii\ Marsden was a coal merchant — at least, 
 Mr. Marsden said so ; but very few people, 
 except his wife, believed him. As for her, the 
 good woman would as soon have doubted the 
 contents of her testament, as Mr. Marsden's 
 assurance on any subject whatever. But it is 
 a fact that Mr. Marsden had a little wooden 
 box somewhere, on some canal, and outside the 
 wooden box was painted, '^ Marsden & Co." 
 ^' Office." This looked like business, at all 
 events — especially the '' & Co." Never was 
 any mythological personage of more importance, 
 or more imposing, than that greatest of ^^ myths" 
 in modern commerce — ^' & Co." John Stumps, 
 bootmaker, is common and petty — but Stumps, 
 & Co." is extensive. One can fancy John 
 Stumps patching a mechanic's highlow for six- 
 pence — but Stumps, ^^ & Co.," we can picture 
 to ourselves importing Bordeaux leather by the 
 ton, or whatever may be the measurement
 
 20 HOPE. 
 
 under which calf-skin is shipped. Now, cer- 
 tainly, Mr. Marsden had no partner, and was 
 not very likely to have one, for the profits of 
 his trade, if divided with an " & Co.," would 
 have looked infinitely ridiculous. 
 
 Mr. Marsden had an office, and as he said, 
 a wharf ; but an uninitiated observer would 
 have called it a shed, just outside the wooden 
 box we have mentioned. Whether he ever 
 had any customers or any coals to give them, 
 we are not in a position to say ; but as a small 
 boy whom he employed as a clerk, but which 
 small boy had not been instructed in the rather 
 elementary branch of education, termed writing, 
 as this small boy left from intense melancholy, 
 produced by his isolated position in the afore- 
 said wooden box, and probably also from the 
 non-payment of his weekly salary of one and 
 six-pence — and as the small boy declared that 
 not a soul ever came to the wooden box during 
 the six weeks he sat in it, except Mr. Marsden 
 himself — and that gentleman not very often
 
 HOPE. • 21 
 
 — we are disposed to think that Mr. Marsden's 
 was not a very extensive or very lucrative 
 business. Still Mr. Marsden called himself a 
 coal merchant and had ^' Mr. Marsden, coal- 
 merchant, 98, Charles Street, Pentonville, and 
 Marsden Wharf, Eegent's Canal," engraved on 
 his card. It is true that Mr. Marsden omitted 
 to mention a certain other office of which he 
 was the proprietor, and for the present, we 
 shall keep his secret also. 
 
 Mrs. Marsden was a very good sort of well- 
 meaning woman, though it is an unfortunate 
 circumstance that those who are eternally 
 making blunders, and doing just what they 
 should not, are precisely the peeple whom the 
 world terms, '' well meaning.'' There is always 
 something apologetic implied in the appellation. 
 A booby at school, who is not exactly vicious, 
 is a well-meaning lad : a statesman who gets 
 the country into a mess, but is neither corrupt 
 in public or private matters, is a " well-mean- 
 ing" man. A servant who breaks half your
 
 2:^ HOPE. 
 
 crockery, spoils your furniturej damages your 
 wife's dress, and blacks your best japan boots, 
 if lie is neither dishonest nor insolent, is 
 ^'really a Avell-meaning fellow." An author 
 who writes an exceedingly virtuous but very 
 unreadable book, and a poet who strings line 
 upon line of the mildest of milk-and-water 
 verses, piously dull or somniferiously moral, are 
 both extremely ^' well-meaning writers." 
 
 But what a pity it is that they cannct 
 all carr}^ out their praiseworthy intentions, but 
 must leave them to contribute to Dr. Johnson's 
 mosaic pavement of the un-nameable regions. 
 
 Mrs. Marsden was no exception to tlie rule : 
 she was for •ever doing something that she 
 ought not. We hope the reader wont suppose 
 that we mean this in any very serious sense, 
 for we assure him that Mrs. Marsden was a 
 perfectly correct lady in the sense in which 
 that adjective is usually applied to the charac- 
 ters of her sex. I^othing could be more exem- 
 plary than Mrs. Marsden's devotion to her
 
 HOPE. -O 
 
 husband, or love of her offspring ; but the 
 errors of her life were the blunders of a person 
 whose activity greatly exceeds her mental 
 capacity. She wanted to manage everything 
 — excepting always her husband — but she 
 really was not fitted by nature to be the di- 
 rector or controller of anything or any body. 
 
 Fanny Marsden was a quiet, modest, pretty 
 girl of eighteen. She had beautiful hair — it 
 was the most remarkable thing in her appear- 
 ance, for it was light, glossy, luxuriant, and 
 curling — it hung in ringlets about her face, 
 and it was gathered up into a knot behind, ac- 
 cording to modern fashion, but then instead of 
 being plaited or banded round a comb, it fell 
 in a little clump of curls from the knot. She 
 had very dark, blue eyes — some thought they 
 were brown from the deepness of their colour, 
 and she had black eye-brows, which her ad- 
 mii'ers pronounced exquisite, but which we 
 consider a defect, when coupled with fair hair. 
 The mouth was very well formed, but the teeth
 
 24 HOPE. 
 
 were not quite regular — a little too mucli apart 
 perhaps — though sufficiently white. The nose 
 was neither Grecian nor aquiline, nor anything 
 else in particular, but a very good nose never- 
 theless, and certainly not a snub nor a Eoman. 
 Altogether, Fanny Marsden, if not a 
 decided beauty, was a very pretty girl, and 
 her figure was one of those neat, plump, 
 rounded ones that are as far removed from the 
 coarse luxuriance of Eubens's women as from 
 the dignified grace of EaphaePs Madonnas. 
 
 Unfortunately Fanny had received no very 
 good education ; but she had taste and tact to 
 make the best use of her acquirements, and to 
 supply their deficiencies. And even if she 
 were wanting in the finished ease and graceful 
 self-possession of higher-bred young ladies, 
 she was decidedly not vulgar, and had an air 
 of frankness and good-nature about her that 
 was very winning. 
 
 It was amusing to see Mrs. Marsden in- 
 structing Fanny how to behave. The good
 
 HOPE. 25 
 
 woman really fancied that she was competent 
 to do it, and her corrections of her daughter, 
 though generally given and received in the 
 best temper, were often very ludicrous. 
 
 '^ Fanny, my dear, I wish you would wear 
 your shawl a little straighter. The peak's all 
 awry instead of being in the middle of your 
 dress. And you've been and turned your 
 collar in again. I^ow really I can't bear that 
 — I'm sure it never was and never can be cor- 
 rect : and what's the use of having collars that 
 cost one-and-ninc if you're not to shew 
 them ? 
 
 *^ Fanny, my dear, do make that boy put 
 his spoon in his cup when he's done his tea. 
 How's any one to know when you've finished, 
 sir, if you don't ?" 
 
 The children were not very remarkable in 
 any way. The boy was about ten years old, 
 and was as idle and as happy as most boys of 
 ten are. He went to a cheap school near at 
 hand, but they only taught plain English there, 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 HOPE. 
 
 and his mother wanted him to be a Latin 
 scholar. Omne ignotum pro magnifico certainly 
 holds good with regard to the faith that 
 ignorant people have in the omnipotence of 
 Latin. 
 
 The two girls, the younger ones, were chil- 
 dren of seven and eight years old — rather 
 young pupils for a French master ; but Mrs. 
 Marsden was determined to educate them in a 
 finished style, as she said, and so hit upon the 
 lucky expedient of exchanging the two garrets 
 which she didn't want for instruction for her 
 children. 
 
 Thus we have given a faint sketch of the 
 house of Marsden. There were, however, two 
 other dwellers on the premises — a Mr. Biddle 
 and a Mr. Spriggett — fellov/ clerks in some 
 attorney's office, and very fast friends. They 
 fancied themselves ^^ fast" in more senses than 
 one, and so they occasionally spent a night at 
 the Cider Cellars, and were rather incompetent 
 to put out the candle safely when they re-
 
 HOPE. 27 
 
 turned to their abode in the mornino:. How- 
 ever, they might be classed charitably in the 
 ^^ well-meaning" list, all things considered. 
 
 It was late on a winter's evening, when 
 Frank drove up to his new dwelling-place in 
 a cab. Silly fellow ! he might have walked, 
 and sent his luggage by a carrier, and so have 
 saved two cr three of the very few shillings he 
 had left. Bat Frank had not yet learned to 
 disregard that wretched bugbear — '^ AYliat 
 will they think of me ?" nor had he fully 
 learned the value of money. The last is a 
 lesson that even severe privation does not 
 teach all at once. A man must not only have 
 wanted a meal — he must have wanted it many 
 a time — he must have striven hard with body 
 and mind to earn his crust, and failed again 
 and again to do so — and then he will have 
 learnt the value of every coin to the lowest 
 fraction. God help him in his pupilage ! 
 
 Frank was admitted liy the servant, who 
 assisted him to carry his luggage up to his 
 c 2
 
 28 HOPE, 
 
 garret. She left liim with a very slender 
 '' dip," in an old tin candlestick, and he sat 
 dowQ, and looked about the room. It was 
 certainly not spacious — about nine feet square ; 
 nor luxuriously furnished — two rush chairs, a 
 ricketty table of unsophisticated deal, a brass 
 fender, and a poker, with an old rug in front of 
 the iire-place, but no carpet, was the inventory 
 of its contents. Still there was a fire in the 
 grate, and it crackled and blazed, and danced 
 as merrily as if it were burning in the drawing- 
 room of a palace. 
 
 He went into the bed-room next it. A 
 stump bedstead, a very old chest of drawers 
 that had once been painted yellow, though the 
 painter of them must have been an ancient 
 fellow by that time, a white jug and basin, 
 (the jug like an old prize fighter, with a broken 
 nose) standing on a table just big enough to 
 hold them, a chair and a small shaving glass, 
 hanging from a nail to the wall, made up the 
 sum of his dormitory accommodations.
 
 HOPE. 29 
 
 He returned to the sitting-room and drawing 
 one of the luxurious chairs to the fire, he sat 
 down and began to think of the course of 
 events. First he turned to the past — a sad 
 error ! How fondly we all hug misery ! Is 
 there a day of sorrow and gloom in our past 
 life ? Do we not look back on it, ever and 
 anon, with far more constancy than to the 
 brightest era in our existence ? "Who forgets 
 his pains and his griefs, his sickness and his 
 wants, his disappointments and his lamenta- 
 tions in bygone days ? Does he remember 
 half so vividly, or does he strive to recal half 
 so frequently his hours of joy and love, of hope 
 fulfilled, of pleasure tasted, of ambition grati- 
 fied ? Does not the darkness recur to his mind 
 oftener, far oftener than the light ? And is this 
 wisdom, is it sense, is it gratitude to the giver 
 of all things ? 
 
 And so Frank Nugent bemoaned his lost 
 position in the world, wept over the sad re-
 
 30 HOPE. 
 
 verses of his fortune, but forgot to reckon the 
 long years of happiness he had experienced, 
 and write them off against the short score of 
 recent ill. 
 
 He came by degrees to the present. It was 
 sad enough; he was the inmate of a poor 
 garret, the possessor of an almost empty purse, 
 and knew not how to improve the one, or re- 
 plenish the other. 
 
 lie looked at the future. Aye, that is the 
 direction for the eyes of youth to take — for- 
 ward I Forward to the time to come — with a 
 cool head and a bold heart — glance steadily. 
 There are dangers and difficulties a-head — then 
 there must be courage and determination to 
 conquer them. There are rocks and thorns in 
 the path — then must the feet be steady, and the 
 eye watchful. But look beyond all these, and 
 there is honour and glory for a goal — not the 
 mere honour of worldly fame, nor the glory of 
 popular applause, but the inwardly felt honour
 
 HOPE. 31 
 
 and glory of having beaten down all obstacles, 
 and having won the battle of life unaided and 
 unsupported, save by your own right hand, 
 your own clear brain, your own true heart. 
 Oh, youth, fear not — have faith in God's jus- 
 tice, and your own chivalry, and you shall 
 carve out for yourself a destiny wherein you 
 shall taste content and happiness, such as the 
 spoilt children of fortune can never know — 
 such as wealth and luxury may envy you in 
 vain ! 
 
 Something of this hopefulness, perhaps, 
 came over the mind of Frank ^Nugent, for, as 
 he sat and reflected, his face became more cheer- 
 ful, and he stirred the fire, and rubbed his hands, 
 and hummed some favourite tune. 
 
 " Please, sir, missus says her compliments, 
 and would you come and join 'em at supper, 
 sir, to-night?" 
 
 Such was the address of the servant who 
 entered the room.
 
 {52 HOPE. 
 
 Frank replied that he should be most happy, 
 and was not sorry to hear that the supper was, 
 at that moment, ready, for he had been getting 
 hungry during the last half hour. Cheerful- 
 ness is a great sharpener of the appetite.
 
 HOPE. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 When Frank Nugent entered the little parlour 
 on the ground-floor, he found all the family of 
 Marsdens assembled, except Mr. Marsden him- 
 self. He was received with smiles and curtsies 
 by the hostess, who introduced him first to her 
 daughter Fanny, and then to the younger 
 children. Frank was struck with the appear- 
 ance of Miss Fanny who looked exceedingly 
 pretty and bewitching, and had, doubtless, 
 taken a little extra pains with her toilet that 
 c 5
 
 34 HOPE. 
 
 evening. She was simply enough dressed ; but 
 she had excellent taste, and knew so well what 
 was becoming to her, and what was attractive 
 to her. ITow young ladies are apt to make 
 mistakes about this : they see something which 
 they consider pretty, and they forthwith buy 
 it, and probably make themselves ridiculous by 
 wearing a dress pretty in itself, but utterly un- 
 suited to them. The great maxim of the Grecian 
 sage, '' know thyself," may be advantageously 
 applied to even so insignificant a purpose as 
 choosing a dress, 
 
 Mrs. Marsden begged Frank to be seated, 
 and apologised for Mr. Marsden' s absence, by 
 saying that he had some important business to 
 attend to that day. Frank thought it strange 
 that a coal merchant should have to attend to 
 business at ten o'clock at night ; but he did not 
 say so. 
 
 " We're waiting for Mr. Biddle and Vir. 
 Sprigget-t, our two first floors," said Mrs. 
 Marsden. '^ Yery gentlemanly young men,
 
 HOPE. 35 
 
 and the most genteel connexions, I assure 
 you.'^ 
 
 Frank did'nt doubt it. 
 
 " Mr. Biddle's father is an argideck." 
 
 " Architect, mama," whispered Fanny, but 
 looking half frightened at her own temerity 
 in correcting the good lady. 
 
 ^* It's the same thing, my dear," said j\lrs. 
 Marsden, with a slight toss of the head, ^^ at 
 least it used to be in niy time," and then turn- 
 ing again to Frank, she went on — ^^ and Mr. 
 Spriggett's fiither is a bailiff." 
 
 Frank stared a little — probably rather as- 
 tonished to hear of the high respectability, in 
 the hostess's estimation, of a sheriff's officer ; 
 but Fanny removed his surprise by saying, in 
 explanation, 
 
 ^' I believe Mr. Spriggett's father is bailiff or 
 steward to Lord Burndale — is he not, mama ?" 
 
 Mama answered '^ yes," and was preparing 
 to enlarge on the high worldly position of her 
 ^' first floors," when the parlour door opened
 
 36 HO?E. 
 
 and the two young gentlemen thus designated 
 entered the room. 
 
 Mr. Biddle came first, and made a bow, as 
 he entered, but the portion of his person which 
 curved outwards in the operation came in 
 rather sharp contact with the advancing Mr. 
 Spriggett, slightly deranging each of them, for 
 the latter was driven against the wall and 
 uttered a kind of grunt, while Mr. Biddle was 
 precipitated forwards — certainly to the detri- 
 ment of the graceful effect he had intended to 
 produce. 
 
 " 'Now, Biddle, don't be so stunningly 
 polite," said Mr. Spriggett, " 'pon my soul, 
 Miss Marsden, it's only to i/ou he makes such a 
 scrape as that," and Mr. Spriggett grinned 
 while Fanny blushed. 
 
 ^' Don't talk stuff, Spriggett," returned his 
 friend, but looking satisfied all the while that 
 Fanny should suppose his politeness specially 
 directed to her.
 
 HOPE. 37 
 
 " I beg your pardons gentlemen," said Mrs. 
 Marsden, " but this is Mr. Newbone." 
 
 ^' Nugent," said Frank, smiling. 
 
 Mrs. Marsden begged his pardon, and then 
 they all sat down to supper. 
 
 Frank sat on one side of the hostess, and 
 Mr. Spriggett on the other, ^Yhile Mr. Biddle 
 was next to Fanny^ and the children heaped 
 up in odd corners of the table. 
 
 It was very evident to the meanest capacity 
 that Mr. Biddle had a design on the gentle 
 heart of Fannv Marsden. He had " ffot 
 himself up" with immense care and powerful 
 ejQPect, being especially remarkable about the 
 shirt studs and neck- tie — the latter one of 
 those extraordinary combinations of blue silk 
 and black (sham) lace ends, which are onl}' to 
 be seen in the windows of economically mag- 
 nificent hosiers, or on the necks of shop-boys, 
 clerks, and medical students. Mr. Biddle 
 looked with an evil eye on Frank, whom he 
 clearly regarded as an interloper, and one that
 
 38 HOPE. 
 
 miglit be dangerous to his amatory designs. 
 Frank was blissfully unconscious of this, but 
 was not the less amazed with watching the 
 poor youth's efforts to make himself fascinating, 
 and the very cold though not unkind way in 
 which they were received by Fanny. 
 
 ^* The little coquette," he thought to hinfself 
 as he palpably smiled, " I would wager that 
 she is far from disinclined to be Mrs. Biddle, 
 but such is the style in which all women, from 
 a countess to a milliner's apprentice, play the 
 fool with a man — or rather make Jiim play it." 
 
 Profound and wise Frank Nugent! The 
 young gentlemam of one-and-twenty, not long 
 out of his pupilage, a judge of that most com- 
 plex of nature's works — the heart of a woman. 
 He would not have pretended to as intimate an 
 acquaintance with the internal construction of his 
 own watch, and yet it was simple as the alphabet 
 in comparison with what everj^ fool thinks he can 
 read and understand, but which has puzzled 
 and will continue to puzzle to the end of time,
 
 HOPE. 39 
 
 the wisest of philosophers, the deepest of 
 thinkers, the profoundest of metaphysicians — 
 that exquisitely delicate and perfect, though 
 complicated piece of machinery — the heart of 
 woman. 
 
 The supper was intended as a treat, for of 
 coui'se neiclier the ^^ first floors" nor Frank 
 I^ugent had any right to a supper at Mrs. 
 Marsden's expense; but that good lady was 
 naturally inclined to hospitality, and was so 
 highly impressed with the excellence of the 
 ^' first floors" connexions, that she wished 
 Frank to be introduced to them, that he might 
 have a due sense of the extreme respectability 
 of the household. 
 
 The supper consisted of some tripe and 
 onions and some oysters. The former was de- 
 cidedly the fttYorite dish, and the latter was 
 only patronized by Frank and Fanny. 
 
 ^- Well, I must say tripe's a dish I do like,' 
 observed Mr. Spriggett.
 
 40 HOPE. 
 
 ^' It's an ■unccommon dish, too," said Mr. 
 Biddle; ^^ you don't often get it, / can tell 
 you." 
 
 ^' I'm sure I'm glad you like it," said Mrs. 
 Marsden; '^ Fanny there, never will eat it." 
 
 " DonH you like tripe, Miss Fanny ? " asked 
 Mr. Biddle, with a fascinating smile. 
 
 '-'- I can't endure it," said Fanny. Biddle 
 looked unhappy at having eaten it himself. 
 He gulped it down as fast as he could, and 
 then asked for some oysters. 
 
 '^ Do you like the the<:^^tre Mr. New-gent ?" 
 asked Mrs. Marsden, determined to be right in 
 the name this time. Fanny wished she would 
 take as much pains with ^^ theatre." 
 
 " I'm very fond of it," replied Frank ; ^^but I 
 don't often go — it's rather expensive pleasure." 
 
 '' We never pay," said Mrs. Marsden ; " but 
 Mr. M., often gets orders. He's very intimate 
 with newspaper gentlemen, you know." 
 
 '^ Go to the 'Cas' much?" asked Mr. 
 Spriggett.
 
 HOPE. 41 
 
 ^^ I beg your pardon," said Frank; ^^ what 
 is that?" 
 
 Spriggett looked at Biddle, and Biddle looked 
 at Spriggettj both meaning by their glances, 
 ^^ did you ever see such a slow chap as that ?" 
 
 '' The Casino, I mean," said Spriggett, with 
 an air of disgust at any one requiring such an 
 explanation. 
 
 '^ Oh yes, I have been there occasionally, 
 but I can't say I'm fond of it." 
 
 Biddle looked at Spriggett, and Spriggett 
 looked at Briddle again, and expressed their 
 contempt for Frank in that look. 
 
 Except for the amusement that Frank de- 
 rived from watching Mr. Biddle and Miss 
 Fanny, the supper was decidedly slow, till the 
 cloth was removed, and the tumblers brought 
 in for ^' something warm." Just as this had 
 been done, and two black bottles had been 
 placed on the table, a knock was heard at the 
 street door. Mrs. Marsden observed ; " That's 
 Mr. M.," and Fanny seemed to be rather un-
 
 42 HOPE. 
 
 comfortable, as if the addition of her father to 
 the party was not much desired by herself. 
 
 " Holloa ! here's rigs I " cried Mr. M., 
 entering the room ; " hope you're all com- 
 fortable ! Servant Mr. Spriggett — servant 
 Mr. Biddle — servant sir," turning to Frank, 
 *^ though I don't know you." 
 
 Mrs. Marsden introduced Frank as the gen- 
 tleman that had taken their attics. 
 
 ^' Oh, oh — I recollect— to teach the young 
 'uns to imrley-voiis^ eh ?" And Mr. Marsden 
 tried to look as if he'd said a good thing. But 
 Mr. Marsden was not very distinct in his ut- 
 terance, and Mr. Marsden' s eyes looked rather 
 red, and his legs had a free and independent 
 style of moving, that was not conducive to 
 grace. On the whole, even a charitable ob- 
 server might suspect that Mr. Marsden had 
 taken something since tea that evening, and 
 rather stronger than that favorite beverage. 
 Mrs Marsden, herself, perceived the fact, and 
 poor Fanny had all along anticipated it, and
 
 HOPE. 43 
 
 warned her mother, that if she gave a supper 
 on the evening that her father went to dine 
 with his club, " The Jolly Tulips," she would 
 be sure to repent it. 
 
 " "Well, Mrs. M." said the diner out taking 
 a seat next to Fanny; "I'm blessed if you 
 aint coming it strong — thaf^s the way the 
 money goes, is it ?" 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Marsden, " don't 
 talk like that, or th:; gentlemen will think they 
 ain't welcome." 
 
 " They're as welcome as flowers in spring — 
 every bit of it," responded Mr. Marsden; 
 " every bit of it. As for — as for Mr. — ; as 
 for the first floors — they're bricks ; and as for 
 this gentleman, the attic, I dare say he's a 
 brick too, though I have'nt tried him." And 
 here Mr. Marsden bestowed a look of stolid ap- 
 probation no Frank IS'ugent. 
 
 " Help yourselves, gents, and pass the 
 bottle," he continued, ^' and no heel-taps — 
 we're all jolly tulips together, ain't we, Fanny ?"
 
 44 HOPE. 
 
 and he gave his daughter a hug that a bear 
 might have envied. 
 
 " Are you going to have any, papa ?" asked 
 Fanny, timidly. 
 
 " Am I ? — why not ? Do I look like a man 
 to pass the bottle without helping myself, Mr. 
 What's-your-name ?" 
 
 Frank said, 
 
 ^* Certainly not — quite the contrary." 
 
 *^ I should think so," responded Mr. 
 Marsden. ^^Why, IVe been dining with my 
 friends of the club — it's a very select club, 
 mind you, and we call ourselves ^ The jolly 
 Talips,' and that's just what we are — ain't a 
 man of us that can't take his two bottles of 
 wine, and no end of grog afterwards. That's 
 imj idea of a tulip." 
 
 Frank bowed assent, though it was rather 
 a new idea of tulips to him, while Mr. 
 Marsden helped himself to a very ^ stiff ' glass 
 of hot rum-and-water. 
 
 *'Poor stuff, rum, ain't it?" said Mr.
 
 HOPE. 45 
 
 Marsden. ^^ Good strong port of the old sort, 
 and a topper of brandy — that's what / call the 
 drink for a gentlen^an." 
 
 '^ We were talking about the ther/^tre," ob- 
 served Mrs. Marsden, with a view of changing 
 the subject. 
 
 "" What about it ? Who's been ? who's 
 going ?" asked her spouse. 
 
 " jS'obody, my dear, that 1 know of." 
 
 " Then what's the use of talking about it, 
 eh ? Halloa ! Master Tommy, what the deuce 
 are you grinning at ? go to bed, you young 
 rascal — how dare you be up at this time ?" 
 
 This was addressed to his son, who was, as 
 usual, in a high state of delight when his 
 father was elated by dining with the ^* jolly 
 tulips," and was mentally resolving to be a 
 "jolly tulip" himself on the earliest oppor- 
 tunity. The hopeful son and his two little 
 sisters, who were rather frightened than other- 
 wise, departed to bed. 
 
 " Suppose we have a song," said Mr. Mars-
 
 46 HOPE. 
 
 den. ^'i^ow, Fanny, pipe up. We'll all join 
 chorus." 
 
 Fanny protested she could not sing, which 
 her father declared was all his eye ; then 
 Fanny said she did'nt know any song with .a 
 chorus, and her father bade her sing one with- 
 out, and he\l make a chorus to it. And so 
 poor Fanny sung, in a very trembling voice : 
 
 " Home, sweet heme," 
 
 and her father roared ' with a right toi lol, &c,' 
 at the end of each verso, to a tune of his own 
 composing, and of a very bacchanalian cha- 
 racter. 
 
 During this song and its extraordinary ac- 
 companiment, Mrs. Marsden looked unhappy ; 
 the ^^ first floors " were inclined to think it 
 jolly good fun ; but were restrained from show- 
 ing their mirth by fear of offending Fanny, 
 while Frank's feelings were composed of pity 
 for the poor girl, and disgnst for her father.
 
 HOPE. 47 
 
 At length, Fanny broke down, and burst out 
 crying, for wliich her father called her a little 
 fool, and recommended her to go to bed. She 
 would have liked nothing better ; but she 
 feared that he might commit further excesses, 
 and fancied it possible she might be able to re- 
 strain him somehow or other. She lingered, 
 therefore, and almost unconsciously looked at 
 Frank through her tears. 
 
 ^' Oh, never fear," said her father^ who, with 
 the occasional quickness of a half-tipsy sight, 
 had detected the glance. ^^ Mr. Xew — ^What's- 
 his-name can spare you.'' 
 
 Fanny blushed dreadfully, and hastened out 
 of the room. Frank blushed, too, with indig- 
 nation ; Mr. Biddle blushed with savage 
 jealousy, and Mrs. Marsden completed the 
 blushing quartette by reddening with shame at 
 her husband's conduct. 
 
 A cloud had fallen on the party. Mr. Mars- 
 den told them they were'nt half " tulips," and 
 got sulky. So they all went to bed.
 
 48 HOPE. 
 
 . a Very pleasant house this," said Frank, to 
 himself, " an ignorant mother and a drunken 
 father — two horrid gents that seem to feel very 
 hostile to me already, and a little rascal of a 
 boy that will be worthy of his father — he stole 
 all my rum-and- water, when 1 was speaking to 
 his sister. Fanny's a good little girl — a 
 deuced deal too good for any of them I think, 
 including that ass, Mr. Biddle. Well — I've a 
 glorious life in store for me, apparently. 
 Heigho — Well, never mind — I'm sleepy, and 
 so I'll think no more." 
 
 Happy Frank ! he was soon in the regions of 
 that greatest of republics — sleep.
 
 HOPE. -i9 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It is difficult to imagine anything more per- 
 plexing than the condition of a man in our 
 mighty metropolis without money, friends, or 
 occupation. Yf hat is he to do ? How is he to 
 procure bread ? He cannot go and bawl 
 through the streets the list of his accomplish- 
 ments, and beseech some one to employ him ; 
 or he might chance to be taken before a police 
 magistrate, and committed as a vagrant. And 
 dprojws of police magistrates, the last newly 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 HOPE. 
 
 invented ^^ dodge," of unscrupulous gentry ^lio 
 are in want of a little capital, appears to be an 
 attempt at suicide — not, of course, a hond-fide 
 attempt to end their days, but an attack upon 
 their epiglottis, Avith a razor warranted not to 
 cut, a suspension by a rotten rope, or a jump 
 into a river where there are boa^ s at hand, or 
 into a canal, on the borders of which is per- 
 ceived a policeman. The '^ unfortunate man" 
 is brought before a magistrate and lectured on 
 the heinousness of the crime he was about to 
 commit — expresses his penitence, declares that 
 he was " driven to it, &c.," and gets off with d 
 reprimand that day, and is rewarded for several 
 days afterv/ards by an ever-iiowing stream of 
 private benevolence which pours in its contri- 
 butions from a shillingsworth of postage stamps 
 to a five-pound-note. Decidedly the ^' at- 
 tempted suicide" dodge is a profitable one, and 
 has probably enabled many a worthy individual 
 to emigrate to the '^ diggings" of Australia. 
 But what is a penniless man to •do, we re-
 
 HCPE. 51 
 
 peat, who is a little too scrupulous to adopt ^ 
 ^^ dodges" of any kind — one, in fact, who is 
 that most miserable of bipeds, a poverty- 
 stricken gentleman ? This was the question 
 Frank iNTugent had to ask himself, and it was 
 one to which he could find no present answer. 
 With his ignorance of life, and of London life 
 especially, the question seemed less awful than 
 it really was. It takes a great deal of hard 
 experience to convince an unsophisticated 
 youth that honesty, talent, and industry com- 
 bined, may be insufficient to save a man from 
 starvation. It is utterly contrary to the copy- 
 book maxims and precepts he has studied all 
 his life, and we can even conceive some 
 virtuous gentleman who has never known a 
 real want in his life, attacking us for stating 
 so wicked an untruth as the possibility in 
 question. Is it not discouraging to proper 
 emulation, and to virtuous resolution to dis- 
 seminate such an idea ? Possibly it is ; but 
 we are string facts and not writing moral 
 d2 
 
 UNIVERSITY OP 
 
 \ILIN0IS UBRARN
 
 52 HOPE. 
 
 'precepts for the instruction and guidance of 
 youth. May we even venture to hint our 
 distrust of these '' virtue its own reward," pre- 
 cepts addressed to the rising generation as con- 
 trary to strict veracity, and therefore decidedly 
 wrong ? ^^ What I" asks the indignant gentle- 
 man, aforesaid, ^' do you deny that virtue is its 
 own reward ?" ISTot at all, my good sir, but 
 we suspect that it is very often the onlf/ reward 
 virtue gets ; and when you attempt to give a 
 narrow reading to the maxim and to insinuate 
 that virtue puts money into the breeches' 
 pocket, we dissent from you and consider you a 
 bad teacher because a false one. 
 
 " If I could but get an engagement as a 
 clerk," said Frank to himself, ^^ at £80 or 
 <£100 a year, I should be contented for the 
 present." 
 
 The eternal advertising columns of the 
 *^ Times'^ were resorted to again, and eagerly 
 did the poor fellow's eye scan every separate — 
 Wanted, A motley list it makes ! Clerks,
 
 HOPE. 53 
 
 houses, maidservants, governesses, linendrapers' 
 assistants, loans of money, town-travellers, 
 family washing, apprentices, midshipmen, 
 salesmen, &c. 
 
 Frank answered a great many of them ; but 
 he was wasting paper and postage stamps, for 
 there were sure to be scores of applicants- 
 better adapted for the vacancy than himself. 
 He never received a reply to his communica- 
 tions. 
 
 An unhappy man in London contracts a 
 habit of wandering about the streets without 
 any very settled purpose, staring in at the 
 shop-windows, especially at the goods he least 
 wants, or poring over old book-stalls. Frank 
 spent three-fourths of most of his days thus, 
 and often found himself in a state of physical 
 exhaustion from walking and fasting so long. 
 On these occasions, he looked out for a quiet 
 coffee-house to rest in. He was too poor to 
 select a handsome tavern in a good thorough- 
 fare — so he dived down the bye-lanes till he
 
 54 HOPE. 
 
 came to one of those economical establisliments 
 where coffee is retailed at three-half-pence and 
 tea at two-pence a cup, and where the windows 
 contain the tempting allurements of two 
 French rolls, half-a-dozen eggs, two coffee cups, 
 a tea-pot, and a j)ieee of streaky bacon, speci- 
 mens of the dainty fare awaiting the hungry 
 or thirsty visitor. Frank contracted quite a 
 feeling of affection for one of these places from 
 constantly frequenting it — for in truth he 
 found it more economical to order a couple of 
 eggs, some bread and butter, and a cup of 
 coffee at such* a place than to attempt the most 
 moderate of dinners anywhere else. His bill 
 amounted to five-pence halfpenny, and as he 
 generously bestowed another halfpenny on the 
 waitress, he contrived to dine for sixpence, 
 whicli we think by no means an extravagant 
 sum for the chief meal of the day. 
 
 The house frequented by Frank was in a 
 cross street out of Greek Street, Soho. Of 
 course our well-bred readers have never fre-
 
 HOPE. 55 
 
 quented such a locality, and so we will venture 
 to describe it to them. Perhaps they may 
 know something of Soho Square from the cir- 
 cumstance of one corner of it being occupied 
 by the bazaar, which used to be the earthly 
 paradise of our youthful imagination, but 
 which is now so terribly eclipsed by the gay 
 and gaudy Pantheon. The poor old bazaar 
 seems to feel its altered condition, for it looks 
 gloomier and duller than ever, while the stern- 
 ness of its hall -porter that used to make our 
 infantile soul tremble has iiovi increased to 
 such an extent that we are surprised he has 
 not been offered an engagement as mute by 
 some enterprising West- end undertaker. We 
 recommend Messrs. Banting to look to it — or 
 to him rather. 
 
 The rest of Soho Square is occupied by 
 piano-forte makers, music-sellers, furniture- 
 dealers, and one or two private houses. Prom 
 the south-west corner of the square runs Greek 
 Street. IS'ow Greek Street is one which must
 
 56 HOPE. 
 
 puzzle every reflective pedestrian that passes 
 through it. What dingy, dark, smoky, large, 
 semi-respectable houses it has ! What are 
 they like inside ? Who lives in them ? We 
 can imagine the old-fashioned broad staircase 
 — the chimney-pieces half way up to the 
 enormously high ceilings — the tall folding- 
 doors — the tarnished gilded mouldings of the 
 walls and the shutters — the worm-eaten floors 
 — the wainscots of painted deal, five feet high 
 — and the high, narrow windows, with a thick 
 crust of long undisturbed dirt darkening their 
 slender panes. We can fancy them furnished 
 with old cabinets, Turkey carpets whose 
 patterns are no longer visible, high-backed 
 chairs, so quaintly carved, and so curiously un- 
 comfortable, venerable tables, with their legs 
 bulging out at the bottom into a kind of 
 stumpy foot ; dingy moreen curtains, that 
 once were drab, but are now a fresh coffee 
 colour ; old chandeliers of rusty brass, with a 
 few little diamond-shaped pieces of glass
 
 HOPE. - 57 
 
 strung in ornamental festoons on them; and 
 little round mirrors in frames, that once were 
 gilt, stuck up even above the tall chimney- 
 piece, and surrounded by an eagle, from whose 
 beak hangs a chain with a ball at the end of it. 
 All this we can imagine ; but who lives amidst 
 all these ghostly memorials of a past age ? We 
 don't know, though we like to fancy it is only 
 miserly old Jew money-lenders, ancient Chan- 
 cery law}^ers, and venerable spinsters, who hate 
 the world — 'anything young, fresh, or beautiful, 
 would be so monstrously out of place in such 
 a locality. 
 
 Passing down Greek Street we come to a 
 number of streets and lanes, branching off in 
 a variety of directions, and forming that par- 
 ticular section of London called St. Giles's 
 though the parish of that name is a most ex- 
 tensive one. St. Giles's, however, imr ex- 
 cellence^ means that very interesting portion of 
 the parish about Seven Dials. It has lost some 
 of its marked characteristics of late years, from 
 D 5
 
 58 HOPE. 
 
 the attempts that have been made to improve 
 it. It is far more respectable than it used to 
 be — that is to say, you may walk about its 
 streets and lanes now without being obliged to 
 keep your hands tightly thrust into your 
 pockets, to protect your purse, or to look 
 out for a policeman to conduct you through its 
 wilds. You don't see as many tipsy Irish- 
 women as you used, and the children playing 
 in the gutters are not quite so ragged as for- 
 merly. But there is much of the old cha- 
 racteristics clinging to the place still — the 
 second-hand boot and shoe shops, with their 
 fusty, leathery odours — the marine-store shops 
 — the fried-fish stalls — the bird-cage makers 
 — the rabbit, dog, and bird-fanciers shops — and 
 the grand plate-glass, gas-blazing gin palaces, 
 which seem to be more resplendent as the 
 neighbourhood about them is more wretched 
 and poverty-stricken. A moralist may, per- 
 haps, trace cause and effect in the very circum- 
 stance.
 
 HOPE. 59 
 
 On the borders of this delectable locality are 
 one or two very quiet, poor streets, and in one 
 of these streets was a coffee-house, such as we 
 have above described, except that in addition 
 to the ornaments, eggs, rolls, and streaky 
 bacon, it displayed in the window a long list 
 of daily, weekly, and monthly papers, and 
 magazines, all of which were said to be 
 '' taken in here.'' The visitor who expected 
 to find them all, would probably be himself 
 ^Haken in there ;" but, nevertheless, they had 
 a good sprinkling of them — a far better supply 
 than is found at most first-rate taverns, where 
 the Times and the Post, a couple of evening 
 papers, and BelVs Life in London^ are generally 
 all the literary entertainment provided for their 
 frequenters. 
 
 In this economical coffee-house, Frank 
 ]Nugent found himself two or three times every 
 week. He first entered it by chance, and 
 finding everything clean and comfortable, 
 though homely enough, he generally bent his
 
 60 HOPE. 
 
 steps towards it afterwards in his long purpose- 
 less rambles about town. Perhaps its great 
 attraction was the sight of the papers and 
 magazines it afforded him. To the papers he 
 turned not only for news, but in the hope of 
 finding some prospect open to him in the ad- 
 vertisements — the magazines he read for mental 
 recreation. 
 
 Frank had not much opportunity of judging 
 the sort of company who frequented this 
 coffee-house, as he went to it at an hour of the 
 day when most men were occupied in • their 
 respective callings. Occasionally he saw a 
 respectable mechanic taking a cup of coffee, 
 and conning the Family Herald^ or a shopman 
 from one of the neighbouring shops studying 
 the news of the day. But there was an 
 individual whom he met most constantly. He 
 was a spare, tall, pale-faced man, with a restless 
 eye that never seemed to keep to one column 
 at a time, of any paper its owner was reading. 
 The man wore a black body coat, and grey
 
 HOPE. 61 
 
 trowsers, both of which must have been so 
 long in existence that they mnst have forgotten 
 the tailor who made them. His double- 
 breasted waistcoat had been a black silk one, 
 but it was so polished by grease and wear, that 
 its texture was difficult to detect. His hat, 
 too, was very limp in the brim, and very shiny, 
 from long wear, and not from newness; his 
 Blucher boots were patched and sewn in half a 
 dozen different places on the upper leathers ; 
 his shirt was invisible, but a ragged collar, not 
 of the cleanest, projected over a rusty black 
 neckcloth, that was tied with some attempt 
 at grace, and with long, limp, pendant ends. 
 
 This man invariably had a cup of coffee 
 and a roll — sometimes a piece of butter, but 
 not often. He seized the Times as soon as 
 he could lay hands upon it ; but never was 
 seen glancing over the parliamentary reports, 
 or the leading articles, or the foreign intelli- 
 gence — not even over the advertisements — but 
 always poking into every corner where little
 
 62 HOPE. 
 
 scraps and extracts were to be found, filling up 
 the spaces, proclaimed vacant by the " devil " 
 to the sub-editor. 
 
 These scraps seemed to be the attractive 
 bits to him; and as his restless eye danced 
 about over them, he would pull out a very 
 dirty old pocket-book, and make notes, or 
 scribble down some mysterious word or two, 
 and then thrust away the paper from him. 
 After this, he would take up one of the 
 magazines, or monthly periodicals, and read it 
 quietly and rationally, like any other mortal — 
 his eye would remain steady, and his pocket- 
 book was left undisturbed in his pocket. 
 
 Frank IS'ugent began to feel a little curiosity 
 about this peculiar individual. And the seedy- 
 looking man returned the compliment, for he 
 was evidently puzzled to know what could 
 bring a young man of Frank's appearance to 
 so very humble a place of entertainment. In 
 fact, Frank often caught him peeping over the 
 top of the magazine he was reading, and
 
 HOPE. 63 
 
 watcliing him with much apparent interest, 
 though directly he found liimself detected, he 
 dived his head down again into his book, and 
 pulling out a very unpleasant-looking pocket- 
 handkerchief, assaulted his nose with it most 
 vigorously. 
 
 At length, Frank contrived one day to place 
 himself in the box which the seedy stranger 
 generally used, and he kept hold of the 
 " Times ^^"^ determining not to relinquish it, in 
 case of the man's arrival, until he asked 
 him for it. 
 
 He arrived about the hour Frank expected 
 him, and went straight to his accustomed seat. 
 He looked uncomfortable when he saw the 
 Times engaged, and though he took up one 
 magazine after another, it was clear that he 
 could not settle his mind to read either of 
 them. 
 
 '' May I trouble you for the Times after you, 
 sii' ?" he said, at length, with a very polite bow 
 to Frank.
 
 64 HOPE. 
 
 *^ Certainly — you are welcome to it now," 
 replied the latter. ^' I am afraid I have been 
 keeping you from it," 
 
 " Don't mention it," said the seedy 
 man. 
 
 And immediately he began running his 
 restless eye over the corners of the paper, and 
 pulling out hid dirty pocket-book, and making 
 the usual memoranda. During this process, he 
 seemed to forget Frank's presence, but when 
 he came to the end of his researches, and 
 thrust aside the paper, he looked up at 
 him. 
 
 ^' Not much news to-day," observed 
 Frank. 
 
 " No," said the seedy man, doubtfully, for 
 he had not read a line of "news," and ap- 
 parently never did. 
 
 '^Perhaps you don't care for politics," ob- 
 served Frank, feeling however that his own 
 freedom was bordering on impertinence. 
 
 " They're out of my line altogether," said
 
 HOPE. 65 
 
 the seedy man, ^' though I am connected with 
 the newspaper press." 
 
 ^^ Indeed !" exclaimed Frank, not a bit less 
 astonished than he looked. ^' I presume you're 
 a — " he was going to say printer, or composi- 
 tor, or he didn't exactly know what ; but the 
 seedy man interrupted him by saying — 
 
 ^^ I write for the papers. It isn't my only 
 occupation, for I do copying work all the morn- 
 ing for a member of Parliament. He calls me 
 his secretary — ha ! ha ! — a pretty secretary I 
 look, don't I ? Six shillings a week for a secre- 
 tary, ha ! ha !" 
 
 ^' AYhat !" said Fank. '^ I beg youi' pardon, 
 but did you say — " 
 
 " Six shillings a week, I said," interrupted 
 the seedy man, " that's my salary as secretary, 
 ha ! ha ! to a member of Parliament. He's a 
 Scotchman, and a great calculator. He's cal- 
 culated my wages very closely — don't you 
 think so, sir ?"
 
 66 HOPE. 
 
 " upon my word/' replied Frank, '^ I 
 scarcely know whether to think yon are 
 amnsing yourself at the expense of my credulity 
 or not." 
 
 ^^7 wish I were; but I'm notj^^ said the 
 seedy man. " What I tell you is gospel truth. 
 You can't believe it — no prosperous young 
 gentleman like yourself could." 
 
 "• I don't know about my prosperity," said 
 Frank, smiling. '^ I wish I had a little more 
 of it ; but indeed I'm no better — . Well, 
 never mind; but really you have raised my 
 curiosity by what you have told me." 
 
 ^' Well, sir," said his companion, ^' if you 
 don't mind coming to so poor a place as my 
 home, I'll tell you my history — it's not much 
 of a one either — ^but it will help to shew you 
 how hard it is to get a living in this great city, 
 even when you are honest and industrious. 
 Sometimes I think it's only the rogues that 
 do prosper; but I don't want to get that
 
 HOPE. 67 
 
 idea into my head — so I won't think about it. 
 "Will you come with me, sir ? It is not far from 
 here ?" 
 
 Frank expressed his readiness, and left the 
 coffee house with his strange acquaintance.
 
 68 
 
 HOPE, 
 
 CHAPTEK V 
 
 The seedy man led Frank throngh one or two 
 very questionable streets, till lie came to a kind 
 of lane, at a dingy-looking house in wliicli he 
 stopped, and pulling out a door key that 
 looked large enough to figure in a Christmas 
 pantomime, he opened the door, and bade 
 Frank enter. The youth followed his host up 
 a very serpentine flight of uncarpeted stairs 
 lighted only by a few rays that made their 
 way under the bottoms of the doors on th^
 
 HOPE. 69 
 
 landings. On the third floor they stopped, and 
 then entered the front door. 
 
 Frank began to think his own little garrets 
 quite luxurious as he looked on the contents 
 of this one. And yet it contained about the 
 same quantity of furniture as his own, and not 
 very inferior in quality ; but there was a dii'ty, 
 wretched, ill-cared-for look about the place that 
 made it inexpressibly squalid in the young 
 man's eyes. Everything was more or less 
 dilapidated ; two panes of glass were broken, 
 and badly patched with brown paper. The 
 ceiling displayed two or three holes in the 
 plaster ; the bedstead was without its top ; an 
 old chest of drawers had lost one of its feet, 
 and stood awry ; the patchwork-counterpane 
 had a large angular rent in it, displaying a 
 very brown blanket underneath ; the water-jug 
 was without a handle, and the basin had a 
 large piece chipped out of it ; one of the 
 chairs had lost the top rail of the back, and 
 the other had a hole in the seat, with the
 
 70 HOPE. 
 
 rushes sticking out downwards in all direc- 
 tions. Tlie only thing that seemed perfect was 
 a very small deal- table, on which was a little 
 stone ink-bottle, a piece of blotting paper, and 
 an old steel pen. 
 
 '^ Not a very handsome place to bring a gen- 
 tleman of your appearance to," said its occu- 
 pant, half apologetically and half bitterly, 
 
 '' Don't make any apologies, pray," replied 
 Frank. '' I have come to hear your history, 
 you knoWj and I dare say that would com- 
 pensate me for entering very much worse 
 quarters than these." 
 
 " I don't know about that," said the seedy 
 man. '' It's but a poor history ; but I told you 
 the moral of it, and now you shall hear the 
 story itself : 
 
 '^ My name's Tonks — David Tonks. My 
 father was a tailor at Birmingham, and I was 
 his only son. So he sent me to King Edward's 
 grammar-school, and determmed to make me a 
 gentleman. I was never to be apprenticed to
 
 HOPE. 71 
 
 his trade, j)eAaps not to aay trade, I was to 
 be a great scholar, and, of course, I ^vas to do 
 wonders with my learning. What fools parents 
 are when they let out all their ambitious 
 wishes for their children in their children's 
 presence ! i^o surer way of preventing a bov 
 from rising to greatness than always telling 
 him that he vvill be a great man. It was 
 fortunate for me that a public school took some 
 of the conceit out of me that my parents in- 
 spired me with. But I was'nt happy at school. 
 I was teased to death with the boys' jokes 
 about my father's trade. ' Young snip ' was 
 my nickname, and I was seldom called by any 
 other, I got tired of fighting about it, and so 
 I became resigned ^to the appellation. 
 
 ^' When I was fourteen my mother died. 
 Heaven rest her soul, for she was a good and 
 kind mother to me, though she was a bad 
 prophetess. On her death-bed she told me she 
 was sure that I should live to be a great man 
 — and at that time I believed her. She little
 
 72 HOPE. 
 
 fancied how terribly the reality would be the 
 reverse of her anticipations. 
 
 ^' Poor mother ! I mourned for her longer 
 than most grown men could mourn for any 
 human being. I had nothing else to love in 
 the world — for my father was a man whom you 
 could not love. He had some sort of feeling 
 for me ; but it was that of pride, because he 
 fancied I should be a man of distinction — for 
 he had imbibed my mother's fatal error of 
 imagining me a genius. He v^as a selfish man 
 too ; and it has always struck me that a very 
 selfish person is the least loveable of creatures. 
 Even women, with all their blindness in such 
 matters, seldom love deeply a man who is all 
 salfishness. 
 
 ^' Six months after my mother's death, my 
 father married again. And such a wife ! A 
 gay, giddy, ill-bred, handsome impudent girl, 
 of two-and-twenty ! What a contrast to the 
 gentle, tender being I had called ^ mother,' — 
 whose memory was as fresh in my heart as the
 
 HOPE, To 
 
 day after her death, and for the loss of whom 
 my tears fell night after night, when I was 
 alone in my little bed-chamber. They tell us 
 it is wrong to pray for the dead — I hope not, 
 for I have never ceased to do it since she left 
 the world. I don't know how or why it is, but 
 I am sure that I could not sleep if her name 
 had no place in my supplications. 
 
 ^^ My step -mother had not been many weeks 
 in our house before I saw that my removal 
 from it would be a matter of coui'se. She 
 hated me — principally, I think, because she 
 knew how I reverenced my mother's name and 
 memory. My father was completely under the 
 control of his new wife, and by her amiable 
 guidance, soon began to manifest a dislike to 
 his only child. I determined to relieve him of 
 my presence, and I took an early opportunity of 
 telling him so. He did not shew much sur- 
 prise, and certainly no sorrow. 
 
 " ^ "Where do you wish to go to ?' he asked. 
 
 ^' ^ To London.' I replied. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 74 HOPE. 
 
 '' ' What shall you do there ?' 
 
 " ^ Get my living in the best way I can,' 
 was my reply. ^ You have always told me 
 that I shall be a great man — let me go and 
 try.' 
 
 '^ He did not want much pressing ; he told 
 me to be very steady — not to get into bad 
 company — hoped I should' nt get tired of 
 London, and then come back and make a fool of 
 him as well as myself — gave me £50 and his 
 blessing, and dismissed me. 
 
 '^ ' Good-bye, David,' said my step- mother ; 
 ' you'll be back again soon, I know.' 
 
 ^' ^ Never while you are Mrs. Tonks,' said I, 
 and I departed that day. 
 
 " I came up to London and drove to the inn 
 where the coach stopped, and there I rested 
 for the night. I won't bore you with a de- 
 scription of my first impressions of this great 
 city. They were not those of such intense 
 wonder as is felt by most people from the 
 country, because I came from so large and
 
 HOPE. 75 
 
 bustling a town, and I had heard so much of 
 the size and traffic of London that it would 
 have been difficult for either to have exceeded 
 my expectations. I thought it a very ugly 
 place, and I think so still. 
 
 '' For the first week I did nothing but roam 
 about the streets and stare at every tiling that 
 excited my curiosity. At the end of the week 
 I stared at something else — my hotel bill. It 
 appeared to me enormous, though I dare say it 
 was a very moderate one, and I am sure I had 
 been economical enough in my orders. At all 
 events it showed me the necessity of looking 
 out for employment of some kind, or I should 
 soon be a beggar. I had no one to apply to 
 for advice on the subject, so I consulted my 
 landlord. He appeared to be rather astonished 
 at something — whether at my '' greenness" or 
 my helpless condition, or my absurd notions of 
 life, I don't know. However, he recommended 
 me to advertise for a situation as clerk ; and he 
 helped me to compose an advertisement. He 
 E 2
 
 76 HOPE. 
 
 was not a bad sort of man, and really took 
 some kind of interest in me. The advertise- 
 ment appeared and I got the answer. They 
 all offered me the same terms — no salary the 
 first year — <£40 for the second (if I suited 
 them) and a progressive increase afterwards. 
 Of course I could accept neither, as I had no 
 means of maintaining myself for a year, but by 
 what I might earn. I looked very blank, but 
 my landlord was not astonished. He did me 
 one piece of service, however, against his own 
 interests. Instead of letting me remain at his 
 hotel till I had spent all my money, he ad- 
 vised me to get a cheap lodging. I did so, 
 with his assistance, and again I tried for a 
 situation. 
 
 " I won't trouble you with all my endeavours 
 and failures ; but after several weeks I got a 
 berth as light porter in a city warehouse, at 
 twelve shillings a- week. What a splendid 
 start in life for the youth that was to attain 
 greatness !
 
 HOPE. T7 
 
 "It was a life of drudgery I lived -not 
 degrading in itself, but certainly inspiring a 
 feeling of degradation in the mind of a lad who 
 had received an education such as mine. I did 
 my duty as well as I could, but I was still 
 trying to get something better. 
 
 '' I was very fond of writing down my ob 
 servations and thoughts when I was alone at 
 night, in my lodgings. One day the idea 
 struck me that I might write something for 
 publication. I was mad with the notion. I 
 set to work and wrote a little story — I copied 
 it out carefully, and I dropped it into the 
 editor's box of a cheap weekly publication that 
 I used to read. How eagerly I ran my eye 
 over each succeeding number to see if my piece 
 were in it. How long was I doomed to disap- 
 pointment. But at last, there it was in type. 
 I spelled it over, read and re-read it, wondered 
 who else would read it, speculated as to the 
 chance of its being noticed by the reviewers — 
 and in fact made a fool of myself. I rushed
 
 78 HOPE. 
 
 down to the office and asked if I could see the 
 editor. 
 
 *' A dirty-looking clerk stared at me. 
 
 '^ I repeated the question. 
 
 ^' ^ Aint in/ was the laconic reply. 
 
 "' When will he be ?' I asked. 
 
 ^'^ Don't know.' 
 
 '^ I still lingered. 
 
 *^^What do you want?' asked the dirty 
 clerk. 
 
 '' ^ I want,' said I, rather timidly, ^ I want 
 to know whether I have anything to receive 
 for the piece I wrote which is printed to- 
 
 '^ ' You wrote !' said the clerk. I was in 
 my light-porters' dress. 
 
 " ^ Yes,' replied I, with dignity, ^ The 
 Orphan Bride.' 
 
 "The clerk gave a grunt, and looked in a 
 dirty ledger, or book of some sort. 
 
 " ^ Orphan Bride gratuitous,' said he, and 
 closed the book.
 
 HOPE. 
 
 (( i 
 
 1 never said it was to be gratuitous,' I 
 exclaimed, indignantly. 
 
 " ^ Didn't say the other thing, I suppose,' 
 said the clerk, ' we never pay without it's 
 agreed.' 
 
 "And so I got nothing for the Orphan 
 Bride. 
 
 " I wish the same fate had attended every- 
 thing else I wrote, but it didn't. I got a few 
 shillings once or twice for my writings, and so 
 I resolved to turn author. I left my situation, 
 bought a stock of pens, ink, and paper, and set 
 vigorously to work writing. 
 
 " If ever I tried a magazine of any standing, 
 I either heard nothing at all of my M.S. or it 
 was returned to me, " declined with thanks." 
 Generally I lost both my time and my M.S. 
 With the lower class of publications I succeeded 
 better, though the pay was so small that I could 
 seldom earn above ten shillings a-week — indeed 
 that was the average. 
 
 " Don't suppose I throw the blame of my
 
 80 HOPE. 
 
 failure on others — it was all my own fault. I 
 had not talent enough to succeed as a writer. 
 I know it now — but knowledge comes too late. 
 I persevered, I wrote day and night, tore up 
 what I didnt like after I had written it, and 
 sent out such heaps of JVI.S's that my hand- 
 writing must have been known to every editor 
 in London. But I made no progress. Two of 
 the cheap things I wrote for failed, and I was 
 near starvation. 
 
 ^' At last a printer, who Imew me as writing 
 for one of the papers, made a proposal to me. 
 It was to be editor of a cheap serial he was 
 going to start, I was to have one fourth of 
 the profits as my remuneration, and to sign a 
 partnership agreement to that effect. At first, 
 our serial went on well ; but by degrees the 
 sale declined. I thought we had better give it 
 up, but the printer refused. We went on till 
 at last the paper manufacturers, who supplied 
 us with paper, sued us, and got judgment. The 
 printer absconded, having previously sold his
 
 HOPE. 81 
 
 stock unknown to me. My person was all that 
 was left to satisfy the judgment of the paper- 
 makers. 
 
 '' They took it. They locked me up in 
 prison, where I remained a poor debtor on 
 prison allowance, till, at length, I was set free 
 through means of the fund for the relief of in- 
 digent debtors, 
 
 " It was much to regain freedom, certainly, 
 though want and hunger seemed very likely to 
 accompany mine, I wandered about the streets 
 not knowing what to do, when I by chance 
 became the witness of a dreadful accident by 
 upsetting of a heavily laden wagon, which fell 
 on to the footpath and crushed two passers-by 
 to death. I was very much shocked, and felt 
 very sick at the sight. I went into a coffee 
 house to rest, and then the idea struck me to 
 write an account of the accident I had just 
 seen for the papers. I invested some of the 
 few pence I had in pen and paper, and did so, 
 making copies for each daily journal. I took it 
 E 5
 
 82 HOPE. 
 
 to the offices, and left my name and address, 
 (another poor lodging I had got), as a voncher 
 for my truthfulness. Next day I went again 
 to the coffee house. Three of the papers had 
 inserted my ' shocking accident,' though they 
 had terribly curtailed it ! I went to the offices 
 to ask for payment — they told me to call again 
 on certain days, which were their settling days, 
 with my bills, calculated at a three half-pence 
 a line. There were about twenty lines, so 
 that it produced me seven shillings and six- 
 pence. 
 
 ^^ Henceforth I became a ^penny-a-liner.' 
 I went half over London every day to collect 
 materials — accidents, and such like things, I 
 asked for news at all the police stations, and 
 sometimes I got some which served my pur- 
 pose. I frequented meetings, not important 
 enough to be visited by regular reporters, and 
 made notes of the proceedings which I turned 
 into paragraphs and reports. One way and 
 another I contrived to earn from ten to fifteen 
 shillings a week.
 
 HOPE. 83 
 
 ^' I often tried to get some better emploj- 
 ment, but I could not succeed. ' What have 
 you been doing?' was the question, which 
 when answered, always shut me out of any 
 chance. By degrees I became so accustomed 
 to my wretched sort of literary life, that I was 
 unfit for any other, and don't think I could 
 follow any other if I tried. 
 
 *^ Once only did I succed in any other way. 
 I saw an advertisement, stating that a few 
 hours' daily employment was offered to a ready 
 pen-man. I applied at the address given, and 
 was offered six shillings a week to be secretary 
 to an M. P. ! I couldn't believe my ears for 
 some time ; but I accepted the offer, and was 
 installed in the ^ honorable member's' library 
 every day from 9 till 1, copying out figures 
 and calculations, searching out speeches from 
 Hansard, and such work as that. And so I live, 
 sir — secretary to an M. P. and penny-a-liner to 
 the press in general."
 
 84 HOPE, 
 
 "But," said Frank, "why did you never 
 apply to your father ? Surely he would have 
 aided you." 
 
 " Eor the first few years, (for my little nar- 
 rative extends over twelve years, though it is 
 so monotonous of misery)," was the reply, " I 
 was ashamed to do so. Afterwards I saw his 
 death in a Birmingham paper, and I managed 
 to make some enquiries about his will, but I 
 heard that he had left everything to his second 
 wife." 
 
 " Had he any children by her ?" 
 
 " ISTone." 
 
 " What has become of her ?" asked 
 Frank. 
 
 " I have never heard," answered the seedy 
 man — " never ; but sometimes I wonder whe- 
 ther my father ever thought of his only child 
 on his death-bed. Something tells me that he 
 did. I have had strange dreams and fancies 
 about it — but I can never know."
 
 HOPE. 85 
 
 " You may /" said Frank, with deep em- 
 phasis, though he scarcely knew why. 
 
 The seedy man started, looked fixedly at his 
 visitor, and said — 
 
 "Those two simple words have rung in my 
 ears as though pronounced in my own dear 
 mother's accents, whenever I have thought on 
 this subject. Well," said he, after a pause, 
 " Time is ilie great avenger .^"
 
 86 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 CHAPTEE YI. 
 
 Something like the feeling of friendsliip sprung 
 up between Frank Nugent and the unlucky 
 David Tonks. The simple narrative of the 
 poor penny-a-liner had made a strong impres- 
 sion on the young listener. It suggested this 
 very palpable but very unpleasant question — 
 '^May not my lot be like his?" Doubtless 
 Frank was vain enough to think that there was 
 something about himself which must prevent 
 him from ever degenerating into the seedy,
 
 HOPE. 87 
 
 slip-shod wretch the other had become. And 
 yet, looking at the whole picture, and not 
 at peculiar portions of it, he could not disguise 
 from himself that it might portray his own 
 future. 
 
 " What have I beyond what this man pos- 
 sessed when first he was launched into London- 
 life to earn his own bread ?" Such was the 
 very rational query he proposed to himself. 
 And the answer was, by no means, satisfac- 
 tory. 
 
 '^ In respect of money, I am even poorer 
 than he, for he started with almost as many 
 pounds as I now possess shillings. As for 
 education, his had been, I presume, very 
 similar to my own, though mine has been 
 rather more perfected. As to experience, we 
 are almost on a par. In point of age, I have 
 the advantage of a few additional years — if it 
 he an advantage. In birth and breeding, I 
 have also the advantage. But are these ad- 
 vantages of much account in the position in
 
 88 HOPE. 
 
 wHch I am placed ? At all events, I will try 
 to bear in mind that success is by no means 
 within the grasp of all who determine to try for 
 it." 
 
 A very sensible resolution, Frank Nugent, 
 and one too apt to be forgotten both by those 
 who struggle in the battle of life, and those 
 who watch and judge them. 
 
 What made Frank particularly impressed 
 with the poor penny-a-liner's history, was the 
 fact that, for a few days previous to hearing it, 
 an indistinct idea of pursuing literature for a 
 livelihood had been flitting across his own brain. 
 And what fascination there is in the idea ! 
 How different from the mere taste or fancy that 
 leads men to select an ordinary profession or 
 calling ! A youth may deliberate and doubt 
 whether he will be a lawyer or a physician — a 
 soldier or a merchant — an engineer or an ad- 
 vocate; but there is no such luke-warmness 
 about literature. She claims her votaries, 
 heart and soul, or not at all. Little do they
 
 HOPE. 89 
 
 understand the spirit which guides the man of 
 letters, who fancy that he pursues authorship 
 as a lawyer studies his ^ Coke upon Lyttleton/ 
 not for the pleasure of the pursuit itself, but as 
 a means to an end — the three meals a day ! 
 It is not the mere profit of book-writing that 
 allures the author, it is the intellectual delight 
 of his self-imposed task. Compared with 
 other pursuits, how poor are the pecuniary 
 rewards of literature ! Compared with literature 
 how meagre are the pleasures to be found in 
 the pursuit of any other '' professions !" Nay 
 it is even a degradation to the calling of an 
 author to call it by so unworthy a name. It 
 gains no wordly rank — it seldom secures com- 
 petence, and still more rarely wealth. Yet 
 who that pursues it would voluntarily abandon 
 it for the most honoured or the most profitable 
 of ordinary professions ? Who that has thrown 
 himself into the arms of literature would not 
 rather succeed in teaching and delighting the 
 world, though he did so in personal obscurity,
 
 90 HOPE. 
 
 and in straitened means, than in gaining titles 
 and honours, or amassing wealth in the less 
 spiritual pursuits of other men ? 
 
 It was certainly with little of this enthusiasm 
 for a literary life that Frank Nugent took up 
 his pen to make his first essay for publication ; 
 but then he was not yet launched on the sea 
 of letters, and would, perhaps, never have 
 thought of venturing there, but for the res 
 augusta domi^ which drives us into all sorts of 
 unexpected places. 
 
 Did any man ever begin to write for pub- 
 lication without first attempting ^^ poetry ?" 
 We verily believe not. We feel convinced 
 that if the secret history of every author's 
 literary life were known, it would be found 
 that every one of them tried verse before plain 
 prose. It is not so easy to tell why, for it is 
 lamentably true that not one man, not one 
 author^ in five hundred, can write decent 
 poetry. We all know the history of poor 
 Cicero's failure, when he attempted to cultivate
 
 HOPE. 91 
 
 the Muses — lie took counsel by it, and abjured 
 wooing the goddesses further. Most of our 
 great novelists, historians, essayists, and others, 
 who have gained fame and honour in prose, 
 have, doubtless, experienced as humiliating 
 failures in poetry at the outset of their career ; 
 but fortunately, the failure was before their 
 names were known to the world, and they have 
 kept off the rocks of rhyme ever since. Oc- 
 casionally the novelists shew a hankering after 
 the old pursuit, by dropping in a sonnet or a 
 song, supposed to be written or sung by one of 
 the characters of their story, and introduced 
 with a few depreciating remarks, as if they did 
 not think much of it themselves. The sly 
 dissemblers ! they know they are prouder of 
 those dozen lines of rhyme than of all the rest 
 of the three volumes of prose, and are far 
 more delighted at a favourable notice of them, 
 or a quotation made from them, than they 
 would be at a laudatory review of the book in 
 the Edinburgh^ the Quarterly and Blackwood
 
 92 HOPE. 
 
 combined. But they don't often get it, poor 
 felloes; for, sooth to say, they don't often 
 deserve it. Septt is the only great novelist, 
 who was a great poet also. Sir Edward's fame 
 would be but meagre if it rested on his poetry. 
 Dickens has not written a line of verse that 
 any one quotes or remembers, though who does 
 not quote and remember almost every line of 
 prose he has penned ? Thackeray has courted 
 the Muses more than once ; but they have not 
 smiled on him. On the other hand, two or 
 three poets have written readable novels — 
 though generally but one a piece — as Gold- 
 smith's " Yicar of Wakefield," Tom Hood's 
 " Tylney Hall," and glorious Tom Ingoldsby's 
 *^ Cousin Mcholas." 
 
 Frank Nugent wrote poetry. It was not 
 bad, and therefore read only by those who like 
 " tolerable" poetry ; but for our part, we 
 should think it no loss to the world if at least 
 nine tenths of the verses that were in it, 
 ancient and modern, were destroyed and for-
 
 HOPE. 93 
 
 gotten. Certainly we should condemn poor 
 Frank's among them. Perhaps the magazine 
 editors to whom he sent them were equally 
 fastidious, for they declined printing them, 
 though they assured him that they were very 
 much obliged to him for sending them, and 
 thought them very good, but poetry was a drug 
 in the market — every body wrote poetry and 
 nobody read it. 
 
 He next attempted a drama in blank verse. 
 How difficult it is to knock the '' harmonious 
 numbers" out of a young scribbler. The 
 drama was to be in five acts, but he began to 
 find his materials not quite sufficient for that 
 length, and though the hero made terribly long 
 speeches, and the heroine talked much more 
 about all the attributes of love, and the wonder- 
 ful things that remarkable passion was capable 
 of effecting, than young ladies really in love, 
 generally find tongue for — though even the 
 servants and messengers and the ^^ first citi- 
 zens" and the '^ second soldiers" and such other
 
 94 HOPE. 
 
 characters in dramas of a poetical cast gave 
 long-winded utterance to their sentiments in 
 very stiltified verse, yet it became necessary 
 to confine all those things within the compara- 
 tively small space of three acts. And when 
 the three acts were done what was the history 
 of the drama ? Alas ! as blank as the verse it 
 was written [in. The best recipe for a drama 
 is Demosthenes's sentence about the prime 
 requisites of oratory, '^ action, action, action." 
 Poor Frank's was rather of Hamlet's — '' words, 
 words, words." 
 
 As a matter of course, not a manager in 
 London would look at it, which Frank Nugent 
 considered cruel and stupid — yet, after all, they 
 only saved him from being publicly " damned," 
 and so deserved his gratitude. 
 
 The next attempt was a tale. It was plain 
 prose at last, though dreadfully romantic in 
 language, sentiment and incident. The Mi- 
 nerva press would have printed it in raptures,
 
 HOPE. 95 
 
 milliners' apprentices would have wept over it. 
 and papas of a practical turn of mind woul 
 have forbidden its appearance in the house as 
 " a parcel of romantic trash, fit to turn the 
 heads of all the silly girls in the place." It 
 travelled about a great deal from one magazine 
 to another, staying longer at some offices than 
 at others, and running many risks of lighting 
 the office fires out of the waste-paper basket ; 
 but at last it found a home in the pages of a 
 penny periodical and produced its author three 
 guineas. 
 
 This last fact was consolatory to poor 
 Frank who had been gradually reduced to a 
 perfectly empty pocket. Indeed he seriously 
 contemplated starvation, and could not aflPord 
 even to enter his old cheap coffee-house. He 
 was wandering near it one, day when thus re- 
 duced, and he met Mr. David Tonks, rushing 
 along towards it. Frank accosted him — they 
 were now on most friendly terms, and the
 
 96 HOPE. 
 
 penny-a-liner had been entrusted with all his 
 young friend's history. 
 
 ^^ Well, Mr. Tonks — going to see the paper, 
 I suppose.'' 
 
 " Yes — yes," said David, ^^ and you've just 
 come from them — eh ?" 
 
 '^ No," replied Frank, ^^ I have not been 
 there to-day." 
 
 " Wont you come now ?" asked David. 
 
 ^' No, I thank you," returned Frank, " I 
 am not in a humour — at least I'm busy." 
 
 ^^ J. r^ you though ?" exclaimed Mr. Tonks, 
 with a look of delight, ^^ I'm glad of it ; then 
 you've suceeded, eh ?" 
 
 ^^ISTo," said Frank, with a half-melancholy 
 smile, ^^ I've had no success yet, my good 
 friend." 
 
 " Well, well, I wont, enquire, I'm too 
 forward I know ; but I didn't mean to appear 
 inquisitive." 
 
 *^ You are too good to be anything so disa-
 
 HOPE. 97 
 
 greeable," said Frank, eagerly, " I wish I had 
 a few more such disinterested and such warm 
 friends. But don't let me keep you from the 
 pa^^er — good bye." 
 
 Frank shook the poor fellow's hand warmly 
 and left him, walking on rapidly. Before he 
 had gone many paces he heard a quick step 
 behind him. He turned round and saw David 
 Tonks exerting himself greatly to overtake 
 him. 
 
 ^' What is it ?" asked Frank, stopping. 
 
 '' I beg your pardon for running after you," 
 said David, out of breath ; '^ but I want to 
 speak to you very much. Will you come into 
 my lodging for a few minutes ? Can you 
 spare the time? It's the next street, you 
 know." 
 
 ^^ Certainly," said Frank, who of course had 
 no engagement of any kind elsewhere. 
 
 David Tonks did not utter another word till 
 he had conducted Frank Nugent to his poor 
 garret, and made him take a seat. Then, with 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 HOPE. 
 
 a good deal of hesitation, and a very em- 
 barrassed look, he spoke as follows : — 
 
 ^^ Mr. JsTugent, we haven't been acquainted 
 long, and I'm almost afraid you may think 
 what I'm going to say a great liberty ; but I 
 hope you wont. I think — that is, I fear — I 
 really don't know how to say it ; but to be 
 plain, I'm afraid, Mr. I^ugent, you must find 
 that living in London without making money 
 is very expensive." 
 
 ^ ' Not very expensive to me, my good friend," 
 said Frank, smiling ; '^ for I've nothing to 
 spend, and I'm too poor to run into debt." 
 
 " Well — yes — that's just it," said David, 
 looking more embarrassed than ever; ^^but I 
 mean — excuse me — don't you find it very hard 
 to li^re ?" 
 
 '^ Yery hard indeed," returned Frank, with 
 a very sickly smile : ^^ so hard that I think I 
 shall find it impossible soon." 
 
 ^' Don't say that," rejoined David — ^' don't 
 tlimlc that. Despair is the last feeling that
 
 HOPE. 99 
 
 enters a brave heart. You will succeed — you 
 must succeed — bear tbe present with firmness, 
 and the future will turn out well." 
 
 ^' It's easy to say — bear the present with 
 firmness," cried Frank, with a tinge of bitter- 
 ness in his tone. '^ God knows I try to do so ; 
 but when a man is absolutely penniless, it is 
 not so easy to be patient or resigned," 
 
 ^^ Ah, I feared it was so — I feared — " 
 
 " What ?" interrupted Frank, hastily. '' You 
 surprised me into a confession that I never 
 meant to make to any man — forget it, if you 
 please. I can imitate the wolf, and ^ die in 
 sUence,' if need be." 
 
 ^^ I didn't mean to offend you, or to annoy 
 you," said David, in a tone of sorrow. 
 
 ^^ You have not done so, my kind, good 
 friend," cried Frank, warmly ; ^^ forgive my 
 bad temper — you will know how to make ex- 
 cuses for it." 
 
 ^' Yes — yes," replied David ; *^ but this 
 must not be. Yen have made me uninten-
 
 100 HOPE. 
 
 tionally your confidant ; but you have told me 
 no more than I had already suspected ; and I 
 say it must not be. Now lay aside your pride, 
 I beseech you, as a warm though humble 
 friend, and afford me one of the greatest grati- 
 fications I have ever known in my wretched 
 life, by accepting this little loan of me." 
 
 And to Frank's intense surprise, the poor 
 man thrust five sovereigns into his hand ! 
 
 Frank could not believe his eyes — he could 
 not suppose that David Tonks possessed such 
 a sum in the world — and still less that he 
 would ofier it to one he had known but a few 
 months. 
 
 "Don't say a word about it — take it," said 
 David, eagerly, apparently in a great fright 
 lest Frank should indignantly reject it. "I 
 dare say you could not think that the poor 
 penny-a-liner had such riches; but hard life 
 and misery has taught me economy, and poor 
 as my earnings are, I have managed to save 
 twice that sum."
 
 HOPE. 101 
 
 *' And you offer me half of your hard earn- 
 ings !" cried Frank. 
 
 And the silly boy wept like a child. David 
 caught the infection, and his tears flowed freely 
 too. 
 
 Laugh at them, gentle reader, if you can ; 
 but we tell you, there was more of the diviner 
 portion of our nature manifested in those tears 
 than in the most heroic sternness ever displayed 
 by sage or warrior. 
 
 " This is very foolish," said Frank, checking 
 himself; " my good fellow, I can never thank 
 you sufficiently, and never forgot your noble 
 generosity ; but I must not avail myself of it 
 — it would be wicked injustice to do so." 
 
 '' Oh, don't say that," cried David. " It 
 would be giving me the happiest sensation I 
 have ever known in this horrid old city. 
 You are sure to be able to pay me again, you 
 know." 
 
 *^ Not so sure," replied Frank, shaking his 
 head.
 
 102 HOPE. 
 
 '' Yes — yes — quite sure," insisted David ; 
 ^' and if not, why it is but ' savings,' I am 
 offering you. I don't want them — I'm living 
 without them, you see. Don't refuse me, or I 
 shall be very unhappy indeed." 
 
 ^^ Well then," said Frank, ^'I will take this 
 one sovereign — it's all I need, I assure you — 
 it will last me many a day ; but I must make 
 one condition — that you will not refuse to take 
 it back the very instant I earn anything, bow- 
 ever small." 
 
 " Agreed," said David, pleased to have 
 partly gained his object, though casting a 
 melancholy look on the remaining four pieces 
 of gold v/hich he was obliged to return to the 
 desk whence he had taken them. 
 
 And so Frank lived to be a debtor to the 
 poor penny-a-liner, and indeed it served to 
 support him for many a day, and it was long 
 before he could repay the money. It was a 
 joyful day of his life — perhaps by force of con- 
 trast the most joyful — when his romantic tale
 
 HOPE. 103 
 
 appeared in the penny periodical and he re- 
 ceived his three guineas for it. 
 
 Need we say that he hastened with an over- 
 flowing heart to restore the sovereign to David 
 Tonks ? And need we say how that restoration 
 was the only damp cast on the heartfelt de- 
 light with which that poor fellow heard of his 
 young friend's success ? They sat long together 
 that day and built ^^ chateaux-en-espagne^'''' for 
 Frank's future destiny, for David Tonks's own 
 failure after a similar commencement never 
 even crossed his mind. He had faith in his 
 young friend's genius — himself he regarded as 
 a poor earth worm.
 
 104 HOPE. 
 
 CHAPTEE YII. 
 
 It was a warm bright afternoon in summer. 
 The sky looked clear, even in London, and 
 Hyde Park was thronged with the usual set of 
 loungers in carriages, loungers on horseback, 
 loungers on foot — it is all lounging — a dreary, 
 heavy, monotonous way of killing time, or 
 being killed by it. What a sameness of ex- 
 pression on the faces that crowd the ring, all 
 blank and impenetrable ! It is not that the 
 heads are all empty or the minds unfurnished,
 
 HOPE. 105 
 
 but fashion dictates immobility of expression 
 
 and fashion is obeyed. The law must have 
 
 been made for the blockheads of society ; 
 
 probably from their vast numerical influence on 
 
 it. It is rigidly enforced, however, and they 
 
 who break it are tatooed at once with the curt 
 
 sentence pronouncing them ^' very odd people." 
 
 An uninitiated person, or a foreigner, might 
 
 suppose that one of these ^' odd " people was 
 
 suspected of a tendency to insanity, or had 
 
 offended against some moral precept, or was 
 
 unacquainted with the ordinary rules of good 
 
 breeding. jSTothing of the kind, the good man 
 
 is a little impulsive — laughs instead of smiling 
 
 only when a thing amuses him, gives utterance 
 
 to decided opinions when he feels them — has 
 
 been known to express both astonishment and 
 
 admiration — he is ^' suahaveri/ odd man." Or 
 
 that good lady is a little enthusiastic, thinks 
 
 Grisi divine in Norma, and actually claps her 
 
 hands in approbation of the " Trema per te ;" 
 
 she dances as if she was fond of it, she can 
 r 5
 
 106 HOPE. 
 
 scarcely restrain her tears wlien slie hears or 
 reads of a noble or generous action, she has 
 been seen with a flush of anger on her brow, 
 and a smile of delight on her lips — it's really a 
 pity that ^' she's such a very odd person." 
 Thus does fashionable dulness sneer down 
 those who dare to be natural, and the man who 
 ventures to be very intimate with one of those 
 ^^ odd" persons might almost as well have been 
 seen arm-in-arm with a pick -pocket, so far as 
 his position among a certain set is concerned. 
 
 And yet it is a pretty sight that same "' ring" 
 on a summer's afternoon. The gay and bril- 
 liant equipages, unmatched in style and number 
 in the whole world ; the beautiful faces that 
 glance from them — the elegant dresses — the 
 showy ^' cattle," and the gaudy '' flunkies." 
 And then there are the fine old trees and the 
 bright greensward of the park, the glittering 
 serpentine, with its tiny fleet dancing over its 
 waters, the handsome residences of Park Lane, 
 and the great mansion whose great tenant has,
 
 HOPE. 107 
 
 alas, departed from it, at one end, and the 
 glades and avenues of Kensington Gardens, 
 with the sounds of martial music floating from 
 their recesses at the other. And Eotten Eow 
 too — Eotten Eow with the finest horses and 
 the best riders in the world, and that most 
 graceful and most fascinating of objects — many 
 a lovely girl, '^ en Amazone,'' mounted on an 
 animal only less beautiful than herself, and 
 with flowing drapery and flowing locks, with 
 heightened colour and with sparkling eye, 
 showing that even dull fashion cannot chain 
 the spirits when the free bound of a high- 
 mettled steed has warmed them into glowing. 
 
 Among the loungers on the foot-path on the 
 day of which we are writing, was Frank 
 Nugent. It was strange that he should find 
 pleasure in such a scene, contrasting so strongly 
 with the circumstances of his own lot. And 
 yet perhaps he enjoyed it the more from that 
 very contrast. It was like looking on fairy- 
 land ; he had no thought of entering there and
 
 108 HOPE. 
 
 being part of it, but it was a brilliant and an 
 enchanting sight to look on. Had lie been an 
 actor on the scene he would have felt differently, 
 the gold and the glitter would have been mere 
 tinsel and spangles to him. And yet he was 
 not philosopher enough to refrain from wishing 
 that he could mingle in that gaudy crowd on. 
 terms of equality, with the proudest in it. 
 Was it a paltry ambition ? It was at least a 
 natural one, and we should be sceptical of any 
 young man's veracity who vowed that he had 
 never felt the same. 
 
 Frank saw one or two acquaintances among 
 the young men, who bowed to him in the 
 usual style of perfect indifference, which would 
 have appeared a matter of course to 1dm for- 
 merly ; but which he was half inclined to 
 consider as slights now. He was perfectly 
 mistaken : the indifference was real enough, 
 but it was no more than was shown for any 
 other acquaintance ; not one of them thought 
 about his changed prospects or ruined fortunes
 
 HOPE. 109 
 
 — not one of tliem recalled even the circum- 
 stance of any change having occurred. There 
 are no set of people who trouble themselves 
 less with thoughts about other peoples' affairs 
 than young men about town. It is a virtue, 
 perhaps, this quality ; but it is by no means an 
 unalloyed one, as it springs from selfishness, 
 and not from principle. The same men who 
 forgot that Frank was ruined, would merely 
 have said, ^' Poor devil !" had they been re- 
 minded of it. 
 
 A very well-appointed carriage was passing 
 Frank I^ugent as he lent over the rail dividing 
 the road from the footpath, when a lady 
 within it bowed to him. He returned the bow 
 immediately ; but, for the moment, thought it 
 must have been bestowed on him by mistake. 
 
 " Who could it be ?" he thought, for the 
 carriage had passed on, and the lady's face was 
 no longer visible to him. It did not cost him 
 much time to run over the list of the few 
 ladies he knew in London, for he had seen
 
 110 HOPE. 
 
 little of society there, and had been somewhat 
 of a book- worm at college. 
 
 " Who could it be ? Let me see — I have 
 it — yes — it was Mrs. Townley St. Leger." 
 
 And so it was. Mrs. Townley St. Leger 
 w£^s the fair lady who had seen the young 
 gentleman as he gazed abstractedly on the pass- 
 ing scene, and dreamt his day dreams. She 
 was a handsome and elegantly dressed woman, 
 of about forty. Her face had not more beauty 
 than intellect — indeed it was the expression of 
 the latter quality that lent the greatest charm 
 to her countenance. SJie ventured to feel and 
 to express her feelings ; for she was one of the 
 privileged few who could attach Fashion to her 
 car by first trampling on Fashion's prejudices. 
 Erummel did this, though with little intel- 
 lectual power : she did it by the very force of 
 intellect. She was generous and impulsive in 
 her sentiments too ; she felt keenly, and she 
 showed it in look and action. She scorned the 
 hisses faire habits of the class she belonged to ;
 
 HOPE. Ill 
 
 she loved activity — activity to a good purpose. 
 Her mind was restless, perpetually seeking fresh 
 stimulants. She might be a little too fond of 
 change in such matters ; but she was staunch 
 enough in real genuine feeling. And so it was 
 that she had neither forgotten Frank ^N'ugent 
 nor his misfortunes^ nor was she ready to dis- 
 miss the latter with the ^^ poor devil " insou- 
 ciance, 
 
 " I recollect her well enough now," thought 
 Frank Nugent to himself, ^' a clever, gay, ex- 
 cellent sort of a lady she always seemed to me. 
 Eut after all, I suppose she is like the rest of 
 this butterfly throng — she has bestowed on me 
 her gracious nod and volld tout. Lons: ere 
 this, she has forgotten the very existence of 
 such an unimportant personage as Frank 
 I^ugent." 
 
 "'^ Mr. Nugent," said a silvery voice close to 
 him. 
 
 He looked up, and behold the well-appointed 
 carriage had come to halt beside him, to the
 
 112 HOPE. 
 
 grievous discomfort of a plethoric old coacliinan 
 outside a tremendous antique family coach, that 
 followed it, as he had to pull up suddenly 
 enough, to make him wheeze worse than ever, 
 and to deepen his crimson cheeks into livid 
 purple. 
 
 A hand was held out to Frank ISTugent 
 by the handsome Mrs. Townley St. Leger. 
 Imagine a lady shaking hands from a carriage 
 in Hyde Park. Could anything more un- 
 fashionably '' odd '' be conceived ? She did 
 hold out her hand, however, and Frank took it 
 with delight. 
 
 '' What an age since v/e have seen you," 
 cried the lady. ^^ You don't often come here, 
 do you ? at all events, this is the first time I 
 have seen you this season." 
 
 ^' It is certainly the first time I have been 
 here," returned Frank. 
 
 "And you have never called on us," said 
 the lady, reproachfully.
 
 HOPE. ns 
 
 Frank blushed, and began to stammer some 
 reasons about ^' never calling any wbere now." 
 
 ^' But that is wrong," interrupted Mrs. 
 Townley St. Leger, *^very wrong. I accuse 
 you of a grievous offence, and, hardened 
 criminal, you boast of your constant persistence 
 in that crime. You must call on us. Do you 
 think we can allow you to turn anchoiite yet ? 
 Wait till you have the gout and a grey head, 
 and then we shall not trouble ourselves to draw 
 you out of your cell." 
 
 " Indeed," said Frank, '* I have no taste and 
 no spirits for society now." 
 
 ^' ^0 taste for society — fi done ! Don't 
 utter such a sentiment in Hyde Park — the 
 very stones will rise up against you. And why 
 no taste for society ? Ah, I won't hear of 
 such treason against the world and youth. 
 As for spirits, don't mention the word — or if 
 you must talk of anything so dreadful^ let me 
 recommend you to that dear Lady Dundrum 
 yonder, who is a martyr to ennuly and would
 
 114 HOPE. 
 
 condole with you admirably. Don't be alarmed 
 — remember, I am married and old — at least, a 
 long way from my premiere jeunesse^ for I must 
 not be so inconsiderate to my own feelings as to 
 utter that dreadful word '' old." However, you 
 will neither compromise nor be compromised, by 
 accepting my proposal, should any favoured 
 damsel observe you." 
 
 Frank smiled and expressed his delighted 
 acceptance of the offer. The tall footman, who 
 had stood by the carriage door during the col- 
 loquy, rattled down the steps, Frank stepped 
 in, the tall footman jumped up beside the silver- 
 wigged coachman, and the carriage rolled on, 
 leaving the young author Ute-d-Ute with the 
 gay and fascinating Mrs. Townley St. Leger.
 
 HOPE. 115 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 ^^And why have you thus hidden yourself 
 from the world, pray?" asked Mrs. Townley 
 St. Leger. 
 
 ^' Are you not aware of my father's death, 
 and the state of his affairs ?" 
 
 "Yes — yes — yes/' interrupted the lady, 
 quickl} ; " don't speak of it, my dear Mr. Nu- 
 gent ; but surely grief should have an end." 
 
 "It is not grief," replied Frank, " though 
 I felt the loss of my father most bitterly ; but
 
 116 HOPE. 
 
 the circumstances in which I was left pre- 
 clude the possibility of my mixing in 
 society." 
 
 " Pardon me — pardon me, my dear sir — 
 not at all so ; society is not expensive to a 
 bachelor ; he gives no entertainments, but he 
 rewards us who do with the pleasure of his 
 society." 
 
 "A poor return," smiled Frank. 
 
 ^' 'Not at all — an excellent one." 
 
 ^' Yes — but you do not quite understand 
 me," said Frank. ^^ I mean, that having to 
 find the means of earning my livelihood I could 
 not mix on terms of equality with those who 
 were in affluence." 
 
 '' Wrong again — wrong again," cried the 
 lady ; ^' oh, you have been very badly brought 
 up ;" and she smiled good naturedly. ^' Do 
 you not know that it is forbidden to us — us of 
 this circle (this ring of Hyde Park will repre- 
 sent it) — to trouble ourselves with our neigh- 
 bours' affairs, especially with those of young
 
 HOPE. 1L7 
 
 bachelors ? Do you suppose that any one in 
 a ball-room would take interest enough in you 
 to enquire or care whether you were poring 
 over Blackstone all day or lounging in dressing 
 gown and smoking cap, and reading novels, 
 and smoking hookahs ?" 
 
 " Perhaps not — unless I was suspected of 
 ' intentions' towards any fine lady, and then I 
 suppose mama would be inquisitive enough." 
 
 '^ Cela va sans dire^^'' said the lady ; ^^ but is 
 that—" 
 
 ^' Oh, no — certainly not," cried Frank, 
 eagerly. 
 
 ^^ Well then, rest content, my friend. So 
 long as you wear a good coat, the grand monde 
 will not trouble itself about you." 
 
 ^' I might find even that difficult," said 
 Frank; but he checked himself suddenly, 
 though not before Mrs. St. Leger had caught 
 the words and their import, and had Frank 
 looked at her at that moment, he would have 
 seen a momentary glance of painful interest on
 
 118 HOPE. 
 
 her countenance, whicli, however, the tact of 
 her nature dispelled in an instant. '^ Eut," 
 continued Frank, ^^ what shall I gain from 
 society ?" 
 
 ^^ Everything /" replied the lady, emphati- 
 cally, " everything ! knowledge, better know- 
 ledge than is hidden in any book, save one. 
 Study society, and you will know more of the 
 world you live in, in six months, than you 
 will gain in a lifetime of any other study." 
 
 '^ And to what purpose ?" 
 
 ^' To what purpose ?" cried Mrs. St Lcger, 
 '•' to the highest purpose — the knowledge of 
 mankind — (the proper study of man as the 
 wisest of poets tells us) — ^and this knowledge 
 of mankind leads to self-knowledge — self- 
 knowledge to the contemplation of God !" 
 
 "• But all this from fashionable life ?'' asked 
 Frank, '' where all is sameness." 
 
 '' Do not believe it, my dear friend. They 
 are either very shallow observers, or have 
 never mixed in fashionable life at all, who tell
 
 HOPE. 119 
 
 you that sameness of character is found there. 
 I grant you, that there is a monotony of ex- 
 ternals — custom has decreed it. But the 
 variety beneath the surface is as great as in any 
 other chiss of life. Why should it not be so ? 
 Do you suppose the people who compose the 
 world of fashion, exempt from the ordinary 
 passions, sentiments, desires of other people ? 
 Would it not be absurd to say so ? But be- 
 cause the external clothing of all is alike, the 
 superficial observer, who has not wit to pene- 
 trate below it, pronounces all sameness. Thus 
 we are represented as monstrosities instead of 
 ordinary men and women.'' 
 
 '^Perhaps you are right," replied Frank; 
 " but—" 
 
 " But !" smiled the lady ; ^' now you must 
 abandon the argument, and confess yourself 
 convinced. Therefore you will return to 
 society at once. IN'ow tell me — if I am not 
 too inquisitive — what profession do you follow ? 
 You are studying law, are you not ?"
 
 120 HOPE 
 
 ^^No," said Frank, ^^I have abandoned that 
 because — I am trying to write for the press 
 now," he continued, looking becomingly 
 modest. 
 
 ^^ An author ! indeed !" said the lady ; " and 
 where may we see your productions ? perhaps 
 I have been smiling or weeping over the efforts 
 of your muse a dozen times already." 
 
 ^' I am afraid not," responded Frank, with a 
 rather melancholy smile ; '^ I have had little 
 success. I know no one — " 
 
 ^' Stay," interrupted the lady, " will you dine 
 with us ?" 
 
 '' Thank you," said Frank, bowing. 
 
 ^^ That is right — then you shall make me 
 your literary confidante, and I will see whether 
 I can be of any service to you. No thanks," 
 she continued, as Frank began to express his 
 gratitude ; ^' wait till the favor is conferred. 
 There may be none after all, you know." 
 
 After this the conversation took an indiffer- 
 ent turn, and they chatted on the passing
 
 HOPE. 121 
 
 topics of the day, and on the people whom 
 they saWj Mrs. Townley St. Leger giving occa- 
 sional srraphic little sketches in the finest 
 touches of the characters or peculiarities of the 
 friends she saluted. 
 
 And then they left the Park, and drove to 
 Lowndes Street, where Mrs. St. Leger lived ; 
 and here Frank renewed his acquaintance with 
 the lady's husband. 
 
 Mr. Townley St. Leger was not a very re- 
 markable man in any way. In person he was 
 tall and of good figure ; he had a profusion of 
 curling, iron-grey hair, and rather extensive 
 whiskers. His face was handsome, but not 
 very intellectual in its cast ; but his bearing 
 and address were extremely well-bred, or 
 what might be vulgarly called, aristocratic. At 
 a glance, you would pronounce him a gentle- 
 man ; on a short acquaintance, you would 
 consider him an intelligent man; knowing 
 him intimately, you would find him both sen- 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 11:2 HOPE. 
 
 sible and far better informed than the gener- 
 ality of his class. 
 
 He was a sportsman, and bred race-horses, 
 but he was not a betting man. Occasionally 
 he would back a favorite horse of his own for 
 a moderate sum, but he was not a ^^ book- 
 maker," and never staked anything the loss of 
 which would inconvenience him or cripple his 
 resources. On the turf, therefore, he was 
 highly respected as always running his horses 
 ^^ on the square" — in the polite phraseology ©f 
 that curious class of society — as a man who 
 never had been suspected of a trick or a ruse 
 of any kind, and who always intended his 
 horse to win if he could. 
 
 He was fond of hunting too, and kept an 
 excellent stud of hunters at his country seat 
 in Northamptonshire. His friends shared the 
 benefit of these, for he was extremely hospita- 
 ble, and always mounted as many of his guests 
 in the country as he could* His preserves were
 
 HOPE. 123 
 
 stocked with, game, and his dogs as good as 
 any in the county, though shooting was less in 
 favor witii him tiian hunting. 
 
 In London he spent his time as rationally as 
 could be expected. He was an assiduous at- 
 tendant to his Parliamentary duties, for he had 
 a place among the collective wisdom of the 
 country. He read also a great deal, frequented 
 his club and the opera with praiseworthy re- 
 gularity, gave excellent dinners, had no par- 
 ticular vices, and was altogether a good speci- 
 men of an independent gentleman of the 19 th 
 century. 
 
 He welcomed Frank cordially, for he had 
 not forgotten him, and happened to remember 
 the peculiar circumstances of his father's 
 failure aiid death. 
 
 Islis. fet. Leger laughingly explained to him 
 how she had caught Frank on his very first 
 day of venturing into the charmed circle of 
 gay life, ;ind had seized on him, and carried
 
 124 HOPE. 
 
 him off in triumph. And so in good time 
 they sat down a smiling trio to an excellent 
 little dinner. 
 
 In the evening Frank fulfilled his promise of 
 making Mrs. Townley St. Leger the confidante 
 of his pursuits and wishes. He told her with- 
 out disguise all that he had done and suffered 
 of late, and exactly hoy/ he was now situated. 
 The lady listened with painful interest, and 
 more than once her eyes were filled with tears, 
 less at what Frank actually told her, than at 
 what she felt that he was slurring over with 
 the tact and good feeling of a gentleman — for 
 what gentleman could ^' hawk his sorrows as 
 beggars do their sores ?" 
 
 She saw that Frank's first great want Avas 
 immediate aid. She promised herself to de- 
 vise means of affording him this without 
 wounding his feelings. The next thing was to 
 procure him such literary introductions as 
 would give him a fair chance of making his
 
 HOPE. 12-5 
 
 way in the career he had chosen if Heaven 
 had given him sufficient abilities to carry hiai 
 forward. 
 
 This latter she at once promised to 
 do as early as possible ; and when Frank 
 walked towards his Pentonville garret that 
 evening, it was with a lightened heart at the 
 brighter prospect that seemed opening to him, 
 and with something of a belief in Mrs. Town- 
 ley St. Leger's being closely allied with the 
 angels. 
 
 It is a long walk from Belgravia to Penton- 
 ville, and Frank !N'ugent's purse was not full 
 enough to enable him prudently to charter a 
 cab, so he tramped on along Piccadilly, through 
 Leicester Square and Cranbourne Street, and 
 then diverged to the left, through some of the 
 ^^ short cuts'' leading to New Oxford Street. 
 The night was dark and gusty, and seemed to 
 portend a storm, but no rain had yet fallen. 
 Frank paid little attention to the weather — he 
 was too much absorbed in his own reflections.
 
 126 HOPE. 
 
 Equally inattentive was he to the footsteps 
 that dogged his at a short distance behind him, 
 though had he once observed the individual 
 who so pertinaciously followed him, he might 
 have felt a little curiosity, if not alarm. A 
 more wretched or repulsive looking vagabond 
 could hardly be conceived than the sturdy 
 Irish beggar who thus kept him in view. His 
 clothes were a mass of dirty rags, adhering to- 
 gether in some mysterious way, though they 
 looked as if a shake would send them to pieces. 
 His hat was a battered old beaver with half the 
 rim gone and the crown torn. His toes pro- 
 truded from his boots, his beard had been un- 
 cut for many a day, and his high cheek-bones 
 and sunken eyes, with bloodshot lids, made 
 his physiognomy as repulsive as his dress. He 
 was a gaunt, but powerfully built man, and he 
 carried a thick short stick which looked a for- 
 midable weapon in such hands. 
 
 '^ Arrah wont you besthow a thrifle for the 
 love of God," he cried drawing near to Frank,
 
 HOPE. 127 
 
 and attempting a beggar's whine, which ill 
 suited his deep rough yoice. 
 
 Frank started, for he had not noticed the 
 man's approach. 
 
 ^^ A thrifle your honour for a poor stharvin 
 sinner," he whirled again. 
 
 " I've nothing for you," said Frank, " I'm 
 as poor as yourself, my good man." 
 
 " Sure it's jokin yer honor is ; the devil a 
 bit or sup have I had these three days." 
 
 Frank thrust his hand in his pocket, and 
 pulled out a sixpence, which he gave the man 
 and walked on again. 
 
 '' The blessin of St. Patrick on your honor," 
 said the beggar, in the same diabolical 
 whine. 
 
 Frank walked on, and still the beggar fol- 
 lowed him. At length the young man roused 
 himself out of another reverie he had fallen 
 into, to see whether he was going the right 
 road. It was certainly not a pleasant one, for 
 it was a filthy ill-paved, and worse lighted
 
 128 HOPE. 
 
 street where lie found himself. He must have 
 taken the wrong turning, for he certainly had 
 no business to be where he was. Should he 
 go forward cr turn back ? The latter seemed 
 the best course, for he was nearer to that end 
 of the street, and might find the name of it at 
 the corner. He turned therefore and retraced 
 his steps. The sturdy beggar who had watched 
 him, slunk aside into the entrance of an alley 
 to let him pass. Erank did not observe him ; 
 in another instant the beggar stepped out, and 
 with a whirl of his stick dealt Frank so ter- 
 rific a blow on the head, that with a stifled 
 groan he fell heavily to the ground. 
 
 The beggar rushed upon him, and rifled his 
 pockets, cursing his " bad-luck" in finding so 
 little in them. There was, however, a little 
 gold watch which had belonged to Frank's 
 mother. This the fellow seized with delight, 
 and having searched every other pocket, he left 
 him, muttering — 
 
 ^' I'll learn him to give a christian a dirty
 
 HOPE. 129 
 
 sixpence, the spalpeen." And so saying lie 
 darted down the alley. 
 
 ^' Holloa ! come I say — get up," cried a 
 policeman, passing almost half an hour after- 
 wards, *' get up you vagabond," and he gave 
 him a kick with his foot, ^^ well he just is 
 drunk." Then he stooped down and turned 
 his ''• bull's eye" light on to Frank's prostrate 
 form. 
 
 " Whew !" he said, " it's a gentleman. And 
 dash me if I think he's drunk either. No — 
 I'm blessed if here isn't blood." 
 
 Upon making the discovery he pulled out 
 his rattle and sprung it. In any other locality 
 this would have produced a crowd in a few 
 minutes, even at that hour of the night ; but 
 in that favored region it had the contrary effect 
 — every denizen there who heard the sound 
 muttered ^^ police," and trembled and stayed 
 within doors, lest he should be " nabbed," for 
 some of his own peccadilloes, with which his 
 conscience smote him. Another policeman, 
 G 5
 
 130 HOPE. 
 
 however, was soon on the spot, and helped the 
 first one to carry poor Prank to the Charing 
 Cross Hospital. 
 
 " A devil of a thnmp," said the surgeon in 
 attendance, " hope he may get over it," and 
 he set very professionally about examining 
 Frank's wounds. 
 
 '' Can't find anything to tell us who he is," 
 said the policeman, who had been searching 
 his pockets, " linen's marked F. N. ; and here 
 is a pocket-book, but there's no name in it. No 
 money of course — that's gone to the fellow who 
 floored him." 
 
 ^^ Well — Vfell — he may get better in a few 
 days, and tell us who he is himself," said the 
 surgeon, '' and if he does'nt, I suppose you'll 
 advertise him." 
 
 '^ I suppose so—- but I m^ust go and report 
 the case to the inspector. So, good night, 
 sir." 
 
 ^^ He'll die, I think," said the surgeon to his 
 assistant, when they were alone. '-'- It's a pity 
 too, for he's a fine lad."
 
 HOPE. 131 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 What an excellent little soul was Fanny Mars- 
 den ! Always employed to some useful purpose 
 from morn till night. At one time she was 
 darning stockings and socks for all the little 
 household ; at another she was deep in the 
 mysteries of pie -crust or plum-pudding; some- 
 times she was instructing her younger sisters, 
 and at others labouring to instruct herself. 
 Never an idle hour in the day. To tell the 
 truthj the pleasantest portion of the four-and-
 
 132 HOPE. 
 
 twenty hours to her was — though Fanny 
 would'nt have owned such a thing for the 
 world — the time when Frank was employed in 
 drumming Latin into Master Tommy, and 
 French into his two sisters. 
 
 During these two hours, Fanny always sat 
 in the little front parlour, which served for the 
 school -room, and worked hard with her needle. 
 But it is a very serious fact that Fanny made 
 so many false stitches, and sewed so many 
 buttons on in wrong places, and darned so 
 many buttonholes together in mistake for rents 
 during these two hours, that it gave her a vast 
 deal of trouble to undo all her work afterwards, 
 and do it over again. Perhaps Fanny listened 
 too much to the French lesson, and, indeed, she 
 wished very much to acquire a knowledge of 
 that language, and thought it rather hard that 
 her mother had never let the garrets to teach 
 her French in former days. But in Fanny's 
 school-days the Marsdens lived more humbly 
 than now, for Mr. Marsden had not then hit
 
 HOPE. 133 
 
 upon a certain method of supplying tlie do- 
 mestic exchequer, which he had since followed 
 with great success. 
 
 Frank was very conscientious as a teacher. 
 He laboured hard to drill the necessary know- 
 ledge into the little animals he had to instruct, 
 and he displayed great patience and good 
 temper. His pupils were not deficient in 
 natural abilities — especially Master Tommy, 
 who was a very sharp lad, but a great rogue 
 in his small way. His escapades afforded much 
 amusement to Frank, who always looked to- 
 wards Fanny as he smiled, and then Fanny 
 smiled too, and Fanny blushed. But Frank 
 never conversed with Fanny till the two hours' 
 lessons were over, and then he certainly never 
 left the room without addressing a few words 
 to her : and oh, how Fanny looked forward to 
 that time ! She trembled a great deal, too, at 
 the idea of it ; but it was very pleasant, not- 
 withstanding. Frank had such a nice voice, 
 and such a pleasing address, and was so easy
 
 134 HOPE. 
 
 in his maimer, and never paid her stupid com- 
 pliments, like that horrid Mr. Biddle. 
 
 Frank liked his little garrets — they were 
 always so neat, and so beautifully clean. Not 
 that he was the most ^' tidy " of men, (to use 
 a good house -wife's favourite expression) on 
 the contrary, he had an awkward habit of 
 throwing things about — ^his coat here, his 
 waiscoat there, his boots somewhere else, and 
 his sKppers anywhere. But, somehow or 
 other, they always returned to their right 
 places — the slippers, especially, were always 
 just where he liked them to be when he re- 
 turned home tired. And then his papers were 
 never disturbed — a great advantage ; for what 
 can be more distressing to a literary man's 
 temper than to find all his memoranda and 
 loose papers — left by him in apparent neg- 
 ligence, but in real order for use — all gathered 
 up in neat packages, for the sake of ^ tidiness ?' 
 not to mention their being occasionally appro- 
 priated to lighting the fire. Imagine the long
 
 HOPE. 135 
 
 conceived and laboriously worked out plan of 
 a five-act drama thrust between the bars of the 
 grate, and ruthlessly consumed by the slovenly 
 maid-of-all-work. 
 
 Nothing of the kind ever happened to the 
 labours of Frank's brain. Whether the world 
 or himself would always have been sufferers 
 by such an event, we won't presume to guess. 
 It was astonishing, too, how clean the crochet 
 anti-maccassar of the old easy-chair, that had 
 been added to his stock of furniture, always 
 looked. Eeally that stupid looking girl must 
 be a very good servant, after all, thought Frank. 
 Oh, mole-eyed Frank Nugent ! Did stupid 
 servant girls ever keep putting clean anti- 
 maccassars into bachelors' rooms? Did they 
 ever leave literary men's papers alone ? Did 
 they ever put their slippers so carefully every 
 day into the very right place ? And above all, 
 did they ever put small bouquets of fresh 
 flowers to ornament the mantel-piece, and per-
 
 136 HOPE. 
 
 fume the poor garret ? Oh, dull witted Frank, 
 to think of stupid servant girls ! 
 
 " You don't speak French, I think ?" said 
 Frank to poor Fanny, one day after the lessons 
 were over. 
 
 " Oh no — not at all. I never learnt it;" 
 replied Fanny, in her usual tremor on hearing 
 Frank's '^ nice " voice. 
 
 ^' Should you not like to acquire it ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " I should like it of all things," said 
 Fanny—" but — ." 
 
 " I shall be happy to teach you if you would 
 like to learn of so bad a master," said Frank. 
 
 " Oh, thank you — I should like so very 
 much : but I'm afraid — you know — I'm afraid 
 you'd find me very stupid." 
 
 " I don't believe that at all," cried Frank, 
 gallantly. " On the contrary, I feel sure that 
 you would be a most creditable scholar. Will 
 you try a lesson now ?"
 
 HOPE. 137 
 
 Faimy expressed her gratitude and delight ; 
 but really the agitation into which she was 
 thrown by the proposal, made her quite giddy. 
 Frauk, however, set all that down to the score 
 of natural bashfulness. Silly Frank Nugent ! 
 and you talked about a woman's heart as if you 
 understood it. You had not even learnt its 
 alphabet. 
 
 Frank drew a chair to the table and sat 
 down by the side of Fanny Marsden. Then 
 he opened the French grammar with the cool- 
 ness of an old pedagogue about to instruct a 
 dozen booby boys. Then he looked at Fanny, 
 and Fanny stared at the table as if she had 
 discovered something wonderfully attractive in 
 the old stained table cover. Then Frank said 
 in a most professor-like tone : — 
 
 ^' The first thing to be done is to get the 
 alphabet correctly. I^ow suppose you repeat 
 each letter after me, A. B. C, &c." And he 
 brought out each one in his most sonorous tone.
 
 138 HOPE. 
 
 while Fanny responded in a faint wliisper, that 
 a fairy lover, in a fairy moonlight night might 
 have envied. 
 
 ^' But you pronounce remarkably well," 
 said Frank, putting his head very close indeed 
 to Fanny's face, to catch the low sounds. One 
 of her curls actually tickled his cheek — he 
 scratched the place, and thought it was a fly ! 
 Poor Fanny I 
 
 ^' 'Now we will come to the articles. You 
 see there are two articles in French, the definite 
 and the indefinite, &c., &c." And after a mo- 
 ment he exclaimed. 
 
 " But you understand them — you know them 
 already. I thought you told me that you had 
 never learnt French." 
 
 " No — but — I have heard you teaching the 
 children, and I recollected — ." 
 
 " Bless me !" exclaimed Frank ; " you have 
 an excellent memory ; and I had no idea that 
 you paid such attention to our lessons. I
 
 HOPE. 139 
 
 thought you were too much occupied with your 
 industrious needle, which I always see going 
 so fast." 
 
 Ah ! if you did but know, Mr. Frank 
 Nugent, what a desperately large number of 
 buttons had been misplaced at these particular 
 times, the fact would afford you some slight 
 clue to the true nature of Miss Fanny's occu- 
 pation. 
 
 Fanny declared that of course she couldn't 
 help hearing, and of course she tried to remem- 
 ber what she heard, and so forth ; but the sly 
 little damsel never told him how she used to go 
 upstairs into her own little room at night and 
 bum quantities of mama's " dips," in poring 
 over the French grammar, and mastering, and 
 getting by heart the lesson Frank had given 
 her younger sisters in the morning. 
 
 '' Well, now before we go any further, I 
 think you had better tell me how far you have 
 learnt," said Frank, smiling.
 
 140 HOPE. 
 
 ^^ I think I know the verbs," replied Fanny, 
 very modestly. 
 
 '' Indeed !" cried Frank ; ^' then, the fact is, 
 you have learnt just as much as I have yet 
 been able to teach your little sisters ?" 
 
 ^^ I think so," said Fanny, again, very 
 mildly. 
 
 '^ Then I'm sure you deserve to acquire the 
 language soon," added Frank, ^^ for your quick- 
 ness and industry." 
 
 Quickness ! and industry ! — not very ro- 
 mantic praises to apply to a young lady, but 
 they gratified Fanny, tremendously, nevertheless : 
 she looked up at him, one little, timid, thankful 
 glance, that ought to have gone through and 
 through the young tutor; but Frank only 
 looked at the French grammar, and turned over 
 another page. Then he set her some lessons 
 to learn, and exercises to write, and left her in 
 a high state of delight, which she evinced in 
 the very feminine way of bursting into tears as 
 soon as he had quitted the room.
 
 HOPE. 141 
 
 ^^Hoity-toity! what's the matter, Fan?" 
 asked her mother, coming in. 
 
 " ISTothing," said Fanny, wiping her eyes 
 very fast, and stitching away as if she were 
 doing a needlework race. 
 
 ^' But what are you crying for ?" 
 
 '^ !No thing — only Mr. I^ugent is going to 
 teach me French," faltered Fanny. 
 
 ^^ And very kind of him to do it," said Yrs. 
 Marsden ; " why, you're not going to cry 
 about that, I hope. Don't you want to 
 learn?" 
 
 ^' Oh, yes, indeed, I'm so pleased," cried 
 Fanny, eagerly. 
 
 '^ Well, it's a odd way you have of shew- 
 ing it — that I must say," rejoined Mrs. Marsden. 
 '' What a strange girl it is !" 
 
 And she dep?irted into the lower regions — 
 that is, the back kitchen. 
 
 ^^What a clever little girl," said Frank, 
 in his o^vn room, ^'and how fond of informa- 
 tion !"
 
 142 HOPE. 
 
 Fond of fiddlesticks, you solid old professor. 
 Do you suppose she would have cared a button 
 for the French grammar and your prosy lessons 
 in it, if you had been a grey-headed old 
 emigre instead of a good-looking lad, though 
 the former would have had a deuced deal 
 better accent to bestow on her than your own 
 conceited self? 
 
 Such were the state of affairs in the Pen- 
 tonville household about the time that Frank 
 jSTugent fell in with Mrs. Townley St. Leger. 
 His absence from home the whole evening was 
 a matter of comment. 
 
 ^' I do think it's the first time as ever he's 
 been out the whole evening," said Mrs. Mars- 
 den ; " aint it, Fanny ?" 
 
 Fanny said — 
 
 ^' Yes." 
 
 " I wonder where he can be ?" Mrs. Mars- 
 den said again. 
 
 '' Out on a spree p'raps," suggested Master 
 Tommy, with a grin.
 
 HOPE. 143 
 
 " How dare you talk like that, sii' ?" said his 
 sister, indignantly. 
 
 "Well, the child didn't mean any harm, 
 Fanny, I des-say," remonstrated Mrs. M., 
 "though it's very wulgar to use those 'orrid 
 words like 'spree' and 'lark,' and you ought 
 to know better, sir." 
 
 " Pa uses 'em," said Master Tommy, sur- 
 
 lily. 
 
 Fanny looked at Mrs. Marsden, and Mrs. 
 Marsden looked at Fanny, and the latter told 
 him very gravely, that there was a great dif- 
 ference between grown men like his papa and 
 little boys like himself, to which Tommy re- 
 plied — 
 
 " Oh, yes ! it's all very fine, out I saw you 
 winking at ma." 
 
 A knock was heard at the duor. 
 
 " There he is, I suppose," observed Mrs. 
 Marsden. 
 
 "That's papa's knock," ^oid Fanny; she 
 knew the difference.
 
 144 HOPE. 
 
 *'Well," said Mr. Marsclen, sober to-day, 
 ^Miow are you all?" 
 
 '^ Yery well, iny dear," replied his wife ; 
 ^' but Mr. Nugent aint come home yet." 
 
 " What of that ? it's only ten o'clock. Be- 
 sides, I suppose he's old enough to take care 
 of himself, aint he ?" 
 
 ^^ Oh, yes, my dear ; but you see it's the 
 first evening he's been out since he's lived in 
 the house." 
 
 ^^Yery well — so he's having a spree now, 
 perhaps," said Mr. Marsden, and Master 
 Marsden grinned with delight, and poked 
 Fanny in the side. '' Perhaps he'll come home 
 ^ screwed,' " he suggested. 
 
 '' That I'm sure he wouldn't," said Fanny, 
 hastily — '^ he's too much of a gentleman for 
 that:' 
 
 '^TJmph — gammon," said Mr. Marsden, and 
 looked sulky. 
 
 Fanny recollected that she had ^^put her
 
 HOPE. 145 
 
 foot in it," as her father would have said, and 
 felt awkward in consequence. 
 
 The hours went on— eleven— twelve — no 
 Frank Xugent came. Mr. Marsden thought 
 nothing of it; ]\[rs. Marsden considered it 
 odd ; Miss Fanny deemed it alarming. 
 
 '' Well, there's no need for any one to sit 
 up, you know," said Mr. Marsden ; '^ he's got 
 a latch key hasn't he ?" 
 
 '^ Yes," replied his wife. 
 
 ^^ Then come to bed. If he's such a very 
 steady man, you know, and is so sure to come 
 home without being the least bit screwed, of 
 course there can't be any fear about his putting 
 out the light safe, and not setting fire to the 
 house, eh, Fanny ?" 
 
 Fanny pretended to be very busy packing 
 up the contents of her work-box, and made a 
 a great deal moro fuss about it than was at all 
 necessary. But at last she was obliged to fol- 
 low her parents and to go to bed. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Marsden were soon in the arms 
 
 VOL. L H
 
 146 HOPE. 
 
 of Morpheus ; but poor Fanny tossed and tum- 
 bled about in her bed ; and then lay listening 
 intently with hushed breath for the footsteps 
 coming along the street. At one time there 
 was a disturbance in it — some midnight brawl 
 — she crept out of bed, and peered through the 
 window panes to see if Frank were in it. At 
 another time she heard footsteps approaching 
 the door, they came up the steps — and then 
 there was the turning of a latch-key, and the 
 fizzing of a lucifer in the hall, and a slight 
 cough — it was only Mr. Biddle. 
 
 Several cabs rattled along. One of them drew 
 up close by — was it at their house ? Again 
 she crept out of bed and looked into the street. 
 No — the cab was drawn up next door. 
 
 Some more footsteps were approaching the 
 house. They did not sound like his — they 
 were very irregular — now a shuffle and now two 
 or three quick steps. They were those of a drunken 
 man. They stopped at the house. They came 
 up to the door. There was a great deal of
 
 HOPE. 147 
 
 fumbling at the lock with a latch key again. 
 Coulcl it be Frank ? and could he be intoxi- 
 cated ? She hardly knew which to hope. It 
 would be a relief to know that he was safe — 
 but how shocking if he were tipsy ! 
 
 The lucifers wouldn't light — lucifers wont 
 when you rub the wrong end. A very 
 ^^ groggy" muttering smote her ear. Then the 
 lucifer was rubbed again, and now it ^^ fizzed," 
 and some one said, ^' that's the ticket my 
 hearty." It was Mr. Spriggett, fresh from the 
 Coal Hole. 
 
 Many another hour did Fanny listen. Several 
 times shejgot out of bed with the determi- 
 nation of rousing her parents and telling them 
 that Frank had not yet returned ; but she 
 dared not. Besides, what would be the use ? 
 Her father was too selfish to trouble himself 
 about the matter, and even if he had been 
 veiling to do so what could he do ? Where 
 could he go to search or make enquiries? 
 They did not know the name or address of any 
 H 5
 
 148 HOPE. 
 
 friend Frank Nugent possessed. There was no 
 help for it, but to wait patiently and hope — 
 hope. 
 
 It is wearing work, staying awake all night. 
 Poor little Fanny found it so in spite of the 
 anxiety that supported her. By degrees a 
 lassitude that she fought against in vain came 
 over her, and trying hard not to sleep she fell 
 into a deep slumber. 
 
 At that moment Frank Nugent was lying 
 between life and death, with his broken head 
 in blood-stained bandages.
 
 HOPE. 149 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ^' Good day Mr. Tonks," said a police seijeant, 
 at the door of the station in Bow Street, to 
 our friend David, who was approaching him. 
 
 " Good day Mr. Spinks," said David, in re- 
 turn, '^ any news for me to day ?" 
 
 " Well — ^not much, I'm afraid," replied the 
 policeman, "the cases were very dull to-day, 
 before his worship — only fit for the regular 
 reporters. There wasn't a joke made all the 
 morning as I can recollect — not one."
 
 150 HOPE. 
 
 " That's a pity," said David, ^^ it's quite 
 uncommon too, isn't it ? For my part I don't 
 think I ever went into any sort of court, from 
 the Court of Chancery to the police-court 
 without hearing a few jokes made. They're 
 not alwa3^s very funny — are they ? But you 
 generally have a few, such as they are." 
 
 ^' And quite right too," said the policeman, 
 ^' in the proper place — but I don't like a laugh 
 to get about when I have an old hand as I 
 want to get committed, because the justices are 
 apt to get too good-tempered over it, and let 
 the fellovf off cheap." 
 
 ^^ I see," replied David; "well then, you 
 can't give me a help to-day — no accident or 
 anything of that sort." 
 
 " I'm afraid there's been none," said the 
 man in blue, as though the absence of accidents 
 was a thing to be lamented. " Stay, though," 
 he cried, after a moment's consideration, 
 "Yes, there iu as a case last night, leastways 
 this morning, as would suit you."
 
 HOPE. 151 
 
 *' What was it ?" asked David. 
 
 " Well, it was a gentlemaii as was found by 
 ^0. 86 of our division on the pavement in 
 Little Timothy Street, in the Eookery. At 
 first 86 thought he was drunk, but he stooped 
 down and looked at him with his lantern, and 
 then he found that he'd had a terrible thump 
 on the side of the head from some blackguard 
 or other, and was quite lifeless like, and bleed- 
 ing horridly." 
 
 ^' You don't mean to say he was dead?'i 
 asked David. 
 
 ^^ Xo ; he ivamH dead but he may be soon, 
 for it's a very bad ease. 86 sprang his rattle, 
 and up comes 124, and they lifted him up and 
 carried him off to the hospital." 
 
 ^'That'll do for me," said David, profes- 
 sionally, and taking out his note-book to make 
 the necessary memoranda ; ^^ but it's a sad 
 case too, is'nt it ? I suppose you found out 
 who he is." 
 
 " Xo we did'nt — can't find out anyhow.
 
 152 HOPE. 
 
 He liad a pocket-book ; but there was no name 
 in it, and bis linen was only marked with his 
 initials F. N." 
 
 " Ah ! it'll make a capital ' mysterious 
 case/ " said David, again thinking of his call- 
 ing, and then relapsing into his mere humanity, 
 he said, " Poor fellow though I how shocking ! 
 and fancy his friends, his wife, or his family !" 
 
 '^ I don't think he's likely to have them," 
 said the policeman, " leastways, he's rather 
 young for that, I fancy, from his description : 
 here it is." 
 
 David read — 
 
 '^ A young man about 22 or 23 years of age, 
 dark hair, pale complexion, about 5 feet 10 or 
 11 inches, and slender — dressed in black 
 surtout, brown grey trowsers and waistcoat, 
 black necktie, &c." 
 
 " Holloa ! — stay !" cried David, suddenly, 
 '^ what's the name ? — I mean what are the 
 initials ? F. N ! Where did you say he 
 is ?"'
 
 HOPE. 153 
 
 " Charing Cross Hospital," replied the 
 policeman, astonished at David's eagerness and 
 agitation. 
 
 "I must go and see — good-bye," cried 
 David ; and he hurried off as hard as he could 
 go to the hospital. 
 
 David Tonks was not unknown at the 
 hospital, or at any other hospital in London, 
 for David's profession made him cultivate the 
 acquaintance of all the hall-porters, and other 
 minor officials at these establishments, so that 
 he might gain from them the information 
 touching any new ^'accident case" brought 
 in, which would serve as a newspaper para- 
 graph. It is true that David's information, 
 thus acquired, was not always the most perfect 
 or accurate — ^but who expects accuracy in a 
 newspaper report of anything ? He might as 
 well study a popular history in search of 
 truth ! So long as the cases were genuine, 
 and had something about them to give interest 
 to them, it was all that could be expected, and 
 H 5
 
 154 HOPE. 
 
 all that the most exacting of newspaper-venders 
 could desire. Set off with a few stock phrases 
 of the penny-a-liners, the hospital cases became 
 quite exciting. For example — a man is brought 
 into the hospital with a broken head, the result 
 of some street row, and the next day we learn 
 from the papers that ''the neighbourhood of 
 Little Britain was thrown into a state of con- 
 sternation yesterday morning by, &c.," though 
 the neighbourhood of Little Britain was only 
 made aware of its own state of consternation 
 by reading the said account of it in the 
 papers. 
 
 David Tonks, therefore, had little difficulty 
 in gaining admission to the ward where Frank 
 Xugent was lying, and saw, with real con- 
 sternation and sorrow, that it was indeed his 
 young friend. He made many anxious en- 
 quiries as to the extent of the injuries, and 
 their probable result ; but the former was 
 described to him in extra professional terms, 
 which puzzled rather than instructed him.
 
 HOPE. 155 
 
 wlifle as to tlie probability of Frank's recovery, 
 the surgeon's assistant declined giving any 
 more explicit opinions than might be conveyed 
 in a profound shake of the head. This made 
 David very miserable, and he felt very helpless. 
 He did not know what to do — he wandered 
 about outside the hospital with no settled 
 purpose : he never thought of going to write 
 out his usual paragraphs for the papers — he ate 
 nothing — he did nothing. Suddenly he be- 
 thought himself of a duty he ought to perform 
 — to go to Frank's lodgings, and tell the 
 people there what had happened. What a fool 
 he was not to think of it before ! What was 
 the use of roaming about doing nothing, in- 
 stead of performing a piece of duty like that I 
 He had Frank's address — of course he had. 
 He would start off at once to Pentonville. 
 
 So David looked out for a " Favourite " 
 omnibus to carry him to the Angel at Islington, 
 near which time-honoured hostelry lie the 
 classic regions of Pentonville. He then
 
 156 HOPi:. 
 
 searclied for and found, without mucli difficulty, 
 Charles Street, and at No. 98, he gave a modest 
 *Hat-tat." 
 
 " Does Mr. Nugent live here ?' asked David 
 of the stupid servant-girl. 
 
 *' No he don't," replied the girl, with a 
 little touch of indignation in the tone of her 
 words. ^^Mr. Marsden lives here; but Mr. 
 New-gent lodges here." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said David, smiling, 
 *'yes — that is what I meant." 
 
 A third person appeared in the scene — it was 
 Fanny Marsden, in a halt-concealed tremor of 
 agitation. 
 
 ^^ Were you asking for Mr, Nugent ?" said 
 Fanny, politely. 
 
 '^ I was asking if he lodged here," replied 
 David, lifting his hat quite gallantly, "not asking 
 for him — for, unfortunately, I know that he i& 
 not here.' 
 
 " Oh dear me, what is it sir ? is it anything 
 dreadful ?" cried Fanny, quite losing her self-
 
 HOPE. 157 
 
 command in the agitation caused by David's 
 tone of sorrow. ^' Pray come in, sir," she 
 continued as David seemed reluctant to talk in 
 the open doorway. 
 
 Fanny led the way into the front parlour, 
 where she begged David to take a seat, and 
 then she ran for her mother. 
 
 ^^ Law bless me ! what is it, sir, about Mr. 
 !N'ew-gent ?" cried the good woman, coming in 
 with her daughter. 
 
 " I thought it my duty to come and tell you 
 what I know, as you might probably be in 
 some anxiety about Mr. ^N'ugent," said David. 
 '' I only became acquainted with his accident 
 by chance. 
 
 ^^ Accident ! oh dear, is he rua over ?" 
 exclaimed Fanny. 
 
 '^ Be quiet, my dear, and let's hear what the 
 gentleman has to tell us," remonstrated her 
 mother. 
 
 '^ Wliy, you see," said David ; ^^ I hap-
 
 158 HOPE. 
 
 penedto hear atthe Bow Street Police Station — " 
 
 ^' I hope he ain't taken up for anything/' 
 parenthesised Mrs. Marsden. 
 
 '^ I happened to hear," continued David, 
 ^^ of a serious accident having occurred the 
 previous night to a young gentleman who had 
 been knocked down and nearly murdered." 
 
 '^ Not quite .^" asked Fanny. 
 
 "Not quite V answered David; ''but al- 
 most. ''The description of the young man 
 reminded me of Mr. Nugent, and I went to 
 the hospital to see if it could be he, and you 
 may judge how shocked I was to find that it 
 was !" 
 
 " But he isn't dead — is he ?" asked Fanny 
 again, in a half-stifled voice. 
 
 " No," said David, " he's not dead." 
 
 " But is he dying ?" asked Fanny. 
 
 " I don't know," replied David. " I hope 
 not." 
 
 " What do you thinlCy sir ?" asked Fanny
 
 HOPE. 159 
 
 '' Is there any hopes ?" said Mrs. Marsden, 
 who had crossed her hands, and sat a picture of 
 resignation. 
 
 David shook his head — -just as David had 
 seen the surgeon's assistant shake his head, 
 and just as people in general; -who don't want 
 to commit themselves by any words at all, 
 generally shake their heads. 
 
 ^' How very shocking !" sobbed Fanny. 
 
 '^ Quite a judgment !" said Mrs. Marsden, 
 though why it was a judgment, or how, or for 
 what, tlie good lady hadn't the slightest idea 
 in the workL 
 
 " Couldn't we do anything for him ?" asked 
 Fanny, through her tears. 
 
 '' I'm afraid not," replied David, in a lu- 
 gubrious tone. 
 
 ^' If I could make him any jelly, or anything 
 of that sort, I'm sure I'll do it with all the 
 pleasure in life," said Mrs. Marsden. 
 
 David could scarcely forbear from smiling in 
 the midst of his sorrow, at the idea of a man.
 
 160 HOPE. 
 
 senseless and stunned, requiring jellies, or 
 " anything of that sort." But lie expressed 
 his sense of the good lady's benevolence, and 
 only intimated that he hoped Mr. Nugent 
 might live to benefit by it. 
 
 Then they all three sat still and looked at the 
 floor ; and then David rose and departed, and 
 Fanny got up to let him out, and in the hall 
 she said to him in a very low tone, and with a 
 great deal of hesitation. 
 
 " I suppose I couldn't see him, sir, could I ?" 
 
 *^ Well," said David, quite puzzled, '^ I — 
 I — that is — don't you think you'd better 
 not ? It's a very shocking sight you know." 
 
 "Is it ?" said Fanny, but feeling quite a 
 horrible curiosity on the subject, as if she 
 fancied that she could tell so much better by 
 seeing him, whether he would live or not. 
 
 David assured her that even if she could 
 gain admission to Frank, it would be a very 
 sad sight for her, and shock her very much, 
 without doing him any good. So Fanny was
 
 HOPE. 161 
 
 convinced, but she hinted that she didn't know 
 how they were to hear news of Frank at all. 
 So David promised to enquire every day, and 
 Fanny promised to meet David Tonks every 
 other day at Charing Cross, to hear the news : 
 and when this arrangement had been made, 
 Fanny's heart felt much lighter, and David 
 Tonks departed. 
 
 It was surely a highly improper arrange- 
 ment ! A young lady of eighteen to meet a 
 man of thirty every second day by appoint- 
 ment in the street — how shocking ! and to en- 
 quire about the health of another young gen- 
 tleman of two or three and twenty, who was 
 lying ill, and who wasn't related to him at all 
 — horrible I 
 
 But the truth is — poor Fanny had not been 
 duly instructed in all the requirements of that 
 very easily offended, and very hard to be pro- 
 pitiated, goddess — Propriety. She was apt, 
 therefore, to consult only her own feelings, 
 with a sort of reliance that they would never
 
 162 HOPE. 
 
 betray her into anything very wrong. Perhaps 
 Fanny was not very far from the truth in her 
 ideas. At all events, she kept her appoint- 
 ments with David Tonks most religiously, and 
 had the gratification of learning from him that 
 the symptoms were each time more favorable, 
 till at length it was considered that the chances 
 were very firmly in favor of his recovery. 
 
 In the meanwhile, another person had been 
 anxious about Frank. This was Mrs. Towniey 
 St. Leger. In fulfilment of her promise, she 
 had written to him to ask him to meet some 
 literary friend of hers at her house, and she 
 was surprised to find that he neither came nor 
 answered her note. At first she was disposed 
 to be inqtied^ but on reflection she felt sure that 
 something must be amiss, and therefore resolved 
 to call and ascertain the fact. So she ordered her 
 carriage, and bade her astonislied coachman 
 drive to Pentonville — Charles Street, I^o. 98. 
 The coachman thought it very hard that he 
 should be supposed to know anything about
 
 HOPE. 163 
 
 such a place as Pentonville, and still less of 
 Charles Street therein ; but he obeyed orders 
 by driving down the New Eoad, and asking a 
 policeman to direct him. 
 
 Great was the excitement produced in 
 Charles Street by the appearance in it of Mrs. 
 St. Leger's carriage. The horses, the harness, 
 the tall footman, the burly coachman, and the 
 coachman's silver wig, all came in for their 
 share of surprise and admiration. As for Mrs. 
 St. Leger herself, it was currently debated 
 among the servants -of-all- work in the street, 
 whether she was some foreign empress, or the 
 queen's mother, or the Duchess of Sutherland, 
 or a lady from Ashley's Theatre. 
 
 The tall footman jumped down as the car- 
 riage drew up at No. 98, and dealt such a 
 thunder of blows on the little door, as made it 
 shiver, (or, as Mrs. Marsden observed, '' enough 
 to bring the house down.") The stupid servant 
 opened the door, and seeing the tall footman 
 and the grand equipage, she first stood still,
 
 164 HOPE. 
 
 and stared, open-mouthed, unheeding the en- 
 quiry addressed to her, and then she turned 
 round, and ran away into the house, crying — 
 " Oh, please, mum — oh, please, mum !" 
 Mrs. Marsden came rushing up from the 
 kitchen in a tremendous flurry, and Mrs. Mars- 
 den's cap, which always seemed to sympathize 
 with her state of mind, fluttered about in the 
 wildest style ; and then Mrs. Marsden asked 
 the tall footman, what did he please to want, 
 but before he could answer, Mrs. St. Leger 
 begged her to come to the carriage. And 
 then tremendous was the surprise of Mrs. 
 Marsden when she heard that the owner of that 
 splendid carriage ("as handsome as the Lord 
 Mayor's," as she afterwards declared,) had 
 come to see " Mr. New-gent, as occupied her 
 garrets, and taught French and Latin." 
 
 With an enormous deal of circumlocution, 
 and an incessant interlarding of — " yes, mum," 
 and " yes, my lady," (for not being sure of the 
 lady's title, she thought it better to give both.
 
 HOPE. 165 
 
 so as to be right sometimes), she continued to 
 make Mrs. Townley St. Leger acquainted with 
 the melancholy situation of poor Frank, and as 
 soon as the visitor had gained that information, 
 she bid Mrs. Marsden good day, and drove with 
 all speed to Charing Cross. 
 
 When Fanny came home that day, she also 
 was surprised at the description of Mrs. St. 
 Leger and her equipage. Mrs. Marsden de- 
 scribed the lady to be as beautiful as she was 
 '' grand," and then Fanny became very anxious 
 to know whether she was young, and whether 
 her mama thought she was married — questions 
 which Mrs. Marsden thought trivial and irrele- 
 vant, and therefore avoided giving any decided 
 answers to them. 
 
 So Fanny was left pleased and puzzled — 
 disappointed and agitated. What could it all 
 mean ? She had only heard of two friends of 
 Frank Nugent — one was a very shabby and 
 poor-looking man, and the other a very magni-
 
 166 HOPE. 
 
 ficently apparelled and apparently very ricli 
 lady. 
 
 She did not sleep that night as well as she 
 ought to have done, considering that she had 
 heard that Frank ISTugent was out of all 
 danger.
 
 HOPE. 167 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 We have anotlier family to introduce to our 
 readers, and as we owe them an amende for 
 taking tliem so often into questionable society 
 and localities, we will promise that our new ac- 
 quaintances shall be perfectly unexceptionable 
 in birth, breeding, and position. 
 
 Colonel Danvers was a member of one of 
 the best families in England. He came of a 
 military stock too, for his father had been a 
 general in the army, and his grandfather also.
 
 168 HOPE. 
 
 Colonel Danvers was an only son, but he was 
 not on that account considered exempt from 
 pursuing the family profession of arms. From 
 his childhood he was taught to look forward to 
 the life of a soldier as his destined career, and 
 it would have been strange if he had felt no 
 enthusiasm for it, surrounded as he was by 
 those who sneered at and depreciated every 
 other earthly calling. His mother was a 
 soldier's daughter, and not without her fond- 
 ness for the military profession, but in her 
 there was also much gentleness of nature and 
 liberality of mind, so that she by no means 
 looked upon all civilians as an inferior order of 
 animals to their belligerent fellow men. Her 
 husband thought this a weakness — but a 
 pardonable one in a woman, and loved his wife 
 as she deserved, for she was a noble-hearted 
 lady, and "worthy a brave man's liking." 
 
 At eighteen young Danvers received a com- 
 mission in a foot regiment. He would have 
 preferred a cavalry one, but his father, who
 
 HOPE. 169 
 
 knew the army well and wished to make his 
 son a real working soldier, feared that the gay- 
 dissipations of a light cavalry corps might 
 seduce his son from the path he had chalked 
 out for him, and make him a mere '^ feather- 
 bed" soldier, instead of a true warrior. Shortly 
 
 after his joining the th it was ordered out 
 
 to India. The young ensign was not displeased 
 at this — his father was delighted — his mother 
 was inconsolable. 
 
 ^^ Can he not exchange into some other 
 regiment and remain in England ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 ^^He could hut he wont, my good wife," re- 
 plied her husband, '^ why should he ?" 
 
 '^ But why should he go away ?" she asked. 
 
 ^' To see service/' was the answer. 
 
 '^ Can he not see it in England ?" 
 
 ^^ No — not such service as will make him 
 what I wish to see him — a first-rate soldier." 
 
 ^^ But the climate is so dangerous — the cli- 
 mate of India," suggested the mother. 
 
 VOL. I, I
 
 170 HOPE. 
 
 " It didn't hurt ine during the ten years I 
 served in it, and it need not hurt him if he is 
 steady," rej)lied the father. 
 
 ^' But war is expected there, is it not ?" 
 asked the anxious mother, after a pause. 
 
 " I hope so," was the brief reply. 
 
 ^'And your son's life might be sacrificed 
 in it !" exclaimed Mrs. Danvers in a tone of 
 reproach. 
 
 '^ My dear wife, a soldier must not shrink 
 from his duty from any fear of possible results," 
 said the general firmly, but temperately. 
 
 ^^ No !" she answered, ^' not from his duty, 
 I grant you ; and dearly as I love my son, I 
 should be the last to wish him to do so, what- 
 ever might be the danger he incurred in per- 
 forming it. But surely there is a diff'erence 
 between following the dictates of duty and 
 seeking for duties which are perilous." 
 
 " He is not doing so," replied her husband, 
 ^'he is simply following his duty in going 
 wherever his regiment is ordered — it would be
 
 HOPE. 171 
 
 an avoidance — in mtj opinion a cowardly 
 avoidance — of duty if he endeavoured to escape 
 the fancied dangers of an Indian climate, or 
 the real ones of an Indian war, by exchanging 
 into another regiment." 
 
 The lady was half coDvinced of the truth of 
 her husband's remarks, but if her simple reason 
 was satisfied, her maternal anxiety w^as not 
 lessened. However, she knew that it would 
 be useless to attempt further ox^position, since 
 her son's inclination went hand- in-hand with 
 his father's wishes. 
 
 And so young Danvers went to India, and 
 served there ten years, and fought bravely, 
 and was several times mentioned in dispatches, 
 and rose in his regiment and became as his 
 father wished, an admirable soldier. 
 
 On his return to England, he exchanged 
 
 into a light cavalry regiment, and was soon 
 
 again abroad, but this time it was only to take 
 
 part in European warfare. In fact to be one 
 
 I 2
 
 172 HOPE. 
 
 of the envied actors in the glorions drama of 
 Waterloo. 
 
 After this event he was quartered in various 
 garrison towns in the United Kingdom, and in 
 one of these places, or rather at a country house 
 in the neighbourhood of it, he became ac- 
 quainted with lady Emily Beauvale, daughter 
 of the Earl and Countess of Marrable. 
 
 Lady Emily was very beautiful and very 
 accomplished, very vain and very weak. But 
 Major Danvers only saw the two first qualities, 
 and fell in love with them accordingly. It 
 is true that the two other qualities were, at 
 least, as apparent to all disinterested observers 
 as the more endearing ones ; but the poor 
 soldier was too much blinded by the brilliance 
 of Lady Emily's personal charms, and too 
 much dazzled by her accomplishments, to be 
 able to see clearly or reflect calmly, on any- 
 thing connected with her ladyship. He was 
 very desperately bitten by the tender passion 
 indeed — as soldiers are apt to be : and as he
 
 HOPE. 173 
 
 was a handsome fellow, with four thousand a 
 year, (for his father was now dead) and a 
 majority in one of the gayest of light cavalry 
 corps, Lady Emily smiled on his suit. So that 
 in due time. Lady Emily Beauvale became 
 Lady Emily Danvers, and the major was left 
 to find out all the little deficiencies in the fair 
 lady's character, that he had previously over- 
 looked, under the strong light thrown by 
 matrimony on such a subject. 
 
 From being a vain and weak girl, Lady 
 Emily Danvers became a still vainer and 
 weaker woman. Fashion was her goddess, and 
 never had that changeable divinity a more 
 devoted worshipper than in her. Her life 
 was one incessant sacrifice to the altar of 
 Fashion. Without the ability to lead Fashion 
 ar Fashion's slaves, or the boldness to set her 
 decrees occasionally at naught, she was content 
 to drag on her existence in the daily and 
 hourly pursuits of the same pleasures, and 
 among the same scenes. The only little excite-
 
 174 HOPE. 
 
 ment she allowed herself was a slight mild 
 indisposition occasionally — not a serious illness, 
 for that would have been shocking and vulgar 
 — but a head-ache, a cold, a lassitude, or some- 
 thing of the kind, for which she had always 
 the most euphonious of French names. On 
 these occasions, she remained at home, refused 
 invitations, declined visits, save from a very 
 favoured few, and these she received in her 
 boudour, reclining on a chaise-longue^ with a 
 little ebony table by her side, for her white 
 hand to rest on, and also to hold half a dozen 
 fascinating liitlo) flacons of rare essences, v/ith 
 the persiennes closed, and the rose-coloured 
 satin curtains diffusing the most becoming blush 
 or tint over her pale features. 
 
 Colonel Danvers had two children by his 
 wife — a son and a daughter. The former he, of 
 course, trained to the family profession. Lionel 
 Dan vers was a fine youth ; but he had imbibed 
 from his parents some of the least agreeable 
 qualities of each. Thus he had the warmth
 
 HOPE. 175 
 
 of temper of his father, though, in him, it 
 degenerated into violence, from which his 
 father was free ; and he had a considerable 
 share of his mother's vanity. He had a great 
 fancy for the army ; but it was less from the 
 more noble and lofty appreciation of a soldier's 
 calling, than from a love of gay Mends, gay 
 society, gay dress, and gay habits. He thought 
 too much of the scarlet and gold lace in his 
 dreams of military ambition — and a man who 
 does that may fight bravely enough when 
 fighting is the order of the day ; but he can 
 never be a great general. He may be a Murat 
 — but not a Wellington or a Napoleon. 
 
 Lionel Danvers entered the army in the 
 '^ piping time of peace," and lived as most 
 young oflSicers do in such times. He had 
 wished to enter the Guards ; but this his 
 father would not allow, as he entertained his 
 own father's notions on the subject, and wished 
 his son to see active service. So Lionel joined 
 a dragoon regiment, and spent three years in
 
 176 HOPE. 
 
 India ; after whicli he came to enjoy tlie de- 
 lights of country quarters in England. He 
 became very fond of racing too, and made a 
 book with the greatest regularity on every 
 event of consequence — he kept a couple of 
 hunters, drove tandem, and lived on the whole 
 as ^' fast " as he could — which means about 
 three times as fast as he could properly 
 afford. 
 
 Elora Danvers, the daughter, was a beautiful 
 girl and a finer character in every way than 
 her brother, or either of her parents. ]^ot that 
 she was free from faults. Who forgets Pope's 
 imgallant sentiment — 
 
 Perfection in the world to find 
 In vain you'll seek — much less in womankind. 
 
 But though far from perfection. Flora Dan- 
 vers was as excellent a specimen of woman- 
 hood as one can hope to see in these latter 
 days. To commence with her person. She
 
 HOPE. 177 
 
 was tall, graceful, queen-like in form — site had 
 a foot and hand to swear by, so perfect were 
 they in shape — her face was oval, the forehead 
 beautifully proportioned, and the head compact, 
 not large, (how detestable is a big-headed 
 woman !) her skin was white, perfectly and 
 transparently white, without a particle more 
 of colour in her cheeks than elsewhere. This 
 was a peculiarity, but the effect was beautiful, 
 for so clear and healthy was the appearance of 
 her skin, in spite of its paleness, that there was 
 not the least shade of sallowness in its hue ; 
 the mouth was as difficult to describe as it 
 would be to chisel, for its form seemed to vary 
 with every emotion and sentiment that occu- 
 pied, in turn, its owner's mind ; the lips were 
 full and crimson; the teeth were white and 
 even ; the eyes of the darkest blue, fringed 
 with jet black lashes of great length ; the eye- 
 brows were not arched, but rather straight, 
 and only curled down a little at each outer 
 end ; while her hair was dark as night, and 
 I 5
 
 178 HOPE. 
 
 had just sufficient natural wave in it to preserve 
 it from stiffness and formality of appearance. 
 Such is a description — we fear a very broker- 
 like catalogue — of the personal charms of Flora 
 Danvers. It would be difficult to sketch her 
 character in as few words. Indeed we can only 
 attempt some faint outlines of it here, and let 
 the reader fill up the sketch as he follows the 
 fair subject of them through these volumes. 
 
 It has been said that most great men have 
 had mothers of considerable mental power. 
 It is certain that many of the foremost charac- 
 ters in history have been heard to ascribe their 
 own success in the first instance to the prompt- 
 ings and precepts of their mothers. It seems 
 but natural that it should be so ; for surely the 
 parent w^ho exercises so vital an influence over 
 om' earliest years must have power so to mould 
 the disposition and tastes of the youth, as 
 almost to form the character of the man. The 
 father's influence begins to work at so much 
 later a period of life — in mere childhood, per-
 
 HOPE. 17^ 
 
 haps, but not in infancy ; and they must have 
 had little experience in the study of the youth- 
 ful mind, who imagine that the salient points 
 of the character are not developed almost as 
 soon as the power of speech itself is given to 
 the child. Subsequent training may modify 
 and correct certain qualities, but can never 
 eradicate them. 
 
 It seems strange, however, and yet it is a 
 fact concerning which we entertain little doubt 
 that the mother exercises much less influence 
 in the formation of her daughter's character 
 than her son's — less in the case of the former 
 than does the father. Let the reader recall the 
 first half dozen families he can think of among 
 his acquaintance; let him run over in his 
 mind the characters of the sons and daughters 
 so far as he can read them, and let him see 
 whether he does not trace far more resemblance 
 to the mother in the sons and to the father in 
 the daughters than vice versa. We speak of 
 course, of moral and mental, not of physical.
 
 180 HOPE. 
 
 resemblance. And so it was in the ease of 
 Flora Danvers. She was unlike her mother, 
 entirel}^, except in some points of personal ap- 
 pearance, though even here her expression was 
 different. She had none of her vanity, none of 
 her weakness, none of her frivolity. On the 
 contrary, she had all the firmness and chivalry 
 of her father's nature, all his admiration of 
 greatness, all his faith in integrity and honor ; 
 but then she had also — what he lacked — charity 
 of heart, sympathy, gentleness, and a vivid 
 sense of the beautiful which is the source of all 
 poetry. 
 
 Flora had been educated like most of her 
 class — everything presented to the perceptive 
 faculties — nothing to the reflective ones, as 
 phrenologists describe them. Languages, 
 music, drawing, painting, had all been taught 
 her by the best masters that could be procured 
 for each, and each had been mastered with 
 more or less ease according to her natural taste 
 and bias, but the study of history in its broad-
 
 HOPE. 181 
 
 est sense, the study of world's history as the 
 means of comprehending mankind, the study of 
 the great book of nature as the means of ap- 
 proaching to the comprehension of its author 
 — when were such studies presented to a 
 young lady ? Where would the teachers 
 be found to direct them ? Alas not 
 among the very accomplished foreign profes- 
 sors, and very polished lady preceptors who 
 ^^ finish the education '' of the young 
 daughters of the nineteenth century ? 
 
 But after all who attains to true knowledge 
 through education ? Few indeed among either 
 sex. Those whom nature has gifted with 
 Diviner powers of mind educate themselves in 
 the school of reflection — all that they learn out 
 of it is mere alphabet. And Flora Danvers 
 had studied deeply in this great school— aye, 
 and almost unconsciously too. She little knew 
 how much and how deeply she had thought. 
 She little knew through what slow and subtle 
 trains of reflection she had passed ; how mucli
 
 182 HOPE. 
 
 she had disciplined her own mind; how far 
 more she was that which she had made herself, 
 than what all her pastors and masters had 
 fashioned her into. Yet so it was, and while 
 the system had its defects, while she had im- 
 bibed many false impressions from the want of 
 a guiding hand to direct her mind in its re- 
 searches after truth, she had at least gained 
 much that was fitted to render her — ^that had 
 rendered her — a character to loye, to admire, 
 and to respect.
 
 HOPE. 183 
 
 ClIAPTEE XII. 
 
 The Banvers family lived rather a nomadic 
 life. They had a house in Upper Brook Street, 
 and they had a country place, called Springfield ; 
 but the latter was not very large, and as it 
 would not accommodate a dozen visitors at a 
 time, Lady Emily voted it dull and stupid, and 
 declared it did not agree with her health. So 
 that when the London season was over, the 
 Danvers generally started off, first to a water- 
 ing place, which lady Emily positively insisted
 
 184 HOPE. 
 
 on, and afterwards on a round of visits to 
 pleasant friends with large country houses, 
 and good shooting. The Colonel occasionally 
 " did " the moors for two or three weeks, but 
 he went there alone, and left Lady Emily and 
 Flora at the sea-side, or perhaps under the pro- 
 tection of Lionel, if that young gentleman 
 happened to have leave of his regiment at such 
 a period — though he generally took good care 
 not to apply for it at that time, for the undu- 
 tiful son was by no means partial to too much 
 of his mother's society. 
 
 Lionel was very much attached to his sister 
 — it was one of the best traits in his character. 
 He listened to her counsels with more respect 
 than to those of any other person, not except- 
 ing his father. He felt that he must have done 
 wrong when she condemned his conduct, 
 though in truth her condemnation was so gently 
 expressed, that it was rather a remonstrance. 
 At the same time he by no means owned frankly, 
 and at once, his sense of her justice — he was
 
 HOPE. 185 
 
 far too liot-heacled, and too hot-tempered for 
 sucli a course. He kicked and plunged a great 
 deal like a wild colt when it feels the bit ; he 
 protested that he had done no wrong, that his 
 sister was so straight-laced in her notions, and 
 so uncharitable in her judgment, that if it 
 were to be done over again, he should act just 
 as he had done; that every body at home seemed 
 determined to thwart and annoy him, and he 
 was sorry, devilish sorry, he had got leave at 
 all — he had much better have remained where 
 he was with hisregment — his brother ofl3.cers 
 were a set of good fellows, and they never con- 
 demned him — and so forth. 
 
 During these little outbursts. Flora would 
 remain quite quiet. Nothing could tempt her 
 to throw in an irritating word or remark at 
 such a time — a godlike forbearance, this ; for 
 when a man is in a rage he continually ex- 
 poses every vulnerable point about him, and the 
 temptation to give him a thiust somewhere, is 
 one that few can resist. Yet the consequences
 
 186 HOPE. 
 
 of that thrust may be fatal to the angry man's 
 improvement, while silence and forbearance, or 
 a single soothing word will act like oil upon 
 the troubled waves, and still the storm of pas- 
 sion. So Elora sat still and offered no oppo- 
 sition to her brother's petulance, or perhaps, 
 when he uttered some very unkind word, or 
 unjust accusation against herself she gave him 
 but one look — a gentle look of sorrowful re- 
 monstrance — and Lionel cooled down rapidly, 
 and then begged his sister's forgiveness, and 
 kissed her, and promised to do exactly as she 
 should bid him. And then Flora shed a few 
 tears, silly girl, and felt so fond of her brother, 
 and never doubted that he would reform from 
 that day, and that was the last of such scenes. 
 But Lionel didn't reform a bit — at least not 
 longer than for a month. He was very penitent 
 at the tinie, and would go back to his regiment 
 and announce his determination to '^ cut " play 
 henceforth — he would sell his tandem horses, 
 and one of his hunters — and would give up
 
 HOPE. 187 
 
 champagne breakfasts. His brother officers 
 laughed, some openly, and some secretly ; he 
 stood the former better than the latter, for he . 
 was tolerably quick at repartee, and had no 
 objection to a little verbal sparring. But when 
 he fancied that he was an object of ridicule with 
 some of the silent ones, especially with Captain 
 Dashwood, who never laughed at any man, but 
 whose condemnation could be read in his eye 
 alone, then Frank began to feel all his virtuous 
 resolutions give way, and by degrees he fell 
 into all his old habits again. 
 
 Captain Dashwood was Lionel's model man. 
 Most young men set up some idol of the kind, 
 and worship it — though the idol is often but a 
 golden calf. Captain Dashwood was a man of 
 five and thirty — very good-looking, very well 
 dressed, very quiet, and very finished in man- 
 ner. In fact, in each of these particulars he 
 was decidedly superior to every man in the 
 resriment, and to most other men, also. His
 
 188 HOPE. 
 
 perfect self-possession was the most remarkable 
 of his qualities, ard it is one which possesses 
 immense fascination for a very young man — it 
 is inimitable, unattainable, save by long prac- 
 tice and self-control, by any one, and impossible 
 to others of exciteable temperament. Captain 
 Dashwood was never disconcerted, never ex- 
 cited, never betrayed into an undignified act 
 or expression. No one knew what his family 
 was, or what were his means ; he made no pre- 
 tensions to be rich, yet he kept his own hun- 
 ters, drove his cabriolet, gave the most recherche 
 of breakfasts, played, and lost his money occa- 
 sionally, and yet was never known to be short 
 of money, or to be in debt. He certainly had 
 never asked the loan of a five pound note of 
 any man in the regiment, nor had he ever lent 
 one himself; but then, no one would have 
 thought of applying to him under any circum- 
 stances — there wasn't a cornet in the corps who 
 wouldn't sooner have asked even the grey-headed
 
 HOPE. 169 
 
 severe old Colonel to put his name to a bill for 
 hini; than have made such a request to Captain 
 Dashwood. 
 
 He never volunteered any information about 
 himself, his family, his cii'cumstanceSj or his 
 past history. On the other hand, he never 
 displayed any curiosity on such points in the 
 case of other people. His opinion was not 
 easily gained, but when once given, it had 
 great weight in the regiment, especially among 
 the younger officers. But the Colonel and 
 those above Captain Dashwood shewed him 
 great respect also ; he was an admirable soldier 
 and never failed in his duties. The men liked 
 him better than any other officer in the regi- 
 ment, for lie was more careful and attentive to 
 their domestic wants than any other, and the 
 reserve which seemed part of his nature in 
 his intercourse with his equals was quite im- 
 perceptible in his manner towards his in- 
 feriors. 
 
 The former shrank from making him their
 
 190 HOPE. 
 
 confidant, or asking his advice, for tliey 
 dreaded his quiet look of contempt for their 
 folly ; but the men sought him out in prefer- 
 ence to any of their officers, and told all their 
 little troubles without hesitation. They were 
 right — for they never failed to receive the best 
 advice, and something even more solid and 
 consolatory at his hands. They had another 
 reason for respecting him too— they knew his 
 courage. In a skirmish in India, when his 
 regiment was giving way, he had rallied it 
 alone, (though only a lieutenant at the time), 
 and dashing forward at the head of it, he had 
 plunged into the very thick of the enemy, so 
 that they who saw him believed him almost 
 blessed with a charmed existence to escape as 
 he did without a single wound, while many a 
 warrior bit the dust beneath his sabre. 
 
 Such was Captain Dashwood, as far as ordi- 
 nary observers could read his character, and un- 
 doubtedly it was one well-fitted to fascinate a 
 young man of Lionel Danvers's caste of mind.
 
 HOPE. 191 
 
 Indeed Lionel, by degrees, overcame some of 
 his feelings of awe, if we may so term it, and 
 was far more intimate with Dashwood than 
 any of his brother officers. 
 
 It was a great mistake of Lionel Danvers, 
 however, to suppose that Dashwood sneered or 
 smiled at his fits of reformation from any feel- 
 ing of their being unworthy of him. On the 
 contrary, when Dashwood troubled himself to 
 think about another man's affairs, which was 
 not often, he took rational views of them. He 
 thought Lionel an ass — not for intending to 
 reform — but for not having the resolution ab- 
 solutely and effectually to do so, and still 
 more, perhaps, for standing in need of reforma- 
 t^.on. 
 
 He would have been dreadfully disgusted 
 with himself were he capable of doing an act 
 which rendered it necessary for him to retrace 
 his steps afterwards. Though everything 
 about him was of the most perfect and the most 
 costly he was not extravagant — that is to say,
 
 192 HOPE. 
 
 lie never went beyond his means. And there 
 was economy in the midst of his luxury ; there 
 was no w^asteful expenditure — nothing was frit- 
 tered or thrown away ; without ever appearing 
 to begrudge his gold, not a sovereign was 
 parted with that did not produce some good 
 result — either administering to his own com- 
 fort and luxury, or (as in the case of charity) 
 to the w^ants of others. To light cigars with 
 ten>pound notes, to throw handfulls of sove- 
 reigns to be scrambled for among Irish beg- 
 gars, to set up priceless statuettes and works 
 of art as targets for pistol practice, and other 
 such freaks of young gentlemen overburthened 
 for the time with wealth — these would have 
 excited Captain Dashwood's deepest repug- 
 nance, not because they were morally wrong, 
 but because they were boyish, ungentlemanly, 
 " snobbish." Had a cigar imbibed any won- 
 derfully delicious flavor from the paper of a 
 ten- pound note, Dashwood would have lighted 
 his with it if he had one at hand ; did he
 
 HOPE. 193 
 
 consider a scramble of Irish beggars an enter- 
 taining instead of a very filthy sight he would 
 Lave gratified himself with it at any expense 
 within his means ; and had he seen that choice 
 statuettes were better targets than ordinary 
 bulls' -eyes, he would no doubt have practised 
 with them ; but to do any of these things to 
 shew his contempt for money would have been 
 quite as vulgar in his estimation as to display 
 an excessive regard for riches. In a word, 
 Dashwood was a man whose religion was pro- 
 priety — the propriety of St. James's Street and 
 Pall Mall. 
 
 If Dashwood had taken Lionel into his pro- 
 tection, as it were, and constantly thrust his 
 advice upon him, he might have guided him as 
 he pleased, for a time ; but a reaction would 
 have come, Lionel would have got tired of 
 being led and lectured, and have thrown off 
 the yoke altogether. But as Dashwood did 
 nothing of the kind, shewed a perfect indiffer- 
 ence to Lionel's course of life, whether he were 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 HOPE. 
 
 in the extravagant or the reforming mood, and 
 always avoided giving him any advice at all, 
 the young man looked up to him with the pro- 
 foundest respect, and would have constantly 
 asked his opinion, but IJiat he feared to lower 
 himself in his Divinity's eyes by needing it. 
 
 It had constantly crossed LionePs mind, 
 ^^ what would Flora think of Dash wood ?" He 
 had always painted him to her in the most 
 favourable colours — at least what he fancied 
 such ; but yet the portrait had not satisfied his 
 sister. Often when she expostulated with him 
 on some favorite extravagance, he would 
 answer, ^^ oh, Dash wood always does so." To 
 which Flora would naturally reply, '^ perhaps 
 he can better afford it." '^ I don't know I'm 
 sure what his means are — he never says a word 
 about them," w^ould be Lionel's reply, and 
 then he would branch off into a dozen anecdotes 
 about Dashwood, shewing how deeply he was 
 interested in him, and how highly he valued 
 his acquaintance.
 
 HOPE. 195 
 
 Lionel could noc recall anything tliat he had 
 ever said evil of Dashwood, or which could 
 tend to make anything but the most pleasing 
 of impressions on his hearer. He had always 
 told Elora that his friend was a man of most 
 punctilious honor, of most finished address, of 
 considerable attainments, and greatly respected 
 by the Colonel — that he never was in debt or 
 in a ^^ row," of any kind, that he was liked by 
 the men, and that he was known to be the 
 soul of courage. Yet he couldn't raise Flora's 
 enthusiasm, or once get her to say the few 
 words he wished to hear from her lips. ^' T 
 should like to see him." At one time he set 
 this down to maidenly reserve, at another 
 (when he was out of temper) to the circum- 
 stance of the subject of his eulogy being one of 
 his friends and therefore of small account at 
 home. But he was wrong in either supposition, 
 and it was very unlikely that he should guess 
 the real cause. 
 
 The simple truth was this : Flora saw that 
 K 2
 
 196 HOPE. 
 
 Lionel was greatly attached to this Captain 
 Dashwood, who appeared, from description to 
 be a man of considerable decision of character 
 and of good sense. She felt that such a man 
 must be well aware of her brother's respect for 
 him, and must be equally alive to the many 
 sad follies which that young man was daily 
 committing ; yet she never could hear that he 
 had once remonstrated with her brother or 
 given him one solitary word of good counsel. 
 In this she read what she most hated — selfish- 
 ness ! She could well understand the ease 
 with which he would dismiss the thought of 
 interfering with Lionel's affairs, as matters 
 which did not concern him — matters in which 
 he had no right to interfere ; but the excuse 
 only stamped the defect more plainly on his 
 character in the young girl's eyes. She knew 
 that it must be a painful and an invidious 
 course for a man to take, to task his young 
 comrade and companion, a course that might 
 even lay him open to personal annoyance
 
 HOPE. 197 
 
 (though ihat risk was but slight) — still she 
 fancied that there was a higher sentiment 
 which should overrule such considerations — 
 the sense of duty, and she never doubted that 
 it was the bounden duty of every one of God's 
 creatures to use whatever influence he posses- 
 sed, large or small, in the highest sphere or in 
 the lowest, to a good and noble purpose. All 
 this seemed so obvious, so simple to her mind 
 that she could not suppose that Captain Dash- 
 wood did not see or know it as well as herself. 
 Why then did he not act upon that knowledge ? 
 Because Self interposed. 
 
 Something of this opinion she once let fall to 
 Lionel, but he laughed at the idea, and told 
 her she was very ignorant of men's notions on 
 such subjects ; that Dashwood was too sensible 
 a fellow to interfere in his aifairs, especially 
 without even being asked for his opinion or 
 advice, and that in fact it would be a great 
 piece of impudence in any man to do so. How- 
 ever, he never gave the matter a second
 
 198 HOPE. 
 
 thought, and certainly never for a moment 
 supposed that Flora could have formed any 
 opinion of Dashwood's character on such 
 grounds as those. 
 
 He consoled himself for his disappointment 
 at not being able to interest her in his friend 
 so much as he desired, by the idea that her 
 opinion would be all that he could wish when 
 she came to know him. This, indeed, was an 
 event he had most at heart to bring about — the 
 introduction of Dashvv^ood to his sister. 
 
 '^ But it's so difficult to manage it," he said. 
 " Dash wood doesn't seem to care much for 
 London, at least he seldom asks for leave 
 during the season, and if he does I don't get 
 leave at the same time. Then my mother will 
 go dragging me all over the country after- 
 wards — first to Cowes and then to Lord 
 Snoozel's, and then to Sir Timothy Poole's, 
 and one confounded place and another that 
 there's no getting on comfortably.' If I could only 
 persuade the good lady to stay at Springfield
 
 Hopp 199 
 
 for a single month, I'd manage to -^^sk Dash- 
 wood to come over and stay with us. I wish I 
 could bribe Sir Benjamin into insisting on her 
 visit to our country place as absolutely indis- 
 pensable to her health. 
 
 For once, Fate seemed to favour Lionel's 
 plans. Lady Emily was suddenly seized with 
 a desire to go to Springfield in the month of 
 October one year. 
 
 '' Hurrah 1" cried Lionel, when he heard 
 of it in a note from his sister. ^' And the 
 pheasants will be as thick as blackberries, for I 
 swore I'd shoot Bennett if he did'nt preserve 
 them well. Decidedly I'll get leave for 
 October, and decidedly I'll take Dashwood with 
 me — if he'll go."
 
 200 HOPE, 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII, 
 
 Captain Dashwood accepted LionePs invita- 
 tion immediately^ and both applied for leave of 
 absence, and obtained it. 
 
 ^'Do you take your hunters with you, Dan- 
 vers ?" asked the Captain. 
 
 " I think not," replied Lionel, " the fact is, 
 I don't know much about the hounds in our 
 neighbourhood, or whether there are any very 
 good meets — we scarcely ever go to Springfield, 
 you see.''
 
 HOPE. 201 
 
 " There are the Daubney and the Shiffnal 
 packs, both very fair ones, within about ten 
 miles north and east of you," observed Dash- 
 wood. 
 
 ^^ Are there ? do you know the country 
 then ?'' asked Lionel, in surprise. 
 
 '^ Slightly," said the Captain. " I have 
 hunted there." 
 
 '' Perhaps you know Springfield then," said 
 Lionel. 
 
 " I have seen it," answered Dashwood. 
 
 " Well, then, at least, you must know that 
 it is not a very extensive establishment, and 
 so you will not expect too much," said Lionel, 
 smiling. 
 
 ^^ It seemed to me a very pretty place 
 indeed," observed his friend, without noticing 
 Lionel's apology for his family seat. 
 
 ^' So it is— my sister is very fond of it ; but 
 that dear lady mother of mine can't endure 
 it because it is small. I believe she'd like 
 e: 5
 
 202 HOPE. 
 
 the Vatican in Leicestershire for her own 
 country residence.'' 
 
 '^ Your sister is more fond of quiet, I sup- 
 pose ?" said Dashwood. 
 
 ^'Yes — decidedly so. She reads a great 
 deal — and yet, I assure, she's no 'blue,' — so 
 you need be under no apprehension of having to 
 encounter a literary lady every day of your life 
 at Springfield." 
 
 ^' But touching the hunters again ?" asked 
 the Captain. 
 
 " Ah — ah — well, perhaps we'd better take 
 them — eh ? — don't you think so ?" said the 
 young man, with an air of indecision. 
 
 " Just as you please," answered Dashy/ood. 
 
 '' Well, I'm not fond of hunting so early in 
 the season," said Lionel, ^^ are you ? suppose 
 we go without them, and take our chance ?" 
 
 Dashwood smiled and said '^ Certainly," 
 and then Lionel felt quite uncomfortable, for 
 he fancied that he had decided wrongly in his
 
 HOPE. 203 
 
 friend's opinion ; but in truth, Dashwood cared 
 nothing at all about the question, and thought 
 no more of the matter. Such, however, was 
 the irresolution and painful fear of not pleasing, 
 which always took possession of Lionel in his 
 intercourse with the man whom he yet sought 
 out in preference to all others. 
 
 In due time, they arrived at Springfield, 
 where they were, for the present, the only guests. 
 They received a hearty welcome from Colonel 
 Danvers, who had formed a very high opinion 
 of Captain Dashwood from his son's account 
 of him, and from what he had heard of his 
 reputation as an officer ; and the moment he 
 saw him, his prepossession was confirmed by 
 the Captain's appearance, and he muttered to 
 himself — 
 
 "A soldier — every inch of him !" 
 Flora, too, had felt some anxiety as the time 
 of meeting drew near, and she was struck — 
 more so than she cared to own to herself — by 
 the visitor's person.
 
 204 HOPE. 
 
 ^^He is very liandsome !" was her thought. 
 
 Lady Emily, who never troubled herself with 
 anticipations on any subject, but met events as 
 they came, only hoped that her son's friend 
 might be more comme il fcmt than she could 
 expect from one of Lionel's companions, for 
 she was by no means satisfied wdth her son's 
 demeanour ; she told him more than once that 
 his style was bad — decidedly bad — and that he 
 must really strive to improve it if he ever 
 wished to shine in the heau monde. But when 
 she saw Captain Dashwood, and conversed with 
 him, she was most agreeably surprised. 
 
 ^' Unquestionably, he is perfect," was her 
 ladyship's fiat on the subject. 
 
 Lionel was in a state of great delight at the 
 impression his friend produced — -not that he had 
 much doubted that it would be so, but still it 
 is something to be positively assured of the 
 event we desire to happen. 
 
 The life of the little party w^ould have been 
 dull under ordinary circumstances. With the
 
 HOPE. 205 
 
 exception of pheasant shooting, there was little 
 to occupy the gentlemen. But Captain Dash- 
 wood showed no signs of finding the days 
 otherwise than most agreeable. In truth he 
 had plenty of resources at his command from 
 whence to derive amusement. 
 
 " Do you sketch, Captain Dashwood ?" asked 
 Flora, as the gallant gentleman was turning 
 over the leaves of an album. 
 
 '' A little, occasionally," he replied, 
 
 ^' Oh — that means that you are a finished 
 draughtsman," said Flora, laughing. 
 
 '' Xot at all, Miss Danvers," he replied, 
 smiling ; " T always confess my attainments as 
 well as my deficiencies. There is as much 
 vanity in underrating our own performances as 
 in thinking too highly of them." 
 
 '^ Well then, that I may form my own 
 judgment," said Flora. ^' will you sketch 
 yonder scene, where the river turns by that old 
 ruin, in the book you are now looking over ? 
 I set you a task which I have never been able
 
 206 HOPE. 
 
 to accomplisli myself, for I have torn out every 
 attempt I have made on it.'' 
 
 ^^ I will try," said Dash wood. 
 
 Lionel had expected a pretty speech from 
 Dashwood expressing his hopelessness of suc- 
 ceeding, when Flora had failed ; but the Cap- 
 tain had too much good taste to perpetrate 
 such common-places ; so he took the book and 
 some drawing pencils, and did as he was 
 asked. 
 
 In the course of half an hour, he walked up 
 to Flora and handed her the book — it contained 
 a most exquisitely finished sketch of the 
 scene she had pointed out. 
 
 '^ How beautiful !" she exclaimed almost 
 involuntarily. 
 
 She raised her eyes as she said so, and met 
 those of Dashwood. Was there not something 
 beyond the ordinary expression in his? A 
 looker-on would have said— '' No — nothing :" 
 and yet she almost felt that there was.
 
 HOPE. 207 
 
 ^^ You must take the book to mama," she 
 said — ^'it is hers." 
 
 He did so, and even then she could detect no 
 change in his countenance, though she almost 
 anticipated one slight look at least of disap- 
 pointment when he found that the book wds 
 not hers, and that his task had been performed 
 for her mother. It was something a23proaching 
 to coquetry, we fear, that made her expect, if 
 she did not hope, this. At all events, she was 
 disappointed in her conjectures. And still 
 more puzzled would she have been had she 
 known that Dashwood was all along aware of 
 the ownership of the book, and had made his 
 sketch, knowing that it would belong to Lady 
 Emily. 
 
 Dashwood had a splendid barytone voice, 
 and was an admirable musician. So he con- 
 stantly sung duets with Flora in the evening. 
 If ever there was anything more calculated 
 than another to foster a tender feeling between 
 two persons it would certainly be singing duets
 
 208 HOPE. 
 
 together. The blending of the voices has 
 something fascinating in it beyond conception, 
 and then the words, the passionate words of 
 love that are sung ! It is all very well to say 
 that they are sung as a mere matter of course, 
 and are of no more account than the words 
 spoken by an actress on a stage ; but we don't 
 believe it possible for a handsome, agreeable, 
 disengaged young lady and young gentleman 
 to be constantly vowing love and devotion to 
 each other in harmonious numbers and to 
 divine music without, occasionally, and by de- 
 grees, feeling a little of the passion they are 
 acting. 
 
 Decidedly, if we had a daughter we would 
 not let her sing duets with any but the most 
 ^' eligible" young men. 
 
 Elora rode on horseback very often and very 
 well. Her brother and Dashwood accompanied 
 her, and they went all over the neighbourhood 
 of Springfield together. On one occasion, 
 Lionel was riding a horse which he had re-
 
 HOPE. 209 
 
 cently purchased, and lie was playing the fool 
 a great deal in riding at hedges and ditches to 
 " try" him. In making one of these jumps 
 the horse, who was not perfectly sound, fell 
 heavily, and threw Lionel on to his head. 
 The blood gushed out of his nostrils — 
 Dashvv'ood sprung from his saddle, and lifted 
 him up — the youth was not much hurt after 
 all — Dashwood begged Mora to have no fear, 
 and setting her brother on his horse, he walked 
 by his side, and held the bridle. 
 
 Flora was touched by his gentleness ; but 
 alas, the captain was every instant brushing a 
 place on his coat which Lionel's blood had 
 stained. And there was an air of scarcely 
 perceptible vexation too as he did it — it could 
 not be for the value of the coat — it must be 
 for the temporary damage done to his personal 
 appearance. Flora Danvers saw it, and quick 
 as lightning her own pre-formed opinion of his 
 character crossed her mind, and the harsh little 
 intei'pretess said within herself : —
 
 210 HOPE. 
 
 ^' Selfishness and vanity !" 
 
 It would be difficult to say what Dashwood 
 thought of Flora. A man so accustomed to 
 conceal his thoughts and feelings was . not 
 likely to he very demonstrative in such a case. 
 Indeed he might reasonably have thought no 
 more of Flora Danvers than of any other 
 young lady of his acquaintance, but that he 
 was thrown for a time so completely into her 
 society, and she was certainly no commonplace 
 girl. Two people more different from each 
 other in tastes, habits, and sentiments, it might 
 not have been easy to find ; but they had at 
 least one point in common — great decision of 
 character. And when two strongly marked 
 characters are daily brought into contact, it is 
 rarely that some kind of sympathy fails to 
 arise between them. 
 
 Flora had discovered another point in Dash- 
 wood's character which she had half suspected 
 to exist in it — a want of openness. We have 
 said that he never talked of himself — so far as
 
 HOPE. 211 
 
 this prevents egotism it is well, but carried to 
 an excess it is not pleasing, and we involun- 
 tarily distrust a man who is careful not to re- 
 veal a word about his own history. Flora was 
 utterly free from vulgar curiosity on such a 
 subject, or on any other ; yet she could not but 
 think it strange that the words '' father," 
 " mother," '^ brother," or '' si^er," never 
 passed their visitor's lips. It seemed as if there 
 were something to conceal, and the effect was 
 not agreeable. On the other hand, this might 
 be accidental, or the effect of a habit of never 
 making himself, or his, the subject of his re- 
 marks. This supposition received some sup- 
 port from the fact that when one or two of the 
 neighbouring gentry called at Springfield they 
 generally claimed Dashwood as an old friend, 
 though the latter had never alluded to his ac- 
 quaintance w^ith them before. It might be a 
 habit then — but it was an unpleasant one in 
 the eyes of so thoroughly open-hearted a person 
 as Flora Danvers.
 
 212 HOPE. 
 
 And yet we must own that something ap- 
 proaching to fascination was gradually being 
 exercised over Flora's mind by the handsome 
 and accomplished soldier. She did not know 
 it — she was not aware to how great an extent 
 her curiosity (the curiosity to read his heart) 
 was being excited — how to think of him for a 
 very great many minutes, though not consecu- 
 tive ones, in each day was becoming a habit 
 with her — how something approaching to an 
 interest in him was fixing itself in her mind. 
 We say that she was not aware of all this : 
 we are not sure that she would even have been 
 alarmed at it had she known it, for she was 
 too young and too unversed in the strange 
 mechanism of the heart to know to what these 
 feelings led. She would have considered it 
 natural to study the character of such a man 
 as Dashwood — natural to feel some curiosity as 
 to the real sentiments of one who was so well 
 able to conceal them — ^natural to feel an inter- 
 est in the chosen friend of her brother, and
 
 HOPE. 213 
 
 whose influenoe might so direct the future of 
 that brother's career. But she could not have sus- 
 pected that such curiosity and interest are but 
 the first germs of passion, or she would have 
 shrunk from them as from the bite of an adder 
 — for the thought of loving Dashwood would 
 have terrified her beyond description — why, it 
 would be difficult satisfactorily to tell — but so 
 it was. However, she could not apprehend 
 such danger ; none can apprehend it : the 
 lesson is taught but once, and the school is ex- 
 perience. 
 
 One or two other visitors had joined the 
 little party at Springfield before Lionel and 
 Dashwood had been many days there ; so that 
 Flora was thrown less into Ute-d-ttte society 
 with the soldier than formerly. One of the 
 first effects produced by this change of domes- 
 tic arrangements was to make Elora involun- 
 tarily compare the new arrivals with their first 
 visitor, and the result of the comparison 
 was : —
 
 214 HOPE. 
 
 '^ How very inferior in sense and information 
 to Captain Dasliwood !" 
 
 The time fixed for the departure of Lionel 
 and Dashwood had not yet arrived, when the 
 latter one morning announced that he had re- 
 ceived a letter which rendered his proceeding 
 to London at once imperative. Could Flora 
 have read her own heart as well as she used to 
 do, she would have been conscious of a chilling 
 sensation of regret there vf hen she heard this 
 announcement ; but it is one of the peculiari- 
 ties of the first insidious approaches of the 
 tender passion that it blinds us — not to the 
 faults of its object, as is vulgarly supposed, but 
 to our own state of feeling. It was, we think, 
 for this reason that the ancients depicted Cupid 
 blind. 
 
 '' Won't you come back this way ?" said 
 Lionel. 
 
 " My stay in London will be very uncertain 
 in duration," answered Dashwood, ^^ so that I 
 fear I cannot promise myself that pleasure."
 
 HOPE. 215 
 
 ^^ I am very sorry, Captain Dash wood, upon 
 my soul," said the Colonel, ^^ but at all events 
 I hope this visit of yours to Springfield, will 
 not be the last." 
 
 '^Many thanks, my dear sir," answered 
 Dashwood. 
 
 " And after all then," 'said Lady Emily, '' I 
 shall be robbed of the pleasure of introducing 
 you to Mrs. Townley St. Leger. She will be 
 here to-morrow — you really oic^/it to know 
 her." 
 
 '^ I have had that pleasure for some time," 
 said Dashwood, bowing. 
 
 ^^ Indeed I" replied Lady Emily, ^^ then I 
 can anticipate her disappointment when she 
 hears of your departure," 
 
 Dashwood smiled and bowed again. 
 
 ^•Has Miss Danvers any commissions I can 
 execute for her in tovrn ?" he asked, turning to 
 Flora, Avho alone of the family had been 
 silent. 
 
 ^'None, I thank you," she replied, and to her
 
 216 HOPE. 
 
 intense annoyance she felt lierself blush — why 
 she couldn't imagine — it was very provoking. 
 
 Dashwood departed, and a few hours later in 
 the day Mr. and Mrs. Townley St. Leger 
 arrived at Springfield. After the first greet- 
 ings were over, Lady Emily said — 
 
 " Ah, my dear Mrs. St. Leger, I am quite 
 miserable — Captain Dashwood has left us only 
 to-day — you know him, do you not ?" 
 
 ^' Indeed I know him well," replied, Mrs. 
 St. Leger, " and to tell you the truth he is the 
 only man in the world I fear. Don't mistake 
 me ; I like him, I admire him, but I can't 
 tell you why — 1 am afraid of that man."
 
 HOPE. 217 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 We trust the reader feels some interest in the 
 fate of Frank I^ugent, whom we left some 
 chapters since, with a broken head in a 
 hospital. It was not written in the book of 
 fate, that he should die from the thump of an 
 Irishman's bludgeon; but his recovery was 
 very slow, and even when he was out of dan- 
 ger ^ and in condition to be moved from the hos- 
 pital he was in a state of of great lassitude, and 
 required careful nursing. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 HOPE. 
 
 As sooiij however, as lie had recovered his 
 consciousness sufficient to recollect what 
 brought him to that strange place, he began to 
 speculate upon what he should do when he rose 
 from his sick bed — and whether the Marsdens 
 knew of his accident, and what Mrs. Townley 
 St. Leger must think of his silence. However, 
 he was soon satisfied on most points by the 
 hospital attendants. First he w^as informed 
 that a very strange-looking gentleman, had 
 been to see him ; this he knew from the de^ 
 scription to be his faithful friend David Tonks. 
 Next he was told a very handsome and elegant 
 lady had called almost every day to enquire 
 after him ; this he rightly guessed to be Mrs. 
 Townley St. Leger. Afterwards he had the 
 delight of seeing the good David and learning 
 from him all that had occurred during his 
 illness. 
 
 David had seen Mrs. St. Leger often, and 
 David thought her the handsomest, the most 
 elegant, and the kindest and best woman in
 
 HOPE. 219 
 
 the whole world. And yet David was not sure 
 that he was quite just in saying so either ; for 
 although nobody could be kinder or better than 
 Mrs. St. Leger, he almost thought that Fanny 
 Marsden was her equal in those points. And 
 then Frank smiled and said he feared David 
 had lost his heart, and David looked so truly 
 sad while he protested to the contrary, that 
 Frank was quite sorry for him. 
 
 IS'ow David Tonks kept one piece of infor- 
 mation to himself, and we must leave an in- 
 telligent reader to find out David's reason for 
 this concealment. He never told Frank that 
 Fanny Marsden had met him every other day 
 at Charing Cross diu^ing Frank's illness. 
 "Whether David had been requested by Fanny 
 to be silent about this, or whether he thought 
 it more prudent for Frank's sake not to divulge 
 it, or whether he was afraid of being quizzed 
 about these interviews with a young lady — 
 these are questions concerning which we are as 
 badly informed as the reader, and so we re- 
 l2
 
 220 HOPE. 
 
 peat we must leave him to settle them to his 
 own satisfaction, or like ourselves to remain in 
 doubt as to their solution. 
 
 ^' The doctor thinks you will be able to be 
 moved in a day or two," observed David. 
 
 ^' Moved ! ah,'' said Frank, ^' I wonder 
 where I shall be moved to ?" 
 
 "' To Pentonville of course — Avon' t you?" ex- 
 claimed David, with a look of surprise and 
 almost of alarm. 
 
 " I don't think so," replied Frank. " How 
 should I have the face to go there, my good 
 friend ? Do you not lemember that my only 
 claim to my lodgings there consisted in my 
 teaching the children ? Now, until I am able 
 to do so again, it would surely be unjust in me 
 to go back to the rooms. Besides, they may 
 have got some one in my place." 
 
 " Oh no, they have not," said David ; '^ and 
 they expect you back. Mrs. Marsden says she 
 would'nt lose you for all the world. The fact 
 is, the good woman is mad about you ever since
 
 HOPE. 221 
 
 Mrs. St. Leger drove up to her house to call on 
 you. She thinks you're related to all the 
 aristocracy, and half the peerage, and she tells 
 everybody so." 
 
 Frank smiled ; but he continued — 
 
 ^' Still it would not be fair to take advantage 
 of the good lady's kindness. The Marsdens 
 cannot be rich, and I cannot pay them properly 
 for my rooms — indeed, I don't know how I am 
 to live at all for the present." 
 
 David looked very blank; but he did not 
 give up the point. 
 
 ^^ By-the-bye," said he, '*'! have a packet 
 to give you. It was left by a man at your 
 lodgings, with directions that it was to be 
 handed to you as soon as you were able to attend 
 to it. Miss Marsden entrusted me with it, as 
 she thought I should see you as soon as any 
 one ; here it is !" 
 
 He handed Frank a rather bulky letter 
 addressed " Frank ^N'ugent, Esq," in a large
 
 222 HOPE. 
 
 bold official looking hand, and sealed with a 
 plain official seal. Frank opened it, and found 
 a sheet of note paper without a single word 
 inscribed on it, but folded round five crisp 
 £10 notes ! He stared, turned it about, 
 looked, at the address again and again, and 
 then at the notes, and then at the seal. It was 
 all a mystery to him. Kfty pounds ! Who 
 could have sent him such a sum ? It was a 
 fortune — an Eldorado. 
 
 David was in great delight — more so than if 
 it had been sent to himself. Now would'nt 
 Frank go to Petonville ? — and nov) would'nt he 
 know bow to live ? 
 
 " But where can it have come from ?" said 
 Frank. " There is'nt a man in London, save 
 yourself, that would give me a sou^ and I 
 suppose you have not been making a little 
 fortune lately ?" 
 
 ^^ IN'o — no — I swear to you that / know 
 nothing about it," said David, ^' and I don't
 
 HOPE. 223 
 
 think Miss Marsden had the least idea of the 
 contents of the packet when she gave it to 
 me." 
 
 " It must be Mrs, St. Leger who has done 
 this," said Frank. ^^ And yet I don't like to 
 accept it." 
 
 David stared — an immense stare that might 
 have expressed his doubts as to his young 
 friend's sanity. Indeed he even recommended 
 Frank to lie down again and sleep ; for Frank 
 had raised himself on his elbow. He took 
 his friend's advice, and David departed to 
 let first Fanny and then Mrs. Townley St. 
 Leger know of Frank's improvement and con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 From Mrs. St. Leger Frank, next morning, 
 received a little note of warm congratulation 
 on his convalescence, and a request, most 
 kindly and delicately worded, that he would 
 let her husband be his banker for a short time, 
 if he stood in need of present funds, as she 
 felt sure he must do. This puzzled the young
 
 224 HOPE. 
 
 man still more, for it seemed to intimate that 
 she was unaware of the ^50 packet. He, 
 however, conveyed her, through David, his 
 warmest thanks, and assured her that he was 
 well provided for at present — though by whose 
 generosity he could not tell. 
 
 In a few days, Frank Nugent was removed 
 to his old quarters in Charles Street, Pentonville. 
 Mrs. Marsden received him in a state of im- 
 mense excitement ; her cap was unusually 
 wild in its appearance that day, and the rate at 
 which she talked, and the number of times she 
 mentioned "that beautiful lady Mrs. Saintly 
 Leger," would be awful to reckon. Fanny 
 looked agitated, and seemed frightened — almost 
 as if she regretted seeing Frank ; but certainly 
 that was not the cause, though she did'nt quite 
 know what the cause was ; but she felt very 
 faint — and then did'nt Mr. I^ugent look dread- 
 fully pale ? And Frank was conveyed up 
 stairs to his garrets, for he insisted on going to 
 themj though Mrs. Marsden wanted very much
 
 HOPE. 225 
 
 to give up the front parlours to him ; but he 
 would not hear of such a thing. 
 
 The day after his arrival, Mrs. St. Leger 
 called. The excitement in the street at the 
 sight of her carriage was almost as great as on 
 the former occasion ; but the tall footman could 
 not produce quite such an effect this time, for 
 Mrs Marsden had tied up the kcocker in great 
 bandages with an old kid glove outside, so that 
 it looked as if it had a cold in its head, and 
 only gave out a husky sound instead of its 
 usual sharp rat-tap. 
 
 Mrs. Marsden, however, rushed to the door 
 with the stupid servant girl, and began to 
 curtsey to Mrs. St. Leger, who as soon as she 
 ascertained that Frank was there and might be 
 seen by her, got out of the carriage and entered 
 the house. And then Mrs. Marsden led the 
 way to Frank's garret apologising all the 
 while for the ^'muddle things were in, but it 
 was their cleaning-day. Saturday, she believed, 
 was most people's cleaning-day — but still she'd 
 L 5
 
 226 HOPE. 
 
 have had it done on Friday, if she'd known 
 Mrs. St. Leger 'd been coming — but she did 
 so hate to see things look in a muck — and 
 houses did get so dirty in London — the smuts 
 was so nasty — and her first floors never wiped 
 their boots though their connections w^ere 
 highly respectable indeed," and so on till she 
 reached Frank's room, and showed the visitor 
 into it. 
 
 Frank was very grateful for this visit, and 
 said so ; and Mrs. St. Leger was all kindness 
 and cordiality. She talked to him about his 
 friend David Tonks, whom she pronounced the 
 best creature in existence, and then Fiank told 
 her all David's history, which interested her 
 very much, and she declared that something 
 must positively be done for him. Then she 
 asked who was the pretty girl she had caught 
 sight of down stairs ? And then Frank blushed, 
 though he certainly had no business to do so ; 
 but he blushed all the more at the thought of 
 the interpretation his visitor might put on it.
 
 HOPE, 227 
 
 However, lie told who Fanny was, and hinted 
 his suspicion of David being smitten with her 
 oharms. Sly Frank ! he only dragged this in 
 to throw the lady on another scent, so that she 
 might cease to suspect Mm of any tendre in that 
 quarter. And then Mrs. St. Leger informed 
 him that several literary friends of hers were 
 most anxious to be introduced to him, and she 
 believed that some of them might be of the 
 greatest service to him. This was very 
 pleasing indeed to Frank's ears, and it brought 
 to mind another circumstance — the receipt of 
 the packet with the £50. He told Mrs. St. Leger 
 of this; but she assured him on her honour 
 that she knew nothing of it. Frank's surprise 
 was really great at this announcement, for he 
 had all along believed the money to come from 
 her, but he now saw by her manner that it 
 was not so. 
 
 Before her departure ^Irs. St. Leger sent for 
 Mrs. Marsden and her daughter, and bade them 
 be very careful indeed of her young friend, for
 
 228 HOPE. 
 
 it was a most valuable life that was in their 
 care — the life of one who would be one of the 
 ornaments of his country — aye, she was sure of 
 it. Frank smiled at this, Mrs. Marsden stared 
 and wondered whether Frank wasn't going to 
 turn out another Whittington, and be three 
 times lord mayor of London, and poor Fanny 
 felt very much agitated and coloured with de- 
 light. 
 
 ^' And you," said Mrs. St. Leger, turning 
 to her, ^^ I shall expect you to be an excellent 
 little nurse ; mind, this gentleman is my 
 adopted son, and I place him in your charge — 
 so take every care of him, or you'll have to 
 dread the displeasure of a very angry mother, 
 you will find " 
 
 Fanny smiled and blushed, and promised to 
 do all she could, and Mrs. Marsden said she 
 was sure Fanny 'd wait on him and mind him 
 like an infant — though whether Fanny was to 
 be the infant, or Frank, didn't clearly appear 
 from Mrs. Marsden's speech, and she possibly
 
 HOPE. 229 
 
 had not quite made up her mind upon the sub- 
 ject herself. And then Mrs. St. Leger went 
 away and left Mrs. Marsden to expatiate on 
 everything connected with her in glowing terms 
 for about half an hour. 
 
 Fanny Marsden fulfilled her promise to the 
 letter. A better or more attentive little nurse 
 could not have existed. It was really astonish- 
 ing to see how she anticipated every want of 
 the sick man, though people want so many 
 things, or fancy so, in illness. 
 
 Amongst other occupations which Frank 
 gave her was that of reading to him. Fanny 
 read very nicely — an accomplishment not 
 always attained by better educated people. It 
 wants taste and a good voice, and the young 
 lady possessed both. 
 
 David Tonks used to come and see Frank 
 almost every day, and sit with him for some 
 time alone, but Frank always found some ex- 
 cuse for sending for Fanny, and then they 
 would all converse together. But Fanny was
 
 230 HOPE. 
 
 never quite at her ease in Frank's presence ; 
 there was something approaching to awe in the 
 feeling with which she regarded him. She 
 never conversed with him entirely as with an 
 equal though he encouraged her all in his 
 power to do so. With David ^Tonks she was 
 free from any embarrassment: While on the 
 other hand David had lately become quite shy 
 in her presence, especially when it was in 
 Frank's presence also. All these were mys- 
 terious little facts which the reader may 
 interpret as he pleases. 
 
 By degrees, as Frank progressed, he thought 
 of attempting composition again. So he 
 asked Fanny to be his amanuensis, for he^was 
 still too weak to sit up at a table to write. It 
 was a great source of delight to Fanny to per- 
 form this office. She, of course, admired 
 everything that Frank dictated beyond mea- 
 sure, was dreadfully interested in the heroines 
 of his little love tales, and more than once had 
 to stop and dry her tears. Frank laughed at
 
 HOPE. 231 
 
 this — but not unkindly — and he thought 
 Fanny a good, gentle-hearted, little^ girl. And 
 he was flattered too — the young author was — 
 at the effect he was able to produce by his in- 
 vention. It seemed to him a foreshadowing of 
 the effects he might produce on the great world 
 outside, The goose ! as if any nonsense would 
 not have seemed beautiful to his amanuensis 
 when dictated by his interesting self 1 
 
 '^ You never tell me anything about Mr. 
 Spriggett and Mr. Biddle now," observed Frank 
 to her one day. 
 
 Fanny smiled. 
 
 '' But you know that Mr. Biddle is a de- 
 cided admirer of yours," he continued. 
 
 ^^ I'm sure I don't appreciate his admiration 
 then," said Fanny. * 
 
 ^'But you ought, you know," rejoined 
 Frank ; '^ don't you think he's very good-look- 
 ing ?" 
 
 '' !N'o," said Fanny.
 
 232 HOPE. 
 
 ^^Well — then isn't he very well dressed?" 
 asked Frank. 
 
 '' Worse still," said Fanny. 
 
 ^^ Oh, you have bad taste, I fear," said 
 Frank, smiling. " I'm sure he wears very 
 handsome neckties, and — " 
 
 "Pray don't talk of him," Fanny inter- 
 rupted him — " the man is my abomination. I 
 don't know which I hate most — himself or his 
 companion." 
 
 " What do you think of Mr. Tonks ?" asked 
 Frank, abruptly. 
 
 "He is an excellent creature," replied 
 Fanny ; " and certainly he is most devotedly 
 attached to you." 
 
 " To some one else also, I fancy," said 
 Frank, significantly. 
 
 Fanny looked at him in some surprise. 
 
 "Oh yes. Miss Fanny," he continued, "you 
 need not pretend to be so very unconscious. 
 If / can see Mr. David Tonks' s glances, surely 
 you must see them even more clearly."
 
 HOPE. 233 
 
 " Indeed," said Fanny, quite flurried, ^^ in- 
 deed — you are mistaken. I'm sure, I never 
 noticed — I mean, I don't believe — I don't 
 think Mr. Tonks ever looks at me more than 
 any one else." 
 
 ^^Then he would have very bad taste," said 
 Frank, gallantly ; ^' but he does — the poor man 
 is evidently smitten, and I hope you wont be 
 cruel to him." 
 
 ^' I !" exclaimed Fanny, '' pray what would 
 you have me do ?" 
 
 ^^Well," said Frank, gravely, '^ you might 
 do worse than smile on poor David Tonks. He 
 is not rich certainly ; but a better-hearted 
 fellow I don't believe the world contains. I'm 
 sure he's falling in love with you, and as I am 
 very fond of him, and of you too, Fanny," 
 (here Fanny's heart beat very quickly) " upon 
 my soul, I shall be sorry to see the poor man 
 crossed. I dare say it's very wrong of me to 
 talk to you about such things, but I feel a deep 
 interest in you, Fanny — almost as if you were
 
 234 HOPE. 
 
 my own sister, and I give you my word, I 
 should like to see you the affectionate wife of 
 David Tonks." 
 
 Poor Fanny ! she did contrive to look once 
 at Frank — such a look it was — and then she 
 burst into tears, and ran out of the room, sob- 
 bing as if her heart would break.
 
 HOPE. 235 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 The introductions which Mrs. St. Leger gave 
 to Frank IN'ugent on his recovery were of great 
 service to him. In no profession are they 
 more requisite than in that of literature, for 
 every young author wants both advice as to his 
 writings, and opportunities of bringing them 
 before the public. Without the one he may 
 roll about in the slough of error half his life, 
 writing on false principles, and in a bad style ; 
 while for want of the other, he may be doomed
 
 236 HOPE. 
 
 to fill no other place in the world than as a 
 contributor to waste paper baskets. The ranks 
 of periodical literature are at least as crowded 
 as those of any profession or trade in the 
 world ; to suppose that the editor of a maga- 
 zine could peruse all the MSS. submitted to his 
 notice would be to imagine him possessed ol 
 as many eyes as Argus. The utmost he can 
 do is to read those which are sent by persons 
 whose names he knows, and those which are 
 recommended to his consideration by literary 
 friends of the writers. Of these last he will 
 always have plenty, and as friends are natur- 
 ally more anxious to serve one another than to 
 spare an editor's trouble, the latter may be 
 sure that half the '^ strongly recommended'' 
 articles are unworthy of his perusal. As for 
 all the rest — the mass of the unknown aspiring 
 — what can he do but throw them aside to be 
 '' returned with thanks" to the writers, if he 
 be an editor of benevolent disposition, or to light
 
 HOPE. 237 
 
 fires with if he be a curmudgeon ? We hap- 
 pened by the merest chance to learn the secret 
 history of the adventures of the first MS. we 
 ourselves sent to the office of a magazine. It 
 came back to us in a short time, with a very 
 neat envelope, lithographed inside " Declined 
 with many sincere thanks," and our MS. was 
 numbered ^^676." 
 
 Shortly after this we were in company with 
 a literary man, to whom, by chance, we men- 
 tioned this little event. 
 
 ^' What was the title of your article ?" he 
 enquired. 
 
 We told him. 
 
 ^' I was at the office myself, and turning over 
 a heap of offered contributions," said our 
 friend, " and I distinctly recollect yours, for I 
 read some of it. ' What's that ?' the editor 
 said to me. I told him. ' Oh, I don't knov/ 
 anything about it,' said he, ^ throw it aside.' 
 So it was dropped into the ' condemned cell,'
 
 238 HOPE. 
 
 and in due time you received it, thinking, no 
 doubt, that the editor had read every line of 
 it, and didn't like it.'' 
 
 We afterwards got this MS. delivered at the 
 very same office by a mutual friend of our- 
 selves and the editor. It was accepted by the 
 latter in a complimentary note to us, and we 
 are happy to add, that the public liked it also 
 — at least, if the public press represents public 
 opinion. 
 
 ISTow when Frank IS'ugent had been intro- 
 duced to one or two gentlemen conducting 
 periodical literature, he found first that he was 
 proceeding on a wrong system altogether. He 
 was dreadfully addicted to sentimental love 
 tales, and though he told them very well, he 
 learnt that nobody cared to read them. The 
 days of sentiment were over. The ^orld 
 had got ^^ fast" and '' funny" in its tastes. 
 Eidicule was the goddess of the moment - the 
 only use of sentiment was to be laughed at.
 
 HOPE. 239 
 
 To please the general mob of readers (we don't 
 mean the " vile rabble," but the great mass), 
 it was necessary to conform to their tastes — 
 unless perhaps you had genius to create a fresh 
 one. 
 
 ^' But surely the world still reads poetry," 
 suggested Frank. 
 
 ^' Yery little," replied the periodical gentle- 
 man. 
 
 '^ Is not Tennyson read ?" asked Frank. 
 
 '^ Yes ; but what other poet is there in Eng- 
 land ?" 
 
 '^ Then it is the want of poetry, and not the 
 want of a taste for it in readers," suggested 
 Frank. 
 
 '' Aye ; but does not the one produce the 
 other?" was the reply. '^ Look for example to 
 the time when Eyron wrote his ^English 
 Bards,' and ^ Scotch Eeviewers.' See the crowd 
 of names good and bad that figure in it Sup- 
 pose a Byron to attempt such a work at the
 
 240 HOPE. 
 
 present day. Where would lie find half such 
 a catalogue of poets from the best to the worst 
 of scribblers ?" 
 
 ^' Then it is certain that there are fewer 
 poets now than then," said Frank ; '^ and per- 
 haps that the inferior poets are less read now 
 than formerly, but will not true and good 
 poetry be read and liked as well by the present 
 age as by any other ?" 
 
 '' I doubt it," said the other. '' At least, I 
 doubt whether purely sentimental and imagina- 
 tive poetry will ever be much sought after, un- 
 less perhaps it is veri/ excellent. For example 
 Southey was both read and liked by our fathers, 
 and he was thought worthy of being made 
 poet laureate. I do not believe that a poet of 
 Southey' s calibre would be read at all now. On 
 the other hand, a new ^ Hudibras' would take 
 the age by storm. Ingoldsby and Hood aro 
 more popular, and better known to the world 
 at large, than even Tennyson."
 
 HOPE. 241 
 
 ^^ Much, as I admire tlie two former, I fear I 
 am soiTy for it," said Frank. 
 
 The editor slirugged his shoulders. 
 
 From such conversations as those with the 
 practical men of literature, if we may so term 
 them, Frank learnt, at least, what was required 
 in a periodical writer. It did not altogether 
 accord with his own tastes and bias of mind, 
 but he saw that he must conform to it. 'No 
 doubt this was a liighly reprehensible spirit of 
 his — no doubt he ought to have scorned any 
 other guide than '^inspiration" — no doubt he 
 should have followed the dictates of his own 
 ^'genius " alone, and not have prostituted his 
 pen for hireling purposes. All this, and a 
 great deal more, we can well conceive being 
 uttered by those who think the idea of writing 
 for money something very shocking, because 
 unromantic ; but until inspiration and romance 
 will serve for food and raiment, we fear that 
 " hireling vniters " will continue to exist ; 
 and that better and greater men than Frank 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 HOPE. 
 
 Nugent will turn a little aside from their own 
 individual tastes to tickle that of the public. 
 
 At all events Frank did it, and he succeeded 
 tolerably well in consequence — so well, indeed, 
 that he declined, henceforth, the very dis- 
 agreeable task of teaching French and Latin to 
 the young Marsdens, though he requested per- 
 mission to retain his garrets, (as he had 
 acquired a sort of attachment for them) by 
 paying a rent instead of giving their value in 
 tuition. Mrs. Marsden consented to this with 
 alacrity ; for she really looked upon Frank as a 
 very extraordinary young man, and was firmly 
 persuaded that he tvould be a second "Whitting- 
 ton, though he had'nt a cat, and ^' could'nt 
 abide her Tom." 
 
 David Tonks rejoiced in his friend's success, 
 at least as much as any one, and always re- 
 minded him that he had prophesied it from the 
 first. He knew that Frank had true genius, 
 and true genius must succeed ; if he had had 
 the least bit of genius himself, he should have
 
 HOPE. 243 
 
 succeeded long ago ; but he had'nt any — he 
 was nothing but a grub. 
 
 But Mrs. St. Leger had not forgotten David 
 Tonks, and she had, at length, secured him a 
 more comfortable means of livelihood than that 
 of roving about the streets for penny-a-line in- 
 formation. She had got him installed as 
 assistant sub- editor of a literary paper ; and 
 David performed his new " paste and scissors 
 duty " most creditably. He became an altered 
 man, too, in personal appearance, for he showed 
 his shirt front now, and it was a clean one, 
 and he wore a decent hat and a new neckcloth. 
 David was a prosperous man ; but whether 
 David was a happy man v»^e won't positively 
 affirm. He was certainly not an ungrateful 
 one — he fully appreciated the advantages of his 
 change of circumstances, and was duly thankful 
 for it ; but David's heart was not at ease — 
 whose is ? 
 
 Since the day when Frank IN'ugent made his 
 rather abrupt allusion to David's passion for 
 M 5
 
 244 HOPE. 
 
 Fanny, and his own approval of it, that young 
 lady had been more than usually shy in his 
 presence. She had not failed in her duties as 
 his nurse during the rest of the time that he 
 required her attentions in that capacity, nor 
 had she declined reading to him or writing for 
 him ; but she was more reserved than formerly, 
 and was out of spirits. Her mother declared 
 she could'nt think what had come to the girl ; 
 she did'nt eat enough to keep a bird alive, that 
 she did'nt — she really thought she must be 
 going to have the measles, for she never did 
 have them when she was a child, and when 
 people have them after they're grown up, 
 they're always worse ; and she'd a great 
 mind to make her drink donkey's milk every 
 day, when the two donkeys, as served the lady 
 that was bad in the chest at JN'o. 96, came 
 round. 
 
 Frank noticed her altered looks himself, and 
 was sorry for the change ; for he was very fond 
 of Fanny Marsden, and he showed it too. Not
 
 HOPE. 245 
 
 that he had the remotest notion of being in 
 love with her ; but he thought her the kindest 
 and best little girl in the world. The idea of 
 her feeling any other interest in himself than 
 the most platonic one never crossed his mind. 
 It is true that he was puzzled to account for 
 the strange way in which she received his 
 remarks touching David Tonks. Why should 
 she weep at having such a lover recommended 
 to her ? Could she fancy herself so superior 
 to David as to feel herself insulted by Frank's 
 suggestion ? No ; it was not in Fanny's nature 
 to think so highly of herself; she was as 
 humble-minded as she was gentle and good- 
 natured. Could she have some other lover of 
 whom Frank knew nothing ? It was possible, 
 though not probable, for surely he would have 
 seen or heard of him during his residence in 
 the house. Still it might be a case of attach- 
 ment against the wishes of her parents, and in 
 that case, his own ignorance of it would be 
 accounted for. Frank thought a great deal on
 
 246 HOPE. 
 
 all this, because, as we have said, he was really 
 interested in Fanny Marsden. 
 
 Frank Nugent was now in full swing as a 
 litterateur^ catering for the monthly amusement 
 of thousands unknown and anonymously. It 
 was hard work, poor pay, and poor satisfaction ; 
 for surely it is unsatisfactory to labour day and 
 night with the brain, and get little pecuniary 
 reward, and less fame. Yet Frank's was the 
 lot of hundreds of other men ; and bad as it was, 
 it was better than his previous state of distress. 
 He could live now in comparative comfort : he 
 was not obliged to dine on a roll and an ^^^^ 
 in the old St. Giles's coffee house ; though he 
 still occasionally frequented it from an odd 
 feeling of attachment to the place where he 
 had speculated so much on his future career, 
 and where he had first made the acquaintance 
 of good, honest Bavid Tonks. He found the 
 life of a writer anything but one of ease and 
 pleasure. The constant wear and tear of the 
 intellect was not small : the daily and hourly
 
 HOPE. 247 
 
 necessity of cultivating fresh, thoughts, invent- 
 ing new stories, describing daily scenes in a 
 novel way, and watching the current of the 
 public taste was sufficiently fatiguing. He 
 often thought of attempting a higher flight, or 
 of producing some complete work ; but he 
 found the task difficult, whenever he set to work 
 on it : and then it formed a serious interruption 
 to his ordinary task, for he was obliged to turn to 
 it at stated intervals, and it taxed his imagina- 
 tion and his inventive faculties so severely, as 
 almost to preclude him from thinking of longer 
 labours. 
 
 Another discovery he made too. It was that 
 his collahorateiirs took these matters in a very 
 business-like way : they didn't pretend to write 
 because they liked it : certainly they would 
 have laughed ^'inspiration" to scorn: they 
 did it to live — because it paid — and they 
 judged of the merit of any piece of writing 
 less by its intrinsic beauties, than by its chance 
 of " taking." Frack strove very hard to avoid
 
 248 HOPE. 
 
 falling into these habits himself ; for he feared 
 that they were fatal to his chance of rising in 
 the scale of literature — and he was right. 
 Such sentiments as these we have mentioned, 
 were natural in the men of little mind, who 
 were first fitted for their present sphere, and 
 for no better ; but they were not the sentiments 
 of men destined to soar higher. He felt that 
 he must conform to circumstances for a time ; 
 but it should be with a due recollection of the 
 necessity that compelled him to do so, and not 
 with an ignoble feeling of satisfaction with his 
 obscurity. He would bide his time, and keep 
 alive the germs of that honourable ambition 
 which alone can elevate a man above the mere 
 drudgery of his calling, in whatever station of 
 life his lot may be thrown. 
 
 Imaginative men are apt to feel a great void 
 in the heart when the brain is most active. 
 The intellect is satisfied — the affections crave. 
 It is a dangerous state this : in some it leads to 
 disipation ; in others, to a morbid melancholy.
 
 HOPE. 249 
 
 It is a disease of the soul, or rather a premoni- 
 tory symptom of a disease, and its only cure 
 is love. But alas ! the cure may be almost as 
 fatal as the disease, or rather, it may turn to a 
 disease itself, if thwarted in its natural course. 
 How shall love accord with the hard life and 
 the slender means of a poor young litterateur ? 
 Love leads on to matrimony, and matrimony 
 leads — Heaven knows where. At all events, 
 it needs a well-filled purse, for if love can live 
 on air, decidedly matrimony cannot. It is ter- 
 ribly unromantic in its requirements. It wants 
 house and establishment — raiment — and the 
 three meals a-day. It must be clothed and 
 fed. 
 
 But who thinks of all this in the young 
 days, when the heart is tender, and the first 
 spark from the altar of love that touches it can 
 set it in a blaze ? When was the full course of 
 passion checked, and turned aside in a true and 
 generous heart, by the fatal anticipations of 
 matrimony's corporeal wants ? Heaven fore- 
 M 5
 
 250 HOPE. 
 
 fend it ever should be — or tlie world will be 
 but a large school of mathematicians, instead 
 of a stage for men and women to play out their 
 parts with all the passions and all the poetry 
 that nature has given them. 
 
 Frank I^ugent began to feel that his heart 
 was empty, and he brooded much upon the void.
 
 HOPE. 251 
 
 CHAPTEE XYI. 
 
 We have never read a history of Pentonville, 
 and we are not sure that such a work is ex- 
 tant. And yet we see no reason why it 
 should not be a very interesting and instructive 
 one. Decidedly Pentonville has its antiquities 
 as well as more classically known regions. 
 For example, there is a chemist's shop we 
 could point out, wherein is displayed a blister, 
 which blister we perfectly well recollect twenty 
 years ago — the very same blister in the very
 
 252 HOPE. 
 
 same place — and it was an old-looking blister 
 then. Don't tell us that it is not the same 
 blister, because we are sure that it is. For two 
 years we passed it every day on our way to 
 and from school ; we used to stop and look at 
 it, and count the cracks in it, which the sun 
 had made. Years afterwards, wo went to 
 the spot again, and saw it still there — it was 
 dirtier, and ten times more cracked ; but we 
 knew it well, and we positively assert that 
 it is there still. More than that, we are 
 confident that the shop has never been 
 painted during that period, and we even suspect 
 that the bald-headed old man inside it, with 
 the wart on his left cheek, has never taken 
 off that peculiar pair of silver spectaeleSy 
 with black ribbon bound round the joints which 
 go behind the ears, during the same number 
 uf years. 
 
 And there are cigar shops, and mosaic 
 jewellciy shops, and crockery shops, and 
 curiosity shops — all of whose windows bear
 
 HOPE. 253 
 
 the same unchanging and unchangeable aspect 
 now which they carried a quarter of a century 
 ago. And so, we say, Pentonville has its anti- 
 quities. 
 
 Let it be remembered that the antiquity of 
 anything is relative. Five-and-twenty years 
 is a good age for a pipe of port — a public 
 building is still new after the lapse of that 
 period. Pentonville has not antiquities of the 
 same class as Egypt ; but it surpasses Eegent 
 Street, at all events. 
 
 The general appearance of the Pentonville 
 district, taken as a whole, may be pronounced 
 " seedy." And yet there are parts of it which 
 have a spruce, prim, smart, green-door-and- 
 brass-knocker look about them. These are 
 chiefly the squares and the new streets branch- 
 ing out of lliciii. 
 
 Into one of these squares our business now 
 takes us. It is composed of neat little brick- 
 houses, of no great architectural pretensions ; 
 but one may guess tlie inhabitants of them to
 
 25 4 HOPE. 
 
 be fairly prosperous from the clean appearance 
 of the curtains in the windows, the hearth- 
 stoned door- steps, and the polished knockers 
 and bell-pulls — not to mention door-plates, 
 which flourish rather luxuriantly here, and 
 attain a considerable size. 
 
 A few of the windows have neat little bills 
 in them with ^^ furnished apartments '' in- 
 scribed on them, and most of the bills contain 
 the additional notification that the apartments 
 are " for single gentlemen." People who let 
 apartments have a strong partiality to single 
 gentlemen : they don't dine at home — they 
 don't lock anything up — they never recollect 
 how much tea they left in the canister — they 
 seldom grumble at '^ extras" in the bill — they 
 are perfectly innocent of any acquaintance with 
 the price current of bread, meat, tea, or sugar 
 — they don't make a ^^ fuss " if the rooms are 
 not dusted — in short, they are easily ^'done 
 for " in every sense of that very comprehensive 
 expression*
 
 HOPE. 255 
 
 In the middle of our square may be seen 
 two enormous pipes of iron, exactly the shape 
 of gigantic magnets. From the pavement 
 "we can see nothing more than these large 
 pipes ; but from the fii'st floor windows of the 
 houses one beholds a large sheet of water 
 where a garden should be. It is a reservoir of 
 the New Eiver, and the pipes are connected 
 with the water works. 
 
 On the door of one of the houses in this 
 square is a small brass-plate, and on it is in- 
 scribed the name ^'Mr. Melchisadech.'' To 
 judge from the style of equipages that are oc- 
 casionally drawn up at Mr. Melchisadech's door, 
 and the appearance of the gentlemen (and 
 ladies too) that step out of them, one would 
 say that Mr. Melchisadech lives in very fashion- 
 able society. Indeed, it seems strange that a 
 gentleman with such acquaintances should live 
 in so retired and humble a neighbourhood as 
 that of Pentonville. 
 
 Let us call on Mr. Melchisadech. He
 
 256 HOPE. 
 
 is sitting in tlie back parlour — a rather dimi- 
 nutive apartment comfortably furnished. The 
 most prominent article in it is the morocco 
 covered mahogany library table, strewed with 
 papers tied with red tape. If we examine the 
 superscriptions of these papers, we find ^' Moses 
 V. Greenhorne," ^' Isaacs v. Lord Tomnoddy," 
 
 " Israel v. " and similar titles with Mr. 
 
 Melchisadech's name at the bottom. From this 
 we learn that that gentleman is an attorney-at- 
 law, and we can surmise that his clients belong 
 principally to the Hebrew tribes. 
 
 Mr. Melchisadech is an attorney-at-law — but 
 he is something else also. He accommodates 
 ^'gentlemen of property, heirs to entailed 
 estates, officers in the army and navy, and 
 others," with money to any amount on their 
 personal security. So that he has quite a 
 different set of clients from the Messrs. Moses, 
 Isaacs, and Israel, whose names figure on the 
 papers we see lying on the table. These latter 
 gentlemen are only '' innocent holders," as
 
 HOPE. 257 
 
 Mr. Melchisadech and his co-fraternity call 
 them — that is to say, they are respectable 
 individuals, to whom he pays a trifle now and 
 then for the use of their names in case he finds 
 himself under the painful necessity of taking 
 legal proceedings against any one to whom he 
 has advanced money. The borrowers of the 
 money have given their acceptance to Mr. 
 Melchisadech, and these little bits of stamped 
 paper lie snugly in his strong box till they 
 become due and payable, when — unless they 
 are paid or renewed on his own terms — they are 
 supposed to have been passed away to Mr. 
 Moses, or Mr. Isaacs, or Mr. Israel, who is 
 further supposed to have given full value for 
 them, and who is determined to get the money 
 out of the acceptors. What can poor Mr. 
 Melchisadech do? Mr. Moses places the 
 matter in his hand, and in duty to his client, 
 he is forced to bring the terrors of the law to 
 bear upon the gentleman to whom he was lately 
 so obliging as to lend the money.
 
 258 HOPE. 
 
 By this ingenious little arrangement, Mr. 
 Melchisadech never appears as plaintiff against 
 any one. Moreover he has the satisfaction of 
 pocketing ^^ costs " as well as discount. 
 
 Mr. Melchisadech is sitting at the morocco- 
 covered table, reading the morning paper. 
 He is about fiftj' years of age, with iron-grey 
 curling hair, an exceedingly aquiline nose, and 
 an eye as like a hawk's as it is possible for a 
 human organ of sight to be. He wears a very 
 gaudily embroidered dressing-gown — the rest 
 of his costume is quiet enough ; but on the 
 little finger of his right hand is a single- stone 
 diamond ring, of great size and lustre, and 
 worth, at a moderate compi^tation, about a 
 hundred and fifty guineas. He is said to have 
 almost fabulous wealth, and yet he lives at 
 Pentonville. Those who seek him belong to 
 St. James's and Pall Mall, and yet he lives at 
 Pentonville. He is an attorney, too, and ye 
 he lives at Pentonville. 
 
 This puzzles some people ; for he must find
 
 HOPE. 259 
 
 the locality very inconvenient, or at all events, 
 his customers (clients we mean) must think it 
 so. This last is the very reason why Mr. 
 Melchisadech does live at Pentonville. He 
 likes to make people come after him. The 
 greater the personal inconvenience he can put 
 them to, the more he relishes it — next to 
 ^' discount " it is his greatest pleasure. He 
 has been constantly known to go to Brighton or 
 to Bath, or even to Leamington or Harrogate, 
 for the express purpose of forcing a marquis, 
 in want of his aid, to come after him. He 
 would live in St. George's in the East, to be 
 still more out of the way, if it were not that 
 his personal comfort would thereby suffer ; 
 while Pentonville is at least healthy and suf- 
 ficiently removed from the west- end, to make 
 the distance annoying to his fashionable 
 friends. 
 
 He has another fancy also ; he wont see any 
 one after twelve o'clock in the day. This re- 
 solution he keeps to on the same principle as
 
 260 HOPE. 
 
 the other — that of annoying his west-end 
 clients. 
 
 A dandy who would dismiss his vakt without 
 warning who should dare to disturb his slum- 
 bers before one in the afternoon, is forced to rise 
 at ten and make the most hurried of toilets in 
 order to be in time to see " his jew." A lady 
 of fashion, whose ordinary breakfast hour is 
 two in the afternoon, is compelled to sit up all 
 night or be dragged out of bed by her femme-de- 
 chambre three hours before noon to see *^ that 
 horrid Mr. Melchisadech," in order to raise 
 money to pay her losings at ecarte^ or to enable 
 her to purchase that exquisite suite of emeralds 
 at Blundells', who wont give her credit for 
 them — " the wretches." 
 
 It might be supposed that people would get 
 tired of running after Mr. Melchisadech, at 
 such great personal inconvenience; but it is 
 just the reverse. Not to mention the fact that 
 most of his clients are too much in his power 
 to venture on offending him by going else-
 
 HOPE. 261 
 
 where, it is a great mistake to imagine that 
 people think less of those who treat them 
 somewhat cavalierly. The very independence 
 displayed by Mr. Melchisadech in living at so 
 out-of-the way a place as Pentonville, has a 
 fascination for his clients. It shows the man 
 to be enormously wealthy, as he would not 
 use any arts to seek their visits. And wealth 
 is attractive enough in all people — how much 
 more so in a money-lender ! 
 
 Beyond the two points we have mentioned — 
 his inconvenient place of abode, and still more 
 inconvenient hour of receiving his clients — Mr. 
 Melchisadech did not assume any airs to 
 annoy those who called on him. On the con- 
 trary, his manner was perfectly bland and 
 polite ; and many a young gentleman at his 
 first interview has been so attracted by it as to 
 fancy Mr. Melchisadech the best-tempered and 
 most obliging fellow in the world. Certainly 
 such young gentlemen were not the best of 
 physiognomists, or a keen observance of that
 
 262 HOPE. 
 
 hawk's eye might have read them a different 
 lesson. 
 
 '^Devilish good fellow in his way," young 
 Greenhorn would mutter to himself as he 
 stepped into his cabriolet and drove from the 
 discounter's door. 
 
 '' Young idiot !" Mr. Melchisadech would 
 observe to himself on the same occasion, ^^ only 
 wants time to become as great a rogue as he is 
 a fool — no matter — more grist to the mill — I'll 
 pluck him — every feather of him." 
 
 And now that we have Mr. Melchisadech 
 and his room before us, let us wait and see a 
 few of Mr. Melchisadech' s visitors ; for it is 
 past ten o'clock and they will be coming in 
 thickly ere long. 
 
 A young man has just dismounted from a 
 thorough-bred mare which his groom, equally 
 well-mounted, holds. The young man knocks 
 at the door ; it is opened by a nondescript, and 
 not very clean-looking animal, who may be a 
 clerk or a servant.
 
 HOPE. 263 
 
 " Is Mr. Melchisadech at home ?" 
 
 ** He is — and so the young man hands a 
 card to the dirty clerk (we will call him so), 
 and the dirty clerk reads the name, ^^ Mr. 
 Wiggins," requests the young gentleman to 
 enter, shows him into the front parlour, and 
 proceeds to the back one with the card. 
 
 Immediately afterwards the young gentle- 
 man is conducted into the presence of Mr. 
 Melchisadech, in a state of some tremour and 
 excitement ; for really your first visit to your 
 first jew, touching your first bill transaction, is 
 generally rather nervous work, and an era in 
 the existence of most " fast" young men. 
 
 '^ Take a seat," says Mr. Melchisadech, in 
 his blandest tone. 
 
 ]\Ir. Wiggins does so — clears his throat — 
 mentions that he has not the pleasure of Mr. 
 Melchisadech's acquaintance, but he believes 
 that gentleman knows Captain Eougenoir ? 
 
 '^ Certainly — I have that honour," replies 
 the monev-lender.
 
 264 HOPE. 
 
 " A particular friend of mine — and a brother 
 officer," says Wiggins. 
 
 ^^ Oh, indeed — then you are in the — th 
 Lancers ?" and Mr. Melchisadech makes a little 
 note of that fact. '^ What rank, may I 
 ask ?" 
 
 ^' Cornet," says Wiggins, heartily "wishing it 
 were Colonel. 
 
 Mr. Melchisadech makes a bow as much 
 as to say, ''proceed — I'm all attention." 
 
 '' I was mentioning to Eougenoir that I was 
 rather hard-up," said Mr. Wiggins, trying to 
 feel at his ease, '' and he referred me to you as 
 — as — " he was just going to say ^^ Ms Jetv^''^ 
 but he stopped himself in time and substituted 
 — '' as a gentleman who might accommodate 
 me." 
 
 Mr. Melchisadech bowed again, and merely 
 said — 
 
 '' I presume Captain Eougenoir did not offer 
 to be your security ?" 
 
 " No !" answered Wiggins.
 
 HOPE. 265 
 
 " It is not at all necessary," said Melcliisa- 
 clecli (who had no great opinion of the Cap- 
 tain's security at all). " May I ask the name 
 and profession of your father ?" 
 
 '^ Thomas Wiggins of Manchester — Mill- 
 owner," replied the cornet, colouring a little, 
 for he was ashamed of his father's '^profes- 
 sion." 
 
 ^^ Your age?" 
 
 " Twenty-two." 
 
 ^' Sum required ?" 
 
 ^^ Fiv^e hundred pounds." 
 
 '^ Very good — I shall be most happy to ac- 
 commodate you, Mr, Wiggins. Be kind enough 
 to call here on Monday at eleven — bring your 
 certificate of baptism, or register of birth, with 
 you, you will have to give me your acceptance 
 for six hundred at three months, and the 
 money you require shall be handed to you. As 
 t is our first transaction, I will not require 
 you to find another name. Good day, sir." 
 
 VOL. I. N"
 
 266 HOPE. 
 
 And Mr. Wiggins leaves tlie room a happy 
 man, because he has just taken the first step 
 towards ruin of fortune and fame. And the 
 money-lender rubs his hands, muttering — 
 
 ^^ Pretty pickings there for a time — I like 
 cotton -spinners' sons — only you must not go 
 too deep, or the old ones turn savage, and will 
 let that cursed Insolvent Court clear off the 
 score. A ^ landed-aristocracy' man 7iever allows 
 this — but then the money is often very slow in 
 raising." 
 
 The neatest little Brougham in London is at 
 the door, and the prettiest foot and ancle steps 
 out of it and trips up the door steps. And the 
 dirty clerk admits a most elegantly attired lady 
 without a question ; for he knows her well, 
 and who does not know the most fascinating of 
 young widows, Mrs. Clavering Maddison ? 
 
 The dirty clerk even shews her without any 
 preliminary delay into the presence of Mr. 
 Melchisadech.
 
 HOPE. 267 
 
 " My dear Mr. Melchisadech, how are you ? 
 I'm delighted to see you looking so well," says 
 the pretty widow entering the room. 
 
 And truly the pretty widow's voice is ex- 
 quisitely musical, and Melchisadech ought to 
 feel delighted at the endearing tone in which 
 she addresses him. 
 
 But Melchisadech is a '^ cool hand," an old 
 bird not easily caught with chaff even when 
 flung to him by the hand of the most charming 
 young widow in London. And therefore 
 though perfectly polite he is not delighted. 
 
 " May I ask how I can serve you ?" he en- 
 quires. 
 
 ^' Oh, my dear sir, I have had the most 
 wretched fortune. That dreadful lady Caro- 
 line Gunter won three hundred pounds of me 
 last night — I'm sure she cheats. And this 
 morning I had faithfully promised to pay La 
 Ravi^nole her bill — and then I have seen the 
 most exquisite Arabian in London, and the 
 N 2
 
 268 HOPE. 
 
 price is five hundred guineas, and the wretch 
 who has it, positively refuses me credit !" 
 
 ^' And so — '?'' asks Melchisadech. 
 
 " And so — and so, my dear sir, I am com- 
 pelled to ask you to aid me with the loan of a 
 thousand pounds." 
 
 ^' Your income being, I believe, tivo thou- 
 sand," says the money-lender, politely, ^' and 
 settled without power of anticipation by 
 you ?" 
 
 '' Yes — it is shameful to restrict a woman 
 so, is it not ?" asked the lady with indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 The money-lender smiled. 
 
 ^^ You at present owe me four thousand, I 
 think ?" he remarked. 
 
 " But my life is insured, you know," said 
 the lady, ^* and you have my bonds." 
 
 ^'Certainly," replied Mr. Melchisadech; 
 ^^ but I really think four thousand quite a large 
 enough debt to be owed to one person by a 
 lady of two thousand a year, tied up."
 
 HOPE. 269 
 
 "You cruel man," said the lady, trying one 
 of those looks that have driven the senses clean 
 out of the head of all the guardsmen thej have 
 ever been levelled at. It was as harmless 
 against Melchisadech as a pea-shooter against a 
 rhinoceros. 
 
 " Then I suppose I must give you t/iis,^^ 
 she said, after a pause, colouring very much, 
 and producing a piece of stamped paper across 
 which was the name of Lord Eaven. 
 
 Melchisadech turned the hawk's eye keenly 
 and fully upon her. She winced and blushed, 
 and looked as guilty as if she had given him 
 a forgery. But the signature was genuine 
 enough, and he knew it — it was not that his 
 look meant. 
 
 " You shall have the money," he said, 
 " favor me with a call, to-moirow." And he 
 bowed the confused beauty out of the room, 
 who hastened to her brougham, and as it drove 
 away, sunk back into a corner and burst into 
 tears.
 
 270 HOPE. 
 
 " So it's come to thai, eli ?" muttered 
 Melcliisadech. " The lovely Mrs. Clavering 
 Maddison, in the power of Lord Eaven ! A 
 few months more and which will he most 
 bankrupt — her fortune or her character ? "No 
 matter — the security is good — more grist to the 
 mill.'' 
 
 " Sir Eeginald Monkton," announces the 
 dirty clerk. 
 
 " Ah, my old hoy, how are you ?" cries 
 a rather '^ slangy " voice, as a rakish looking 
 man of five-and-thirty enters the room. 
 *' Getting as plump as your own money-hags, I 
 swear." 
 
 " In your usual spirits. Sir Eeginald, I see," 
 replies the money-lender, with the nearest ap- 
 proach to honhcnjimie he can command. ^' What 
 can I do for you ?" 
 
 ^^ There you are — down on me directly — 
 straight to business at once," says the baronet. 
 " Why couldn't you chat a little first about 
 the opera, and the last division and Epsom (and
 
 HOPE. 271 
 
 be hanged to it) and so on, and let us glide 
 into the business by degrees ?" 
 
 " You forget that I'm only a man of busi- 
 ness," replies Melchisadech. 
 
 '^ Very well then — here goes. The Oaks 
 has cleaned me out of three thousand, when I 
 made sure of winning fifteen. That cursed 
 little Petifa filly ought to have won — I belieye 
 the whole thing is ^ a sell.' Well — will you 
 let me have the three thousand now — to-day ?" 
 
 "^ot to-day, but to-morrow, as early as you 
 please," replies Melchisadech, who always in- 
 sists on making his clients pay him a second 
 visit. 
 
 " Very well — at ten then precisely — to- 
 morrow's settling-day, at the corner, you know, 
 so good bye old fellow. By-the-way you don't 
 want a good hunter do you ?" 
 
 '^No, I thank you." 
 
 And the baronet departed. 
 
 *' Another fool," chuckles the money- 
 lender," and the best one I've got — ten
 
 272 HOPE. 
 
 thousand a-year and no incumbrances on the 
 estate — won't mortgage an acre at three yjer 
 cent, but borrows of me at one hundred per 
 cent in preference, to keep his land clear and 
 get his money at a day's notice. Yery well 
 ■ — more fools — more grist." 
 
 Eut there is another client waiting in the 
 parlour, and his card is now brought in to the 
 money-lender who reads — 
 
 " Mr. Lionel Danyers." 
 
 However, we have no time to stay longer at 
 Mr. Melchisadech's — so we will take our de- 
 parture, congratulating Mr. Lionel Dan vers on 
 his visit, and hoping that it may not lead him 
 as it has most others — to ruin, shame, beggary, 
 and remorse.
 
 HOPE. 273 
 
 CHAPTEE XYIL 
 
 To our taste, Mrs. Townley St. Leger's are the 
 best reunions in London. 
 
 Formality is not admitted within the doors. 
 Duhiess is a rare guest. Wealth receives no 
 particular favoiu^; but intellect is welcomed 
 with every honour. The exclusives sneer at 
 Mrs. Townley St. Leger's entertainments, be- 
 cause they meet people there whom they meet 
 nowhere else. An author, not sufficiently 
 fashionable to be a ^^ lion," — a man of science 
 not puffed into notoriety — an actor, and even 
 an actress ( !) may be met in Mrs. St. Leger's 
 drawing-room : and when we have mentioned- 
 these few characters, out of a long catalogue 
 that we might compose of similar offensive in- 
 ' dividuals, we are satisfied that we have said 
 enough to account for the horror with which
 
 274 HOPE. 
 
 exclusiveism feels bound to regard the house 
 that gives them shelter. 
 
 And yet Mrs. St. Leger's reunions are fash- 
 ionable. Truth to say, the lady herself is gay 
 and witty, and well-bred ; and even those who 
 are most inclined to sneer at her guests can 
 find little to attack in the hostess. They feel 
 that she is their equal, or their superior in the 
 petty arts, or petty accomplishments in v.^hich 
 the whole of their energies and abilities are 
 embarked ; they know that she is as good an 
 authority as any of them, on matters of fashion ; 
 that her toilette is as perfect ; her equipage as 
 unexceptionable ; her manners as graceful ; 
 her air as distinguished as those of any of the 
 gay buterflics fluttering in the sunshine of 
 Belgravia and May Fair ; while in every higlier 
 point of excellence — in sense, perceptioD, in- 
 formation and wit, they feel the superiority 
 wbich their vanity dares not acknowledge. 
 
 Mrs. Townley St. Leger is not exactly a 
 '^ fast " woman, nor a '^ lion "-hunter, and yet' 
 she has an unconventional way of doing things
 
 HOPE. 275 
 
 wHch might almost subject her to the former 
 appellation, while she decidedly seeks out and 
 seizes every opportunity of bringing into her 
 circle each rising star in literature, science, the 
 drama, and the fine arts — so that the guests of 
 her drawing-room, on any evening, could of 
 themselves turn out the next number of the 
 Athenceum as creditably as the regular staff of 
 that delightful journaL But then it is intellect 
 Mrs. St. Leger seeks and not men who, justly 
 or unjustly, have acquired a name for it. Por 
 example — you are turning over a portfolio on 
 her table. A quiet and gentlemanly-looking 
 man by your side makes some remark on it — 
 you reply — the conversation goes on, and you 
 find yourself talking with one of the most 
 intelligent men you ever met. You take an 
 early opportunity of enquiring his name of a 
 friend. The name is told you, and you know 
 nothing of it. ^' What is he ?" " An author." 
 Perhaps you are rather disappointed to find 
 that he belongs to a profession in which he has 
 not had talent enough to make himself known
 
 276 HOPE. 
 
 to yourself and tlie generality of a reading 
 public. Poor fellow ! lie is a magazine-writer^ 
 working hard for the crusts of his calling and 
 filling up many an anonymous page over which 
 the world weeps or smiles. His fame is yet to 
 come — or never to be ; but his hostess has 
 judged him by a better test than that of fame, 
 which is a gift that fortune sometime refuses 
 even to the worthy — she has judged him by 
 his genius, and that is God's gift. 
 
 It is impossible for the dullest of dunces in 
 fashion's school (and Heaven knows slie lias 
 an unlimited supply of them,) to be otherwise 
 than amused at Mrs. Townley St. Leger's. 
 Does he like music ? He shall hear it as per- 
 fect in her salons as in the concert-ioom of 
 Her Majesty's Theatre. Dancing ? Would 
 he wish for a better accompaniment, a prettier 
 partner, or a smoother ■parquet than he meets 
 with here ? Has he a taste for tiie iiiio arts ? 
 Let him glance around him and feast his eyes, 
 or stroll to yonder large table strewed with 
 little gems of art, or turn over the pages of any
 
 HOPE. 277 
 
 portfolio lying there — lie will find tliem very 
 unlike '^ ladies' albums " in general. Is he a 
 man of literary pursuits ? Let him join that 
 group of authors, editors, feuilletonisies^ poets, 
 novelists, reviewers, and Apollo knows Avhat 
 besides. There shall he hear the discussion of 
 Thackeray's last v/ork (provided the author be 
 not of the people), or witness the dissection of 
 Tennyson's last poem. Thence shall he carry 
 away many a little gem of thought or expres- 
 sion — and perchance also wonder why some of 
 the most eloquent on paper are the most silent 
 of conversationalists. Is he a politician ? 
 Yonder are men whose names are not unknown 
 in the senate — let him join them if he will — 
 and he may be as wise as the editor of the 
 Times half an hour hence, and Heaven give 
 him joy of his wisdom ! Is he a mere man- 
 about-town, who loves only the gossip of 81. 
 James's Street and Pall Mall ? Can he doubt 
 that those perfectly dressed gentlemen loung- 
 ing about the room in all parts of it — surely 
 he will recognize Poole's coats and Buck-
 
 278 HOPE. 
 
 master's continuations — are of the veritable 
 club breed and will gratify his exquisitely re- 
 fined taste ? 
 
 And wherever he shall go, he will chance to 
 meet, if only for a moment, his charming 
 hostess, and he will wonder to which section 
 she is attached by taste and habit — so tho- 
 roughly can she assimilate her tone to either — 
 and so well is she informed on every individual 
 subject which occupies the thoughts and dis- 
 cussions of each one. 
 
 " Tell me — who is that good-looking fellow, 
 talking to Mrs. St. Leger?" asked the hon- 
 ourable Tom Saville, of a friend. Lest the 
 reader should wonder at an honourable Tom 
 applying a complimentary description to one of 
 his own sex, we will state that the young 
 gentleman was blessed with an unusual share 
 of good-nature. 
 
 '^ His name's Mowbray," replied his friend. 
 ^^ He's very rich, and a decent fellow in his 
 way — though I can't say / think him good- 
 looking," and here the speaker settled his white
 
 HOPE, 279 
 
 neckcloth with an air of intense self-satisfac- 
 tion, " but then he fancies he's clever and 
 writes for publication — and that sort of thing. 
 Wonder he can^t leave such snobbish things 
 alone — don't you ?" 
 
 " Well," rejoined the honourable Tom, '^ I 
 don't know why a fellow shouldn't write if he 
 likes. For my part I couldnH write a page to 
 save my neck, and as for poetry, I never did a 
 verse in my life — I always paid other fellows 
 to do them for me at school. It cost me a 
 fortune in apples." 
 
 '^ But fancy printing what you write I" said 
 the other, ^' and having those newspaper fellows 
 reviewing you, as they call it, and saying all 
 sorts of impertinent things — as they can with 
 safety, for they know you can't call them 
 out." 
 
 '^Why not?" asked Saville — not exactly 
 knowing what he ivas asking. 
 
 " Why not !" replied the other in surprise. 
 '' In the first place a newspaper man isn't a 
 gentleman — in the next place he wouldn't
 
 280 HOPE. 
 
 come out if you called him — in the third place 
 how are you to know who wrote the article ?" 
 
 " The last is the only good reason as far as 
 I can see," said Saville. '' In the ' first place,' 
 (as you say) I don't see why a newspaper editor 
 shouldn't be a gentleman. In the ' second 
 place,' I don't see why he shouldn't come out if 
 he thought he had given you any right to ask 
 him — though if he only treated anything you 
 might write, my dear Townsend, as it deserved, 
 I should doubt the necessity of any one fight- 
 ing about it." 
 
 Mr. Townsend looked a trifle graver than 
 before, and so Tom Saville changed his tone of 
 banter and said — 
 
 " But seriously, Townsend, This Mowbray — 
 who is he ? what is he ?" 
 
 '' His father was a Stafibrdshire man and 
 had good property in the county. Gerard 
 there, was his only son. He went to Harrow, 
 but declined college — to his father's great dis- 
 gust. He joined the 7th Lancers for a time,
 
 HOPE. 281. 
 
 but got sick of them — bad taste t]ia,t, for they 
 were a first-rate set of fellows." 
 
 '^ All drove four-in-hand, gave champagne 
 luncheons, got head-over- ears in debt, and had 
 a weakness for roulette and hazard I suppose 
 you mean?" interrupted Tom, enquiringly. 
 Townsend didn't condescend to notice the 
 interruption, but went on. 
 
 " Well — Mowbray left the army and went 
 abroad. I believe he went everywhere, from 
 Copenhagen to Cairo, and only came back six 
 months ago, being summoned home by his 
 father's illness. The governor died and 
 Gerard came in for Haslop Hall and six 
 thousand a-year." 
 
 '^ And instead of devoting his London season 
 to Rotten Row, the clubs, the coulisses and the 
 hells ; and the rest of the year to Newmarket, 
 the partridges, the foxes, country squires and 
 country parsons, the fellow has the bad taste to 
 study now and then and to write books, eh ?" 
 asked Tom Saville. 
 
 ^'He has written one book," replied Mr.
 
 282 HOPE. 
 
 Townsend, with a half-offended look, ^' some- 
 thing about his travels I believe, but — " 
 
 " But of course you don't know. Quite right, 
 my dear Townsend. A man whom nature has 
 made so perfect as yourself doesn't want the 
 adventitious attractions of a head crammed 
 with other men's thoughts. It is always the 
 dullest men who have read the most books — 
 and how vilely the fellows always dress, don't 
 they ?" 
 
 And so saying Tom Saville sauntered up to 
 a pretty girl in pink, and whirled her away in 
 a deux tem/ps. 
 
 It is a mystery to us how Mrs. Townley St, 
 Leger contrives to escape " dowagers." Those 
 awful personages, of such extensive dimensions 
 and resplendent with diamonds and old lace, 
 who flourish so luxuriantly at all other assem- 
 blies, are rare at Mrs. St. Leger' s. Who does 
 not know as soon as he has entered a ball-room, 
 the exact spot where the caps and turbans, the 
 brocade and the India shawls, will be con- 
 gregated? Not far from the fire-place — not
 
 HOPE. 283 
 
 far from those great cosy couclies and inviting 
 lounges. If he has a pretty and agreeable 
 l^artner on his arm does he not shun that spot 
 even as he would avoid the reputed lurking 
 place of a hungry tiger ? For he knows full 
 well that if he passes by it. he is either marked 
 down as prey for their tongues, greedy of 
 scandal, to discuss ; or perchance his fair 
 partner may be pounced on by one of the 
 turbans who is her mama or her aunt or her 
 chaperonne of some kind, and ruthlessly with- 
 draw from his disinterested protection. He is 
 tolerably safe at Mrs. St. Leger's, though as we 
 said, it puzzles us to conceive how she con- 
 trives to dispense with the company of the 
 ^^ dowagers." 
 
 She was not, however, quite free from them 
 to-night. Two very decided specimens of the 
 much-to-be-avoided genus were sitting on a 
 large sofa, in one comer of the front drawing- 
 room. Between them was a young girl of not 
 more than eighteen, beautiful as Hebe. "We need 
 not stop to describe her now, as she is known
 
 284 HOPE. 
 
 to tlie reader, but it seemed as if Gerard 
 Mowbray was anxious to be able to do so ; for 
 he sat at a table not far off, and pretended to 
 be looking over a volume of engravings, but 
 the hypocrite's eyes scarcely wandered for a 
 moment from the face of Flora Danvers, as she 
 sat quite unconscious of his looks, and listening 
 with heroic patience to the twaddle of the old 
 ladies who were both alternately talking to her, 
 and asking her questions about every one in 
 the room. 
 
 '^ How beautiful !" he exclaimed, and rather 
 louder than he intended. 
 
 ^' Yes — it's devilish good, certainly; but you 
 can hardly call that sort of thing beautiful — can 
 you, Mowbray ?" drawled a voice at his 
 elbow. 
 
 Gerard started, and was going to forget the 
 rules of good breeding by an imprecation, as 
 he turned his head and saw young Townsend 
 by his side, looking at the '^ H. B." sketch 
 which Mowbray held in his hand, and to which
 
 HOPE. 285 
 
 the listener supposed his admii-ation applied — 
 though, in truth, he had never seen it. 
 
 " Ah, Townsend ! how are you ?" said 
 Mowbray, wisliing him devoutly ' five fathoms 
 under the Eialto.' 
 
 ^^Deucedly bored, my dear fellow. I think 
 I shall go — will you come and sup with me at 
 the club ?" 
 
 " No, I thank you," replied Gerard, smiling. 
 ^^ By-the-way, Townsend, who is that pretty 
 girl between the — " 
 
 '' Between the tabbies — eh ?" said Townsend. 
 " Ah, its Flora Dan vers, only daughter of 
 the old Colonel of ^ours.' Shall I introduce 
 you ?" 
 
 Before Mowbray could decide whether he 
 would not rather forego the pleasui-e of know- 
 ing the beauty a little longer, than be intro- 
 duced by such a puppy. Flora had vanished 
 from her place between the dowagers, and 
 was gliding through a quadrille in the next 
 room.
 
 286 HOPE. 
 
 Even there she was not free from ardent 
 looks. A tall, pale youth, with light hair and 
 <ylowing blue eyes, and a forehead that might 
 have served for Apollo's, stood lounging by one 
 of the folding-doors, and pretending to look 
 indifferently at the various dancers; but he, 
 too, was a hypocrite ; for his eyes seldom 
 strayed from the lovely form of Flora Danvers, 
 and their expression belied the air of negligence 
 and insouciance he was endeavouring to as- 
 sume. 
 
 Turn away, Frank Nugent. There is more 
 danger in gazing on that beauty than in facing 
 a shower of grape-shot. The one would give 
 thee but a momentary pang, and end all mortal 
 ills for ever — the other will lead thee on, step 
 by step, into the web of fascination, and, once 
 there, thou shalt be tortured like the poor fly 
 in the spider's grasp — thou shalt writhe, day 
 by day, and night by night, with a pain which 
 no leech hath skill to cure ; thy pale face shall 
 become paler — thy lustrous eye yet more bright,
 
 HOPE. 287 
 
 but with the brilliancy of feverish anxiety — 
 thy brain, unquiet now, shall then know no 
 rest through the long, long hours of fallacious 
 hope. Turn away — but no ! it is too late ! 
 The sweet passion has entered into thy veins 
 — the world contains no antidote to drive it 
 thence — the fiat has gone forth from Heaven's 
 chancery — thy doom is fixed ! And what but 
 anguish, disappointment, and misery, shall 
 await the poor, unknown labourer in the field 
 of thought, who dares to love the high-born 
 and wealthy daughter of Fortune ? Poor 
 Frank 1 
 
 " Colonel Danvers's carriage stops the way," 
 shouts the link-boy outside to the footman 
 within, and the message reverberates through 
 hall and staircase. 
 
 A fine old soldier and a lovely girl descend 
 the stairs together, and pass along the hall, 
 while two young men draw aside to make 
 room for them. The eyes of each are fixed on
 
 288 HOPE. 
 
 the young girl's form, and their looks tell more 
 than words. 
 
 The old man and his daughter are gone, 
 and the eyes of the young men encounter 
 each other. Mars have mercy on us ! what 
 defiant looks ! 
 
 They are gone in their turn. Gerard Mow- 
 bray's brougham has rattled him home to St. 
 James's Place ; and Frank Nugent has walked 
 all the way to Pentonville. Both are in bed and 
 trying to sleep ; but a tiresome little fairy 
 drives Morpheus away from either — and to each 
 her laughing ej^es, in shape, in colour, in ex- 
 pression, are those of Flora Danvers ! The man 
 of fortune and the man of letters, whom Fate 
 seems to have placed so far apart, are now 
 engrossed by the same thoughts, brought to 
 the same level, the slaves of the same miaster 
 passion — aye, even in their very dreams. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
 Siia