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 Sillu^tratcb Stifirarp ambition 
 
 THE COMPLETE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR, AND WITH 
 ■ INTRODUCTORY NOTES SETTING FORTH THE 
 HISTORY OF THE SEVERAL WORKS 
 
 IN TWENTY-TWO VOLUMES 
 VOLUME XVIL
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 SHOWING WHO ROBBED HIM, WHO HELPED HIM 
 ANE> WHO PASSED HIM BY 
 
 TO WHICH IS NOW PREFIXED 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY 
 CATHERINE: A STORY 
 
 By IKEY SOLOMONS, ESQ., JUNIOR 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 
 
 WITH NINETY-FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE 
 
 AUTHOR, FREDERICK WALKER 
 
 AND R. B. WALLACE 
 
 AND AN 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE SETTING FORTH THE HISTORY 
 OF THESE WRITINGS 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 VOL. L 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 M DCCC XCII
 
 Copyright, 1889, 
 By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 
 Printed by H. 0. Houghton and Company.
 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 A Shabby Genteel Story was begun in Fraser^s Magazine, 
 where it ran through June, July, August, and October, 
 1840. We say begun, for though the readers of the period- 
 ical may have thought the last movements of the story 
 rather rapid, they saw that the author had wound his tale 
 to the striking point. Seventeen years later, when Thack- 
 eray's fame was established, he published his Miscellanies, 
 and in the fourth volume inserted this story with the fol- 
 lowing prefatory note, dated London, April 10th, 1857 : — 
 
 " It was my intention to complete the little story, of 
 which only the first part is here written. Perhaps novel- 
 readers will understand, even from the above chapters, 
 what was to ensue. Caroline was to be disowned and 
 deserted by her wicked husband : that abandoned man was 
 to marry somebody else : hence, bitter trials and grief, 
 patience and virtue, for poor little Caroline, and a mel- 
 ancholy ending — as how should it have been gay ? The 
 tale was interrupted at a sad period of the writer's own 
 life. The colors are long since dry; the artist's hand is 
 changed. It is best to leave the sketch as it was when first 
 designed, seventeen years ago. The memory of the past is 
 renewed as he looks at it — 
 
 «'die Bilder froher Tage 
 Und manche liebe Schatten steigen auf.' " 
 
 The " sad period " of the writer's life was that in which 
 
 'LZ^^f^
 
 vi INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 his home was made desolate by the hopeless insanity of 
 his wife. He had married in 1837 Isabella, daughter of 
 Colonel Matthew Shawe, and by her had three daughters, 
 Anne, Jane, and Harriet. Anne, who has won a distinct 
 place in literature, is Mrs. Richmond Eitchie ; Jane died 
 in childhood, and Harriet married Mr. Leslie Stephen, but 
 died after her father's death. Thackeray's marriage took 
 place just as he lost his patrimony, and the reader will 
 have noticed that the years immediately following were 
 busily employed in fragmentary work, chiefly in Fraser, re- 
 sulting in The Paris Sketch Book and in the volumes after- 
 ward combined in Miscellanies. No one can read either 
 Thackeray's writings or his letters without perceiving how 
 double a life he led, with his children on the one hand, 
 at his club on the other. It was the need of providing 
 for his children which stimulated him to write and sent 
 him on his lecturing tours in America ; it was the loneli- 
 ness of his fireside which sent him to his club. As his 
 children grew and became companions, his domestic life 
 was more identified with his work, and he lived long 
 enough to welcome his eldest daughter to a place by his 
 side in literature. 
 
 As intimated in the note quoted above, Thackeray at first 
 designed completing A Shabby Genteel Story in a formal 
 fashion, but changed his mind and instead revived some of 
 the characters as the Brandons and Mr. Gann in a new 
 novel The Adventures of Philip, which he contributed to 
 The Cornhill Magazine, beginning with the number for 
 Januar}^, 1861, the third volume of the magazine, which 
 opened with the story, and continuing it until August, 
 1862. Immediately afterward he published it in three vol- 
 umes, without the illustrations, dedicating it to his friend
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. vii 
 
 M. I. Higgins, the "Jacob Omnium" of The Times, whose 
 tall figure was very familiar by the side of Thackeray's 
 equally tall person. 
 
 The story of Catherine was an early production and may 
 be said to have had its origin in Thackeray's mind when 
 he was a critic rather than a novelist, and was moved to 
 express his strong sense of moral indignation in a tale 
 which should be a protest against a current weak senti- 
 mentalism. Later, he resorted to the burlesque when he 
 wished to satirize folly, but at this time, when he was grop- 
 ing about for the proper exercise of his power, he used a 
 heavier weapon, though one scarcely as effective. He had 
 indeed once before made a similar venture. In 1832 he had 
 published in Fraser the tale of Elisabeth Broivnrigge, in- 
 tended as a satirical attack upon Bulwer's Eugene Aram. 
 This story will be found in a subsequent volume of this 
 edition. In 1839 Eugene Aram had been distanced by 
 Jack Sheppard, and certain parts of Oliver Twist. Thack- 
 eray, though he had not yet acquired the delicate power of 
 depicting human life which afterward made much of his 
 work a foil to that of Dickens, had that instinct for truth- 
 fulness and that contempt for sham and unreality which 
 lay at the base of all his work. He was a young man and 
 he seized upon the heaviest weapon he could yield. He 
 resolved to paint the criminal in colors which would not 
 allure the eye, and to strip from the class, which appeared 
 to be furnishing heroes and heroines in fiction, all its ro- 
 mantic disguises. Accordingly he took for his heroine 
 Catherine Hayes who was burned at Tyburn, in 1726, for 
 the murder of her husband. The actual history of the 
 woman was revolting enough, and Thackeray did not shrink
 
 viii INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 from a Hogarth-like fidelity in portraiture. The tale by 
 itself is not an attractive one, and lay long undisturbed in 
 the pages of Fraser ; but to the student of Thackeray it has 
 great interest from the hints it gives of the more perfected 
 power which afterward used keener weapons. He learned 
 to employ a subtle irony in place of a blunt savagery. It 
 would almost seem as if Thackeray in writing Catherine 
 suddenly discovered near the close the burlesque key in 
 which he should have written the tale. 
 
 Boston, August, 1889.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 1 1 
 
 II. How Mrs. Ganx keceived Two Lodgers .... 14 
 III. A Shabby Genteel Dinner, and Other Incidents 
 
 OF A Like Mature 26 
 
 TV. In which Mr. Fitch proclaims his Love, and Mr. 
 
 Brandon prepares for War 41 
 
 Y. Contains a Great Deal of Complicated Love- 
 making 49 
 
 VI. Describes a Shabby Genteel Marriage, and more 
 
 Love-Making 6Q 
 
 YII. Which brings a Great Number of People to 
 
 Margate by the Steamboat 74 
 
 VIII. Which treats of War and Love, and Many 
 Things that are not to be understood in 
 
 Chapter VII 81 
 
 LX. Which threatens Death, but contains a Great 
 
 Deal of MARRY^NG 95 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 I. Doctor Fell Ill 
 
 II. At School and at Home 122 
 
 III. A CONSL-LTATION 132 
 
 IV. A Genteel FAmLY 142 
 
 ix
 
 X CONTENTS, 
 
 V. The Noble Kinsmax 157 
 
 VI. Bkandon's 174 
 
 VII. Impletur Veteeis Bacchi 189 
 
 VIII. Will be pronounced to be Cynical by the 
 
 Benevolent 206 
 
 IX. Contains One Riddle which is solved, and 
 
 PERHAPS SOME MORE 214 
 
 X. In which we visit "Admiral Byng" 226 
 
 XI. In which Philip is very ill-tempered .... 238 
 
 XII. Damocles 254 
 
 XIII. Love Me, love my Dog 274 
 
 XIV. Contains Two of Philip's Mishaps 288 
 
 XV. Samaritans 307 
 
 XVI. In which Philip shows his Mettle 316 
 
 XVII. Brevis esse Laboro 337 
 
 XVIII. Drum ist's so wohl mir in der Welt 348 
 
 XIX. Qu'oN est bien a Vingt Ans 368 
 
 XX. Course of True Love 383 
 
 XXL Treats of Dancing, Dining, Dying 400 
 
 XXII. PuLvis ET Umbra sumus 421 
 
 XXIII. In which we still hover about the Elysian 
 
 Fields 431
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY.
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 T that remarkable period when 
 Louis XVIII. was restored a 
 second time to the throne of 
 his fathers, and all the Eng- 
 lish who had money or lei- 
 sure rushed over to the Con- 
 tinent, there lived in a certain 
 boarding-house at Brussels a 
 genteel young widow, who 
 bore the elegant name of 
 Mrs. Welle sley Macarty. 
 
 In the same house and room 
 with the widow lived her 
 mamma, a lady who was 
 called Mrs. Crabb. Both 
 professed to be rather fash- 
 ionable people. The Crabbs 
 were of a very old English stock, and the Macartys were, 
 as the world knows, County Cork people ; related to the 
 Sheeny s, Finnigans, Clancys, and other distinguished 
 families in their part of Ireland. But Ensign Wellesley 
 ]Mac, not having a shilling, ran off with Miss Crabb, who 
 possessed the same independence ; and, after having been 
 married about six months to the lady, was carried off sud- 
 denly, on the 18th of June, 1815, by a disease very preva- 
 lent in those glorious times — the fatal cannon-shot morbus. 
 He and many hundred young fellows of his regiment, the 
 Clonakilty Fencibles, were attacked by this epidemic on 
 the same day, at a place about ten miles from Brussels, and 
 there perished. The ensign's lady had accompanied her 
 husband to the Continent, and about five months after his 
 
 VOL. I. 1 1
 
 2 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 death brought into the world two remarkably fine female 
 children. 
 
 Mrs. Wellesley's mother had been reconciled to her 
 daughter by this time — for, in truth, Mrs. Crabb had no 
 other child but her runaway Juliana, to whom she flew 
 when she heard of her destitute condition. And, indeed, it 
 was high time that some one should come to the young 
 widow's aid ; for as her husband did not leave money, nor 
 anything that represented money, except a number of 
 tailors' and bootmakers' bills, neatly docketed, in his 
 writing-desk, Mrs. Wellesley was in danger of starvation, 
 should no friendly person assist her. 
 
 Mrs. Crabb, then, came off to her daughter, whom the 
 Sheenys, Finnigans, and Clancys refused, with one scornful 
 voice, to assist. The fact is, that Mr. Crabb had once been 
 butler to a lord, and his lady a lady's-maid ; and at Crabb's 
 death, Mrs. Crabb disposed of the "Ram" hotel and 
 posting-house, where her husband had made tliree thousand 
 pounds, and was living in genteel ease in a country town, 
 when Ensign Macarty came, saw, and ran away with Juliana. 
 Of such a connection, it was impossible that the great 
 Clancys and Einnigans could take notice ; and so once more 
 widow Crabb was compelled to share with her daughter her 
 small income of a hundred and twenty a year. 
 
 Upon this, at a boarding-house in Brussels, the two man- 
 aged to live pretty smartly, and to maintain an honorable 
 reputation. The twins were put out, after the foreign 
 fashion, to nurse, at a village in the neighborhood ; for Mrs. 
 Macarty had been too ill to nurse them, and Mrs Crabb 
 could not afford to purchase that most expensive article, a 
 private wet-nurse. 
 
 There had been numberless tiffs and quarrels between 
 mother and daughter when the latter was in her maiden state ; 
 and Mrs. Crabb was, to tell the truth, in no wise sorry when 
 her Jooly disappeared with the ensign, — for the old lady 
 dearly loved a gentleman, and was not a little flattered at 
 being the mother to Mrs. Ensign Macarty. Why the ensign 
 should have run away with his lady at all, as he might 
 have had her for the asking, is no business of ours ; nor are 
 we going to rake up old stories and village scandals, which 
 insinuate that Miss Cra])b ran away with him, for with 
 these points the writer and the reader have nothing to do. 
 
 Well, then, the reconciled mother and daughter lived 
 once more together, at Brussels. In the course of a year,
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 3 
 
 Mrs. Macarty's sorrow had much abated; and having a 
 great natural love of dress, and a tolerably handsome face 
 and person, she was induced, without much reluctance, to 
 throw her weeds aside, and to appear in the most becoming 
 and varied costumes which her means and ingenuity could 
 furnish. Considering, indeed, the smallness of the former, 
 it was agreed on all hands that ^Irs. Crabb and her daugh- 
 ter deserved wonderful credit, — that is, they managed to 
 keep up as respectable an appearance as if they had five 
 hundred a year ; and at church, at tea-parties, and abroad in 
 the streets, to be what is called quite the gentlewomen. 
 If the}' starved at home, nobody saw it ; if they patched 
 and pieced, nobody (it was to be hoped) knew it; if they 
 bragged about their relations and property, could any one 
 say thern nay ? Thus they lived, hanging on with despe- 
 rate energy to the skirts of genteel societ}' ; ]\Irs. Crabb, a 
 sharp woman, rather respected her daughter's superior 
 rank ; and Mrs. Macarty did not quarrel so much as hereto- 
 fore with her mamma, on whom herself and her two chil- 
 dren were entirely dependent. 
 
 While affairs were at this juncture, it happened that a 
 young Englishman. James Gann, Esq., of the great oil- 
 house of Gann, Blubbery, and Gann (as he took care to tell 
 3'ou before you had been an hour in his company), — it hap- 
 pened, I sa}', that James Gann, Esq., came to Brussels for 
 the purpose of perfecting himself in the French language ; 
 and while in that capital went to lodge at the very boarding- 
 house which contained Mrs. Crabb and her daughter. Gann 
 was j'oung, weak, inflammable; he saw and adored Mrs. 
 Welles] ey Macarty ; and she. who was at this period all but 
 engaged to a stout old wooden-legged Scotch regimental sur- 
 geon, pitilessly sent Dr. M'Lint about his business, and 
 accepted the addresses of jNlr. Gann. How the young man 
 arranged matters with his papa the senior partner, I don't 
 know ; but it is certain that there was a quarrel, and after- 
 wards a reconciliation; and it is also known that James 
 Gann fought a duel with the surgeon, — receiving the 
 .Esculapian tire, and discharging his own bullet into the 
 azure skies. About nine thousand times in the course of 
 his after years did Mr. Gann narrate the history of the 
 combat ; it enabled him to go through life with the reputa- 
 tion of a man of courage, and won for him, as he said with 
 pride, the hand of his Juliana; perhaps this was rather a 
 questionable benefit.
 
 4 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 One part of the tale, however, honest James never did 
 dare to tell, except when peculiarly excited by wrath or 
 liquor ; it was this : that on the day after the wedding, and 
 in the presence of many friends who had come to offer 
 their congratulations, a stout nurse, bearing a brace of 
 chubby little ones, made her appearance; and these rosy 
 urchins, springing forward at the sight of Mrs. James 
 Gann, shouted affectionately, " Maman ! 3Iama7i ! " at 
 which the lady, blushing rosy red, said, " James, these two 
 are yours ; " and poor James well-nigh fainted at this sud- 
 den paternity so put upon him. " Children ! " screamed he, 
 aghast; "whose children?" at which Mrs. Crabb, majesti- 
 cally checking him, said, " These, my dear James, are the 
 daughters of the gallant and good Ensign Macarty, whose 
 widow you yesterday led to the altar. May you be happy 
 with her, and may these blessed children" (tears) "find 
 in you a father, who shall replace him that fell in the field 
 of glory ! " 
 
 Mrs. Crabb, Mrs. James Gann, Mrs. Major Lolly, Mrs. 
 Piffler, and several ladies present, set up a sob immediately ; 
 and James Gann, a good-humored, soft-hearted man, was 
 quite taken aback. Kissing his lady hurriedly, he vowed 
 that he would take care of the poor little things, and pro- 
 posed to kiss them likewise ; which caress the darlings re- 
 fused with many roars. Gann's fate was sealed from that 
 minute ; and he was properly henpecked by his wife and 
 mother-in-law during the life of the latter. Indeed 
 it was to Mrs. Crabb that the stratagem of the infant 
 concealment was due ; for when her daughter innocently 
 proposed to have or to see the children, the old lady 
 strongly pointed out the folly of such an arrangement, 
 which might, perhaps, frighten away Mr. Gann from the 
 delightful matrimonial trap into which (lucky rogue !) he 
 was about to fall. 
 
 Soon after the marriage, the happy pair returned to 
 England, occupying the house in Thames Street, City, until 
 the death of Gann senior ; when his son, becoming head of 
 the firm of Gann and Blubbery, quitted the dismal precincts 
 of Billingsgate and colonized in the neighborhood of 
 Putney, where a neat box, a couple of spare bedrooms, a 
 good cellar, and a smart gig to drive into and out from 
 town made a real gentleman of him. Mrs. Gann treated 
 him with much scorn, to be sure, called him a sot, and 
 abused hugely the male companions that he brought down
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 5 
 
 witli him to Putney. Honest James would listen meekly^ 
 would yield, and would bring down a brace more friends 
 the next day, with whom he would discuss his accustomed 
 number of bottles of port. About this period, a daughter 
 was born to him, called Caroline Brandenburg Gann ; so 
 named after a large mansion near Hammersmith, and an 
 injured queen who lived there at the time of the little 
 girl's birth, and who was greatly compassioned and patron- 
 ized by Mrs. James Gann, and other ladies of distinction. 
 
 ^.:i!.ii^jj.:r.i4 
 
 Mrs. James ivas a lady in those days, and gave evening- 
 parties of the very first order. 
 
 At this period of time. ^Frs. James Gann sent the twins, 
 Rosalind Clancy and Isabella Finnif!:an Wellesley Macartv, 
 to a boarding-school for young ladies, and grumbled much 
 at the amount of the half-years' bills which her husband 
 was called upon to pay for them ; for though James dis- 
 charged them with perfect good-humor, his lady began 
 to entertain a mean opinion indeed of her pretty young 
 children. They could expect no fortune, she said, from 
 Mr. Gann, and she wondered that he should think of
 
 6 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 bringing them up expensively, when he had a darling child 
 of his own, for whom he was bound to save all the money 
 that he could lay by. 
 
 Grandmamma, too, doted on the little Caroline Branden- 
 burg, and vowed that she would leave her three thousand 
 pounds to this dear infant ; for in this way does the world 
 show its respect for that most respectable thing, prosperit3\ 
 Who in this life get the smiles, and the acts of friendship, 
 and the pleasing legacies ? — The rich. And I do, for my 
 part, heartily w^sh that some one would leave me a trifle — 
 say twenty thousand pounds — being perfectly confident 
 that some one else would leave me more ; and that I should 
 sink into my grave worth a plum at least. 
 
 Little Cai'oline then had her maid, her airy nursery, her 
 little carriage to drive in, the promise of her grandmamma's 
 consols, and that priceless treasure — her mamma's undivided 
 affection. Gann, too, loved her sincerely, in his careless, 
 good-humored way ; but he determined, notwithstanding, 
 that his step-daughters should have something handsome 
 at his death, but — but for a great But. 
 
 Gann and Blubbery were in the oil line — have we not 
 said so ? Their proflts arose from contracts for lighting a 
 great number of streets in London ; and about this period 
 Gas came into use. Gann and Blubbery appeared in the 
 Gazette; and, I am sorry to say, so bad had been the man- 
 agement of Blubbery — so great the extravagance of both 
 partners and their ladies — that the}^ only paid their credi- 
 tors fourteenpence halfpenny in the pound. 
 
 When Mrs. Crabb heard of this dreadful accident — Mrs. 
 Crabb, who dined thrice a week with her son-in-law ; who 
 never would have been allowed to enter the house at all had 
 not honest James interposed his good -nature between her 
 quarrelsome daughter and herself — Mrs. Crabb, I say, pro- 
 claimed James Gann to be a swindler, a villain, a disrepu- 
 table, tipsy, vulgar man, and made over her money to the 
 Misses Eosalind Clancy and Isabella Finnigan Macarty, 
 leaving poor little Caroline without one single maravedi. 
 Half of one thousand five hundred pounds allotted to each 
 was to be paid at marriage, the other half on the death of 
 Mrs. James Gann, who was to enjoy the interest thereof. 
 Thus do we rise and fall in this world — thus does Fortune 
 shake her swift wings, and bid us abruptly to resign the 
 gifts (or rather loans) which we have had from her. 
 
 How Gann and his family lived after their stroke of mis-
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 7 
 
 fortune, I know not ; but as the failing tradesman is going 
 through the process of bankruptcy, and for some months 
 afterwards, it may be remarked that he has usually some 
 mysterious means of subsistence — stray spars of the wreck 
 of his property, on which he manages' to seize, and to float 
 for a while. During his retirement, in an obscure lodging 
 in Lambeth, where the poor fellow was so tormented by his 
 wife as to be compelled to fly to the public-house for refuge, 
 Mrs. Crabb died; a hundred a year thus came into the pos- 
 session of Mrs. Gann ; and some of James's friends, avIio 
 thought him a good fellow in his prosperity, came forward, 
 and furnished a house, in which they placed him, and came 
 to see and comfort him. Then they came to see him not 
 quite so often ; then they found out that Mrs. Gann was a 
 sad tyrant, and a silly woman ; then the ladies declared her 
 to be insupportable, and Grum to be a low, tipsy fellow; 
 and the gentlemen could but shake their heads, and admit 
 that the charge was true. Then they left oif coming to see 
 him altogether ; for such is the way of the world, where 
 many of us have good impulses, and are generous on an oc- 
 casion, but are wearied by perpetual want, and begin to 
 grow angry at its importunities — being very properly vexed 
 at the daily recurrence of hunger, and the impudent unrea- 
 sonableness of starvation. Gann, then, had a genteel wife 
 and children, a furnished house, and a hundred pounds a 
 year. How should he live ? The wife of James Gann, 
 Esq., would never allow him to demean himself by taking 
 a clerk's place ; and James himself, being as idle a fellow 
 as ever was known, was fain to acquiesce in this determina- 
 tion of hers, and to wait for some more genteel employ- 
 ment. And a curious list of such genteel employments 
 might be made out, were one inclined to follow this inter- 
 esting subject far ; shabby compromises with the world, 
 into which poor fellows enter, and still fondly talk of their 
 " position," and strive to imagine that they are really work- 
 ing for their bread. 
 
 Numberless lodging-houses are kept by the females of 
 families who have met with reverses : are not " boarding- 
 houses, with a select musical society, in the neighborhood 
 of the squares," maintained by such ? Do not the gentle- 
 men of the boarding-houses issue forth every morning to 
 the City, or make believe to go thither, on some mysterious 
 business which they have ? After a certain period, Mrs. 
 James Gann kept a lodging-house (in her own words, re-
 
 8 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY, 
 
 ceived "two inmates into her family"), and Mr. Gann had 
 his mysterious business. 
 
 In the year 1835, when this story begins, there stood in a 
 certain back-street in the town of Margate a house, on the 
 door of which might be read, in gleaming brass, the name 
 of Mr. Gann. It was the work of a single smutty servant- 
 maid to clean this brass plate every morning, and to attend 
 as far as possible to the wants of Mr. Gann, his family, and 
 lodgers ; and his house being not very far from the sea, and 
 as you might, by climbing up to the roof, get a sight 
 between two chimneys of that multitudinous element, Mrs. 
 Gann set down her lodgings as fashionable ; and declared 
 on her cards that her house commanded "a fine view of 
 the sea." 
 
 On the wire window-blind of the parlor was written, in 
 large characters, the word Office; and here it Avas that 
 Gann's services came into play. He was very much 
 changed, poor fellow, and humbled ; and from two cards 
 that hung outside the blind, I am led to believe that he did 
 not disdain to be agent to the " London and Jamaica Ginger- 
 Beer Company," and also for a certain preparation called 
 " Gaster's Infants' Farinacio, or Mothers' Invigorating Sub- 
 stitute," — a damp, black, mouldy, half-pound packet of 
 which stood in permanence at one end of the " office " man- 
 tel-piece, while a fly-blown ginger-beer bottle occupied the 
 other extremity. Nothing else indicated that this ground- 
 floor chamber was an office, except a huge black inkstand, 
 in Avhich stood a stumpy pen, richly crusted Avith ink at 
 the nib, and to all appearance for many months enjoying a 
 sinecure. 
 
 To this room you saw every day, at two o'clock, the e??i- 
 2)loi/e from the neighboring hotel bring two quarts of beer ; 
 and if you called at that hour, a tremendous smoke and 
 smell of dinner would gush out upon you from the " office," 
 as you stumbled over sundry battered tin dish-covers, which 
 lay gaping at the threshold. Thus had that great bulwark of 
 gentility, the dining at six o'clock, been broken in ; and the 
 reader must therefore judge that the house of Gann was in 
 a demoralized state. 
 
 Gann certainly was. After the ladies had retired to the 
 back-parlor (which, with yellow gauze round the frames, 
 window-curtains, a red silk cabinet piano, and an album, was 
 still tolerably genteel). Gann remained, to transact business 
 in the office. This took place in the presence of friends,
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. g 
 
 and usually consisted in the production of a bottle of gin 
 from the corner cupboard, or, mayhap, a litre of brandy, 
 which Avas given by Gann with a knowing wink, and a fat 
 finger placed on a twinkling red nose : when Mrs. G. was 
 out, James would also produce a number of pipes, that 
 gave this room a constant and agreeable odor of shag 
 tobacco. 
 
 In fact, Mr. Gann had nothing to do from morning till 
 night. He was now a fat, bald-headed man of fifty; a dirty 
 dandy on week-days, with a shawl-waistcoat, a tult of hair 
 to his great double chin, a snuffy shirt-frill, and enormous 
 breastpin and seals ; he had a pilot-coat, with large mother- 
 of-pearl buttons, and always wore a great rattling telescope, 
 with which he might be seen for hours on the sea-shore or 
 the pier, examining the ships, the bathing-machines, the 
 ladies' schools as they paraded up and down the esplanade, 
 and all other objects which the telescopic view might give 
 him. He knew every person connected with every one of the 
 Deal and Dover coaches, and was sure to be witness to the 
 arrival or departure of several of them in the course of the 
 day ; he had a word for the hostler about that "gra}' mare," 
 a nod for the "shooter" or guard, and a bow for the drags- 
 man; he could send parcels for nothing up to town ; had 
 twice had Sir Eumble Tumble (the noble driver of the Flash- 
 o'-lightning-light-four-inside-post-coach) " up at his place," 
 and took care to tell you that some of the party were pretty 
 considerably •' sewn up," too. He did not frequent the large 
 hotels ; but in revenge he knew every person who entered 
 or left them, and was a great man at the "Bag of jSTails" 
 and the " Magpie and Punchbowl," where he was president 
 of a club ; he took the bass in "Mynheer Van Dunck," -The 
 Wolf," and many other morsels of concerted song, and used 
 to go backwards and forwards to London in the steamers as 
 often as ever he liked, and have his " grub," too, on board. 
 Such was James Gann. Many people, when they wrote to 
 him, addressed him as James Gann, Esq. 
 
 His reverses and former splendors afforded a never-failing 
 theme of conversation to honest Gann and the whole of his 
 family; and it may be remarked that such pecuniary mis- 
 fortunes, as they are called, are by no means misfortunes to 
 people of certain dispositions, but actual pieces of good luck. 
 Gann, for instance, used to drink liberally of port and claret, 
 when the house of Gann and Blubbery was in existence, and 
 was henceforth compelled to imbibe only brandy and gin.
 
 10 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 Now he loved these a thousand times more than the wine ; 
 and had the advantage of talking about the latter, and of his 
 great merit in giving them up. In those prosperous days, 
 too, being a gentleman, he could not frequent the public- 
 house as he did at present ; and the sanded tavern-parlor 
 was Gann's supreme enjoyment. He was obliged to spend 
 many hours daily in a dark unsavory room in an alley off 
 Thames Street ; and G-ann hated books and business, except 
 of other people's. His tastes were low ; he loved public- 
 house jokes and company; and now, being fallen, was voted 
 at the " Bag of Kails " and the " Magpie " before mentioned 
 a tip-top fellow and real gentleman, whereas he had been 
 considered an ordinary vulgar man by his fashionable asso- 
 ciates at Putney. Many man are there who are made to fall, 
 and to profit by the tumble. 
 
 As for Mrs. G., or Jooly, as she was indifferently called 
 by her husband, she, too, had gained by her losses. She 
 bragged of her former acquaintances in the most extraordi- 
 nary way, and to hear her you would fancy that she was known 
 to and connected with half the peerage. Her chief occupa- 
 tion was taking medicine, and mending and altering her 
 gowns. She had a huge taste for cheap finer}", loved raffles, 
 tea-parties, and walks on the pier, where she flaunted her- 
 self and daughters as gay as butterflies. She stood upon 
 her rank, did not fail to tell her lodgers that she was "' a 
 gentlewoman," and was mighty sharp with Becky the maid, 
 and poor Carry, her youngest child. 
 
 For the tide of affection had turned now, and the " Misses 
 Wellesley Macarty " were the darlings of their mother's 
 heart, as Caroline had been in the early days of Putney 
 prosperity. Mrs. Gann respected and loved her elder 
 daughters, the stately heiresses of 1,500Z., and scorned poor 
 Caroline, who was likewise scorned (like Cinderella in the 
 sweetest of all stories) by her brace of haughty, thoughtless 
 sisters. These young women were tall, well-grown, black- 
 browed girls, little scrupulous, fond of fun, and having great 
 health and spirits. Caroline was pale and thin, and had 
 fair hair and meek gray eyes ; nobody thought her a beauty 
 in her moping cotton gown ; whereas the sisters, in flaunted 
 printed muslins, with pink scarfs, and artificial flowers, and 
 hrsiss fer7'07inie res, and other fal-lals, were voted very charm- 
 ing and genteel by the Ganns' circle of friends. They had 
 pink cheeks, Avhite shoulders, and many glossy curls stuck 
 about their shining foreheads, as damp and as black as
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 11 
 
 leeches. Such charms, madam, cannot fail of having their 
 effect ; and it was very lucky for Caroline that she did not 
 possess them, for she might have been rendered as vain, 
 frivolous, and vulgar as these young ladies were. 
 
 While these enjoyed their pleasures and tea-parties 
 abroad, it was Carry's usual fate to remain at home and 
 help the servant in the many duties which were required in 
 Mrs. Gann's establishment. She dressed that lady and her 
 sisters, brought her papa his tea in bed, kept the lodgers' 
 bills, bore their scoldings if they were ladies, and sometimes 
 gave a hand in the kitchen if any extra pie-crust or cookery 
 was required. At two she made a little toilet for dinner, 
 and was employed on numberless household darnings and 
 mendings in the long evenings, while her sisters giggled 
 over the jingling piano, mamma sprawled on the sofa, and 
 Gann was over his glass at the club. A weary lot, in sooth, 
 was yours, poor little Caroline ! since the days of your in- 
 fancy, not one hour of sunshine, no friendship, no cheery 
 playfellows, no mother's love ; but that being dead, the af- 
 fections which would have crept round it withered and died 
 too. Only James Gann, of all the household, had a good- 
 natured look for her, and a coarse word of kindness ; nor, in- 
 deed, did Caroline complain, nor shed many tears, nor call for 
 death, as she would if she had been brought up in genteeler 
 circles. The poor thing did not know her own situation ; her 
 misery was dumb and patient ; it is such as thousands and 
 thousands of women in our society bear, and pine, and die of; 
 made of sums of small t3'rannies, and long indifference, and 
 bitter, wearisome injustice, more dreadful to bear than any 
 tortures that we of the stronger sex are pleased to cry u4i! 
 M! about. In our intercourse with the world — (which is 
 conducted with that kind of cordiality that we see in Sir 
 Harry and my lady in a comed}^ — a couple of painted, grin- 
 ning fools, talking parts that they have learned out of a 
 book), — as we sit and look at the smiling actors, we get a 
 glimpse behind the scenes from time to time; and alas for 
 the wretched nature that appears there ! — among women es- 
 pecially, who deceive even more than men, having more to 
 hide, feeling more, living more than we who have our busi- 
 ness, pleasure, ambition, Avhich carries us abroad. Ours are 
 the grr^at strokes of misfortune, as they are called, and theirs 
 the small miseries. While the male thinks, labors, and bat- 
 tles without, the domestic Avoes and wrongs are the lot of 
 the women; and the little ills are so bad, so infinitely fiercer
 
 12 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 and bitterer than the great, that I would not change my 
 condition — no, not to be Helen, Queen Elizabeth, j\Irs. 
 Coutts, or the luckiest she in history. 
 
 Well, then, in the manner we have described lived the 
 Gann family : Mr. Gann all the better for his " misfortunes," 
 Mrs. Gann little the worse; the two young ladies greatly im- 
 proved by the circumstance, having been cast thereby into 
 a society where their expected three thousand pounds made 
 great heiresses of them ; and poor Caroline, as luckless a 
 being as any that the wide sun shone upon. Better to be 
 alone in the world and utterly friendless, than to have sham 
 friends and no sympathy ; ties of kindred which bind one 
 as it were to the corpse of relationship, and oblige one to 
 bear through life the weight and the embraces of this life- 
 less, cold connection. 
 
 I do not mean to say that Caroline would ever have made 
 use of this metaphor, or suspected that her connection with 
 her mamma and sisters was anything so loathsome. She 
 felt that she Avas ill-treated, and had no companion ; but 
 was not on that account envious, onl}^ humble and depressed, 
 not desiring so much to resist as to bear injustice, and 
 hardly venturing to think for herself. This tyranny and 
 humility served her in place of education, and formed her 
 manners, which were wonderfull}^ gentle and calm. It was 
 strange to see such a person growing up in such a family ; 
 the neighbors spoke of her with much scornful compassion. 
 " A poor half-witted thing," they said, " who could not say 
 bo! to a goose; " and I think it is one good test of gentility 
 to be thus looked down on by vulgar people. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that the elder girls had reached 
 their present age without receiving a number of offers of 
 marriage, and been warmly in love a great many times. 
 But many unfortunate occurrences had compelled them to 
 remain in their virgin condition. There was an attorney 
 who had proposed to Eosalind ; but finding that she would 
 receive only 750/. down, instead of 1,500/., the monster had 
 jilted her pitilessly, handsome as she was. An apothecary, 
 too, had been smitten by her charms ; but to live in a shop 
 was beneath the dignity of a Wellesley ^Macarty, and she 
 waited for better things. Lieutenant Swabber, of the coast- 
 guard service, had lodged two months at Gann's ; and if 
 letters, long walks, and town-talk could settle a match, a 
 match between him and Isabella must have taken place. 
 Well, Isabella was not married; and the lieutenant, a
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 13 
 
 colonel in Spain, seemed to have given np all thoughts of 
 her. She meanwhile consoled herself with a gay young 
 wine-merchant, who had lately established himself at Brigh- 
 ton, kept a gig, rode out with the hounds, and was voted 
 perfectly genteel ; and there was a certain French marquess, 
 with the most elegant black mustachios, who had made a 
 vast impression upon the heart of Eosalind, having met her 
 first at the circulating librar}^, and afterwards, by the most 
 extraordinary series of chances, coming upon her and her 
 sister daily in their walks upon the pier. 
 
 ^leek little Caroline, meanwhile, trampled ujjon though 
 she was, was springing up to womanhood ; and though pale, 
 freckled, thin, meanly dressed, had a certain charm about 
 her which some people might prefer to the cheap splendors 
 and rude red and white of the ]\Iisses ]\Iacarty. In fact we 
 have now come to a period of her history when, to the 
 amaze of her mamma and sisters, and not a little to the 
 satisfaction of James Gann, Esquire, she actually inspired 
 a passion in the breast of a very respectable young man.
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 HOW MRS. GANN RECEIVED TWO LODGERS. 
 
 T was the winter season 
 when the events recorded 
 in this history occurred; and 
 as at that period not one 
 out of a thousand lodging- 
 houses in Margate are let, 
 i\[rs. Gann, who generally 
 submitted to occupy her 
 own first and second floors 
 during this cheerless sea- 
 son, considered herself more 
 than ordinarily lucky when 
 circumstances occurred 
 which brought no less than 
 two lodgers to her establish- 
 ment. 
 
 She had to thank her 
 daughters for the first in- 
 mate ; for, as these two young ladies were walking one day 
 down their own street, talking of the joys of the last 
 season, and the delight of the raffles and singing at. the 
 libraries, and the intoxicating pleasures of the Yauxhall 
 balls, they were remarked and evidently admired by a 
 young gentleman who was sauntering listlessly up the 
 street. 
 
 He stared, and it must be confessed that the fascinating 
 girls stared too, and put each other's head into each other's 
 bonnet, and giggled and said, " Lor' ! " and then looked hard 
 at the young gentleman again. Their eyes were black, 
 their cheeks were very red. Fancy how Miss Bella's and 
 Miss Linda's hearts beat when tlje gentleman, dropping his 
 glass out of his e3'e, actually stepped across the street, and 
 said, "Ladies, I am seeking for lodgings, and should be 
 glad to look at these which I see are to let in your house." 
 
 14
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 15 
 
 " How did the conjurer know it was our house ? " thought 
 Bella and Linda (they always thought in couples). From 
 the very simple fact that Miss Bella had just thrust into 
 the door a latch-key. 
 
 Most bitterly did Mrs. James Gann regret that she had 
 not on her best gown when a stranger — a stranger in 
 February — actually called to look at the lodgings. She 
 made up, however, for the slovenliness of her dress by the 
 dignity of her demeanor ; and asked the gentleman for 
 references, informed him that she was a gentlewoman, and 
 that he would have peculiar advantages in her establish- 
 ment; and, finally, agreed to receive him at the rate of 
 twenty shillings per week. The bright eyes of the young 
 ladies had done the business ; but to this day Mrs. James 
 Gann is convinced that her peculiar dignity of manner, and 
 great fluency of brag regarding her family, have been the 
 means of bringing hundreds of lodgers to her house, who 
 but for her would never have visited it. 
 
 "Gents," said Mr. James Gann, at the "Bag of ISTails'^ 
 that very evening, "we have got a new lodger, and I'll 
 stand glasses round to his jolly good health !" 
 
 The new lodger, who was remarkable for nothing except 
 very black eyes, a sallow face, and a habit of smoking cigars 
 in bed until noon, gave his name George Brandon, Esq. As 
 to his teniper and habits, when humbl}^ requested by Mrs. 
 Gann to pay in advance, he laughed and presented her with 
 a bank-note, never quarrelled with a single item in her bills, 
 walked much, and ate two mutton-chops per diem. The 
 3' oung ladies, who examined all the boxes and letters of the 
 lodgers, as 3^oung ladies will, could not find one single 
 document relative to their new inmate, except a tavern-bill 
 of the " White Hart," to which the name of George Bran- 
 don, Esquire, was prefixed. Any other papers which might 
 elucidate his history were locked up in a Bramali box, 
 likewise marked G. B. : and though these were but unsatis- 
 factory points by which to judge a man's character, there 
 was a something about Mr. Brandon which caused all the 
 ladies at ^Mrs. Gann's to vote he was quite a gentleman. 
 
 When this was the case, I am happy to say it would not 
 unfrequently happen that Miss Rosalind or Miss Isabella 
 would appear in the lodger's apartments, bearing in the 
 breakfast-cloth, or blushingly appearing with the weekly 
 bill, apologizing for mamma's absence, "and hoping tliat 
 everything was to the gentleman's liking."
 
 16 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 Both the jNIisses Wellesley Macarty took occasion to visit 
 Mr. Brandon in this manner, and he received both with such 
 a fascinating ease and gentlemanlike freedom of manner, 
 scanning their points from head to foot, and fixing his 
 great black eyes so earnestly on their faces, that the blush- 
 ing creatures turned away abashed, and yet pleased, and 
 had mau}^ conversations about him. 
 
 " Law, Bell," said Miss Eosalind, "what a chap that Bran- 
 don is ! I don't half like him, I do declare ! " Than which 
 there can be no greater compliment from a woman to a 
 man. 
 
 "No more do I neither," says Bell. "The man stares so, 
 and says such things ! Just now, when Becky brought his 
 paper and sealing-wax — the silly girl brought black and red 
 too — I took them up to ask which he would have, and what 
 do you think he said ? " 
 
 " Well, dear, what ? " said Mrs. Gann. 
 
 " ' Miss Bell,' says he, looking at me, and with such eyes ! 
 ' I'll keep everything : the red wax, because it's like your 
 lips ; the black wax, because it's like your hair ; and the 
 satin paper, because it's like your skin!' Wasn't it 
 genteel ? " 
 
 " Law, now ! " exclaimed Mrs. Gann. 
 
 " Upon my word, I think it's very rude ! " said Miss Lindy ; 
 " and if he'd said so to me, I'd have slapped his face for his 
 imperence ! " And much to her credit. Miss Lindy Avent to 
 his room ten minutes after to see if he ivoidcl say anything 
 to her. What Mr. Brandon said, I never knew ; but the 
 little pang of envy which had caused Miss Lindy to retort 
 sharply upon her sister had given place to a pleased good- 
 humor, and she allowed Bella to talk about the new lodger 
 as much as ever she liked. 
 
 And now if the reader is anxious to know what was Mr. 
 Brandon's character, he had better read the following letter 
 from him. It was addressed to no less a person than a vis- 
 count, and given, perhaps, with some little ostentation to 
 Becky, the maid, to carry to the post. Now Becky, before 
 she executed such errands, always showed the letters to her 
 mistress or one of the young ladies (it must not be supposed 
 that ]\Iiss Caroline was a whit less curious on these matters 
 than her sisters) ; and when the family beheld the name of 
 Lord Viscount Cinqbars upon the superscription, their 
 respect for their lodger was greater than ever it had 
 been : —
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 17 
 
 "Margate, February, 1835. 
 
 "My dear Yiscount, — For a reason I have, on coining down 
 to Margate, I with much gravity informed tlie people of the * White 
 Hart ' that my name was lirandon. and intend to bear tliat honorable 
 appellation during my stay. For the same reason (I am a modest man, 
 ami love to do good in secret), I left the public hotel immediately, and 
 am now housed in private lodgings, humble, and at a humble price. 
 I am here, thank heaven, quite alone. Kobinson Crusoe had as nuich 
 society in his island as I in this of Thanet. In compensation I sieei) 
 a great deal, do nothing, and walk much, silent, by the side of the 
 roaring sea, like Calchas, priest of Apollo. 
 
 " The fact is, that, until papa's wrath is appeased, I must live with 
 the utmost meekness and humility, and have barely enough money in 
 my possession to pay such small current expenses as fall on me here, 
 where strangers are many and credit does not exist. I pray you, 
 therefore, to tell Mr. ^nipson the tailor, Mr. Jackson the bootmaker, 
 honest Solomonson the discoimter of bills, and all such friends in 
 London and Oxford as may make inquiries after me, that I am at 
 this very moment at the city of Munich in Bavaria, from which I shall 
 not return mitil my mairiage with Miss Goldmore, the great Indian 
 heiress ; who, upon my honor, will have me, I believe, any day for 
 the asking, 
 
 "' Nothing else will satisfy my honored father, I know, whose 
 purse has already bled pretty freely for me, I nuist confess, and who 
 has taken the great oath that never is broken, to bleed no more unless 
 this marringe is brought about. Come it must. 1 can't work, I can t 
 starve, and I can't live under a thousand a year, 
 
 " Here, to be sure, the c' arges are not enormous ; for yotir edifica- 
 tion, read my week's bill: — 
 
 ' George Brandon, Esquire, 
 
 * To Mrs, James Gann. 
 
 A week's lodging 
 
 Breakfast, cream, eggs . . . 
 Dinner (fourteen mutton-chops) 
 Fire, boot-cleaning, &c. . . . 
 
 'Settled, Juliana Gann,' 
 
 " Juliana Gann ! Is it not a sweet name ? it sprawls over half the 
 paper. Could you but see the owner of the name, my dear fellow! I 
 love to examine the customs of natives of all countries, and upon ray 
 word there are some barbarians in our own less known, and more 
 worthy of being known, than Hottentots, wild Irish, Otaheiteans, or 
 any such savages. If you could see the airs that this woman gives 
 herself ; the rouge, ribbons, rings, and other female ginicracks that 
 she wears; if you could hear her reminiscences of past times, 'when 
 she and Mr. Gann moved in the very genteelest circles of society;' of 
 tlie peerage, which she knows by heart; and of the fashionable 
 novels, in every word of which she believes, you would be proud of 
 VOL. I, — 2 
 
 £ s. 
 
 d. 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 9 
 
 
 
 10 
 
 6 
 
 3 
 
 6 
 
 £'2 3 
 

 
 18 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 your order, and admire the intense respect wliich the canaille show 
 towards it. There never was such an olJ woman, not even our tutor 
 at Christchurch. 
 
 "There is a he Gann, a vast, bloated old man, in a rougTi coat, "who 
 has met me once, and asked me, with a grin, if my mutton-chops 
 was to my liking? The satirical monster! What can 1 eat in this 
 place but mutton-chops? A great bleeding beefsteak, or a filthy, 
 reeking f/igot a Ueau, with a turnip poultice ? I should die if I did. 
 As for fish in a watering-place, I never touch it; it is sure to be bad. 
 Kor care I for little sinewy, dry, black-legged fowls. Cutlets are my 
 only resource; 1 have them nicely enough broiled by a little humble 
 companion of the family (a companion, ye gods, in this family!) who 
 blushed hugely when she confessed that the cooking was hers, and 
 that her name was Caroline. For drink I indulge in gin, of which T 
 consume two wine-glasses daily, in two tumblers of cold "vvater; it is 
 the only liquor that one can be sure to find genuine in a common house 
 in England. 
 
 " Tliis Gann, I take it. has similar likings, for I hear him occasion- 
 ally at midnight floundering up the stairs (his boots lie dirty in the 
 passage) — floundering, I say, up the stairs, and cursing the candle- 
 stick, whence escape now and anon the snuffers and extinguisher, and 
 with brazen rattle disturb the silence of the night. Thrice a week, 
 at least, does Gann breakfast in bed — sure sign of pridian intoxi- 
 cation ; and thrice a Aveek, in tlie morning, I hear a hoarse voice 
 roaring for ' my soda-water.' How long have the rogues drunk soda- 
 water ? 
 
 " At nine, Mrs. Gann and daughters are accustomed to breakfast; 
 a handsome pair of girls, truly, and much followed, as 1 hear, in the 
 quarter. These dear creatures are always paying me visits — visits 
 Avith the tea-kettle, visits with the newspaper (one brings it, and one 
 comes for it); but the one is always at the other's heels, and so one 
 cannot s^'ow one's se'f to be that dear, gay seducing fellow that one has 
 been, at home and on the Continent. i)o you rememher cette chere 
 niarc/uise at Pau ? That cursed conjugal pistol-bullet still plays the 
 deuce with my .-boulder. Do you remember Betty liundy, the butchers 
 daughter ? A pretty race of fools are we to go mad after such women, 
 and risk all — oaths, prayers, i^romises, long wearisome courtships — 
 for what? — for vanity, truly. When the battle is over, behold your 
 conquest ! Betty Bundy is a vulgar country wench; and cette belle 
 marquise is old, rouged, and has false hair. Vanitas vanilatumi 
 what a moral man I will be some day or other ! 
 
 "I have found an old acquaintance (and be hanged to him !) who 
 has come to lodge in this very house. Do you recollect at Kome a 
 young artist. Fitch by name, the handsome gaby with the huge beard, 
 that mad Mrs. Carrickfergus was doubly mad about ! On the second 
 floor of Mrs. Gann's house dwells this youth. His beard brings the 
 (jamins of the streets trooping and yelling about him; his fine braided 
 coats have grown somewhat shabby now; and the poor fellow is, like 
 your humble servant (by the way, have you a ."iOO franc billet to spare ?j 
 — like your humble servant, I say, very low in pocket. The young 
 Andrea bears up gayly, however; twangles his guitar, paints the worst 
 pictiu'cs in the Morld, and pens sonnets to his imaginary mistress's 
 eyebrow. liUckily the rogue did not know my name, or 1 should have 
 been compelled to unbosom to him; ami when J called out to hiiu, 
 dubious as to niy name, 'Don't you know me ? I met you in Home.
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 19 
 
 My name is Brandon,' the painter was perfectly satisfied, and majes- 
 tically bade me welcome. 
 
 " Fancy the continence of this young Joseph — he has absolutely 
 run away from Mrs. Carrickfergus ! ' !Sir,' said he, with some hesita- 
 tion and blushes, when I questioned liim about the widow, ' 1 was 
 compelled to leave Eonie in consequence of tlie fatal fondness of that 
 woman. I am an 'andsome man, sir, — I know it — all the chaps in 
 the Academy want me for a model; and that woman, sir, is sixty. Do 
 you think I would ally myself with her; sacrifice my happiness for the 
 sake of a creature that's as hugly as an 'arpy ? I'd rather starve, sir. 
 I'd rather give up my hart and my 'opes of rising in it than do a hac- 
 tion so dis/i/ii/< /honorable.' 
 
 "There is a stock of virtue for you! and the poor fellow half- 
 starved. He lived at Rome upon the seven portraits that the Carrick- 
 fergus ordered of him, and, as 1 fancy, now does not make twenty 
 pounds in the year. O rare chastity! O wondrous silly hopes! O 
 niotns aniinoruiii, atque O certanilna tanta ! — pulveris exi'/iii jactu, 
 in such an insignificant little lump of mud as this! Why the deuce 
 does not the fool marry the widow? His betters would. There w^as 
 a captain of dragoons, an Italian prince, and four sons of Irisii peers, 
 all at her feet; but the cockney's beard and whiskers have overcome 
 them all. Here my paper has come to an end; and 1 have the honor 
 to bid your lordship a respectful farewell. G. B." 
 
 Of the young gentleman who goes by the name of 
 Brandon, the reader of the above letter will not be so mis- 
 guided, we trust, as to have a very exalted opinion. The 
 noble viscount read this document to a supper-party in 
 Christchurch, in Oxford, and left it in a bowl of milk- 
 punch, whence a scout abstracted it, and handed it over to 
 us. My lord was twenty years of age when he received 
 the epistle, and had spent a couple of years abroad, before 
 going to the university, under the guardianship of the 
 worthy individual who called himself George Brandon. 
 
 Mr. Brandon was the son of a half-pay colonel, of good 
 family, who, honoring the great himself, thought his son 
 would vastly benefit by an acquaintance with them, and 
 sent him to Eton, at cruel charges upon a slender purse. 
 From Eton the lad went to Oxford, took honors there, 
 frequented the best society, followed with a kind of 
 proud obsequiousness all the tufts of the university, and 
 left it owing exactly t\vo thousand pounds. Then there 
 came storms at home, fury on the part of the stern old 
 "governor," and final payment of the debt. But while 
 this settlement was pending. Master George had contracted 
 many more debts among bill-discounters, and was glad to 
 fly to the Continent as tutor to young Lord Cinqbars, in 
 whose company he learned every one of the vices in 
 Europe ; and having a good natural genius, and a heart not
 
 20 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 unkindly, had used these qualities in such an admirable 
 manner as to be at twenty-seven utterly ruined in purse and 
 principle — an idler, a spendthrift, and a glutton. He was 
 free of his money; would spend his last guinea for a 
 sensual gratification ; would borrow from his neediest 
 friend ; had no kind of conscience or remorse left, but 
 believed himself to be a good-natured devil-may-care 
 fellow ; had a good deal of wit, and indisputably good 
 manners, and a pleasing, dashing frankness in conversation 
 with men. I should like to know how many such scoun- 
 drels our universities have turned out, and how much 
 ruin has been caused by that accursed system which is 
 called in England " the education of a gentleman." Go, 
 my son, for ten years to a public school, that "world in 
 miniature"; learn "to fight for yourself" against the time 
 when your real struggles shall begin. Begin to be selfish 
 at ten years of age ; study for other ten years ; get a 
 competent knowledge of boxing, swimming, rowing, and 
 cricket, with a pretty knack of Latin hexameters and a 
 decent smattering of Greek plays, — do this and a fond 
 father shall bless you — bless the two thousand pounds 
 which he has spent in acquiring all these benefits for you. 
 And, besides, what else have you not learned ? You have 
 been many hundreds of times to chapel, and have learned 
 to consider the religious service performed there as the 
 vainest parade in the world. If your father is a grocer, 
 you have been beaten for his sake, and have learned to be 
 ashamed of him. You have learned to forget (as how 
 should you remember, being separated from them for three- 
 fourths of your time ?) the ties and natural affections of 
 home. You have learned, if you have a kindly heart and 
 an open hand, to compete with associates much more 
 wealthy than yourself, and to consider money as not much, 
 but honor — the honor of dining and consorting with your 
 betters — as a great deal. All this does the public-school 
 and college boy learn ; and woe be to his knowledge ! 
 Alas, what natural tenderness and kindly clinging filial 
 affection is he taught to trample on and despise ! My 
 friend Brandon had gone through this process of education, 
 and had been irretrievably ruined by it — his heart and his 
 honesty had been ruined by it, that is to say ; and he had 
 received, in return for them, a small quantity of classics 
 and mathematics — pretty compensation for all he had lost 
 in gaining them I
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 21 
 
 But I am wandering most absurdly from the point ; riglit 
 or wrong, so nature and education had formed Mr. Brandon, 
 who is one of a considerable class. Well, this young 
 gentleman was established at Mrs. Gann's house ; and we 
 are obliged to enter into all these explanations concerning 
 him, because they are necessary to the right understanding 
 of our story — Brandon not being altogether a bad man, 
 nor much worse than many a one who goes through a 
 course of regular selhsh swindling all his life long, and 
 dies religious, resigned, proud of himself, and universally 
 respected by others ; for this eminent advantage has the 
 getting-and-keeping scoundrel over the extravagant and 
 careless one. 
 
 One day, then, as he was gazing from the window of his 
 lodging-house, a cart, containing a vast number of easels, 
 portfolios, wooden cases of pictures, and a small carpet-bag 
 that might hold a change of clothes, stopped at the door. 
 The vehicle was accompanied by a remarkable young fellow 
 — dressed in a frock-coat covered over with frogs, a dirty 
 turned-down shirt-collar, with a blue satin cravat, and a cap 
 placed wonderfully on one ear — who had evidently hired 
 apartments at JMr. Gann's. This new lodger was no other 
 than ]\Ir. Andrew Fitch ; or, as he wrote on his cards, with- 
 out the prehx, — 
 
 Andrea Fitch. 
 
 Preparations had been made at Gann's for the reception 
 of Mr. Fitch, whose aunt (an auctioneer's lady in the town) 
 had made arrangements that he should board and lodge 
 with the Gann family, and have the apartments on the 
 second floor as his private rooms. In these, then, young 
 Andrea was installed. He was a youth of a poetic tempera- 
 ment, loving solitude ; and where is such to be found more 
 easily than on the storm-washed shores of Margate in 
 winter ? Then the boarding-house keepers have shut up 
 their houses and gone away in anguish ; then the taverns 
 take their carpets i\\), and you can have your choice of a 
 hundred and twent}' tjeds in any one of them ; then but one 
 dismal waiter remains to su|)erintend this vast echoing pile 
 of loneliness, and the landlord pines for summer ; then the
 
 22 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 flies for Eamsgate stand tenantless beside the pier ; and 
 about four sailors, in pea-jackets, are to be seen in the 
 three principal streets ; in the rest, silence, closed shutters, 
 torpid chimneys enjoying their unnatural winter sinecure 
 — not the clack of a patten echoing over the cold dry 
 flags ! 
 
 This solitude had been chosen by Mr. Brandon for good 
 reasons of his own ; Gann and his family would have fled, 
 but that they had no other house wherein to take refuge ; 
 and Mrs. Hammerton, the auctioneer's lady, felt so keenly 
 the kindness which she was doing to Mrs. Gann, in providing 
 her with a lodger at such a period, that she considered her- 
 self fully justified in extracting from the latter a bonus of 
 two guineas, threatening on refusal to send her darling 
 nephew to a rival establishment over the way. 
 
 Andrea was here then, in the loneliness that he loved, — 
 a fantastic youth, who lived but for his art ; to whom the 
 world was like the Coburg Theatre, and he in a magnificent 
 costume acting a principal part. His art, and his beard and 
 whiskers, were the darlings of his heart. His long pale 
 hair fell over a high polished brow, which looked wonder- 
 fully thoughtful; and yet no man was more guiltless of 
 thinking. He was always putting himself into attitudes ; 
 he never spoke the truth ; and was so entirely affected and 
 absurd as to be quite honest at last: for it is my belief 
 that the man did not know truth from falsehood any 
 longer, and was, when he was alone, when he was in 
 company, nay, when he was unconscious and sound asleep 
 snoring in bed, one complete lump of affectation. AVhen 
 his apartments on the second floor were arranged accord- 
 ing to his fancy, they made a tremendous show. He had a 
 large Gothic chest, in which he put his wardrobe (namely, 
 two velvet w^aistcoats, four varied satin under ditto, two 
 pairs braided trousers, two shirts, half a dozen false collars, 
 and a couple of pairs of dreadfully dilapidated Blucher 
 boots). He had some pieces of armor; some China jugs 
 and Venetian glasses; some bits of old damask rags, to 
 drape his doors and windows, and a rickety lay figure, in 
 a Spanish hat and cloak, over which slung a long Toledo 
 rapier, and a guitar, Avith a ribbon of dirty sky-blue. 
 
 Such was our poor fellow's stock in trade. He had some 
 volumes of poems — " Lalla Eookh," and the sterner com- 
 positiois of Byron; for, to do him justice, he hated "Don 
 Juan," and a woman was in his eyes an angel ; a /tangel,
 
 A SHABBY GEXTEEL STORY. 2:i 
 
 alas ! he would call her. for nature and the circumstances 
 of his family had taken sad cockney advantages over 
 Andrea's pronunciation. 
 
 The Misses Wellesley Macarty were not, however, very 
 squeamish with regard to grammar, and, in tJiis dull season, 
 voted ]\Ir- Fitch an elegant young fellow. His immense 
 beard and whiskers gave them the highest opinion of his 
 genius ; and before long the intimac}^ between the young 
 people was considerable, for INlr. Fitch insisted upon draw- 
 ing the portraits of the whole family. He painted Mrs. 
 Gann in her rouge and ribbons, as described by Mr. 
 Brandon ; Mr. Gann, who said that his picture would be 
 very useful to the artist, as every soul in Margate knew 
 him; and the blisses Macarty (a neat group, representing 
 Miss Bella embracing Miss Linda, who was pointing to a 
 pianoforte). 
 
 " I suppose you'll do my Carry next ? " said Mr. Gann, 
 expressing his approbation of the last picture. 
 
 " Law, sir," said ]\Iiss Linda, '• Carry, with her red hair I 
 — it would be ojus.^' 
 
 '' ^Ir. Fitch might- as well i:)aint Becky, our maid," said 
 Miss Bella. 
 
 "Carry is quite impossible, Gann," said 'Mrs. Gann ; '-she 
 hasn't a gown tit to be seen in. She's not been at church 
 for thirteen Sundays in consequence." 
 
 " And more shame for you, ma'am," said Mr. Gann, who 
 liked his child; "Carry shall have a gown, and the best of 
 gowns." And jingling three and twenty shillings in his 
 pocket, Mr. Gann determined to spend them all in the 
 purchase of a robe for Carry. But alas, the gown never 
 came ; half the money Avas spent that very evening at the 
 "Bag of Xails." 
 
 "Is that — that j^oung lady your daughter?" said Mr. 
 Fitch, surprised-, for he fancied Carry was a humble com- 
 panion of the family. 
 
 "Yes, she is, and a very good daughter, too, sir," an- 
 swered Mr. Gann. " Fetch and Carry I call her, or else 
 Carryvan — she's so useful. Ain't you. Carry ? " 
 
 " I'm very glad if I am, papa," said tlie young lady, who 
 was blushing violently, and in whose presence all this con- 
 versation had been carried on. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, miss," said her mother ; " you are 
 very expensive to us, that you are, and need not brag about 
 the work you do. You would not live on charity, would
 
 24 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 you, like some folks ? " (here she looked fiercely at Mr. 
 Gaim) ; " and if your sisters and me starve to keep you 
 and some folks, I presume you are bound to make us some 
 return." 
 
 When any allusion was made to Mr. Gann's idleness and 
 extravagance, or his lady showed herself in any way 
 inclined to be angry, it was honest James's habit not to 
 answer, but to take his hat and walk abroad to the public 
 house ; or if haply she scolded him at night, he would turn 
 his back and fall a-snoring. These were the only remedies 
 he found for Mrs. James's bad temper, and the first of 
 them he adoj^ted on hearing these words of his lady, 
 which we have just now transcribed. 
 
 Poor Caroline had not her father's refuge of flight, but 
 was obliged to stay and listen ; and a wondrous eloquence, 
 God wot ! had Mrs. Gann upon the subject of her daugh- 
 ter's ill-conduct. The first lecture Mr. Fitch heard, he set 
 down Caroline for a monster. Was she not idle, sulky, 
 scornful, and a sloven ? For these and many more of her 
 daughter's vices Mrs. Gann vouched, declaring that Caro- 
 line's misbehavior was hastening her own death, and finish- 
 ing b}^ a fainting-fit. In the presence of all these charges, 
 there stood Miss Caroline, dumb, stupid, and careless ; nay, 
 when the fainting-fit came on, and Mrs. Gann fell back on 
 the sofa, the unfeeling girl took the opj^ortunity to retire, 
 and never offered to smack her mamma's hands, to give her 
 the smelling-bottle, or to restore her with a glass of water. 
 
 One stood close at hand ; for Mr. Fitch, when this first 
 fit occurred, was sitting in the Gann parlor, painting that 
 lady's portrait ; and he was making towards her with his 
 tumbler, when Miss Linda cried out, " Stop ! the Avater's 
 full of paint ; " and straightway burst out laughing. Mrs. 
 Gann jumped up at this, cured suddenly, and left the 
 room, looking somewhat foolish. 
 
 " You don't know Ma," said Miss Linda, still giggling ; 
 " she's always fainting." 
 
 " Poor thing ! " cried Fitch ; " very nervous, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Oh, very ! " answered the lady, exchanging arch glances 
 with Miss Bella. 
 
 "Poor dear lady!" continued the artist; "I pity her 
 from my hinmost soul. Doesn't the himmortal bard of 
 Havon observe, how sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to 
 have a thankless child ? And is it true, ma' am, that that 
 young woman has been the ruin of her family ? "
 
 A i^HABBY GENTEEL STORY. 25 
 
 " Ellin of her fiddlestick ! " replied Miss Bella. " Law, 
 Mr. Fitch, you don't know Ma 3'et : she is in one of her 
 tantrums." 
 
 "What, then, it isjiH true?" cried simple-minded Fitch. 
 To which neither of the young ladies made any answer in 
 words, nor could the little artist comprehend why they 
 looked at each other, and burst out laughing. But he 
 retired pondering on what he had seen and heard; and 
 being a very soft young fellow, most implicitly believed 
 the accusations of poor dear Mrs. Gann, and thought her 
 daughter Caroline was no better than a Began or a Goneril. 
 
 A time, however, was to come when he should believe 
 her to be a most pure and gentle Cordelia ; and of this 
 change in Fitch's opinions we shall speak in Chapter III.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A. SHABBY GENTEEL DINNER, AND OTHER INCIDENTS OF A 
 LIKE NATURE. 
 
 R. BRANDON'S letter to 
 Lord Cinqbars produced;, 
 as we have said, a great 
 impression upon the fam- 
 ily of Gann ; an impression 
 which was considerably in- 
 creased by their lodger's 
 subsequent behavior ; for 
 although the persons with 
 whom he now associated 
 were of a very vulgar, ri- 
 diculous kind, they were 
 by no means so low or 
 ridiculous that Mr. Bran- 
 don should not wish to 
 appear before them in the 
 most advantageous light ; 
 and, accordingly, he gave 
 himself the greatest airs when in their company, and 
 bragged incessantly of his acquaintance and familiarity 
 with the nobility. Mr. Brandon was a tuft-hunter of the 
 genteel sort ; his pride in being quite as slavish, and his 
 haughtiness as mean and cringing, in fact, as poor Mrs. 
 Gann's stupid wonder and respect for all the persons whose 
 names are written with titles before them. O free and 
 happy Britons, what a miserable, truckling, cringing race 
 ye are ! 
 
 The reader has no doubt encountered a number of such 
 swaggerers in the course of his conversation with the world 
 — men of a decent middle rank, who affect to despise it, 
 and herd only with persons of the fashion. This is an 
 offence in a man which none of us can forgive ; we call 
 him tuft-hunter, lickspittle, sneak, unmanly ; we hate, and
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 27 
 
 profess to despise him. I fear it is no such thing. AVe 
 env}' Lickspittle, that is the fact ; and therefore hate him. 
 Were he to phigue us with the stories of Jones and Brown, 
 our familiars, the man would be a simple bore, his stories 
 heard patiently ; but so soon as he talks of my lord or the 
 duke, we are in arms against him. I have seen a whole 
 merry party in Russell Square grow suddenly gloomy and 
 dumb because a pert barrister, in a loud, shrill voice, told 
 a story of Lord This or the Marquis of That. We all 
 hated that man ; and I woidd lay a wager that every one 
 of the fourteen persons assembled round the boiled turkey 
 and saddle of mutton (not to mention side-dishes from the 
 pastry-cook's opposite the British Museum I — I would 
 wager, I say, that every one was muttering inwardly, " A 
 plague on that fellow ! he knows a lord, and I never spoke 
 to more than three in the whole course of my life." To 
 our betters we can reconcile ourselves, if j'ou please, 
 respecting them very sincerely, laughing at their jokes, 
 making allowance for their stupidities, meekly suffering 
 their insolence ; but we can't pardon our equals going 
 beyond us. A friend of mine who lived amicably and 
 happily among his friends and relatives at Hackney, was 
 on a sudden disowned by the latter, cut by the former, and 
 doomed in innumerable prophecies to ruin, because he 
 kept a footboy, — a harmless little blowsy-faced urchin, in 
 light snuff -colored clothes, ghstering over with sugar-loaf 
 buttons. There is another man, a great man, a literary 
 man, whom the public loves, and who took a sudden leap 
 from obscurity into fame and wealth. This was a crime ; 
 but he bore his rise with so much modesty that even his 
 brethren of the pen did not envy him. One luckless day 
 he set up a one-horse chaise; from that minute he was 
 doomed. 
 
 " Have you seen his new carriage ? " says Snarley. 
 
 " Yes," says Yow : " he's so consumedly proud of it that 
 he can't see his old friends while he drives." 
 
 '• Ith it a donkey-cart," lisps Simper, " thith gwand caw- 
 wiage ? I always thaid that the man, from hith thtyle, 
 wath fitted to be^ a vewy dethent cothtermonger." 
 
 "Yes, yes," cries old Candor, "a sad pity indeed !^ — 
 dreadfully extravagant, I'm told — bad health — expensive 
 family — works going down everyday — and now he must 
 set up a carriage forsooth ! " 
 
 Snarley, Yow, Simper, Candor hate their brother. If he
 
 28 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 is ruined, they will be kind to him and just ; but he is suc- 
 cessful, and woe be to him ! 
 
 This trifling digression of half a page or so, although it 
 seems to have nothing to do with the story on hand, has, 
 nevertheless, the strongest relation to it ; and you shall 
 hear what. 
 
 In one word, then, Mr. Brandon bragged so much, and 
 assumed such airs of superiority, that after a while he per- 
 fectly disgusted Mrs. Gann and the Misses ]\Iacarty, who 
 were gentlefolks themselves, and did not at all like his 
 way of telling them that he was their better. Mr. Fitch 
 was swallowed up in his hart, as he called it, and 
 cared nothing for Brandon's airs. Gann, being a low- 
 spirited fellow, completely submitted to Mr. Brandon, 
 and looked up to him with deepest wonder. And poor 
 little Caroline followed her father's faith, and in six weeks 
 after Mr. Brandon's arrival at the lodgings had grown to 
 believe him the most perfect, finished, polished, agreeable 
 of mankind. Indeed, the poor girl had never seen a gen- 
 tleman before, and towards such her gentle heart turned 
 instinctively. Brandon never offended her by hard words, 
 insulted her by cruel scorn, such as she met with from her 
 mother and sisters ; there was a quiet manner about the man 
 quite different from any that she had before seen amongst 
 the acquaintances of her family ; and if he assumed a tone 
 of superiority in his conversation with her and the rest, 
 Caroline felt that he ivas their superior, and as such ad- 
 mired and respected him. 
 
 What happens when in the innocent bosom of a girl of 
 sixteen such sensations arise ? What has happened ever 
 since the world began ? 
 
 I have said that Miss Caroline had no friend in the world 
 but her father, and must here take leave to recall that 
 assertion ; — a friend she most certainly had, and that was 
 honest Becky, the smutty maid, whose name has been men- 
 tioned before. Miss Caroline had learned, in the course of 
 a life spent under the tyranny of her mamma, some of the 
 notions of the latter, and would have been very much 
 offended to call Becky her friend : but friends, in fact, 
 they were ; and a great comfort it was for Caroline to 
 descend to the calm kitchen from the stormy back-parlor, 
 and there vent some of her little woes to the compassion- 
 ate servant of all work.
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 29 
 
 When Mrs. Gann went out with her daughters, Becky 
 would take her work and come and keep INliss Caroline com- 
 pany; and, if the truth must be told, the greatest enjoy- 
 ment the pair used to have was in these afternoons, when 
 they read together out of the precious greasy, marble-covered 
 volumes that Mrs. Gann was in the habit of fetching from 
 the library. Many and many a tale had the pair so gone 
 through. I can see them over "jNIanfrone; or the One- 
 HandedMonk" — the room dark, the street silent, the hour 
 ten — the tall, red, lurid candlewick waggling down, the 
 flame flickering pale upon Miss Caroline's pale face as she 
 read out, and lighting up honest Becky's goggling eyes, who 
 sat silent, her work in her lap : she had not done a stitch of 
 it for an hour. As the trap-door slowly opens, and the scowl- 
 ing Alonzo, bending over the sleeping Imoinda, draws his 
 pistol, cocks it, looks well if the priming be right, places it 
 then to the sleeper's ear, and — tliunder-under-under — down 
 fall the snuffers ! Becky has had them in her hand for ten 
 minutes, afraid to use them. Up starts Caroline, and flings 
 the book back into mamma's basket. It is that lady re- 
 turned with her daughters from a tea-party, where two young 
 gents from London have been mighty genteel indeed. 
 
 For the sentimental too, as well as tor the terrible. Miss 
 Caroline and the cook had a strong predilection, and had 
 wept their poor eyes out over " Thaddeus of Warsaw " and 
 the " Scottish Chiefs." Fortified by the examples drawn 
 from those instructive volumes, Becky was firmly convinced 
 that her young mistress would meet with a great lord some 
 day or other, or be carried off, like Cinderella, by a brilliant 
 prince, to the mortification of her elder sisters, whom 
 Becky hated. And when, therefore, the new lodger came, 
 lonely, mysterious, melancholy, elegant, with the romantic 
 name of George Brandon — when he wrote a letter directed 
 to a lord, and Miss Caroline and Becky together examined 
 the superscription, such a look passed between them as the 
 pencil of Leslie or Maclise could alone describe for us. 
 Becky's orbs were lighted up with a preternatural look of 
 wondering wisdom ; whereas, after an instant, Caroline 
 dropped hers, and blushed, and said, "N^onsense, Becky!" , 
 
 •' Is it nonsense ? " said Becky, grinning, and snapping her 
 fingers with a triumphant air; "'the cards comes true; T 
 knew they would. Didn't you have king and queen of 
 hearts three deals running ? What did you dream about 
 last Tuesday, tell me that ? "
 
 so A SHABBY GEXTEEL STORY. 
 
 But Miss Caroline never did tell, for her sisters came 
 bouncing down the stairs, and examined the lodger's letter. 
 Caroline, however, went aw^y musing much upon these 
 points ; and she began to think Mr. Brandon more wonderful 
 and beautiful every day. 
 
 in the mean time, while Miss Caroline was innocently in- 
 dulging in her inclination for the brilliant occupier of the 
 first floor, it came to pass that the tenant of the second w^as 
 inflamed by a most romantic passion for her. 
 
 For, after partaking for about a fortnight of the family 
 dinner, and passing some evenings with Mrs. Gann and the 
 young ladies, Mr. Fitch, though by no means quick of com- 
 prehension, began to perceive that the nightly charges that 
 were brought against poor Caroline could not be founded 
 upon truth. " Let's see," mused he to himself. " Tuesday, 
 the old lady said her daughter was bringing her gray hairs 
 with sorrow to the grave, because the cook had not boiled 
 the potatoes. Wednesday, she said Caroline was an assassin, 
 because she could not find her own thimble. Thursday, she 
 vows Caroline has no religion, because that old pair of silk 
 stockings were not darned. And this can't be," reasoned 
 Fitch, deeply. " A gal hain't a murderess because her Ma 
 can't find her thimble. A woman that goes to slap her 
 grown-up daughter on the back, and before company too, 
 for such a paltry thing as a hold pair of stockings can't be 
 surely a-speaking the truth." And thus gradually his first 
 impression against Caroline wore away. As this disap- 
 peared, pity took possession of his soul — and Ave know 
 what pity is akin to ; and, at the same time, a correspond- 
 ing hatred for the oppressors of a creature so amiable. 
 
 To sum up, in six short weeks after the appearance of 
 the tw^o gentlemen, we find our chief dramatis personce as 
 follows : — 
 
 Carolixe, an innocent younc: woman, in love with Brandon. 
 Frrcir, a celebrated painter, almost in love with Caholine. 
 Brandon, a young gentleman, in love with himself. 
 
 At first he was pretty constant in his attendance upon the 
 Misses ]Macarty when they went out to walk, nor were they 
 displeased at his attentions ; but he found that there were 
 a great number of Margate beaux — ugly, vulgar fellows as 
 ever were — who always followed in the young ladies' train, 
 and made themselves infinitely more agreeable than he w^as. 
 These men Mr. Brandon treated with a great deal of scorn :
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 31 
 
 and, in return, they hated him cordially. So did the ladies 
 speedily : his liauglit}' manners, though quite as impertinent 
 and free, were not half so pleasant to them as Jones'a jokes 
 or Smith's charming romps 5 and the girls gave Brandon 
 very shortly to understand that they were much happier 
 without him. " Ladies, your humble," he heard Bob Smith 
 say, as that little linen-draper came skipping to the door 
 from which they were issuing. " The sun's hup and trade 
 is down ; if you're for a walk, I'm your man." And Miss 
 Linda and Miss Bella each took an arm of Mr. Smith, and 
 sailed down the street. " I'm glad you ain't got that proud 
 gent Avith the glass hi," said Mr. Smith ; " he's the most 
 hillbred, supercilious beast I ever see." 
 
 '' So he is," says Bella. 
 
 ^' Hush ! " says Linda. 
 
 The ''proud gent with the glass hi" was at this moment 
 lolling out of the first-floor window, smoking his accustomed 
 cigar; and his eyeglass was fixed upon the ladies, to whom 
 he made a very low bow. It may be imagined how fond 
 ho was of them afterwards, and what looks he cast at ]\Ir. 
 Bob Smith the next time he met him. Mr. Bob's heart 
 beat for a day afterwards ; and he found he had business in 
 town. 
 
 But the love of society is stronger than even pride ; and 
 the great ]\Ir. Brandon was sometimes fain to descend from 
 his high station and consort with the vulgar family with 
 whom he lodged. But, as we have said, he always did this 
 Avith a wonderfully condescending air, givina^ his associates 
 to understand how great was the honor he did them. 
 
 One day, then, he was absolutely so kind as to accept of 
 an invitation from the ground-floor, which was delivered in 
 the passage by jVEr. James Gann, who said, " It was hard to 
 see a gent eating mutton-chops from week's end to week's 
 end; and if Mr. Brandon had a mind to meet a devilish 
 good fellow as ever was, my friend Swigby, a man who rides 
 his horse, and has his five hundred a year to spend, and to 
 eat a prime cut out of as good a leg of pork (though he said 
 it) as ever a knife was stuck into, they should dine that day 
 at three o'clock sharp, and ^Irs. G. and the gals would be 
 glad of the honor of his company." 
 
 The person so invited was rather amused at the terms in 
 Avhich ]Mr. Gann conveyed his hospitable message ; and at 
 three o'clock made his appearance in the back-parlor, whence 
 he had the honor of conducting Mrs. Gann (dressed in a
 
 32 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 sweet yellow inoussellne de laliie, with a large red turban, a 
 fem^onniere, and a smelling-bottle attached by a ring to a 
 very damp, fat hand) to the " office," where the repast was 
 set out. The Misses Macarty were in costumes equally 
 tasty : one on the guest's right hand ; one near the boarder 
 Mr. Fitch — who, in a large beard, an amethyst velvet- 
 waistcoat, his hair fresh wetted, and parted accurately down 
 the middle to fall in curls over his collar, would have been 
 irresistible if the collar had been a little, little whiter than 
 it was. 
 
 Mr. Brandon, too, was dressed in his very best suit ; for 
 though he affected to despise his hosts very much, he wished 
 to make the most favorable impression upon tliem, and took 
 care to tell ^Irs. Gann that he and Lord >So-and-So were the 
 only two men in the world who were in possession of that 
 particular waistcoat which she admired: for Mrs. Gajin was 
 very gracious, and had admired the waistcoat, being desirous 
 to impress Avith awe Mr. Gann's friend and admirer, ]\Ir. 
 Swigby — who, man of fortune as he was, was a constant 
 frequenter of the club at the " Bag of Nails." 
 
 About this club and its supporters Mr. Gann's guest 
 Mr. Swigby, and Gann himself, talked very gayly before 
 dinner ; all the jokes about all the club being roared over 
 by the pair. 
 
 Mr, Brandon, who felt he was the great man of the party, 
 indulged himself in his great propensities without restraint, 
 and told ]\Irs. Gann stories about half the nobility. Mrs. 
 Gann conversed knowingly about the Opera; and declared 
 that she thought Taglioni the sweetest singer in the 
 world. 
 
 " jMr. — a — Swigby, have you ever seen Lablache dance ? " 
 asked Mr. Brandon of that gentlenjan, to whom he had been 
 formally introduced. 
 
 "At Vauxhall is he?" said Mr. SAvigby, Avho was just 
 from town. 
 
 "Yes, on the tight-rope; a charming performer." 
 
 On which Mr. Gann told liow he had been to Vauxhall 
 when the princes were in London ; and his lady talked of 
 these knowingly; And then they fell to conversing about 
 fireworks and rack-punch ; ]\Ir. Brandon assuring the A^oung 
 ladies that Vauxhall was the very pink of the fashion, and 
 longing to have the honor of dancing a quadrille with them 
 there. Indeed ; Brandon was so very sarcastic, that not a 
 single soul at table understood him.
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 33 
 
 The table, from ]Mr. Brandon's plan of it, which was 
 afterwards sent to my Lord Cinqbars, was arranged as 
 follows : — 
 
 o 
 
 Miss CaroHne. 
 
 
 Mr. Fitch. 
 
 Miss L. Macarty. 
 
 
 1. 
 
 
 Potatoes. 
 
 3. 
 
 g 
 
 S 
 
 A roast leg of 
 poik, with sage 
 and onions. 
 
 Tliree shreds 
 of celery in a 
 glass. 
 
 Boiled haddock, 
 removed by hash- 
 ed mutton. 
 
 9 
 
 2. 
 
 
 Cabbage. 
 
 4. 
 y. Mr. Brandon. 
 
 p 
 
 Mr. Swigby. 
 
 M 
 
 iss B. Macart 
 
 
 1 and 2 are pots of porter ; 3, a qnart of ale, Mrs. Gann's 
 favorite drink; 4, a bottle of fine old golden sherry, the 
 real produce of the Uva grape, purchased at the "Bag of 
 Kails " Hotel for Is. 9d. by Mr. J. Gann. 
 
 Mr. Gann. '' Taste that sherry, sir. Your 'ealth, and 
 my services to you, sir. That wine, sir, is given me as a 
 particular favor by my — ahem ! — my wine-merchant, who 
 onl}' will part with a small cpiantity of it, and imports it 
 direct, sir, from — ahem ! — from — " 
 
 3fr. Brandon. "From Xeres, of course. It is, I really 
 think, the finest wine I ever tasted in my life — at a com- 
 moner's table, that is." 
 
 Mrs. Gann. "Oh, in course, a commoner's table! — we 
 have no titles, sir (Mr. Gann, I will trouble you for some 
 more crackling), though my poor dear girls are related, by 
 their blessed father's side, to some of the first nobility in 
 the land, I assure you." 
 
 Mr. Gann. " Gammon, Jooly my dear. Them Irish 
 nobility, you know, what are they ? And besides, it's my 
 belief that the gals are no more related to them than 
 1 am." 
 
 Miss Bella {to Mr. Brandon, confidentially). "You 
 must find that poor Par is sadly vulgar, Mr. Brandon." 
 
 Mrs. Gann. "Mr. Brandon has never been accustomed 
 to such language, I am sure ; and 7 entreat you will excuse 
 Mr. Gann's rudeness, sir." 
 
 VOL. I. — 3
 
 34 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 Miss Linda. ^^ Indeed, 1 assure you, Mr. Brandon, that 
 we've high connections as well as low; as high as some 
 people's connections, per'aps, though we are not always 
 talking of the nobility." This was a double shot : the first 
 barrel of Miss Linda's sentence hit her step-father, the 
 second part was levelled directly at Mr. Brandon. " Don't 
 you think I'm right, Mr. Fitch '/ " 
 
 Mr. Brandon. " You are quite right. Miss Linda, in this 
 as in every other instance ; but I am afraid Mr. Fitch has 
 not paid proper attention to your excellent remark : for, if 
 I don't mistake the meaning of that beautiful design which 
 he has made with his fork upon the table-cloth, his soul is 
 at this moment wrapped up in his art." 
 
 This was exactly what Mr. Fitch Avished that all the 
 world should suppose. He flung back his chair, and stared 
 wildly for a moment, and said, '' Pardon me, madam : it is 
 true my thoughts were at that moment far away in the 
 regions of my hart." He was really thinking that his atti- 
 tude was a very elegant one, and that a large garnet ring 
 which he wore on his forelinger must be mistaken by all 
 the company for a ruby. 
 
 " Art is very well," said Mr. Brandon ; " but with such 
 pretty natural objects before you, I wonder you were not 
 content to think of them." 
 
 " Do you mean the mashed potatoes, sir ? " said Andrea 
 Fitch, wondering. 
 
 "I mean ^liss Rosalind Macarty," answered Brandon, 
 gallantly, and laughing heartily at the painter's simplicity. 
 But this compliment could not soften Miss Linda, who had 
 an uneasy conviction that Mr. Brandon was laughing at 
 her, and disliked him accordingly. 
 
 At this juncture. Miss Caroline entered and took the 
 place marked as hers, to the left hand of Mr. Gann, vacant. 
 An old rickety wooden stool was placed for her, instead of 
 that elegant and commodious Windsor chair which sup- 
 ported every other person at table ; and by the side of 
 the plate stood a curious old battered tin mug, on which 
 the antiquarian might possibly discover the inscription of 
 the word " Caroline." This, in truth, was poor Caroline's 
 mug and stool, having been appropriated to her from 
 childhood upwards ; and here it was her custom meekly 
 to sit, and eat her daily meal. 
 
 It was well that the girl was placed near her father, else 
 I do believe she would have been starved ; but Gann was
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. ^5 
 
 much too good-natured to allow that any difference should 
 be made between her and her sisters. There are some mean- 
 nesses which are too mean even for man — woman, lovely 
 woman alone, can venture to commit them. Well, on the 
 present occasion, and when the dinner was half over, poor 
 Caroline stole gently into the room and took her ordinary 
 place. Caroline's pale face was very red ; for the fact must 
 be told that she had been in the kitchen helping Becky, the 
 universal maid; and having heard how the great ^Ir. 
 Brandon was to dine with them upon that day, the simple 
 girl had been showing her respect for him by compiling, 
 in her best manner, a certain dish, for the cooking of which 
 her papa had often praised her. She took her place, blush- 
 ing violently when she saw him, and if Mr. Gann had not 
 been making a violent clattering with his knife and fork, 
 it is possible that he might have heard Miss Caroline's 
 heart thump, which it did violently. Her dress Avas some- 
 how a little smai-ter than usual ; and Becky the maid, who 
 brought in that remove of hashed mutton which has been 
 set down in the bill of fare, looked at her young lady with 
 a good deal of complacency, as, loaded with plates, she 
 quitted the room. Indeed, the poor girl deserved to be 
 looked at : there was an air of gentleness and innocence 
 about her that was apt to please some persons, much more 
 than the bold beauties of her sisters. The two young men 
 did not fail to remark this ; one of them, the little painter, 
 had long since observed it. 
 
 "You are very late, miss," cried Mrs. Gann, who af- 
 fected not to know what had caused her daughter's delay. 
 " You're always late I " and the elder girls stared and 
 grinned at each other knowingly, as they always did 
 when mamma made such attacks upon Caroline, who only 
 kept her eyes down upon the table-cloth, and began to eat 
 her dinner without saying a word. 
 
 " Come, my dear," cried honest Gann, "if she is late you 
 know why. A girl can't be here and there too, as I say ; 
 can they, Swigby ? " 
 
 " Impossible ! " said Swigby. 
 
 "Gents," continued ]\Ir. Gann, "our Carrj', you must 
 know, has been downstairs making the pudding for her 
 old pappy; and a good pudding she makes, I can tell 
 you." 
 
 ^liss Caroline blushed more vehemently than ever ; the 
 artist stared her full in the face ; ^Irs. Gann said " Non-
 
 36 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 sense " and " stuff," very majestically ; only Mr. Brandon 
 interposed in Caroline's favor. 
 
 " 1 would sooner that my wife should know how to make 
 a pudding," said he, "than how to play the best piece of 
 music in the Avorld ! " 
 
 " Law, Mr. Brandon ! I, for my part, wouldn't demean 
 myself by any such kitchen-work ! " cries Miss Linda. 
 
 " ]\Iake puddens, indeed : it's ojous ! " cries Bella. 
 
 " For you, my loves, of course ! " interposed their 
 mamma. " Young women of your family and circum- 
 stances is not expected to perform any such work. It's 
 different with Miss Caroline, who, if she does make her- 
 self useful now and then, don't make herself near so useful 
 as she should, considering that she's not a shilling, and is 
 living on our charit}^, like some other folks." 
 
 Thus did this amiable woman neglect no opportunity to 
 give her opinions about her husband and daughter. The 
 former, however, cared not a straw ; and the latter, in this 
 instance, was perfectly happy. Had not kind Mr. Brandon 
 approved of her work ; and could she ask for more ? 
 
 " Mamma may say what she pleases to-day," thought 
 Caroline. " I am too happy to be made angry by her." 
 
 Poor little mistaken Caroline, to think you were safe 
 against three women ! The dinner had not advanced much 
 further, when Miss Isabella, who had been examining her 
 younger sister curiously for some short time, telegraphed 
 Miss Linda across the table, and nodded, and winked, and 
 pointed to her own neck ; a very white one, as I have 
 before had the honor to remark, and quite without any 
 covering, except a smart necklace of twenty-four rows of 
 the lightest blue glass beads, finishing in a neat tassel. 
 Linda had a similar orjiament of a vermilion color; where- 
 as Caroline, on this occasion, wore a handsome new collar 
 up to the throat, and a brooch, which looked all the smarter 
 for the shabby frock over which they were placed. As 
 soon as she saw her sister's signals, the poor little thing, 
 who had only just done fluttering and blushing, fell to this 
 same work over again. Down went her eyes once more, 
 and her face and neck lighted up to the color of Miss 
 Linda's sham cornelian. 
 
 " What's the gals giggling and ogling about ? " said Mr. 
 Gann, innocently. 
 
 " What is it,"^ my darling loves ? " said stately Mrs. 
 Gann.
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 37 
 
 "Why, don't you see, ^Ma?" said Linda. "Look at 
 Miss Carry ! I'm blessed if she has not got on Becky's 
 collar and brooch that Sims the pilot gave her!" 
 
 The young ladies fell back in uproarious fits of laughter, 
 and laughed all the time that their mamma was thundering 
 out a speech, in which she declared that her daughter's 
 conduct was unworthy a gentlewoman, and bid her leave 
 the room and take oft" those disgraceful ornaments. 
 
 There was no need to tell her; the poor little thing 
 gave one piteous look at her father, who was whistling, 
 and seemed indeed to think the matter a good joke; 
 and after she had managed to open the door and totter 
 into the passage, you might have heard her weeping there, 
 weeping tears more bitter than any of the many she had 
 shed in the course of her life. Down she went to the 
 kitchen, and when she reached that humble place of 
 refuge, first pulled at her neck and made as if she would 
 take off Becky's collar and brooch, and then flung herself 
 into the arms of that honest scullion, where she cried and 
 cried till she brought on the first fit of hysterics that ever 
 she had had. 
 
 This crying could not at first be heard in the parlor, where 
 the young ladies, ]\rrs. Gann, Mr. G-ann, and his friend 
 from the '-Bag of ISTails" were roaring at the excellence of 
 the joke. Mr. Brandon, sipping sherry, sat by, looking 
 very sarcastically and slyly from one party to the other ; 
 IVIr. Fitch was staring about him too, but with a very dif- 
 ferent expression, anger and wonder inflaming his bearded 
 countenance. At last, as the laughing died away and a 
 faint voice of weeping came from the kitchen below, 
 Andrew could bear it no longer, but bounced up from his 
 chair and rushed out of the room exclaiming, — 
 
 " By Jove, it's too bad ! " 
 
 " What does the man mean ? " said Mrs. Gann. 
 
 He meant that he was from that moment over head and 
 ears in love with Caroline, and that he longed to beat, 
 buffet, pummel, thump, tear to pieces, those callous ruftians 
 who so pitilessly laughed at her. 
 
 "What's that chop wi' the beard in such tantrums 
 about?" said the gentleman from tha "Bag of Nails." 
 
 ]\[r. Gann answered this query by some joke, intimating 
 that '• per'aps ^Nlr. Fitch's dinner did not agree with him," 
 at which these worthies roared again. 
 
 The young ladies said, "Well, now, upon my word ! "
 
 38 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 " Mighty genteel behavior, truly ! " cried mamma ; " but 
 what can you expect from the poor thing ? " 
 
 Brandon onl}- sipped more sherry, but he looked at Fitch 
 as the latter hung out of the room, and his countenance 
 was lighted up by a more unequivocal smile. 
 
 These two little adventures were followed by a silence of 
 some few minutes, during which the meats remained on the 
 table, and no signs were shown of that pudding upon which 
 poor Caroline had exhausted her skill. The absence of 
 this delicious part of the repast was first remarked by Mr. 
 Gann ; and his lady, after jangling at the bell for some 
 time in vain, at last begged one of her daughters to go and 
 hasten matters. 
 
 "Becky ! " shrieked Miss Linda from the hall, but Becky 
 replied not. "Becky, are we to be kept waiting all day ? " 
 continued the lady in the same shrill voice. " Mamma 
 wants the pudding ! " 
 
 " Tell her to fetch it herself ! " roared Becky, at 
 which remark Gann and his facetious friend once more 
 went oft' into hts of laughter. 
 
 "This is too bad!" said Mrs. G., starting up; ^' she 
 shall leave the house this instant ! " and so no, doubt 
 Becky would, but that the la*ly owed her five quarters' 
 wages ; which she, at that period, did not feel inclined 
 to pay. 
 
 Well, the dinner at last was at an end ; the ladies went 
 away to tea, leaving the gentlemen to their wine ; Bran- 
 don, very condescendingly, partaking of a bottle of port, 
 and listening with admiration to the toasts and sentiments 
 with which it is still the custom among persons of IVIr, 
 Gann's rank of life to preface each glass of wine. As 
 thus : — 
 
 Glass 1. "Gents," says ^NFr. Gann, rising, "this glass I 
 need say nothink about. Here's the king, and long life to 
 him and the family ! " 
 
 INIr. Swigby, with his glass, goes knock, knock, knock on 
 the table; and saying gravely, "The king! " drinks off his 
 glass, and smacks his lips afterwards. 
 
 Mr. Brandon, who had drunk half his, stops in the midst 
 and says, " Oh, Hhe king ! ' " 
 
 Mr. Sivlghy. "A good glass of wine that, Gann my boy ! " 
 
 Mr. Brando)!. " Capital, really ; though, upon my faith, 
 I'm no judge of port."
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 39 
 
 3fr. Gann (smacks). ^' A line fruity wiiie as ever I tasted. 
 I suppose you, Mr. B., are accustomed only to claret. I've 
 "ad it, too, in my time, sir, as Swigby there very well 
 knows. I travelled, sir, sure le Contlnong, I assure you, 
 and drank my glass of claret with the best man in France, 
 or England either. I wasn't always what I am, sir." 
 
 Mr. Brandon. "You don't look as if you were." 
 
 Mr. Gann. " ^N'o, sir. Before that gas came in, I 
 
 was head, sir, of one of the fust 'ouses in the hoil-trade, 
 Gann, Blubbery, & Gann, sir — Thames Street, City. I'd 
 my box at Putney, as good a gig and horse as my friend 
 there drives." 
 
 Mr. Sicighy. "Ay, and a better too, Gann, I make no 
 doubt." 
 
 Mr. Gann. "Well, say a better. I had a better, if 
 money could fetch it, sir ; and I didn't spare that, I warrant 
 you. Xo, no, James Gann didn't grudge his purse, sir; and 
 iiad his friends around him, as he's 'appy to 'ave now, sir. 
 Mr. Brandon, your 'ealth, sir, and may we hoften meet 
 under this ma'ogany. Swigby, my boy, God bless you ! " 
 
 Mr. Brandon. " Your very good health." 
 
 Mr. Sicighy. "Thank you, Gann. Here's to you, and 
 long life and prosperity and happiness to you and yours. 
 Bless you, Jim my boy; heaven bless you! I say this, 
 ^Ir. Bandon — Brandon — what's your name — there ain't 
 a better fellow in all ]\[argate than James Gann, — no, nor 
 in all England. Here's Mrs. Gann, gents, and the family. 
 !Mks. Gaxx ! " (drinhs.) 
 
 Mr. Brandon. " Mrs. Gaxx. Hip, hip, hurrah ! " 
 (drinks.) 
 
 Mr. Gann. " Mrs. Gann, and thank you, gents. A fine 
 woman, Mr. B. ; ain't she now ? Ah, if you'd seen 'er 
 when I married her ! Gad, she icas fine then — an out and 
 outer, sir ! Sui^h a figure ! " 
 
 Mr. Swigby. " You'd choose none but a good 'un, I war'nt. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 Mr. Gann. "Did I ever tell you of my duel along 
 with the regimental doctor ? JSTo ! Then I will. I was 
 a young chap, you see, in those days ; and when I saw 
 her at 'Brussels — (Brmell, they call it) — I was right 
 ^liek up over head and ears in love with her at once. But 
 what was to be done ? There w^as another gent in the case 
 — a regimental doctor, sir — a reg'lar dragon. 'Faint 
 heart,' says I, ' never won a fair lady,' and so I made so
 
 40 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 bold. She took me, sent the doctor to the right about. I 
 met him one morning in the park at Brussels, and stood to 
 him, sir, like a man. When the affair was over, my second, 
 a leftenant of dragoons, told me, ' Gann', says he, 'I've seen 
 many a man under fire — I'm a Waterloo man,' says he, — 
 ' and have rode by Wellington many a long day ; but I never, 
 for coolness, see such a man as you,' Gents, here's the Duke 
 of Wellington and the British army ! " (the gents drink.) 
 
 Mr. Brandon. '•' Did you kill the doctor, sir ? " 
 
 Mr. Gann. ''Why, no, sir 5 I shot in the hair," 
 
 Mr. Brandon. " Shot him in the hair ! Egad, that was 
 a severe shot and a very lucky escape the doctor had of it ? 
 Whereabout in the hair ! a whisker, sir ; or, perhaps, a pig- 
 tail ? " 
 
 Mr. Sw'ighy. "Haw, haw, haw! shot'n in the hair — 
 capital, capital ! " 
 
 Mr. Gann, loho has grown very red. "No, sir, there 
 may be some mistake in my pronounciation, which I didn't 
 expect to have laughed at, at my hown table." 
 
 Mr. Brandon. "My dear sir ! I protest and vow — " 
 
 Mr. Gann. " Never mind it, sir. I gave you my best, 
 and did my best to make you welcome. If you like better 
 to make fun of me, do, sir. That may be the genteel way, 
 but hang me if it's hoar way; is it, Jack? Our way; I 
 beg your pardon, sir." 
 
 Mr. Si.vigbij. " Jim, Jim ! for heaven's sake ! — peace 
 and harmony of the evening — conviviality — social enjoy- 
 ment — didn't mean it — did you mean anything, Mr. 
 What-d'-ye-call-'im ? " 
 
 Mr. Brandon. "Nothing, upon my honor as a gentle- 
 man ! " 
 
 Mr. Gann. "Well, then, there's my hand!" and good- 
 natured Gann tried to forget the insult, and to talk as if 
 nothing had occurred: but he had been wounded in the 
 most sensitive point in which a man can be touched by his 
 superior, and never forgot Brandon's joke. That night at 
 the club, when dreadfully tipsy, he made several speeches 
 on the subject, and burst into tears many times. The 
 pleasure of the evening was quite spoiled ; and, as the 
 conversation became rapid and dull, we shall refrain from 
 reporting it. Mr. Brandon speedily took leave, but had 
 not the courage to face the ladies at tea ; to wliom, it ap- 
 pears, the reconciled Becky had brought that refreshing 
 beverage.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IX WHICH MR. FITCH PROCLAIMS HIS LOVE, AXD MR. BRAXDOX 
 PREPARES FOR WAR. 
 
 RO]\r the splendid hall in 
 which IMrs. Gaun was dis- 
 pensing her hospitality, the 
 celebrated painter, Andrea 
 Fitch, rnshed forth in a state 
 of mind even more delirions 
 than that which he usually 
 enjoyed. He looked abroad 
 into the street : all there was 
 dusk and lonely ; the rain 
 falling heavily, the wind 
 playing Pandean pipes and 
 whistling down the chimney- 
 pots. "I love the storm,'' 
 said Pitch, solemnh' ; and he 
 put his great Spanish cloak round him in the most ap- 
 proved manner (it was of so prodigious a size that the tail 
 of it, as it twirled over his shoulder, whisked away a 
 lodging-card from the door of the house o])posite ^Mr. 
 Gann's). "I love the storm and solitude," said he, light- 
 ing a large pipe filled full of the fragrant Oronooko ; and 
 thus armed he passed rapidly down the street, his hat 
 cocked over his ringlets. 
 
 Andrea did not like smoking, but he used a pipe as a part 
 of his profession as an artist, and as one of the picturesque 
 parts of his costume ; in like manner, though he did not 
 fence, he always travelled about with a pair of foils ; and 
 quite unconscious of music, nevertheless had a guitar con- 
 stantly near at hand. Without such properties a painter's 
 spectacle is not com])lete; and now he determined to add 
 to them another indispensable requisite, — a mistress, 
 " What great artist was ever Avithout one ? " thought he. 
 Long, long had he sighed for some one whom he might love, 
 
 41
 
 42 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 some one to whom he might address the poems which he 
 was in the habit of making. Hundreds of such fragments 
 had he composed, addressed to Leila, Ximena, Ada — imag- 
 inary beauties, whom he courted in dreamy verse. With 
 what joy would he replace all those by a real charmer of 
 flesh and blood ! Away he went, then, on this evening — 
 the tyranny of Mrs. Gann towards poor Caroline having 
 awakened all his sympathies in the gentle girl's favor — 
 determined now and forever to make her the mistress of his 
 heart. Monna-Lisa, the Fornarina, Leonardo, Raphael — he 
 thought of all these, and vowed that his Caroline should be 
 made famous and live forever on his canvas. AVhile IMrs. 
 Gann was preparing for her friends, and entertaining them 
 at tea and whist ; while Caroline, all unconscious of the 
 love she inspired, was weeping upstairs in her little garret; 
 while Mr. Brandon was enjoying the refined conversation 
 of Gann and Swigby, over their glass and pipe in the office, 
 Andrea walked abroad by the side of the ocean ; and, before 
 he was wet through, walked himself into the most fervid 
 affection for poor persecuted Caroline. The reader might 
 have observed him (had not the night been very dark, and 
 a great deal too wet to allow a sensible reader to go abroad 
 on such an errand) at the sea-shore standing on a rock, and 
 drawing from his bosom a locket which contained a curl of 
 hair tied up in ribbon. He looked at it for a moment, and 
 then flung it away from him into the black boiling waters 
 below him. 
 
 '' No other 'air but thine, Caroline, shall ever rest near 
 this 'art ! " he said and kissed the locket and restored it to 
 its place. Light-minded youth, whose hair was it that he 
 thus flung away ? How many times had Andrea shown 
 that very ringlet in strictest confidence to several brethren 
 of the brush, and declared that it was the hair of a dear 
 girl in Spain whom he loved to madness ? Alas ! 'twas but 
 a Action of his fevered brain ; every one of his friends had 
 a locket of hair, and Andrea, who had no love until novv^, 
 had clipped this precious token from the wig of a lovely lay- 
 flgure, with cast-iron joints and a card-board head, that had 
 stood for some time in his atelier. I don't know that he 
 felt any shame about the proceeding, for he was of such a 
 warm imagination that he had grown to believe that the hair 
 did actually come from a girl in Spain, and only parted 
 with it on yielding to a superior attachment. 
 
 This attachment being fixed on, the young painter came
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 43 
 
 home wet tliroiigli ; passed the night in reading Byron ; 
 making sketches, and bnrning them ; Avriting poems to 
 Caroline, and expunging them with pitiless india-rubber. 
 A romantic man makes a point of sitting up all night, and 
 pacing his chamber; and you may see many a composition 
 of Andrea's dated '-Midnight, 10th of jMarch, A. F.," with 
 his peculiar flourish over the initials. He was not sorry to 
 be told in the morning, by the ladies at breakfast, that he 
 looked dreadfully pale ; and answered, laying his hand on 
 his forehead and shaking his head gloomily, that he could 
 get no sleep : and then he would heave a huge sigh ; and 
 Miss ]>ella and Miss Linda would look at each other, and 
 grin according to their wont. He was glad, I say, to have 
 his woe remarked, and continued his sleeplessness for two 
 or three nights ; but he was certaiidy still more glad when 
 he heard Mr. Brandon, on the fourth morning, cry out, in a 
 shrill, angry voice to Becky tlie maid, to give the gentleman 
 upstairs his compliments — Mr. Brandon's compliments — 
 and tell him that he could not get a wink of sleep for 
 the horrid trampling he kept up. " I am hanged if I stay 
 in the house a night longer," added the first floor sharply, 
 " if that Mr. Fitch kicks up such a confounded noise ! " 
 Mr. Fitch's point was gained, and henceforth he was as 
 quiet as a mouse; for his wish was not only to be in love, 
 but to let everybody know he was in love, or where is the 
 use of a helle passion ? 
 
 So whenever he saw Caroline, at meals, or in the passage, 
 he used to stare at her with the utmost power of his big 
 e3^es, and fall to groaning most ]):ithetically. He used to 
 leave his meals untasted, groan, lieave sighs, and stare in- 
 cessantl}". Mrs. Gann and her eldest daughters were aston- 
 ished at these manoeuvres ; for they never sus^^ected that 
 any man could possibly be such a fool as to fall in love with 
 Caroline. At length the suspicion came upon them, created 
 immense laughter and delight ; and the ladies did not fail 
 to rally Caroline in their usual elegant way. Gann, too, 
 loved a joke (much polite waggery had this worthy man 
 practised in select inn-parlors for twenty years past), and 
 would call poor Caroline -' Mrs. F.," and say that instead 
 of Fetch and Carry, as he used to name her, he should style 
 her F'ltch and Carry for the future ; and laugh at this great 
 pun, and make many others of a similar sort, that set 
 Caroline blushing. 
 
 Indeed, the girl suffered a great deal more from this
 
 44 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 raillery than at first may be imagined; for after the first 
 awe inspired by Fitch's whiskers had passed away, and he 
 had drawn the young ladies' pictures, and made designs in 
 their albums, and in the midst of their jokes and conversa- 
 tion had remained perfectly silent, the Gann family had 
 determined that the man was an idiot : and indeed were not 
 very wide of the mark. In everything except his own pecu- 
 liar art honest Fitch was an idiot; and as upon the subject 
 of painting the Ganns, like most people of tlieir class in 
 England, were profoundly ignorant, it came to pass that 
 he would breakfast and dine for many days in their com- 
 pany, and not utter one single syllable. So they looked 
 upon him with extreme pity and contempt, as a harmless, 
 good-natured, crack-brained creature, quite below them in 
 the scale of intellect, and only to be endured because he 
 paid a certain number of shillings weekly to the Gann 
 exchequer. Mrs. Gann in all companies was accustomed to 
 talk about her idiot. Neighbors and children used to peer 
 at him as he strutted down the street ; and though every 
 young lady, including my dear Caroline, is flattered by 
 having a lover, at least the}' don't like such a lover as this. 
 The Misses Macarty (after having set their aaps at him 
 very fiercely, and quarrelled concerning him on his first 
 coming to lodge at their house) vowed and protested now 
 that he was no better than a chimpanzee ; and Caroline and 
 Becky agreed tha^. this insult was as great as any that could 
 be paid to the painter. " He's a good creature, too," said 
 Becky, "crack-brained as he is. Do you know, miss, he 
 gave me half a sovereign to buy a new collar, after that 
 business t'other day ? " 
 
 " And did — Mr. , — did the first floor say anything ? " 
 
 asked Caroline. 
 
 "Didn't he! he's a funny gentleman, that Brandon, sure 
 enough ; and when I took him up breakfast next morning, 
 asked about Sims the pilot, and what I gi'ed Sims for the 
 collar and brooch, — he, he ! " 
 
 And this was indeed a correct report of 'Mr. Brandon's 
 conversation with Becky ; he had been infinitely amused 
 with the whole transaction, and wrote his friend the viscount 
 a capital facetious account of the manners and customs of 
 the native inhabitants of the Isle of Thanet. 
 
 And now, when Mr. Fitch's passion was fully developed 
 
 — as far, that is, as sighs and ogles could give it utterance 
 
 — a curious instance of that spirit of contradiction for which
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 45 
 
 our race is remarkable was seen in the behavior of Mr. 
 Brandon. Although Caroline, in the depths of her little 
 silly heart, had set him down for her divinity, her wondrous 
 fairy prince, who Avas to deliver her from her present mis- 
 erable durance, she had never by word or deed acquainted 
 Brandon with her inclination for him, but had, with instinc- 
 tive modesty, avoided him more sedulously than before. 
 He, too, had never bestowed a thought upon her. How 
 should such a Jove as Mr. Brandon, from the cloudv summit 
 
 of his fashionable r)lympus, look down and perceive such an 
 humble, retiring being as poor little Caroline Gann ? Think- 
 ing her at first not disagreeable, he had never, until the day 
 of' the dinner, bestowed one single further thought upon her ; 
 and only when exasperated by the ]\Iiss ]\racartys' behavior 
 towards"^ him, did he begin to think how sweet it would be 
 to make them jealous and unhappy. 
 
 "The uncouth grinning monsters," said he, "with their 
 horrible court of JBob Smiths and Jack Joneses, daring to 
 look down upon me, a gentleman, — me, the celebrated
 
 46 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 manrjeur des coeurs — a man of genius, fashion, and noble 
 family ! If I could but revenge myself on them ! What 
 injury can I invent to wound them? " 
 
 It is curious to what points a man in his passion will go. 
 Mr. Brandon had long since, in fact, tried to do the greatest 
 possible injury to the young ladies ; for it had been, at the 
 first dawn of his acquaintance, as we are bound with much 
 sorrow to confess, his fixed intention to ruin one or the 
 other of them. And when the young ladies had, by their 
 coldness and indifference to him, frustrated this benevolent 
 intention, he straightway fancied that they had injured him 
 severely, and cast about for means to revenge himself upon 
 them. 
 
 This point is, to be sure, a very delicate one to treat, — 
 for in words, at least, the age has grown to be wonderfully 
 moral, and refuses to hear discourses upon such subjeccs. 
 But human nature, as far as I am able to learn, has not 
 much changed since the time when Richardson wrote and 
 Hogarth painted, a century ago. There are wicked Love- 
 laces abroad, ladies, now as then, when it was considered no 
 shame to expose the rogues ; and pardon us, therefore, for 
 hinting tliat such .there be. Elegant acts of rjicerle, suah as 
 that meditated by Mr. Brandon, are often performed still by 
 dashing young men of the world, who think no sin of an 
 amourette, but glory in it, especially if the victim be a 
 person of mean condition. Had Brandon succeeded (su?.h 
 is the high moral state of our British youth), all his frien Is 
 would have pronounced him, and he would have considered 
 himself, to be a very lucky, captivating dog ; nor, as I 
 believe, would he have had a single pang of conscience for 
 the rascally action which he had committed. This supreme 
 act of scoundrelism has man permitted to himself — to 
 deceive women. When we consider how he has availed 
 himself of the privilege so created by him, indeed 
 one may sympathize with the advocates of woman's rights 
 who point out this monstrous wrong. We have read of that 
 wretched woman of old whom the pious Pharisees were for 
 stoning incontinently ; but we don't hear that they made 
 any outcry against the man who was concerned in the 
 crime. Where was he ? Happy, no doubt, and easy in 
 mind, and regaling some choice friends over a bottle with 
 the history of his success. 
 
 Being thus injured then, j\Ir. Brandon longed for revenge. 
 How should he repay these impertinent young women for
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 47 
 
 slighting his addresses ? '• Pardi,'^ said he ; '• just to punish 
 their pride and insolence, I have a great mind to make love 
 to their sister." 
 
 He did not, however, for some time condescend to per- 
 form this threat. Eagles such as Brandon do not sail down 
 from the clouds in order to pounce upon small flies, and soar 
 airwards again, contented with such an ignoble booty. In 
 a word, he never gave a minute's thought to Miss Caroline, 
 until further circumstances occurred which caused tliis 
 great man to consider her as an object somewhat worthy of 
 his remark. 
 
 The violent affection suddenly exhibited by jMr. Fitch, 
 the painter, towards poor little Caroline was the point 
 which determined Brandon to begin to act. 
 
 " My dear Yiscouxt " (wrote lie to the same Lord C'inqbars wlioin 
 he formerly addressed) — '* Give me joy ; for in a week's time it' is my 
 intention to be violently in love, — and love is no small amusement in 
 a watering-place in winter. 
 
 " I told you about the fair Juliana Gann and her family. I forgot 
 whether I mentioned how the Juliana had two fair daughters, the 
 liosaliud and the Isabella; and another, Caroline by name, not so 
 good-looking as her half-sisters, but, nevertheless, a pleasing young 
 person. 
 
 '* Well, when I came hither, I had nothing to do but to fall in love 
 with the two handsomest; and did so. taking many walks with them, 
 talking nuich nonsense; passing long dismal evenings over horrid tea 
 with them and their mamma: laying regular siege, in fact, to these 
 Margate beauties, who. according to the common rule in such cases, 
 could not, I thought, last long. 
 
 "Miserable deception I disgusting aiistocratic blindness!" (Mr. Bran- 
 don always assumed that his own high birth and eminent position 
 were granted.) "Would you believe it. that I, who have seen, 
 fouirht. and conquered in so many places, should have been ignomini- 
 ously defeated here? Just as American Jackson defeated our Pen- 
 insular veterans, I. an old Continental conqueror too. have been over- 
 come by this ignoble enemy. These women have intrenched them- 
 selves so firmly in their vulgarity, that I have been beaten back several 
 times with disijrace. being quite unable to make an impression. The 
 monsters, too. keep up a dreadful fire fiom behind their inti-enchments; 
 and besides have raised the whole country against me: in a word, all 
 the snobs of their acquaintance are in arms. Theie is Bob Smith, the 
 linendraper; Harry Jones, who keeps the fancy tea-shop; young 
 Glaubei". the apothecary; and sundiy other persons, who are ready to 
 eat me when they see me in the streets; and are all at the beck of the 
 victorious Amazons. 
 
 " IIow is a gentleman to make head against such a cmiaillp as this? 
 — a resndar jncquprip. Once or twice I have tliouirht of retreating; 
 but a retreat, for sundry rea^^ons I have, is ineonveuieiit. I can't go 
 to London; I am known at Dover; I believe there is a bill against me 
 Sit Canterbury; at Chatham there are sundry quartered regiments
 
 48 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 whose recognition I should be unwilling to risk. I must stay here — 
 and be banged to the place — until my better star shall rise. 
 
 "But I am determined that my stay shall be to some purpose, and 
 so to show how persevering I am, 1 shall make one more trial upon 
 the third daughter, — yes, upon the third daughter, a family Cinderella, 
 who shall, I am determined, make her sisters crever with envy. I 
 merely mean fun, you know — not mischief, — for Cinderella is but a 
 little child: and, besides, I am the most harmless fellow breathing, 
 but must liave my joke. Now Cinderella has a lover, the bearded 
 l^ainter of whom 1 si)oke to you in a former letter. He has lately 
 plunged into the most extraordinary fits of passion for her, and is more 
 mad than even he was before. W oe betide you, O painter ! I have 
 nothing to do: a month to do that nothing in; in that time, mark my 
 words, 1 will laugh at that i^ainter's beard. Sliould you like a lock of 
 it, or a sofa stuffed with it ? there is beard enough: or should you like 
 to see a specimen of poor little Cinderella's golden ringlets ? Conmiand 
 your slave. I wish I had paper enough to write you an account of a 
 grand Gann dinner at whicli I assisted, and of a scene which there 
 took place; and bow Cinderella was dressed out, not by a fairy, but by 
 a charitable kitchen-maid, and was turned out of the room by her in- 
 dignant mamma, for appearing in the scullion's finery. But my forte 
 does not lie in such descriptions of polite life. We drank port, and 
 toasts after dinner: here is tlie Dienu, and the names and order of the 
 eaters." 
 
 The bill of fare has been given already and need not, 
 therefore, be again laid before the public. 
 
 '' What a fellow that is ! " said young Lord Cinqbars, read- 
 ing the letter to his friends, and in a profound admiration of 
 his tutor's genius. 
 
 " And to think that he was a reading man too, and took a 
 double first," cried another ; " why, the man's an Admirable 
 Crichton." 
 
 '•Upon my life, though, he's a little too bad," said a third, 
 who was a moralist. And with this a fresh bowl of milk- 
 punch came reeking from the college butteries, and the jo- 
 vial party discussed that.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 COXTAIXS A GREAT DEAL OF COMPLICATED LOVE-MAKIXG. 
 
 HE ]Misses Macarty were ex- 
 cessively indignant that Mr. 
 Eitch should have had the 
 ' audacit}^ to fall in love with 
 their sister ; and j)Oor Caro- 
 line's life was not, as may 
 be imagined, made much 
 the happier by the envy 
 and passion thus excited. 
 Mr. Eitch 's amour was the 
 source of a great deal of pain 
 to her. Her mother would 
 tauntingly say that as both 
 were beggars, they could 
 not do better than marry ; 
 and declared, in the same 
 satirical way, that she 
 should like nothing better than to see a large family of 
 grandchildren about her, to be plagues and burdens upon 
 her, as her daughter was. The short way would have been, 
 when the young painter's intentions were manifest, which 
 they pretty speedily were, to have requested him immedi- 
 ately to quit the house ; or, as Mr. Gann said, " to give him 
 the sack at once;" to which measure the worthy man indig- 
 nantly avowed that he would have resort. But his lady 
 would not allow of any such rudeness ; although, for her 
 part, she professed the strongest scorn and contempt for the 
 piinter. Eor the painful fact must be stated : Eitch had a 
 sliort time previously paid no less a sum than a whole quar- 
 ter's board and lodging in advance, at ^Irs. Gann's humble 
 request, and he possessed his landlady's receipt for that 
 sum ; the mention of which circumstance silenced Gann's 
 objections at once. And indeed, it is pretty certain that, 
 with all her taunts to her daughter and just abuse of Eitch's 
 VOL. I. — 4 49
 
 50 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 poverty, Mrs. Gann in her heart was not altogether averse 
 to the match. In the first place, she loved match-making ; 
 next, she would be glad to be rid of her daughter at any 
 rate ; and, besides. Fitch's aunt, the auctioneer's wife, was 
 rich, and had no children ; painters, as she had heard, make 
 often a great deal of money, and Fitch might be a clever 
 one, for aught she knew. So he was allowed to remain in 
 the house, an undeclared but very assiduous lover ; and to 
 sigh, and to moan, and make verses and portraits of his be- 
 loved, and build castles in the air as best he might. In- 
 deed our humble Cinderella was in a very curious position. 
 She felt a tender passion for the first floor, and was adored 
 by the second floor, and had to wait upon both at the sum- 
 mons of the bell of either ; and as the poor little thing was 
 compelled not to notice any of the sighs and glances which 
 the painter bestowed upon her, she also had schooled her- 
 self to maintain a quiet demeanor towards Mr. Brandon, and 
 not allow him to discover the secret which was laboring in 
 her little breast. 
 
 I think it may be laid down as a pretty general rule, that 
 most romantic little girls of Caroline's age have such a bud- 
 ding sentiment as this young person entertained ; quite 
 innocent of course ; nourished and talked of in delicious se- 
 crecy to the confidante of the hour. Or else what are nov- 
 els made for ? Had Caroline read of Valancourt and Emily 
 for nothing, or gathered no good example from those five 
 tear-fraught volumes which describe the loves of Miss 
 Helen ^lar and Sir William Wallace ? Many a time had 
 she depicted Brandon in a fancy costume, such as the fas- 
 cinating Valancourt wore ; or painted herself as Helen, 
 trying a sash round her knight's cuirass, and watching him 
 forth to battle. Silly fancies, no doubt; but consider, 
 madam, the poor girl's age and education ; the only instruc- 
 tion she had ever received was from these tender, kind- 
 hearted, silly books: the only happiness which Fate had al- 
 lowed her was in this little silent world of fancy. It would 
 be hard to grudge the poor thing her dreams ; and many 
 such did she have, and impart blushingly to honest Becky, 
 as they sat by the humble kitchen-fire. 
 
 Although it cost her heart a great pang, she had once ven- 
 tured to implore her mother not to send her upstairs to the 
 lodgers' rooms, for she shrunk at the notion of the occurrence 
 that Brandon should discover her regard for him ; but this 
 point had never entered Mrs. Gann's sagacious head. She
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STOBV. 51 
 
 thought her daughter wished to avoid Fitch, and sternly 
 bade her to do her duty, and not give herself such imperti- 
 nent airs; and, indeed, it can't be said that poor Caioline 
 was very sorry at being compelled to continue to see Bran- 
 don. To do both gentlemen justice, neither ever said a word 
 unht for Caroline to hear. Fitch would have been torn to 
 pieces by a thousand wild horses, rather than liave breathed 
 a single syllable to hurt her feelings ; and Brandon, though 
 by no means so squeamish on ordinary occasions, was in- 
 nately a gentleman, and from taste rather than from virtue 
 was carefully respectful in his behavior to her. 
 
 As for the Misses Macarty themselves, it has been stated 
 that they had already given away their hearts several times ; 
 Miss Isabella being at this moment attached to a certain 
 young wine-merchant, and to Lieutenant or Colonel Swab- 
 ber of the Spanish service; and Miss Rosalind having a de- 
 cided fondness for a foreign nobleman, with black musta- 
 chios, who had paid a visit to Margate. Of Miss Bella's 
 lovers, Swabber had disappeared ; but she still met the 
 wine-merchant pretty often, and it is believed had gone very 
 nigh to accept him. As for Miss Eosalind, I am sorry 
 to say that the course of her true love ran by no means 
 smoothly ; the Frenchman had turned out to be not a mar- 
 quess, but a billiard-marker; and a sad, sore subject the dis- 
 ap]K)intnient was with the neglected lady. 
 
 We should have spoken of it long since, had the subject 
 been one that was much canvassed in the Gann family ; but 
 once Avhen Gann had endeavored to rally his step-daughter 
 on this unfortunate attachment (using for the j)urpose those 
 delicate terms of wit for which the honest gentleman was 
 always famous), ]\Iiss Linda had flown into such a violent 
 fury, and comported herself in a way so dreadful, that James 
 Gann, Esquire, was fairly frightened out of his wits by the 
 threats, screams, and imprecations Avhich she uttered. Miss 
 Bella, who was disposed to be jocose likewise, was likewise 
 awed into silence ; for her dear sister talked of tearing her 
 eyes out that minute, and uttered some hints, too, regarding 
 love-matters personally affecting Miss Bella herself, which 
 caused that young lady to turn pale-red, to mutter some- 
 thing about " wicked lies," and to leave the room immedi- 
 ately. Kor was the subject ever again broached by the 
 Ganns. Even when ^Frs. Gann once talked about that odi- 
 ous French im poster, she was stopped immediately, not by 
 the lady concerned, but by Miss Bella, who cried, sharply,
 
 52 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 " Mamma, hold your tongue, and don't vex our dear Linda 
 by alluding to any sucli stuff." It is most probable that the 
 young ladies had had a private conference, which, beginning 
 a little fiercely at first, had ended amicably : and so the mar- 
 quess was mentioned no more. 
 
 Miss Linda, then, was comparatively free (for Bob Smith, 
 the linendraper, and young Glauber, the apothecary, went for 
 nothing) ; and, very luckily for her, a successor was found 
 for the faithless Frenchman, almost immediately. 
 
 This gentleman was a commoner, to be sure ; but had a 
 good estate of five hundred a year, kept his horse and gig, 
 and was, as Mr. Gann remarked, as good a fellow as ever 
 lived. Let us say at once that the new lover was no other 
 than Mr. Swigby. From the day when he had been intro- 
 duced to the family he appeared to be very much attracted 
 by the two sisters ; sent a turkey off his own farm, and six 
 bottles of prime Hollands, to Mr. and Mrs. Gann in pres- 
 ents ; and, in ten short days after his first visit, had in- 
 formed his friend Gann that he was violently in love with 
 two women whose names he would never — never breathe. 
 The worthy Gann knew right Avell how the matter was ; for 
 he had not failed to remark Swigby's melancholy, and to 
 attribute it to its right cause. 
 
 Swigby was forty-eight years of age, stout, hearty, gay, 
 much given to drink, and had never been a lady's man, or, 
 indeed, passed half a dozen evenings in ladies' society. He 
 thought Gann the noblest and finest fellow in the world. He 
 never heard any singing like James's, nor any jokes like 
 his ; nor had met with such an accomplished gentleman or 
 man of the world. " Gann has his faults," Swigby would 
 say at the " Bag of ISTails " ; " which of us has not ? — but I 
 tell you what, he's the greatest trump I ever see." Many 
 scores of scores had he paid for Gann, many guineas and 
 crown-pieces had he lent him, since he came into his prop- 
 erty some three years before. What were Swigby's former 
 pursuits I can't tell. What need we care ? Hadn't he five 
 hundred a year now, and a horse and gig ? Ay, that he 
 had. 
 
 Since his accession to fortune, this gay young bachelor 
 had taken his share (what he called " his whack ") of pleas- 
 ure; had been at one — nay, perhaps, at two — public-houses 
 every night ; and had been tipsy, I make no doubt, nearly a 
 thousand times in the course of the three years. Many peo- 
 ple had tried to cheat him ; but, no, no ! he knew what was
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 53 
 
 what, and in all matters' of money Avas simple and shrewd. 
 Gann's gentility won him ; his bragging, his ton, and the 
 stylish tuft on his chin. To be invited to his house was a 
 proud moment ; and when he went away, after the banquet 
 described in the last chapter, he was in a perfect ferment 
 of love and liquor. 
 
 "What a stylish woman is that Mrs. Gann ! " thought he, 
 as he tumbled into bed at his inn ; "fine she must have been 
 as a "-al ' fourteen stone now, without saddle or bridle, and 
 no mistake. And them Miss Macartys : Jupiter ! what spank- 
 ing, handsome, elegant creatures '. — real elegance m both on 
 'em' ' Such hair ! — black's the word — as black as my mare ; 
 such cheeks, such necks, and shoulders ! " At noon he re- 
 peated these observations to Gann himself, as he walked up 
 and down the pier with that gentleman, smoking Manilla
 
 54 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 cheroots. He was in raptures with his evening. Gann re- 
 ceived his praises with much majestic good-humor. 
 
 "Blood, sir!" said he, "blood's everything! Them gals 
 have been brought up as few ever have. I don't speak of 
 myself ; but their mother — their mother's a lady, sir. Show 
 me a woman in England as is better bred or knows the 
 world more than my Juliana ! " 
 
 "It's impawssible," said Swigby. 
 
 " Think of the company we've kep', sir, before our misfor- 
 tunes — the fust in the land. Brandenburg House, sir, — 
 England's injured queen. Law bless you! Juliana was 
 always there." 
 
 "' I make no doubt, sir ; you can see it in her," said Swigby, 
 solemnly. 
 
 " And as for those gals, why, ain't they related to the fust 
 families in Ireland, sir ? — In course they are. As I said be- 
 fore, blood's everything ; and those young women have the 
 best of it ; they are connected with the reg'lar old noblesse." 
 
 " They have the best of everythink, I'm sure," said Swigby, 
 " and deserve it, too," and relapsed into his morning remarks. 
 " What creatures ! what elegance ! what hair and eyes, sir ! 
 
 — black, and all's black, as I say. What complexion, sir ! 
 
 — ay, and what makes, too ! Such a neck and shoulders I 
 never see ! " 
 
 Gann, who had his hands in his pockets (his friend's arm 
 being hooked into one of his), here suddenly withdrew his 
 hand from its hiding-place, clenched his hst, assumed a 
 horrible knowing grin, and gave Mr. Swigby such a blow in 
 the ribs as well-nigh sent him into the water. "You sly 
 dog!" said Mr. Gann, with inexpressible emphasis ; "you've 
 found that out, too, have you ? Have a care, Joe, my boy, 
 
 — have a care." 
 
 And herewith Gann and Joe burst into tremendous roars 
 of laughter, fresh explosions taking place at intervals of five 
 minutes during the rest of the walk. The two friends parted 
 exceedingly happy ; and when they met that evening at 
 " The Nails," Gann drew Swigby mysteriously into the bar, 
 and thrust into his hand a triangular piece of pink paper, 
 which the latter read : — 
 
 " Mrs. Gann and the Misses Macarty request the honor and pleasure 
 of Mr. Swigby's company (if you have no better engagement) to tea 
 to-morrow evening, at half-past five. 
 " Margaketta Cottage, Sat.amaxca Road North, 
 Thursday evening."
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 55 
 
 The faces of the two gentlemen were wonderfully expres- 
 sive of satisfaction as this communication passed between 
 them. And I am led to believe that Mrs. Gann had been 
 unusually pleased with her husband's conduct on that day, 
 for honest James had no less than thirteen and sixpence in 
 his pocket, and insisted, as usual, upon standing glasses all 
 round. Joe Swigby, left alone in the little parlor behind 
 the bar, called for a sheet of paper, a new pen and a wafer, 
 and in the space of half an hour concocted a very spirited 
 and satisfactory answer to this note ; which was carried off 
 by Gann, and duly delivered. Punctually at half-past live 
 Mr. Joseph Swigby knocked at Margaretta Cottage door, in 
 his new coat with glistering brass buttons, his face clean- 
 shaved, and his great eai-s shining over his great shirt-collar 
 delightfully bright and red. 
 
 What happened at this tea-party it is needless here to say ; 
 but Swigby came away from it quite as much enchanted as 
 before, and declared that the duets sung by the ladies in 
 hideous discord were the sweetest music lie had ever heard. 
 He sent the gin and the turkey the next day ; and, of course, 
 was invited to dine. 
 
 The dinner was followed up on his part by an offer to 
 drive all the young ladies and their mamma into the country ; 
 and he hired a very smart barouche to conduct them. The 
 invitation was not declined ; and Fitch, too, was asked by 
 Mr. Swigby, in the height of his good-humor, and accepted 
 with the utmost delight. " ]\Ie and Joe will go on the box," 
 said Gann. '' You four ladies and Mr. Fitch shall go inside. 
 Carry must go bodkin ; but she ain't very big." 
 
 " Carrj^, indeed, will stop at home," said her mamma ; 
 " she's not fit to go out." 
 
 At which poor Fitch's jaw fell ; it was in order to ride 
 with her that he had agreed to accompany the party ; nor 
 could he escape now, having just promised so eagerly. 
 
 "Oh, don't let's have that proud Brandon," said the young 
 ladies, when the good-natured Mr. Swigby proposed to ask 
 that gentleman; and therefore he was not invited to join 
 them in their excursion : but he stayed at home very uncon- 
 cernedly, and saw the barouche and its load drive off. 
 Somebody else looked at it from the parlor-window with 
 rather a heavy heart, and that some one was poor Caroline- 
 The day was bright and sunshiny ; the spring was beginning 
 early ; it would have been pleasant to have been a lady for 
 once, and to have driven along in a carriage with prancing
 
 56 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 horses. Mr. Fitch looked after her. in a very sheepish, 
 melancholy way ; and was so dismal and silly during the 
 hrst part of the journey, that Miss Linda, who was next to 
 him, said to her papa that she would change places with him ; 
 and actually mounted the box by the side of the happy, 
 trembling Mr. Swigby. How proud he was, to be sure ! 
 How knowingly did he spank the horses along, and flhig out 
 the shillings at the turnpikes ! 
 
 " Bless you, he don't care for change ! " said Gann, as one 
 of the toll-takers offered to render some coppers ; and Joe 
 felt infinitely obliged to his friend for setting oft' his amiable 
 qualities in such a way. 
 
 mighty Fate, that over us miserable mortals rulest 
 supreme, with what small means are thy ends effected ! — 
 with what scornful ease and mean instruments does it please 
 thee to govern mankind ! Let each man think of the circum- 
 stances of his life, and how its lot has been determined. 
 The getting up a little earlier or later, the turning down this 
 street or that, the eating of this dish or the other, may 
 influence all the years and actions of a future life. Mankind 
 Avalks down the left-hand side of Kegent Street instead of 
 the right, and meets a friend who asks him to dinner, and 
 goes, and finds the turtle remarkably good, and the iced 
 punch very cool and pleasant ; and, being in a merry, jovial, 
 idle mood, has no objection to a social rubber of whist — 
 nay, to a few more glasses of that cool punch. In the most 
 careless, good-humored way, he loses a few points ; and still 
 feels thirsty, and loses a few more points ; and like a man 
 of spirit, increases his stakes, to be sure, and just by that 
 walk down Eegent Street is ruined for life. Or he walks 
 down the right-hand side of Eegent Street instead of the 
 the left, and, good heavens ! Avho is that charming young 
 creature who has just stepped into her carriage from Mr. 
 Fraser's shop, and to whom and her mamma Mr. Fraser has 
 made the most elegant bow in the world ? It is the lovely 
 Miss Moidore, with a hundred thousand pounds, who has 
 remarked your elegant figure, and regularly drives to town 
 on the first of the month, to purchase her darling Magazine. 
 You drive after her as fast as the hack-cab will carry you. 
 She reads the Magazine the whole Avay. She stops at her 
 papa's elegant villa at Hampstead, with a conservatory, a 
 double coach-house, and a park-like paddock. As the lodge- 
 gate separates you from that dear girl, she looks back just 
 once, and blushes. Eruhult, salva est res. She has blushed.
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 57 
 
 and 3^ou are all right. lu a Aveek you are introduced to the 
 famil}^, and pronounced a charming young fellow of high 
 principles. In three weeks you have danced twenty-nine 
 quadrilles with her and whisked her through several miles of 
 waltzes. In a month Mrs. OTlahert}' has flung herself into 
 the arms of her mother, just having come from a visit to the 
 village of Gretna, near Carlisle ; and you have an account at 
 your banker's ever after. AYhat is the cause of all this good 
 lortune ? — a walk on a particular side of Kegent Street. 
 And so true and indisputable is this fact that there's a 
 young north-country gentleman with whom I am acquainted, 
 that daily paces up and down the above-named street for 
 many hours, fully expecting that such an adventure will 
 happen to him ; for which end he keeps a cab in readiness 
 at the corner of Vigo Lane. 
 
 Kow, after a dissertation in this history, the reader is 
 pretty sure to know that a moral is coming ; and the facts 
 connected with our tale, which are to be drawn from the 
 above little essay on fate, are simjoly these: — 1. If ]\Ir. 
 Fitch had not heard Mr. Swigby invite all the ladies, he 
 would have refused Swigby's invitation, and stayed at home. 
 2. If he had not been in the carriage, it is quite certain that 
 jSIiss Eosalind Macarty would not have been seated by him 
 on the back seat. 3. If he had not been sulky, she never 
 would have asked her papa to let her take his place on the 
 box. 4. If she had not taken her papa's place on the box, 
 not one of the circumstances would have happened which 
 did happen ; and which were as follows : — 
 
 1. ^liss Bella remained inside. 
 
 2. Mr. Swigby, who was wavering between the two, like a 
 certain animal between two bundles of hay, was determined 
 by this circumstance, and made proposals to Miss Linda, 
 whispering to Miss Linda : " ^liss, I ain't equal to the like 
 of you; but I'm heart}', healthy, and have live hundred a 
 year. Will you marry me ? " In fact, this very speech had 
 been taught him by cunning Gann, who saw well enough 
 that Swigby would speak to one or other of his daughters. 
 And to it the young lady replied, also in a whispering, 
 agitated tone, " Law, Mr. S. ! What an odd man ! How 
 can you ? " And, after a little pause, added, '' Speak to 
 mammal 
 
 3. (And this is the main point of my story.) If little 
 Caroline had been allowed to go out, she never would have 
 been left alone with Brandon at Margate. When Fate wills
 
 58 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 that something should come to pass, she sends forth a mill- 
 ion of little circumstances to clear and prepare the way. 
 
 In the month of April (as indeed in half a score of other 
 months of the year) the reader may have remarked that 
 the coid north-east wind is prevalent ; and that when, 
 tempted by a glimpse of sunshine, he issues forth to take 
 the air, he receives not only it, but such a quantity of it as 
 is enough to keep him shivering through the rest of the 
 miserable month. On one of these happy days of English 
 weather (it was the very day before the pleasure-party de- 
 scribed in the last chapter) Mr. Brandon, cursing heartily his 
 country, and thinking how infinitely more congenial to him 
 were the winds and habits prevalent in other nations, was 
 marching over the cliffs near Margate, in the midst of a 
 storm of shrill east wind which no ordinary mortal could 
 bear, when he found perched on the cliff, his fingers blue 
 with cold; the celebrated Andrea Fitch, engaged in sketch- 
 ing a land or a sea scape on a sheet of gray paper. 
 
 ''You have chosen a fine day for sketching," said Mr. 
 Brandon, bitterly, his thin aquiline nose peering out livid 
 from the fur collar of his coat. 
 
 Mr. Fitch smiled, understanding the allusion. 
 
 " An hartist, sir," said he, " doesn't inind the coldness of 
 the weather. There was a chap in the Academy who took 
 sketches twenty degrees below zero in Hiceland — Mount 
 'Ecla, sir ! E was the man who gave the first hidea of 
 Mount 'Ecla for the Surrey Zoological Gardens." 
 
 "He must have been a wonderful enthusiast ! " said Mr. 
 Brandon ; " I fancy that most would prefer to sit at home, 
 and not numb their fingers in such a freezing storm as 
 this ! " 
 
 " Storm, sir ! " replied Fitch, majestically ; " I live in a 
 storm, sir ! A true hartist is never so 'appy as when he 
 can have the advantage to gaze upon yonder tempestuous 
 hocean in one of its hangry moods." 
 
 '' A}^, there comes the steamer," answered Mr. Brandon ; 
 " I can fancy that there are a score of unhappy people on 
 board who are not artists, and would wish to behold your 
 ocean quiet." 
 
 " They are not poets, sir : the glorious hever-changing ex> 
 pression of the great countenance of Nature is not seen by 
 them. I should consider myself unworthy of my hart, if I 
 could not bear a little privation of cold or 'eat for its sake. 
 And besides, sir, v/hatever their hardships may be, such a
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 59 
 
 sight liamply repays me ; for, though my private sorrows 
 may be (lias tliey are) tremeiulous, 1 never can look abroad 
 upon the green hearth and hawful sea, without in a meas- 
 ure forgetting my personal woes and wrongs ; for what right 
 has a poor creature like me to think of his affairs in the 
 presence of such a spectacle as this ? I can't, sir ; I feel 
 ashamed of myself ; I bow ui}^ 'ead and am quiet. When I 
 set m3'self to examining hart, sir (by which I mean nature), 
 I don't dare to think of anything else." 
 
 "You worship a very charming and consoling mis- 
 tress," answered Mr. Brandon, with a supercilious air, 
 lighting and beginning to smoke a cigar ; " your enthusiasm 
 does you credit." 
 
 " If you have another," said Andrea Fitch, " I should like 
 to smoke one, for you seem to have a real feeling about 
 hart, and I was a-getting so deucedly cold here, that really 
 there was scarcely any bearing of it." 
 
 ''The cold is very severe," replied Mr. Brandon. 
 
 "No, no, it's not the weather, sir ! " said Mr. Fitch ; "it's 
 here, sir, here " (pointing to the left side of his waistcoat). 
 
 " What ! you, too, have had sorrows ? " 
 
 "Sorrows, sir! hagonies — hagouies, which I have never 
 unfolded to any mortal ! I have hendured halmost hevery- 
 thing. Poverty, sir, 'unger, hobloquy, 'opeless love ! but 
 for my hart, sir, I should be the most miserable wretch in 
 the world ! " 
 
 And herewith Mr. Fitch began to pour forth into ]\Ir. 
 Brandon's ears the history of some of those sorrows under 
 which he labored, and which he communicated to every sin- 
 gle person who would listen to him. 
 
 ^Ir. Brandon was greatly amused by Fitch's prattle, and 
 the latter told him under what privations he had studied his 
 art : how he had starved for three years in Paris and Pome, 
 while laboring at his ])rofession ; how meaidy jealous the 
 Poyal Academy was which would never exhibit a single one 
 of his pictures ; how he had been driven from the Heternal 
 City by the attentions of an immense fat ]\[rs. Carrickfer- 
 gus, who absolutely proposed marriage to him ; and how he 
 was at this moment (a fact of which ]Mr. Brandon was al- 
 ready quite aware) madl}^ and desperately in love with one 
 of the most beautiful maidens in this world. For Fitch, 
 having a mistress to his heart's desire, was boiling with im- 
 patience to have a confidant ; what indeed would be the joy 
 of love if Ave were not allowed to sneak of one's feelin.irs to
 
 60 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 a friend who could know how to sympathize with them? 
 Fitch was sure Brandon did, because Brandon was the very 
 hrst person with whom the painter had talked since he had 
 come to the resolution recorded in the last chapter. 
 
 " I hope she is as rich as that unlucky Mrs. Carrickfergus, 
 whom you treated so cruelly ? " said the confidant, affecting 
 entire ignorance. 
 
 " Kich, sir ? no, I thank heaven, she has not a penny ! " 
 said Fitch. 
 
 " I presume, then, you are yourself independent," said 
 Brandon, smiling ; " for in the marriage state, one or the 
 other of the parties concerned should bring a portion of the 
 filthy lucre." 
 
 "Haven't I my profession, sir?" said Fitch, majestically, 
 having declared five minutes before that he starved in his 
 profession. " Do you suppose a painter gets nothing ? 
 Haven't I borders from the first people in Europe ? — com- 
 missions, sir, to hexecute 'i story-pieces, battle-pieces, lialtar- 
 pieces ? " 
 
 "Masterpieces, I am sure," said Brandon, bowing po- 
 litely ; " for a gentleman of your astonishing genius can do 
 no other." 
 
 The delighted artist received this compliment with many 
 blushes, and vowed and protested that his performances 
 were not really worthy of such high praise ; but he fancied 
 Mr. Brandon a great connoisseur, nevertheless, and unbur- 
 dened his mind to him in a manner still more open. Fitch's 
 sketch was by this time finished; and, putting his drawing 
 implements together, he rose, and the gentlemen walked 
 away. The sketch was hugely admired by Mr. Brandon, 
 and when they came home, Fitch, culling it dexterously out 
 of his book, presented it in a neat speech to his friend, " the 
 gifted hamateur." 
 
 " The gifted hamateur " received the drawing with a pro- 
 fusion of thanks, and so much did he value it that he had 
 actually torn off a piece to light a cigar with, when he saw 
 that words were written on the other side of the pa^^er, and 
 deciphered the following : — 
 
 "SONG OF THE VIOLET. 
 
 " A humble flower long time I pined, 
 Upon the solitary plain. 
 And trembled at the angry wind, 
 And shrunk before the bitter rain.
 
 . A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 61 
 
 And, oh! 'twas in a Ijlessed hour, 
 A passing wanderer clianced to see 
 
 And, pitying the lonely tlower, 
 To stoop and gather me. 
 
 " I fear no more the tempest rude, 
 
 On dreary heath no more I, pine, 
 But left my cheerless solitude, 
 
 To deck the breast of Caroline. 
 Alas! our days are brief at best, 
 
 Xor long 1 fear will mine endure, 
 Though shelter' d here upon a breast 
 
 So gentle and so pure. 
 
 " It draws the fragrance from my leaves, 
 It robs me of my sweetest breath; 
 And every time it falls and heaves. 
 It warns me of my coming death. 
 But one I know would glad forego 
 
 All joys of life to be as I; 
 An hour to rest on that sweet breast, 
 And then, contented, die. 
 
 *' Andkea." 
 
 When Mr. Brandon had finished the perusal of these 
 verses, he laid them down with an air of considerable vex- 
 ation. "Egad!" said he, "this fellow, fool as he is, is not 
 so great a fool as he seems ; and if he goes on this way, 
 may finish by turning the girl's head. They can't resist a 
 man if he but presses hard enough — I know they can't ! " 
 And here Mr. Brandon mused over his various experience, 
 which confirmed his observation, that be a man ever so silly, 
 a gentlewoman will yield to him out of sheer weariness. 
 And he thought of several cases, in which, by the persever- 
 ing application of copies of verses, young ladies had been 
 brought from dislike to sufferance of a man, from sufferance 
 to partiality, and from partiality to St. George's, Hanover 
 Square. " A ruffian who murders his 7t's to carry off such 
 a delicate little creature as that ! " cried he in a transport : 
 " it shall never be if I can prevent it ! " He thought Caro- 
 line more and more beautiful every instant, and was himself 
 by this time almost as much in love with her as Fitch 
 himself. 
 
 Mr. Brandon, then, saw Eitch depart in Swigby's carriage 
 with no ordinary feelings of pleasure. Miss Caroline was 
 not with them. " Xow is my time ! " thought Brandon ; and 
 ringing the bell, he inquired with some anxiety, from Becky, 
 where Miss Caroline was ? It must be confessed that mis-
 
 62 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY, 
 
 tress and maid were at their usual occujjation, working and 
 reading novels in the back-parlor, Poor Carry ! what other 
 pleasure had she ? 
 
 She had not gone through many pages, or Becky advanced 
 many stitches in the darning of that table-cloth which the 
 good housewife, Mrs. Gann, had confided to her charge, 
 when an humble knock was heard at the door of the 
 sitting-room, that caused the blushing Caroline to tremble 
 and drop her book, as Miss Lydia Languish does in the 
 play. 
 
 Mr. George Brandon entered with a very demure air. He 
 held in his liand a black satin neck-scarf, of which a part 
 had come to be broken. He could not wear it in its present 
 condition, that was evident; but Miss Caroline was blush- 
 ing and trembling a great deal too much to suspect that 
 this wicked Brandon had himself torn his own scarf with 
 his own hands one moment before he entered the room. I 
 don't know whether Becky had any suspicions of this fact, 
 or whether it is only the ordinary roguish look which she 
 had when anything pleased her, that now lighted up her 
 eyes and caused her mouth to expand smilingly, and her 
 fat red cheeks to gather up into wrinkles. 
 
 "I have had a sad misfortune," said he, "and should be 
 very much obliged indeed to Miss Caroline to repair it." 
 (Caroline was said with a kind of tender hesitation that 
 caused the young woman, so named, to blush more than 
 ever.) " It is the only stock I have in the world, and I 
 can't go barenecked into the streets ; can I, Mrs. Becky ? " 
 
 "No, sure," said Becky. 
 
 " Not unless I was a celebrated painter, like Mr. Fitch," 
 added Mr. Brandon, with a smile, which was reflected 
 speedily upon the face of the lady whom he wished to 
 interest. " Those great geniuses," he added, " may do any- 
 thing." 
 
 "For," says Becky, "hee's got enough beard on hees faze 
 to keep hees neck warm ! " At which remark, though INIiss 
 Caroline very properly said, " For shame, Becky ! '' INIr. 
 Brandon was so convulsed with laughter, that he fairl}^ fell 
 down upon the sofa on wdiich Miss Caroline was seated. 
 How she startled and trembled, as he flung his arm upon 
 the back of the couch ! Mr. Brandon did not attempt to 
 apologize for what was an act of considerable impertinence, 
 but continued mercilessly to make many more jokes con- 
 cerning poor Fitch, ivhich were so cleverly suited to the
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL SJORV. 63 
 
 comprehension of the maid and the young mistress as to 
 elicit a great number of roars of laughter from the one, and 
 to cause the other to smile in spite of herself. Indeed, 
 Brandon had gained a vast reputation with Becky in his 
 morning colloquies with her, and she was ready to langh at 
 any single Avord which it pleased him to utter. How many 
 of his good tilings had this honest scullion carried down 
 stairs to Caroline, and how pitilessly had she contrived to 
 estropier them in their passage from the draAving-room to 
 the kitchen ! 
 
 Well, then, w-hile Mr. Brandon "was a-going on," as 
 Becky said, Caroline had taken his stock and her little 
 lingers were occupied in repairing the damage he had done 
 to it. "VVas it clumsiness on her part ? Certain it is that 
 the rent took several minutes to repair : of them the man- 
 fjeiir de cotnrs did not fail to profit, conversing in an easy, 
 kindly, confidential way, which set our fluttering heroine 
 speedily at rest, and enabled her to rej^ly to his continual 
 queries, addressed with much adroitness and an air of fra- 
 ternal interest, by a number of those pretty little timid 
 whispering yeses and noes, and those gentle, quick Iccks 
 of the eyes wherewith young and modest maidens are 
 wont to reply to the questions of seducing young bachelors. 
 Bear yeses and noes, how beautiful you are when gently 
 whispered by pretty lips I — glances of quick innocent eyes, 
 how charming are you I — and hoAv charming the soft blush 
 that steals over the cheek, towards which the dark lashes 
 are drawing the blue-veined ej^elids down. And here let 
 the writer of this solemnly declare, upon his veracity, that 
 he means nothing but what is right and moral. But look, 
 I pray you, at an innocent bashful girl of sixteen ; if she be 
 but good, she must be pretty. She is a woman now, but a 
 girl still. How delightful all her ways are ! How ex- 
 quisite her instinctive grace ! All the arts of all the Cleo- 
 patras are not so captivating as her nature. Who can 
 resist her confiding simplicity, or fail to be touched and 
 conquered by her gentle appeal to protection ? 
 
 All this i\Ir. Brandon saw and felt, as many a gentleman 
 educated in this school will. It is not because a man is a 
 rascal himself, that he cannot appreciate virtue and purity 
 very keenly ; and our hero did feel for this simple, gentle, 
 tender, artless creature, a real respect and sympathy — a 
 sympathy so fresh and delicious, that he was but too glad 
 to yield to it and indulge in it, and which he mistook,
 
 64 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 probably for a real love of virtue, and a return to the days 
 of his innocence. 
 
 Indeed, Mr. Brandon, it was no such thing. It was only 
 because vice and debauch were stale for the moment, and 
 this pretty virtue new. It was only because your cloyed 
 appetite was long unused to this simple meat that you felt 
 so keen a relish for it ; and I thought of you only the last 
 blessed Saturday, at Mr. Lovegrove's, " West India Tavern," 
 Blackwall, where a company of hfteen epicures, who had 
 scorned the turtle, pooh-poohed the punch, and sent away 
 the whitebait, did suddenly and simultaneously make a 
 rush upon — a dish of beans and bacon. And if the assidu- 
 ous reader of novels will think upon some of the most 
 celebrated works of that species, which have lately ap- 
 pepvred in this and other countries, he will find, amidst 
 much debauch of sentiment and enervating dissipation of 
 intellect, that the writers have from time to time a return- 
 ing appetite for innocence and freshness, and indulge us 
 with occasional repasts of beans and bacon. How long Mr. 
 Brandon remained by Miss Caroline's side I have no means 
 of judging; it is probable, however, that he stayed a much 
 longer time than was necessary for the mending of his 
 black-satin stock. I believe, indeed, that he read to the 
 ladies a great part of the "Mysteries of Udolpho," over 
 which they were engaged; and interspersed his reading 
 with many remarks of his own, both tender and satirical. 
 Whether he was in her company half an hour or four hours, 
 this is certain, that the time slipped away very swiftly with 
 poor Caroline ; and when a carriage drove up to the door, 
 and shrill voices were heard crying, " Becky ! " " Carry ! " 
 and Eebecca the maid, starting up, cried, "Lor', here's 
 missus ! " and Brandon jumped rather suddenly off the sofa, 
 and fled up the stairs — when all these events took place, 
 I know Caroline felt very sad indeed, and opened the door 
 for her parents with a very heavy heart. 
 
 Swigby helped Miss Linda off the box Avith excessive 
 tenderness. Papa was bustling and roaring in high good- 
 humor, and called for "hot water and tumblers imme- 
 diately." Mrs. G-ann was gracious ; and Miss Bell sulky, 
 as she had good reason to be, for she insisted upon taking 
 the front seat in the carriage before her sister, and had lost 
 a husband by that very piece of obstinacy. 
 
 Mr. Fitch, as he entered, bestowed upon Caroline a heavy 
 sigh and a deep stare, and silently ascended to his own
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 65 
 
 apartment. He was lost in tliouglit. The fact is, he was 
 tryin^ to remember some verses regarding a violet, which 
 he had made five vears before, and which he had somehow 
 lost from among his papers. So he went upstairs, mutter- 
 ing, — 
 
 '* A linmble^ower long-since I pined 
 Upon a solitary plain — " 
 
 VOL. I. — 5
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DESCRIBES A SHABBY GENTEEL MARRIAGE, AND MORE LOVE- 
 MAKING. 
 
 T will not be necessary to 
 describe the particulars of 
 the festivities which took 
 place on the occasion of 
 ^Ir. Swigby's marriage to 
 JNliss Macarty. The happy 
 pair went off in a post- 
 chaise and four to the 
 bridegroom's country-seat, 
 accompanied by the bride's 
 blushing sister ; and when 
 the first week of their mat- 
 rimonial bliss w^as ended, 
 that worthy woman, Mrs. 
 Gann, with her excellent 
 husband, went to visit the 
 young couple. Miss Caro- 
 line was left, therefore, sole 
 mistress of the house, and received especial cautions from 
 her mamma as to prudence, economy, the proper manage- 
 ment of the lodgers' bills, and the necessity of staying at 
 home. 
 
 Considering that one of the gentlemen remaining in the 
 house was a declared lover of Miss Caroline, I think it is a 
 little surprising that her mother should leave her unpro- 
 tected ; but in this matter the poor are not so particular as 
 the rich ; and so this young lady was consigned to the 
 guardianship of her own innocence, and the lodgers' loyalty . 
 nor was there any reason why Mrs. Gann should doubt the 
 latter. As for Mr. Fitch, he would have far j)referred to be 
 torn to pieces by ten thousand wild horses, rather than to 
 offer to the young woman any unkindness or insult ; and 
 how was Mrs. Gann to suppose that the other lodger was a 
 
 66
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 67 
 
 whit less loyal ? that he had any partiality for a person of 
 whom he always spoke as a mean, insignificant little baby ? 
 So, withont any misgivings, and in a one-horse fly with Mr. 
 Gann by her side, with a brand-new green coat and gilt 
 buttons, Juliana Gann went forth to visit her beloved child, 
 and console her in her married state. 
 
 And here, v/ere I allowed to occup}^ the reader with ex- 
 traneous matters, I could give a very curious and touching 
 picture of the Swigby iiiemige. Mrs. S., I am very sorry to 
 say, quarrelled with her husband on the third day after 
 their marriage — and for what, pr'thee ? Why, because he 
 would smoke, and no gentleman ought to smoke. Swigby, 
 therefore, patiently resigned his pipe, and with it one of 
 the quietest, happiest, kindest companions of his solitude. 
 He was a different man after this ; his pipe was as a limb 
 of his body. Having on Tuesday conquered the pipe, Mrs. 
 Swigby on Thursday did battle with her husband's rum-and- 
 water, a drink of an odious smell, as she very properly 
 observed ; and the smell was doubly odious, now that the 
 tobacco-smoke no longer perfumed the parlOr-breeze, and 
 counteracted the odors of the juice of West India sugar- 
 canes. On Thursday, then, Mr. Swigby and rum held out 
 pretty bravely. Mrs. S. attacked the punch with some 
 sharp-shooting, and fierce charges of vulgarity ; to which S. 
 replied, by opening the battery of oaths (chiefly directed 
 to his own eyes, however), and loud protestations that he 
 would never surrender. In three days more, however, the 
 rum-and-water was gone. Mr. Swigby, defeated and pros- 
 trate, had given up that stronghold ; his young wife and 
 sister were triumphant ; and his poor mother, who occupied 
 her son's house, and had till now taken her place at the 
 head of his table, saw that her empire was forever lost, 
 and was preparing suddenly to succumb to the imperious 
 claims of the mistress of the mansion. 
 
 All this, I say, I wish I had the liberty to describe at 
 large, as also to narrate the arrival of majestic Mrs. Gann ; 
 and a battle-royal Avhich speedily took place between the 
 two worthy mothers-in-law. Noble is the hatred of ladies 
 who stand in this relation to each other ; each sees what 
 injury the other is inflicting upon her darling child ; each 
 mistrusts, detests, and to her offspring privily abuses the 
 arts and crimes of the other. A house with a wife is often 
 warm enough ; a house with a wife and her mother is rather 
 warmer than any spot on the Known globe ; a house with
 
 eS A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 two mothers-in-law is so excessively hot that it can be 
 likened to no place on earth at all, but one nmst go lower 
 for a simile. Think of a wife who despises her husband, 
 and teaches him manners ; of an elegant sister, who joins 
 in rallying him (this w^as almost the only point of union be- 
 tween Bella and Linda now, — for since the marriage, Linda 
 hated her sister consumedly). Think, I say, of two mothers- 
 in-law, — one, large, pompous, and atrociously genteel, — 
 another coarse and shrill, determined not to have her son put 
 upon, — and you may see what a happy fellow Joe Swigby 
 w^as, and into what a piece of good luck he had fallen. 
 
 What would have become of him without his father-in- 
 law ? Indeed one shudders to think ; but the consequence 
 of that gentleman's arrival and intervention was speedily 
 this : — About four o'clock, when the dinner was removed, 
 and the quarrelling used commonly to set in, the two gents 
 took their hats, and sallied out ; and as one has found when 
 the body is inflamed that the application of a stringent 
 medicine may cause the ill to disappear for a while, only 
 to return elsewhere with greater force ; in like manner, 
 Mrs. Swigby's sudden victory over the pipe and rum-and- 
 water, although it had caused a temporary cessation of the 
 evil of which she complained, was quite unable to stop it 
 altogether ; it disappeared from one spot only to rage with 
 more violence elsewhere. In Swigby's parlor, rum and 
 tobacco odors rose no more (except, indeed, when Mrs. Gann 
 would partake of the former as a restorative) ; but if you 
 could have seen the "Half-Moon and Snuffers" down the 
 village ; if you could have seen the good dry skittle-ground 
 which stretched at the back of that inn, and the window of 
 the back parlor which superintended that skittle-ground ; if 
 the hour at which you beheld these objects was evening, 
 what time the rustics, from their toils released, trolled the 
 stout ball amidst the rattling pins (the oaken pins that 
 standing in the sun did cast long shadows on the golden 
 sward) ; if you had remarked all this, I say, you would 
 have also seen in the back-parlor a tallow candle twinkling 
 in the shade, and standing on a little greasy table. Upon 
 the greasy table was a pewter porter-pot, and to the left a 
 teaspoon glittering in a glass of gin ; close to each of these 
 two delicacies was a pipe of tobacco ; and behind the pipes 
 sat Mr. Gann and Mr. Swigby, who now made the " Half- 
 Moon and Snuffers " their usual place of resort, and forgot 
 their married cares.
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 69 
 
 In spite of all our promises of brevity, these things have 
 taken some space to describe; and the reader must also 
 kno^v that some short interval elapsed ere they occurred. 
 A month at least passed away before Mr. Swigby had 
 decidedly taken up his position at the little inn : all this 
 time, Gann Avas staying with his son-in-law, at the latter's 
 most earnest request ; and Mrs. Gann remained under the 
 same roof at her own desire. Xot the hints of her daughter, 
 nor the broad questions of the dowager jNIrs. Swigby, could 
 induce honest ]Mrs. Gann to stir from her quarters. She 
 had had her lodgers' money in advance, as was the worthy 
 woman's custom ; she knew ^largate in April was dread- 
 fully dull, and she determined to enjoy the countiy until 
 the jovial town season arrived. The Canterbury coachman, 
 whom Gann knew, and who passed through the village, 
 used to take her cargo of novels to and fro; and the old 
 lady made herself as happy as circumstances would allow. 
 Should anything of importance occur during her mamma's 
 absence, Caroline was to make use of the same conveyance, 
 and inform Mrs Gann in a letter. 
 
 Miss Caroline looked at her papa and mamma, as the 
 vehicle which was to bear them to the newly married couple 
 moved up the street ; but strange to sa}', she did not feel 
 that heaviness of heart which she befoie had experi- 
 enced when forbidden to share the festivities of her family, 
 but was on this occasion more happy than any one of them, 
 — so happy, that the young woman felt quite ashamed of 
 herself ; and Becky was fain to remark how her mistress's 
 cheek flushed, and her eyes sparkled (and turned perpetu- 
 ally to the cloor), and her whole little frame was in a 
 flutter. 
 
 "I wonder if he will come," said the little heart; and 
 the eyes turned and looked at that well-known sofa-corner, 
 where he had been placed a fortnight before. He looked 
 exactly like Lord Byron, that he did, with his pale brow, 
 and his slim bare neck; only not half so wicked — no, no. 
 
 She was sure that her — her Mr. B , her Bran , her 
 
 George, was as good as he was beautiful. Don't let us be 
 angry with her for calling him George ; the girl was 
 bred in an humble sentimental school ; she did not know 
 enough of society to be squeamish ; she never thought that 
 she could be his really, and gave way in the silence of her 
 fancy to the full extent of her affection for him. 
 
 She had not looked at the door above twenty-five times
 
 70 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 — that is to say, her parents had not quitted the house ten 
 minutes — when, sure enough, the latch did rattle, the door 
 opened, and, with a faint blush on his cheek, divine George 
 entered. He was going to make some excuse, as on the 
 former occasion; but he looked first into Caroline's face, 
 which was beaming with joy and smiles; and the little 
 thing, in return, regarded him, and — made room for him 
 on the sofa. sweet instinct of love ! Brandon had no 
 need of excuses, but sat down, and talked away as easily, 
 happily, and confidentially, and neither took any note of 
 time. Andrea Fitch (the sly dog !) witnessed the Gann 
 departure with feelings of exultation, and had laid some 
 deep plans of his own in regard to Miss Caroline. So 
 strong was his confidence in his friend on the first floor, 
 that Andrea actually descended to those apartments, on his 
 way to Mrs. Gann's parlor, in order to consult jNIr. Brandon, 
 and make known to him his plan of operations. 
 
 It would have made your heart break, or, at the very 
 least, your sides ache, to behold the countenance of poor Mr. 
 Fitch, as he thrust his bearded head in at the door of the 
 parlor. There was I^randon lolling on the sofa, at his ease; 
 Becky in full good-humor ; and Caroline, always absurdly 
 inclined to blush, blushing at Fitch's appearance more than 
 ever ! She could not help looking from him slyly and 
 gently into the face of IMr. Brandon. That gentleman saw 
 the look, and did not fail to interpret it. It was a con- 
 fession of love — an appeal for protection. A thrill of 
 delightful vanity shot through Brandon's frame, and made 
 his heart throb, as he noticed this look of poor Caroline. 
 He answered it with one of his own that was cruelly wrong, 
 cruelly triumphant, and sarcastic; and he shouted out to 
 Mr. Fitch, with a loud, disconcerted tone, which only made 
 that young painter feel more awkwa.rd than ever he had 
 been. Fitch made some clumsy speech regarding his dinner, 
 
 — whether that meal was to be held, in the absence of the 
 parents, at the usual hour, and then took his leave. 
 
 The poor fellow had been pleasing himself with the 
 notion of taking this daily meal tete-a-tete with Caroline. 
 What progress would he make in her heart during the 
 absence of her parents ! Did it not seem as if tlie first 
 marriage had been arranged on purpose to facilitate his own ? 
 He determined thus his plan of campaign. He would 
 make, in the first place, the most beautiful drawing of 
 Caroline that ever was seen. " The conversations I'll 'ave
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 71 
 
 with lier during the sittings," sa3'S he, "will carry me a 
 pretty long way ; the drawing itself will be so beautiful, 
 that she can't resist that. I'll write her verses in her 
 halbum, and make designs hallusive of my passion for her." 
 And so our pictorial Alnaschar dreamed and dreamed. He 
 had, ere long, established himself in a house in Newman 
 Street, with a footman to open the door. Caroline w^as up- 
 stairs, his wife, and her picture the crack portrait of the 
 Exhibition. AYitli her by his side, Andrea Fitch felt he 
 could do anything. Half a dozen carriages at his door, — a 
 hundred guineas for a Kit-Cat portrait. Lady Fitch, Sir 
 Andrew Fitch, the President's chain, — all sorts of bright 
 visions floated before his imagination ; and as Caroline was 
 the first precious condition of his preferment, he determined 
 forthwith to begin, and realize that. 
 
 But disappointment ! on coming down to dinner at 
 three o'clock to that charming tete-a-tete, he found no less 
 than four covers laid on the table, Miss Caroline blushing 
 (according to custom) at the head of it ; Becky, the maid, 
 grinning at the foot ; and Mr. Brandon sitting quietly on 
 one side, as much at home, forsooth, as if he had held that 
 position for a year. 
 
 The fact is, that the moment after Fitch retired, Brandon, 
 inspired by jealousy, had made the same request which had 
 been brought forward by the painter ; nor must the ladies 
 be too angry with Caroline, if, after some scruples and 
 struggles, she yielded to the proposal. Eemember that the 
 girl was the daughter of a boarding-house, accustomed to 
 continual dealings witii her mamma's lodgers, and up to the 
 present moment thinking herself as safe among them as the 
 young person who walked through Ireland with a bright 
 gold wand, in the song of ]\Ir. Thomas Moore. On the point, 
 liowever, of Brandon's admission, it must be confessed, for 
 Caroline's honor, that she did hesitate. She felt that she 
 entertained very different feelings towards him to those 
 with which an}^ other lodger or man had inspired her, and 
 made a little movement of resistance at first. But the poor 
 girl's modesty overcame this, as well as her wish. Ought 
 she to avoid him ? Ought she not to stifle any preference 
 which she might feel towards him, and act towards him 
 with the same indifference which she would show to any 
 other person in a like situation ? Was not Mr. Fitch to 
 dine at table as usual, and had she refused him ? So 
 reasoned she in her heart. Silly little cunning heart ! it
 
 72 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 knew that all these reasons were lies, and that she should 
 avoid the man ; but she was willing to accept of any 
 pretext for meeting, and so made a kind of compromise 
 with her conscience. Dine he should; but Becky should 
 dine too, and be a protector to her. Becky laughed loudly 
 at the idea of this, and took her place with huge delight. 
 
 It is needless to say a word about this dinner, as we have 
 already described a former meal ; suffice it to say, that the 
 presence of Brandon caused the painter to be excessively 
 sulky and uncomfortable ; and so gave his rival, who was 
 
 gay, triumphant, and at his ease, a decided advantage over 
 him. Nor did Brandon neglect to use this to the utmost. 
 When Fitch retired to his own apartments — not jealous as 
 yet, for the simple fellow believed every word of Brandon's 
 morning conversation with him — but vaguely annoyed and 
 disappointed, Brandon assailed him with all the force of 
 ridicule ; at all his manners, words, looks, he joked merci- 
 lessly ; laughed at his low birth (Miss Gann, be it remem- 
 bered, had been taught to pique herself upon her own
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 73 
 
 family), and invented a series of stories concerning liis past 
 life which made the ladies — for Becky, being in the parlor, 
 must be considered as such — conceive the greatest contempt 
 and pity for the poor painter. 
 
 After this, ^Nlr. Brandon would expatiate with much elo- 
 quence upon his own superior attractions and qualities. He 
 talked of his cousin, Lord So-and-So, with the easiest air 
 imaginable ; told Caroline what princesses he had danced 
 with at foreign courts ; frightened her with accounts of 
 dreadful duels he had fought ; in a word, " posed " before 
 her as a hero of the most sublime kind. How the poor 
 little thing drank in all his tales ; and how she and Becky 
 (for they now occupied the same bedroom) talked over them 
 at night ! 
 
 Miss Caroline, as Mr. Fitch has already stated, had in her 
 possession, like almost every young lady in England, a little 
 square book called an album, containing prints from annuals ; 
 hideous designs of flowers ; old pictures of faded fashions, 
 cut out and pasted into the leaves ; and small scraps of 
 verses selected from Byron, Landon, or Mrs. Hemans ; and 
 written out in the girlish hand of the owner of the book. 
 Brandon looked over this work with a good deal of curios- 
 ity — for he contended, always, that a girl's disposition 
 might be learned from the character of this museum of hers 
 — and found here several sketches by Mr. Fitch, for which, 
 before that gentleman had declared his passion for her, Car- 
 oline had begged. These sketches the sentimental painter 
 had illustrated with j^oetry, which, I must confess, Caroline 
 thought charming, until now, when Mr. Brandon took occa- 
 sion to point out how wretchedly poor the verses were (as 
 indeed was the fact), and to parody them all. He was not 
 unskilful at this kind of exercise, and at the drawing of 
 caricatures, and had soon made a dozen of both parodies 
 and drawings, Avhich reflected cruelly upon the person and 
 the talents of the painter. 
 
 What now did this Avicked ]Mr. Brandon do ? He, in the 
 first place, drew a caricature of Fitch ; and, secondly, hav- 
 ing gone to a gardener's near the town, and purchased there 
 a bunch of violets, he presented them to ^liss Caroline, and 
 wrote Mr. Fitch's own verses, before given, into her album. 
 He signed them with his own initials, and thus declared 
 open war with the painter.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WHICH BRIXGS A GREAT NUMBER OF PEOPLE TO MARGATE 
 BY THE STEAMBOAT. 
 
 ,HE events which this history 
 records began in the month 
 of February. Time had 
 now passed, and April had 
 arrived, and with it that 
 festive season so loved by 
 school-boys, and called the 
 Easter holidays. Not only 
 school-boys, but men, profit 
 by this period of leisure, — 
 such men, especially, as 
 have just come into enjoy- 
 ment of their own cups and 
 saucers, and are in daily ex- 
 pectation of their whiskers 
 — college men, I mean — 
 who are persons more anxious than any others to designate 
 themselves and each other by the manly title. 
 
 Among other men, then, my Lord Viscount Cinqbars, of 
 Christ Church, Oxon, received a sum of money to pay his 
 quarter's bill, and having written to his papa that he was 
 busily engaged in reading for the "little-go," and must, 
 therefore, decline the delight he had promised himself of 
 passing the vacation at Cinqbars Hall, — and having, the 
 day after his letter was despatched, driven to town tandem 
 Avith young Tom Tufthunt, of the same university, — and 
 having exhausted the pleasures of the metropolis, — the 
 theatres, the Cider-cellars, the Einish, the station-houses, 
 and other places which need by no means be here particu- 
 larized, — Lord Cinqbars, I say, growing tired of London 
 at the end of ten da3^s, quitted the metropolis somewhat 
 suddenly ; nor did he pay his hotel bill at Long's before his 
 departure ; but he left that document in possession of the 
 
 74
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 75 
 
 landlord, as a token of his (my Lord Cinqbars') confidence 
 in his host. 
 
 Tom Tulthuut Avent with my lord, of course (although of 
 an aristocratic turn in politics, Tom loved and respected a 
 lord as much as any democrat in England), And whither 
 do you thir.k this worthy pair of young gentlemen were 
 bound ? To no less a place than Margate ; for Cinqbars was 
 filled with a longing to go and see his old friend Brandon, 
 and determined, to use his own elegant words, "to knock 
 the old buck up." 
 
 There was no adventure of consequence on board the 
 steamer which brought Lord Cinqbars and his friend from 
 London to Margate, and very few passengers besides. A 
 wandering Jew or two were set down at Gravesend ; the 
 Eev. ]\lr. Wackerbart, and six unhappy little pupils whom 
 the reverend gentleman had pounced upon in London, and 
 was carrying back to his academy near Heme Bay ; some of 
 those inevitable persons of dubious rank who seem to have 
 free tickets, and always eat and drink hugely with the cap- 
 tain ; and a lady and her party, formed the whole list of 
 passengers. 
 
 The lady — a very fat lady — had evidently just returned 
 from abroad. Her great green travelling-chariot was on the 
 deck, and on all her imperials were pasted fresh large bills, 
 with the words I^XE's British Hotel, Boulogne-sur- 
 ^Ier ; for it is the custom of that worthy gentleman to 
 seize upon and plaster all the luggage of his guests with 
 tickets, on which his name and resideuce are inscribed — by 
 which simple means he keeps himself perpetually in their 
 recollection, and brings himself to the notice of all other 
 persons who are in the habit of peering at their fellow-pas- 
 sengers' trunks, to find out their names. I need not say 
 what a large class this is. 
 
 Well ; this fat lady had a courier, a tall, whiskered man, 
 who spoke all languages, looked like a field-marshal, went 
 by the name of Donnerwetter, and rode on the box ; a 
 French maid. Mademoiselle Augaistine ; and a little black 
 page, called Saladin, Avho rode in the rumble. Saladin's 
 whole busiiipss was to attend a wheezy, fat, white poodle, 
 who usually travelled inside with his mistress and her fair 
 conqxignon de voyage, whose name was jSIiss Euut. This 
 fat lady was evidently a person of distinction. During the 
 first part of the voyage, on a windy, sunshiny April day, 
 she paced the deck stoutly, leaning on the arm of poor little
 
 76 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 Miss Runt ; and after they had passed Gravesend, when the 
 vessel began to pitch a good deal, retired to her citadel,, tlie 
 travelling-chariot, to and from which the steward, the stew- 
 ardess, and the whiskered courier were continually running 
 with supplies — of sandwiches first, and afterwards of very 
 hot brandy -an d-water : for the truth must be told, it was 
 rather a rough afternoon, and the poodle was sick ; Saladin 
 was as bad; the French maid, like ail French maids, was 
 outrageously ill ; the lady herself was very unwell indeed ; 
 and poor dear sympathizing Runt was qualmish. 
 
 '^ Ah, Runt ! " would the fat lady say in the intervals, 
 " what a thing this malady de mare is ! Oh, mong jew ! 
 Oh — oh!" 
 
 " It is, indeed, dear madam," said Runt, and went " Oh — • 
 oh ! " in chorus. 
 
 " Ask the steward if we are near Margate, Runt." And 
 Runt did, and asked tliis question every live minutes, as 
 people do on these occasions. 
 
 "Issy Monsieur Donnerwetter : ally dimandy ung pew 
 d'o sho poor mwaw." 
 
 " Et de I'eau de lie afec, n'est-cebas, Matame ? " said Mr. 
 Donnerwetter. 
 
 " Wee, wee, comme vous vouly." 
 
 And Donnerwetter knew very well what "comme vous 
 vouly" meant, and brought the liquor exactly in the wished- 
 for state. 
 
 " Ah, Runt, Runt ! there's something even worse than 
 sea-sickness. Heigh-ho ! " 
 
 " Dear, dear Marianne, don't flutter yourself," cries Runt, 
 squeezing a fat paw of her friend and patroness between 
 her own bony lingers. " Don't agitate your nerves, dear. 
 I know you're miserable ; but haven't you got a friend in 
 your faithful Runty ? " 
 
 " You're a good creater, that you are," said the fat lady, 
 who seemed herself to be a good-humored old soul ; " and I 
 don't know what I should have done without you. Heigh- 
 ho ! " 
 
 " Cheer up, dear ! you'll be happier when you get to 
 Margate : you know you will," cried Runt, very knowingly. 
 
 " What do you mean, Elizabeth ? " 
 
 " You know very well, dear Marianne. I mean that there's 
 some one there will make you happy : though he's a nasty 
 wretch, that he is, to have treated my darling, beautiful 
 Marianne so."
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 77 
 
 "Kunt, Runt, don't abuse that best of men. Don't call 
 me beautiful — I'm not, Hunt ; 1 have been, but I ain't now ; 
 and oh ! no woman in the world is assy bong poor lui." 
 
 " But an angel is ; and 3^ou are, as you always was, an 
 angel. — as good as an angel, as kind as an angel, as beau- 
 tiful as one." 
 
 " Ally dong," said her companion, giving her a push ; 
 "you flatter me, Runt, you know you do." 
 
 " May I be struck down dead if I don't say the truth ; 
 and if he refuses you, as he did at Rome, — that is, after 
 all his attentions and vows, he's faithless to you, — I say 
 he's a wretch, that he is ; and I will say he's a wretch, and 
 he is a wretch — a nasty, wicked wretch ! " 
 
 " Elizabeth, if you say that, you'll break my heart, you 
 will ! Vous casserez mong pover cure." But Elizabeth 
 swore, on the contrary, that she would die for her Mari- 
 anne, which consoled the fat lady a little. 
 
 A great deal more of this kind of conversation took 
 place during the voyage ; but as it occurred inside a car- 
 riage, so that to hear it was very difficult, and as possibly 
 it was not of that edifying nature which would induce the 
 reader to relish many chapters of it, we shall give no 
 further account of the ladies' talk : suffice it to say, that 
 about half-past four o'clock the journey ended, by the ves- 
 sel bringing up at Margate Pier. The passengers poured 
 forth, and hied to their respective homes or inns. My 
 Lord Cinqbars and his companion (of whom we have said 
 nothing, as they on their sides had scarcely spoken a word 
 the whole way, except "deuce-ace," "quarter-tray," 
 " sizes,'' and so on, — being occupied ceaselessly in drink- 
 ing bottled stout and playing backgammon) ordered their 
 luggage to be conveyed to "Wright's Hotel," whither the 
 fat lady and suite followed them. The house was vacant, 
 and the best rooms in it were placed, of course, at the ser- 
 vice of the new-comers. The fat lady sailed out of her 
 bedroom towards her saloon, just as Lord Cinqbars, cigar 
 in mouth, was swaggering out of his parlor. They met in 
 the passage ; when, to the young lord's surprise, the fat 
 lady dropped him a low courtesy, and said, — 
 
 "jMunseer le Vecomte de Cinqbars, sharmy de vous voir. 
 Vous vous rappelez de mwaw, n'est-ce pas ? Je vous ai 
 vew a Rome — shay I'ambassadure, vous savy." 
 
 Lord Cinqbars stared her in the face, and pushed by her 
 without a word, leaving the fat lady rather disconcerted.
 
 78 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 "Well, Euiit, I'm sure," said she, "he need not be so 
 proud ; I've met him twenty times at Rome, when he was a 
 young chap with his tutor." 
 
 '' Who the devil can that fat foreigner be ? " mused Lord 
 Cinqbars. " Hang her, I've seen her somewhere ; but I'm 
 cursed if I understand a word of her jabber." And so, 
 dismissing the subject, he walked on to Brandon's. 
 
 ''Dang it, it's a strange thing!" said the landlord of the 
 hotel; "but both my lord and the fat woman in number 
 nine have asked their w^ay to Mother Gann's lodging," — 
 for so did he dare to call that respectable woman ! 
 
 It was true ; as soon as number nine had, eaten her din- 
 ner, she asked the question mentioned by the landlord; 
 and, as this meal occupied a considerable time, the shades 
 of evening had by this time fallen upon the quiet city; 
 the silver moon lighted up the bay, and, supported by a 
 numerous and w^eli-api)ointed train of gas-lamps, illumi- 
 nated the streets of a town, — of autumn eves so crowded 
 and so gay; of gusty April nights, so desolate. At this 
 still hour (it might be half-past seven), two ladies passed 
 the gates of "Wright's Hotel," "in shrouding mantle 
 wrapped, and velvet cap." Up the deserted High Street 
 toiled they, by gaping rows of empty bathing-houses, by 
 melancholy Jolly's French bazaar, by mouldy pastry-ccoks, 
 blank reading-rooms, by fishmongers who never sold a fish, 
 mercers who vended not a yard of ribbon — because, as yet, 
 the season was not come, — and Jews and cockneys still 
 remained in town. At High Street's corner, near Hawley 
 Square they passed the house of Mr. Fincham, chemist, 
 who doth not only healthful drugs supply, but likew^ise sells 
 cigars — the worst cigars that ever mortal man gave three- 
 pence for. 
 
 Up to this point, I say, I have had a right to accompany 
 the fat lady and IVIiss Kunt ; but, w^hether, on arriving at 
 Mr. Fincham's, they turned to the left, in the direction of 
 the " Royal Hotel," or to the right, by the beach, the bath- 
 ing-machines, and queer rickety old row of houses, called 
 " Buenos Ayres," no power on earth shall induce me to 
 say ; suffice it, they went to Mrs. Gann's. Wh}' should we 
 set all the world gadding to a particular street, to know 
 where that lad}- lives ? They arrived before that lady's 
 house at about eight o'clock. Every house in the street 
 had bills on it except hers (bitter mockery, as if anybody 
 came down at Easter !) and at Mrs. Gann's house there was
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 79 
 
 a liglit ill the garret, and another in the two-pair front. I 
 believe I have not mentioned before that all the front win- 
 dows were bow or bay windows ; but so niucii the reader 
 may know. 
 
 The two ladies, who had walked so far, -examined wist- 
 fully the plata on the door, stood on the steps for a short 
 time, retreated, and conversed with one another. 
 
 ''Oh, E-unty ! " said the stouter of the two, "he's here 
 — I know he's here, mong cure le dee — my heart tells me 
 so.'' And she put a large hand upon a place on her left 
 side, where there once had been a waist. 
 
 " Do you think he looks front or back, dear ? " asked 
 Bunt. " P'raps he's not at home." 
 
 '•That — that's his croisy," said the stout person; "I 
 know it is ; " and she pointed with instinctive justice to 
 the two-pair. ^'Ecouty !" she added, "he's coming; there's 
 some one at that window. Oh, mong jew, mong jew ! c'est 
 Andre, c'est lui ! " 
 
 The moon Avas shining full on the face of the bow-win- 
 dows of Mrs. Gann's house ; and the two fair spies, who 
 were watching on the other side, Avere, in consequence, 
 completely in shadow. As the lady said, a dark form was 
 seen in the two-pair front ; it paced the room for a while, 
 for no blinds were drawn. It then flung itself on a chair ; 
 its head on its hands ; it then began to beat its brows 
 wildly, and paced the room again. Ah ! how the fat lady's 
 heart throbbed as she looked at all this I 
 
 She gave a piercing shriek — almost fainted! and little 
 Runt's knees trembled under her, as with all her might 
 she supported, or rather pushed up, the falling figure of 
 her stout patroness, — who saw at that instant Fitch come 
 to the candle with an immense pistol in his hand, and give 
 a most horrible grin as he looked at it, and clasped it to 
 his breast. 
 
 " Unhand me, Eunt; he's going to kill himself! It's for 
 me ! I know it is — I will go to him ! Andrea, my 
 Andrea ! " And the fat lady was pushing for the opposite 
 side of the way, when suddenly the second-floor window 
 went clattering up, and Fitch's pale head was thrust out. 
 
 He had heard a scream, and had possibly been induced 
 to open the window in consequence ; but by the time he 
 had opened it he had forgotten everything, and put Ids 
 head vacanth' out of the window, and gazed, the moon 
 shining cold on his pale features.
 
 80 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 " Pallid liorb ! " said Fitcli, '^ shall I ever see thy light 
 again ? Will another night see nie on this hearth, or view 
 me, stark and cold, a lifeless corpse ? " He took his pistol 
 up, and slowly aimed it at a chimney-pot opposite. Fancy 
 the fat lady's sensations as she beheld her lover standing 
 in the moonlight, and exercising this deadly weapon. 
 
 "j\fake ready — present — fire!" shouted Fitch, and did 
 instantaneously, not fire off, but lower his Aveapon. " The 
 bolt of death is sped ! " continued he, clapping his hand on 
 his side. " The poor painter's life is over ! Caroline, Caro- 
 line, I die for thee ! " 
 
 " Emit, Eunt, I told you so ! " shrieked the fat lady. 
 " He is dying for me, and Caroline's my second name." 
 
 What the fat lady would have done more, I can't say, 
 for Fitch, disturbed out of his reverie by her talking below, 
 looked out, frowning vacantly, and saying " Ulloh ! we've 
 hinterlopers 'ere ! " suddenly banged down the window, and 
 pulled down the blinds. 
 
 This gave a check to the fat lady's projected rush, and 
 disconcerted her a little. But she was consoled by Miss 
 Eunt, promised to return on the morrow, and went home 
 happy in idea that her Andrea was faithful to her. 
 
 Alas, poor fat lady ! little did you know the truth. It 
 was Caroline Gann Fitch was raving about ; and it was 
 a 23art of his last letter to her, to be delivered after his 
 death, that he was spouting out of the window. 
 
 Was the crazy painter going to fight a duel, or was he 
 going to kill himself ? This will be ex^jlained in the next 
 chapter.
 
 CHAPTEK VIII. 
 
 WHICH TREATS OF WAR AND LOVE, AXD MANY THINGS 
 THAT ARE NOT TO BE UNDERSTOOD IN CHAP. VII. 
 
 ITCH'S verses, inserted in a 
 previous chapter of this 
 story (and of which lines, by 
 the way, the printer managed 
 to make still greater non- 
 sense than the ingenious bard 
 ever designed), had been 
 composed many years before ; 
 and it was with no small 
 trouble and thought that the 
 young painter called the 
 greater i)art of them to 
 memory again, and furbished 
 up a copy for Caroline's 
 album. Unlike the love of 
 most men, Andrea's passion 
 was not characterized by jeal- 
 ousy and watchfulness, otherwise he would not have failed 
 to perceive certain tokens of intelligence passing from time 
 to time between Caroline and Brandon, and the lady's 
 evident coldness to himself. The fact is, the painter was 
 in love with being in love, — entirely absorbed in the con- 
 sideration of the fact that he, Andrea Fitch, was at last 
 enamored ; and he did not mind his mistress much more 
 than Don Quixote did Dulcinea del Toboso. 
 
 Having rubbed up his verses, then, and designed a pretty 
 emblematical outline w^hich was to surround them, repre- 
 senting an arabesque of violets, dewdrops, fairies, and 
 other objects, he came down one morning, drawing in hand; 
 and having informed Caroline, who was sitting very melan- 
 choly in the parlor, preoccupied, with a pale face and red 
 eyes, and not caring tw()})enee for the finest drawing in the 
 world, — having informed her that he was going to make in 
 VOL. I. — 6 81
 
 82 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 her halbum a humble hoffering of his hart, poor Fitch was 
 just on the point of sticking in the drawing with gum, as 
 painters know very well how to do, when his eye lighted 
 upon a i^age of the album, in which nestled a few dried 
 violets and — his own verses, signed with the name of 
 George Brandon. 
 
 " Miss Caroline — Miss Gann, mam ! " shrieked Fitch, in 
 a tone of voice which made the young lady start out of 
 a profound reverie, and cry, nervously, — " What in heaven 
 is the matter ? " 
 
 " These verses, madam — a faded violet — word for word, 
 gracious 'eavens ! every word ! " roared Fitch, advancing 
 with the book. 
 
 She looked at him rather vacantly, and as the violets 
 caught her eye, put out her hand, and took them. "Do 
 you know the hawthor. Miss Gann, of 'The Faded 
 Violets'?" 
 
 "Author? yes; they are — they are George's!" 
 She burst into tears as she said that word ; and, pulling the 
 little faded flowers to pieces, went sobbing out of the 
 room. 
 
 Dear, dear little Caroline ! she has only been in love 
 two months, and is already beginning to feel the woes 
 of it ! 
 
 It cannot be from want of experience — for I have felt 
 the noble passion of love many times these forty years, 
 since I was a boy of twelve (by which the reader may form 
 a pretty good guess of my age), — it cannot be, I say, from 
 want of experience that I am unable to describe, step by 
 step, the progress of a love-affair; nay, I am perfectly 
 certain that I could, if I chose, make a most astonishing 
 and heart-rending liber amoris ; but, nevertheless, I always 
 feel avast repugnance to the following out of a subject of 
 this kind, which I attribute to a natural diffidence and 
 sense of shame that prevent me from enlarging on a theme 
 that has in it something sacred — certain arcana which an 
 honest man, although initiated into them, should not 
 divulge. 
 
 If such coy scruples and blushing delicacy prevent one 
 from passing the threshold even of an honorable love, and 
 setting down, at so many guineas or shillings per page, the 
 pious emotions and tendernesses of two persons chastely 
 and legall}^ engaged in sighing, ogling, liand-squeezing. kiss- 
 ing, and so forth (for with such outward signs I believe
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 83 
 
 that the passion of love is expressed), — if a man feel, I 
 say, squeamish about describing an innocent love, he is 
 doubly disinclined to describe a guilty one ; and I have 
 always felt a kind of loathing for tlie skill of such geniuses 
 as Kousseau or Eichardsou, who could paint with such 
 painful accuracy ail the struggles and woes of Eloise and 
 Clarissa, — all the wicked arts and triumphs of such scoun- 
 drels as Lovelace. 
 
 AVe have in this history a scoundrelly Lovelace in the 
 person going by the name of George Brandon, and a dear, 
 tender, iiniocent, yielding creature on whom he is practis- 
 ing his infernal skill ; and whether the public feel any 
 sympath}^ for her or not, the writer can only say, for his 
 part, that he heartily loves and respects poor little Caroline, 
 and is quite unwilling to enter into any of the slow, pain- 
 ful, wicked details of the courtship which passed between 
 her and her lover. 
 
 Kot that there was any wickedness on her side, poor girl ! 
 or that she did anything but follow the natural and beauti- 
 ful impidses of an honest little female heart, that leads it 
 to trust, and love, and worship a being of the other sex, 
 whom the eager fancy invests with all sorts of attributes of 
 superiority. There was no wild, conceited tale that 
 Brandon told Caroline which she did not believe, — no 
 virtue which she could conceive or had read of in novels 
 with which she did not endow him. Many long talks had 
 they, and many sweet, stolen interview's, during the periods 
 in which Caroline's father and mother were away making 
 merry at the house of their son-in-law ; and while she was 
 left under the care of her virtue and of Becky the maid. 
 Indeed, it was a blessing that the latter was left in the 
 joint guardianship. For Becky, who had such an absurd 
 opinion of her young lady's merits as to fancy that she was 
 a fit wife for any gentleman of the land, and that any 
 gentleman might be charmed and fall in love with her, 
 had some instinct, or possibly some experience, as to 
 the passions and errors of youth, and warned Caroline 
 accordingly. " If he's really in love, Miss, and I 
 think he be, he'll marry you ; if he won't marry you, he's 
 a i-ascal, and 3'ou're too good for him, and must have 
 nothing to do with him." To which Caroline replied, that 
 she was sure Mr. Brandon was the most angelic, high- 
 principled of human beirgs, and that she was sure his 
 intentions were of the most honorable description.
 
 84 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 We have before described what Mr. Brandon's character 
 was. He was not a man of honorable intentions at all. 
 But he was a gentleman of so excessively eager a tempera- 
 ment that if properly resisted by a practiced coquette, or 
 by a woman of strong principles, he would sacrifice any- 
 thing to obtain his ends, — nay, marry to obtain them; and, 
 considering his disposition, it is only a wonder that he had 
 not been married a great number of times already ; for he 
 had been in love perpetually since his seventeenth year. 
 By which the reader may pretty well appreciate the virtue 
 or the prudence of the ladies with whom hitherto our 
 inflammable young gentleman had had to do. 
 
 The fruit, then, of all his stolen interviews, of all his 
 prayers, vows, and protestations to Caroline, had been only 
 this, — that she loved him ; but loved him as an honest girl 
 sliould, and was ready to go to the altar with him when he 
 chose. He talked about his family, his peculiar circum- 
 stances, his proud father's curse. Little Caroline only 
 sighed, and said her dearest George must wait until he 
 could obtain his parent's consent. When pressed harder, 
 she would burst into tears, and wonder how one so good 
 and affectionate as he could propose to her anything 
 unworthy of them both. It is clear to see that the young 
 lady had read a vast number of novels, and knew something 
 of the nature of love ; and that she had a good principle 
 and honesty of her own, which set her lover's schemes at 
 naught : indeed, she had both these advantages, — her edu- 
 cation, such as it was, having given her the one, and her 
 honest nature having endowed her with the other. 
 
 On the day when Fitch came down to Caroline with his 
 verses, Brandon had pressed these unworthy propositions 
 upon her. She had torn herself violently away from him, 
 and rushed to the door ; but the poor little thing fell before 
 she could reach it, screaming in a fit of hysterics, which 
 brought Becky to her aid, and caused Brandon to leave her, 
 abashed. He went out ; she watched him go, and stole up 
 into his room, and laid on his table the first letter she had 
 ever written to him. It was written in pencil, in a trem- 
 bling, school-girl hand, and contained simply the following 
 words : — 
 
 " George, you liave almost broken my heart. Leave me if you will, 
 and if you dare not act like an lionest inan. If you ever speak to me 
 so aijaiii as you did this morning, I declare solemnly before heaven, I 
 will take poison. C."
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY, 85 
 
 Indeed, the poor thing had read romances to some 
 purpose ; without them, it is probable, she never would 
 have thought of such a means of escape from a lover's per- 
 secutions ; and there was something in the girl's character 
 that made Brandon feel sure that she would keep her 
 promise. How the words agitated him ! He felt a violent 
 mixture of raging disappointment and admiration, and 
 loved the girl ten thousand times more than ever. 
 
 Mr. Brandon had scarcely tiuished the reading of this 
 document, and was yet agitated by the various passions 
 which the perusal of it created, when the door of his apart- 
 ment was violently flung open, and some one came in. 
 Brandon started, and turned round, with a kind of dread 
 that Caroline had already executed her threat, and that a 
 messenger was come to inform him of her death. Mr. 
 Andrea Fitch was the intruder. His hat was on — his eyes 
 were glaring ; and if the beards of men did stand on end 
 anywhere but in poems and romances, his, no doubt, would 
 have formed round his comitenance a bristling auburn halo. 
 As it was, Fitch only looked astonishingly fierce, as he 
 stalked up to the table, his hands behind his back. When 
 he had arrived at this barrier between himself and Mr. 
 Brandon, he stopped, and, speechless, stared that gentleman 
 in the face. 
 
 "May I beg, Mr. Fitch, to know what has procured me 
 the honor of this visit ? " exclaimed Mr. Brandon, after a 
 brief pause of wonder. 
 
 " Honor ! — ha, ha, ha ! " growled ^Ir. Fitch, in a most 
 sardonic, discordant way — " honor! " 
 
 . " Well, sir, honor or no honor, I can tell you, my good 
 man, it certainly is no pleasure ! " said Brandon, testily. 
 " In plain English, then, what the devil has brought you 
 here ? " 
 
 Fitch plumped the album down on the table close to INIr. 
 Brandon's nose, and said, " That has brought me, sir — that 
 halbum, sir ; or, I ask your pardon, that a — album — ha, 
 ha, ha ! " 
 
 " Oh, I see ! " said IMr. Brandon, who could not refrain 
 from a smile. " It was a cruel trick of mine, Fitch, to rob 
 you of your verses ; but all's fair in love." 
 
 " Fitch, sir ! don't Fitch me, sir ! I wish to be hintimate 
 honly with men of h-honor, not with forgers, sir ; not with 
 'artless miscreants! ^liscreants, sir, I repeat; vipers, sir; 
 b — b — b — blackguards, sir ! "
 
 S6 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 " Blackguards, sir ! " roared Mr. Brandon, bouncing up ; 
 " blackguards, jou dirty cockney mountebank ! Quit the 
 room, sir, or I'll fling you out of the window ! " 
 
 " Will you, sir ? try, sir ; I wish you may get it, sir. I'm 
 a hartist, sir, and as good a man as you. Miscreant, forger, 
 traitor, come on I " 
 
 And Mr. Brandon ivoidd have come on, but for a circum- 
 stance that deterred him ; and this was, that Mr. Fitch 
 drew from his bosom a long, sharp, shining, waving poniard 
 of the middle ages, that formed a part of his artistical 
 properties, and with which he had armed himself for this 
 encounter. 
 
 " Come on, sir ! " shrieked Fitch, brandishing this fearful 
 weapon. " Lay a flnger on me, and I bury this blade in 
 your treacherous 'art. Ha ! do you tremble ? " 
 
 Indeed, the aristocratic Mr. Brandon turned somewhat 
 pale. 
 
 " Well, well," said he, " what do you want ? Do you 
 suppose I am to be bidlied by your absurd melodramatic 
 airs ! It was, after all, but a joke, sir, and I am sorry that 
 it has offended you. Can I say more ? — what shall I do ? " 
 
 "You shall hapologize ; not only to me," sir, but you shall 
 tell Miss Caroline, in my presence, that 5^ou stole those 
 verses from me, and used them quite unauthorized by me." 
 
 " Look you, Mr. Fitch, I will make you another set of 
 verses quite as good, if you like ; but what you ask is im- 
 possible." 
 
 "I will 'asten myself, then, to Miss Caroline, and ac- 
 quaint her with j^our dastardly forgery, sir. I will hopen 
 her heyes, sir ! " 
 
 "You may hopen her heyes, as you call them, if you 
 please ; but I tell you fairly, that the young lady will credit 
 me rather than you ; and if you swear ever so much that 
 the verses are yours, I must say that — " 
 
 " Say what, sir ? " 
 
 " Say that you lie, sir ! " said Mr. Brandon, stamping on 
 the ground. " I'll make you other verses, I repeat ; but 
 this is all I can do, and now go about your business ! " 
 
 " Curse your verses, sir ! liar and forger yourself ! Hare 
 you a coward as well, sir ? A coward ! yes, I believe you 
 are ; or will you meet me to-morrow morning like a man, 
 and give me satisfaction for this infamous insult? " 
 
 " Sir," said INIr. Brandon, with the utmost stateliness and 
 scorn, " if you wish to murder me as you do the king's Eng-
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 87 
 
 lish, I won't balk you. Although a man of my rank is not 
 called upon to meet a blackguard of your condition, I will, 
 nevertheless, grant you your will. But have a care ; by 
 heavens, I won't spare you, and I can hit an ace of hearts 
 at twenty paces ! " 
 
 " Two can play at that," said i\Ir. Fitch, calmly ; ''and if 
 I can't hit a hace of 'arts at twenty paces, I can hit a man 
 at twelve, and to-morrow I'll try." With which, giving 
 ^[r. Brandon a look of the highest contem})t, the young 
 painter left the room. 
 
 What were Mr. Brandon's thoughts as his antagonist left 
 him ? Strange to say, rather agreeable. He had much too 
 great a contempt for Fitch to suppose that so low a fellow 
 would ever think serioush^ of fighting him, and reasoned 
 with himself thus : — 
 
 '' This Fitch, I know, will go off to Caroline, tell her the 
 whole transaction, frighten her with the tale of a duel, and 
 then she and I will have a scene. I will tell her the truth 
 about those infernal verses, menace death, blood, and dan- 
 ger, and then — " 
 
 Here he fell back into a charming reverie ; the wily fel- 
 low knew what power such a circumstance would give him 
 over a jioor weak girl, who would do anything rather than 
 that her beloved should risk his life. And with this das- 
 tardly speculation as to the price he should ask for refrain- 
 ing from meeting Fitch, he was entertaining himself; when, 
 much to his annoyance, that gentleman again came into the 
 room. 
 
 "\\rr. Brandon," said he, "you have insulted me in the 
 grossest and cruellest way." 
 
 "' Well, sir, are you come to apologize ? " said Brandon 
 sneeringly. 
 
 " Xo, I'm not come to apologize, Mr. Aristocrat : it's past 
 that. I'm come to say this, sir, that I take j^ou for a cow- 
 ard ; and that, unless you give me j'our solemn word of 
 honor not to mention a Avord of this quarrel to ^liss Gann, 
 \\ Inch might prevent our meeting, I will never leave you 
 till we do light ! " 
 
 "This is outrageous, sir ! Leave the room, or by heavens 
 I'll not meet you at all ! " 
 
 •• Heasy, sir ; easy, I beg vour pardon, I can force vou to 
 that ! " 
 
 "And how, pra}', sir.? " 
 
 "Why, in the first place, here's a stick, and I'll 'orsewhip
 
 88 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 you; and here are a pair of pistols, and we can fight 
 now ! " 
 
 •' Well, sir, I give you my honor," said jVIr. Brandon, in a 
 diabolical rage ; and added, " I'll meet you to-morrow, not 
 now ; and you need not be afraid that I'll miss you ! " 
 
 "Hadew, sir," said the chivalrous little Fitch; '-bon 
 giorno, sir, as we used to say at liome/'' And so, for the 
 second time, he left Mr. Brandon, who did not like very 
 well the extraordinary courage he had displayed. 
 
 " What the deuce has exasperated the fellow so ? " 
 thought Brandon. 
 
 Why, in the first place, he had crossed Fitch in love ; 
 and, in the second, he had sneered at his pronunciation and 
 his gentility, and Fitch's little soul was in a fury which 
 nothing but blood would allay : he was determined, for the 
 sake of his hart and his lady, to bring this proud champion 
 down. 
 
 So Brandon was at last left to his cogitations ; when, 
 confusion ! about five o'clock came another knock at his 
 door. 
 
 " Come in ! " growled the owner of the lodgings. 
 
 A sallow, blear-eyed, rickety, undersized creature, totter- 
 ing upon a pair of high-heeled lacquered boots, and support- 
 ing himself upon an immense gold-knobbed cane, entered 
 the room Avith his hat on one side and a jaunty air. It was 
 a white hat with a broad brim, and under it fell a great 
 deal of greasy lank hair that shrouded the cheek-bones of 
 the wearer. The little man had no beard to his chin, ap- 
 peared about twenty years of age, and might Aveigh, stick 
 and all, some seven stone. If you wish to know how this 
 exquisite was dressed, I have the pleasure to inform you 
 that he wore a great sky-blue embroidered satin stock, in 
 which figured a carbuncle that looked like a lambent goose- 
 berr}^ He had a shawl-waistcoat of many colors ; a pair of 
 loose blue trousers, neatly strapped to show his little feet : a 
 brown cut-away coat with brass buttons, that fitted tight 
 round a spider waist ; and over all a white or drab surtout, 
 with a sable collar and cuffs, from which latter on each hand 
 peeped five little fingers covered with lemon-colored kid 
 gloves. One of these hands he held constantly to his little 
 chest : and, with a hoarse thin voice, he piped out, — 
 
 " George my buck ! how goes it ? " 
 
 We have been thus particular in our description of the 
 costume of this individual (whose imvard mail strongly cor-
 
 A SHABBY GEXTEEL STORY 
 
 89 
 
 responded with liis manly and agreeable exterior), because 
 he was the person whom Mr. Brandon most respected in the 
 world. 
 
 " CiXQBARS ! " exclaimed our hero : " why, what the deuce 
 has brought you to Margate ? " 
 
 " Fwendship, my old cock ! " said the Honorable Augus- 
 tus Frederick Kingwood, commonly called Viscount Cinq- 
 bars, for indeed it was he. '' Fwendship and the City of 
 
 Canterhuwy steamer I " and herewith his lordship held 
 out his riu^ht-hand forefinger to Brandon, who enclosed it 
 most cordialh^ in all his. "Wathn't it good of me, now, 
 George, to come down and conthole you in thith curthed, 
 thtupid place — hay now ? " said my lord, after these 
 salutations. 
 
 Brandon swore he was ver}^ glad to see him, which was 
 very true, for he had no sooner set his eyes upon his lord- 
 ship, than he had determined to borrow as much money 
 from him as ever he could induce the young nobleman to 
 part with.
 
 90 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 " I'll tell you how it wath, my boy : you thee I wath 
 thtopping at Long'th, when I found, by Jove, that the 
 governor wath come to town ! Cuth me if I didn't meet 
 the infarnal old family dwag with my mother, thithterth, 
 and all, ath I wath dwdving a hack-cab with Polly Tomkinth 
 in the Pawk ! Tho when I got home, ' Hang it ! ' thayth 
 I to Tufthunt, ' Tom my boy,' thaith I, ' I've just theen the 
 governor, and must be off ! ' ' What, back to Ockthford ? ' 
 thaith Tom. 'No,' thaith I, 'that ivon't do. Abroad — to 
 Jewicho — anywhere. Egad, I have it! I'll go down to 
 Margate and thee old George, that I will.' And tho off I 
 came the very next day ; and here I am, and thereth dinner 
 waiting for uth at the hotel, and thixth bottleth of cham- 
 pagne in ithe, and thum thalmon : tho you mutht come ! " 
 
 To this proposition Mr. Brandon readily agreed, being 
 glad enough of the prospect of a good dinner and some 
 jovial society, for he was low and disturbed in spirits, and 
 so promised to dine with his friend at the " Sun." 
 
 The two gentlemen conversed for some time longer. 
 Mr. Brandon was a shrewd fellow, and knew perfectly 
 well a fact of which, no doubt, the reader has a notion — 
 namely, that Lord Cinqbars was a ninny ; but, nevertheless, 
 Brandon esteemed him highly as a lord. We pardon stu- 
 pidity in lords ; nature or instinct, however sarcastic a 
 man may be among ordinary persons, renders him towards 
 men of quality benevolently blind : a divinity hedges not 
 only the king, but the whole peerage. 
 
 *•' That's the girl, I suppose," said my lord, knowingly 
 winking at Brandon: ''that little pale girl, who let me in, 
 I mean. A nice little filly, upon my honor, Georgy my 
 buck ! " 
 
 "Oh — that — yes — I wrote, I think, something about 
 her," said Brandon, blushing slightly ; for, indeed, he now 
 began to wish that his friend should make no comments 
 upon a young lady with whom he was so much in love. 
 
 " I suppose it's all up now ? " continued my lord, look- 
 ing still more knowing. "All over with her, hay ? I saw 
 it was by her looks, in a minute." 
 
 " Indeed you do me a great deal too much honor. ]\Iiss 
 — ah, — Miss Gann is a very respectable young person, 
 and I would not for the world have you to suppose that 
 I would do anything that should the least injure her 
 character." 
 
 At this speech, Lord Cinqbars was at first much puzzled;
 
 i 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 91 
 
 t 
 
 but, ill considering it, was fully convinced that Brandon 
 was a deeper dog than ever. Boiling with impatience to 
 know the particulars of this delicate intrigue, this cunning 
 diplomatist determined he would pump the whole story out 
 of Brandon by degrees ; and so, in the course of half an 
 hour's conversation that the young men had together, 
 Cinqbars did not make less than forty allusions to the 
 subject that interested him. At last Brandon cut him 
 short rather haughtily, by begging that he would make no 
 further allusions to the subject, as it Avas one that was 
 excessively disagreeable to him. 
 
 In fact, there was no mistake about it now. Georrje Bran- 
 don was in love with Caroline. He felt that he was while 
 he blushed at his friend's alluding to her, while he grew 
 indignant at the young lord's coarse banter about her. 
 
 Turning the conversation to another point, he asked 
 Cinqbars about his voyage, and whether he had brought 
 any companion with him to Margate ; whereupon my lord 
 related all his feats in London, how he had been to the 
 watch-house, how many bottles of champagne he had drunk, 
 how he had " milled " a policeman, «&c., &c. ; and he con- 
 cluded by saying that he had come down with Tom Tuft- 
 hunt, who was at the inn at that very moment smoking a 
 cigar. 
 
 This did not increase Brandon's good-humor ; and when 
 Cinqbars mentioned his friend's name, Brandon saluted it 
 mentally with a hearty curse. These two gentlemen hated 
 each other of old. Tufthunt was a small college man of 
 no family, with a foundation fellowship ; and it used to be 
 considered that a sporting fellow of a small college was a 
 sad, raffish, disreputable character. Tufthunt, then, was a 
 vulgar fellow, and Brandon a gentleman, so they hated 
 each other. They w^ere both toadies of the same nobleman, 
 so they hated each other. They had had some quarrel at 
 college about a disputed bet, which Brandon knew he 
 owed, and so they hated each other; and in their words 
 about it Brandon had threatened to horsewhip Tufthunt, 
 and called him a " sneaking, swindling, small college 
 snob ; " and so little Tufthunt, who had not resented 
 ^he words, hated Brandon far more than Brandon hated 
 him. The latter only had a contempt for his rival, and 
 voted him a profound bore and vulgarian. 
 
 So, althougli Mr. Tufthunt did not choose to frequent 
 Mr. Brandon's rooms, he was very anxious that his friend,
 
 I 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY 
 
 the young lord, should not fall into his old bear-leader's 
 hands again, and came down to Margate to counteract any 
 influence which the arts of Brandon might acquire. 
 
 "Curse the fellow!" thought Tufthunt in his heart 
 (there was a fine reciprocity of curses between the two 
 men) ; " he has drawn Cinqbars already for fifty pounds 
 this year, and will have some half of his last remittance, if 
 I don't keep a lookout, the swindling thief ! " 
 
 And so frightened was Tufthunt at the notion of Bran- 
 don's return to power, and dishonest use of it, that he was 
 at the time on the point of writing to Lord Kingwood to 
 tell him of his son's doings, only he wanted some money 
 deucedly himself. Of Mr. Tufthunt's phijslque and history 
 it is necessary merely to say that he was the son of a 
 country attorney who was agent to a lord; he had been 
 sent to a foundation-school, where he distinguished him- 
 self for ten years, by fighting and being flogged more 
 than any boy of the five hundred. From the founda- 
 tion-school he went to college with an exhibition, which 
 was succeeded by a fellowship, which was to end in a 
 living. In his person Mr. Tufthunt was short and bow- 
 legged ; he wore a sort of clerico-sporting costume, consist- 
 ing of a black straight-cut coat and light drab breeches, 
 with a vast number of buttons at the ankles ; a sort of 
 dress much affectioned by sporting gentleinen of the uni- 
 versity in the author's time. 
 
 Well, Brandon said he had some letters to write, and 
 promised to follow his friend, which he did ; but, if the 
 truth must be told, so infatuated was the young man 
 become with his passion, with the resistance he had met 
 with, and so nervous from the various occurrences of the 
 morning, that he passed the half-hour during which he 
 was free from Cinqbars's society in kneeling, imploring, 
 weeping at Caroline's little garret-door, which had remained 
 pitilessly closed to him. He was wild with disappoint- 
 ment, mortification — mad, longing to see her. The clev- 
 erest coquette in Europe could not have so inflamed him. 
 His first act on entering the dinner-room was to drink off 
 a large tumbler of champagne ; and when Cinqbars, in his 
 elegant way, began to rally him upon his wildness, ]\[r. 
 Brandon only growled and cursed with frightful velie- 
 mency, and applied again to the bottle. His face, which 
 had been quite white, grew a bright red ; his tongue, which 
 had been tied, began to chatter vehemently ; before the
 
 % 
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 93 
 
 fish was off the table, Mr. Brandon showed strong symp- 
 toms of intoxication ; before tlie desert appeared, Mr. 
 Tufthimt, winking knowingly to Lord Cinqbars, had begun 
 to draw him out ; and Brandon, with a number of shrieks 
 and oaths, was narrating the history of his attachment. 
 
 "Look you, Tufthunt," said he wildly; "hang you, I 
 hate you, but I must talk ! I've been, for two months 
 noAV, in this cursed hole ; in a rickety lodging, with a 
 vulgar famil}'; as vulgar, by Jove, as you are yourself!" 
 
 Mr. Tufthunt did not like this style of address half so 
 much as Lord Cinqbars, who was laughing immoderately, 
 and to whom Tufthunt whispered rather sheepishly, " Pooh, 
 pooh, he's drunk ! " 
 
 " Drunk ! no, sir," yelled out Brandon ; " I'm mad, 
 though, with the prudery of a little devil of lifteen, who 
 has cost me more trouble than it would take me to seduce 
 every one of your sisters — ha, ha ! every one of the Miss 
 Tufthunts, by Jove ! Miss Suky Tufthunt, ]\Iiss Dolly 
 Tufthunt, Miss Anna-Maria Tufthunt, and the whole 
 bunch. Come, sir, don't sit scowling at me, or I'll brain 
 you with the decanter." (Tufthunt was down again on 
 the sofa.) " I've borne with the girl's mother, and her 
 father, and her sisters, and a cook in the house, and a 
 scoundrel of a painter, that I'm going to light about her ; 
 and for what? — wli}', for a letter, which says, 'George, 
 I'll kill myself! George, I'll kill myself !'— ha, ha! a 
 little devil like that killing herself — ha, ha! and I — I 
 who — who adore her, who am mad for — " 
 
 "Mad, I believe he is," said Tufthunt; and at this 
 moment Mr. Brandon was giving the most unequivocal 
 signs of madness ; he plunged his head into the corner of the 
 sofa, and was kicking his feet violently into the cushions. 
 
 " You don't understand him. Tufty my boy," said Lord 
 Cinqbars, with a ver}^ superior air. " You ain't up to these 
 things, I tell you ; and I suspect, by Jove, that you never 
 were in love in your life. / know what it is, sir. And as 
 for Brandon, heaven bless you ! I've often seen him in that 
 way when we were abroad. AVhen he has an intrigue, he's 
 mad about it. Let me see, there was the Countess Fritzch, 
 at Baden-Baden ; there was the woman at Pau ; and that 
 girl — at Paris, was it ? — no, at Vienna. He went on just 
 so about them all ; but I'll tell you what, when ice do the 
 thing, Ave do it easier, my boy, hay ? " 
 
 And so saying, my lord cocked up his little sallow,
 
 94 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 beardless face into a grin, and then fell to eying a glass of 
 execrable claret across a candle. An intr'njue, as he called 
 it, was the little creature's delight; and until the time 
 should arrive when he could have one himself, he loved to 
 talk of those of his friends. 
 
 As for Tufthunt, we may fancy how that gentleman's 
 previous affection for Brandon was increased by the latter's 
 brutal addresses to him. Brandon continued to drink and 
 to talk, though not always in the sentimental way in 
 which he had spoken about his loves and injuries. Grow- 
 ing presently madly jocose as he had before been madly 
 melancholy, he narrated to the two gentlemen the partic- 
 ulars of his quarrel with Fitch, mimicking the little 
 painter's manner in an excessively comic way, and giving 
 the most ludicrous account of his person, kept his compan- 
 ions in a roar of laughter. Cinqbars swore that he would 
 see the fun in the morning, and agreed that if the painter 
 wanted a second, either he or Tufthunt would act for him. 
 
 Now my Lord Cinqbars had an excessively clever ser- 
 vant, a merry rogue, whom he had discovered in the 
 humble capacity of scout's assistant at Christchurch, and 
 raised to be his valet. The chief duties of the valet were 
 to black his lord's beautiful boots, that we have admired 
 so much, and put his lordship to bed when overtaken with 
 liquor. He heard every word of the young men's talk (it 
 being his habit, much encouraged by his master, to join 
 occasionally in the conversation) ; and in the course of the 
 night, when at supper with Monsieur Donnerwetter and 
 Mdlle. Augustine, he related every word of the talk above 
 stairs, mimicking Brandon quite as cleverly as the latter 
 had mimicked Fitch. When then, after making his com- 
 pany laugh by describing Brandon's love-agonies, Mr. Tom 
 informed them how that gentleman had a rival, with whom 
 he was going to fight a duel the next morning — an artist- 
 fellow with an immense beard, whose name was Fitch, to 
 to his surprise Mdlle. Augustine burst into a scream of 
 laughter, and exclaimed, " Feesh, Feesh ! c'estnotre homme ; 
 — it is our man, sare ! Saladin, remember you Mr. Fish ?" 
 
 Saladin said gravely, ^' Missa Fis, Missa Fis ! know 'um 
 quite well, Missa Fis ! Painter-man, big beard, gib Saladin 
 bit injyrubby, ]\Iissis lub Missa Fis ! " 
 
 It was too true, the fat lady was the famous jMrs. Car- 
 RiCKFERGus, and she had come all the Avay from Eome in 
 pursuit of her adored painter.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WHICH THREATENS DEATH, BUT COXTAIXS A GREAT DEAL OF 
 MARRYING. 
 
 S the morrow was to be an 
 eventful clay in the lives of 
 all the heroes and heroines 
 of this history, it will be as 
 well to state how they passed 
 the night previous. Bran- 
 don, like the English before 
 the battle of Hastings, spent 
 the evening in feasting and 
 carousing; and Lord Cinq- 
 bars, at twelve o'clock, his 
 usual time after his usual 
 quantity of drink, was carried 
 up to bed l>y the servant kept 
 by his lordship for tliat pur- 
 pose. 3Ir. Tufthunt took this 
 as a hint to wish Brandon 
 good-night, at the same time promisiug that he and Cinqbars 
 would not fail him in the morning about the duel. 
 
 Shall we confess that ]Mr. Brandon, Avhose excitement now 
 began to wear off, aud who had a dreadful headache, did not 
 at all relish the idea of the morrow's combat ? 
 
 " If," said he, " I shoot this crack-brained painter, all the 
 world will cry out ^ Murder ! ' If he shoot me, all the world 
 will laugh at me ! And yet, confound him ! he seems so 
 bent upon blood, that there is no escaping a meeting." 
 
 "At any rate," Brandon thought, '-there will be no harm 
 in a letter to Caroline." So, on arriving at home, he sat 
 dowu and wrote a very pathetic one ; saying that he fought 
 in her cause, aud if he died, his last breath should be for her. 
 So having written, lie jumped into bed, and did not sleep 
 one single wink all niglit. ^ 
 
 As Brandon passed his night like the English, Fitch went 
 
 95
 
 96 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 through his like the Xormans, in fasting, and mortification, 
 and meditation. The poor fellow likewise indited a letter 
 to Caroline : a very long and strong one, interspersed with 
 pieces of poetry, and containing the words we have jnst 
 heard him utter out of the window. Then he thought about 
 making his will : but he recollected, and, indeed, it was a 
 bitter thought to the young man, that there was not cne 
 single soul in the wide world who cared for him — except, 
 indeed, thought he, after a pause, that poor Mrs. Carrick- 
 fergus at Rome, who did like me, and was the oidy person 
 who ever bought my drawings. So he made over all his 
 sketches to her, regulated his little property, found that he 
 had money enough to pay his washerwoman ; and so having 
 disposed of his worldly concerns, Mr. Fitch also jumped 
 into bed, and speedily fell into a deep sleep. Brandon could 
 hear him snoring all night, and did not feel a bit the more 
 comfortable because his antagonist took matters so uncon- 
 cernedly. 
 
 Indeed, our poor painter had no guilty thoughts in his 
 breast, nor any 2:)articular revenge against Brandon, noAv 
 that the first pangs of mortified vanity were over. But, 
 with all his vagaries, he was a man of spirit ; and after what 
 had passed in the morning, the treason that had been done 
 him, and the insults heaped upon him, he felt that the duel 
 was irrevocable. He had a misty notion, imbibed some- 
 where, that it Avas the part of a gentleman's duty to fight 
 duels, and had long been seeking for an opportunity. 
 " Suppose I do die," said he, " what's the odds ? Caroline 
 doesn't care for me. Dr. Wackerbart's boys won't have 
 their drawing-lesson next Wednesday ; and no more will be 
 said of poor Andrea." 
 
 And now for the garret. Caroline was wraj^ped up in her 
 own woes, poor little soul ! and in the arms of the faithful 
 Becky cried herself to sleep. But the slow hours passed on ; 
 and the tide, which had been out, now came in ; and the 
 lamps Vv^axed fainter and fainter; and the watchman cried 
 six o'clock ; and the sun arose and gilded the minarets of 
 jMargate ; and Becky got up and scoured the steps, and the 
 kitchen, and made ready the lodgers' breakfasts ; and at 
 half-past eight there came a thundering rap at the door, and 
 two gentlemen, one with a mahogany case under his arm, 
 asked for Mr. Brandon, and were shown up to his room by 
 the astonished Becky, who was bidden by ]\Ir. Brandon to 
 get breakfast for three.
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 97 
 
 The tliuiideriiig rap awakened Mr. Fitch, who rose and 
 dressed himself in his best clothes, gave a twist of tlie curl- 
 ing-tongs to his beard, and conducted himself throughout 
 with perfect coolness. Nine o'clock struck, and he wrapped 
 his cloak round him, and put under his cloak that pair of 
 foils which we have said he possessed, and did not know in 
 the least how to use. However, he had heard his camarades 
 d' atelier^ at Paris and Eonie, say that they were the best 
 weapons for duelling ; and so forth he issued. 
 
 Becky was in the passage as he passed down ; she was 
 always scrubbing there. '' Becky," said Fitch, in a hollow 
 voice, " here is a letter ; if I should not return in half an 
 hour, give it to Miss Gann, and promise on your honor that 
 she shall not have it sooner." Becky promised. She thought 
 that the painter was at some of his mad tricks. He went 
 out of the door saluting her gravely. 
 
 But he went only a few steps, and came back again. 
 " Becky," said he, " you — you've always been a good girl 
 to me, and here's something for you ; per'aps we shan't — ■ 
 we shan't see each other for some time." The tears were in 
 his eyes as he spoke, and he handed her over seven shillings 
 and fourpence halfpenny, being every farthing he possessed 
 in the world. 
 
 " Well, I'm sure ! " said Becky ; and that was all she said, 
 for she pocketed the money, and fell to scrubbing again. 
 
 Presently the three gentlemen upstairs came clattering 
 down. " Lock bless 3^ou, don't be in such a 'urry ! " exclaimed 
 Becky ; " it's full herly yet, and the water's not biling." 
 
 '^ We'll come back to breakfast, my dear," said one, a little 
 gentleman in high-heeled boots; "and, I thay, mind and 
 have thum thoda-water." And he walked out, twirling his 
 cane. His friend with the case followed him. Mr. Brandon 
 came last. 
 
 He too tiu-ned back after he had gone a few paces. 
 "!^ecky," said he, in a grave voice, "if I am not back in 
 half an hour, give that to Miss Gann." 
 
 Becky was fairly flustered by this ; and after turning the 
 letters round and round, and peeping into the sides, and 
 looking at the seals very hard, she like a fool determined 
 that she would not wait half an hour, but carry them up to 
 Hiss Caroline ; and so up she mounted, finding prett}^ Caro- 
 line in the act of lacing her stays. And the consequences 
 of Becky's conduct were that little Carry left oft" lacing her 
 stays (a sweet little figure the poor thing looked in them ; 
 
 VOL. I. — 7
 
 98 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 but that is neither here nor there), took the letters, looked 
 at one which she threw down directly ; at the other, which 
 she eagerly opened, and, having read a line or two, gave a 
 load scream, and fell down dead in a fainting lit ! 
 
 AVaft ns, Mnse ! to Mr. AVright's hotel, and quick nar- 
 rate what chances there befell. Very early in the morning 
 Mdlle. Augustine made her appearance in the apartment of 
 Miss Runt, and with great glee informed that lady of the 
 event which was about to take place. " Figurez-vous, 
 mademoiselle, que notre homme va se battre — oh, but it 
 will be droll to see him sword in hand ! " 
 
 " Don't plague me with your ojous servants' quarrels, 
 Augustine ; that horrid courier is always quarrelling and 
 tipsy." 
 
 " Mon Dieu, qu'elle est bete ! " exclaimed Augustine : " but 
 I tell you it is not the courier; it is he, I'objet, le peintre 
 dont madame s'est amourachee, Monsieur Feesh." 
 
 "Mr. Fitch!" cried Runt, jumping up in bed. "Mr. 
 Fitch going to light ! Augustine, my stockings — quick, my 
 rohe-de-chambre — tell me when, how, where ? " 
 
 And so Augustine told her that the combat vras to take 
 place at nine that morning, behind the Windmill, and that 
 the gentleman with whom Mr. Fitch was to go out had been 
 dining at the hotel the night previous, in company with the 
 little milor, who was to be his second. 
 
 Quick as lightning flew Runt to the chamber of her 
 patroness. That lady was in a profound sleep ; and I leave 
 3^ou to imagine what were her sensations on awaking and 
 hearing this dreadful tale. 
 
 Such is the force of love, that although, for many years, 
 Mrs. Carrickfergus had never left her bed before noon, 
 although in all her wild wanderings after the painter she, 
 nevertheless, would have her tea and cutlet in bed, and her 
 doze likewise, before she set forth on a journey — she nqw 
 started up in an instant, forgetting her nap, mutton-chops, 
 everything, and began dressing with a promptitude which 
 can only be equalled by Harlequin when disguising himself 
 in a pantomime. She would have had an attack of nerves, 
 only she knew there was no- time for it; and I do believe 
 that twenty minutes were scarcely over her head, as the 
 sa3dng is, when her bonnet and cloak were on, and Avith her 
 whole suite, and an inn-waiter or two whom she pressed into 
 her service, she was on full trot to the field of action. For
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 99 
 
 twputy years before, and from that day to this, Marianne 
 Carrickfergus never had or has walked so quickly. 
 
 "Hullo, here^th a go ! " exclaimed Lord Viscount Cinq- 
 bars, as they arrived on the ground behind the Windmill ; 
 " cuth me there'th only one man ! " 
 
 This was indeed the case ; Mr. Fitch, in his great cloak, 
 was pacing slowly up and down the grass, his shadow 
 stretching far in the sunshine. Mr. Fitch was alone too; 
 for the fact is, he had never thought about a second. This 
 he admitted frankly, bbwing with much majesty to the 
 company as they came up. " But that, gents, " said he, 
 "will make no difference, I hope, nor prevent fair play 
 from being done." And, flinging off his cloak, he produced 
 the foils, from which the buttons had been taken off. He 
 went up to Brandon, and was for offering him one of the 
 weapons, just as they do at the theatre. Brandon stepped 
 back, rather abashed : Cinqbars looked posed ; Tufthunt 
 delighted. "Ecod," said he, "I hope the bearded fellow 
 will give it him." 
 
 " Excuse me, sir," said Mr. Brandon ; '• as the challenged 
 party, I demand pistols." 
 
 Mr. Eitch, with great presence of mind and gracefulness, 
 stuck the swords into the grass. 
 
 " Oh, pithtolth of courth," lisped my lord ; and presently 
 called aside Tufthunt, to whom he whispered something in 
 great glee ; to which Tufthunt objected at first, saying, 
 " No, d — him, let him fight." " And your fellowship and 
 living. Tufty my boy ; " interposed my lord ; and then they 
 walked on. After a couple of minutes, during which -Mr. 
 Eitch was employed in examining Mr. Brandon from the 
 toe ujnvards to the crown of his head or hat, just as Mr. 
 Widdicombe does Mr. Cartlich, before those two gentlemen 
 proceed to join in combat on the boards of Astley's Amphi- 
 theatre (indeed poor Eitch had no other standard of chiv- 
 alry) — when Eitch had concluded this examination, of 
 which Brandon did not knoAv what the deuce to make. 
 Lord Cinqbars came back to the painter, and gave him a 
 nod. 
 
 " Sir," said he, "' as you have come unprovided with a 
 second, I, with your leave, will act as one. My name is 
 Cinqbars — Lord Cinqbars ; and though I had come to the 
 ground to act as the friend of my friend here, Mr. Tufthunt 
 will take that duty upon him ; and as it appears to me
 
 100 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 there can be no other end to this unhappy affair^ we will 
 proceed at once." 
 
 It is a marvel how Lord Cinqbars ever made such a gen- 
 tlemanly speech. When Fitch heard that lie was to have a 
 lord for a second, he laid his hand on his chest, and vowed 
 it was the greatest h-honor of his life ; and was turning 
 round to walk towards his ground, when my lord, gracefully 
 thrusting his tongue into his cheek, and bringing his thumb 
 up to his nose, twiddled about his lingers for a moment, and 
 said to Brandon, " Gammon ! " 
 
 Mr. Brandon smiled, and heaved a great, deep, refreshing 
 sigh. The truth was, a load was taken off his mind, of 
 which he was very glad to be rid ; for there was something 
 in the coolness of that crazy painter that our fashionable 
 gentleman did not at all approve of. 
 
 " I think, Mr. Tufthunt," said Lord Cinqbars, very loud, 
 "that considering the gravity of the case — threatening 
 horse-whipping, you know, lie on both sides, and lady in the 
 case — I think we must have the barrier duel." 
 
 " What's that ? " asked Fitch. 
 
 "The simplest thing in the world; and," in a Avhisper, 
 " let me add, the best for you. Look here. We shall put 
 yon at twenty paces, and a hat between you. You walk 
 forward and hre when you like. When you fire, you stop ; 
 and you both have the liberty of walking up to the hat. 
 I^othing can be more fair than that." 
 
 " Very well," said Fitch ; and, wdth a great deal of prep- 
 aration, the pistols were loaded. 
 
 " I tell you what," whispered Cinqbars to Fitch, " if I 
 hadfi't chosen this way you were a dead man. If he fires 
 he hits you dead. You must not let him lire, but have him 
 down first." 
 
 " I'll try," said Fitch, who was a little pale, and thanked 
 his noble friend for his counsel. The hat was placed and 
 the men took their places. 
 
 " Are you all ready ? " 
 
 " Eeady," said Brandon. 
 
 "Advance when I drop my handkerchief." And pres- 
 ently down it fell, Lord Cinqbars crying, "Now ! " 
 
 The combatants both advanced, each covering his man. 
 When he had gone about six paces, Fitch stopped, fired, and 
 — missed. He grasped his pistol tightly, for he was very 
 near dropping it; and then stood biting his lips, and look- 
 ing at Brandon, who grinned savagely, and walked up to 
 the hat.
 
 A SHABBY GEyTEEL STORY. 101 
 
 "Will yon retract what you said of me yesterday, you 
 villaiu ? " said Brandon. 
 
 " I can't." 
 
 "Will you beg for life?" 
 
 ":N^o." 
 
 " Then take a minute, and make your peace with God, 
 for you are a dead man." 
 
 Fitch dropped his pistol to the ground, shut his eyes for 
 a moment, and flinging up his chest and clenching his hsts, 
 said, '' Xow I^m ready. '^ 
 
 Brandon fired — and strange to say, Andrea Fitch, as he 
 gasped and staggered backwards, saw, or thought he saw, 
 Mr. Brandon's pistol flying up in the air, where it went off, 
 and heard that gentleman yell out an immense oath in a 
 very audible voice. When he came to himself, a thick 
 stick was lying at Brandon's feet ; Mr. Brandon was caper- 
 ing about the ground, and cursing and shaking a maimed 
 elbow, and a Avhole posse of people were rushing upon them. 
 The first was the great German courier, w4io rushed upon 
 Brandon, and shook that gentleman, and shouting, " Schelm ! 
 spitzbube ! blagard ! goward ! " in his ear. " If I had not 
 drown my stick and brogen his damt arm, he wod have 
 murdered dat boor young man." 
 
 The German's speech contained two unfounded asser- 
 tions ; in the first place Brandon would not have murdered 
 Fitch ; and, secondly, his arm was not broken — he had 
 merely received a blow on that part which anatomists call 
 the funny-bone : a severe blow, which sent the pistol spin- 
 ning into the air, and caused the gentleman to scream with 
 pain. Two waiters seized upon the murderer, too ; a baker, 
 who had been brought from his rounds, a bellman, several 
 boys, — w^ere yelling round him, and shouting out, "Po- 
 le-e-eace ! " 
 
 Next to these came, panting and blowing, some women. 
 Could Fitch believe his eyes ? — that fat woman in red 
 satin ! — yes — no — yes — he was, he was in the arms of 
 Mrs. Carrickfergus ! 
 
 The particulars of this meeting are too delicate to relate. 
 Suffice it that somehow matters were explained, Mr. Bran- 
 don was let loose, and a fly w^as presently seen to drive up, 
 into which Mr. Fitch consented to enter with his new- 
 found friend. 
 
 Brandon had some srood movements in him. As Fitch
 
 102 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 was getting into the carriage, he walked up to him and held 
 out his left hand : "• I can't offer you my right hand, Mr. 
 Fitch, for that cursed courier's stick has maimed it ; but I 
 hope you will allow me to apologize for my shameful con- 
 duct to you, and to say that I never in my life met a more 
 gallant fellow than yourself." 
 
 " That he is, by Jove ! " said my Lord Cinqbars. 
 
 Fitch blushed as red as a peony, and trembled very much. 
 " And yet," said he, " you would have murdered me just 
 now, Mr. Brandon. I can't take your 'and, sir." 
 
 "Why, you great flat," said my lord, wisely, "he couldn't 
 have hurt you, nor you him. There wath no ballth in the 
 pithtolth." 
 
 "What," said Fitch, starting back, "do you gents call 
 that a joke ? Oh, my lord, my lord ! " And here poor 
 Fitch actually burst into tears on the red satin bosom of 
 Mrs. Carrickfergus : she and Miss Eunt were crying as hard 
 as they could. And so, amidst much shouting and huzzaing, 
 the fly drove away. 
 
 " What a blubbering, abthurd donkey ! " said Cinqbars, 
 with his usual judgment ; "ain't he, Tufthunt ? " 
 
 Tufthunt, of course, said yes ; but Brandon was in a vir- 
 tuous mood. " By heavens ! I think his tears do the man 
 honor. When I came out with him this morning, I intended 
 to act fairly by him. And as for Mr. Tufthunt, who calls a 
 man a coward because he cries — Mr. Tufthunt knows well 
 what a pistol is, and that some men don't care to face it, 
 brave as they are." 
 
 Mr. Tufthunt understood the hint, and bit his lips and 
 walked on. And as for that worthy moralist, Mr. Brandon, 
 I am happy to say that there was some good fortune in store 
 for him, which, though similar in kind to that bestowed 
 lately upon Mr. Fitch, was superior in degree. 
 
 It was no other than this, that, forgetting all maidenly 
 decency and decorum, before Lord Viscount Cinqbars and 
 his friend, that silly Uttle creature, Caroline Gann, rushed 
 out from the parlor into the passage — she had been at the 
 window ever since she was rid of her fainting fit ! and ah ! 
 what agonies of fear had that little panting heart endured 
 during the half-hour of her lover's absence ! — Caroline 
 Gann, I say, rushed into the passage, and leaped upon the 
 neck of Brandon, and kissed him, and call him her dear, 
 dear, dear, darling George, and sobbed, and laughed, 
 until George, taking her round the v/aist gently, carried
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 103 
 
 her into the little dingy parlor, and closed the door be- 
 hind him. 
 
 " Egad," cried Cinqbars, *' thith ith quite a theiie ! Hullo, 
 Becky, Polly, what's your name ? — bring uth up the break- 
 fatht; and I hope you've remembered the thoda-water. 
 Come along up thtairth, Tufty my boy." 
 
 When Brandon came upstairs and joined them, which 
 he did in a minute or two, consigning Caroline to Becky's 
 care, his eyes were full of tears ; and when Cinqbars began 
 to rally him in his usual delicate way, Brandon said 
 gravely, "No laughing, sir, if you please ; for I swear that 
 that lady before long shall be my wife." 
 
 " Your wife ! — and what will your father say, and 
 what will your duns say, and what will Miss Goldmore say, 
 with her hundred thousand pounds ? " cried Cinqbars. 
 
 "Miss Goldmore be hanged," said Brandon, "and the 
 duns too ; and my father may reconcile it to himself as he 
 can." And here Brandon fell into a reverie. 
 
 "It's no use thinking," he cried, after a pause. "You 
 see what a girl it is, Cinqbars. I love her — by heavens, 
 I'm mad with love for her ! She shall be mine, let what 
 will come of it. And besides," he added, in a lower tone of 
 voice, " Avhy need, why need my father know anything 
 about it?" 
 
 " O flames and furies, what a lover it is ! " exclaimed his 
 friend. " But, by Jove, I like your spirit ; and hang all 
 governors, say I. Stop — a bright thought ! If you must 
 marry, why here's Tom Tufthunt, the very man to do your 
 business." Little Lord Cinqbars was delighted with the 
 excitement of the affair, and thought to himself, " By Jove, 
 this is an intrigue ! " 
 
 " What, is Tufthunt in orders ? " said Brandon. 
 
 "Yes," replied that reverend gentleman: "don't you see 
 my coat ? I took orders six weeks ago, on my fellowship. 
 Cinqbars's governor has promised me a living." 
 
 " And you shall marry George here, so you shall." 
 
 " What, without a license ? " 
 
 " Hang the license ! — we won't peach, will we, George ? " 
 
 " Her family must know nothing of it," said George, "or 
 they would." 
 
 " Why should they ? Why shouldn't Tom marry you in 
 this very room, without any church or stuff at all ? " 
 
 Tom said : " You'll hold me out, my lord, if anything
 
 104 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 comes of it ; and, if Brandon likes, wh}^, I will. He's done 
 for if he does," muttered Tuftlmnt, '' and I have had my 
 revenge on him, the bulh'ing, supercilious blackleg." 
 
 And so on that very day, in Brandon's room, without a 
 license, and by that worthy clergyman the Eev. Thomas 
 Tufthunt, with my Lord Cinqbars for the sole witness, 
 poor Caroline Gann, Avho knew no better, who never heard 
 of licenses, and did not know what banns meant, was mar- 
 ried in a manner to the person calling himself George 
 Brandon; George Brandon not being his real name. 
 
 No writings at all were made, and the ceremony merely 
 read through. Becky, Caroline's sole guardian, when the 
 poor girl kissed her, and, blushing, showed her gold ring, 
 thought all was in order : and the happy couple set off for 
 Dover that day, Avith fifty pounds which Cinqbars lent the 
 bridegroom. 
 
 Becky received a little letter from Caroline, which she 
 promised to carry to her mamma at Swigby's : and it was 
 agreed that she was to give warning, and come and live 
 with her young lady. Next morning Lord Cinqbars and 
 Tufthunt took the boat for London ; the latter uneasy in 
 mind, the former vowing tliat '-he'd never spent such an ex- 
 citing day in his life, and loved an intrigue of all things." 
 
 Next morning, too, the great travellmg-chariot of jNIrs. 
 Carrickfergus rolled away with a bearded gentleman inside. 
 Poor Fitch had been back to his lodgings to try one more 
 chance with Caroline, and he arrived in time — to see her 
 get into a post-chaise alone with Brandon. 
 
 Six weeks afterwards GalignanVs Messenger contained 
 the following announcement : — 
 
 ^ " Married at the British embassy, by Bisliop Luscombe, Andrew 
 Fitch, Esq., to MMriaiiiie Caroline Matilda, widow of the Into Autoiiv 
 Carrickfergus, of Lombard Street and Gloucester Place, Esquire, The 
 happy pair, after a maguiticent dejeuner, set off lor the south in their 
 splendid carriage-and-four. Miss Kuut officiated as l)ridesmaid ; and 
 we remarked among the company Earl and Countess Crabs, Geueral 
 Sir Rice Curry, K.C.B., Colonel Wapshot, Sir Charles Swang, the 
 Hon. Algernon Percy Deuceace and h.s lady, Count Punter, and others 
 of the eiite of the fashionables now in Paris. The bridegroom was 
 attended by his friend Michael Angclo Titmarsh, Esquire; and the 
 lady was given away by the Right Hon. the Earl of Crabs. On the 
 departure of the bride and bridegroom the festivities Avere resumed, and 
 many a sparkling bumper of Meurice's champagne was quatf'ed to the 
 health of the hospitable and interesting couple."
 
 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 105 
 
 And with oue more marriage this chapter shall conclude. 
 About this time the British Auxiliary Legion came home 
 from Spain; and Lieut.-General Swabber, a knight of San 
 Fernando, of the order of Isabella the Catliolic, of the 
 Tower and Sword, who, as plain Lieutenant Swabber, had 
 loved, Miss Isabella Macarty, as a general now actually 
 married her. I leave you to suppose how glorious Mrs. 
 Gann was, and how Gann got tipsy at the '' Bag of Xails " ; 
 but as her daughters each insisted upon their 30/. a year 
 income, and Mrs. Gann had so only 60/. left, she was 
 obliged still to continue the lodging-house at Margate, in 
 which have occurred the most interesting passages of this 
 
 SHABBY GEXTEEL STORY. 
 
 Becky never went to her young mistress, who was not 
 heard of after she wrote the letter to her parent, saying 
 that she was married to Mr. Brandon ; but, for imrticular 
 reasons, her dear husband wished to keep his marriage 
 secret, and for the present her beloved parents must be 
 content to know she was happ^^ Gann missed his little 
 Carry at lirst a good deal, but spent more and more of his 
 time at the ale-house, as his house with only Mrs. Gann in 
 it was too hot for him. Mrs. Gann talked unceasingly of 
 her daughter the squire's ladv, and her daughter the gen- 
 eral's wife ; but never once mentioned Caroline after the 
 first burst of wonder and wrath at her departure. 
 
 God bless thee, poor Caroline I Thou art happy now, 
 for some short space at least ; and here, therefore, let us 
 leave thee.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD ; 
 
 SHOWING 
 
 WHO KOBBED KUl, WHO HELPED HIM, AND WHO 
 PASSED HIM BY.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DOCTOR FELL. 
 
 .OT attend her own 
 son when he is ill!" 
 said my mother. 
 " She does not de- 
 serve to have a 
 son!" And Mrs. 
 Pendennis looked 
 towards her own 
 only darling whilst 
 uttering this indig- 
 nant exclamation. 
 As she looked, I 
 know what passed 
 through her mind. 
 She nursed me, she 
 dressed me in little 
 caps and long- 
 clothes, she attired 
 me in my first 
 jacket and trousers. 
 She watclied at my 
 b e d s i de througjfi 
 my infantile and 
 juvenile ailments. 
 She tended me 
 through all my 
 life, she held me to 
 her heart with infinite prayers and blessings. She is no 
 longer with us to bless and pray ; but from heaven, where 
 
 111
 
 112 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 she is, I know her love pursues me ; and often and often I 
 think she is here, only invisible. 
 
 '' Mrs. Firmin would be of no good," growled Dr. Good- 
 enough. " She would have hysterics, and the nurse would 
 have two patients to look after." 
 
 " Don't tell me," cries my mother, with a flush on her 
 cheeks. " Do you suppose if that child " (meaning, of 
 couise, her paragon) "were ill, I would not go to him ?" 
 
 " My dear, if that child were hungry, you would chop 
 off your head to make him broth," says the doctor, sipping 
 his tea. 
 
 '•'• Potage a la honne fem.me," says Mr. Pendennis. 
 " Mother, we have it at the club. You would be done with 
 milk, eggs, and a quantity of vegetables. You would be put 
 to simmer for many hours in an earthen pan, and — " 
 
 " Don't be horrible, Arthur ! " cries a young lady, wdio 
 Avas my mother's companion of those happy days. 
 
 " And people when they knew you would like you very 
 much." 
 
 My uncle looked as if he did not understand the 
 allegory. 
 
 " What is this you are talking about ? jpotage a la — what- 
 d'ye-call-'im ? " sa}' s he. "I thought we w^ere speaking of 
 Mrs. Firmin, of Old Parr Street. Mrs. Firmin is a doosid 
 delicate w^oman," interposed the Major. "'All the females 
 of that family are. Her mother died early. Her sister, 
 Mrs. Twysden, is very delicate. She would be of no more 
 use in a sick-room than a — than a bull in a china-shoj), 
 begad ! and she might catch the fever, too." 
 
 " And so might you. Major ! " cries the Doctor. "Aren't 
 you talking to me, who have just come from the boy ? 
 Keep your distance, or I shall bite you." 
 
 The old gentleman gave a little backward movement with 
 his chair. 
 
 " Gad, it's no joking matter," says he ; " I've known fellows 
 catch fevers at — at ever so much past my age. At any 
 rate, the boy is no boy of mine, begad ! I dine at Firmin's 
 house, who has married into a good family, though he's only 
 a doctor, and — " 
 
 "And pray what was my husband?" cried Mrs. Pen- 
 dennis. 
 
 "Only a doctor, indeed!" calls out Goodenough. "My 
 dear creature, I have a great mind to give him the scarlet 
 fever this minute ! "
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 113 
 
 "INIy fatlier was a surgeon and a})otliecaiy, I have heard/' 
 says the widow's son. 
 
 " And what then ? And I shouhl like to know if a man 
 of one of the most ancient families in the kingdom — in the 
 empire, begad ! — hasn't a right to pursoo a learned, a use- 
 ful, an honorable profession. My brother John was — " 
 
 "A medical practitioner ! " I say, with a sigh. 
 
 And my uncle arranges his hair, puts his handkerchief to 
 his teeth, and says — 
 
 "Stuff ! nonsense — no patience with these personalities, 
 begad ! Firmin is a doctor, certainly — so are you — so are 
 others. But Firmin is a university man, and a gentleman. 
 Firmiu has travelled. Firmin is intimate with some of the 
 best people in England, and has married into one of the 
 first families. Gad, sir, do 3'ou suppose that a woman bred 
 up in the lap of luxury — in the very lap, sir — at Eing- 
 wood and Whipham, and at Eingwood House in Walpole 
 Street, where she was absolute mistress, begad — do you 
 suppose such a woman is fit to be nurse-tender in a sick- 
 room ? She never was fit for that, or for anything except 
 — " (here the Major saw smiles on the countenances of 
 some of his audience) — " except, I say, to preside at Eing- 
 wood House and — and adorn society, and that sort of thing. 
 And if such a woman chooses to run away with her uncle's 
 doctor, and marry below her rank — why, / don't think it's 
 a laughing matter, hang me if I do." 
 
 ^' And so she stops at the Isle of Wight, whilst the poor 
 boy remains at the school," sighs my mother. 
 
 '' Firmin can't come awa3^ He is in attendance on the 
 Grand Dook. The prince is never easy ^^ithout Firmin. 
 He has given him his Order of the Swan. The}' are moving 
 heaven and earth in high quarters ; and I bet 3'ou even, 
 Goodenough, that that boy whom 3'ou have been attending 
 will be a baronet — if you don't kill him off with 3-our con- 
 founded potions and pills, begad ! " 
 
 Dr. Goodenough only gave a humph and contracted his 
 great eyebrows. 
 
 ^ly uncle continued — 
 
 "I know what you mean. Firmin is a gentlemanly man 
 — a handsome man. I remember his father, Brand Firmin, 
 at Valenciennes with the Dook of York — one of the hand- 
 somest men in Europe. Firebrand Firmin they used to call 
 him — a red-headed fellow — a tremendous duellist : sliot an 
 Irishman — became serious in after life, and that sort of 
 
 VOL. I. —8
 
 114 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 thing — quarrelled with his son, who Avas doosid wild in 
 early days. Gentlemanly man, certainly, Firmin. Black 
 hair: his father had red. So much the better for the 
 doctor ; but — but — we understand each other, I think, 
 Goodenough ? and you and I have seen some queer hshes 
 in our time.^^ 
 
 And "the old gentleman winked and took his snuff gra- 
 ciously, and, as it were, j)uffed the Firmin subject away. 
 
 '•' Was it to show me a queer fish that you took me to Dr. 
 Firmin's house in Parr Street ? " asked Mr. Pendennis of his 
 uncle. " The house was not very gay, nor the mistress very 
 wise, but they were all as kind as might be ; and I am very 
 fond of the boy.'' 
 
 " So did Lord Eingwood, his mother's uncle, like him," 
 cried Major Pendennis. ''That boy brought about a recon- 
 ciliation between his mother and his uncle, after her run- 
 away match. I suppose you know she ran away with 
 Firmin, my dear ? " 
 
 My mother said "she had heard something of the story." 
 And the Major once more asserted that Dr. Firmin was a 
 wild fellow twenty years ago. At the time of which I am 
 writing he was Physician to the Plethoric Hospital, Phy- 
 sician to the Grand Duke of Groningen, and knight of his 
 order of the Black Swan, membar of many learned socie- 
 ties, the husband of a rich wife, and a person of no small 
 consideration. 
 
 As for his son, whose name figures at the head of these 
 pages, you may suppose he did not die of the illness about 
 which we had just been talking. A good nurse waited on 
 him, though his mamma was in the country. Though his 
 papa was absent, a very competent physician was found to 
 take charge of the young patient, and preserve his life for 
 the benefit of his family, and the purposes of this 
 history. 
 
 We pursued our talk about Philip Firmin and his father, 
 and his grand-uncle the Earl, whom Major Pendennis knew 
 intimately well, until Doctor Goodenough's carriage was an- 
 nounced, and our kind physician took leave of us, and drove 
 back to London. Some who spoke on that summer evening 
 are no longer here to speak or listen. Some who were young 
 then . have topped the hill and are descending towards the 
 valley of the shadows. "Ah," says old Major Pendennis, 
 shaking his brown curls, as the Doctor went away ; " did 
 you see, my good soul, when I spoke about his confrere, how
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 115 
 
 glum Goodenougli looked ? They don't love each other, my 
 dear. Two of a trade don't agree, and besides I have no 
 doubt the other doctor-fellows are jealous of Firmin, because 
 he lives in the best society. A man of good family, my dear. 
 There has already been a great raj^pyochement ; and if Lord 
 Kingwood is quite reconciled to him, there's no knowing 
 what luck that boy of Firmin's may come to." 
 
 Although Dr. Goodenougli might think but lightly of his 
 confrere, a great portion of the public held him in much 
 higher estimation : and especially in the little community 
 of Grey Friars, of which the kind reader has heard in pre- 
 vious works of the present biographer, Dr. Brand Firmin 
 was a ver}^ great favorite, and received with much respect 
 and honor. Whenever the boys at that school were afflicted 
 with the common ailments of youth, Mr. Spratt, the school 
 apothecary, provided for them : and by the simple though 
 disgusting remedies which were in use in those times, gen- 
 erally succeeded in restoring his young patients to health. 
 But if young Lord Egham (the Marquis of Ascot's son, as 
 my respected reader very likely knows) happened to be un- 
 well, as was frequentl}' the case, from his lordship's great 
 command of pocket-money and imprudent fondness for the 
 contents of the pastry-cook's shop ; or if any very grave 
 case of illness occurred in the school, then, quick, the famous 
 Dr. Firmiu, of old Parr Street, Burlington Gardens, was 
 sent for ; and an illness must have been very severe, if he 
 could not cure it. Dr. Firmin had been a school-fellow, and 
 remained a special friend, of the head-master. When young 
 Lord Egham, before mentioned (he was our only lord, and 
 therefore we were a little proud and careful of our darling 
 youth), got the erysijoelas, which swelled his head to the 
 size of a pumpkin, the doctor triumphantly carried him 
 through his illness, and was complimented by the head-boy 
 in his Latin oration on the annual speech-day for his super- 
 human skill and godlike delight salutem homlnihus dando. 
 The head-master turned towards Dr. Firmin, and bowed: 
 the governers and bigwigs buzzed to one another, and looked 
 at him : the boys looked at him : the physician held his 
 handsome head down toAvards his shirt-frill. His modest 
 eyes would not look up from the spotless lining of the broad- 
 brimmed hat on his knees. A murmur of applause hummed 
 through the ancient hall, a scuffling of young feet, a rust- 
 ling of new cassocks among the masters, and a refreshing
 
 116 rilE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 blowing of noses ensued, as the orator polished off his 
 period, and then passed to some other theme. 
 
 Amidst the general enthusiasm, there was one member of 
 the auditory scornful and dissentient. This gentleman 
 whispered to his comrade at the commencement of the 
 phrase concerning the doctor the (I believe of Eastern der- 
 ivation) monosyllable "Bosh!" and he added sadly, look- 
 ing towards the object of all this praise, '' He can't construe 
 the Latin — though it is alia parcel of humbug." 
 
 '*' Hush, Phil ! " said his friend ; and Phil's face flushed 
 red, as Dr. Pirmin, lifting up his eyes, looked at him for 
 one moment; for the recipient of all this laudation was no 
 other than Phil's father. 
 
 The illness of which we spoke had long since passed 
 away. Philip was a school-boy no longer, but in his second 
 year at the university, and one of half a dozen young men, 
 ex-pupils of the school, who had come up for the annual 
 dinner. The honors of this year's dinner were for Dr. 
 Pirmin, even more than for Lord Ascot in his star and 
 ribbon, who walked with his arm in the doctor's into chapel. 
 His lordship faltered Avhen, in his after-dinner speech, he 
 alluded to the inestimable services and skill of his tried old 
 friend, whom he had known as a fellow-pupil in those walls 
 — (loud cheers) — w^hose friendship had been the delight of 
 his life — a friendship which he prayed might be the inher- 
 itance of their children. (Immense applause ; after which 
 Dr. Pirmin spoke.) 
 
 The doctor's speech was perhaps a little commonplace; 
 the Latin quotations which he used were not exactly novel ; 
 but Phil need not have been so angry or ill-behaved. He 
 went on sipping sherry, glaring at his father, and mutter- 
 ing observations that were anything but complimentary to 
 his parent. " Now look," says he, " he is going to be over- 
 come by his feelings. He will put his handkerchief up to 
 his mouth, and show his diamond ring. I told you so ! 
 It's too much. I can't swallow this . . . this sherry. I 
 say, you fellows, let us come out of this, and have a smoke 
 somewhere." And Phil rose up and quitted the dining- 
 room, just as his father was declaring Avhat a joy, and a 
 pride, and a delight it was to him to think that the friend- 
 ship with w^hich his noble friend honored him was likely to 
 be transmitted to their children, and that wiien he had 
 passed away from this earthly scene (cries of " No, no ! " 
 "May you live a thousand years ! ") it would be his joy to
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 117 
 
 think that his son wonki always find a friend and protector 
 in the noble, the princely house of Ascot. 
 
 We found the carriages waiting outside Grey Friar's 
 Gate, and Philip Firmin, pushing me into his father's, told 
 the footman to drive home, and that the doctor would 
 return in Lord Ascot's carriage. Home then to Old Pai-r 
 Street we went, where many a time as a boy I had been 
 welcome. And we retired to Phil's private den in the back 
 buildings of the great house : and over our cigars we talked 
 of the Founder's-day Feast, and the speeches delivered ; and 
 of the old Cistercians of our time, and how Thompson was 
 married, and Johnson was in the army, and Jackson (not 
 red-haired Jackson, pig-eyed Jackson) was first in his year, 
 and so forth; and in this twaddle were most happily en- 
 gaged, when Phil's father flung open the tall door of the 
 study. 
 
 " Here's the governor ! " growled Phil ; and in an under- 
 tone, " What does he want ? " 
 
 " The governor," as I looked up, was not a pleasant object 
 to behold. Dr. Firmin" had very white false teeth, which per- 
 haps were a little too large for his mouth, and these grinned 
 in the gas-light very fiercel}^ On his cheeks were black 
 whiskers, and over his glaring eyes fierce black eyebrows, 
 and his bald head glittered like a billiard-ball. You would 
 hardly have known that he was the original of that melan- 
 choly philosophic portrait which all the patients admired 
 in the doctor's waiting-room. 
 
 "I find, Philip, that you took my carriage," said the 
 father ; " and Lord Ascot and I had to walk ever so far for a 
 cab ! " 
 
 " Hadn't he got his own carriage ? I thought, of course, 
 he would have his carriage on a State-day, and that you 
 would come home with the lord," said Philip. 
 
 "I had promised to bring hi)?ih.om.e, sir ! " said the father. 
 
 "Well, sir, I'm very sorry," continued the son, curtly. 
 
 *' Sorry ! " screams the other. 
 
 "I can't say any more, sir, and I am very sorry," answers 
 Phil ; and he knocked the ash of his cigar into the stove. 
 
 The stranger within the house hardly knew how to look 
 on its master or his son. There was evidently some dire 
 quarrel between them. The old man glared at the young 
 one, who calmly looked his father in the face. Wicked rage 
 and hate seemed to flash from the doctor's eves, and anon 
 came a look of wild pitiful supplication towards the guest,
 
 118 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 which was most painful to bear. In the midst of what 
 dark family mystery was I ? What meant this cruel spec- 
 tacle of the father^s terrified auger and the son's scorn ? 
 
 "I — I appeal to you, Pendennis," says the doctor, with 
 a choking utterance and a ghastly face. 
 
 " Shall we begin ab ovo, sir ? " says Phil. Again the 
 ghastly look of terror comes over the father's face. 
 
 ^'I — I promise to bring one of the first noblemen in 
 England," gasps the doctor, " from a public dinner, in my 
 carriage ; and my son takes it, and leaves me and Lord 
 Ascot to Avalk ! — Is it fair, Pendennis ? Is it the conduct 
 of a gentleman to a gentleman ; of a son to a father ? " 
 
 " No, sir," I said gravely, " nothing can excuse it." In- 
 deed I was shocked at the young man's obduracy and un- 
 dutifulness. 
 
 '^ I told you it was a mistake ! " cries Phil reddening. " I 
 heard Lord Ascot order his own carriage ; I made no doubt 
 he would bring my father home. To ride in a chariot with 
 a footman behind me, is no pleasure to me, and I would far 
 rather have a Hansom and a cigar. It was a blunder, and 
 I am sorry for it — there ! And if I live to a hundred I 
 can't say more." 
 
 " If you are sorry, Philip," groans the father, " it is 
 enough. You remember, Pendennis, when — when my son 
 and I were not on this — on this footing," and he looked 
 up for a moment at a picture which was hanging over Phil's 
 head — a portrait of Phil's mother ; the lady of whom my 
 own mother spoke, on that evening when we had talked of 
 the boy's illness. Both the ladies had passed from the 
 world now, and their images were but painted shadows on 
 the wall. 
 
 The father had accepted an apology, though the son had 
 made none. I looked at the elder Pirmin's face, and the 
 character written on it. I remembered such particulars of 
 liis early history as had been told to me ; and I perfectly 
 recalled that feeling of doubt and misliking which came 
 over my mind when I first saw the doctor's handsome face 
 some few years previously, when my uncle first took me to 
 the doctor's in Old Parr Street; little Phil being then a 
 flaxen-headed, pretty child, Avho had just assumed his first 
 trousers, and I a fifth-form boy at school. 
 
 My father and Dr. Firmin were members of the medical 
 profession. They liad been bred up as boys at the same 
 school, whither families used to send their sons from gen-
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH 
 
 eration to generation, and long befol 
 learned that the })lace was unwholesome! 
 smoky, certainly ; 1 think in the time oi 
 numbers of people were buried there, 
 been situated in the most picturesque swamp^ 
 the general health of the boys could not have been' better.^ 
 We boys used to hear of epidemics occurring in other schools, 
 and were almost sorry that they did not come to ours, so 
 that we might shut up, and get longer vacations. Even 
 that illness which subsequently befell Vhil Firmin himself 
 attacked no one else — the boj's all luckily going home for 
 the holidays on the very day of poor Phil's seizure ; but of 
 this illness more anon. When it was determined that little 
 Phil Firmin was to go to Grey Friars, Phil's father be- 
 thought him that Major Pendennis, whom he met in the 
 world and society, had a nephew at the place, who might 
 protect the little fellow, and the JMajor took his nephew to 
 see Dr. and j\Irs. Firmin one Sunday after church, and we 
 had lunch at Old Parr Street, and there little Phil was pre- 
 sented to me, whom I promised to take under my protec- 
 tion. He was a simple little man ; an artless child, who 
 had not the least idea of the dignity of a fifth-form boy. 
 He was quite unabashed in talking to me and other persons, 
 and has remained so ever since. He asked my uncle how 
 he came to have such odd hair. He partook freely of the 
 delicacies on the table. I remember he hit me with his 
 little fist once or twice, which liberty at first struck me 
 with a panic of astonishment, and then with a sense of the 
 ridiculous so exquisitely keen, that I burst out into a fit of 
 laughter. It was, you see, as if a stranger were to hit the 
 Pope in the ribs, and call him '•' Old boy "' ; as if Jack were 
 to tweak one of the giants by the nose ; or Ensign Jones to 
 ask the Duke of Wellington to take wine. I had a strong 
 sense of humor, even in those early days, and enjoyed this 
 joke accordingly. 
 
 "Philip!" cries mamma, "you will hurt Mr. Pendennis." 
 
 "I will knock him down!" shouts Phil. Fancy knock- 
 ing we down, — me, a fifth-form boy ! 
 
 " The child is a perfect Hercules," remarks the mother. 
 
 "He strangled two snakes in his cradle," says the doc- 
 tor, looking at me. (It was then, as I remember, I felt 
 Dr. Fell towards him.) 
 
 " La, Dr. Firmin ! " cries mamma, " I can't bear snakes. 
 I remember there was one at Pome, when we were walking
 
 120 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 one day, a great, large snake, and I hated it, and I cried 
 out, and I nearly feinted ; and my uncle liingwood said I 
 ought to like snakes, for one might be an agreeable rattle ; 
 and I have read of them being charming in India, and I 
 dare say 3*ou have, Mr. Pendennis, for I am told you are 
 very clever ; and I am not in the least ; I Avish I were ; but 
 my husband is, very — and so Phil will be. Will you be 
 a very clever boy, dear ? He was named after my dear 
 papa, who was killed at Busaco when I was quite, quite a 
 little thing, and we wore mourning, and we went to live 
 with my uncle Ringwood afterwards ; but Maria and I had 
 both our own fortunes ; and I am sure I little thought I 
 should marry a physician — la, one of uncle Kingwood's 
 grooms, I should as soon have thought of marrying him ! — 
 but you know, my husband is one of the cleverest men in 
 the world. Don't tell me, — you are, dearest, and you know 
 it ; and when a man is clever, I don't value his rank in 
 life ; no, not if he was that fender ; and I always said to 
 uncle Eingwood, ^ Talent I will marry, for talent I adore ' ; 
 and I did marry you. Dr. Pirmin, you know I did, and this 
 child is your image. And you will be kind to him at 
 school," says the poor lady, turning to me, her eyes hlling 
 with tears, " for talent is always kind, except uncle Ring- 
 wood, and he was very — " 
 
 "A little more wine, Mr. Pendennis?" said the doctor 
 — Dr. Fell still, though he was most kind to me. " I shall 
 put my little man under your care, and I know you will 
 keep him from harm. I hope you will do us the favor to 
 come to Parr Street whenever you are free. In my father's 
 time we used to come home of a Saturday from school, 
 and enjoyed going to the play." And the doctor shook me 
 cordially by the hand, and, I must say, continued his kind- 
 ness to me as long as ever I knew him. When we went 
 away, my uncle Pendennis told me many stories about the 
 great earl and family of Eingwood, and how Dr. Firmin 
 had made a match — a match of the affections — with this 
 lady, daughter of Philip Eingwood, who was killed at 
 Busaco ; and how she had been a great beauty, and was a 
 perfect grande dame always ; and, if not the cleverest, cer- 
 tainly one of the kindest and most amiable women in the 
 world. 
 
 In those days I was accustomed to receive the opinions 
 of my informant with such respect that I at once accepted 
 this statement as authentic. Mrs. Firmin's portrait, in-
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 121 
 
 deed, was beautiful : it was painted by young Mr. Harlowe, 
 that year he. was at Rome, and when in eighteen days he 
 completed a copy of the " Transfiguration," to the admira- 
 tion of all the Academy ; but I, for my part, only remem- 
 ber a lady, weak, and thin, and faded, who never came out 
 of her dressing-room until a late hour in the afternoon, and 
 whose superannuated smiles and grimaces used to provoke 
 my juvenile sense of humor. She used to kiss Phil's brow ; 
 and, as she held the boy's hand in one of her lean ones, 
 would say, " Who would suppose such a great boy as that 
 could be my son ? " " Be kind to him when I am gone," 
 she sighed to me, one Sunday evening, when I was taking 
 leave of her, as her eyes filled with tears, and she placed 
 the thin hand in mine for the last time. The doctor, read- 
 ing by the fire, turned round and scowled at her from 
 under his tall, shining forehead. "You are nervous, 
 Louisa, and had better go to your room, I told you you 
 had," he said abruptly. " Young gentlemen, it is time for 
 you to be off to Grey Friars. Is the cab at the door, 
 Brice?" And he took out his watch — his great shining 
 watch, by which he had felt the pulses of so many famous 
 personages, whom his prodigious skill had rescued from 
 disease. And at parting, Phil flung his arms round his 
 poor mother, and kissed her under the glossy curls; the 
 borrowed curls ! and he looked his father resolutely in the 
 face (whose own glance used to fall before that of the boy), 
 and bade him a gruff good-night, ere we set forth for Grey 
 Friars.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AT SCHOOL AND AT HOME. 
 
 DINED yesterday 
 with three gentle- 
 men, whose time 
 of life may be 
 guessed by their 
 conversation, a 
 great part of which 
 consisted of Eton 
 reminiscences and 
 lively imitations of 
 Dr. Keate. Each 
 one, as he describ- 
 ed how he had 
 been flogged, mim- 
 icked to the best 
 of his power the 
 manner and the 
 mode of operating 
 of the famous doc- 
 tor. His little pa- 
 renthetical re- 
 marks during the ceremony were recalled with great face- 
 tiousness : the very hwliish of the rods was parodied with 
 thrilling fidelity, and after a good hour's conversation, 
 the subject was brought to a climax by a description of 
 that awful night when the doctor called up squad after 
 squad of boys from their beds in their respective boarding- 
 houses, whipped through the whole night, and castigated I 
 don't know how many hundred rebels. All these mature 
 men laughed, prattled, rejoiced, and became young again, 
 as they recounted their stories ; and each of them heartily 
 and eagerly bade the stranger to understand how Keate 
 was a thorough gentleman. Having talked about their 
 floggings, I say, for an hour at least, they apologized to me 
 
 122
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP, 123 
 
 for dwelling upon a subject which after all was strictly 
 local : but, indeed, their talk greatly amused and diverted 
 me, and I hope, and am quite ready, to hear all their jolly 
 stories over again. 
 
 Be not angry, patient reader of former volumes by the 
 author of tlie present history, if I am garrulous about Grey 
 Priars, and go back to that ancient place of education to find 
 the heroes of our tale. AVe are 3'oung but once. When we 
 remember that time of youth, we are still young. He over 
 whose head eight or nine lustres have passed, if he wishes 
 to write of boys, must recall the time when he himself was 
 a boy. Their habits change ; their waists are longer or 
 shorter ; their shirt-collars stick up more or less ; but the 
 boy is the boy in King George's time as in that of his royal 
 niece — once our maiden queen, now the anxious mother of 
 many boys. And young fellows are honest, and merry, and 
 idle, and mischievous, and timid, and brave, and studious, 
 and selfish, and generous, and mean, and false, and truth- 
 telling, and affectionate, and good, and bad, now as in 
 former daj'S. He with wliom we have mainly to do is a 
 gentleman of mature age now walking the street with boys 
 of his own. He is not going to perish in the last chapter 
 of these memoirs — to die of consumption with his love 
 weeping by his bedside, or to blow his brains out in despair, 
 because she has been married to his rival, or killed out of a 
 gig, or otherwise done for in the last chapter but one. No, 
 no, we Avill have no dismal endings. Philip Pirmin is well 
 and hearty at this minute, owes no man a shilling, and can 
 enjoy his glass of port in perfect comfort. So, my dear 
 miss, if you want a pulmonary romance, the present won't 
 suit you. So, young gentleman, if you are for melancholy, 
 despair, and sardonic satire, please to call at some other 
 shop. That Philip shall have his trials is a matter of course 
 — may they be interesting, though they do not end dis- 
 mally ! That he shall fall and trip in his course sometimes 
 is pretty certain. Ah, who does not upon this life-journey 
 of ours ? Is not our want the occasion of our brother's 
 charity, and thus does not good come out of that evil ? 
 When the traveller (of whom the Master spoke) fell among 
 the thieves, his mishap was contrived to try many a heart 
 beside his own — the Knave's who robbed him, the Levite's 
 and Priest's who passed him by as he lay bleeding, the hum- 
 ble Samaritan's whose hand poured oil into his wound, and 
 held out its pittance to relieve him.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AT SCHOOL AND AT HOME. 
 
 DINED yesterday 
 with three gentle- 
 men, whose time 
 of life may be 
 guessed by their 
 conversation, a 
 great part of Avhich 
 consisted of Eton 
 reminiscences and 
 lively imitations of 
 Dr. Keate. Each 
 j one, as he describ- 
 ed how he had 
 been flogged, mim- 
 icked to the best 
 of his power the 
 manner and the 
 mode of operating 
 of the famous doc- 
 tor. His little pa- 
 renthetical re- 
 marks during the ceremony were recalled with great face- 
 tiousness : the very luchish of the rods was parodied with 
 thrilling fidelity, and after a good hour's conversation, 
 the subject was brought to a climax by a description of 
 that awful night when the doctor called up squad after 
 squad of boys from their beds in their respective boarding- 
 houses, whipped through the whole night, and castigated I 
 don't know how many hundred rebels. All these mature 
 men laughed, prattled, rejoiced, and became j^oung again, 
 as they recounted their stories ; and each of them heartily 
 and eagerly bade the stranger to understand how Keate 
 was a thorough gentleman. Having talked about their 
 floggings, I say, for an hour at least, they apologized to me 
 
 122
 
 THE ADVEyrURES OF PHILIP, j23 
 
 for dwelling upon a subject which after all was strictly 
 local : butj indeed, their talk greatly amused and diverted 
 me, and I hope, and am quite ready, to hear all their jolly 
 stories over again, 
 
 1)6 not angr}', patient reader of former volumes by the 
 author of the present history, if I am garrulous about Grey 
 Friars, and go back to that ancient place of education to find 
 the heroes of our tale. AVe are young but once. When we 
 remember tlmt time of 3'outh, we are still young. He over 
 whose head eight or nine lustres have passed, if he wishes 
 to write of boys, must recall the time when he himself was 
 a boy. Their habits change ; their waists are longer or 
 shorter ; their shirt-collars stick up more or less ; but the 
 boy is the boy in King George's time as in that of his royal 
 niece — once our maiden queen, now the anxious mother of 
 many boys. And young fellows are honest, and merry, and 
 idle, and mischievous, and timid, and brave, and studious, 
 and selfish, and generous, and mean, and false, and truth- 
 telling, and affectionate, and good, and bad, now as in 
 former days. He with whom we have mainly to do is a 
 gentleman of mature age now walking the street with boys 
 of his own. He is not going to perish in the last chapter 
 of these memoirs — to die of consumption with his love 
 weeping by his be<lside, or to blow his brains out in despair, 
 because she has been married to his rival, or killed out of a 
 gig, or otherwise done for in the last chapter but one. No, 
 no, we will have no dismal endings. Philip Firmin is well 
 and hearty at this minute, owes no man a shilling, and can 
 enjoy his glass of port in perfect comfort. So, my dear 
 miss, if you want a pulmonary romance, the present won't 
 suit 3'ou. So, young gentleman, if you are for melancholy, 
 despair, and sardonic satire, please to call at some other 
 shop. That Philip shall have his trials is a matter of course 
 — may they be interesting, though they do not end dis- 
 mall}^ ! That he shall fall and trip in his course sometimes 
 is pretty certain. Ah, who does not upon this life-journey 
 of ours ? Is not our want the occasion of our brotlier's 
 cliarity, and thus does not good come out of that evil ? 
 When the traveller (of whom the Master spoke) fell among 
 the thieves, his mishap was contrived to try many a heart 
 beside his own — the Knave's who robbed him, the Levite's 
 and Priest's who passed him by as he lay bleeding, the hum- 
 ble Samaritan's whose hand poured oil into his wound, and 
 held out its pittance to relieve him.
 
 124 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 So little Philip Firmin was brought to school by his 
 mamma in her carriage, who entreated tlie housekeeper to 
 have a special charge of that angelic child ; and as soon as 
 the poor lady's back was turned, Mrs. Bunce emptied the 
 contents of the little boy's trunk into one of sixty or seventy 
 little cupboards, wherein reposed other boys' clothes and 
 haberdashery : and then Mrs. Firm in requested to see the 
 Eev. Mr. X., in whose house Philip was to board, and be- 
 sought him, and explained many things to him, such as the 
 exceeding delicacy of the child's constitution, &c., «&c. ; and 
 Mr. X., who was very good-natured, patted the boy kindly 
 on the head, and sent for the other Philip, Philip Ring- 
 wood, Phil's cousin, who had arrived at Grey Priars an hour 
 or two before ; and Mr. X. told Ringwood to take care of the 
 little fellow ; and Mrs. Firmin, choking behind her pocket- 
 handkerchief, gurgled out a blessing on the grinning youth, 
 and at one time had an idea of giving Master Ringwood a 
 sovereign, but paused, thinking he was too big a boy, and 
 that she might not take such a liberty, and presently she 
 was gone; and little Phil Firmin was introduced to the long- 
 room and his school-fellows of Mr. X.'s house ; and having 
 plenty of money, and naturally finding his way to the j^as- 
 try-cook's, the next day, after school, he was met by his 
 cousin Ringwood and robbed of half the tarts which he had 
 purchased. A fortnight afterwards, the hospitable doctor 
 and his wife asked their young kinsman to Old Parr Street, 
 Burlington Gardens, and the two boys went ; but Phil never 
 mentioned anything to his parents regarding the robbery of 
 tarts, being deterred, perhaps, from speaking by awful 
 threats of punishment which his cousin promised to admin- 
 ister when they got back to school, in case of the little boy's 
 confession. Subsequently, Master Ringwood was asked 
 once in every term to Old Parr Street ; but neither Mrs. 
 Firmin, nor the doctor, nor Master Firmin liked the baro- 
 net's son, and Mrs. Firmin pronounced him a violent, rude 
 boy. 
 
 I, for my part, left school suddenly and early, and my 
 little protege behind me. His poor mother, Avho had prom- 
 ised herself to come for him every Saturday, did not keep 
 her promise. Smithfield is a long way from Piccadilly; and 
 an angry cow once scratched the panels of her carriage, 
 causing her footman to spring from his board into a pig-pen, 
 and herself to feel such a shock, that no wonder she was 
 afraid of visiting the City afterwards. The circumstances
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOBLD. 125 
 
 of this accident she often narrated to us. Her anecdotes 
 were not nimierous, but she tokl them repeatedly. In 
 imagination, sometimes, I can hear her ceaseless, simple 
 cackle ; see her faint eyes, as she prattles on unconsciously, 
 and watch the dark looks of her handsome, silent husband, 
 scowling from under his eyebrows and smiling behind his 
 teeth. I dare say he ground those teeth with suppressed 
 rage sometimes. I dare say to bear with her endless 
 volubilit}^ must have tasked his endurance. He may have 
 treated her ill, but she tried him. She, on her part, may 
 have been a not very wise Avoman, but she was kind to me. 
 Did not her housekeeper make me the best of tarts and 
 keep goodies from the company dinners for the young 
 gentlemen when they came home ? Did not her husband 
 give me of his fees ? I promise you, after I had seen Dr. 
 Fell a few times, that first unpleasing impression produced 
 by his darkling countenance and sinister good looks wore 
 away. He was a gentleman. He had lived in the great 
 world, of which he told anecdotes delightful to boys to hear ; 
 and he passed the bottle to me as if I was a man. 
 
 I hope and think I remembered the injunction of poor 
 Mrs. Firmin to be kind to her boy. As long as we stayed 
 together at Grey Friars, I was Phil's champion whenever 
 he needed my protection, though of course I could not 
 always be present to guard the little scrapegrace from all 
 the blows which were aimed at his young face by pugilists 
 of his own size. There were seven or eight years' difference 
 between us (he says ten, which is absurd, and which I 
 deny) ; but I was always remarkable for my affability, and, 
 in spite of our disparity of age, would often graciously 
 accept the general invitation I had from his father for any 
 Saturday and Sunday when I would like to accompany 
 Philip home. 
 
 Such an invitation is welcome to any school-boy. To get 
 away from Smithfield, and show our best clothes in Bond 
 Street, was always a privilege. To strut in the Park on 
 Sunday, and nod to the other fellows who were strutting 
 there too, was better than remaining at school, "doing 
 ' Diates aron,' " as the phrase used to be, having that end- 
 less roast-beef for dinner, and hearing two sermons in 
 chapel. There may have been more lively streets in 
 London than Old Parr Street ; but it was pleasanter to be 
 there than to look at Goswell Street over Grey Friars' wall ; 
 and so the present biographer and reader's very humble
 
 126 THE ADVENTURES OF PHI TAP 
 
 servant found Dr. Firmin's house an agreeable resort. 
 Mamma was often ailing, or, if well, went out into the 
 world with her husband ; in either case, we boys had a 
 good dinner provided for us, with the special dishes which 
 Phil loved ; and after dinner we adjourned to the play, not 
 being by any means too proud to sit in the pit with Mr. 
 Brice, the do;;tor's confidential man. On Sunday we went 
 to church at Lady Whittlesea's, and back to school in the 
 evening; when the doctor almost always gave us a fee. If 
 he did not dine at home (and I own his absence did not 
 much damp our pleasure), Brice would lay a small enclosure 
 on the young gentlemen's coats, which we transferred to 
 OLir pockets. I believe school-boys disdain fees at the 
 present disinterested times. 
 
 Everything in Dr. Firmin's house was as handsome as 
 might be, and yet somehow the place was not cheerful. 
 One's steps fell noiselessly on the faded Turkey carpet ; the 
 room was large, and all save the dining-table in a dingy 
 twilight. The picture of Mrs. Firmin looked at us from 
 the wall, and followed us about with wild violet eyes. 
 Philip Firmin had the same violet odd bright eyes, and the 
 same colored hair of an auburn tinge ; in the picture it fell 
 in long wild masses over the lady's back as she leaned with 
 bare arms on a harp. Over the sideboard Avas the doctor, 
 in a black velvet coat and a fur collar, his hand on a skull, 
 like Hamlet. Skulls of oxen, horned, with wreaths, formed 
 the cheerful ornaments of the cornice. On the side-table 
 glittered a pair of cups, given by grateful patients, looking 
 like receptacles rather for funereal ashes than for festive 
 flowers or wine. Brice, the butler, wore the gravity and 
 costume of an undertaker. The footman stealthily moved 
 hither and thither, bearing the dinner to us ; we always 
 spoke under our breath whilst Ave were eating it. *' The 
 room don't look more cheerful of a morning when the 
 patients are sitting here, I can tell you," Phil would say ; 
 indeed, Ave could Avell fancy that it Avas dismal. The draAv- 
 ing-room had a rhubarb-colored flock paper (on account of 
 the governor's attachment to the shop, Master Phil said), a 
 great piano, a harp smothered in a leather bag in the corner, 
 Avhich the languid OAvner noAV never touched ; and every- 
 body's face seemed scared and pale in the great looking- 
 glasses, Avhich reflected you over and over again into the 
 distance, so that you seemed to tAvinkle off right through 
 the Albany into Piccadilly.
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 127 
 
 Old Parr Street lias been a habitation for generations of 
 surgeons and physicians. I supi)ose the noblemen for 
 whose use the street was intended in the time of the early 
 Georges fled, finding the neighborhood too dismal, and the 
 gentlemen in black coats came and took possession of the 
 gilded, gloomy chambers which the sacred viode vacated. 
 These mutations of fashion have always been matters of 
 profound speculation to me. Why shall not one moralize 
 over London, as over Eome, or Baalbec, or Troy town ? I 
 like to walk among the Hebrews of Wardour Street, and 
 fancy the place, as it once was, crowded with chairs and 
 gilt chariots, and torches flashing in the hands of the run- 
 ning footmen. I have a grim pleasure in thinking that 
 Golden Square was once the resort of the aristocracy, and 
 ^lonmouth Street the deliglit of the genteel world. What 
 shall prevent us Londoners from musing over the decline 
 and fall of city sovereignties, and drawing onr cockney 
 morals ? As the late Mr. Gibbon meditated his history 
 leaning against a column in the Capitol, why should not I 
 muse over mine, reclining under an arcade of the Pantheon ? 
 Not the Pantheon at Rome, in the Cabbage Market by the 
 Piazza Xavona, Avhere the immortal gods were worshipped, 
 — the immortal gods who are now dead ; but the Pantheon 
 in Oxford Street, ladies, where you purchase feeble poma- 
 tums, music, glassware, and baby-linen ; and which has its 
 history too. Have not Selwyn, and Walpole, and ^larch, 
 and Carlisle figured there ? Has not Prince Plorizel 
 flounced through the hall in his rustling domino, and 
 danced there in powdered splendor ? and when the ushers 
 refused admission to lovely Sophy Baddeley, did not the 
 young men, her adorers, draw their rapiers and vow to slay 
 the door-keepers ; and, crossing the glittering blades over 
 the enchantress's head, make a warlike triumphal arch for 
 her to pass under, all flushed, and smiling, and perfumed, 
 and painted ? The lives of streets are as the lives of men, 
 and shall not the street-preacher, if so minded, take for the 
 text of his sermon the stones in the gutter ? That you 
 were once the resort of the fashion, O INIonmouth Street ! 
 by the invocation of blessed St. Giles shall I not improve 
 that sweet thought into a godly discourse, and make the 
 ruin edifying? mes jfreres ! There were splendid 
 thoroughfares, dazzling company, bright illuminations, in 
 our streets when our hearts were young : we entertained in 
 them a noble youthful company of chivalrous hopes and
 
 128 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 lofty ambitions ; of blushing thouglits in snowy robes 
 spotless and virginal. See, in the embrasure of the 
 window, w^here you sat looking to the stars, and nestling 
 by the soft side of your first love, hang Mr. JMoses' 
 bargains of turned old clothes, very cheap; of worn old 
 boots, bedraggled in how much and how many people's 
 mud ; a great bargain. See ! along the street, strewed 
 with flowers once, mayhap — a fight of beggars for the 
 refuse of an apple-stall, or a tipsy basket-woman reeling 
 slirieking to the station. me ! my beloved congrega- 
 tion ! I have preached this stale sermon to you for ever so 
 many years. O my jolly companions, I have drunk many 
 a bout Avith you, and always found vanitas vanitatinn 
 written on the bottom of the pot ! 
 
 I choose to moralize now when I pass the place. The 
 garden has run to seed, the walks are mildewed, the statues 
 have broken noses, the gravel is dank with green moss, the 
 roses are withered, and the nightingales have ceased to 
 make love. It is a funereal street. Old Parr Street, 
 certainly ; the carriages which drive there ought to have 
 feathers on the roof, and the butlers who open the doors 
 should wear weepers — so the scene strikes you now as you 
 pass along the spacious empty pavement. You are bilious, 
 my good man. Go and pay a guinea, to one of the doctors 
 in those houses ; there are still doctors there. He will 
 prescribe taraxacum for you, or pil : hydrarg : Bless vou ! 
 in my time, to us gentlemen of the fifth form, the place 
 was bearable. The yellow fogs didn't damp our spirits — 
 and Ave ncA^er thought them too thick to keep us aAvay from 
 the play : from the chivalrous Charles Kemble, I tell you, 
 my Mirabel, my Mercutio, my princely Falconbridge : from 
 his adorable daughter (0 my distracted heart !) : from the 
 classic Young : from the glorious Long Tom Coffin : from 
 the unearthly Vanderdecken — " Eeturn, my love, and 
 Ave'll never, ncA^er part" (Avhere art thou, sweet singer of 
 that most thrilling ditty of my youth ?) : from the sweet, 
 sweet Victorine and the Bottle Imp. Oh, to see that Bottle 
 Imp again, and hear that song about the "Pilgrim of 
 Love " ! Once, but — hush ; — this is a secret — Ave had 
 private boxes, the doctor's grand friends often sending him 
 these; and finding the opera rather sIoav, Ave w^ent to a 
 concert in M-d-n Lane, near CoA^ent Garden, and heard the 
 most celestial glees, over a supper of fizzing sausages and 
 mashed potatoes, such as the world has never seen since.
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 129 
 
 We did no harm ; but I dare say it was veiy wrong. Brice, 
 the butler, ought not to have taken us. We bullied him, 
 and made him take us where he liked. We had rum-shrub 
 in the housekeeper's room, where we used to be diverted by 
 the society of other butlers of the neighboring nobility and 
 gentry, who would step in. Perhaps it was wrong to leave 
 us so to the company of servants. Dr. Firmin used to go 
 to his grand parties, Mrs. Firmin to bed. '' Did we enjoy 
 the performance last night ? " our host would ask at break- 
 fast ! '• Oh, yes, we enjoyed the performance ! " But 
 my poor Mrs. Firmin fancied that Ave enjoyed Semlr- 
 am'ule or the Donna del Logo; whereas we had been 
 to the pit at the Adelphi (out of our own money), and seen 
 that jolly John Eeeve, and laughed — laughed till we were 
 fit to drop — and stayed till the curtain was down. And 
 then we would come home, and, as aforesaid, pass a delight- 
 ful hour over supper, and hear" the anecdotes of Mr. Brice's 
 friends, the other butlers. Ah, that was a time indeed! 
 There never was any liquor so good as rum-shrub, never ; 
 and the sausages had a flavor of Elysium, How hushed we 
 were when Dr. Firmin, coming home from his parties, let 
 himself in at the street-door ! Shoeless, we crept up to 
 our bedrooms. And we came down to breakfast with 
 innocent young faces — and let ^Irs. Firmin, at lunch, 
 prattle about the opera ; and there stood Brice and the foot- 
 man behind us, looking quite grave, the abominable hypo- 
 crites ! 
 
 Then, sir, there was a certain way, out of the study win- 
 dow, or through the kitchen, and over the leads, to a build- 
 ing, gloomy indeed, but where I own to have spent delightful 
 hours of the most flagitious and criminal enjo^^ment of some 
 delicious little Havanas, ten to the shilling. In that build- 
 ing there were stables once, doubtless occupied by great 
 Flemish horses and rumbling gold coaches of Walpole's 
 time ; but a celebrated surgeon, when he took possession of 
 the house, made a lecture-room of the premises, — " And 
 this door," says Phil, pointing to one leading into the mews, 
 " was very convenient for having the bodies in and out" — 
 a cheerful reminiscence. Of this kind of furniture there 
 was now very little in the apartment, except a dilapidated 
 skeleton in a corner, a few dusty casts of heads, and bottles 
 of preparations on the top of an old bureau, and some mil- 
 dewed harness hanging on tlie walls. This apartment be- 
 came Mr. PhiFs smoking-room, when, as he grew taller, he 
 
 VOL. I. — 9
 
 130 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 felt himself too dignified to sit in the kitchen regions: the 
 honest butler and housekeeper themselves pointing out to 
 their young master that his place was elsewhere than among 
 the servants. So there, j^rivately and with great delectation, 
 we smoked man}^ an abominable cigar in that dreary back- 
 room, the gaunt walls and twilight ceilings of which were 
 by no means melancholy to us, who found forbidden pleas- 
 ures the sweetest, after the absurd fashion of boys. Dr. 
 Firmin was an enemy to smoking, and ever accustomed to 
 speak of the practice with eloquent indignation. "It was 
 a low practice — the habit of cabmen, pothouse frequenters, 
 and Irish apple-women," the doctor would say, as Phil and 
 his friend looked at each other with a stealthy joy. Phil's 
 father was ever scented and neat, the pattern of handsome 
 propriety. Perhaps he had a clearer perception regarding 
 manners than respecting morals ; perhaps his conversation 
 was full of platitudes, his talk (concerning people of fashion 
 chiefly) mean and uninstructive, his behavior to young Lord 
 Egham rather fulsome and lacking of dignity. Perhaps, I 
 say, the idea may have entered into young Mr. Pendennis's 
 mind that his hospitable entertainer and friend. Dr. Firmin, 
 of Old Parr Street, was wliat at the present day inight be 
 denominated an old humbug; but modest young men do not 
 come quickly to such unpleasant conclusions regarding their 
 seniors. Dr. Firmin's manners were so good, his forehead 
 was so high, his frill so fresh, his hands so white and slim, 
 that for some considerable time we ingenuously admired 
 him ; and it was not without a pang that we came to view 
 him as he actually was — no, not as he actually was — no 
 man Avhose early nurture was kindly can judge quite impar- 
 tially the man who has been kind to him in boyhood. 
 
 I quitted school suddenly, leaving my little Phil behind 
 me, a brave little handsome boy, endearing himself to old 
 and young by his good looks, his gayety, his courage, and 
 his gentlemanly bearing. Once in a way a letter would 
 come from him, full of that artless affection and tenderness 
 which fills boys' hearts, and is so touching in their letters. 
 It was answered with proper dignity and condescension on 
 the senior boy's part. Our modest little country home kept 
 up a friendly intercourse with Dr. Firmin's grand London 
 mansion, of which, in his visits to us, my uncle. Major Pen- 
 dennis, did not fail to bring news. A correspondence took 
 place between the ladies of each house. We supplied ^NFrs. 
 Firmin with little country presents, tokens of ni}^ mother's
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 131 
 
 good-will and gratitude towards the friends who had been 
 kind to her son. I went my way to the university, having 
 occasional glimpes of Phil at school. I took chambers in 
 the Temple, which he found great delight in visiting; and 
 he liked our homely dinner from Dick's, and a bed on the 
 sofa, better than the splendid entertainments in Old Parr 
 Street and his great glooni}^ chamber there. He had grown 
 by this time to be ever so much taller than his senior, 
 though he always persists in looking up to me unto the 
 present day. 
 
 A very few weeks after my poor mother passed that 
 judgment on jNIrs. Firmin, she saw reason to regret and 
 revoke it. Phil's mother, who was afraid, or perhaps was 
 forbidden, to attend her son in his illness at school, was 
 taken ill herself. 
 
 Phil returned to Grey Priars in a deep suit of black ; the 
 servants on the carriage wore black too; and a certain 
 tyrant of the place, beginning to laugh and jeer because 
 Pirmin's eyes tilled with tears at some ribald remark, was 
 gruffly rebuked b}" Sampson major, the cock of the whole 
 school; and with the question, "Don't you see the poor 
 beggar's in mourning, you great brute ? " was kicked about 
 his business. 
 
 When Philip Pirmin and I met again, there was crape on 
 both our hats. I don't think either could see the other's 
 face very well. I went to see him in Parr Street, in the 
 vacant, melancholy house, where the poor mother's picture 
 was yet hanging in her empty drawing-room. 
 
 '•' She was always fond of you, Pendennis," said Phil. 
 "God bless you for being so good to her. You know what 
 it is to lose — to lose what loves you best in the world. I 
 didn't know how — how I loved her, till I had lost her." 
 And many a sob broke his words as he spoke. 
 
 Her picture was removed from the drawing-room present- 
 ly into Phil's own little study — the room in which he sat 
 and defied his father. What had passed between them ? 
 The young man Avas very much changed. The frank looks 
 of old days were gone, and Phil's face was haggard and 
 bold. The doctor would not let me have a word more with 
 his son after he had found us together, but with dubious ap- 
 pealing looks, followed me to the door, and shut it upon me. 
 I felt that it closed iipon two unhappy men.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A CONSULTATION. 
 
 HOULD I peer into Firmin's 
 privacy, and find the key to 
 that secret ? Wliat skeleton 
 was there in the closet ? In 
 the Cornhill Magazine,* you 
 may remember, there were 
 some verses about a portion of 
 a skeleton. Did you remark 
 how the poet and present pro- 
 prietor of the human skull at 
 once settled the sex of it, 
 and determined off-hand that 
 it must have belonged to a 
 w Oman? Such skulls are 
 locked up in many gentlemen's 
 hearts and memories. Blue- 
 beard, you know, had a whole 
 museum of them — as that 
 imprudent little last wife of 
 his found out to her cost. 
 And, on the other hand, a lady, 
 we suppose, would select hers 
 of the sort which had carried beards when in the flesh. 
 Given a neat locked skeleton cupboard, belonginp^ to a man 
 of a certain age, to ascertain the sex of the original owner 
 of the bones, you have not much need of a picklock or a black- 
 smith. There is no use in forcing the hinge, or scratching 
 the pretty panel. We know what is inside — we arch 
 rogues and men of the world. Murders, I suppose, are not 
 many — enemies and victims of our hate and anger, 
 destroyed and trampled out of life by us, and locked out of 
 sight : but corpses of our dead loves, my dear sir — my dear 
 madam — have we not got them stowed away in cupboard 
 
 * No. 12: December, 1860. 
 132 
 
 '^>^
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP, 133 
 
 after cupboard, in bottle after bottle? Oli, fie! And 
 young people ! What doctrine is this to preach to them, 
 who spell 3-our book by papa's and mamma's knee ? Yes, 
 and how wrong it is to let them go to church, and see and 
 hear papa and mamma publicly on their knees, calling out, 
 and confessing to the whole congregation, that they are 
 sinners ! So, though I had not the key, I could see- 
 through the panel and the glimmering of the skeleton 
 inside. 
 
 Although the elder Firmin followed me to the door, and 
 his e^'es only left me as I turned the corner of the street, I 
 felt sure that Phil ere long would open his mind to me, or 
 give me sonre clew to that mystery. I should hear from 
 him why his bright cheeks had become hollow, why his 
 fresh voice, which I remember so honest and cheerful, was 
 now harsh and sarcastic, with tones that often grated on 
 the hearer, and laughter that gave pain. It was about 
 Philip himself that my anxieties were. The young fellow 
 had inherited from his poor mother a considerable fortune 
 — some eight or nine hundred a year, we always under- 
 stood. He was living in a costly, not to say extravagant 
 manner. I thought Mr. Philip's juvenile remorses were 
 locked up in the skeleton closet, and was grieved to think 
 he had fallen in mischief 's way. Hence, no doubt, might 
 arise the anger between him and his father. The boy was 
 extravagant and headstrong ; and the parent remonstrant 
 and irritated. 
 
 I met my old friend Dr. Goodenough at the club one 
 evening; and as we dined together I discoursed with him 
 about his former patient, and recalled to him that day, years 
 back, when the boy was ill at school, aud when my poor 
 mother and Phil's own were yet alive. . 
 
 Goodenough looked very grave. 
 
 " Yes," he said, ^' the boy was very ill ; he was nearly 
 f?one at that time — at that time — -when his mother was in 
 the Isle of Wight, and his father dangling after a prince. 
 We thought one day it was all over with him ; but — " 
 
 " But a good doctor interposed between him and imll'uhi 
 mors.'''' 
 
 '' A good doctor ? a good nurse ! The boy was delirious, 
 and had a fancy to walk out of window, and Avould have 
 done so, but for one of mv nurses. You know her." 
 
 ^'What! the Little Sister?" 
 
 "Yes, the Little Sister."
 
 134 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 " And it was she who nursed Phil through his fever, and 
 saved his life ? I drink her health. She is a good little 
 soul." 
 
 " Good ! " said the doctor, with his gruffest voice and 
 frown. (He was always most herce when he was most 
 tender-hearted.) "Good, indeed! Will you have some 
 more of this duck ? — Do. You have had enough already, 
 and it's very unwholesome. Good, sir ? But for women, tire 
 and brimstone ought to come down and consume this world. 
 Your dear mother was one of the good ones. I was attend- 
 ing you when you were ill, at those horrible chambers 
 you had in the Temple, at the same time when young Fir- 
 min was ill at Grey Friars. And I suppose I must be 
 answerable for keeping two scapegraces in the world." 
 
 " Why didn't Dr. Firmin come to see him ? " 
 
 " Hm ! his nerves were too delicate. Besides, he did 
 come. Talk of the =^ ^ * '' 
 
 The personage designated by asterisks was Phil's father, 
 who was also a member of our club, and who entered the 
 dining-room, tall, stately, and pale, with his stereotyped 
 smile, and wave of his pretty hand. By the way, that 
 smile of Firmin's was a very queer contortion of the hand- 
 some features. As you came up to him he would draw his 
 lips over his teeth, causing his jaws to Avrinkle (or dimple 
 if you will) on either side. Meanwhile his eyes looked out 
 from his face, quite melancholy and independent of the 
 little transaction in which the mouth was engaged. Lips 
 said, " I am a gentleman of fine manners and fascinating 
 address, and I am supposed to be happy to see you. How 
 do you do ? " Dreary, sad, as into a great blank desert, 
 looked the dark eyes. I do know one or two, but only one 
 or two faces of men when oppressed with care, which can 
 yet smile all over. 
 
 Goodenough nods grimly to the smile of the other doctor, 
 who blandly looks at our table, holding his chin in one of 
 his pretty hands. 
 
 "How do?" growls Goodenough. "Young hopeful 
 well ? " 
 
 " Young hopeful sits smoking cigars till morning Avith 
 some friends of his," says Firmin, with the sad smile di- 
 rected towards me this time. " Boys Avill be boys." And 
 he pensively walks away from us with a friendly nod 
 towards me ; examines the dinner-card in an attitude of 
 melancholy grace; points Avith the jewelled hand to the
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 135 
 
 dishes which he will have served, and is off, and simpering 
 to another acquaintance at a distant table. 
 
 " I thought he would take that table,'' says Firmin's cyni- 
 cal confrere. 
 
 " In the draught of the door ? Don't you see how the 
 candle flickers ? It is the worst place in the room ! " 
 
 '" Yes ; but don't you see who is sitting at the next 
 table ? " 
 
 ]S"ow at the next table was a n-blem-n of vast wealth, who 
 was growling at the quality of the mutton cutlets, and the 
 half-pint of sherr}' which he had ordered for his dinner. 
 But as his lordship has nothing to do with the ensuing 
 history, of course we shall not violate confidence by 
 mentioning his name. We could see Firmin smiling on 
 his neighbor with his blandest melancholy, and the waiters 
 presently bearing up the dishes which the doctor had 
 ordered for his own refection. He was no lover of mutton- 
 chops and coarse sherr}', as I knew, who had partaken of 
 many a feast at his board. I could see the diamond twinkle 
 on his pretty hand, as it daintily poured out creaming wine 
 from the ice-pail by his side — the liberal hand that had 
 given me many a sovereign when I was a boy. 
 
 '• I can't help liking him," I said to my companion, whose 
 scornful eyes were now and again directed towards his col- 
 league. 
 
 '• This port is very sweet. Almost all port is sweet now," 
 remarks the doctor. 
 
 " He was very kind to me in ni}' school-days ; and Philip 
 was a fine little fellow." 
 
 "Handsome a boy as ever I saw. Does he keep his 
 beauty.? Father was a handsome man — very. Quite a 
 lady-killer — I mean out of his practice ! " adds the grim 
 doctor. "What is the boy doing? " 
 
 " He is at the university. He has his mother's fortune. 
 He is wild and unsettled, and I fear he is going to the bad 
 a little." 
 
 "Is he? Shouldn't wonder I " grumbles Goodenough. 
 
 We had talked very frankly and ])leasantly \nitil the ap- 
 pearance of the other doctor, but with Firmin's arrival 
 Goodenough seemed to button up his conversation. He 
 quickly stumped away from the dining-room to the draw- 
 ing-room, and sat over a novel there until time came when 
 he was to retire to his patients or liis home. 
 
 That there was no liking between the doctors, that there
 
 136 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 was a difference between Pliilip and his father, was clear 
 enough to me : but the causes of these differences I had 
 yet to learn. The story came to me piecemeal; from con- 
 fessions here, admissions there, deductions of my own. I 
 could not, of course, be present at many of the scenes 
 which I shall have to relate as though I had witnessed 
 them ; and the posture, language, and inward thoughts of 
 Philip and his friends, as here related, no doubt are fancies 
 of the narrator in many cases ; but the story is as authen- 
 tic as many histories, and the reader need only give such 
 an amount of credence to it as he may judge that its verisi- 
 militude warrants. 
 
 Well, then, we must not only revert to that illness which 
 befell when Philip Firmin was a boy at Grey Friars, but go 
 back yet farther in time to a period Avhich I cannot pre- 
 cisely ascertain. 
 
 The pupils of old Gandish's painting academy may re- 
 member a ridiculous little man, with a great deal of wild 
 talent, about the ultimate success of which his friends were 
 divided. Whether Andrew was a genius, or whether he 
 was a zany, was always a moot question among the fre- 
 quenters of the Greek Street billiard-rooms, and the noble 
 disciples of the Academy and St. Martin's Lane. He may 
 have been crazy and absurd ; he may have had talent too ; 
 such characters are not unknown in art or in literature. 
 He broke the Queen's English ; he was ignorant to a 
 wonder ; he dressed his little person in the most fantastic 
 raiment and queerest cheap finery : he wore a beard, bless 
 my soul ! twenty years before beards were known to wag in 
 Britain. He was the most affected little creature, and, if 
 you looked at him, would j'^ose in attitudes of such ludi- 
 crous dirty dignity, that if you had had a dun waiting for 
 money in the hall of your lodging-house, or your picture 
 refused at the Academy — if you were suffering under ever 
 so much calamity — you could not help laughing. He was 
 the butt of all his acquaintances, the laughing-stock of 
 high and low, and he had as loving, gentle, faithful, honor- 
 able a heart as ever beat in a little bosom. He is gone to 
 his rest noAv; his palette and easel are waste timber; his 
 genius, which made some little flicker of brightness, never 
 shone much, and is extinct. In an old album that dates 
 back for more than a score of years, I sometimes look at 
 poor Andrew's strange wild sketches. He might have 
 done something had he continued to remain poor; but a
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 137 
 
 rich widow, Avhom he met at Eome, fell in love with the 
 strange errant painter, pursued him to England, and mar- 
 ried him in spite of himself. His genius drooped under 
 the servitude : he lived but a few short years, and died of 
 a consumjjtion, of which the good Goodenough's skill could 
 not cure him. 
 
 One day, as he was driving with his wife in her splendid 
 barouclie through the Haymarket, he suddenly bade the 
 coachman stop, sprang over the side of the carriage before 
 the steps could be let fall, and his astonished wife saw him 
 shaking the hands of a shabbily dressed little woman who 
 was passing, — shaking both her hands, and weeping, and 
 gesticulating, and twisting his beard and mustachios, as 
 his wont was when agitated. Mrs. Montiitchet (the 
 wealthy jNIrs. Carrickfergus she had been, before she mar- 
 ried the painter), the owner of a young husband, Avho had 
 sjH'ung from her side, and out of her carriage, in order to 
 caress a young woman passing in the street, might well be 
 disturbed by this demonstration ; but she was a kind- 
 hearted woman, and when Montiitchet, on reascending into 
 the family coach, told his wife the history of the person of 
 whom he had just taken leave, she cried plentifully too. 
 She bade the coachman drive straightway to her own 
 house ; she rushed up to her own apartments, whence she 
 emerged, bearing an immense bag full of wearing apparel, 
 and followed by a panting butler, carrying a bottle-basket 
 and a pie : and she drove off, with her pleased Andrew by 
 her side, to a court in Bt. INIartin's Lane, where dwelt the 
 poor woman with whom he had just been conversing. 
 
 It had pleased heaven, in the midst of dreadful calamity, 
 to send her friends and succor. She was suffering under 
 misfortune, poverty, and cowardly desertion. A man who 
 had called himself "^Brandon when he took lodgings in her 
 father's house, married her, brought her to London, tired 
 of her, and left her. She had reason to think he had given 
 a false name when he lodged with her father : he fled, 
 after a few months, and his real name she never knew. 
 When he deserted her, she went back to her father, a weak 
 man, married to a domineering woman, who pretended to 
 disbelieve the story of her marriage, and drove her from 
 the door. Desperate, and almost mad, she came back to 
 London, where she still had some little relics of property 
 that her fugitive husband left behind him. He promised, 
 when he left her, to remit her money ; but he sent none,
 
 :138 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 or she refused it — or, in her wildness and despair, lost the 
 dreadful paper which announced his desertion, and that he 
 was married before, and that to pursue him would ruin 
 him, and he knew she never would do that — no, however 
 much he might have wronged her. 
 
 She was penniless then, — deserted by all, — having made 
 away with the last trinket of her brief days of love, having 
 sokf the last little remnant of her poor little stock of clothing 
 — alone in the great wilderness of London, when it pleased 
 God to send her succor in the person of an old friend who 
 had known her, and even loved her, m happier days. When 
 the Samaritans came to this poor child, they found her sick 
 and shuddering with fever. They brought their doctor to 
 her, who is never so eager as when he runs up a poor man's 
 stair. And as he watched by the bed where her kind friends 
 came to help her, he heard her sad little story of trust and 
 desertion. 
 
 Her father was a humble person who had seen better days ; 
 and poor little Mrs. Brandon had a sweetness and simplicity 
 of manner which exceedingly touched the good doctor. 
 She had little education, except that which silence, long- 
 suffering, seclusion, will sometimes give. When cured of 
 her illness, there was the great and constant evil of poverty 
 to meet and overcome. How Avas she to live ? He got to 
 be as fond of hsr as of a child of his own. She was tidy, 
 thrifty, gay at times, with a little simple cheerfulness. The 
 little flowers began to bloom as the sunshine touched them. 
 Her whole life hitherto had been cowering under neglect, 
 and tyranny, and gloom. 
 
 Mr. Montfitchet was for coming so often to look after the 
 little outcast whom he had succored that I am bound to say 
 Mrs. M. became hysterically jealous, and waited for him on 
 the stairs as he came down swathed in his Spanish cloak, 
 pounced on him, and called him a monster. Goodenough 
 was also, I fancy, suspicious of Montfitchet, and Montfitchet 
 of Goodenough. Howbeit, the doctor vowed that he never 
 had other than the feeling of a father towards his poor little 
 protegee, nor could any father be more tender. He did not 
 try to take her out of her station in life. He found, or 
 she found for herself, a work which she could do. " Papa 
 used to say no one ever nursed him so nice as I did," she 
 said. " I think I could do that better than anything, except 
 my needle, but I like to be useful to poor sick people best. 
 I don't think about myself then, sir." And for this
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 139 
 
 business good Dr. Goodenougli had her educated and 
 employed. 
 
 The widow died in course of time whom Mrs. Brandon's 
 father had married, and her daughters refused to keep him, 
 speaking very disrespectfully of this old Mr. Gann, who was, 
 indeed, a weak old man. And now Caroline came to the 
 rescue of her old father. She was a shrewd little Caroline. 
 IShe had saved a little money. Goodenougli gave up a 
 country-house which he did not care to use, and lent Mrs. 
 Brandon the furniture. She thought she could keep a 
 lodging-house and find lodgers. Montfitchet had painted 
 her. There was a sort of beauty about her which the artists 
 admired. When Ridley the Academician had the small-pox, 
 she attended him, and caught the malady. She did not 
 mind ; not she. " It won't spoil my beauty," she said. Nor 
 did it. The disease dealt very kindly with her little modest 
 face. I don't know who gave her the nickname, but she 
 had a good roomy house in Thornhaugh Street, an artist on 
 the first and second floor ; and there never was a word of 
 scandal against the Little Sister, for was not her father in 
 permanence sipping gin-and-water in the ground-floor par- 
 lor ? As we called her " the Little Sister," her father was 
 called " the Captain " — a bragging, lazy, good-natured old 
 man — not a reputable captain — and very cheerful, though 
 the conduct of his children, he said, had repeatedly broken 
 his heart. 
 
 I don't know how many years the Little Sister had been 
 on duty when Philip Firmin had his scarlet fever. It be- 
 fell him at the end of the term, just when all the boys 
 were going home. His tutor and his tutor's wife wanted 
 their holidays, and sent their own children out of the way. 
 As Phil's father was absent, Dr. Goodenougli came, and sent 
 his nurse in. The case grew worse, so bad that Dr. Firmin 
 was summoned from the Isle of Wight, and arrived one 
 evening at Grey Friars — Grey Friars so silent now, so 
 noisy at other times with the shouts and crowds of the 
 playground. 
 
 Dr. Goodenough's carriage was at the door when Dr. 
 Firmin's carriage drove up. 
 
 " How was the boy ? " 
 
 " He had been very bad. He had been wrong in the head 
 all day, talking and laughing quite wild-like,'' the servant 
 said. 
 
 The father ran up the stairs.
 
 Phil was in a great room, in which were several empty 
 beds of boys gone home for the holidays. The windows 
 were opened into Grey Friars Square. Goodenough heard 
 Ms colleague's carriage drive up, and rightly divined that 
 Phil's father had arrived. He came out, and met Firmm m 
 the ante-room.
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 141 
 
 "Head has wandered a little. Better now, and quiet;" 
 and the one doctor murmured to the other the treatment 
 which he had pursued. 
 
 Firmin stepped in gently towards the patient, near whose 
 side the Little Sister was standing. 
 
 " Who is it ? " asked Phil. 
 
 '• It is I, dear. Your father," said Dr. Firmin, with real 
 tenderness in his voice. 
 
 The Little Sister turned round once, and fell down like a 
 stone by the bedside. 
 
 " You infernal villain ! " said G-oodenough, Avith an oath, 
 and a step forward. " You are the man ! " 
 
 " Hush ! The patient, if you please, Dr. Goodenough," 
 said the other physician.
 
 CHAPTEK IV. 
 
 A GENTEEL FAMILY. 
 
 AVE you made 
 up your mind 
 on the ques- 
 tion of seem- 
 ing and being 
 in the world ? 
 I mean, sup- 
 pose you ewe 
 poor, is it 
 right for you 
 to seem to 
 be well off? 
 Have people 
 an honest 
 right to keep 
 up appear- 
 ances? Are 
 you justified 
 in starving 
 your dinner- 
 table in order to keep a carriage ; to have such an expen- 
 sive house that you can't by any possibility help a poor 
 relation ; to array your daughters in costly milliners' 
 wares because they live with girls whose parents are twice 
 as rich ? Sometimes it is hard to say where honest pride 
 ends and hypocrisy begins. To obtrude your povert}^ is 
 mean and slavish ; as it is odious for a beggar to ask com- 
 passion by showing his sores. But to simulate prosperity 
 — to be wealthy and lavish thrice a year when you ask 
 your friends, and for the rest of the time to munch a crust 
 and sit by one candle — are the folks who practise this 
 deceit worthy of applause or a whippiuQ- ? Sometimes it is 
 noble pride, sometimes shabby swindling. When I see 
 Eugenia with her dear children exquisitel}^ neat and cheer- 
 
 142
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 143 
 
 fill ; not showing tlie slightest semblance of poverty, or 
 uttering the smallest complaint ; persisting that Squander- 
 held, her husband, treats her well, and is good at heart : 
 and denying that he leaves her and her young ones in want • 
 1 admire and reverence that noble falsehood — that beautiful 
 constanc}^ and endurance which disdains to ask compassion. 
 AMien I sit at poor Jezebella's table, and am treated to her 
 sham bounties and shabby splendor, I only feel anger for 
 the hospitality, and that dinner, and guest, and host, are 
 humbugs together. 
 
 Talbot Twysden's dinner-table is large, and the guests 
 most respectable. There is always a bigwig or two present, 
 and a dining dowager who frequents the greatest houses. 
 There is a butler avIio offers you wine ; there's a me7m du 
 diner before Mrs. Twysden ; and to read it you would fancy 
 you were at a good dinner. It tastes of chopped straw. 
 Oh, the dreary sparkle of that feeble champagne ; the 
 audacity of that public-house sherry ; tlie swindle of that 
 acrid claret; the liery twang of that clammy port! I have 
 tried them all, 1 tell you I It is sham wine, a sham dinner, 
 a sham welcome, a sham cheerfulness among the guests 
 assembled. I feel that that woman eyes and counts the 
 cutlets as they are carried off the tables ; perhaps w atches 
 that one which you try to swallow. She has counted and 
 grudged each candle by which the cook prepares the meal. 
 Does her big coachman fatten himself on purloined oats and 
 beans, and Thorley's food for cattle ? Of the rinsings of 
 those wretched bottles the butler will have to give a reckon- 
 ing in the morning. Unless you are of the very great 
 monde Twysden and his wife think themselves better than 
 you are, and seriously patronize you. They consider it is a 
 privilege to be invited to those horrible meals to which 
 the}^ gravely ask the greatest folks in the country. I 
 actually met Winton there — the famous Winton — the best 
 dinner-giver in the world (ah, what a position for man !) I 
 watched him, and marked the sort of wonder which came 
 over him as he tasted and sent away dish after dish, glass 
 after glass. " Try that Chateau Margaux, Winton ! " calls 
 out the host. " It is some that Bottleb}' and I imported." 
 Imported ! I see Winton's face as he tastes the wine, and 
 puts it down. He does not like to talk about that dinner. 
 He has lost a day. Twysden will continue to ask him 
 every year ; will continue to expect to be asked in return, 
 with Mrs. Twysden and one of his daughters ; and will
 
 144 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 express his surprise loudly at the club, saying, '^Hang 
 Winton ! Deuce take the fellow ! He has sent me no game 
 this year ! " When foreign dukes and princes arrive, 
 Twysden straightway collars them, and invites them to his 
 house. And sometimes they go once — and then ask, 
 " Qui done est ce Monsieur Tvisden^ qui est si di'ole?" And 
 he elbows his way up to them at the Minister's assemblies, 
 and frankly gives them his hand. And calm Mrs. Twysden 
 wriggles, and works, and slides, and pushes, and tramples if 
 need be, her girls following behind her, until she too has 
 come up under the eye3 of the great man, and bestowed on 
 him a smile and a courtesy. Twysden grasps prosperity 
 cordially by the hand. He says to success, " Bravo ! " On 
 the contrary, I never saw a man more resolute in not know- 
 ing unfortunate people, or more daringly forgetful of those 
 whom he does not care to remember. If this Levite met a 
 w^ayfarer, going down from Jerusalem, who had fallen 
 among thieves, do you think he would stop to rescue the 
 fallen man ? He would neither give wine, nor oil, nor 
 money. He would pass on perfectly satisfied Avith his own 
 virtue, and leave the other to go, as best he might, to 
 Jericho. 
 
 What is this ? Am I angry because Twysden has left off 
 asking me to his vinegar and chopped hay ? No. I think not. 
 Am I hurt because Mrs. Tw3^sden sometimes patronizes my 
 wife, and sometimes cuts her ? Perhaps. Only women thor- 
 oughly know the insolence of women towards one another in 
 the v/orld. That is a very stale remark. They receive and 
 deliver stabs, smiling politely. Tom Sayers could not take 
 punishment more gayly than they do. If you could but see 
 under the skin, you would find their little hearts scarred 
 all over with little lancet digs. I protest I have seen my 
 own wife enduring the impertinence of this woman, with a 
 face as calm and placid as she wears when old Twysden 
 himself is talking to her, and pouring out one of his mad- 
 dening long stories. Oh, no ! I am not angry at all. I 
 can see that by the way in which I am writing of these 
 folks. By the way, whilst I am giving this candid opinion 
 of the Twysdens, do I sometimes pause to consider what 
 they think of me ? What do I care ? Think what you 
 like. Meanwhile we bow to one another at parties. We 
 smile at each other in a sickly way. And as for the din- 
 ners in Beaunash Street, I hope those who eat them enjoy 
 their food.
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 145 
 
 Tw3^sden is one of the chiefs now of the Powder and 
 Pomntum Office (the Pigtail branch was finally abolished 
 in l.S:>Oj after the Keforni Pill, with a compensation to the 
 retiring undersecretary), and his son is a clerk in the same 
 office. When they came oat, the daughters were ver}^ 
 
 VOL. T. 10
 
 146 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 pretty — even my wife allows that. One of tliem used to 
 ride in the Park with her father or brother daily ; and 
 knowing what his salary and wife's fortune were, and what 
 the rent of his house in Beaunash Street, everybody won- 
 dered how the Twysdens could make both ends meet. 
 They had horses, carriages, and a great house fit for at 
 least five thousand a year ; they had not half as much, as 
 everybody knew ; and it Avas supposed that old Eingwood 
 must make his niece an allowance. She certainly worked 
 hard to get it. I spoke of stabs anon, and poor little 
 breasts and sides scarred all over. No nuns, no monks, no 
 fakirs take whippings more kindly than some devotees of 
 the world ; and, as the punishment is one for edification, 
 let us hope the world lays smartly on to back and shoul- 
 ders, and Uses the thong well. 
 
 AYhen old Kingwood, at the close of his lifetime, used to 
 come to visit his dear niece and her husband and children, 
 he alwaj^s brought a cat-o'-nine-tails in his pocket, and 
 administered it to the whole household. He grinned at 
 the poverty, the pretence, the meanness of the people as 
 they knelt before him and did him homage. Ihe father 
 and mother trembling brought the girls up for punishment, 
 and, piteously smiling, received their own boxes on the ear 
 in presence of their children. ''Ah!" the little French 
 governess used to say, grinding her white teeth. " I like 
 milor to come. All day you vip me. When milor come, 
 he vip 3^ou, and you kneel down and kiss de rod." 
 
 They certainly knelt and took their whipping with the 
 most exemplary fortitude. Sometimes the lash fell on 
 papa's back, sometimes on mamma's ; now it stung Agnes, 
 and now it lighted on Blanche's pretty shoulders. But I 
 think it was on the heir of the house, young Eingwood 
 Twysden, that my lord loved best to operate. Eing's van- 
 ity was very thin-skinned, his selfishness easily wounded, 
 and his contortions under punishment amused the old 
 tormentor. 
 
 As my lord's brougham drives up — the modest little 
 brown brougham, with the noble horse, the lord chancellor 
 of a coachman, and the ineffable footman — the ladies, who 
 know the whir of the wheels, and may be quarrelling in 
 the drawing-room, call a truce to the fight, and smooth 
 down their ruffled tempers and raiment. jNIamma is writ- 
 ing at her table, in that beautiful, clear hand which we all 
 admire ; Blanche is at her book j Agnes is rising from the
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 147 
 
 piano quite naturally. A quarrel between those gentle, 
 smiling, delicate creature ! Impossible ! About your 
 most common piece of hypocrisy how men will blush and 
 bungle : how easily, how gracefully, how consummately, 
 women will perform it ! 
 
 ''Well," growls my lord, "you are all in such pretty 
 attitudes, I make no doubt you have been sparring. I 
 suspect, Maria, the men must know what devilish bad tem- 
 pers the girls have got. Who can have seen 3- ou lighting ? 
 You're quiet enough here, you little monkeys. I tell you 
 what it is. Ladies'-miiids get about and talk to the valets 
 in the housekeeper's room, and the men tell their masters. 
 Upon my word I believe it was that business last year 
 at Whipham which frightened Greenwood off. Famous 
 match. Good house in town and country. ]Sro mother alive. 
 Agnes might have had it her own way, but for that — ■ " 
 
 " We are not all angels in our family, uncle ! " cries ]\Iiss 
 Agnes, reddening. 
 
 " And your mother is too sharp. The men are afraid of 
 you, Maria. I've heard several 3'oung men say so. At 
 White's they talk about it quite freel}^ Pity for the girls. 
 Gi-eat pity. Fellows come and tell me. Jack Hall, and 
 fellows who go about everywhere." 
 
 '• I'm sure I don't care what Captain Hall says about me 
 — odious little wretch ! " cries Blanche. 
 
 " There you go off in a tantrum ! Hall never has any 
 opinion of his own. He only fetches and carries what other 
 people say. And he says, fellows say they are frightened of 
 your luother. La bless you I Hall has no opinion. A fellow 
 might commit murder and Hall would wait at the door. 
 Quite a discreet man. But I told him to ask about you. 
 And that's what I hear. And he says that Agnes is making 
 eyes at the doctor's bo3^" 
 
 "It's a shame," cries Agnes, shedding tears under her 
 martyrdom. 
 
 " Older than he is ; but that's no obstacle. Good-looking 
 boy, I suppose you don't object to that ? Has his poor 
 mother's money, and his father's; must be well-to-do. A 
 vulgar fellow, but a clever fellow, and a determined fellow, 
 the doctor — and a fellow, who, I susj^ect, is capable of any- 
 thing. Shouldn't wonder at that fellow marr^-ing some rich 
 dowager. Those doctors get an immense influence over 
 women ; and unless I'm mistaken m my man, Maria, your 
 poor sister got hold of a — "
 
 148 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 " Uncle ! " cries Mrs. Tw}' sclen, pointing to her daughters, 
 "before these — " ' 
 
 " Before those innocent lambs ! Hem ! Well, I think 
 Firmin is of the wolf sort : " and the old noble laughed, and 
 showed his own fierce fangs as he spoke. 
 
 " I grieve to say, my lord, I agree with you," remarks Mr. 
 Twysden. "I don't think Firmin a man of high principle. 
 A clever man ? Yes. An accomplished man ? Yes. A 
 good physician? Yes. A prosperous man? Yes. But 
 what's a man without principle ? " 
 
 " You ought to have been a parson, Twysden." 
 
 " Others have said so, my lord. My poor mother often 
 regretted that I didn't choose the Church. When I was at 
 Cambridge I used to speak constantly at the Union. I 
 practised. I do not disguise from you that my aim was 
 public life. I am free to confess I think the House of 
 Commons would have been my sphere ; and, had my means 
 permitted, should certainly come forward." 
 
 Lord Bingwood smiled and winked to his niece — 
 
 '• He means, my dear, that he would like to wag his jaws 
 at my expense, and that I should put him in for Whipham." 
 
 "There are, I think, worse members of Parliament," 
 remarked Mr. Twysden. 
 
 " If there w^as a box of 'em like you, what a cage it would 
 be ! " roared my lord. " By George, I'm sick of jaw. And 
 I would like to see a king of spirit in this country, who 
 would shut up the talking-shops and gag the whole chatter- 
 ing crew ! " 
 
 " I am a partisan of order — but a lover of freedom," con- 
 tinues Twysden. " I hold that the balance of our consti- 
 tution — " 
 
 I think my lord Avould have indulged in a few of those 
 oaths with which his old-fashioned conversation was liberally 
 garnished ; but the servant, entering at this moment, an- 
 nounces Mr. Philip Firmin ; and ever so faint a blush 
 flutters up in Agnes' cheek, w^ho feels that the old lord's 
 eye is upon her. 
 
 " So, sir, I saw you at the Opera last night," says Lord 
 Kingwood. 
 
 " I saw you, too," says downright Phil. 
 
 The women looked terrified, and Twysden scared. The 
 Twysdens had Lord Kingwood's box sometimes. But there 
 were boxes in which the old man sat, and in which they 
 never could see him.
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 149 
 
 '• Why don't you look at the stage, sir, when you go to 
 the Opera, and not at me ? When you go to church jovl 
 ought to look at the parson, oughtn't you ? " growled the 
 old man. '• I"m about as good to look at as the fellow who 
 dances first in the ballet — and very nearly as old. But if 
 I were you, I should think looking at the Ellsler better 
 fun." 
 
 And now you may fancy of what old, old times we are 
 Avriting — times in which those horrible old male dancers 
 yet existed — hideous old creatures, wdth low dresses and 
 short sleeves, and wreaths of flowers, or hats and feathers 
 round their absurd old wigs — who skipped at the head of 
 the ballet. Let us be thankful that those old apes have 
 almost vanished off the stage, and left it in possession of 
 the beauteous bounders of the other sex. Ah, my dear 
 young friends, time icUl be when these too will cease to 
 appear more than mortally beautiful ! To Philip, at his age, 
 they yet looked as loveh' as houris. At this time the simple 
 young fellow, surveying the ballet from his stall at the 
 Opera, mistook carmine for blushes, pearl powder for native 
 snows, and cotton-wool for natural symmetry : and I dare 
 say when he went into the world was not more clear-sighted 
 about its rouged innocence, its padded pretensions, and its 
 painted candor. 
 
 Old Lord Kingwood had a humorous pleasure in petting 
 and coaxing Philip Pirniin before Philip's relatives of 
 Beaunash Street. Even the girls felt a little plaintive 
 envy at the partiality which uncle Eingwood exhibited for 
 Phil ; but the elder Twysdens and Eingwood Twysden, 
 their son, writhed with agony at the preference which the 
 old man sometimes showed for the doctor's boy. Phil was 
 much taller, much handsomer, much stronger, much better 
 tempered, and much richer than young Twysden. He 
 would be the sole inheritor of his father's fortune, and had 
 his mother's thirty thousand pounds. Even when they 
 told him his father would marry again, Phil laughed, and 
 did not seem to care — "I wish him joy of his new wife," 
 was all he could be got to say : "when he gets one, I sup- 
 pose I shall go into chambers. Old Parr Street is not as 
 gay as Pall Mall." I am not angry with Mrs. Twysden 
 having a little jealousy of her nephew. Her boy and 
 girls were the fruit of a dutiful marriage ; and Phil was 
 the son of a disobedient child. Her children were always 
 on their best behavior before their great uncle ; and Phil
 
 150 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 cared for him no more than for any other man: and he 
 liked Phil the best. Her boy was as humble and eager to 
 please as any of his lordship's humblest henchmen ; and 
 Lord Eingvvood snapped a* him, browbeat him, and tram- 
 pled on the poor darling's tenderest feelings, and treated 
 him scarcely better than a lackey. As for poor Mr. Twys- 
 den, my lord not only yawned unreservedly in his face — 
 that could not be helped ; poor Talbot's talk set many of 
 his acquaintance asleep — but laughed at him, interrupted 
 him, and told him to hold his tongue. On this day, as the 
 family sat together at the pleasant hour — the before- 
 dinner hour — the fireside and tea-table hour — Lord Eing- 
 wood said to Phil — 
 
 " Dine with me to-day, sir ? " 
 
 " Why does he not ask me, with my powers of conversa- 
 tion ? " thought old Twysden to himself. 
 
 '' Hang him, he always asks that beggar," writhed young 
 Twysden, in his corner. 
 
 " Very sorry, sir, can't come. Have asked some fellows 
 to dine at the ' Blue Posts,' " says Phil. 
 
 " Confound you, sir, \y\\j don't you put 'em off ? " cries the 
 old lord. ''' You\l put 'em off, Twysden, wouldn't you ? " 
 
 " Oh, sir ! " the heart of father and son both beat. 
 
 " You know you would ; and you quarrel with this boy 
 for not throwing his friends over. Good-night, Firmin, 
 since you won't come." 
 
 And with this my lord was gone. 
 
 The two gentlemen of the house glumly looked from the 
 window, and saw my lord's brougham drive swiftly away 
 in the rain. 
 
 " I hate your dining at those horrid taverns," whispered 
 a young lady to Philip. 
 
 "It is better fun than dining at home," Philip remarks. 
 
 " You smoke and drink too much. You come home late, 
 and you don't live in a proper moncle, sir ! " continues the 
 young lady. 
 
 " What would you have me do ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing. You must dine with those horrible men," 
 cries Agnes ; " else you might have gone to Lady Pendle- 
 ton's to-night." 
 
 " I can throw over the men easily enough, if you wish," 
 answered the young man. 
 
 " I ? I have no wish of the sort. Have 3'ou not already 
 refused uncle Eingwood ? "
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 151 
 
 ^^You are not Lord Ringwood," saj'S Phil, with a tremor 
 ill his voice. '"■ I don't know there is much 1 would refuse 
 you." 
 
 " You silly boy ! What do I ever ask you to do that you 
 ought to refuse ? I want you to live in our world, and not 
 with your dreadful wild Oxford and Temple bachelors. I 
 don't want you to sinoke. I want you to go into the world 
 of which you have the entree — and you refuse your uncle 
 on account of some horrid engagement at a tavern I " 
 
 " Shall I stop here ? Aunt, w^ill you give me some 
 dinner — here?" asks the young man. 
 
 "We have dined: my husband and son dine out," said 
 gentle Mrs. Twysden. 
 
 There was cold mutton and tea for the ladies ; and Mrs. 
 Twysden did not like to seat her nephew, Avho was accus- 
 tomed to good fare and high living, to that meagre meal. 
 
 '^ You see I must console myself at the tavern," Philip 
 said. "We shall have a pleasant party there." 
 
 " And jjray who makes it ? " asks the lady. 
 
 "There is Eidley the painter." 
 
 " ^[y dear Philip ! Do you know that his father was 
 actually — " 
 
 " In the service of Lord Todmorden ? He often tells us 
 so. He is a queer character, the old man." 
 
 " ^fr. Ridley is a man of genius, certainly. His pictures 
 aie delicious, and he goes everywhere — but — but you 
 provoke me, Philip, by your carelessness ; indeed you do. 
 Why should you be dining with the sons of footmen, when 
 the first houses in the country might be open to you ? You 
 pain me, you foolish boy." 
 
 " For dining in compan}' of a man of genius ? Come, 
 Agnes ! " And the young man's brow grew dark. " Be- 
 sides," he added, with a tone of sarcasm in his voice, which 
 Miss Agnes did not like at all — "besides, my dear, you 
 know he dines at Lord Pendleton's." 
 
 "What is that you are talking of Lady Pendleton, 
 children ? " asked watchful mamma from her corner. 
 
 " Ridley dines there. He is going to dine with me at a 
 tavern to-day. And Lord Hal den is coming — and Mr. 
 Wlnton is coming — having heard of the famous beef- 
 steaks." 
 
 "Winton! Lord Halden! Beefsteaks! Where? By 
 George ! I have a mind to go, too ! Where do you fellows 
 dine? au caharet? Hang me, I'll be one," shrieked little
 
 152 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 Twysden, to the terror of Philip, who knew his uiiGle's 
 awful powers of eonversation. But Twysden remembered 
 himself in good time, and to the intense relief of young 
 Eirniin. " Hang me, I forgot ! Your aunt and T dine with 
 the Bladeses. Stupid old fellow, the admiral, and bad 
 wine — which is unpardonable; but we must go — on ii'a 
 que sa parole, hey ? Tell Winton that I had meditated 
 joining him, and that I have still some of that ChAteau 
 i\Iargaux he liked. Maiden's father I know well. Tell him 
 so. Bring him here. Maria, send a Thursday card to 
 Lord Halden ! You must bring him here to dinner, Philip. 
 Thafs the best way to make acquaintance, my boy ! " And 
 the little man swaggers off, waving a bed-candle, as if he 
 was going to quaff a bumper of sparkling spermaceti. 
 
 The mention of such great personages as Lord Halden 
 and Mr. Winton silenced the reproofs of the pensive Agnes. 
 
 " You M'on't care for our quiet fireside whilst you live 
 with those fine people, Philip," she sighed. There was no 
 talk now of his throwing himself away on bad company. 
 
 So Philip did not dine Avith his relatives : but Talbot 
 Twysden took good care to let Lord Eingwood know how 
 young Firmin had offered to dine with his aunt that day 
 after refusing his lordship. And everything to Phil's dis- 
 credit, and every act of extravagance or wildness which the 
 young man committed, did Phil's uncle, and Phil's cousin 
 Kingwood Twysden, convey to the old nobleman. Had 
 not these been the inform^ers. Lord Eingwood would have 
 been angr}^ : for he exacted obedience and servility from all 
 round about him. But it w-as pleasanter to vex the Twys- 
 dens than to scold and browbeat Philip, and so his lordshi]) 
 chose to laugh and be amused at Phil's insubordination. 
 He saw, too, other things of which he did not speak. He 
 was a wily old man, who could afford to be blind upon 
 occasion. 
 
 What do you judge from the fact that Philip was ready 
 to make or break engagements at a young lady's instiga- 
 tion ? When you were twenty years old, had no young 
 ladies an influence over you? Were the}^ not commonly 
 older than yourself ? Pid your youthful passion lead to 
 anything, and are you very sorry now that it did not '/ 
 Suppose you had had your soul's wish and married her, of 
 wliat age would she be now ? And now when you go into 
 the world and see her, do you on j^our conscience very 
 much regret that the little affair came to an end ? Is it
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 153 
 
 that (lean, or fat, or stumj:)}', or tall) woman with all those 
 children whom you once chose to break your heart about ; 
 and do you still envy Jones ? Philip was in love with his 
 cousin, no doubt, but at the university had he not been 
 previously in love with the Tomkinsian professor's daughter 
 Miss Budd ; and had he not already written verses to Miss 
 Flower, his neighbor's daughter in Old Parr Street ? And 
 don't young men always begin by falling in love with 
 ladies older than themselves ? Agnes certainly was 
 Philip's senior, as her sister constantly took care to inform 
 him. 
 
 And Agnes might have told stories about Blanche, if she 
 chose — as you may about me, and I about you. Not quite 
 true stories, but stories with enough alloy of lies to make 
 them serviceable coin ; stories such as we hear daily in the 
 world ; stories such as we read in the most learned and 
 conscientious history-books, which are told by the most 
 respectable persons, and perfectly authentic until contra- 
 dicted. It is only our histories that can't be contradicted 
 (unless, to be sure, novelists contradict themselves, as 
 sometimes they will). What lue say about people's virtues, 
 failings, characters, you ma}' be sure is all true. And I 
 defy any man to assert that my opinion of the Twysden 
 family is malicious, or unkind, or unfounded in any partic- 
 ular. Agnes wrote verses, and set her own and other 
 writers' poems to music. Blanche was scientific, and 
 attended the Albemarle Street lectures sedulously. They 
 are both clever women as times go ; well educated and 
 accomplished, and very well mannered when they choose to 
 be pleasant. If you were a bachelor, say, with a good 
 fortune, or a widower who wanted consolation, or a lady 
 giving very good parties and belonging to the w,onde, you 
 would find them agreeable people. If you were a little 
 Treasury clerk, or a young barrister with no practice, or a 
 lady, old or young, not quite of the monde, your opinion of 
 them would not be so favorable. I have seen them cut, and 
 scorn, and avoid, and caress, and kneel down and worshij) 
 the same person. When Mrs. Lovel first gave parties,- 
 don't I remember the shocked countenances of the Twysden 
 family ? Were ever shoulders colder than yours, dear 
 girls ? Xow they love her ; they fondle her step-children ; 
 they praise her to her face and behind her handsome back ; 
 they take her hand in public ; they call her by her Chris- 
 tian name ; they fall into ecstasies over her toilets, and
 
 154 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 would fetch coals for her dressing-room fire if she but gave 
 them the word. She is not changed. She is the same lady 
 who once was a governess, and no colder and no warmer 
 since then. But you see her prosperity has brought 
 virtues into evidence which people did not perceive when 
 she was poor. Could people see Cinderella's beauty when 
 she was in rags by the fire, or until she stepped out of her 
 fairy coach in her diamonds ? How are you to recognize 
 a diamond in a dusthole ? Only very clever eyes can do 
 that. AVhereas a lady in a fairy coach and eight naturally 
 creates a sensation ; and enraptured princes come and beg 
 to have the honor of dancing with her. 
 
 In the character of infallible historian, then, I declare 
 that if Miss Twysden at three-and-twenty feels ever so much 
 or little attacliment for her cousin, who is not yet of age, 
 there is no reason to be angry with her. A brave, hand- 
 some, blundering, downright young fellow, with broad shoul- 
 ders, high spirits, and quite fresh blushes on his face, with 
 very good talents (though he has been wofully idle, and re- 
 quested to absent himself temporarily from his university), 
 the possessor of a competent fortune and the heir of another, 
 may naturally make some impression on a lady's heart with 
 whom kinsmanship and circumstance bring him into daily 
 communion. When had any sound so hearty as Phil's 
 laugh been heard in Beaunash Street ? His jolly frankness 
 touched his aunt, a clever woman. She would smile and say, 
 " My dear Philip, it is not only what you say, but what you 
 are going to say next, which keeps me in such a perpetual 
 tremor." There may have been a time once when she was 
 frank and cordial herself: ever so long ago, when she and 
 her sister were two blooming girls, lovingly clinging to- 
 gether, and just stepping forth into the world. But if you 
 succeed in keeping a fine house on a small income; in show- 
 ing a cheerful face to the world though oppressed with ever 
 so much care ; in bearing with dutiful reverence an intoler- 
 able old bore of a husband (and I vow it is this quality in 
 Mrs. Twysden for which I most admire her) ; in submitting 
 to defeats patiently ; to humiliations with smiles, so as to 
 hold your own in your darling monde ; you may succeed, 
 but you must give up being frank and cordial. The mar- 
 riage of her sister to the doctor gave Maria Kingwood a 
 great panic, for Lord Eingwood was furious when the news 
 came. Then, perhaps, she sacrificed a little private passion 
 of her own : then she set her cap at a noble young neighbor
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 155 
 
 of my lord's who jilted her; then she took up with Talbot 
 Twysden, Esquire, of the Powder aud Pomatum OlRce, and 
 made a very faithful wife to him, and was a very careful 
 mother to his children. But as for frankness and cordial- 
 ity, my good friend, accept from a lady what she can give 
 you — good manners, pleasant talk, and decent attention. 
 If you go to her breakfast-table, don't ask for a roc's egg, 
 but eat that moderately fresh hen's egg which John brings 
 you. When Mrs. Twysden is in her open carriage in the 
 Park, how prosperous, handsome, and jolly she looks — the 
 girls how smiling and young (that is, you know, considering 
 all things) ; the horses look fat, the coachman and footman 
 wealthy and sleek; they exchange bows with the tenants of 
 other carriages — well-known aristocrats. Jones and Brown, 
 leaning over the railings, and seeing the Twysden equipage 
 pass, have not the slightest doubt that it contains people of 
 the highest wealth and fashion. " I say, Jones; my boy, 
 what noble family has the motto, Wei done Tivya done? and 
 Avhat clipping girls there were in that barouche ! " B. re- 
 marks to J., "And what a handsome young swell that is 
 riding the bay mare, and leaning over and talking to the 
 yellow-haired girl !" And it is evident to one of those gen- 
 tlemen, at least, that he has been looking at your regular 
 hrst-rate, tii)-top people. 
 
 As for Phil Firmin on his T)ay mare, with his geranium 
 in his button-hole, there is no doubt that Philippus looks as 
 handsome, and as rich, and as brave as an}' lord. And I 
 think Brown must have felt a little pang when his friend 
 told him, " That a lord ! Bless you, it's only a swell doc- 
 tor's son." But while J. and B. fancy all the little party 
 very happy, they do not hear Phil whisper to his cousin, "I 
 hope you liked your partner last night ? " and they do not 
 see how anxious Mrs. Twysden is under her smiles, how she 
 perceives Colonel Shafto's cab coming up (the dancer in 
 question), and how she would rather have Phil anywhere 
 than by that particular wheel of her carriage ; how Lady 
 Braglaiids has just passed them by without noticing them 
 — Lady Braglands, who has a ball, and is determined not to 
 ask that woman and her two endless girls ; and how, though 
 Lady Braglands won't see ]Mrs. Twysden in her great star- 
 ing equipage, and the three faces Avhich have been beaming 
 smiles at her, she instantly perceives Lady Lovel, who is 
 passing ensconced in her little brougham, and kisses her fin- 
 gers twenty times over. How should poor J. and B., who
 
 156 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 are not, voas comjyrenez, du vionde, understand these myste- 
 ries ? 
 
 "That's young Firniin, is it, that handsome young 
 fellow ? " says Brown to Jones. 
 
 " Doctor married the Earl of Ringwood's niece — ran 
 away with her, you know." 
 
 " Good practice ? " 
 
 "Capital. First-rate. All the tip-top people. Great 
 ladies' doctor. Can't do without him. Makes a fortune 
 besides what he had with his wife." 
 
 "We've seen his name — the old man's — on some very 
 queer paper," says B. with a wink to J. By which I coi?- 
 chide they are city gentlemen. And they look very hard at 
 friend Philip, as he comes to talk and shake hands with 
 some pedest^i-ians who are gazing over the railings at the 
 busy and pleasant Park scene.
 
 CHAPTEE Y. 
 
 THE NOBLE KINSMAN. 
 
 AVIiSTG had occasion to 
 mention a noble earl once 
 or twice, I am sure no 
 polite reader will consent 
 that his lordship should 
 push through this history 
 along wdth the crowd of 
 commoner characters, and 
 without a special word re- 
 garding himself. If you 
 are in the least familiar 
 with Burke or Debrett, 
 you know that the ancient 
 family of Kingwood has 
 long been famous for its 
 great possessions, and its 
 loyalty to the British 
 crown. 
 
 In the troubles which 
 unhap})ily agitated this 
 kingdom after the deposi- 
 tion of the late reigning 
 house, the Kingwoods were 
 implicated with many other 
 families, but on the accession of his ^lajesty George III. 
 these differences happily ended, nor had the monarch any 
 subject more loyal and devoted than Sir John Ringwood, 
 Baronet, of Wingate and Whipham ^Market. Sir John's in- 
 fluence sent three Members to Parliament ; and during the 
 dangerous and vexatious period of the American war, this 
 influence was exerted so cordially and consistently in the 
 cause of order and the crown, that his ^lajesty thought fit 
 to advance Sir John to the dignity of Baron Ringwood. 
 Sir John's brother, Sir Francis Ringwood, of Appleshaw, 
 
 157
 
 158 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 who followed the profession of the law, also was promoted 
 to be a Baron of his Majesty's Court of Exchequer. The 
 first baron, dying a. n. 1786, was succeeded by the eldest of 
 his two sons — John, second Baron and first Earl of King- 
 wood. His lordship's brother, the Honorable Colonel 
 Philip Ringwood, died gloriously, ot the head of his regi- 
 ment and in the defence of his country, in the battle of 
 Busaco, 1810, leaving two daughters, Louisa and Maria, 
 who henceforth lived' with the earl their uncle. 
 
 The Earl of Eingwood had but one son, Charles Viscount 
 Cinqbars, who, unhappily, died of a decline, in his twenty- 
 se(;ond year. And thus the descendants of Sir Francis Ring- 
 wood became heirs to the earl's great estates of Wingate 
 and Whipham IMarket, though not of the peerages which 
 had been conferred on the earl and his father. 
 
 Lord Ringwood had, living with him, two nieces, daugh- 
 ters of his late brother. Colonel Philip Ringwood, who fell 
 in the Peninsular War. Of these ladies, the youngest, 
 Louisa, was his lordship's favorite ; and though both the 
 ladies had considerable fortunes of their own, it was sup- 
 posed their uncle would further provide for them, especially 
 as he was on no very good terms with his cousin, Sir John 
 of the Shaw, who took the Whig side in politics, whilst his 
 lordship was a chief of the Tory party. 
 
 Of these two nieces, the eldest, Maria, never any great 
 favorite with her uncle, married, 1824, Talbot Twysden, 
 Esq., a Commissioner of Powder and Pomatum Tax 5 but 
 the youngest, Louisa, incurred my lord's most serious anger 
 by eloping with George Brand Eirmin, Esq., M.D., a young 
 gentleman of Cambridge University, who had been with 
 Lord Cinqbars when he died at Naples, and had brought 
 home his body to Wingate Castle. 
 
 The quarrel with the youngest niece, and the indifference 
 with which he generally regarded the elder (whom his 
 lordship was in the habit of calling an old schemer), occa- 
 sioned at first a little rapijrochement between Lord Ring- 
 wood and his heir, Sir John of Appleshaw ; but both gen- 
 tlemen were very firm, not to say obstinate, in their natures. 
 They had a quarrel with respect to the cutting oft" of a 
 small entailed property, of which the earl wished to dis- 
 Dose ; and they parted with much rancor and bad language 
 on his lordship's part, who was an especially free-spoken 
 nobleman, and apt to call a spade a spade, as the saying is. 
 
 After this difference, and to spite his heir, it was sup-
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 159 
 
 posed that the Earl of Hiiigwood woukl iiiariy. He was 
 little more than seventy years of age, and had once been of 
 a very robust constitution. And though his temper was 
 violent and his person not at all agreeable (for even in Sir 
 Thomas Lawrence's picture his countenance is very ill- 
 favored), there is little doubt he could have found a wife 
 for the asking among the young beauties of his own county, 
 or the fairest of May Fair. 
 
 But he was a cynical nobleman, and perhaps morbidly con- 
 scious of his own ungainly appearance. '' Of course T can 
 buy a wife" (his lordship would say). "Do you suppose 
 p3ople won't sell their daughters to a man of my rank and 
 msans ? Now look at me, my good sir, and say whether 
 any woman alive could fall in love with me ? I have been 
 married, and once was enough. I hate ugly women, and 
 3'our virtuous women, who tremble and cry in private, and 
 preach at a man, bore me. Sir John Ringwood of Apple- 
 shaw is an ass, and I hate him : but I don't hate him 
 enough to make myself miserable for the rest of my days, 
 in order to spite him. When I drop, I drop. Do you sup- 
 pose I care what com3s after me ? " And with much sar- 
 donical humor this old lord used to play off one good 
 dowager after another who would bring her girl in his way. 
 He would send pearls to Emily, diamonds to Fanny, opera- 
 boxes to lively Kate, books of devotion to pious Selinda, 
 and, at the season's end, drive back to his lonely great castle 
 in the west. They were all the same, such was his lord- 
 ship's opinion. I fear, a wicked and corrupt old gentleman, 
 my dears. But ah, Avould not a woman submit to some 
 sacrifices to reclaim that unhappy man ; to lead that gifted 
 but lost being into the ways of right ; to convert to a belief 
 in woman's purity that erring soul ? They tried him with 
 high-church altar-cloths for his chapel at Wingate ; they 
 tried him with low-church tracts ; they danced before him ; 
 they jumped fences on horseback ; they wore bandeaux or 
 ringlets, according as his taste dictated ; they were always 
 at home when he called, and poor you and I were gruffly 
 told they were engaged ; they gushed in gratitude over his 
 bouquets ; they sang for him, and their mothers, concealing 
 their sobs, murmured, '' What an angel that Cecilia of mine 
 is ! " Every variety of delicious chaff they flung to that 
 old bird. But he was uncaught at the end of the season : 
 he winged his way back to his western hills. And if you 
 dared to say that jNIrs. Netley had tried to take him, or
 
 IGO THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 Lady Trapboys had set a snare for liini, you know you were 
 a wicked, gross calumniator, and notorious everywhere for 
 your dull and vulgar abuse of women. 
 
 Now, in the year 1830, it happened that this great noble- 
 man Avas seized with a tit of the gout, which had very nearly 
 consigned his estates to his kinsman the Baronet of Apple- 
 shaw. A revolution took place in a neighboring State. 
 An illustrious reigning family was expelled from its coun- 
 try, and projects of reform (which would pretty certainly 
 end in revolution) were rife in ours. The events in France, 
 and those pending at home, so agitated Lord Eingwood's 
 mind that he was attacked by one of the severest fits of 
 gout under which he ever suffered. His shrieks, as he was 
 brought out of his yacht at Ryde to a house taken for him 
 in tiie town, were dreadful; his language to all persons 
 about him was frightfully expressive, as Lady Quamley and 
 her daughter, who had sailed with him several times, can 
 vouch. An ill return that rude old man made for all their 
 kindness and attention to him. They had danced on board 
 his yacht ; they had dined on board his yacht ; they had 
 been out sailing with him, and -cheerfully braved the incon- 
 veniences of the deep in his company. And when they ran 
 to the side of his chair — as what would they not do to 
 soothe an old gentleman in illness and distress ? — when 
 they ran up to his chair as it w^as wheeled along the pier, 
 he called mother and daughter by the most vulgar and 
 opprobrious names, and roared out to them to go to a place 
 which I certainly shall not more particularly mention. 
 
 Now it happened, at this period, that Dr. and Mrs. Fir- 
 min were at Eyde with their little boy, then some three 
 years of age. The doctor was already taking his place as 
 one of the most fashionable physicians then in London, 
 and had begun to be celebrated for the treatment of this 
 especial malady. (Firmin on " Gout and Eheumatism -' 
 was, you remember, dedicated to his Majesty George lY.) 
 Lord' Eingwood's valet bethought him of calling the doctor 
 in, and mentioned how he was present in the town. Xow 
 Lord Eingwood was a nobleman who never would allow his 
 angry feelings to stand in the way of his present comforts 
 or ease. He instantly desired Mr. Firmin's attendance, and 
 submitted to his treatment ; a part of which was a hauteur 
 to the full as great as that which the sick man exhibited. 
 Firmin's appearance was so tall and grand that he looked 
 vastlv more noble than a great many noblemen. Six feet,
 
 ON HIS WA Y THROUGH THE WORLD. IGl 
 
 a high manner, a polished forehead, a flashing eye, a snowy 
 shirt-frill, a rolling velvet collar, a beautiful hand appear- 
 ing under a velvet cuif — all these advantages he possessed 
 and used. He did not make the slightest allusion to hy- 
 gones, but treated his patient with a perfect courtesy and 
 an impenetrable self-^^ossession. 
 
 This defiant and darkling politeness did not always dis- 
 please the old man. He was so accustomed to slavish com- 
 pliance and eager obedience from all the people round about 
 him, that he sometimes wearied of their servility, and 
 relished a little independence. AVas it from calculation, or 
 because he was a man of high spirit, that Firmin determined 
 to maintain an independent course with his lordship ? From 
 the first day of their meeting he never departed from it, 
 and had the satisfaction of meeting wdth only civil behavior 
 from his noble relative and patient, who was notorious for 
 his rudeness and brutality to almost every person who came 
 in his way. 
 
 From hints which his lordship gave in conversation, he 
 showed the doctor that he was acquainted with some par- 
 ticulars of the latter's early career. It had been wild and 
 stormy. Firmin had incurred debts ; had quarrelled with his 
 father ; had left the university and gone abroad ; had lived 
 in a wild society, which used dice and cards every night, and 
 pistols sometimes in the morning ; and had shown a fearful 
 dexterity in the use of the latter instrument, which he em- 
 ployed against the person of a famous Italian adventurer, 
 who fell under his hand at Naples. When this century 
 was five-and-twenty years younger, the crack of the pistol- 
 shot might still occasionally be heard in the suburbs of 
 London in the very early morning ; and the dice-box went 
 round in many a haunt of pleasure. The knights of the 
 Four Kings travelled from capital to capital, and engaged 
 each other or made prey of the unwary. Xow, the times 
 are changed. The cards are coffined in their boxes. Only 
 sous-officlers, brawling in their provincial cafes over their 
 dominos, fight duels. " Ah, dear me," I heard a veteran 
 ])unter sigh the other day at Bays's, "isn't it a melancholy 
 thing to think, that if I wanted to amuse myself with a 
 fifty-pound note, I don't know the place in London where I 
 could go and lose it ? " And he fondly recounted the names 
 of twenty places where he could have cheerfully staked and 
 lost his money in his young time. 
 
 After a somewhat prolonged absence abroad, Mr. Fii-min 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 came back to this country, was permitted to return to the 
 university, and left it with a degree of Bachelor of Medi- 
 cine. We have told how he ran away with Lord Ring- 
 wood's niece, and incurred the anger of that nobleman. 
 Beyond abuse and anger his lordship was powerless. The 
 young lady was free to marry whom she liked, and her 
 uncle to disown or receive him ; and accordingly she was, 
 as we have seen, disowned by his lordship, until he found it 
 convenient to forgive her. What were Lord Eingwood's 
 intentions regarding his property, what were his accumula- 
 tions, and who his heirs would be, no one knew. Mean- 
 while, of course, there were those who felt a very great 
 interest on the point. Mrs. Twysden and her husband and 
 children were hungry and poor. If uncle Ringwood had 
 money to leave, it would be very welcome to those three 
 darlings, whose father had not a great income like Dr. Fir- 
 min. Philip was a dear, good, frank, amiable, wild fellow, 
 and they all loved him. But he had his faults — that could 
 not be concealed — and so poor Phil's faults were pretty 
 constantly canvassed before uncle Ringwood, by dear rela- 
 tives who knew them only too well. The dear relatives ! 
 How kind they are ! I don't think Phil's aunt abused him 
 to my lord. That quiet woman calmly and gently put for- 
 ward the claims of her own darlings, and affectionately 
 dilated on the young man's present prosperity, and magnifi- 
 cent future prospects. The interest of thirty thousand 
 pounds now, and the inheritance of his father's great ac- 
 cumulations ! What young man could want for more ? 
 Perhaps he had too much already. Perhaps he was too 
 rich to work. The sly old peer acquiesced in his niece's 
 statements, and perfectly understood the point towards 
 which they tended. " A thousand a year ! What's a thou- 
 sand a year?" growled the old lord. "Not enough to 
 make a gentleman, more than enough to make a fellow 
 idle." 
 
 " Ah, indeed, it was but a small income," sighed Mrs. 
 Twysden. " With a large house, a good establishment, and 
 Mr. Twysden's salary from his office — it was but a pit- 
 tance." 
 
 " Pittance ! Starvation," growls my lord, with his usual 
 frankness. " Don't I know Avhat housekeeping costs ; and 
 see how you screw ? Butlers and footmen, carriages and 
 job-horses, rent and dinners — tliough yours, Maria, are not 
 famous."
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 163 
 
 "Very bad — I know they are very bad," saj's the con- 
 trite lady. " I wish we coukl afford any better." 
 
 " Afford any better ? Of course you can't. You are the 
 crockery pots, and you swim down-stream with the brass 
 pots. I saw Twysden the other day walking down St. 
 James's Street with Rhodes — that tall fellow." (Here 
 my lord laughed, and showed many fangs, the exhibition 
 of which gave a peculiarly fierce air to his lordship when 
 in good-humor). " If Twysden walks with a big fellow, 
 he always tries to keep step with him. You know that." 
 Poor Maria naturally knew her husband's peculiarities ; 
 but she did not say that slie had no need to be reminded 
 of them. 
 
 "He was so blown he could hardly speak," continued 
 uncle Eingwood ; " but he would stretch his little legs, and 
 try and keep up. He has a little body, le cher mari, but 
 a good pluck. Those little fellows often have. I'v3 seen 
 him half dead out shooting, and plunging over the 
 ploughed fields after fellows with twice his stride. Why 
 don't men sink in the world, I want to know ? Instead of 
 a fine house, and a j^arcel of idle servants, why don't j^ou 
 have a maid and a leg of mutton, jMaria ? You go half 
 crazy in trying to make both ends meet. You know you 
 do. It keeps you awake of nights ; / know that very well. 
 You've got a house fit for people with four times your 
 money. I lend you my cook and so forth; but I can't 
 come and dine with you unless I send the wine in. Why 
 don't you have a pot of porter, and a joint, or some tripe? 
 — tripe's a famous good thing. The miseries which people 
 entail on themselves in trying to live beyond their means 
 are perfectly ridiculous, by George ! Look at that fellow 
 who opened the door to me ; he's as tall as one of my own 
 men. Go and live in a quiet little street in Belgravia 
 somewhere, and have a neat little maid. Kobody will 
 think a penny the worse of you — and you will be just as 
 well off as if you lived here with an extra couple of thou- 
 sand a year. The advice I am giving you is worth half 
 that, every shilling of it." 
 
 "It is very good advice ; but I think, sir, I should prefer 
 the thousand pounds," said the lady. 
 
 " Of course you would. That is the consequence of your 
 false position. One of the good points about that doctor 
 is, that he is as proud as Lucifer, and so is his boy. They 
 are not always hungering after money. They keep their
 
 1C4 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 independence; though hell have his own too, the fellow 
 will. Why, when 1 first called him in, I thought, as he 
 was a relation, he'd doctor me for nothing; but he 
 wouldn't. He would have his fee, by George I and 
 wouldn't come without it. Confounded independent fellow 
 Firmin is. And so is the young one." 
 
 But when Twysden and his son (perhaps inspirited by 
 .Mrs. Twysden) tried once or twice to be independent in 
 the presence of this lion, he roared, and he rushed at them, 
 and he rent them, so that they fled from him howling. 
 And this reminds me of an old story I have heard — quite 
 an old, old story, such as kind old fellows at clubs love to 
 remember — of my lord, when he was only Lord Cinqbars, 
 insulting a half-pay lieutenant, in his own county, who 
 horsewhipped his lordship in the most private and fero- 
 cious manner. It was said Lord Cinqbars had had a rencon- 
 tre with poachers; but it was my lord who was. poaching 
 and the lieutenant who was defending his own dovecot. I 
 do net say that this was a model nobleman ; but that, when 
 his ow^n passions or interests did not mislead him, he was a 
 nobleman of very considerable acuteness, humor, and good 
 sense ; and could give quite good advice on occasion. If 
 men would kneel down and kiss his boots, well and good. 
 There was the blacking, and you were welcome to embrace 
 toe and heel. But those wdio Avould not, were free to leave 
 the operation alone. The Pope himself does not demand 
 the ceremony from Protestants ; and if they object to the 
 slipper, no one thinks of forcing it into their mouths. Phil 
 and his father probably declined to tremble before the old 
 man, not because they knew he was a bully who might be 
 put down, but because they were men of spirit, who cared 
 not whether a man was bully or no. 
 
 I have told joii 1 like Philip Pirmin, though it must be 
 confessed that the young fellow had many faults, and that 
 his career, especially his early career, was by no means 
 exemplary. Have I ever excused his conduct to his father, 
 or said a word in apology of his brief and inglorious univer- 
 sity career ? I acknowledge his shortcomings with that 
 candor which my friends exhibit in speaking of mine. 
 Who does not see a friend's weaknesses, and is so blind 
 that he cannot perceive that enormous beam in his neigh- 
 bor's eye ? Only a woman or two, from time to time. 
 And even they are nndeceived some day. A man of the 
 world, I write about my friends as mundane fellow-crea-
 
 Oy HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 165 
 
 hires. Do you suppose there are many angels here ? I 
 say again, perhaps a woman or two. But as for you and 
 me, my good sir, are there any signs of wings sprouting 
 from our shoulder-blades ? Be quiet. Don't pursue your 
 snarling, cynical remarks, but go on with your story. 
 
 As you go through life, stumbling, and slipping, and 
 staggering to your feet again, ruefully aware of your own 
 wretched weakness, and praying, with a contrite heart, let 
 us trust, that you may not be led into temptation, have you 
 not often looked at other fellow-sinners, and speculated 
 with an awful interest on their career ? Some there are 
 on whom, quite in their early lives, dark Ahrimanes has 
 seemed to la}' his dread mark : children, yet corrupt, and 
 wicked of tongue ; tender of age, yet cruel ; who should be 
 truth-telling and generous yet (tliey were at their mothers' 
 bosoms yesterday), but are false and cold and greedy before 
 their time. Infants almost, they practise the art and self- 
 ishness of old men. Behind their candid faces are wiles 
 and wickedness, and a hideous precocity of artifice. I can 
 recall such, and in the vista of far-off, unforgotten boyhood, 
 can see marching that sad little procession of enfans per- 
 diis. ]\ray they be saved, pray heaven ! Then there is the 
 doubtful class, those who are still on trial ; those who fall 
 and rise again ; those who are often worsted in life's battle ; 
 beaten down, wounded, imprisoned ; but escape and con- 
 quer sometimes. And then there is the happy class about 
 whom there seems no doubt at all : the spotless and white- 
 robed ones, to whom virtue is easy ; in whose pure bosom 
 faith nestles, and cold doubt finds no entrance ; who are 
 children, and good ; young men, and good ; husbands and 
 fathers, and yet good. Why could the captain of our 
 school write his Greek iambics without an effort, and 
 without an error ? Others of us blistered the page with 
 unavailing tears and blots, and might toil ever so and come 
 in lag last at the bottom of the form. Our friend Philip 
 belongs to the middle-class, in which you and I probably 
 are, my dear sir — not yet, I hope, irredeemably consigned 
 to that awful third class, whereof mention has been made. 
 
 But, being homo, and liable to err, there is no doubt Mr. 
 Philip exercised his privilege, and there was even no little 
 fear at one time that he slioidd overdraw his account. He 
 went from school to the university, and there distinguished 
 himself certainly, but in a way in which very few parents 
 would choose that their sons should excel. That he should
 
 166 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 hunt, that he should give parties, that he shoukl pull a good 
 oar in one of the best boats on the river, that he should 
 speak at the Union — all these were very well. But why 
 should he speak such awful radicalism and republicanism 
 
 — he with noble blood in his veins, and the son of a parent 
 whose interest at least it was to keep well with people of 
 high station ? 
 
 ''■ Why, Tendennis," said Dr. Firniin to me with tears in 
 his eyes, and much genuine grief exhibited on his handsome 
 pale face — "why should it be said that Philip Firmin — 
 both of whose grandfathers fought nobly for their king 
 
 — should be forgetting the principles of his family, and — • 
 and, I haven't words to tell you how deeply he disappoints 
 me. Why, I actually heard of him at that horrible Union 
 advocating the death of Charles the First ! I was wild 
 enough myself when I was at the university, but I was a 
 gentleman." 
 
 " Boys, sir, are boys," I urged. " They will advocate anj^- 
 thing for an argument ; and Philip would have taken the 
 other side quite as readily." 
 
 " Lord Axminster and Lord St. Dennis told me of it at 
 the club. I can tell you it has made a most ]:)ainful impres- 
 sion," cried the fathero " That my son should be a radical 
 and a republican, is a cruel thought for a father; and I, who 
 had hoped for Lord Ringwood's borough for him — who had 
 hoped — who had hoped very much better things for him 
 and from him. He is not a comfort to me. You saw how 
 he treated me one night ? A man might live on different 
 terms, I think, with his only son ! " And with a breaking 
 voice, a pallid cheek, and a real grief at his heart, the 
 unhappy physician moved away. 
 
 How had the doctor bred his son, that the young man 
 should be thus unruly ? Was the revolt the boy's fault, or 
 the father's ? Dr. Firmin's horror seemed to be because 
 his noble friends were horrified by Phil's radical doctrine. 
 At that time of my life, being young and very green, I had 
 a little mischievous pleasure in infuriating Squaretoes, and 
 causing him to pronounce that I was " a dangerous man." 
 Now, I am ready to say that Nero was a monarch with many 
 elegant accomplishments, and considerable natural amiabil- 
 ity of disposition. I praise and admire success wherever 
 I meet it. I make allowance for faults and shortcomings, 
 especially in my superiors ; and feel that did we know all 
 we should judge them very differently. People don't
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 167 
 
 believe me, perhaps, quite so much as formerly. But I 
 don't offend: I trust I don't offend. Have T said anything 
 painful ? Plague on ni}" blunders ! I recall the expression. 
 I regret it. I contradict it flat. 
 
 As I am ready to find excuses for everybody, let poor 
 Phili})Come in for the benefit of this mild amnesty ; and if 
 he vexed liis father, as he certainly did, let us trust — let us 
 be thankfully sure — he was not so black as the old gentle- 
 man depicted him. Nay, if I have painted the Old Gen- 
 tleman himself as rather black, who knows but that this was 
 an error, not of his complexion, but of my vision ? Phil 
 was unruly because he was bold, and wild, and young. His 
 father was hurt, naturally hurt, because of the boy's ex- 
 travagances and follies. They will come together again, as 
 father and son should. These little differences of temper 
 Avill be smoothed and equalized anon. The boy has led a 
 wild life. He has been obliged to leave college. He has 
 given his father hours of anxiety and nights of painful 
 watching. But stay, father, what of you ? Have you 
 shown to the boy the practice of confidence, the example of 
 love and honor ? Did you accustom him to virtue, and teach 
 truth to the child at your knee ? " Honor your father and 
 mother." Amen. ^la}^ his days be long who fulfils the 
 command : but implied, though unwritten on the table, is 
 there not the order, '' Honor your son and daughter ? " 
 Pray heaven that we, whose days are already not few in the 
 land, may keep this ordinance too. 
 
 What had made Philip wild, extravagant, and insubordi- 
 nate ? Cured of that illness in which we saw him, he rose 
 up, and from school went his way to the universit}', and 
 there entered on a life such as wild young men will lead. 
 From that day of illness his manner towards his father 
 changed, and regarding the change the elder Firmin seemed 
 afraid to question his son. He used the house as if his own, 
 came and absented himself at will, ruled the servants, and 
 was spoiled b}^ them ; spent the income which was settled 
 on his mother and her children, and gave of it liberally to 
 poor acquaintances. To the remonstrances of old friends he 
 replied that he had a right to do as he chose with his own ; 
 that other men who were poor might work, but that he had 
 enough to live on, without grinding over classics and math- 
 ematics. He was implicated in more rows than one ; his 
 tutors saw him not, but he and the proctors became a great 
 deal too well acquainted. If I were to give a history of ]\Ir.
 
 168 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 Philip Firmin at the university, it would be the story of an 
 Idle Apprentice, of whom his pastors and masters were jus- 
 tilied in prophesying evil. He was seen on lawless London 
 excursions, when his father and tutor supposed him unwell 
 in his rooms in college. He made acquaintance with jolly 
 companions, with whom his father grieved that he shouhl 
 be intimate. He cut the astonished uncle Twysden in Lon- 
 don Street, and blandly told him that he must be mistaken 
 — he one Frenchman, he no speak English. He stared the 
 master of his own college out of countenance, dashed back 
 to college with a Turpindike celerity, and was in rooms with 
 a ready-proved alibi when inquiries were made. I am afraid 
 there is no doubt that Phil screwed up his tutor's door; 
 Mr. Okes discovered him in the act. He had to go down, 
 the young prodigal. I wish I could say he was repentant. 
 But he appeared before his father with the utmost non- 
 chalance ; said that he was doing no good at the university, 
 and should be much better away, and then went abroad on 
 a dashing tour to France and Italy, whither it is by no 
 means our business to follow him. Something had poisoned 
 the generous blood. The once kindly honest lad was wild 
 and reckless. He had money in sufficiency, his own horses 
 and equipage, and free quarters in his father's house. But 
 father and son scarce met, and seldom took a meal together. 
 " I know his haunts, but I don't know his friends, Penden- 
 nis," the elder man said. "I don't think they are vicious, 
 so much as low. I do not charge him with vice, mind you ; 
 but with idleness, and a fatal love of low company, and a 
 frantic, suicidal determination to fling his chances in life 
 away. Ah, think where he might be, and where he is ! " 
 
 Where he was ? Do not be alarmed. Philip was only 
 idling. Philip might have been much more industriously, 
 more profitably, and a great deal more wickedly employed. 
 AVhat is now called Bohemia had no name in Philip's young 
 days, though many of us knew the country very well. A 
 pleasant land, not fenced with drab stucco, like Tyburnia 
 or Belgravia ; not guarded by a huge standing army of foot- 
 men ; not echoing with noble chariots ; not replete with 
 polite chintz drawing-rooms and neat tea-tables ; a land over 
 which hangs an endless fog, occasioned by much tobacco ; 
 a land of chambers, billiard-rooms, supper-rooms, oysters ; a 
 land of song; a land where soda-water flows freefy in the 
 morning ; a land of tin-dish covers from taverns, and froth- 
 ing porter; a land of lotus-eating (with lots of cayenne
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 169 
 
 pepper), of jjiills on the river, of delicious readiii<,r of novels, 
 magazines, and saunterings in many studios ; a land where 
 men call each other by their Christian names ; Avhere most 
 are poor, where almost all are young, and where, if a few 
 oldsters do enter, it is because they have preserved more 
 tenderly and carefully than other folks their youthful 
 spirits, and the delightful capacity to be idle. I have lost 
 my way to Bohemia now, but it is certain that Prague is the 
 most picturesque city in the world. 
 
 Having long lived there, and indeed only lately quitted 
 the Bohemian land at the time whereof I am writing, I 
 could not quite participate in Dr. Firmin's indignation at 
 his son persisting in his bad courses and wild associates. 
 When Firmin had been wild himself, he had fought, in- 
 trigued, and gambled in good company. Phil chose his 
 friends amongst a banditti never heard of in fashionable 
 quarters. Perhaps he liked to play the prince in the midst 
 of these associates, and was not averse to the flattery which 
 a full purse brought him among men most of whose pockets 
 had a meagre lining. He had not emigrated to Bohemia, 
 and settled there altogether. At school and in his brief 
 university career he had made some friends who lived in 
 the world, and with whom he was still familiar. "These 
 come and knock at my front door, my father's door," he 
 Avould say, with one of his old laughs ; " the Bandits, who 
 have the signal, enter only by the dissecting room. I know 
 Avhich are the most honest, and that it is not always the 
 poor Freebooters who best deserve to be hanged," 
 
 Like many a young gentleman who has no intention of 
 pursuing legal studies seriously, Philip entered at an inn 
 of court, and kept his terms duly, though he vowed that 
 his conscience would not allow him to practise (I am not 
 defending the opinions of this squeamish moralist — only 
 stating them). His acquaintance here lay amongst the 
 Temple I)ohemians. He had part of a set of chambers in 
 Parchment Buildings, to be sure, and you might read on a 
 door, " Mr. Cassidy, Mi\ P. Firmin, iNIr. Van John " ; but 
 were these gentlemen likely to advance Philip in life ? 
 Cassidy was a newspaper reporter, and young Van John a 
 betting-man who Avas always attending races. Dr. Firmin 
 had a horror of newspaper-men, and considered they be- 
 longed to the dangerous classes, and treated them with 
 a distant affability. 
 
 " Look at the governor, Pen," Philip would say to the
 
 170 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 present chronicler. " He alwaj's watches you with a secret 
 suspicion, and has never got over his wonder at your being 
 a gentleman. I like him when he does the Lord Chatham 
 business, and condescends towards you, and gives you his 
 hand to kiss. He considers he is your better, don't you 
 see ? Oh, he is a paragon of a pere noble, the governor is ! 
 and T ought to be a young Sir Charles G-randison." And 
 the young scapegrace would imitate his father's smile, and 
 the doctor's manner of laying his hand to his breast and 
 putting out his neat right leg, all of which movements 
 or postures were, I own, rather pompous and affected. 
 
 Whatever the paternal faults were, you will say that 
 Philip was not the man to criticise them ; nor in this mat- 
 ter shall I attempt to defend him. ]\[y wife has a little 
 pensioner whom she found wandering in the street, and 
 singing a little artless song. The child could not speak 
 yet — only warble its little song ; and had thus strayed away 
 from home, and never once knew of her danger. We kept 
 her for a while, until the police found her parents. Our 
 servants bathed her, and dressed her, and sent her home 
 in such neat clothes as the poor little wretch had never 
 seen until fortune sent her in the way of those good- 
 natured folks. She pays them frequent visits. AYhen she 
 goes away from us she is always neat and clean ; when she 
 conies to us, she is in rags and dirty : a wicked little slat- 
 tern ! And pray, whose duty is it to keep her clean ? and 
 has not the parent in this case forgotten to honor her 
 daughter ? Suppose there is some reason which prevents 
 Philip from loving his father — that the doctor has neg- 
 lected to cleanse the boy's heart, and by carelessness and 
 indifference has sent him erring into the world. If so, woe 
 be to that doctor ! If I take my little son to the tavern to 
 dinner, shall I not assuredly pay ? If I suffer him in ten- 
 der youth to go astray, and harm comes to him, whose is 
 the fault ? 
 
 Perhaps the very outrages and irregularities of which 
 Phil's father complained, were in some degree occasioned 
 by the elder's own faults. He was so laboriously obsequi- 
 ous to great men, that the son in a rage defied and avoided 
 them. He was so grave, so polite, so complimentary, so 
 artificial, that Phil, in revolt at such hypocrisy, chose to be 
 frank, cynical, and familiar. The grave old bigwigs whom 
 the doctor loved to assemble, bland and solemn men of the 
 ancient school, who dined solemnly with each other at theii
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 171 
 
 solemn old houses — such men as old Lord Botley, Baron 
 Bumpsher, Cricklade (who published " Travels in Asia 
 Minor," 4tu, 1S()4), the Bishop of St. Bees, and the like — 
 wagged their old heads sadly when they collogued in clubs, 
 and talked of i^oor Firmin's scapegrace of a son. He 
 Avould come to no good ; he was giving his good father 
 much pain ; he had been in all sorts of rows and disturb- 
 ances at the university, and the Master of Boniface re- 
 ported most unfavorably of him. And at the solemn 
 dinners in Old Parr Street — the admirable, costly, silent 
 dinners — he treated these old gentlemen with a familiarity 
 which caused the old heads to shake with surprise and 
 choking indignation. Lord Botley and Baron Bumpsher 
 had proposed and seconded Firmin's boy at the Megathe- 
 rium club. The pallid old boys toddled away in alarm 
 when he made his appearance there. He brought a smell 
 of tobacco-smoke with him. He was capable of smoking in 
 the drawing-room itself. They trembled before Philip, 
 who, for his part, used to relish their senile anger ; and 
 loved, as he called it, to tie all their pigtails together. 
 
 In no place was Philip seen or heard to so little advan- 
 tage as in his father's house. "I feel like a humbug 
 myself amongst those old humbugs," he would say to me. 
 '- Their old jokes, and their old compliments, and their 
 virtuous old conversation sicken me. Are all old men hum- 
 bugs, I wonder ? " It is not pleasant to hear misanthropy 
 from 3'oung lips, and to find eyes that are scarce twenty 
 years old already looking out with distrust on the world. 
 
 In other houses than his own I am bound to say Philip 
 was much more amiable, and he carried with him a splen- 
 dor of gayety and cheerfulness which brought sunshine 
 and welcome into many a room which he frequented. 
 I have said that many of his companions were artists and 
 journalists, and their clubs and haunts were his own. 
 Pidley the Academician had Mrs. Brandon's room in 
 Thornhaugh Street, and Philip was often in J. J.'s studio 
 or in the widow's little room below. He had a very great 
 tenderness and affection for her ; her presence seemed to 
 purify him ; and in her company the boisterous, reckless 
 3'oung man was invariably gentle and respectful. Her 
 eyes used to hll with tears when she spoke about him ; 
 and when he was present, followed and watched him with 
 sweet motherly devotion. It was pleasant to see him at 
 her homely little fireside, and hear his jokes and prattle,
 
 172 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 with a fatuous old father, who was one of Mrs. Brandon's 
 lodgers. Philip. would play cribbage for hours with this 
 old man, frisk about him with a hundred harmless jokes, 
 and walk out by his invalid chair when the old captain 
 went to sun himself in the Xew Eoad. He was an idle 
 fellow, Philip, that's the truth. He had an agreeable 
 perseverance in doing nothing, and would pass half a day 
 in perfect contentment over his pipe, watching Ridley at 
 his easel. J. J. painted that charming head of Philip 
 which hangs in Mrs. Brandon's little room — with the fair 
 hair, the tawny beard and whiskers, and the bold blue eyes. 
 
 Phil had a certain after-supper song of " Garryowen na 
 Gloria," which it did you good to hear, and which, when 
 sung at his full pitch, you might hear for a mile round. 
 One night I had been to dine in Russell Square, and was 
 brought home in his carriage by Dr. Pirmin, Avho was of 
 the party. As we came through Soho, the windows of a 
 certain club-room called the ''Haunt" were open, and we 
 could hear Philip's song booming through the night, and 
 especially a certain wild-Irish war-whoop with which it 
 concluded, amidst universal applause and enthusiastic bat- 
 tering of glasses. 
 
 The poor father sank back in the carriage as though a 
 blow had struck him. "Do you hear his voice?" he 
 groaned out. " Those are his haunts. My son, who might 
 go anywhere, prefers to be captain in a pothouse, and sing 
 songs in a tap-room ! '^ 
 
 I tried to make the best of the case. I knew there was 
 no harm in the place ; that clever men of considerable note 
 frequented it. But the wounded father was not to be con- 
 soled by such commonplaces ; and a deep and natural 
 grief oppressed him in consequence of the faults of his 
 son. 
 
 What ensued by no means surprised me. Among Dr. 
 Pirmin's patients was a maiden lady of suitable age and 
 large fortune, who looked upon the accomplished doctor 
 with favorable eyes. That he should take a companion to 
 cheer him in his solitude was natural enough, and all his 
 friends concurred in thinking that he should marry. 
 Every one had cognizance of the quiet little courtship, 
 except the doctor's son, between whom and his father there 
 were only too many secrets. 
 
 Some man in a club asked Philip whether he should 
 condole with him or congratulate him on his father's ap-
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE VvORLD. 173 
 
 proaching inarriage ? His what ? The younger Firmin 
 exhibited the greatest surprise and agitation on hearing of 
 this match. He ran home : he awaited his father's return. 
 When Dr. Firmin came home and betook himself to his 
 study, Philip confronted him there. " This must be a lie, 
 sir, which I have heard to-day," the young man said, 
 fiercely. 
 
 "A lie! what lie, Philip?" asked the father. They 
 were both very resolute and courageous men. 
 
 "That you are going to marry Miss Benson." 
 
 " Do you make my house so happy, that I don't need any 
 other companion ? " asked the father. 
 
 " That's not the question," said Philip, hotly. " You 
 can't and mustn't marry that lady, sir." 
 
 "' And why not, sir ? " 
 
 " Because in the eyes of God and Heaven you are mar- 
 ried already, sir. And I swear I will tell ]\Iiss Benson the 
 story to-morrow, if you persist in your plan." 
 
 " So you know that story ? " groaned the father. 
 
 " Yes. God forgive you," said the son. 
 
 "It was a fault of my youth that has been bitterly 
 repented." 
 
 "A fault I — a crime I" said Philip. 
 
 " Enough, sir ! Whatever my fault, it is not for you to 
 charge me with it." 
 
 ''If you won't guard your own honor, I must. I shall go 
 to Miss Benson now." 
 
 " If you go out of this house you don't pretend to return 
 to it." 
 
 "Be it so. Let us settle our accounts, and part, sir." 
 
 " Philip, Philip ! you break my heart," cried the father. 
 
 "You don't suppose mine is very light, sir," said the son. 
 
 Philip never had Miss Benson for a mother-in-law. But 
 father and son loved each other no better after their dis- 
 pute.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Brandon's. 
 
 HOENHAUGH STREET is but 
 a poor place now, and the houses 
 look as if they had seen better 
 days ; but that house with the 
 cut centre drawing-room window, 
 which has the name of Brandon 
 on the door, is as neat as any 
 house in the quarter, and the 
 brass plate always shines like 
 burnished gold. About Easter 
 time many tine carriages stop at 
 that door, and splendid people 
 walk in, introduced by a tidy little 
 maid, or else by an athletic Italian, 
 with a glossy black beard and 
 gold earrings, w^ho conducts them 
 to the drawing-room floor, where 
 Mr. Ridley, the painter, lives, and 
 where his pictures are privately exhibited before the}^ go to 
 the Royal Academy. 
 
 As the carriages drive up, you will often see a red-faced 
 man, in an olive-green wig, smiling blandly over the blinds 
 of the parlor. 0!i the ground-floor. That is Captain Gann, 
 the father of the lady who keeps the house. I don't know 
 how he came by the rank of captain, but he has borne it so 
 long and gallantly that there is no use in any longer question- 
 ing the title. He does not claim it, neither does he deny it. 
 But the wags who call upon Mrs. Brandon can always, as 
 the phrase is, " draw " her father, by speaking of Prussia, 
 France, Waterloo, or battles in general, until the Little Sister 
 says, " Kow, never mind about the battle of Waterloo, papa " 
 (she says Pa — her h's are irregular — I can't help it) — 
 *' never mind about Waterloo, papa ; you've told them all 
 about it. And don't go on, Mr Beans, don't, j^laase, go on in 
 that way." 
 
 174
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 175 
 
 Young Beans has alread}' drawn '' Captain Gann (assisted 
 by Shaw, the Life-Guardsman) killing twenty-four French 
 cuirassiers at Waterloo." '' Captain Gann defending Hougou- 
 mont." " Captain Gann, called upon by Xapoleon Bona- 
 parte to lay down his arms, saying, 'A captain of militia 
 dies, but never surrenders.' " ^' The Duke of Wellington, 
 pointing to the advancing Old Guard, and saying, ' Up, 
 Gann, and at them.' " And these sketches are so droll that 
 even the Little Sister, Gann's own daughter, can't help 
 laughing at them. To be sure, she loves fun, the Little 
 Sister ; laughs over droll books ; laughs to herself, in her 
 little quiet corner at work ; laughs over pictures ; and, at the 
 right place, laughs and sympathizes too. Ridley says, he 
 knows few better critics of pictures than Mrs. Brandon. 
 She has a sweet temper, a merry sense of humor, that makes 
 the cheeks dimple and the eyes shine ; and a kind heart, 
 that has been sorely tried and Avounded, but is still soft and 
 gentle. Fortunate are they whose hearts so tried by suffer- 
 ing yet recover their health. Some have illnesses from 
 which there is no recovery, and drag through life afterwards, 
 maimed and invalided. 
 
 But this Little Sister, having been subjected in youth to 
 a dreadful trial and sorrow, was saved out of them by a kind 
 Providence, and is now so thoroughly restored as to own 
 that she is happ}^ and to thank God that she can be grateful 
 and useful. When poor Montfitchet died, she nursed him 
 through his illness as tenderly as his good wife herself. In 
 the days of her own chief grief and misfortune, her father, 
 who was under the domination of his wife, a cruel and blun- 
 dering woman, thrust out poor little Caroline from his door, 
 when she returned to it the broken-hearted victim of a 
 scoundrel's seduction ; and when the old captain was himself 
 in want and houseless, she had found him, sheltered, and 
 fed him. And it was from that day her wounds had begun 
 to heal, and, from gratitude i'or this immense piece of good 
 fortune vouchsafed to her, that her happiness and cheerful- 
 ness returned. Returned ? There was an old servant of 
 the family, who could not sta}^ in the house because she was 
 so abominably disrespectful to the captain, and this woman 
 said she had never known Miss Caroline so cheerful nor so 
 happy, nor so good-looking as she was now. 
 
 So Ca]itain Gann came to live with his daughter, and 
 patronized her with much dignit}'. He had a very few yearly 
 pounds, which served to pay his club exj)enses, and a portion
 
 176 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 of his clothes. His club, I need not say, was at the " Admiral 
 Byng," Tottenham Court iioad, and here the captain met 
 frequently a pleasant little society, and bragged unceasingly 
 about his former prosperity. 
 
 I have heard that the country-house in Kent, of which he 
 boasted, was a shabby little lodging-house at Margate, of 
 which the furniture was sold in execution ; but if it had been 
 a palace the cajjtain would not have been out of place there, 
 one or two people still rather fondly thought. His daughter, 
 amongst others, had tried to fancy all sorts of good of her 
 father, and especially that he was a man of remarkably good 
 manners. But she had seen one or two gentlemen since she 
 knew the poor old father — gentlemen with rough coats and 
 good hearts, like Dr. Goodenough ; gentlemen with superfine 
 coats and superfine double-milled manners, like Dr. Eirmin, 
 and hearts — well, never mind about that point ; gentlemen 
 of no A's, like the good, dear, faithful benefactor who had 
 rescued her at the brink of despair ; men of genius like 
 Eidley ; great, hearty, generous, honest gentlemen, like 
 Philip ; and this illusion about Pa, I supposed, had vanished 
 along with some other fancies of her poor little maiden 
 youth. The truth is, she had an understanding with the 
 "Admiral Byng": the landlady was instructed as to the 
 supplies to be furnished to the captain ; and as for his 
 stories, poor Caroline knew them a great deal too well to 
 believe in them any more. 
 
 I would not be understood to accuse the captain of habitual 
 inebriety. He was a generous officer, and his delight was, 
 when in cash, to order " glasses round " for the company at 
 the club, to whom he narrated the history of his brilliant 
 early days, when he lived in some of the tip-top society of 
 this city, sir — a society in which, we need not say, the 
 custom always is for gentlemen to treat other gentlemen to 
 rum-and-water. ]^ever mind — I wish we were all as happy 
 as the captain. I see his jolly face now before me as it 
 blooms through the window in Thornhaugh Street, and the 
 wave of the somewhat dingy hand that sweeps me a gracious 
 recognition. 
 
 The clergyman of the neighboring chapel was a very good 
 friend of the Little Sister, and has taken tea in her parlor ; 
 to which circumstance the captain frequently alluded, point- 
 ing out the very chair on which the divine sat. Mr. Gann 
 attended his ministrations regularly every Sunday, and 
 brought a rich though somewhat worn bass voice to bear
 
 ox ins WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. Ill 
 
 upon the anthems and h3-mns at the chapeL His stj-le was 
 more florid than is general now among chnrch singers, and, 
 indeed, had been acquired in a former age and in the per- 
 formance of rich Bacchanalian chants, such as delighted the 
 contemporaries of our Incledons and Brahams. With a 
 very little entreaty, the captain could be induced to sing at 
 the club; and I must own that Phil Firm in would draw the 
 captain out, and extract from him a song of ancient days ; 
 but this must be in the absence of his daughter, whose little 
 face wore an air of such extreme terror and disturbance 
 when her father sang that he presently ceased from exer- 
 cising his musical talents in her hearing. He hung up his 
 lyre, "whereof it must be owned that time had broken many 
 of the once resounding chords. 
 
 With a sketch or two contributed by her lodgers — with 
 a few gimcracks from the neighboring Wardour Street pre- 
 sented by others of her friends — with the chairs, tables and 
 bureaus as bright as beeswax and rubbing could make them 
 — the Little Sister's room was a cheery little place, and 
 received not a little company. She allowed Pa's pipe. " It's 
 company to him," she said. " A man can't be doing much 
 harm when he is smoking his pipe." And she allowed Phil's 
 cigar. Anything was allowed to Phil, the other lodgers 
 declared, who professed to be quite jealous of Philip Firmin. 
 She had a very few books. " When I was a girl I used to 
 be always reading novels." she said ; " but la, they're mostly 
 nonsense. There's Mr. Pendennis, who comes to see ]\[r. 
 Ridley. I wonder how a married man can go on writing 
 about love, and all that stuff I " And, indeed, it is rather 
 absurd for elderly fingers to be still twanging Dan Cupid's 
 toy bow and arrows. Yesterday is gone — yes, but very 
 well remembered ; and we think of it the more now we know 
 that To-morrow is not going to bring us much. 
 
 Into Mrs. Brandon's parlor j\Ir. Ridley's old father w^ould 
 sometimes enter of evenings, and share the bit of bread and 
 cheese, or the modest supper of Mrs. Brandon and tlie 
 captain. The homely little meal has almost vanished out of 
 our life now, but in former days it assembled many a family 
 around its kindly board. A little modest supper-tray — a 
 little quiet prattle — a little kindly glass that cheered and 
 never inebriated. I can see friendly faces smiling round 
 such a meal, at a period not far gone, but how distant ! I 
 wonder whether there are any old folks now. in old quarters 
 of old country towns, who come to each other's houses in 
 
 VOL. I. — 12
 
 178 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 sedan-chairs, at six o'clock, and pl:iy at quadrille until supper- 
 tray time ? Of evenings Kidley and the captain, I say, 
 would have a solemn game at cribbage, and the Little Sister 
 would make up a jug of something good for the two oldsters. 
 She liked Mr. Kidley to come, for he always treated her 
 father so respectful, and was quite the gentleman. And as 
 for Mrs. Eidley, Mr. K.'s "• good lady," — was she not also 
 grateful to the Little Sister for having nursed her son during 
 his malady ? Through their connection they were enabled 
 to procure Mrs. Brandon many valuable friends ; and always 
 were pleased to pass an evening with the captain, and were 
 as civil to him as they could have been had he been at the 
 very height of his prosperity and splendor. My private 
 opinion of the old captain, you see, is that he was a worth- 
 less old captain, but most fortunate in his early ruin, after 
 which he had lived very much admired and comfortable, 
 sufficient whiskey being almost always provided for him. 
 
 Old Mr. Kidley's respect for her father afforded a most 
 precious consolation to the Little Sister; Eidley liked to 
 have the paper read to him. He was never quite easy with 
 print, ancl to his last days, many words to be met with in 
 newspapers and elsewhere used to occasion the good butler 
 much intellectual trouble. The Little Sister made his 
 lodgers' bills out for him (Mr. K., as well as the captain's 
 daughter, strove to increase a small income by the letting 
 of furnished apartments), or the captain himself would 
 take these documents in charge ; he wrote a noble mercan- 
 tile hand, rendered now somewhat shaky by time, but still 
 very fine in flourishes and capitals, and very much at 
 worthy Mr. Ridley's service. Time was, when his son was 
 a boy, that J. J. himself had prepared these accounts, which 
 neither his father nor his mother were very competent to 
 arrange. '' We were not, in our young time, Mr. Gann," Rid- 
 ley remarked to his friend, " brought up to much scholarship : 
 and very little book-learning was given to persons in 7ny 
 rank of life. It was necessary and proper for you gentle- 
 men, of course, sir." " Of course, Mr. Ridley," winks the 
 other veteran over his pipe. "But I can't go and ask my 
 son John James to keep his old father's books now as he 
 used to do — which to do so is. on the part of you and Mrs. 
 Brandon, the part of true friendship, and I value it, sir, and 
 so do my son John James reckonize and value it, sir." Mr. 
 Ridley had served gentlemen of the J>onne ecole. No noble- 
 man could be more courtly and grave tlian he was. In Mr.
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 179 
 
 Gann's manner there was more humorous piayfulness, 
 which in no way. liowever, diminished the captain's high 
 breeding. As he continued to be intimate with :Mr. Eidley, 
 he became loftier and more majestic. I think each of these 
 ehlers acted on the other, and for good ; and I hope Ridley's 
 opinion was correct, tliat :\rr. Gann was ever the gentleman.
 
 180 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 To see these two good fogies together was a spectacle for 
 edification. Their tumblers kissed each other on the 
 table. Their elderly friendship brought comfort to them- 
 selves and their families. A little matter of money once 
 created a coolness between the two old gentlemen. But the 
 Little Sister i:)aid the outstanding account between her 
 father and Mr. Eidley : there was never any further talk of 
 pecuniary loans between them ; and when tlie}^ went to the 
 " Admiral Byng/' each paid for himself. 
 
 Phil often heard of that nightly meeting at the " Admi- 
 ral's Head," and longed to be of the company. But even 
 when he saw the old gentlemen in the Little Sister's parlor, 
 they felt dimly that he was making fun of them. The 
 captain would not have been able to brag so at ease had 
 Phil been continually watching him. ''I have 'ad the 
 honor of waiting on your worthy father at my Lord Tod- 
 morden's table. Our little club ain't no place for you, Mr. 
 Philip, nor for my son, though he's a good son, and proud 
 me and his mother is of him, which he have never gave us 
 a moment's pain, except when he was ill, since he have 
 came to man's estate, most thankful am I, and with my 
 hand on my heart, for to be able to say so. But what is 
 good for me and Mr. Gann, won't suit you young gentle- 
 men. You ain't a tradesman, sir, else I'm mistaken in the 
 family, which I thought the Kingwoods one of the best in 
 England, and the Firmins, a good one likewise." Mr. 
 Kidley liked the sound of his own voice. At the festive 
 meetings of the club, seldom a night passed in which he 
 did not compliment his brother Byngs and air his own 
 oratory. Under this reproof Phil blushed, and hung his 
 conscious head with shame. "Mr. Eidley," says he, "you 
 shall find I won't come where I am not welcome ; and if I 
 come to annoy you at the ' Admiral Byng,' may I be taken 
 out on the quarterdeck and shot." On which Mr. Eidley 
 pronounced Philip to be a " most sing'lar, astrornary, and 
 ascentric young man. A good heart, sir. Most generous 
 to relieve distress. Pine talent, sir ; but I fear — I fear 
 they won't come to much good, Mr. Gann — saving your 
 presence, ^Irs. Brandon, m'm, which, of course, you ahvays 
 stand up for him." 
 
 When Philip Pirmin had had his pipe and his talk with 
 the Little Sister in her parlor, he would ascend and smoke 
 his second, third, tenth pipe in J. J. Eidley's studio. He 
 would pass hours before J. J.'s easel, pouring out talk
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 181 
 
 about politics, about religion, about poetry, about women, 
 about the dreadful slavishness and meanness of the world ; 
 unwearied in talk and idleness, as placid J. J. was in listen- 
 ing and labor. The painter had been too busy in life over 
 his ease] to read many books. His ignorance of literature 
 smote him with a frequent shame. He admired book- 
 "vvriters, and young men of the university who quoted their 
 Greek and their Horace glibly. He listened with defer- 
 ence to their talk on such matters ; no doubt got good hints 
 from some of them ; was always secretly pained and sur- 
 prised w^hen the university gentlemen were beaten in 
 argument, or loud and coarse in conversation, as sometimes 
 they would be. " J. J. is a very clever fellow, of course," 
 ]Mr. Jarman would say of him, "and the luckiest man in 
 Europe. He loves painting, and he is at work all day. He 
 loves toad3'ing fine people, and he goes to a tea-party every 
 night." You all knew Jarman of Charlotte Street, the 
 miniature-painter ? He was one of the kings of the 
 " Haunt." His tongue spared no one. He envied all suc- 
 cess, and the sight of prosperity made him furious : but to 
 the unsuccessful he was kind ; to the poor eager with help 
 and prodigal of compassion ; and that old. talk about na- 
 ture's noblemen and the glory of labor was very fiercely 
 and eloquentl}^ waged by him. His friends admired him: 
 he was the soul of independence, and thought most men 
 sneaks who wore clean linen and frequented gentlemen's 
 society : but it must be owned his landlords had a bad opin- 
 ion of him, and I have heard of one or two of his pecuniary 
 transactions which certainly were not to Mr. Jarman's 
 credit. Jarman was a man of remarkable humor. He was 
 fond of the widow, and would speak of her goodness, use- 
 fulness, and honesty, with tears in his eyes. She was poor 
 and struggling yet. Had she been wealthy and prosper- 
 ous, Mr. Jarman would not have been so alive to her 
 merit. 
 
 We ascend to the room on the first floor, where the centre 
 widow has been heightened, so as to afford an upper light, 
 and under that stream of radiance we behold the head of 
 an old friend, Mr. J. J. Ridley, the R. Academician. Time 
 has somewhat tliinned his own copious locks, and prema- 
 turely streaked tlie head with silver. His face is rather 
 wan; the eager, sensitive liand wliich poises brush and 
 palette, and quivers over the picture, is very thin : round 
 bis eyes are many lines of ill health and, perhaps, care, but
 
 182 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 the eyes are as bright as ever, and, when tliey look at the 
 canvas or the model which he transfers to it, clear, and 
 keen, and happy. He has a very sweet singing voice, and 
 warbles at his work, or whistles at it, smiling. He sets his 
 hand little feats of skill to perform, and smiles with a boy- 
 ish pleasure at his own matchless dexterity. I have seen 
 him, with an old pewter mustard-pot for a model, fashion a 
 splendid silver flagon in one of his pictures ; paint the hair 
 of an animal, the folds and flowers of a bit of brocade, and 
 so forth, with a perfect delight in the Avork he was perform- 
 ing : a delight lasting from morning till sundoAvn, during 
 which time he was too busy to touch the biscidt and glass 
 of water Avhich was prepared for his frugal luncheon. He is 
 greedy of the last minute of light, and never can be got 
 from his darling pictures Avithout a regret. To be a painter, 
 and to have your hand in perfect command, I hold to be one 
 of life's simima bona. The happy mixture of hand and 
 head work must render the occupation supremely pleasant. 
 In the day's Avork must occur endless delightful difficulties 
 and occasions for skill. Over the details of that armor, that 
 drapery, or Avhat not, the sparkle of that eye, the doAvny 
 blush of that cheek, the jcAvel on that neck, there are 
 battles to be fought and victories to be won. Each day 
 there must occur critical moments of supreme struggle and 
 triumph, Avhen struggle and victory must be both invigorating 
 and exquisitely pleasing — as a burst across country is to a 
 fine rider perfectly mounted, Avho knoAvs that his courage and 
 his horse Avill never fail him. There is the excitement of the 
 game, and the gallant delight in Avinning it. Of this sort of 
 admirable reward for their labor, no men, I think, have a 
 greater share than painters (perhaps a violin-player perfectly 
 and triumphantly performing his OAvn beautiful composition 
 may be equally happy). Here is occupation: here is excite- 
 ment : here is struggle and victory : and here is profit. Can 
 man ask more from fortune ? Dukes and Rothschilds 
 may be envious of such a man. 
 
 though Eidley has had his trials and troubles, as Ave 
 shall presently learn, his art has mastered them all. Black 
 Care may have sat in crupper on that Pegasus, but has 
 ncA^er unhorsed the rider. In certain minds, art is domi- 
 nant and superior to all beside — stronger than loA^e, stronger 
 than hate, or care, or penury. As soon as the fever leaves 
 the hand free, it is seizing and fondling the pencil. Lo\^e 
 may froAvn and be false, but the otlier mistress never Avill.
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 183 
 
 She is always true : always new : always the friend, com- 
 panion, inestimable consoler. So John James Kidley sat 
 at his easel from breakfast till sundown, and nev^er left his 
 work quite willingly. I wonder are men of other trades so en- 
 amored of theirs ; whether lawyers cling to the last to their 
 darling reports ; or writers prefer their desks and inkstands 
 to society, to friendship, to dear idleness ? I have seen no 
 men in life loving their profession so much as painters, 
 except, perhaps, actors, who, when not engaged themselves, 
 always go to the play. 
 
 Be*^fore this busy easel Phil would sit for hours, and pour 
 out endless talk and tobacco-smoke. His presence was a 
 delight to Ridley's soul ; his face a sunshine ; his voice a 
 cordial. Weakly himself, and almost infirm of body, with 
 sensibilities tremulously keen, the painter most admired 
 amongst men strength, health, good spirits, good breeding. 
 Of these, in his youth, Philip had a wealth of endowment ; 
 and I hope these precious gifts of fortune have not left him 
 in his maturer age. I do not say that with all men Philip 
 was so popular. There are some who never can pardon 
 good fortune, and in the company of gentlemen are on the 
 Avatch for offence ; and, no doubt, in his course through 
 life, poor downright Phil trampled upon corns enough of 
 those who met him in his way. " Do you know why Rid- 
 ley is so fond of Pirmin ? " asked Jarman. " Because Fir- 
 mi n's father hangs on to the nobility by the pulse, whilst 
 Ridley, you know, is connected with them through the 
 sideboard." So Jarman had the double horn for his adver- 
 sary : he could despise a man for not being a gentleman, 
 and insult him for being one. I have met with people in 
 the world with whom the latter offence is an unpardonable 
 crime — a cause of ceaseless doubt, division, and suspicion. 
 What more common or natural, Bufo, than to hate another 
 for being what you are not ? The story is as old as frogs, 
 bulls, and men. 
 
 Then, to be sure, besides your enviers in life, there are 
 your admirers. Bej'ond wit, which he understood, — be- 
 yond genius, which he had, — Ridley admired good looks 
 and manners, and always kept some simple hero whom he 
 loved secretly to cherish and worship. He loved to be 
 amongst beautiful women and aristocratical men. Philip 
 Pirmin, with his republican notions and downright blunt- 
 ness of behavior to all men of rank superior to him, had a 
 grand high manner of his own, and if he had scarce two-
 
 184 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 pence in his pocket, would have put his hands in them with 
 as much independence as the greatest dandy who ever saun- 
 tered on Pall Mall pavement. What a coolness the fellow 
 had ! Some men may, not unreasonably, have thought it 
 impudence. It fascinated Ridley. To be such a man ; to 
 have such a figure and manner ; to be able to look society in 
 the face, slap it on the shoulder, if you were so minded, and 
 hold it by the button — what would not Ridley give for 
 such powers and accomplishments ? You will please to 
 bear in mind, I am not saying that J. J. was right, only that 
 he was as he was. I hope we shall have nobody in this 
 story without his little faults and peculiarities. Jarman 
 was quite right when he said Ridley loved fine company. 
 I believe his pedigree gave him secret anguishes. He 
 would rather have been gentleman than genius ever so great ; 
 but let you and me, who have no weaknesses of our own, 
 try and look charitably on this confessed foible of my 
 friend. 
 
 J. J. never thought of rebuking Philip for being idle. 
 Phil was as the lilies of the field, in the painter's opinion. 
 He was not called upon to toil or spin ; but to take his ease, 
 and grow and bask in sunshine, and be arrayed in glory. 
 The little clique of painters knew what Firmin's means 
 were. Thirty thousand pounds of his own. Thirty thou- 
 sand pounds down, sir ; and the inheritance of his father's 
 immense fortune! A splendor emanated from this gifted 
 young man. His opinions, his jokes, his laughter, his song, 
 had the weight of thirty thousand down, sir; and, &c., «&c. 
 What call had he to work ? Would you set a young noble- 
 man to be an apprentice ? Philip was free to be as idle as 
 any lord, if he liked. He ought to wear fine clothes, ride 
 fine horses, dine off plate, and drink champagne every day. 
 J. J. would work quite cheerfully till sunset, and have an 
 eightpenny plate of meat in Wardour Street, and a glass of 
 porter for his humble dinner. At the " Haunt," and similar 
 places of Bohemian resort, a snug place near the fire was 
 always found for Firmin. Fierce republican as he was, 
 Jarman had a smile for his lordship, and used to adopt par- 
 ticularly dandified airs when he had been invited to Old 
 Parr Street to dinner. I dare say Philip liked flattery. I 
 own that he was a little weak in this respect, and that you 
 and I, my dear sir, are, of conrse, far his superiors. J. J., 
 who loved him, would have had him follow his aunt's and 
 cousin's advice, and live in better company ; but T think the
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 185 
 
 painter would not have liked his pet to soil his hands Avith 
 too iniich work, and rather admired Mr. Phil for being idle. 
 The Little Sister gave him advice, to be sure, both as to 
 the company he should keep and the occupation which was 
 wholesome for him. But when others of his acquaintance 
 hinted that his idleness would do him harm, she Avould not 
 hear of their censure. '' AVhy should he work if he don't 
 choose ? " she asked. "He has no call to be scribbling and 
 scrabbling. You wouldn't have hi???, sitting all day paint- 
 ing little dolls' heads on canvas, and working like a slave. 
 A pretty idea, indeed ! His uncle will get him an appoint- 
 ment. That's the thing he should have. He should be 
 secretary to an ambassador abroad, and he ivill be ! " In 
 fact Phil, at this x^eriod, used to announce his wdsh to enter 
 the diplomatic service, and his hope that Lord Eingwood 
 would further his views in that respect. Meanwhile he was 
 the king of Thornhaugh Street. He might be as idle as he 
 chose, and Mrs. Brandon had always a smile for him. He 
 might smoke a great deal too much, but she worked dainty 
 little cigar-cases for him. She hemmed his fine cambric 
 pocket-handkerchiefs, and embroidered his crest at the 
 corners. She worked him a waistcoat so splendid that he 
 almost blushed to wear it, gorgeous as he was in apparel at 
 this period, and sumptuous in chains, studs, and haber- 
 dashery. I fear Dr. Firmin, sighing out his disappointed 
 hopes in respect of his son, has rather good cause for his 
 dissatisfaction. But of these remonstrances the Little 
 Sister would not hear. " Idle, why not ? Why should he 
 work ? Boys will be boys. I dare say his grumbling old 
 Pa was not better than Philip wdien he was young ! " And 
 this she spoke with a heightened color in her little face, and 
 a defiant toss of her head, of which I did not understand 
 all the significance then ; but attributed her eager partisan- 
 ship to that admirable injustice which belongs to all good 
 women, and for which let us be daily thankful. I know, 
 dear ladies, you are angry at this statement. But, even at 
 the risk of displeasing you, we must tell the truth. You 
 would wish to represent yourselves as equitable, logical, and 
 strictly just. So I dare say Dr. Johnson would have liked 
 ]\Irs. Thrale to say to him, " Sir, your manners are graceful ; 
 your person elegant, cleanly, and eminently pleasing ; your 
 appetite small (especially for tea), and your dancing equal 
 to the Violetta's ; " which, you perceive, is merely ironical. 
 AVomen equitable, logical, and strictly just ! Mercy upon
 
 186 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 us ! If they were, population would cease, the world would 
 be a howling wilderness. Well, in a word, this Little Sister 
 petted and coaxed Philip Firmin in such an absurd way 
 that every one remarked it — those who had no friends, no 
 sweethearts, no mothers, no daughters, no wives, and those 
 who were petted, and coaxed, and spoiled at home them- 
 selves ; as I trust, dearly beloved, is your case. 
 
 ^STow, again, let us admit that Philip's father had reason 
 to be angry with the boy, and deplore his son's taste for 
 low company ; but excuse the young man, on the other 
 hand, somewhat for his fierce revolt and profound distaste 
 at much in his home circle which annoyed him. '"By 
 heaven ! " he would roar out, pulling his hair and whiskers, 
 and with many fierce ejaculations, according to his wont, 
 "the solemnity of those humbugs sickens me so, that I 
 should like to crown the old bishop with the soup-tureen, 
 and box Baron Bumpsher's ears with the saddle of mutton. 
 At my aunt's, the humbug is just the same. It's better 
 done, perhaps ; but oh, Pendennis ! if you could but know 
 the pangs which tore into my heart, sir, the vulture which 
 gnawed at this confounded liver, when I saw women — 
 women who ought to be pure — women who ought to be 
 like angels — women who ought to know no art but that of 
 coaxing our griefs away and soothing our sorrows — fawn- 
 ing, and cringing, and scheming ; cold to this person, hum- 
 ble to that, flattering to the rich, and indifferent to the 
 humble in station. I tell you I have seen all this, Mrs. 
 Pendennis ! I won't mention names, but I have met with 
 those who have made me old before my time — a hundred 
 years old ! The zest of life is passed from me " (here JNIr. 
 Phil would gulp a bumper from the nearest decanter at 
 hand). " But if I like what your husband is pleased to 
 call low society, it is because I have seen the other. I have 
 dangled about at fine parties, and danced at fashionable 
 balls. I have seen mothers bring their virgin daughters up 
 to battered old rakes, and ready to sacrifice their innocence 
 for fortune or a title. The atmosphere of those polite 
 drawing-rooms stifles me. I can't bow the knee to the 
 horrible old Mammon. I walk about in the crowds as lonely 
 as if I was in a wilderness ; and don't begin to breathe freely 
 until I get some honest tobacco to clear the air. As for 
 your husband" (meaning the writer of this memoir), "he 
 cannot help himself ; he is a worldling, of the earth, earthy. 
 If a duke were to ask him to dinner to-morrow, the parasite
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 187 
 
 owns that lie would go. Allow me, my friends, my freedom, 
 my rougli companions in their work-day clothes. I don't 
 hear such lies and tiatteries come from behind pipes as 
 used to pass from above white chokers when I was in the 
 world." And he would tear at his cravat, as though the 
 mere thought of the world's conventionality well-nigh 
 strangled him. 
 
 This, to be sure, was in a late stage of his career, but I 
 take up the biography here and there, so as to give the best 
 idea I may of my friend's character. At this time — he is 
 out of the country just now, and besides, if he saw his own 
 likeness staring him in the face, I am confident he would 
 not know it — Mr. Philip, in some things, was as obstinate 
 as a mule, and in others as weak as a woman. He had a 
 childish sensibility for what w^as tender, helpless, pretty, or 
 pathetic; and a mighty scorn of imposture, wherever he 
 found it. He had many good purposes, which were often 
 very vacillating, and were but seldom performed. He had 
 a vast number of evil habits, whereof, you know, idleness 
 is said to be the root. Many of these evil propensities he 
 coaxed and cuddled with much care ; and though he roared 
 OMt 2^eccavi mo?>t frankly when charged with his sins, this 
 criminal would fall to peccation very soon after promising 
 amendment. What he liked he would have. What he dis- 
 liked he could with the greatest difficulty be found to do. 
 He liked good dinners, good wine, good horses, good clothes, 
 and late hours ; and in all these comforts of life (or any 
 others which he fancied, or which were within his means) 
 he indulged himself with perfect freedom. He hated 
 hypocrisy on his own part, and hypocrites in general. He 
 said everything that came into his mind about things and 
 people ; and, of course, was often wrong and often preju- 
 diced, and often occasioned howls of indignation or malig- 
 nant Avhispers of hatred by his free speaking. He believed 
 everything that was said to him until his informant had mis- 
 led him once or twice, after which he would believe noth- 
 ing. And here you will see that his impetuous credulity was 
 as absurd as the subsequent obstinacy of his unbelief. INIy 
 dear young friend, the profitable way in life is the middle 
 way. Don't quite believe anybody, for he may mislead you ; 
 neither disbelieve him, for that is uncomplimentary to your 
 friend. ]51ack is not so very black ; and as for white, hon 
 Dieu ! in our climate what paint will remain white long ? 
 If Philip was self-indulgent, I suppose other peoj^le are
 
 188 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 self-indulgent likewise: and besides, you know, your fault- 
 less heroes have ever so long gone out of fashion. To be 
 young, to be good-looking, to be healthy, to be hungry three 
 times a day, to have plenty of money, a great alacrity of 
 sleeping, and nothing to do — all these, I dare say, are very 
 dangerous temptations to a man, but I think I know some 
 wdio w^ould like to undergo the dangers of the trial. Sup- 
 pose there be holidays, is there not work-time too ? Suppose 
 to-day is feast-day ; may not tears and repentance come to- 
 morrow ? Such times are in store for Master Phil, and so 
 please to let him have rest and comfort for a chapter or 
 two.
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 IMPLETUR VETERIS BACCHI. 
 
 m^ 
 
 HAT time, that merry 
 time, of Brandon's, of 
 Bohemia, of oysters, of 
 idleness, of smoking, of 
 song at night and pro- 
 fuse soda-water in the 
 morning, of a pillow, 
 lonely and bachelor it 
 is true, but with few 
 cares for bedfellows, of 
 plenteous pocket- 
 money, of ease for to- 
 day and little heed for 
 to-morrow, was often 
 remembered by Philip 
 in after days. Mr. 
 PhiTs views of life were 
 not very exalted, were 
 they? The fruits of 
 ^ this world, which he 
 devoured with such 
 gusto, I must own were 
 of the common kitchen- 
 garden sort ; and the 
 lazy rogue's ambition went no farther than to stroll along 
 the sunshiny wall, eat his fill, and then repose comfortably 
 in the arbor under the arched vine. Why did Phil's mother's 
 parents leave her thirty thousand pounds ? I dare say 
 some misguided people would be glad to do as much for 
 their sons ; but, if I have ten, I am determined they shall 
 either have a hundred thousand apiece, or else bare bread 
 and cheese. "Man was made to labor, and to be lazy," 
 Phil Avould affirm with his usual energy of expression. 
 " When the Indian warrior goes on the hunting path, he is 
 
 189
 
 190 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 sober, active, indomitable. No dangers fright him, and 
 no labors tire. He endures the cold of the winter ; he 
 couches on the forest leaves ; he subsists on frugal roots or 
 the casual spoil of his bow. When he returns to his 
 village, he gorges to repletion; he sleeps, perhaps, to 
 excess. When the game is devoured, and the fire-water 
 exhausted, again he stJlies forth into the wilderness ; he 
 outclimbs the 'possum and he throttles the bear. I am the 
 Indian : and this ' Haunt ' is my wigwam ! Barbara, my 
 squaw, bring me oysters ; bring me a jug of the frothing 
 black beer of the pale faces, or I will hang up thy scalp on 
 my tent-pole ! " And old Barbara, the good old attendant 
 of this " Haunt " of Bandits, would say, " Law, Mr. Philip, 
 how you do go on, to be sure ! " Where is the " Haunt " 
 now ? and where are the merry men all who there assem- 
 bled ? The sign is down ; the song is silent ; the sand is 
 swept from the floor ; the pipes are broken, and the ashes 
 are scattered. 
 
 A little more gossip about his merry days, and we have 
 done. He, Philip, was called to the bar in due course, and 
 at his call-supper we assembled a dozen of his elderly and 
 youthful friends. The chambers in Parchment Buildings 
 Avere given up to him for this day. Mr. Van John, I think, 
 was away attending a steeple-chase ; but Mr. Cassidy was 
 with us, and several of Philip's acquaintances of school, 
 college, and the world. There w^as Philip's father, and 
 Philip's uncle Twysden, and I, Phil's revered and respectable 
 school senior, and others of our ancient seminary. There 
 was Burroughs, the second wrangler of his year, great in 
 metaphysics, greater with the knife and fork. There was 
 Stackpole, Eblana's favorite child — the glutton of all 
 learning, the master of many languages, who stuttered and 
 blushed when he spoke his own. There was Pinkerton, 
 who, albeit an ignoramus at the university, was already 
 winning prodigious triumphs at the Parliamentary bar, and 
 investing in Consols to the admiration of all his contem- 
 poraries. There was Rosebury the beautiful, the May-Fair 
 pet and delight of Almack's, the cards on whose mantel-piece 
 made all men open the eyes of wonder, and some of us dart 
 the scowl of envy. There was my Lord Egham, Lord 
 Ascot's noble son. There was Tom Dale, who, having 
 carried on his university career too splendidly, had come to 
 grief in the midst of it, and was now meekly earning his 
 bread in the reporters' gallery, alongside of Cassidy. There
 
 ox ins WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 191 
 
 was Macbride, wlio, liaving thrown up his fellowship and 
 married his cousin, was now doing a brave battle Avith 
 poverty, and making literature feed him until law should 
 reward him more splendidly. There was Haythorn, the 
 country gentleman, who ever remembered his old college 
 chums, and kejjt the memory of that friendship up by 
 constant reminders of pheasants and game in the season. 
 There were Kaby and Maj^nard from the Guards' Club 
 (Maynard sleeps now under Crimean snows), who preferred 
 arms to the toga, but carried into their military life the 
 love of their old books, the affection of their old friends. 
 Most of these must be mute personages in our little drama. 
 Could an}^ chronicler remember the talk of all of them ? 
 
 Several of the guests present were members of the Inn of 
 Court (the Upper Temple), which had conferred on Philip 
 the degree of B arris ter-at-Law. He had dined in his wig and 
 gown (Blackmore's wig and gown) in the inn-hall that day, 
 in company with other members of his inn; and, dinner 
 over, we adjourned to Phil's chambers in Parchment Build- 
 ings, where a dessert was served, to which Mr. Firmin's 
 friends were convoked. 
 
 The wines came from Dr. Firmin's cellar. His servants 
 were in attendance to wait upon the company. Father and 
 son both loved splendid hospitalities,, and, so far as creature 
 comforts went, Philip's feast Avas richly provided. "A 
 supper, I love a supper of all things ! And in order that I 
 might enjoy yours, I only took a single mutton-chop for 
 dinner ! " cried Mr. Twysden, as he greeted Philij). Indeed, 
 we found him, as we arrived from Hall, already in the 
 chambers, and eating the young barrister's dessert. " He's 
 been here ever so long," says Mr. Brice, who officiated 
 as butler, " pegging away at the olives and macaroons. 
 Shouldn't wonder if he has pocketed some." There was 
 small respect on the part of Brice for Mr. Twysden, whom 
 the worthy butler franklj- pronounced to be a stingy 
 'umbug. Meanwhile, Talbot believed that the old man 
 respected him, and always conversed with Brice, and 
 treated him with a cheerful cordiality. 
 
 The outer Philistines quickly arrived, and but that the 
 wine and men were older, one might have fancied one's self 
 at a college wine-party. Mr. Twysden talked for the whole 
 company. He was radiant. He felt himself in high spirits. 
 He did the honors of Philip's table. Indeed, no man was 
 more hospitable with other folks' wine. Philip himself
 
 192 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 was silent and nervous. I asked him if the awful ceremony, 
 which he had just undergone was weighing on his mind ? 
 
 He was looking rather anxiously towards the door ; and, 
 knowing somewhat of the state of affairs at home, I thought 
 that probably he and his father had had one of the disputes 
 which of late days had become so frequent between them. 
 
 The company were nearly all assembled and busy with 
 their talk, and drinking the doctor's excellent claret, when 
 Brice, entering, announced Dr. Firmin and Mr. Tufton 
 Hunt. 
 
 " Hang Mr. Tufton Hunt," Philip was going to say ; but 
 he started up, went forward to his father, and greeted him 
 very respectfully. He then gave a bow to the gentleman 
 introduced as Mr. Hunt, and they found places at the table, 
 the doctor taking his with his usual handsome grace. 
 
 The conversation, which had been pretty brisk until Dr. 
 Firmin came, drooped a little after his appearance. "We 
 had an awful row two days ago," Philip whispered to me. 
 '• We shook hands and are reconciled, as you see. He won't 
 stay long. He will be sent for in half au hour or so. He 
 will say he has been sent for by a duchess, and go and have 
 tea at the club." 
 
 Dr. Firmin bowed and smiled sadly at me, as Philip .vas 
 speaking. I dare say I blushed somewhat and felt as if the 
 doctor knew what his son was saying to me. He presently 
 engaged in conversation with Lord Egham ; he hoped his 
 good father was well ? 
 
 "You keep him so, doctor. You don't give a fellow a 
 chance,'^ says the young lord. 
 
 " Pass the bottle, you young men ! Hey ! We intend to 
 see you all out ! " cries Talbot Twysden, on pleasure bent 
 and of the frugal mind. 
 
 "Well said, sir," says the stranger introduced as Mr. 
 Hunt; "and right good wine. Ha, Firmin! I think I 
 know the tap ! " and he smacked his lips over the claret. 
 " It's your twenty-five, and no mistake." 
 
 "The red-nosed individual seems a connoisseur," whis- 
 pered Rosebury at my side. 
 
 The stranger's nose, indeed, was somewhat rosy. And 
 to this I may add that his clothes were black, his face pale, 
 and not well shorn, his white neckcloth dingy, and his 
 eyes bloodshot. 
 
 " He looks as if he had gone to bed in his clothes, and 
 carries a plentiful flue about his person. Who is your
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 193 
 
 father's esteemed friend ? " continues the wag, in an under 
 voice. 
 
 '' You heard his name, Eosebury," saj's the young barris- 
 ter, gloomily. 
 
 '• i should suggest that your father is in difficulties, and 
 attended by an officer of the sheriff of London, or perhaps 
 subject to mental aberration, and placed under the control 
 of a keeper." 
 
 " Leave me alone, do ! " groaned Philip. And here 
 Twysden, who w^as longing for an opportunity to make a 
 speech, bounced up from his chair, and stopped the face- 
 tious barrister's furtlier remarks by his own eloquence. 
 His discourse was in praise of Pliilip, the new-made bar- 
 rister. "What! if no one else w^ill give that toast, your 
 uncle will, and many a heartfelt blessing go with you, too, 
 my boy ! " cried the little man. He was prodigal of bene- 
 dictions. He dashed aside the tear-drop of emotion. He 
 spoke with perfect fluency and for a considerable period. 
 He really made a good speech, and was greeted with de- 
 served cheers when at length he sat down. 
 
 Phil stammered a few words in reply to his uncle's vol- 
 uble compliments ; and then Lord Ascot, a young nobleman 
 of much familiar humor, proposed Pliil's father, his health, 
 and song. The physician naade a neat speech from behind 
 liis ruffled shirt. He was agitated by the tender feelings 
 of a paternal heart, he said, glancing benignly at Phil, who 
 was cracking filberts. To see his son happy ; to see him 
 surrounded by such friends ; to know him embarked this 
 day in a profession which gave the greatest scope for tal- 
 ents, the noblest reward for industry, was a proud and 
 hapi)y moment to him. Dr. Pirmin. What has the poet ob- 
 served ? '^ Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes'^ (hear! hear!) 
 '^emoUif. mores,'' — yes, '•^ emollit mores.''' He drank a 
 bumper to the young barrister (he waved his ring, with 
 a thimbleful of wine in his glass). He pledged the 
 young friends whom he saw assembled to cheer his 
 son on his onward path. He thanked them with a 
 father's heart! He passed his emerald ring across his 
 eyes for a moment, and lifted them to the ceiling, from 
 which quarter he requested a blessing on his boy. As 
 though "spirits" approved of his invocation, immense 
 thumps came from above along with the plaudits which 
 salutad the doctor's speech from the gentlemen round the 
 table. But the upper thumps v/ere derisory, and came 
 
 VOL. I. — 13
 
 194 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 from Mr. Buffers, of the third floor, who chose this method 
 of mocking our harmless little festivities. 
 
 I think these cheers from the facetious Buffers, though 
 meant in scorn of our party, served to enliven it and make 
 us laugh. Spite of all the talking, we were dull, and I 
 could not but allow the force of my neighbor's remark, 
 that we Avere sat upon and smothered by the old men. 
 One or two of the younger gentlemen chafed at the license 
 for tobacco-smoking not being yet accorded. But Philip 
 interdicted this amusement as' yet. 
 
 *' Don't," he said ; " my father don't like it. He has to 
 see patients to-night ; and they can't bear the smell of to- 
 bacco b}^ their bedsides." 
 
 The impatient youths waited with their cigar-cases by 
 their sides. They longed for the withdrawal of the ob- 
 stacle to their happiness. 
 
 "He won't go, I tell you. He'll be sent for," growled 
 Philip to me. 
 
 The doctor was engaged in conversation to the right and 
 left of him, and seemed not to think of a move. But, sure 
 enough, at a few minutes after ten o'clock, Dr. Firmin's foot- 
 man entered the room v/ith a note, which Firmin opened 
 and read, as Philip looked at me with a grim humor in his 
 face. I think Phil's father knew that we knew he was 
 • acting. However, he went through the comedy quite 
 gravely. 
 
 "A physician's time is not his own," he said, shaking 
 his handsome, melancholy head. '' Good-by, my dear lord ! 
 Pray remember me at home ! Good-night, Philip, my boy, 
 and good speed to you in your career ! Pray, pray don't 
 move." 
 
 And he is gone, waving the fair hand and the broad- 
 brimmed hat, with the beautiful white lining. Phil con- 
 ducted him to the door, and heaved a sigh as it closed 
 upon his father — a sigh of relief, I think, that he was 
 gone. 
 
 " Exit Governor. What's the Latin for Governor ? " says 
 Lord Egham, who possessed much native humor, but not 
 very profound scholarshi]). '' A most venerable old parent, 
 Firmin. That hat and appearance would command any 
 sum of money." 
 
 "Excuse me," lis])S Eosebury, "but Avhy didn't he take 
 his elderly friend with him — the dilapidated clerical gen- 
 tleman wiio is drinking claret so freely ? And also, why
 
 OiV HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 195 
 
 did he not remove 3^0111- avuncular orator ? Mr. Twysden, 
 your interesting young neophyte has provided us with an 
 excellent specimen of the cheerful produce of the Gascon 
 grape." 
 
 " Well, then, now the old gentleman is gone, let us pass 
 the bottle, and make a night of it. Hey, my lord ? " cries 
 Twysden. " Philip, your claret is good ! I say, do you re- 
 member some Chateau Margaux I had, which Winton liked 
 so ? It must be good if he praised it, I can tell you. I im- 
 ported it myself, and gave him the address of the Bordeaux 
 merchant; and he said he had seldom tasted any like 
 it. Those were his very words. I must get you fellows to 
 come and taste it some day." 
 
 " Some day ! What day ? Name it, generous Amphit- 
 ryon ! " cries Rosebury. 
 
 " Some day at seven o'clock. With a plain, quiet dinner 
 — a clear soup, a bit of fish, a couple of little entrees, and a 
 nice little roast. That's my kind of dinner. And we'll 
 taste that claret, young men. It is not a heavy wine. It 
 is not a first-class wine. I don't mean even to say it is a 
 dear wine, but it has a bouquet and a pureness. What, you 
 will smoke, you fellows ? " 
 
 " \Ve ivUl do it, ^fr. Twysden. Better do as the rest of 
 us do. Try one of these." 
 
 The little man accepts the proffered cigar from the young 
 nobleman's box, lights it, hems and hawks, and lapses into 
 silence. 
 
 ''I thought that would do for him," murmurs the face- 
 tious Egham. " It is strong enough to blow his old head 
 off, and I wish it would. That cigar," he continues, " was 
 given to my father by the Duke of Medina Sidonia, who 
 had it out of the Queen of Spain's own box. She smokes a 
 good deal, but naturally likes 'em mild. I can give you a 
 stronger one." 
 
 '' Oh, no. I dare say this is very fine. Thank you ! " 
 says poor Talbot. 
 
 " Leave him alone, can't you ! " says Philip. " Don't make 
 a fool of him before the young men, Egham." 
 
 Philip still looked very dismal in the midst of the festiv- 
 ity. He was thinking of his differences with his absent 
 parent. 
 
 AVe might all have been easily consoled, if the doctor 
 had taken away with him the elderly companion whom he 
 had introduced to Phil's feast. He could not have been
 
 196 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 very welcome to our host, for Phil scoAvled at his guest, and 
 whispered, " Hang Hunt ! " to his neighbor. 
 
 "Hang Hunt" — the Eeverend Tufton Hunt was his 
 name — was in no wise disconcerted by the coolness of his 
 reception. He drank his wine very freely ; addressed him- 
 self to his neighbors affably 5 and called out a loud " Hear, 
 hear ! " to Twysden, when that gentleman announced his 
 intention of making a night of it. As Mr. Hunt warmed 
 with wine he spoke to the table. He talked a great deal 
 about the Eingwood family, had been very intimate at 
 Wingate, in old days, and an intimate friend of poor Cinq- 
 bars, Lord Ringwood's only son. Now, the memory of the 
 late Lord Cinqbars was not an agreeable recollection to the 
 relatives of the house of Eingwood. He was in life a dis- 
 sipated and disreputable young lord. His name was seldom 
 mentioned in his family; never by his father, with whom he 
 had had many quarrels. 
 
 "You know I introduced Cinqbars to your father, 
 Philip ? " calls out the dingy clergyman. 
 
 "I have heard you mention the fact," says Philip. 
 
 " They met at a wine in my rooms at Corpus. Brummell 
 Firmin we used to call your father in those days. He was 
 the greatest buck in the university — always a dressy man, 
 kept hunters, gave the best dinners in Cambridge. We 
 were a wild set. There was Cinqbars, Brand Firmin, 
 Beryl, Toplady, about a dozen of us, almost all noblemen 
 or fellow-commoners — fellows Avho all kept their horses 
 and had their private servants." 
 
 This speech was addressed to the company, who yet did 
 not seem much edified by the college recollections of the 
 dingy elderly man. 
 
 "Almost all Trinity men, sir! We dined with each 
 other week about. Many of them had their tandems. 
 Desperate fellow across countrj^ your father was. And — 
 but we won't tell tales out of school, hey ? " 
 
 "No, please don't, sir," said Philip, clenching his fists 
 and biting his lips. The shabby, ill-bred, swaggering man 
 was eating Philip's salt ; Phil's lordly ideas of hospitality 
 did not allow him to quarrel with the guest under his tent. 
 
 " When he went out in medicine, we were all of us as- 
 tonished. Why, sir. Brand Firmin at one time was the 
 greatest swell in the university," continued Mr. Hunt, 
 " and such a plucky fellow ! So was poor Cinqbars, though 
 he had no stamina. He, I, and Firmin fought for twenty
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 197 
 
 minutes before Caius' Gate with about twenty bargemen, 
 and you should have seen your father hit out ! I was a 
 handy one in those days, too, with my fingers. We learned 
 the noble art of self-defence in my time, young gentlemen ! 
 AVe used to have Glover, the boxer, down from London, 
 who gave us lessons. Cinqbars was a pretty sparrer — 
 but no stamina. Brandy killed him, sir — brandy killed 
 him ! Why, this is some of your governor's wine ! He 
 and I have been drinking it to-night in Parr Street, and 
 talking over old times." 
 
 '• I am glad, sir, you found the wine to your taste," says 
 Philip, gravely. 
 
 "I did, Philip my boy ! And when your father said he 
 was coming to your wine, I said I'd come too." 
 
 " I wish somebody would fling him out of window," 
 groaned Philip. 
 
 " A most potent, grave, and reverend senior," whispered 
 Kosebury to me. " I read billiards, Boulogne, gambling- 
 houses, in his noble lineaments. Has he long adorned your 
 family circle, Firmin ? " 
 
 " I found him at home about a month ago, in my father's 
 anteroom, in the same clothes, with a pair of mangy mous- 
 taches on his face ; and he has been at our house every day 
 since. '^ 
 
 "Echap2)e de Toulon,^^ says Eosebury, blandly, looking 
 towards the stranger. ^' Cela se voit. Homme iniv fait ement 
 distingue. You are quite right, sir. I Avas speaking of 
 you ; and asking our friend Philip where it was I had the 
 honor of meeting you abroad last year ? This courtesy," 
 he gently added, " will disarm tigers." 
 
 " I ivas abroad, sir, last year," said the other, nodding his 
 head. 
 
 " Three to one he was in Boulogne jail, or perhaps offi- 
 ciating chaplain at a gambling-house. Stop, I have it ! 
 Baden Baden, sir ? " 
 
 " I was there, safe enough," says the clergyman. " It is 
 a very pretty place ; but the air of the Aj^res kills you. 
 Ha ! ha ! Your father used to shake his elbow when he was 
 a youngster too, Philip ! I can't help calling you Philip. 
 I have known your father these thirty 3'ears. We were 
 college chums, you know." 
 
 " Ah ! what n-ould I give," sighs Kosebury, " if that vener- 
 able being would but address me by my Christian name ! 
 Philip, do something to make your party go. The old gen-
 
 198 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 tlemen are throttling it. Sing something, somebody ! or let 
 us drown our melancholy in wine. You expressed your ap- 
 probation of this claret, sir, and claimed a previous acquaint- 
 ance with it ? " 
 
 " I've drunk two dozen of it in the last month," says Mr. 
 Hunt, with a grin. 
 
 " Two dozen and four, sir," remarks Mr. Brice, putting a 
 fresh bottle on the table. 
 
 " Well said, Brice ! I make the Firmin Arms my hea.d- 
 quarters; and honor the landlord with a good deal of my 
 company," remarks Mr. Hunt. 
 
 " The Firmin Arms is honored by having such sup- 
 porters ! " says Phil, glaring, and with a heaving chest. At 
 each moment he was growing more and more angry with 
 that parson. 
 
 At a certain stage of conviviality Phil was fond of talk- 
 ing of his pedigree; and, though a professor of very lib- 
 eral opinions, was not a little proud of some of his an- 
 cestors. 
 
 " Oh, come, I say ! Sink the heraldry ! " cries Lord 
 Eghani. 
 
 " I am very sorry ! I would do anything to oblige you, 
 but I can't help being a gentleman ! " growls Philip. 
 
 " Oh, I say, if you intend to come King Richard III. over 
 us — " breaks out my lord. 
 
 " Egham ! your ancestors were sweeping counters when 
 mine stood by King Richard in that righteous fight ! " shouts 
 Philip. 
 
 That monarch had conferred lands upon the Ringwood 
 family. Richard III. was Philip's battle-horse ; when he 
 trotted it after dinner he was splendid in his chivalry. 
 
 ^' Oh, I say ! If you are to saddle White Surrey, fight 
 Bosworth Field, and murder the kids in the Tower ! " con- 
 tinues Lord Egham. 
 
 " Serve the little brutes right ! " roars Phil. " They were 
 no more heirs of the blood royal of England than — " 
 
 "I dare say! Only I'd rather have a song now the old 
 boy is gone. I say, you fellows, chant something, do now ! 
 Bar all this row about Bosworth Field and Richard the 
 Third! Always does it when he's beer on board — always 
 does it, give you my honor ! " whispers the young nobleman 
 to his neighbor. 
 
 " I am a fool ! I am a fool ! " cries Phil, smacking his 
 forehead. "There are moments when the wrongs of my
 
 ON Ills ]VAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 199 
 
 race will intervene. It's not your fault, Mr. What-d'ye- 
 call-'im, that you alluded to my arms in a derisive manner. 
 I bear you no malice ! Nay, 1 ask your pardon ! Nay ! I 
 pledge you in this claret, which is good, though it's my gov- 
 ernor's. In our house everything isn't, hum — Bosh ! it's 
 twenty-hve claret, sir ! Egham's father gave him a pipe of 
 it for saving a life Avhich might be better spent ; and I 
 believe the apothecary would have pulled you through, Eg- 
 liam, just as well as my governor. But the wine's good ! 
 Good ! Brice, some more claret ! A song ! Who spoke of 
 a song ? Warble us something, Tom Dale ! A song, a 
 song, a song ! " 
 
 Whereupon the exquisite ditty of " Moonlight on the 
 Tiles" was given by Tom Dale with all his accustomed 
 humor. Then politeness demanded that our host should 
 sing one of his songs, and as I have heard him perform it 
 many times, I have the privilege of here reprinting it : pre- 
 mising that the tune and chorus were taken from a German 
 song-book, which used to delight us melodious youth in 
 b\^-gone d-^js. Philip accordingly lifted up his great voice 
 and sang : — 
 
 "DOCTOR LUTHER. 
 
 " For the souFs edification 
 Of this decent congregation, 
 "Worthy people! hy your grant, 
 1 will sing a holy chant. 
 
 Lwill shig a h)ly chant. 
 If the dittysound but oddly. 
 'Twiis a father wise and godly, 
 Sang it so Ions: ago. 
 
 Then sing as Doctor Luther sang, 
 
 As Doctor Luther sang, 
 
 "Who loves not wine, woman, and song, 
 
 He is a fool his whole life long. 
 
 *' He, by custom patriarchal. 
 Loved to see the beaker sparkle, 
 And he thought the wine improved, 
 Tasted Ijy the wife he loved. 
 
 By the kindly lii)s he loved. 
 Friends! I wish this custom pious 
 Duly were adopted by us, 
 To combine love, song, wine; 
 
 And sing as Doctor Luther sang, 
 
 As Doctor Luther sang, 
 
 Wlio loves not wine, woman, and song, 
 
 He is a fool his whole life long.
 
 200 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 " Who refuses this our credo, 
 And demurs to drink as we do, 
 AVere lie holy as John Knox, 
 I'd pronounce him lieterodox, 
 
 I'd pronounce him heterodox. 
 And from out this congregation, 
 "With a solemn commination, 
 Banish quick the heretic. 
 
 Who would not sing as Luther sang, 
 
 As Doctor Luther sang. 
 
 Who loves not wine, woman, and song, 
 
 He is a fool his whole life lona:." 
 
 The reader's humble servant ^vas older than most of the 
 party assembled at this symposium, which may have taken 
 place some score of years back ; but as I listened to the 
 noise, the fresh laughter, the songs remembered out of old 
 university days, the talk and cant phrases of the old school 
 of which most of us had been disciples, dear me, I felt 
 quite young again, and when certain knocks came to the 
 door about midnight, enjoyed quite a refreshing pang of 
 anxious interest for a moment, deeming the proctors were 
 rapping, having heard our shouts in the court below. The 
 late comer, however, was only a tavern waiter, bearing a 
 supper-tray ; and we were free to speechif}^, shout, quarrel, 
 and be as young as we liked, with nobody to find fault, ex- 
 cept, perchance, the bencher below, who, I dare say, was 
 kept awake with our noise. 
 
 When that supper arrived, poor Talbot Twysden, who 
 had come so far to enjoy it, was not in a state to partake of 
 it. Lord Egham's cigar had proved too much for him ; and 
 the worthy gentleman had been lying on a sofa, in a neigh- 
 boring room, for some time past, in a state of hopeless 
 collapse. He had told us, whilst yet capable of speech, 
 what a love and regard he had for Philip ; but between him 
 and Philip's father there was but little love. They had had 
 that worst and most irremediable of quarrels, a difference 
 about twopence-halfpenny in the division of the property 
 of their late father-in-law. Firmin still thought Twysden 
 a shabby curmudgeon ; and Twysden considered Pirmin an 
 unprincipled man. When INIrs. Pirmin was alive, the two 
 poor sisters had had to regulate their affections by the 
 marital orders, and to be warm, cool, moderate, freezing, ac- 
 cording to their husbands' state for the time being. I won- 
 der are there many real reconciliations ? Dear Tomkins 
 and I are reconciled, I know. We have met and dined at
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 201 
 
 Jones's. And ah ! how fond we are of each other ! Oh, 
 very ! So with Firmin and Twysden. They met, and shook 
 hands with perfect animosity. So did Twysden junior and 
 Firmin junior. Young Twysden was the elder, and thrashed 
 and bullied Phil as a boy, until the latter arose and pitched 
 his cousin downstairs. ^lentally, they were always kicking 
 each other downstairs. Well, poor Talbot could not par- 
 take of the supper when it came, and lay in a piteous 
 state on the neighboring sofa of the absent Mv. Van John. 
 
 Who would go home with him, where his wife must be 
 anxious about him ? I agreed to convoy him, and the par- 
 son said he was going our way, and would accompany us. 
 We supported this senior through the Temple, and put him 
 on the front seat of a cab. The cigar had disgracefully 
 overcome him ; and any lecturer on the evils of smoking 
 might have pointed his moral on the helpless person of this 
 wretched gentleman. 
 
 The evening's feasting had only imparted animation to 
 Mr. Hunt, and occasioned an agreeable abandon in his talk. 
 I had seen the man before in Dr. Firmin's house, and own 
 that his society was almost as odious to me as to the doc- 
 tor's son Philip. On all subjects and persons, Phil was 
 accustomed to speak his mind out a great deal too openly ; 
 and Mr. Hunt had been an object of special dislike to him 
 ever since he had known Hunt, I tried to make the best 
 of the matter. Few men of kindly feeling and good station 
 are without a dependent or two. Men start together in 
 the race of life ; and Jack wins, and Tom falls by his side. 
 The successful man succors and reaches a friendly hand to 
 the unfortunate competitor. Eemembrance of early times 
 gives the latter a sort of right to call on his luckier com- 
 rade ; and a man finds himself pitying, then enduring, 
 then embracing a companion for whom, in old days, per- 
 haps, he never liad had any regard or esteem. A prosperous 
 man ought to have followers : if he has none, he has a hard 
 heart. 
 
 This philosophizing was all very well. It was good for a 
 man not to desert the friends of his boyhood. But to live 
 with such a- cad as that — with that creature, low, servile, 
 swaggering, besotted — " How could his father, who had 
 fine tastes, and loved grand company, put up with such a 
 fellow ? " asked Phil. "I don't know when the man is the 
 more odious ; when he is familiar, or when he is respectful ; 
 when he is paying compliments to my father's guests in
 
 202 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 Parr Street, or telling liicleous old stale stories, as lie did 
 at my call-supper." 
 
 The wine of which Mr. Hunt freely partook on that occa- 
 sion made him, as I have said, communicative. "Not a bad 
 fellow, our host," he remarked, on his part, when we came 
 away together. "Bumptious, good-looking, speaks his 
 mind, hates me, and I don't care. He must be well to 
 do in the world, Master Philip." 
 
 I said I hoped and thought so. 
 
 "Brummell Firmin must make four or five thousand a 
 year. He was a wild fellow in my time, I can tell you — 
 in the days of the wild Prince and Poins — stuck at 
 nothing, spent his own money, ruined himself, fell on his 
 legs somehow, and married a fortune. Some of us have 
 not been so lucky. I had nobody to pay my debts. I 
 missed my fellowship by idling and dissipating with those 
 confounded hats and silver-laced gowns. I liked good com- 
 pany in those days — always did when I could get it. If 
 you Avere to write my adventures, now, you would have to 
 tell some queer stories. I've been everywhere ; I've seen 
 high and low — 'specially low. I've tried school-mastering, 
 bear-leading, newspapering, America, West Indies. I've 
 been in every city in Europe. I haven't been as lucky as 
 Brummell Firmin. He rolls in his coach, he does, and I 
 walk in my highlows. Guineas drop into his palm every 
 day, and are uncommonly scarce in mine, I can tell you; 
 and poor old Tufton Hunt is not much better off at fifty 
 odd than he was when he was an undergraduate at eigh- 
 teen. How do you do, old gentleman ? Air do you good ? 
 Here Ave are at Beaunash Street ; hope you've got the key, 
 and missis won't see you." A large butler, too well-bred 
 to express astonishment at any event which occurred out 
 of doors, opened Mr. Twysden's, and let in that lamentable 
 gentleman. He was very pale and solemn. He gasped 
 out a few words, intimating his intention to fix a day to 
 ask us to come and dine soon, and taste that wine that 
 Winton liked so. He waved an unsteady hand to us. If 
 Mrs. Twysden Avas on the stairs to see the condition of her 
 lord, I hope she took possession of the candle. Hunt 
 grumbled as aa^c came out: "He might haA^e offered us 
 some refreshment after bringing him all that Avay home. 
 It's only half-past one. There's no good in going to bed so 
 soon as that. Let us go and have a drink somewhere. I 
 I knoAv a very good crib close by. No, you Avon't ? I say "
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 203 
 
 (here he burst into a laugh which startled the sleeping 
 street), ''I know what you've been thinking all the time in 
 the cab. You are a swell, — you are, too ! You have been 
 thinking, ' This dreary old parson will try and borrow 
 money from me.' But I Avon't, my boy. I've got a 
 banker. Look here ! Fee, faw, fum. You understand. 
 I can get the sovereigns out of my medical swell in Old 
 Parr Street. I prescribe bleeding for him — I drew him 
 to-night. He is a very kind fellow, Brummell Firmin is. 
 He can't deny such a dear old friend anything. Bless 
 him ! " And as he turned away to some midnight haunt 
 of his own, he tossed up his hand in the air. I heard him 
 laughing through the silent street, and Policeman X, tramp- 
 ing on his beat, turned round and suspiciously eyed 
 him. 
 
 Then I thought of Dr. Firmin's dark melancholy face 
 and eyes. Was a benevolent remembrance of old times the 
 bond of union between these men ? All my house had 
 long been asleep, when I opened and gently closed my 
 house-door. By the twinkling night lamp I could dimly see 
 child and mother softly breathing. Oh, blessed they on 
 whose pillow no remorse sits ! Hai)py you who have 
 escaped temptation ! 
 
 I may have been encouraged in my suspicions of the 
 dingy clergyman by Philip's own surmises regarding him, 
 which were expressed with the speaker's usual candor. 
 "The fellow calls for what he likes at the 'Firmin 
 Arms,' " said poor Phil ; " and when my father's bigwigs 
 assemble, I hope the reverend gentleman dines with them. 
 I should like to see him hobnobbing with old Bumpsher, 
 or slapping the bishop on the back. He lives in Sligo 
 Street, round the corner, so as to be close to our house and 
 yet preserve his own elegant independence. Otherwise, I 
 wonder he has not installed himself in Old Parr Street, 
 where my poor mother's bedroom is vacant. The doctor 
 does not care to use that room. I remember now how 
 silent they were when together, and how terrified she 
 always seemed before him. What has he done ? I know 
 of one affair in his early life. Does this Hunt know of 
 any more ? They have been accomplices in some conspir- 
 acy, sir; I dare say with that young Cinqbars, of whom 
 Hunt is forever bragging : the worthy son of the worthy 
 Eingwood. I say, does wickedness run in the blood ? My
 
 204 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 grandfathers, I have heard, were honest men. Perhaps 
 they were only not found out ; and the family taint will 
 show in me some day. There are times when I feel the 
 devil so strong within me, that I think some day he must 
 have the mastery. I'm not quite bad yet : but I tremble 
 lest I should go. Suppose I were to drown, and go down ? 
 It's not a jolly thing, Pendennis, to have such a father as 
 mine. Don't humbug vie with your charitable palliations 
 and soothing surmises. You put me in mind of the world 
 then, by Jove, you do ! I laugh, and I drink, and I make 
 merry, and sing, and smoke endless tobacco ; and I tell 
 you, I always feel as if a little sword was dangling over 
 my skull which will fall some day and split it. Old Parr 
 Street is mined, sir, — mined ! And some morning we 
 shall be blown into blazes — into blazes, sir ; mark my 
 words ! That's why I'm so careless and so idle, for which 
 3'ou fellows are always bothering and scolding me. There's 
 no use in settling down until the explosion is over, don't 
 you see ? Iiicedo per igiies siq)posltos, and, by George ! sir, 
 I feel my boot-soles already scorching. Poor thing ! poor 
 mother" (he apostrophized his mother's picture which 
 hung in the room where we were talking), " were you aware 
 of the secret, and was it the knowledge of that w'lich made 
 your poor eyes always look so frightened ? She was 
 always fond of you. Pen. Do you remember how pretty 
 and graceful she used to look as she lay on her sofa up- 
 stairs, or smiled out of the carriage as she kissed her hand 
 to us boys ? I say, what if a woman marries and is coaxed 
 and wheedled by a soft tongue, and runs off, and after- 
 wards finds her husband has a cloven foot ? " 
 
 " Ah, Philip ! " 
 
 " What is to be the lot of the son of such a man ? Is my 
 hoof cloven, too ? " It was on the stove, as he talked, ex- 
 tended in American fashion. " Suppose there's no escape 
 for me, and I inherit my doom, as another man does gout 
 or consumption ? Knowing this fate, what is the use, 
 then, of doing anything in particular ? I tell you, sir, the 
 whole edifice of our present life will crumble in and 
 smash." (Here he flings his pipe to the ground with an 
 awful shatter.) "And until the catastrophe comes, what 
 on earth is the use of setting to work, as you call it ? You 
 might as well have told a fellow, at Pompeii, to select a 
 profession the day before the eruption." 
 
 " If you know that Vesuvius is going to burst over Pom-
 
 Oy HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 205 
 
 peii," I said, somewhat alarmed, " wli}- not go to Naples, 
 or farther if you will ? " 
 
 ''Were there not men in the sentry-boxes at the city 
 gates," asked Philip, ''who might have run, and yet re- 
 mained to be burned there ? Suppose, after all, the doom 
 isn't hanging over us, — and the fear of it is only a nervous 
 terror of mine ? Suppose it comes, and I survive it ? The 
 risk of the game gives a zest to it, old boy. Besides, there 
 is Honor : and Some One Else is in the case, from whom a 
 man could not part in an hour of danger." And here he 
 blushed a fine red, heaved a great sigh, and emptied a bum- 
 per of claret.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WILL BE PRONOUNCED TO BE CYNICAL BY THE BENEVOLENT. 
 
 E:N'TLE readers will not, I 
 trust, think the worse of their 
 most obedient humble servant 
 for the confession that I 
 talked to my wife on my 
 return home regarding Philip 
 and his affairs. When I 
 choose to be frank, I hope no 
 man can be more open than 
 myself: when I have a mind 
 to be quiet, no fish can be 
 more mute. I have kept 
 secrets so ineffably that I 
 have utterly forgotten them, 
 until my memory was re- 
 freshed by people who also 
 knew them. But what was 
 '. the use of hiding this one 
 from the being to whom I 
 open all, or almost all — say 
 all, excepting just one or two of the closets of this heart ? 
 So I say to her, '' My love ; it is as I suspected. Philip 
 and his cousin Agnes are carrying on together." 
 
 "Is Agnes the pale one, or the very pale one ? " asks the 
 joy of my existence. 
 
 "No, the elder is Blanche. They are both older than Mr. 
 Eirmin : but Blanche is the elder of the two." 
 
 " Well, I am not saying anything malicious, or contrary 
 to the fact, am I, sir ? " 
 
 No. Only I know by her looks, when another lady's name 
 is mentioned, whether my wife likes her or not. And I am 
 bound to say, though this statement may meet with a de- 
 nial, that her countenance does not vouchsafe smiles at the 
 mention of all ladies' names. 
 
 206
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 207 
 
 '• You don't go to the house ? You and ^[rs. Tw3'sden 
 have called on each other, and there the matter has stopped ? 
 Oh, I know ! It is because poor Talbot brags so about his 
 wine, and gives such abominable stuff, that you have such 
 an un-Christian feeling for him ! " 
 
 '• That is the reason, I dare say," says the lady. 
 
 "No. Tt is no such thing. Though you do know sherry 
 from port, I believe upon my conscience you do not avoid 
 the Twysdens because they give bad wine. Many others sin 
 in that way, and you forgive them. You like your fellow- 
 creatures better than wine — some fellow-creatures — and 
 you dislike some fello \v -creatures worse than medicine. You 
 swallow them, madam. You say nothing, but your looks 
 are dreadful. You make wry faces : and when you have 
 t.iken them, you want a piece of sweetmeat to take the taste 
 out of your mouth." 
 
 The lady, thus wittily addressed, shrugs her lovely shoul- 
 ders. My wife exasperates me in many things ; in getting 
 up at insane hours to go to early church, for instance ; in 
 looking at me in a particular way at dinner, when I am 
 about to eat one of those entrees which Dr. Goodenough 
 declares disagree with me ; in nothing more than in that ob- 
 stinate silence, which she persists in maintaining sometimes 
 when I am abusing people, whom I do not like, whom she 
 does not like, and who abuse me. This reticence makes me 
 wild. What confidence can there be between a man and his 
 wife, if he can't say to her, " Confound So-and-so ! I hate 
 him;" or, "What a prig What-d'ye-call-'im is!" or, "What 
 a bloated aristocrat Thingamy has become, since he got his 
 place ! " or what you will ? 
 
 "No," I continue, "I know why you hate the Twysdens, 
 Mrs. Pendennis. You hate them because they move in a 
 world which you can only occasionally visit. You envy 
 them because they are hand-in-glove with the great ; because 
 they possess an easy grace, and a frank and noble elegance 
 with which common country-people and apothecaries' sons 
 are not endowed." 
 
 " ]\Iy dear Arthur, I do think you are ashamed of being 
 an apothecary's son ; you talk about it so often," says the 
 lady. ^Vhich was all very well : but you see she was not 
 answering my remarks about the Twysdens. 
 
 " You are right, my dear," I say then. " I. ought not to 
 be censorious, being myself no more virtuous than my neigh- 
 bor."
 
 208 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 " I know people abuse you, Arthur ; but I think you are 
 a very good sort of man," says the lady, over her little tea- 
 tray. 
 
 " And so are the Twysdens very good people — very nice, 
 artless, unselfish, simple, generous, well- bred people. Mr. 
 Twysden is all heart: Twysden's conversational powers are 
 remarkable and pleasing : and Philip is eminently fortunate 
 in getting one of- those charming girls for a wife." 
 
 "I've no patience with them," cries my wife, losing that 
 quality to my great satisfaction: for then I knew I had 
 found the crack in Madam Pendennis's armor of steel, and 
 had smitten her in a vulnerable little place. 
 
 "No patience with them? Quiet, lady-like young 
 women ! " I cry. 
 
 " Ah," sighs my wife, " what have they got to give Philip 
 in return for — " 
 
 " In return for his thirty thousand ? They will have ten 
 thousand pounds apiece when their mother dies." 
 
 " Oh ! I wouldn't have our boy marry a woman like one 
 of those, not if she had a million. I wouldn't, my child 
 and my blessing ! " (This is addressed to a little darling 
 who happens to be eating sweet cakes, in a high chair, off 
 the little table by his mother's side, and who, though he 
 certainly used to cry a good deal at that period, shall be a 
 mute personage in this history). 
 
 "You are alluding to Blanche's little affair with — " 
 
 " No, I am not, sir ! " 
 
 "How do you know which one I meant, then? — Or that 
 notorious disappointment of Agnes, when Lord Farintosh 
 became a widower ? If he wouldn't, she couldn't, you know, 
 my dear. And I am sure she tried her best: at least, every- 
 body said so." 
 
 " Ah ! I have no patience with the way in which you 
 people of the world treat the most sacred of subjects — the 
 most sacred, sir. Do you hear me ? Is a woman's love to 
 be pledged and withdrawn every day ? Is her faith and 
 purity only to be a matter of barter, and rank, and social 
 consideration ? I am sorry, because I don't wish to see 
 Philip, who is good, and honest, and generous, and true as 
 3^et — however great his faults may be — because I don't wish 
 to see him given up to — Oh ! it's shocking, shocking ! " 
 
 Given up to what ? to anything dreadful in this world, 
 or the next ? Don't imagine that Philip's relations thought 
 they were doing Phil any harm by condescending to marry
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 209 
 
 him, or themselves any injury. A doctor's son, indeed ! 
 AVhy, the Twysdens were far better placed in the world 
 than their kinsmen of Old Farr Street ; and went to better 
 houses. The year's levee and drawing-room would have been 
 incomplete without Mr. and Mrs. Twysden. There might 
 be families with higher titles, more wealth, higher posi- 
 tions ; but the world did not contain more respectable folks 
 than the Twysdens : of this every one of the family was con- 
 vinced, from Talbot himself down to his heir. If somebod}^ 
 or some Body of savans would write the history of the harm 
 that has been done in the world by people who believe 
 themselves to be virtuous, what a queer, edifying book it 
 would be, and how poor oppressed rogues might look up ! 
 Who burn the Protestants ? — the virtuous Catholics, to be 
 sure. AVho roast the Catholics ? — the virtuous Eeformers. 
 Who thinks I am a dangerous character, and avoids me at 
 the club? — the virtuous Squaretoes. Who scorns? who 
 persecutes? who doesn't forgive? — the virtuous Mrs. 
 Grundy. She remembers her neighbor's peccadilloes to the 
 third and fourth generation ; and if she linds a certain man 
 fallen in her path, gathers up her affrighted garments with 
 a shriek, for fear the muddy, bleeding wretch should contam- 
 inate her, and passes on. 
 
 I do not seek to create even surprises in this modest his- 
 tory, or condescend to keep candid readers in suspense about 
 many matters which might possibly interest them. For in- 
 stance, the matter of love has interested novel-readers for 
 hundreds of years past, and doubtless will continue so to 
 interest them. Almost all young people read love-books 
 and histories with eagerness, oldsters read books of medi- 
 cine, and whatever it is — heart-complaint, gout, liver, palsy 
 — cry, "Exactly so, precisely my case!" Phil's first love- 
 affair, to which we are now coming, was a false start. I 
 own it at once. And in this commencement of his career I 
 believe he w^as not more or less fortunate thali many and 
 many a man and woman in this w^orld. Suppose the course 
 of true love always did run smooth, and everybody married 
 his or her first love. Ah ! what would marriage be ? 
 
 A generous young fellow comes to market with a heart 
 ready to leap out of his waistcoat, forever thumping and 
 throbbing, and so wild that he can't have any rest till he has 
 disposed of it. What wonder if he falls upon a wily mer- 
 chant in Vanity Fair, and barters his all for a stale bauble 
 not worth sixpence ? Phil chose to fall in love with his 
 
 VOL. I. — 14
 
 210 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 cousin ; and I warn you that nothing will come of that pas- 
 sion, except the influence which it had upon the young man's 
 character. Though my Avife did not love the Twysdens, 
 she loves sentiment, she loves love-affairs — all women do. 
 Poor Phil used to bore me after dinner with endless rodo- 
 montades about his passion and his charmer ; but my wife 
 was never tired of listening. " You are a selfish, heartless, 
 hlase man of the world, you are," he would say. " Your 
 own immense and undeserved good fortune in the matrimo- 
 nial lottery has rendered you hard, cold, crass, indifferent. 
 You have been asleep, sir, twice to-night whilst I was talk- 
 ing. I will go up and tell madam everything. She has a 
 heart." And presently, engaged with my book or my after- 
 dinner doze, I would hear Phil striding and creaking over- 
 head, and plunging energetic pokers in the drawing-room 
 fire. 
 
 Thirty thousand pounds to begin Avith ; a third part of 
 that sum coming to the lady from her mother ; all the doc- 
 tor's savings and property ; — here certainly was enough in 
 possession and expectation to satisfy many young couples : 
 and as Phil is twenty-two, and Agnes (must I own it ?) 
 twenty-five, and as she has consented to listen to the warm 
 outpourings of the eloquent and passionate youth, and ex- 
 change for his fresh, new-minted, golden sovereign heart, 
 that used little threepenny-piece, her own — why should 
 they not marry at once, and so let us have an end of them 
 and this history ? They have plenty of money to pay the 
 parson and the post-chaise ; they may drive off to the coun- 
 try, and live on their means, and lead an existence so hum- 
 drum and tolerably happy that Phil may grow quite too fat, 
 lazy, and unfit for his present post of hero of a novel. But 
 stay — there are obstacles; coy, reluctant, amorous delays. 
 After all, Philip is a dear, brave, handsome, wild, reckless, 
 blundering boy, treading upon everybody's dress-skirts, 
 smashing the little Dresden ornaments and the pretty little 
 decorous gimcracks of society, life, conversation ; — but 
 there is time yet. Are you so very sure about that money of 
 his mother's ? and how is it that his father, the doctor, has 
 not settled accounts with him yet? C^est louche. A family 
 of high position and principle must look to have the money 
 matters in perfect order, before they consign a darling ac- 
 customed to every luxury to the guardianship of a confess- 
 edly wild and eccentric, though generous and amiable, young 
 man. Besides, ah ! besides — besides I
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 211 
 
 .8 
 
 
 " . . . . It's horrible, Arthur ! It's cruel, Arthur ! It's a 
 shame to judge a woman, or Christian people so ! Oh ! my 
 loves ! my blessings ! would I sell t/ou ? " says this young 
 mother, clutching a little belaced, befurbelowed being to 
 her heart, infantine, squalling, with blue shoulder-ribbons,
 
 212 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 a mottled little arm that has just been vaccinated, and 
 the sweetest red shoes. " Would T sell you ? " says 
 mamma. Little Arty, I say, squalls ; and little Nelly 
 looks up from her bricks with a wondering, whimpering 
 expression. 
 
 Well, I am ashamed to say what the " besides " is ; but 
 the fact is, that young Woolcomb of the Life Guards Grreen, 
 who has inherited immense West India property, and, we 
 will say, just a teaspoonful of that dark blood which makes 
 a man naturally partial to blond beauties, has cast his opal 
 eyes very warmly upon the golden-haired Agnes of late ; 
 has danced with her not a little ; and when Mrs. Twysden's 
 barouche appears by the Serpentine, you may not unfre- 
 quently see a pair of the neatest little yellow kid gloves 
 just playing with the reins, a pair of the prettiest little 
 boots just touching the stirrup, a magnificent horse dancing, 
 and tittupping, and tossing, and performing the most grace- 
 ful caracoles and gambadoes, and on the magnificent horse 
 a neat little man with a blazing red flower in his bosom, 
 and glancing opal eyes, and a dark complexion, and hair so 
 very black and curly, that I really almost think in some of 
 the Southern States of America he would be likely to meet 
 with rudeness in a railway-car. 
 
 But in England we know better. In England Grenville 
 Woolcomb is a man and a brother. Half of Arrowroot Is- 
 land, they say, belongs to him ; besides Mangrove Hall, in 
 Hertfordshire ; ever so much property in other counties, 
 and that fine house in Berkeley Square. He is called the 
 Black Prince behind the scenes of many theatres , ladies 
 nod at him from those broughams which, you understand, 
 need not be particularized. The idea of his immense riches 
 is confirmed by the known fact that he is a stingy Black 
 Prince, and most averse to parting with his money except 
 for his own adornment or amusement. When he receives 
 at his country-house, his entertainments are, however, splen- 
 did. He has been flattered, followed, caressed all his life, 
 and allowed by a fond mother to have his own way ; and 
 as this has never led him to learning, it must be owned 
 that his literary acquirements are small, and his writing de- 
 fective. But in the management of his pecuniary affairs 
 he is very keen and clever. His horses cost him less than 
 any young man's in England who is so well mounted. Xo 
 dealer has ever been known to get the better of him ; and, 
 though he is certainl}^ close about money, when his wishes
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 213 
 
 have very keenly prompted him, no sum has been known 
 to stand in his way. 
 
 Witness the purchase of the . But never mind 
 
 scandaL Let by-gones be bj'-gones. A young doctor's son, 
 with a thousand a year for a fortune, may be considered a 
 catch in some circles, but not, vous concevez, in the upper 
 regions of society. And dear woman — dear, angelic, highly 
 accomplished, respectable woman — does she not know how 
 to pardon many failings in our sex ? Age ? psha ! She 
 will crown my Ijare old ]3oll with the roses of her youth. 
 Complexion ? What contrast is sweeter and more touching 
 than Desdemona's golden ringlets on swart Othello's shoul- 
 der ? A past life of selfishness and bad company ? Come 
 out from among the swine, my prodigal, and I will purify 
 thee ! 
 
 This is what is called cynicism, you know. Then I sup- 
 pose m}^ wife is a cynic, who clutches her children to her 
 pure heart, and prays gracious heaven to guard them from 
 selfishness, from worldliness, from heartlessness, from 
 wicked greed.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CONTAINS ONE RIDDLE WHICH IS SOLVED, AND PERHAPS 
 SOME MORE. 
 
 INE is a mod.est 
 muse, and as the 
 period of the story 
 arrives when a de- 
 scription of love- 
 making is justly 
 due, my JMnemos- 
 yne turns away 
 from the young 
 couple, drops a lit- 
 tle curtain over the 
 embrasure w here 
 they are whisper- 
 ing, heaves a sigh 
 from her elderly 
 bosom, and lays a 
 linger on her lip. 
 Ah, Mnemosyne, 
 I dear ! we will not 
 be spies on the 
 ^ young people. We 
 s:^^ Tv^ill not scold them. 
 We won't talk about 
 their doings much. 
 
 ______ When we were 
 
 young, we too, per- 
 haps, w-ere taken in under Love's tent ; Ave have eaten of 
 his salt : and partaken of his bitter, his delicious bread. 
 Now we are padding the hoof lonely in the wilderness, we 
 will not abuse our host, will we ? We will couch under 
 the stars, and think fondly of old times, and to-morrow 
 resume the staff and the journey. 
 
 And yet, if a novelist may chronicle any passion, its 
 
 214
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 215 
 
 flames, its raptures, its whispers, its assignations, its son- 
 nets, its quarrels, sulks, reconciliations, and so on, the 
 history of such a lov^e as this first of Phil's may be ex- 
 cusable in print, because I don't believe it was a real love 
 at all, only a little brief delusion of the senses, from which 
 I give you warning that our hero will recover before many 
 chapters are over. What ! my brave boy, shall we give 
 your heart away for good and all, for better or for worse, 
 till death do you part ? What ! my Cory don and sighing 
 swain, shall we irrevocably bestow you upon Phillis, who, 
 all the time you are piping and paying court to her, has 
 Meliboeus in the cupboard, and ready to be produced should 
 he prove to be a more eligible shepherd than t'other ? I am 
 not such a savage towards my readers or hero, as to make 
 them undergo the miser}^ of such a marriage. 
 
 Philip was very little of a club or society man. He sel- 
 dom or ever entered the '• Megatherium," or when there 
 stared and scowled round him savagel}^, and laughed 
 strangely at the ways of the inhabitants. He made but a 
 clumsy figure in the world ; though in person, handsome, 
 active, and jjroper enough ; but he would forever put his 
 great foot through the World's flounced skirts, and she 
 would stare, and cry out, and hate him. He was the 
 last man who was aware of the Woolcomb flirtation, 
 when hundreds of i3eople, I dare say, were simpering 
 over it. 
 
 "■ Who is that little man who comes to your house, and 
 whom I sometimes see in the Park, aunt — that little man 
 Avith the very white gloves and the very tawny com- 
 plexion ? " asks Philip. 
 
 '' That is ^Ir. Woolcomb, of the Life Guards Green," 
 aunt remembers. 
 
 " An officer is he ? " saj'S Philip, turning round to the 
 girls. '•! should have thought he would have done better 
 for the turban and cymbais." And he laughs and thinks 
 he has said a very clever thing. Oh, those good things 
 about people and against peoj^le ! Xever, my dear 3'oung 
 friend, say them to anybody — not to a stranger, for he will 
 go away and tell ; not to the mistress of your affections, 
 for you may quarrel with her, and then she will tell ; not 
 to your son, for the artless child will return to his school- 
 fellows and say : " Papa says Mr. P>lenkinsop is a muff." 
 My child, or what not, praise everybody : smile on every- 
 body : and everybody \\\\\ smile on you in return, a sham
 
 216 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 smile, and hold you out a sham hand; and, in a word, 
 esteem you as you deserve. No. I think you and I will 
 take the ups and the downs, the roughs and the smooths 
 of this daily existence and conversation. We will praise 
 those whom we like, though nobody repeat our kind say- 
 ings ; and say our say about those whom we dislike, though 
 we are pretty sure our words will be carried by tale-bearers, 
 and increased and multiplied, and remembered long after 
 we have forgotten them. We drop a little stone — a little 
 stone that is swallowed up and disappears, but the whole 
 pond is set in commotion, aucl ripples in continually widen- 
 ing circles long after the original little stone has popped 
 down and is out of sight. Don't your speeches of ten years 
 ago — maimed, distorted, bloated it may be out of all recog- 
 nition — come strangely back to their author ? 
 
 Phil, five minutes after he had made the joke, so entirely 
 forgot his saying about the Black Prince and the cymbals 
 that when Captain Woolcomb scowled at him with his 
 fiercest eyes, young Firmin thought that this was the 
 natural expression of the captain's swarthy countenance, 
 and gave himself no further trouble regarding it. " By 
 George ! sir," said Phil afterwards, speaking of this officer, 
 " I remarked that he grinned, and chattered, and showed 
 his teeth; and remembering it was the nature of such 
 baboons to chatter and grin, had no idea that this chim- 
 panzee was more angry with me than with any other gentle- 
 man. You see. Pen, I am a white-skinned man ; I am 
 pronounced even red- whiskered by the ill-natured. It is not 
 the prettiest color. But I had no idea that I was to have a 
 mulatto for a rival. I am not so rich, certainly, but I have 
 enough. I can read and spell correctly, and write with 
 tolerable fluency. I could not, you know, could I, reason- 
 ably suppose that I need fear competition, and that the 
 black horse would beat the bay one ? Shall I tell you what 
 she used to say to me ? There is no kissing and telling, 
 mind you. No, by George. Virtue and prudence were for- 
 ever on her lips ! She warbled little sermons to me ; hinted 
 gently that I should see to safe investments of my })rop- 
 erty, and that no man, not even a father, should be the 
 sole and uncontrolled guardian of it. She asked me, sir, 
 scores and scores of little sweet, timid, innocent questions 
 about the doctor's property, and how much did I think it 
 was, and how had he laid it out ? What virtuous parents 
 that angel had ! How they brought her up, and educated
 
 ON HIS ]VAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 217 
 
 her dear blue eyes to the main chance ! She knows the 
 price of house-keeping, and the value of railway shares ; 
 she invests capital for herself in this world and the next. 
 She majai't do right always, but Avrong ? Oh fie, never ! I 
 say, Pen, an undeveloped angel with wings folded under 
 her dress ; not, perhaps, your mighty, snoAv-white, flashing 
 pinions that spread out and soar up to the highest stars, 
 but a pair of good serviceable drab dove-colored wings, that 
 Avill support her gently and equably just over our heads, 
 and help to drop her softly when she condescends upon us. 
 When I think, sir, that I might have been married to a gen- 
 teel angel and am single still — oh! it's despair, it's de- 
 spair ! " 
 
 But Philip's little story of disappointed hopes and boot- 
 less passion must be told in terms less acrimonious and un- 
 fair than the gentleman would use, naturally of a sanguine, 
 swaggering talk, prone to exaggerate his own disappoint- 
 ments, and call out, roar — I dare say swear — if his own 
 corn was trodden upon, as loudly as some men who may 
 have a leg taken off. 
 
 This I can vouch for Miss Twysden, Mrs*. Twysden, and 
 all the rest of the family: — that if they, what you call, 
 jilted Philip, they did so Avithout the slightest hesitation or 
 notion that they were doing a dirty action. Their actions 
 never ivere dirty or mean ; they Avere necessar}^ I tell you, 
 and calmly proper. They ate cheese-parings Avith graceful 
 silence ; they cribbed from board-Avages ; they turned 
 hungry servants out of doors ; the}^ remitted no chance in 
 their oAvn favor ; they slept gracefully under scanty cover- 
 lids ; they lighted niggard fires ; they locked the caddy 
 Avith the closest lock, and served the teapot Avith the 
 smallest and least frequent spoon. But you don't suppose 
 they thought they Avere mean, or that they did Avrong ? 
 Ah! it is admirable to think of many, many, ever so many 
 respectable families of your acquaintance and mine, my 
 dear friend, and hoAv they meet together and humbug each 
 other ! "My dear, I haA^e cribbed half an inch of plush out 
 of James's small-clothes." " My love, I have saved a half- 
 penny out of Mary's beer. Isn't it time to dress for the 
 duchess's ; and don't you think John might wear that livery 
 of Thomas's, Avho only had it a year, and died of the small- 
 pox ? It's a little tight for him, to be sure, but," &c. 
 What is this ? I profess to be an impartial chronicler of 
 poor Phil's fortunes, misfortunes, friendships, and what-
 
 218 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 nots, and am getting almost as angry with these Twysdens 
 as Philip ever was himself. 
 
 Well, I am not mortally angry with poor Traviata tramp- 
 ing the pavement, with the gas-lamp flaring on her poor 
 painted smile, else my indignant virtue and squeamish 
 modesty would never walk Piccadilly or get the air. But 
 Lais, quite moral, and very neatly, primly, and straitly 
 laced ; — Phryne, not the least dishevelled, but with a fixa- 
 ture for her hair, and the best stays, fastened by mamma ; — > 
 your High Church or Evangelical Aspasia, the model of all 
 proprieties, and owner of all virgin-purity blooms, ready to 
 sell her cheek to the oldest old fogy who has money and a 
 title ; — these are the Unfortunates, my dear brother and 
 sister sinners, whom I should like to see repentant and 
 specially trounced first. Why, some of these are put into 
 reformatories in Grosvenor Square. They wear a prison 
 dress of diamonds and Chantilly lace. Their parents cry, 
 and thank heaven as they sell them ; and all sorts of 
 revered bishops, clergy, relations, dowagers, sign the book, 
 and ratify the ceremony. Come ! let vis call a midnight 
 meeting of those who have been sold in marriage, I say, 
 and what a respectable, what a genteel, what a fashionable, 
 what a brilliant, what an imposing, what a multitudinous 
 assembly we will have ; and where's the room in all Baby- 
 lon big enough to hold them ? 
 
 Look into that grave, solemn, dingy, somewhat naked, 
 but elegant drawing-room, in Beaunash Street, and with a 
 little fanciful opera-glass you may see a pretty little group 
 or two engaged at different periods of the day. It is after 
 lunch, and before E often Kow ride time (this stoiy, you 
 know, relates to a period ever so remote, and long before 
 folks thought of riding in the Park in the forenoon). 
 After lunch, and before Eotten Eow time, saunters into the 
 drawing-room a fair-haired young fellow with large feet and 
 chest, careless of gloves, with auburn whiskers blowing 
 over a loose collar, and — must I confess it? — a most 
 undeniable odor of cigars about his person. He breaks out 
 regarding the debate of the previous night, or the i3amphlet 
 of yesterda}^, or the poem of the day previous, or the 
 scandal of the week before, or upon the street-sweeper at 
 the corner, or the Italian and monkey before the Park — 
 upon whatever, in a word, moves his mind for the moment. 
 If Philip has had a bad dinner 3- esterday (and happens to 
 remember it), he growls, grumbles, nay, I dare say, uses
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 219 
 
 the most blasphemous hxngiiage against the cook, against the 
 waiters, against the steward, against the committee, against 
 the whole society of the club where he has been dining. 
 If Philip has met an organ-girl with pretty eyes and a 
 monkey in the street, he has grinned and wondered over 
 the monkey ; he has wagged his head, and sung all the 
 organ's tunes ; he has discovered that the little girl is the 
 most ravishing beauty eyes ever looked on, and that her 
 scoundrelly Savo3"ard father is most likely an Alpine 
 miscreant who has bartered away his child to a peddler of 
 the beggarly cheesy valleys, who has sold her to a friend 
 qui fait la traife des hurdigurdies, and has disposed of her 
 in England. If he has to discourse on the poem, 
 pamphlet, magazine article — it is written by the greatest 
 genius, or the greatest numskull, that the world now 
 exhibits. He write ! A man who makes fire rhyme with 
 Marire ! This vale of tears and world which we inhabit 
 does not contain such an idiot. Or have you seen Dobbins's 
 poem ? Agnes, mark my words for it, there is a genius in 
 Dobbins which some day will show what I have always 
 surmised, what I have always imagined possible, what I 
 have always felt to be more than probable, what, by George ! 
 I feel to l3e perfectly certain, and any man is a humbug 
 who contradicts it, and a malignant miscreant, and the 
 world is full of fellows who will never give another man 
 credit; and I swear that to recognize and feel merit in 
 poetry, painting, music, rope-dancing, anj'thing, is the 
 greatest delight and joy of my existence. I say — what 
 was I saying ? " 
 
 "You were saying, Philip, that you love to recognize the 
 merits of all men whom you see," says gentle Agnes, '-and 
 I believe you do." 
 
 " Yes ! " cries Phil, tossing about the fair locks. " I 
 think I do. Thank heaven, I do. I know fellows who can 
 do many things better than I do — everything better than I 
 do." 
 
 " Oh, Philip ! " sighs the lady. 
 
 " But I don't hate 'em for it." 
 
 " You never hated any one, sir. You are too brave ! Can 
 you fancy Philip hating any one, mamma ? " 
 
 Mamma is writing : " Mr. and j\Irs. Talbot Twysdex 
 request the honor of Admiral and Mrs. Davis Locker's 
 company at dinner on Thursday the so-and-so." "Philip 
 what ? " says mamma, looking up from her card. " Philip
 
 220 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 hating any one ! Philip eating any one ! Philip ! we have 
 a little dinner on the 24tli. We shall ask your father to 
 dine. We must not have too many of the family. Come 
 in afterwards, please." 
 
 '' Yes, aunt," says downright Phil, " I'll come, if you and 
 the girls wish. You know tea is not in my line ; and I don't 
 care about dinners, except in my own way, and with — " 
 
 " And with your own horrid set, sir ! '^ 
 
 '^ Well," says Sultan Philip, flinging himself out on the 
 sofa, and lording on the ottoman, " I like mine ease and 
 mine inn." 
 
 " Ah, Philip ! you grow more selfish every day. I mean 
 men do," sighed Agnes. 
 
 You will suppose mamma leaves the room at this junc- 
 ture. She has that confidence in dear Philip and the dear 
 girls, that she sometimes does leave the room when Agnes and 
 Phil are together. She will leave Keuben, the eldest born, 
 with her daughters : but my poor dear little younger son of 
 a Joseph, if you suppose she will leave the room and you 
 alone in it — my clear Joseph, you may just jump down 
 the well at once ! Mamma, I say, has left the room at last, 
 bowing with a perfect sweetness and calm grace and 
 gravity ; and she has slipped down the stairs, scarce more 
 noisy than the shadow that slants over the faded carpet 
 (oh ! the faded shadow, the faded sunshine !) — mamma is 
 gone, I say, to the lower regions, and with perfect good 
 breeding is torturing the butler on his bottle-rack — is 
 squeezing the housekeeper in her jam-closet — is watching 
 the three cold cutlets shuddering in the larder behind the 
 wires — is blandly glancing at the kitchen-maid until the 
 poor wench fancies the piece of bacon is discovered which 
 she gave to the crossing-sweeper — and calmly penetrating 
 John until he feels sure his inmost heart is revealed to her, 
 as it throbs within his worsted-laced waistcoat, and she 
 knows about that pawning of master's old boots (beastly 
 old highlows !), and — and, in fact, all the most intimate 
 circumstances of his existence. A Avretched maid, who has 
 been ironing collars, or whatnot, gives her mistress a shud- 
 dering courtesy, and slinks away' with her laces : and mean- 
 while our girl and boy are prattling in the drawing-room. 
 
 About what ? About everything on which Philip 
 chooses to talk. There is nobody to contradict him but 
 himself, and then his pretty hearer a^ows and declares he 
 has not been so very contradictory. He spouts his favorite
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 221 
 
 poems. " Delightful ! Do, Pliilip, read us some Walter 
 Scott ! He is, as you say, tlie most fresh, the most manly, 
 the most kindly of j^oetic writers — not of the first class, 
 certainly. In fact, he has written most dreadful bosh, as 
 you call it so droll}- ; and so has Wordsworth, though he 
 is one of the greatest of men, and has reached sometimes 
 to the very greatest height and sublimity of poetry ; but 
 now you put it, I must confess he is often an old bore, and 
 I certainly should have gone to sleep during the 'Excur- 
 sion,' only you read it so nicely. You don't think the new 
 composers as good as the old ones, and love mamma's old- 
 fashioned playing ? Well, Philip, it is delightful, so lady- 
 like, so feminine ! " Or, perhaps, Philip has just come 
 from Hyde Park, and says, " As I passed by Apsley House, 
 I saw the Duke come out, with his old blue frock and 
 white trousers and clear face. I have seen a picture of him 
 in an old Euroxjean Magazine, which I think I like better 
 than all — gives me the idea of one of the brighest men in 
 the world. The brave eyes gleam at you out of the 
 picture ; and there's a smile on the resolute lips, which 
 seems to insure triumph. Agnes, Assaye must have been 
 glorious ! " 
 
 "Glorious, Philip ! " says Agnes, who had never heard of 
 Assaye before in her life. Arbela, perhaps ; Salamis, ^Nlara- 
 thon, Agincourt, Blenheim, Busaco — where dear grandpapa 
 was killed — Waterloo, Armageddon; but Assaye? Que 
 voulez-vous ? 
 
 "Think of that ordinarily prudent man, and how greatly 
 he knew how to dare when occasion came ! I should like to 
 have died after winning such a game. He has never done 
 anything so exciting since." 
 
 " A game ? I thought it was a battle just now," mur- 
 murs Agnes in her mind; but there may be some misunder- 
 standing. " Ah, Philip," she says, " I fear excitement is too 
 much the life of all young men now. When will you be 
 quiet and steady, sir ? " 
 
 "And go to an office every day, like my uncle and cousin; 
 and read the newspapers for three hours, and trot back and 
 see you." 
 
 " Well, sir I that ought not to be such very bad amuse- 
 ment," says one of the ladies. 
 
 " What a clumsy wretch I am ! my foot is always tram- 
 pling on something or somebody I " groans Phil. 
 
 " You must come to uS; and we will teach you to dance,
 
 222 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 Bruin ! " says gentle Agnes, smiling on him. I think when 
 very much agitated, her pulse must have gone up to forty. 
 Her blood must have been a light pink. The heart that 
 beat under that pretty white chest, which she exposed so 
 liberally, may have throbbed pretty quickly once or twice 
 with waltzing, but otherwise never rose or fell beyond its 
 natural gentle undulation. It may have had throbs of grief 
 at a disappointment occasioned by the milliner not bringing 
 a dress home ; or have felt some little fluttering impulse of 
 youthful passion when it was in short frocks, and Master 
 Gi-rimsby at the dancing-school showed some preference for 
 another young pupil out of the nursery. But feelings, and 
 hopes, and passions now ? Psha ! They pass away like 
 nursery dreams. Now there are only proprieties. What is 
 love, young heart ? It is two thousand a year, at the very 
 lowest computation; and, Avith the present rise in wages 
 and house-rent, that calculation can't last very long. Love ? 
 Attachment ? Look at Frank Maythorn, with his vernal 
 blushes, his leafy whiskers, his sunshiny, laughing face, and 
 all the birds of spring carolling in his jolly voice ; and old 
 General Pinwood hobbling in on his cork leg, with his stars 
 and orders, and leering round the room from under his 
 painted eyebrows. Will my modest nymph go to Maythorn, 
 or to yonder leering Satyr, who totters towards her in his 
 white and rouge ? Nonsense. She gives her garland to the 
 old man, to be sure. He is ten times as rich as the young 
 one. And so they Avent on in Arcadia itself, really. Not 
 in that namby-pamby ballet and idyll world, where they 
 tripped up to each other in rhythm, and talked hexameters ; 
 but in the real downright, no-mistake country — Arcadia — 
 where Tityrus, fluting to Amaryllis in the shade, had his 
 pipe very soon put out when Meliboeus (the great grazier) 
 performed on his melodious, exquisite, irresistible cowhorn; 
 and where Daphne's mother dressed her up Avith ribbons and 
 drove her to market, and sold her, and swapped her, and 
 bartered her like any other lamb in the fair. This one has 
 been trotted to the market so long uoav that she knoA\^s the 
 Avay herself. Her baa has been heard for — do not let us 
 count hoAv many seasons. She has nibbled out of (countless 
 hands ; frisked in many thousand dances ; come quite harm- 
 less aAvay from goodness knoAvs hoAV many Avolves. Ah ! ye 
 lambs and raddled innocents of our Arcadia ! Ah, old Ewe ! 
 Is it of your ladyship this fable is narrated ? I say it is as 
 old as Cadmus, and man and mutton kind.
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 223 
 
 So, when Philip comes to Beaunash Street, Agnes listens 
 to him most kindly, sweetly, gently, and affectionately. 
 Her pulse goes ujj very nearly half a beat when the echo of 
 the horse's heels is heard in the quiet street. It undergoes 
 a corresponding depression when the daily grief of parting 
 is encountered and overcome. Blanche and Agnes don't 
 love each other very passionately. If I may say as much 
 regarding those two lambkins, they butt at each other — 
 they quarrel with each other — but they have secret under- 
 standings. During Phil's visits the girls remain together, 
 you understand, or mamma is with the j'^oung people. 
 Female friends may come in to call on Mrs. Twysden, and 
 the matrons whisper together, and glance at the cousins, 
 and look knowing. '^ Poor orphan boy I " mamma says to 
 a sister matron. " I am like a mother to him since my dear 
 sister died. His own home is so blank, and ours so merry, 
 so affectionate ! There may be intimacy, tender regard, 
 the utmost confidence between cousins — there may be future 
 and even closer ties between them — but you understand, 
 dear Mrs. Matcham, no engagement between them. He is 
 eager, hot-headed, impetuous, and imprudent, as we all know. 
 She has not seen the world enough — is not sure of herself, 
 poor dear child! Therefore every circumspection, every 
 caution is necessary. There must be no engagement, no 
 letters between them. !My darling Agnes does not write to 
 ask him to dinner without showing the note to me or her 
 father. My dearest girls respect themselves." ''Of course, 
 my dear Mrs. Twj'sden, they are admirable, both of them. 
 Bless you, darlings I Agnes, you look radiant ! Ah, Rosa, 
 my child, I wish you had dear Blanche's complexion !" 
 
 '• And isn't it monstrous keeping that poor boy hanging 
 on until Mr. Woolcomb has made up his mind about coming 
 forward ? " says dear !Mrs. Matcham to her own daughter, 
 as her brougham-door closes on the pair. " Here he comes ! 
 Here is his cab. Maria Twysden is one of the smartest 
 women in England — that she is." 
 
 " How odd it is, mamma, that the becni cousin and Captain 
 Woolcomb are always calling, and never call together!" 
 remarks the ingenue. 
 
 "They might quarrel if they met. They say young Mr. 
 Firmin is very quarrelsome and impetuous ! " says mamma. 
 
 " But how are they kept apart ? " 
 
 " Chance, my dear ! mere chance ! " says mamma. And 
 they agree to say it is chance — and they agree to pretend
 
 224 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 to believe one another. And the girl and the mother know 
 everytliing about Woolcomb's property, everything about 
 Philip's property and expectations, everything about all the 
 young men in London, and those coming on. And Mrs. 
 Matcham's girl fished for Captain Woolcomb last year 
 in Scotland, at Loch hookey; and stalked him to Paris; 
 and they went down on their knees to Lady Banbury when 
 they heard of the theatricals at the Cross ; and pursued that 
 man about until he is forced to say, "Confound me! hang 
 me ! it's too bad of that woman and her daughter, it is now, 
 I give you my honor it is ! And all the fellows chaff me ! 
 And she took a house in Regent's Park, opposite our bar- 
 racks, and asked for her daughter to learn to ride in our 
 school — I'm blessed if she didn't, Mrs. Twysden ! and I 
 thought my black mare would have kicked her off one day 
 — I mean the daughter — but she stuck on like grim death", 
 and the fellows call them Mrs. Grim Death and her daughter. 
 Our surgeon called them so, and a doosid rum fellow — and 
 they chaff me about it, you know — ever so many of the 
 fellows do — and /'m not going to be had in that way by 
 Mrs. Grim Death and her daughter ! No, not as I knows, if 
 you please ! " 
 
 " You are a dreadful man, and you gave her a dreadful 
 name. Captain Woolcomb ! " says mamma. 
 
 "It wasn't me. It was the surgeon, you know, Miss 
 Agnes: a doosid funny and witty fellow, Nixon is — and 
 sent a thing once to Punch, Nixon did. I heard him make 
 the riddle in Albany Barracks, and it riled Poker so! 
 You've no idea how it riled Poker, for he's in it ! " 
 
 " In it ? " asks Agnes, with the gentle smile, the candid 
 blue eyes — the same eyes, expression, lips, that smile and 
 sparkle at Philip. 
 
 " Here it is ! Capital. Took it down. Wrote it into my 
 pocket-book at once as Nixon made it. ^All doctors like my 
 first, thafs elect?'/' Doctor Firmin does that. Old Parr 
 Street party ! Don't you see, Miss Agnes ? Pee ! Don't 
 you see ? " 
 
 " Fee ! Oh, you droll thing ! " cries Agnes, smiling, radi- 
 ant, very much puzzled. 
 
 " ' My second,' " goes on the young officer — " ^ My second 
 gives us Foker's beer ! ' " 
 
 " ' My u'hole's the shortest month in all the year ! ' Don't 
 you see, Mrs. Twysden ? Fee-Brewery, don't you see ? 
 February ! A doosid good one, isn't it now ? and I wonder
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 225 
 
 Punch never put it in. And upon my word, I used to spell 
 it Febuary before, I did ; and I dare say ever so many fel- 
 lows do still. And I know the right way now, and all from 
 that riddle which Nixon made." 
 
 The ladies declare he is a droll man, and full of fun. He 
 rattles on, artlessly telling his little stories of sport, drink, 
 adventure, in which the dusky little man himself is a prom- 
 inent hgure. Not honejMuouthed Plato would be listened 
 to more kindly by those three ladies. A bland, frank smile 
 shines over Talbot Twysden's noble face, as he comes in 
 from his office, and finds the Creole prattling. " What, you 
 here, Woolcomb ? Hay ! Glad to see you ! " And the 
 gallant hand goes out and meets and grasps Woolcomb's 
 tiny kid glove. 
 
 "■ He has been so amusing, papa ! He has been making us 
 die with laughing ! Tell pax^a that riddle you made, Captain 
 Woolcomb ? " 
 
 *' That riddle I made ? That riddle Nixon, our surgeon, 
 made. ^All doctors like my first, that's clear,'" &c. 
 
 And da capo. And the family, as he expounds this ad- 
 mirable rebus, gather round the young officer in a group, and 
 the curtain drops. 
 
 As in a theatre booth at a fair there are two or three x^er- 
 formances in a day, so in Beaunash Street a little genteel 
 comedy is played twice : — at four o'clock with Mr. Firmin, 
 at five o'clock with Mr. Woolcomb ; and for both young gen- 
 tlemen, same smiles, same eyes, same voice, same welcome. 
 Ah, bravo ! ah, encore ! 
 
 VOL. I. — 15
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 IN WHICH WE VISIT " ADMIRAL BYNG. 
 
 EOM long residence in 
 Bohemia, and fatal love 
 of bachelor ease and hab- 
 its, Master Philip's pure 
 tastes were so destroyed, 
 and his manners so per- 
 verted, that, you will 
 hardly believe it, he was 
 actually indifferent to 
 the pleasures of the re- 
 fined home we have just 
 been describing ; and, 
 when Agnes was away, 
 sometimes even when 
 I she was at home, was 
 [jl quite relieved to get out 
 of Beaunash Street. He 
 is hardly twenty yards 
 
 ^ _ from the door, when out 
 
 "" " ^^^^3- ^^ of his pocket there comes 
 
 a case ; out of the case 
 there jumps an aromatic cigar, which is scattering fragrance 
 around as he is marching briskly northwards to his next 
 house of call. The pace is even more lively now than when 
 he is hastening on what you call the wings of love to Beau- 
 •nash Street. At the house whither he is now going, he and 
 the cigar are always welcome. There is no need of munch- 
 ing orange chips, or chewing scented pills, or flinging your 
 weed away half a mile before you reach Thornhaugh Street 
 — the low, vulgar place. I promise you Phil may smoke 
 at Brandon's, and find others doing the same. He may set 
 the house on fire, if so minded, such a favorite is he tlu're ; 
 and the Little Sister, with her kind, beaming smile, will be 
 there to bid him welcome. How that woman loved Phil, 
 
 220
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 227 
 
 and how lie loved her, is quite a curiosity ; and both of 
 them used to be twitted with this attachment by their 
 mutual friends, and blush as they acknowledged it. Ever 
 since the little nurse had saved his life as a school-boy, it 
 was a la vie a la moH between them. Phil's father's 
 chariot used to come to Thornhaugh Street sometimes — at 
 rare times — and the doctor descend thence and have 
 colloquies with the Little Sister. She attended a patient 
 or two of his. She was certainly very much better oft' in 
 her money matters in these late years, since she had known 
 Dr. Firmin. Do 3'ou think she took money from him ? 
 As a novelist, who knows everything about his people, I am 
 constrained to say, Yes. She took enough to pay some 
 little bills of her weak-minded old father, and send the 
 bailiff's hand from his old collar. But no more. " I think 
 you owe him as much as that/' she said to the doctor. 
 But as for compliments between them — " Dr. Firmin, I 
 would die rather than be beholden to you for anything," 
 she said, with her little limbs all in a tremor, and her eyes 
 flashing anger. " How dare you, sir, after old days, be a 
 coward and pay compliments to me? I will tell your son 
 of you, sir ! " and the little woman looked as if she could 
 have stabbed the elderly libertine there as he stood. And 
 he shrugged his handsome shoulders : blushed a little too, 
 perhaps : gave her one of his darkling looks, and departed. 
 She had believed him once. She had married him, as she 
 fancied. He had tired of her; forsaken her; left her — 
 left her even without a name. She had not known his for 
 long years after her trust and his deceit. "Ko, sir, I 
 wouldn't have your name now, not if it were a lord's, I 
 wouldn't, and a coronet on your carriage. You are beneath 
 me now, ]\rr. Brand Firmin ! " she had said. 
 
 How came she to love the boy so? Years back, in her 
 own horrible extremity of misery, she could remember a 
 week or two of a brief, strange, exquisite happiness, which 
 came to her in the midst of her degradation and desertion, 
 and for a fcAv days a baby in her arms, with eyes like 
 Philip's. It was taken from her, after a few days — only 
 sixteen days. Insanity came upon her, as her dead infant 
 was carried away: — insanity, and fever, and struggle — 
 ah ! who knows how dreadful ? She never does. There is 
 a gap in her life which she never can recall quite. But 
 George Brand Firmin, Esq., M. D., knows how very fre- 
 quent are such cases of mania, and that women who don't
 
 228 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 speak about them often will cherish them for years after 
 they appear to have passed away. The Little Sister says, 
 quite gravely, sometimes, "They are allowed to come 
 back. They do come back. Else what's the good of little 
 cherubs bein' born, and smilin', and happy, and beautiful — 
 say for sixteen days, and then an end ? I've talked about 
 it to many ladies in grief sim'lar to mine was, and it com- 
 forts them. And when I saw that child on his sick-bed, and 
 he lifted his eyes, I knew him, I tell you, Mrs. Ridley. I 
 don't speak about it ; but I knew him, ma'am ; my angel 
 came back again. I know him by the eyes. Look at 'em. 
 Did you ever see such eyes ? They look as if they had 
 seen heaven. His father's don't." Mrs. Eidley believes 
 this theory solemnly, and I think I know a lady, nearly con- 
 nected with myself, who can't be got quite to disown it. 
 And this secret opinion to women in grief and sorrow over 
 their new-born lost infants Mrs. Brandon persists in 
 imparting. " / know a case," the nurse murmurs, " of 
 a poor mother who lost her child at sixteen days old ; 
 and sixteen years after, on the very day, she saw him 
 again." 
 
 Philip knows so far of the Little Sister's story, that he 
 is the object of this delusion, and, indeed, it very strangely 
 and tenderly affects him. He remembers fitfully the ill- 
 ness through which the Little Sister tended him, the wild 
 paroxysms of his fever, his head throbbing on her shoulders 
 — cool tamarind drinks wdiich she applied to his lips — 
 great gusty night shadows flickering through the bare 
 school dormitory — the little figure of the nurse gliding in 
 and out of the dark. He must be aware of the recognition, 
 w^hich we know of, and which took place at his bedside, 
 though he has never mentioned it — not to his father, nor 
 to Caroline. But he clings to the woman, and shrinks 
 from the man. Is it instinctive love and antipathy ? The 
 special reason for his quarrel with his father the junior 
 Firmin has never explicitly told me then or since. I have 
 known sons much more confidential, and wdio, when their 
 fathers tripped and stumbled, would bring their acquaint- 
 ances to jeer at the patriarch in his fall. 
 
 One day, as Philip enters Thornhaugh Street, and the 
 Sister's little parlor there, fancy his astonishment on find- 
 ing his fa;ther's dingy friend, the Rev. Tufton Hunt, at his 
 ease by the fireside. " Surprised to see me here, eh ? " says 
 the dingy gentleman, with a sneer at Philip's lordly face of
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 229 
 
 wonder and disgust. " Mrs. Brandon and I turn out to be 
 very old friends." 
 
 '•"Yes, sir, old acquaintances," says tlie Little Sister, very 
 gravely. 
 
 '• The Captain brought me home from tht; club at the 
 * Byng.' Jolly fellows the Byngs. My service to you, Mr. 
 Gann and ]\Irs. Brandon," And the two persons addressed 
 by the gentleman, who is •• taking some refreshment," as 
 the phrase is, made a bow in acknowledgment of this 
 salutation. 
 
 '• You should have been at }>h\ Philip's call-supper, Cap- 
 tain Gann," the divine resumes. "That was a night! 
 Tip-top swells — noblemen — hrst-rate claret. That claret 
 of your father's, Philip, is pretty nearly drunk down. And 
 your song was famous. Did you ever hear him sing, Mrs. 
 Brandon ? " 
 
 '' Who do you mean by klm ? " says Philip, who always 
 boiled with rage before this man. 
 
 Caroline divines the antipathy. She lays a little hand on 
 Philip's arm. '' Mr. Hunt has been having too much, I 
 think," she says. '' I did know him ever so long ago, 
 Philip ! " 
 
 '' What does he mean by Him ? " again says Philip, snort- 
 ing at Tufton Hunt. 
 
 ''Him? — Dr. Luther's Hymn! 'Wein, Weib, und 
 Gesang,' to be sure ! " cries the clergyman, humming the 
 tune. "1 learned it in Germany, mvself — passed a 
 good deal of time in Germany, Captain Gann — six 
 months in a specially shady place — Quod Strasse, in 
 rrankfort-on-the-]\raine — being persecuted by some wicked 
 Jews there. And there was another poor English chap in 
 the place, too, who used to chir]i that song behind the bars, 
 and died there, and disappointed the Philistines. I've seen 
 a deal of life, I have ; and met with a precious deal of 
 misfortune ; and borne it pretty stoutly, too, since your 
 father and I were at college together, Philip. You don't 
 do anything in this way ? Not so early, eh ? It's good 
 rum, Gann, and no mistake.'^ And again the chaplain 
 drinks to the Captain, who waves the dingy hand of hospi- 
 tality towards his dark guest. 
 
 For several months past Hunt had now been a resident 
 in London, and a pretty constant visitor at Dr. Firmin's 
 liouse. He came and went at his will. He made the place 
 his house of call ; and in the doctor's trim, silent, orderly
 
 230 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 •mansion, was perfectly free, talkative, dirty, and familiar. 
 Philip's loathing for the man increased till it reached a 
 pitch of frantic hatred. Mr. Phil, theoretically a Kadical, 
 and almost a Kepublican (in opposition, perhaps, to his 
 father, who, of course, held the highly respectable line ot 
 politics) — Mr. Sansculotte Phil was personally one of the 
 most aristocratic and overbearing of young gentlemen ; and 
 had a contempt and hatred for mean people, for base people, 
 for servile people, and especially for too familiar people, 
 which was not a little amusing sometimes, which was pro- 
 voking often, but which he never was at the least pains of 
 disguising. His uncle and cousin Twysden, for example, 
 he treated not half so civilly as their footmen. Little Talbot 
 humbled himself before Phil, and felt not always easy in 
 his company. Young Twysden hated him, and did not dis- 
 guise his sentiments at the club, or to their mutual ac- 
 quaintance behind Phil's broad back. And Phil, for his 
 part, adopted towards his cousin a kick-me-down-stairs 
 manner, which I own must have been provoking to that 
 gentleman who was Phil's senior by three years, a clerk in 
 a public office, a member of several good clubs, and alto- 
 gether a genteel member of society. Phil would often for- 
 get Eingwood Twysden's presence, and pursue his own 
 conversation entirely regardless of Eingwood's observations. 
 He VMS very rude, I own. Que voulez-vous ? We have all 
 of us our little failings, and one of Philip's was an ignorant 
 impatience of bores, parasites, and pretenders. 
 
 So no wonder my young gentleman was not very fond of 
 his father's friencf, the dingy jail chaplain. I, who am 
 the most tolerant man in the world, as all my friends 
 know, liked Hunt little better than Phil did. The man's 
 presence made me uneasy. His dress, his complexion, his 
 teeth, his leer at women — Que sais-je ? — everything was 
 unpleasant about this Mr. Hunt, and his gayety and famili- 
 arity more especially disgusting than even his hostility. 
 The wonder was that battle had not taken place between 
 Philip and the jail clergyman, who, I suppose, was accus- 
 tomed to be disliked, and laughed with cynical good-humor 
 at the other's disgust. 
 
 Hunt was a visitor of many tavern parlors ; and one day, 
 strolling out of the " Admiral Byng," he saw his friend Dr. 
 Firmin's well-known equipage stopping at a door in Thorn- 
 haugh Street, out of which the doctor presently came ,• 
 "Brandon" was on the door. Brandon. Brandon? Hunt
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD, 231 
 
 remembered a dark transaction of more than twenty years 
 ago — of a woman deceived by this Firmin, Avho then chose 
 to go by the name of Brandon. "He lives with her still, 
 the old hypocrite, or he has gone back to her," thought the 
 parson. Oh, you old sinner ! And the next time he called 
 in Old Farr Street on his dear old college friend, Mr. Hunt 
 was specially jocular, and frightfully unpleasant and fa- 
 miliar. 
 
 -' Saw your trap Tottenham Court Eoad way," says the 
 slang parson, nodding to the physician. 
 
 '■ Have some patients there. People are ill in Tottenham 
 Court Road," remarks the doctor. 
 
 ^'Pallida mors (Bquo pede — hay, doctor? AVhat used 
 Flaccus to say, when we were undergrads ? " 
 
 '^ .E'luo pedej*^ sighs the doctor, casting up his line eyes 
 to the ceiling. 
 
 " Sly old fox ! Xot a word will he say about her ! " tliinks 
 the clergyman. " Yes, j'es, I remember. And, by Jove ! 
 Gann was the name." 
 
 (xann was also the name of that queer old man who fre- 
 quented the "Admiral Byng," where the ale was so good — • 
 the old boy whom they called the Ca^^tain. Yes 5 it was 
 clear now. That ugly business was patched up. The 
 astute Hunt saw it all. The doctor still kept up a connec- 
 tion with the — the party. And that is her old father, 
 sure enough. " The old fox, the old fox ! I've earthed 
 him, have I ? TJiis is a good game. I wanted a little 
 something to do, and this will excite me," thinks the 
 clergyman. 
 
 I am describing what I never could have seen or heard, and 
 can guarantee only verisimilitude, not truth, in my report 
 of the private conversations of these worthies. The end of 
 scores and scores of Hunt's conversations with his friend 
 was the same — an application for money. If it rained 
 when Hunt parted from his college chum, it was, " I say, 
 doctor, I shall spoil my new hat, and I'm blest if I have 
 any money to take a cab. Thank you, old boy. Au 
 revoir." If the day was fine, it was, " My old blacks show 
 the white seams so, that you must out of your charity rig 
 me out with a new pair. Not your tailor. He is too ex- 
 pensive. Thank you — a couple of sovereigns will do." 
 And the doctor takes two from the mantel-piece, and the 
 divine retires, jingling the gold in his greasy pocket. 
 
 The doctor is going, after the few words about iKiUida
 
 232 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 mors, and has taken up that well brushed broad hat, with 
 that ever-fresh lining, which we all admire in him — " Oh, 
 I say, Firmin!" breaks out the clergyman, "before you 
 go out, you must lend me a few sovs, jjlease. They've 
 cleaned me out in Air Street. That confounded roulette ! 
 It's a madness with me." 
 
 " By G-eorge ! " cries the other, with a strong execration, 
 "you "are too bad, Hunt. Every week of my life you come 
 to me for money. You have had plenty. Go elsewhere. 
 I won't give it you." 
 
 " Yes, you will, old boy," says the other, looking at him 
 a terrible look ; " for — " 
 
 " For what ? " says the doctor, the veina of his tall fore- 
 head growing very full. 
 
 "For old times' sake," says the clergyman. "There's 
 seven of 'em on the table in bits of paper — that'll do 
 nicely." And he sweeps the fees with a dirty hand into 
 a dirty pouch. " Halloa ! Swearin' and cursin' before a 
 clergyman. Don't cut up rough, old fellow ! Go and take 
 the air. It'll cool you." 
 
 " I don't think I would like that fellow to attend me, if 
 I was sick," says Hunt, shuffling away, rolling the plunder 
 in his greasy hand. " I don't think I'd like to meet him 
 by moonlight alone, in a very quiet lane. He's a deter- 
 mined chap. And his eyes mean michmg malecho, his 
 eyes do. Phew ! " And he laughs, and makes a rude ob- 
 servation about Dr. Firmin's eyes. 
 
 That afternoon, the gents who used the " Admiral Byng " 
 remarked the reappearance of the party who looked in last 
 evening, and who now stood glasses round, and made him- 
 self uncommon agreeable to be sure. Old Mr. Eidley says 
 he is quite the gentleman. " Hevident have been in foring 
 parts a great deal, and speaks the languages. Probbly 
 have 'ad misfortunes, Avhich many 'ave 'ad them. Drinks 
 rum-and-water tremenjous. 'Ave scarce no heppytite. 
 Many get into this way from misfortunes. A plesn man, 
 most well informed on almost every subjeck. Tliink he's 
 a clergyman. He and Mr. Gann have made quite a friend- 
 ship together, he and Mr. Gann 'ave. Which they talked 
 of Watioo, and Gann is very fond of that, Gann is, most 
 certny." I imagine Eidley delivering these sentences, and 
 alternate little volleys of smoke, as he sits behind his sober 
 calumet and prattles in the tavern parlor. 
 
 After Dr. Firmin has careered through the town, stand-
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 233 
 
 ing by sick-beds with his sweet sad smile, fondled and 
 blessed by tender mothers, who hail him as the saviour of 
 their children, touching ladies' pulses with a hand as deli- 
 cate as their own, patting little fresh cheeks with courtly 
 kindness — little cheeks that owe their roses to his marvel- 
 lous skill ; after he has soothed and comforted my lady, 
 shaken hands with my lord, looked in at the club, and 
 exchanged courtly salutations with brother bigwigs, and 
 driven away in the handsome carriage with the noble 
 horses — admired, respecting, respectful, saluted, saluting — 
 so that every man says, "Excellent man, Firmin. Excel- 
 lent doctor, excellent man. Safe man. Sound man. Man 
 of good family. Married a rich wife. Lucky man." And 
 so on. After the day's triumphant career, I fancy I see 
 the doctor driving homeward, with those sad, sad eyes, that 
 haggard smile. 
 
 He comes whirling up Old Parr Street just as Phil saun- 
 ters in from Regent Street, as usual, cigar in mouth. He 
 flings away the cigar as he sees his father, and they enter 
 the house together. 
 
 "Do you dine at home, Philip ? " the father asks. 
 
 "Do you, sir ? I will if you do," says the son, "and if 
 you are alone." 
 
 " Alone. Yes. That is, there'll be Hunt, I suppose, 
 whom you don't like. But the poor fellow has few places 
 to dine at. What ? D — Hunt ? That's a strong expres- 
 sion about a poor fellow in misfortune, and your father's 
 old friend." 
 
 I am afraid Philip had used that wicked monosyllable 
 whilst his father was speaking, and at the mention of the 
 clergyman's detested name. "I beg your pardon, father. 
 It slipped out in spite of me. I can't help it. I hate the 
 fellow." 
 
 " You don't disguise your likes or dislikes, Philip," says, 
 or rather groans, the safe man, the sound man, the prosper- 
 ous man, the lucky man, the miserable man. For years 
 and years he has known that his boy's heart has revolted 
 from him, and detected him, and gone from him ; and with 
 shame and remorse, and sickening feeling, he lies awake in 
 the night-watches, and thinks how he is alone — alone in 
 the world. Ah ! Love your parents, young ones ! O 
 Father Beneficent ! strengthen our hearts : strengthen and 
 purify them so that we Fiiay not have to blush before our 
 children !
 
 234 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 " You don't disguise your likes and dislikes, Philip," 
 says the father, then, witli a tone that smites strangely and 
 keenly on the young man. 
 
 There is a great tremor in Philip's voice, as he says, 
 *' No, father, I can't bear that man, and I can't disguise my 
 feelings. I have just parted from the man. I have just 
 met him." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 "At — at Mrs. Brandon's, father." He blushes like a 
 girl as he speaks. 
 
 At the next moment he is scared by the execration which 
 hisses from his father's lips, and the awful look of hate 
 which the elder's face assumes — that fatal, forlorn, fallen, 
 lost look which, man and boy, has often frightened poor 
 Phil. Philip did not like that look, nor indeed that other 
 one, which his father cast at Hunt, who presently swag- 
 gered in. 
 
 "' What ! you dine here ? We rarely do papa the honor 
 of dining with him," says the parson with his knowing 
 leer. " I suppose, doctor, it is to be fatted-calf day now 
 the prodigal has come home. There's worse things than a 
 good fillet of veal ; eh ? " 
 
 Whatever the meal might be, the greasy chaplain leered 
 and winked over it as he gave it his sinister blessing. The 
 two elder guests tried to be lively and gay, as Philip thought, 
 who took such little trouble to disguise his own moods of 
 gloom or merriment. Nothing was said regarding the occur- 
 rences of the morning, when my young gentleman had been 
 rather rude to Mr. Hunt; and Philip did not need his 
 father's caution to make no mention of his previous meet- 
 ing with their guest. Hunt, as usual, talked to the butler, 
 made sidelong remarks to the footman, and garnished his 
 conversation with slippery double-entendre and dirty old- 
 world slang. Betting-houses, gambling-houses, Tattersall's 
 fights, and their frequenters, were his cheerful themes, and 
 on these he descanted as usual. The doctor swallowed this 
 dose, which his friend poured out, without the least expres- 
 sion of disgust. On the contrary, he was cheerful ; he was 
 for an extra bottle of claret — it never could be in better 
 order than it was now. 
 
 The bottle was scarce put on the table, and tasted and 
 pronounced perfect, when — oh ! disappointment! the butler 
 reappears with a note for the doctor. One of his patients. 
 He must go. She has little the matter with her. She lives
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 235 
 
 hard by, in ]May Fair. " You and Hunt finish this bottle, 
 unless I am back before it is done ; and if it is done, we'll 
 have another," says Dr. Firniin, jovially. '-Don't stir, 
 Hunt" — and Dr. Firiuin is gone, leaving Philip alone with 
 the guest to whom he had certainly been rude in the 
 morning. 
 
 '• The doctor's patients often grow very unwell about 
 claret time," growls Mr. Hunt, some few minutes after. 
 '' Never mind. The drink's good — good ! as somebod}^ said 
 at your famous call-supper; Mr. Philip — won't call you 
 Philip, as you don't like it. "You were uncommon crusty to 
 me in the morning, to be sure. In my time there would 
 have been bottles broke, or worse, for that sort of treat- 
 ment." 
 
 "I have asked your pardon," Philip said. "I was 
 annoyed about — no matter what — and had no right to be 
 rude to Mrs. Brandon's guest." 
 
 " I say, did you tell the governor that you saw me in 
 Thornhaugh Street ? " asks Hunt. 
 
 "I was very rude and ill-tempered, and again I confess I 
 was wrong," said Phil, boggling, and stuttering, and turning 
 very red. He remembered his father's injunction. 
 
 " I say again, sir, did you tell 3'our father of our meeting 
 this morning ? " demands the clergyman. 
 
 '' Aud pray, sir, what right have you to ask me about my 
 private conversation with my father ? " asks Philip, with 
 towering dignity. 
 
 ''You won't tell me ? Then you have told him. He's a 
 nice man, your father is, for a moral man." 
 
 " T am not anxious for your opinion about my father's 
 morality, Mr. Hunt," says Philip, gasping in a bewildered 
 manner, and drumming the table. " I am here to replace 
 him in his absence, and treat his guest with civility." 
 
 " Civility ! Pretty civility ! " says the other, glaring at 
 him. 
 
 " Such as it is, sir, it is my best, and — I — I have no 
 other," groans the young man. 
 
 " Old friend of your father's, a university man, a Master 
 of Arts, a gentleman born, by Jove I a clergyman — though 
 I sink that — " 
 
 "Yes, sir, you do sink that," says Philip. 
 
 " Am I a dog," shrieks out the clergyman, " to be treated 
 b}" 3^ou in this way ? Who are you ? Do you know who 
 you are ? "
 
 236 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 ^' Sir, I am striving with all my strength to remember/' 
 says Philip. 
 
 " Come ! I say ! don't try any of your confoundetl airs on 
 me ! " shrieks Hunt, with a profusion of oaths, and swallow- 
 ing glass after glass from the various decanters before him. 
 " Hang me, when I was a young man, I would have sent 
 one — two at your nob, though you were twice as tall ! Who 
 are you, to patronize your senior, your father's old pal — a 
 university man, — you confounded, supercilious — " 
 
 " I am here to pay every attention to my father's guest," 
 says Phil; "but if you have finished your wine, I shall 
 be happy to break up the meeting as early as you 
 please." 
 
 " You shall pay me ; I swear you shall," says Hunt. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Hunt !" cried Philip, jumping up, and clenching 
 liis great lists, " I should desire nothing better." 
 
 The man shrank back, thinking Philip was going to strike 
 him (as Philip told me in describing the scene), and made 
 for the bell. But when the butler came, Philip only asked 
 for coffee ; and Hunt, uttering a mad oath or two, staggered 
 out of the room after the servant. Price said he had been 
 drinking before he came. He was often so. And Phil 
 blessed his stars that he had not assaulted his father's 
 guest then and there, under his own roof-tree. 
 
 He went out into the air. He gasped and cooled himself 
 under the stars. He soothed his feelings by his customary 
 consolation of tobacco. He remembered that Ridley in 
 Thornhaugh Street held a divan that night ; and jumped 
 into a cab, and drove to his old friend. 
 
 The maid of the house, who came to the door as the cab 
 was driving away, stopped it ; and as Phil entered the 
 passage, he found the Little Sister and his father talking 
 together in the hall. The doctor's broad hat shaded his 
 face from the hall lamp, which was burning with an extra 
 brightness, but Mrs. Brandon's was very pale, and she had 
 been crying. 
 
 She gave a little scream when she saw Phil. "Ah! is it 
 you, dear ? " she said. She ran up to him : seized both his 
 hands : clung to him, and sobbed a thousand hot tears on 
 liis hand. " I never will. Oh, never, never, never ! " she 
 murmured. 
 
 The doctor's broad chest heaved as with a great sigh of 
 relief. He looked at the woman and at his son with g 
 strange smile; — not a sweet smile.
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 237 
 
 "God bless 3^011, Caroline," he said, in his pompons, 
 rather theatrical way. 
 
 " Good-night, sir," said Mrs. Brandon, still clinging to 
 Philip's hand, and making the doctor a little hnmble 
 conrtesy. And when he was gone, again she kissed Philip's 
 hand, and dropped her tears on it, und said, " Never, my 
 dear ; no, never, never ! "
 
 CHAPTER XI, 
 
 IN WHICH PHILIP IS VERY ILL-TEMPERED. 
 
 HILIP had long divined a 
 part of his dear little friend's 
 history. An uneducated 
 young girl had been found, 
 cajoled, deserted by a gentle- 
 man of the world. And poor 
 Caroline was the victim, and 
 Philip's own father the se- 
 ducer. He easily guessed as 
 much as this of the sad 
 little story. Dr. Firmin's 
 part in it was enough to 
 shock his son with a thrill of 
 disgust, and to increase the 
 mistrust, doubt, alienation, 
 with which the father had 
 long inspired the son. What 
 would Philip feel, when all 
 the pages of that dark book 
 were opened to him, and he came to hear of a false marriage, 
 and a ruined and outcast woman, deserted for years by the 
 man to whom he himself was most bound ? In a word, 
 Philip had considered this as a mere case of early liber- 
 tinism, and no more ; and it was as such, in the very few 
 words which he may have uttered to me respecting this 
 matter, that he had chosen to regard it. I knew no more 
 than my friend had told me of the story as yet; it was 
 by degrees that I learned it, and as events, now subsequent, 
 served to develop and explain it. 
 
 The elder Firmin, when questioned by his old acquaint- 
 ance, and, as it appeared, accomplice of former days 
 regarding the end of a certain intrigue at Margate, which 
 had occurred some four or five-and-twenty years back, and 
 when Firmin, having reason to avoid his college creditors, 
 chose to live away and bear a false name, had told the 
 
 238
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 239 
 
 clergyman a iiiiinber of falsehoods which appeared to 
 satisfy him. AVliat had become of that poor little thing 
 about whom he had made such a fool of himself ? Oh, she 
 was dead, dead ever so many years before. He had 
 pensioned her off. She had married, and died in Canada — 
 yes, in Canada. Poor little thing ! Yes, she was a good 
 little thing, and, at one time, he had been very soft about 
 her. I am sorry to have to state of a respectable gentle- 
 man that he told lies, and told lies habitually and easily. 
 But, you see, if you commit a crime, and break a seventh 
 commandment, let us say, or an eighth, or choose any 
 number you will — you will probably have to back the lie 
 of action by the lie of the tongue, and so you are fairly 
 warned, and I have no help for you. If I murder a man, 
 and the policeman inquires, "Pray, sir, did you cut this 
 here gentleman's throat ? " I must bear false witness, you 
 see, out of self-defence, though I may be naturally a most 
 reliable, truth-telling man. And so with regard to many 
 crimes which gentlemen commit — it is painful to have to 
 say respecting gentlemen, but they become neither more 
 nor less than habitual liars, and have to go lying on through 
 life to you, to me, to the servants, to their wives, to their 
 
 children, to oh, awful name ! I bow and humble myself. 
 
 May we kneel, may we kneel, nor strive to speak our false- 
 hoods before Thee ! 
 
 And so, my dear sir, seeing that after committing any 
 infraction of the moral laws, you must tell lies in order to 
 back yourself out of your scrape, let me ask you, as a 
 man of honor and a gentleman, whether you had not better 
 forego the crime, so as to avoid the unavoidable, and 
 unpleasant, and daily recurring necessity of the subsequent 
 perjury ? A poor young girl of the lower orders cajoled, 
 or ruined, more or less, is of course no great matter. The 
 little baggage is turned out of doors — worse luck for her! 
 — or she gets a place, or she marries one of her own class, 
 Avho has not the exquisite delicacy belonging to "gentle 
 blood " — and there is an end of her. But if you marry her 
 privately and irregularly yourself, and then throw her off, 
 and then marry somebody else, you are brought to book in 
 all sorts of unpleasant ways. I am writing of quite an old 
 story, be pleased to remember. The first part of the 
 history I myself printed some twenty years ago; and if 
 you fancy I allude to any more modern period, madam, you 
 are entirely out in your conjecture.
 
 240 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 It must have been a most unpleasant duty for a man of 
 fashion, honor, and good family, to lie to a poor tipsy dis- 
 reputable bankrupt merchant's daughter, such as Caroline 
 Gann, but George Brand Firmin, Esq., M. D., had no other 
 choice, and when he lied — as in severe cases when he 
 administered calomel — he thought it best to give the drug 
 freely. Thus he lied to Hunt, saying that Mrs. Brandon 
 was long since dead in Canada; and he lied to Caroline, 
 prescribing for her the very same pill, as it were, and say- 
 ing that Hunt was long since dead in Canada too. And I 
 can fancy few more painful and humiliating positions for a 
 man of rank and fashion and re2)utation, than to have to 
 demean himself so far as to tell lies to a little low-bred 
 person, who gets her bread as a nurse of the sick, and has 
 not the proper use of her A's. 
 
 '' Oh, yes, Hunt ! " Firmin had said to the Little Sister, 
 in one of those sad little colloquies which sometimes took 
 place between him and his victim, his wife of old days. 
 "A wild, bad man Hunt was — in days when I own I was 
 little better ! I have deeply repented since, Caroline ; of 
 nothing more than of my conduct to you ; for you were 
 worthy of a better fate, and you loved me truly — madly." 
 
 "Yes," says Caroline. 
 
 "I was wild then ! I was desperate ! I had ruined my 
 fortunes, estranged my father from me, was hiding from 
 my creditors under an assumed name — that under which I 
 saw you. Ah, why did I ever come to your house, my 
 poor child ? The mark of the demon was upon me. I did 
 not dare to speak of marriage before my father. You have 
 yours, and tend him with your ever constant goodness. 
 Do you know that my father would not see me when he 
 died ? Oh, it's a cruel thing to think of ! " And the suf- 
 fering creature slaps his tall forehead with his trembling 
 hand ; and some of his grief about his own father, I dare 
 say, is sincere, for he feels the shame and remorse of being 
 alienated from his own son. 
 
 As for the marriage — that it was a most wicked and 
 unjustihable deceit, he owned; but he Avas wild when it 
 took place, wild with debt and with despair at his father's 
 estrangement from him — but the fact was, it was no 
 marriage. 
 
 '' I am glad of that ! " sighed the poor Little Sister. 
 
 " Why ? " asked the other eagerly. His love was dead, 
 but his vanity was still hale and well. "Did you care for
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 241 
 
 somebody else, Caroline ? Did you forget your George, 
 whom you used to — " 
 
 "No! " said the little Avoman, bravely. "But I couldn't 
 live with a man who behaved to any Avoman so dishonest 
 as you behaved to me. I liked you because I thought you 
 was a gentleman. My poor painter was, Avhom you used to 
 despise and trampled to hearth — and my dear, dear Philip 
 is, 5rr. Firmin. But gentlemen tell the truth! Gentlemen 
 don't .deceive poor innocent girls, and desert 'em without a 
 penny ! " 
 
 " Caroline ! I was driven by my creditors. I — '' 
 
 "Never mind. It's over now. I bear you no malice, 
 Mr. Firmin, but I would not marry you, no, not to be 
 doctor's wife to the Queen ! " 
 
 This had been the Little Sister's language when there 
 was no thought of the existence of Hunt, the clergyman 
 who had celebrated their marriage ; and I don't know 
 whether Firmin was most pi(][ued or pleased at the divorce 
 which the little woman pronounced of her own decree. 
 But when the ill-omened Hunt made his appearance, 
 doubts and terrors filled the physician's mind. Hunt 
 was needy, greedy, treacherous, unscrupulous, desperate. 
 He could hold this marriage over the doctor. He could 
 threaten, extort, expose, perhaps invalidate Philip's legiti- 
 macy. The first marriage, almost certainly, was null, but 
 the scandal would be fatal to Firmin 's reputation and prac- 
 tice. And the quarrel with his son entailed consequences 
 not pleasant to think of. You see George Firmin, Esq., 
 M. I)., was a man with great development of the back 
 head ; Avhen he willed a thing, he Avilled it so fiercely that 
 he 7)iust have it, never mind the consequences. And so 
 he had willed to make himself master of poor little Caro- 
 line : and so he had willed, as a young man, to have horses, 
 splendid entertainments, roulette and ecarte, and so forth ; 
 and the bill came at its natural season, and George Firmin, 
 Ksq., did not always like to pay. But for a grand, pros- 
 perous, highly bred gentleman in the best society — with a 
 polished forehead and manners, and universally looked up to 
 — to have to tell lies to a poor little, timid, uncomplaining, 
 sick-room nurse, was humiliating, wasn't it ? And I can 
 feel for Firmin. 
 
 To have to lie to Hunt was disgusting : but somehow not 
 so exquisit(4y mean and degrading as to have to cheat a 
 little trusting, humble, houseless creature, over the bloom 
 
 VOL. T. 16
 
 242 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 of whose gentle young life his accursed foot had already- 
 trampled. But then this Hunt was' such a cad and ruffian 
 that there need be no scruple about humbugging him ; and 
 if Firmin had had any humor he might have had a grim 
 sort of pleasure in leading the dirty clergyman a dance 
 thoro' bush thoro' briar. So, perhaps (of course I have no 
 means of ascertaining the fact), the doctor did not alto- 
 gether dislike the duty which now devolved on him of 
 hoodwinking his old acquaintance and accomplice. I don't 
 like to use such a vulgar phrase regarding a man in Doctor 
 Firmin's high social position as to say of him and the jail 
 chaplain that it was " thief catch thief " ; but at any rate 
 Hunt is such a low, graceless, friendless vagabond, that if 
 he comes in for a few kicks, or is mystified, we need not be 
 very sorry. When Mr. Thurtell is hung we don't put on 
 mourning. His is a painful position for the moment ; but, 
 after all, he has murdered ]Mr. William Weare. 
 
 Firmin was a bold and courageous man, hot in pursuit, 
 fierce in desire, but cool in danger, and rapid in action. 
 Some of his great successes as a jjhysician arose from his 
 daring and successful practice in sudden emergency. 
 While Hunt was only lurching about the town an aim- 
 less miscreant, living from dirty hand to dirty mouth, and 
 as long as he could get drink, cards, and shelter, tolerably 
 content, or at least pretty easily appeased by a guinea-dose 
 or two — Firmin could adopt the palliative system ; soothe 
 his patient with an occasional bounty : set him to sleep 
 with a composing draught of claret or brandy ; and let the 
 day take care of itself. He might die ; he might have a 
 fancy to go abroad again ; he might be transported for 
 forgery or some other rascaldom. Dr. Firmin would console 
 himself ; and he trusted to the chapter of accidents to get 
 rid of his friend. But Hunt, aware that the woman was 
 alive whom he had actually, though unlawfully, married to 
 Firmin, became an enemy whom it was necessary to sub- 
 due, to cajole, or to bribe, and the sooner the doctor put 
 himself on his defence the better. What should the de- 
 fence be ? Perhaps the most effectual was a fierce attack 
 on the enemy ; perhaps it would be better to bribe him. 
 The course to be taken would be best ascertained after a 
 little previous reconnoitring. 
 
 ^' He will try and inflame Caroline," the doctor thought, 
 "by representing her wrongs and her rights to her. He 
 will show her, that, as my wife, she has a right to my name
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 243 
 
 and a sliare of ray iucome. A less mercenary woman never 
 lived than this poor little creature. She disdains money, 
 and, except for her father's sake, would have taken none 
 of mine. But to punish me for certainly rather shabby 
 behavior; to claim and take her own right and position 
 in the world as an honest woman, may she not be induced 
 to declare war against me, and stand by her marriage ? 
 After she left home her two Irish half-sisters deserted her, 
 and spat upon her ; and when she would have returned 
 the heartless women drove her from the door. Oh, the 
 vixens ! And now to drive by them in her carriage, to 
 claim a maintenance from 'me, and to have a right to my 
 honorable name, would she not have her dearest revenge 
 over her sisters b}^ so declaring her marriage ? " 
 
 Firmin's noble mind misgave him very considerably on 
 this point. He knew women, and how those had treated 
 their little sister. Was it in human nature not to be 
 revenged ? These thoughts rose straightway in Firmin's 
 mind, when he heard that the much dreaded meeting 
 between Caroline and the chaplain had come to pass. 
 
 As he ate his dinner with his guest, his enemy, opposite 
 to him, he was determining on his plan of action. The 
 screen was up, and he was laying his guns behind it, so to 
 speak. Of course he was as civil to Hunt as the tenant to 
 his landlord when he comes with no rent. So the doctor 
 laughed, joked, bragged, talked his best, and was thinking 
 the while what was to be done against the danger. 
 
 He had a plan which might succeed. He must see Caro- 
 line immediately. He knew the weak point of her heart, 
 and where she was most likely to be vulnerable. And he 
 would act against her as barbarians of old acted against 
 their enemies, when they brought the captive wives and 
 children in front of the battle, and bade the foe strike 
 through them. He knew how Caroline loved his boy. It 
 was through that love he would work upon her. As he 
 washes his pretty hands for dinner, and bathes his noble 
 brow, he arranges his little plan. He orders himself to be 
 sent for soon after the second bottle of claret — and it 
 appears the doctor's servants were accustomed to the 
 delivery of these messages from the master to himself. 
 The plan arranged, now let us take our dinner and our 
 wine, and make ourselves comfortable until the moment of 
 action. In his wild-oats days, when travelling abroad with 
 wild and noble companions, Firmin had fought a duel or
 
 244 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 two, and was always remarkable for his gayety of conversa^- 
 tioii and the fine appetite which he showed at breaktast 
 before going on to the field. So, perhaps, Hunt, had lie 
 not been stupefied by previous drink, might have taken the
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 245 
 
 alarm by remarking Firmin's extra courtesy and gayety, as 
 they dined together. It was nunc vinum, eras cequor. 
 
 When the second bottle of claret was engaged, Dr. Fir- 
 min starts. He has an advance of half an hour at least 
 on his adversar}^, or on the man who may be his adversary. 
 If the Little Sister is at home, he will see her — he will 
 lay bare his candid heart to her, and make a clean breast of 
 it. The Little Sister was at home. 
 
 "I want to speak to you very particularly about that 
 case of poor Lady Humandhaw," says he, dropping his 
 voice. 
 
 "I will step out, my dear, and take a little fresh air," 
 says Captain Gann; meaning that he will be off to the 
 "Admiral Byng " ; and the two are together. 
 
 "I have had something on my conscience. I have de- 
 ceived you, Caroline," says the doctor, with the beautiful 
 shining forehead and hat. 
 
 '"Ah, Mr. Firmin," says she, bending over her work; 
 "you've used me to that." 
 
 "A man whom you knew once, and who tempted me for 
 his own selhsh ends to do a very wrong thing by you — a 
 man whom I thought dead is alive : — Tufton Hunt, who 
 performed that — that illegal ceremony at Margate, of 
 which so often and often on my knees I have repented, 
 Caroline ! " 
 
 The beautiful hands are clasped, the beautiful deep voice 
 thrills lowly through the room ; and if a tear or two can 
 be squeezed out of the beautiful eyes, I dare say the doctor 
 will not be sorry. 
 
 " He has been here to-day. Him and Mr. Philip was here 
 and quarrelled. Philip has told you, I suppose, sir ? " 
 
 " Before heaven, ' on the word of a gentleman,' when I 
 said he was dead, Caroline, I thought he was dead ! Yes, 
 I declare, at our college, Maxwell — Dr. Maxwell — who 
 had been at Cambridge with us, told me that our old friend 
 Hunt had died in Canada." (This, my beloved friends and 
 readers, may not have been the precise long bow which 
 George Pirrain, Esq., M.D., pulled; but that he twanged a 
 famous lie out, whenever there was occasion for the weapon, 
 I assure you was an undoubted fact.) " Yes, Dr. Maxwell 
 told me our old friend was dead — our old friend ? My 
 worst enemy and yours! But let that pass. It was he, 
 Caroline, avIio led me into crimes which I have never 
 ceased to deplore."
 
 246 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 "All, Mr. rirniin," sighs the Little Sister, "since I've 
 known you, you was big enough to take care of yourself in 
 that way." 
 
 " I have not come to excuse myself, Caroline," says the 
 deep sweet voice. " I have done you enough wrong, and I 
 feel it here — at this heart. I have not come to speak 
 about myself, but of some one I love the best of all the 
 world — the only being I do love — some one you love, you 
 good and generous soul — about Philip." 
 
 " What is it about Philip ? " asks Mrs. Brandon, very 
 quickly. 
 
 " Do you want harm to happen to him ? " 
 
 " Oh, my darling boy, no ! " cries the Little Sister, clasp- 
 ing her little hands. 
 
 " Would you keep him from harm ? " 
 
 "Ah, sir, you know I would. When he had the scarlet 
 fever, didn't I pour the drink down his poor throat, and 
 nurse him, and tend him, as if, as if — as a mother would 
 her own child ? " 
 
 "You did, you did, you noble, noble woman; and heaven 
 bless you for it ! A father does. I am not all heartless, 
 Caroline, as 3^ou deem me, perhaps." 
 
 "I don't think it's much merit your loving him,'''' says 
 Caroline, resuming her sewing. And, perhaps, she thinks 
 within herself, " What is he a-coming to ? " You see she 
 was a shrewd little person when her passions and partiali- 
 ties did not overcome her reason ; and she had come to the 
 conclusion that this elegant Dr. Firmin, whom she had ad- 
 mired so once, was a — not altogether veracious gentleman. 
 In fact, I heard her myself say afterwards, "La! he used to 
 talk so fine, and slap his hand on his heart, you know ; but 
 I usedn't to believe him, no more than a man in a play." 
 " It's not much merit your loving that boy," says Caroline, 
 then. " But what about him, sir ? " 
 
 Then Firmin explained. This man Hunt was capable of 
 any crime for money or revenge. Seeing Caroline was 
 alive . . . 
 
 "I s'pose you told him I was dead, too, sir," said she, 
 looking up from the work. 
 
 " Spare me, spare me. Years ago, perhaps, when I had 
 lost sight of you, I may, perhaps, have thought ..." 
 
 " And it's not to you, George Brandon — it's not to yon," 
 cries Caroline, starting up, and speaking with her sweet, 
 ce ; " it's to kind; dear friends, — it's
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 247 
 
 to my good God that I owe my life, which you had flung it 
 away. And I paid yon back by guarding your boy's dear 
 life, I did, under — under Him who giveth and taketh. 
 And bless His name ! " 
 
 " You are a good woman, and I am a bad, sinful man, 
 Caroline," says the ether. " You saved my Philip's — our 
 Pnilip's life, at the risk of your own. Now I tell you that 
 another immense danger menaces him, and may come upon 
 him any day as long as yonder scoundrel is alive. Suppose 
 his character is assailed; suppose, thinking you dead, I 
 married another ? " 
 
 "Ah, G-eorge, you never thought me dead; though, per- 
 haps, you wished it, sir. And many would have died," 
 added the poor Little Sister. 
 
 " Look, Caroline ! If I was married to you, my wife — 
 Philip's mother — was not my wife, and he is her natural 
 son. The property he inherits does not belong to him. 
 The children of his grandfather's other daughter claim it, 
 and Philip is a beggar. Philip, bred as he has been — 
 Philip, the heir to a mother's large fortune." 
 
 "And — and his father's, too?" asks Caroline, anxiously. 
 
 "I daren't tell you — though, no, by heavens! I can 
 trust you with everything. My own great gains have been 
 swallowed up in speculations which have been almost all 
 fatal. There has been a fate hanging over me, Caroline — 
 a righteous punishment for having deserted you. I sleep 
 with a sword over my head, which may fall and destroy 
 me. I walk with a volcano under my feet, which may 
 burst any day, and annihilate me. And people speak of 
 the famous Dr. Firmin, the rich Dr. Firmin, the prosperous 
 Dr. Firmin ! I shall have a title soon, I believe. I am be- 
 lieved to be happy, and I am alone, and the wretchedest 
 man alive." 
 
 "Alone, are you ? " said Caroline. "There was a woman 
 once who would have kept by you, only you — you flung 
 her away. Look here, George Brandon. It's over with us. 
 Years and years ago it lies where a little cherub was buried. 
 But I love my Philip; and I won't hurt him, no, never, 
 never, never ! " 
 
 And, as the doctor turned to go away, Caroline followed 
 him wistfully into the hall, and it was there that Philip 
 found them. 
 
 Caroline's tender " never, never," rang in Philip's mem- 
 ory as he sat at Kidley's party^ amidst the artists and au-
 
 248 THE ADVEyrUIiES OF PHILIP 
 
 thors there assembled. Pliil was thoughtful and silent. 
 He did not laugh very loud. He did not praise or abuse 
 anybody outrageously, as was the wont of that most em- 
 phatic young gentleman. He scarcely contradicted a single 
 person; and perhaps, when Larkins said Scumble's last 
 picture was beautiful, or Bunch, the critic of the ConnGis- 
 seur, praised Bowman's last novel, contented himself with 
 a scornful '^ Ho ! " and a pull at his whiskers, by wa}' of 
 protest and denial. Had he been in his usual fine spirits 
 and enjoying his ordinary flow of talk, he would have in- 
 formed Larkins and the assembled company not only that 
 Scumble was an impostor, but that he, Larkins, was an 
 idiot for admiring him. He would have informed Bunch 
 that he was infatuated about that jackass Bowman, that 
 cockney, that Avretched ignoramus, who didn't know his 
 own or any other language. He would have taken down 
 one of Bowman's stories from the shelf, and proved the 
 folly, imbecility, and crass ignorance of that author. (Eid- 
 ley has a simple little stock of novels and poems in an old 
 cabinet in his studio, and reads them still with much art- 
 less wonder and respect.) Or, to be sure, Phil would have 
 asserted propositions the exact contrary of those here 
 maintained, and declared that Bowman was a genius, and 
 Scumble a most accomplished artist. But then, you know, 
 somebody else must have commenced by taking the other 
 side. Certainly a more paradoxical, and provoking, and 
 obstinate, and contradictory disputant than Mr. Phil, I 
 never knew. I never met Dr. Johnson, who died before I 
 came up to town ; but I do believe Phil Firmin would have 
 stood up and argued even wdth him. 
 
 At these Thursday divans the host provided the modest 
 and kindly refreshment, and Betsy the maid, or Virgilio 
 the model, travelled to and fro with glasses and water. 
 Each guest brought his own smoke, and I promise you 
 there were such liberal contributions of the article that the 
 studio was full of it ; and new-comers used to be saluted 
 by a roar of laughter, as you heard, rather than saw, them 
 entering and choking in the fog. It was " Holloa, Prod- 
 gers ! is that you, old boy ? " and the beard of Prodgers 
 (that famous sculptor) would presently loom through the 
 cloud. It was "Xewcome, how goes?" and Mr. Clive 
 Newcome (a mediocre artist, I must own, but a famous 
 good fellow, with an uncommonly pretty villa and pretty 
 and rich wife at Wimbledon), would make his appearance.
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 249 
 
 and be warmly greeted by our little host. It was '^Is 
 that you, F. B. ? Would you like a link, old boy, to see 
 3'ou through the fog ? " And the deep voice of Frederick 
 Bayham, Esquire (the eminent critic on Art), would boom 
 out of the tobacco-mist, and would exclaim, ''A link? I 
 would like a drink." Ah, ghosts of youth, again ye draw 
 near ! Old figures glimmer through the cloud. Old songs 
 echo out of the distance. What were you saying anon 
 about Dr. Johnson, boys ? I am sure some of us must re- 
 member him. As for me, I am so old that I might have 
 been at Edial school — the other pupil along with little 
 Davy Garrick and his brother. 
 
 W^e had a bachelor's supper in the Temple so lately that 
 I think we must pay but a very brief visit to a smoking 
 party in Thornhaugh Street, or the ladies will say that we 
 are too fond of bachelor habits, and keep our friends aAvay 
 from their charming and amiable society. A novel must 
 not smell of cigars much, nor should its refined and genteel 
 page be stained with too frequent brandy-and-water. Please 
 to imagine, then, the prattle of the artists, authors, and 
 amateurs assembled at Ridley's divan. Fancy Jarman, the 
 miniature painter, drinking more liquor than any man pres- 
 ent, asking his neighbor (sub voce) why Ridley does not 
 give his father (the old butler) five shillings to wait; 
 suggesting that perhaps the old man is gone out, and is 
 getting seven-and-sixpence elsewhere ; praising Ridlej^'s 
 picture aloud, and sneering at it in an undertone ; and 
 when a man of rank happens to enter the room, shambling 
 up to him and fawning on him, and cringing to him with 
 fulsome praise and flattery. When the gentleman's back 
 is turned, Jarman can spit epigrams at it. I hope he will 
 never forgive Ridley, and always continue to hate him : 
 for hate him Jarman will, as long as he is prosperous and 
 curse him as long as the world esteems him. Look at P3^m, 
 the incumbent of Saint Bronze hard by, coming in to join 
 the literary and artistic assembly, and choking in his white 
 neckcloth to the diversion of all the company who can see 
 him ! Sixteen, eighteen, twenty men are assembled. Open 
 the windows, or sure they will all be stifled with the smoke ! 
 Why, it fills the whole house so that the Little Sister has 
 to open her parlor window on the ground-floor, and gasp for 
 fresh air. 
 
 Phil's head and cigar are thrust out from a window above, 
 and he lolls there, musing about his own affairs, as his
 
 250 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 smoke ascends to the skies. Young Mr. Pliili^J Firmin is 
 known to be wealthy, and his father gives very good parties 
 in Old Parr Street, so Jarman sidles up to Phil and wants a 
 little fresh air too. He enters into conversation by abusing 
 Eidley's picture that is on the easel. 
 
 "Everybody is praising it; what do you think of it, 
 Mr. Firmin ? Very queer drawing about those eyes, isn't 
 there ? " 
 
 " Is there ? " growls Phil. 
 
 '^^Very loud color." 
 
 " Oh ! " says Phil. 
 
 " The composition is so clearly prigged from Eaphael." 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 " I beg your pardon. I don't think you know who I am," 
 continues the other, with a simper. 
 
 " Yes, I do," says Phil glaring at him. " You're a painter 
 and your name is Mr. Envy." 
 
 " Sir ! " shrieks the painter ; but he is addressing himself 
 to the tails of Phil's coat, the superior half of Mr. Firmin's 
 body is stretching out of the window. Now you may speak 
 of a man behind his back, but not to him. So Mr. Jarman 
 withdraws, and addresses himself, face to face to somebody 
 else in the company. I dare say he abuses that upstart, im- 
 pudent, bumptious young doctor's son. Have I not owned 
 that Philip was often very rude ? and to-uight he is in a 
 specially bad humor. 
 
 As he continues to stare into the street, who is that who 
 has just reeled up to the railings below, and is talking in at 
 Mrs. Brandon's window ? Whose blackguard voice and 
 laugh are those which Phil recognizes w4th a shudder ? It 
 is the voice and laugh of our friend Mr. Hunt, whom Philip 
 left not very long since, near his father's house in Old Parr 
 Street ; and both of those familiar sounds are more vinous, 
 more odious, more impudent than they w^ere even two hours 
 
 " Holloa ! I say ! " he calls out with a laugh and a curse. 
 " Pst ! Mrs. What-d'you-call-'em ! Hang it ! don't shut the 
 window. Let a fellow in ! " and as he looks towards the 
 upper window, where Philip's head and bust appear dark 
 before the light, Hunt cries out, " Holloa ! what game's up 
 now, I wonder ? Supper and ball. Shouldn't be surprised." 
 And he hiccoughs a waltz tune, and clatters time to it with 
 his dirty boots. 
 
 "Mrs. What-d'you-call ! Mrs. B ! " the sot then recom-
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 25 L 
 
 mences to shriek out. " Must see you — most particular 
 business. Private and confidential. Hear of something- to 
 your advantage." And rap, rap, rap, he is now thundering 
 at the door. In the clatter of twenty voices few hear 
 Hunt's noise except Philip ; or, if they do, only imagine 
 that another of Kidley's guests is arriving. 
 
 At the hall-door there is talk and altercation, and the high 
 shriek of a well-known odious voice. Philip moves quickly 
 from his window, shoulders friend Jarman at the studio 
 door, and hustling past him obtains, no doubt, more good 
 wishes from that ingenious artist. Philip is so rude and 
 overbearing that I really have a mind to depose him from 
 his place of hero — only, you see, we are committed. His 
 name is on the page overhead, and we can't take it down and 
 put up another. The Little Sister is standing in her hall 
 by the just oj^ened door, and remonstrating with Mr. Hunt, 
 who appears to wish to force his way in. 
 
 " Pooh ! shtuff, my dear ! If he's here I musht see him 
 — particular business — get out of that!" and he reels 
 forward and against little Caroline's shoulder. 
 
 " Get away, you brute, you ! " cries the little lady. " Go 
 home, Mr. Hunt; you are worse than you were this morn- 
 ing." She is a resolute little woman, and puts out a firm 
 little arm against this odious invader. She has seen 
 patients in hospital raging in fever : she is not frightened 
 by a tipsy man. '^ La ! is it you, Mr. Philip ? Who ever 
 will take this horrid man ? " He ain't fit to go upstairs 
 among the gentlemen ; indeed he ain't." 
 
 "You said Firmin was here — and it isn't the father. 
 It's the cub ! I want the doctor. Where's the doctor ? " 
 hiccoughs the chaplain, lurching against the wall ; and then 
 he looks at Philip with bloodshot eyes, that twinkle hate. 
 " Who wantsh you, I shlike to know ? Had enough of you 
 already to-day. Conceited brute. Don't look at vie in that 
 sortaway ! I ain't afraid of you — ain't afraid anybody. 
 Time was when I was a young man fight you as soon as look 
 at you. I say, Philip ! " 
 
 " Go home, now. Do go home, there's a good man," says 
 the landlady. 
 
 " I say ! Look here — hie — hi ! Philip ! On your word 
 as a gentleman, your father's not here ? He's a sly old 
 boots, Brummell Firmin is — Trinity man — I'm not a Trin- 
 ity man — Corpus man. I say, Philip, give us your hand. 
 Bear no malice. Look here — something very particular.
 
 252 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 After dinner — went into Air Street — you know — rouge 
 (jay lie, et couleur — cleaned out. Cleaned out, on the honor 
 of a gentleman and master of arts of the University of 
 Cambridge. So was your father — -no, he went out in med- 
 icine, I say, Philip, hand us out five sovereigns, and let's 
 try the luck again ! What, you won't ! It's mean, I say. 
 Don't be mean." 
 
 "Oh, here's five shillings ! Go and have a cab. Fetch a 
 cab for him, Virgilio, do ! " cries the mistress of the house. 
 
 "That's not enough, my dear!" cries the chaplain, ad- 
 vancing towards Mrs. Brandon, with such a leer and air, 
 that Philip, half choked with passion, runs forward, grips 
 Hunt by the collar, and crying out, " You filthy scoundrel ! 
 as this is not my house, I may kick you out of it ! " — in 
 another instant has run Hunt through the passage, hurled 
 him down the steps, and sent him sprawling into the 
 kennel. 
 
 "Row down below," says Eosebury, placidly, looking 
 from above. " Personal conflict. Intoxicated individual — 
 in gutter. Our impetuous friend has floored him." 
 
 Hunt, after a moment, sits up and glares at Philip. He 
 is not hurt. Perhaps the shock has sobered him. Ho 
 thinks, perhaps, Philip is going to strike again. "Hands 
 off, Bastard ! " shrieks out the prostrate wretch. 
 
 " O Philip, Philip ! He's mad, he's tipsy ! " cries out the 
 Little Sister, running into the street. She puts her arms 
 round Philip. " Don't mind him, dear — he's mad ! Police- 
 man ! The gentleman has had too much. Come in, Philip ; 
 come in ! " 
 
 She took him into her little room. She was pleased with 
 the gallantry of the boy. She liked to see him just now, 
 standing over her enemy, courageous, victorious, her cham- 
 pion. "La! how savage he did look; and how brave and 
 strong you are ! But the little wretch ain't fit to stand be- 
 fore such as you ! " And she passed her little hand down 
 his arm, of which the muscles were all in a quiver from the 
 recent skirmish. 
 
 " What did the scoundrel mean by calling me bastard ? " 
 said Philip, the wild blue eyes glaring round about with 
 more than ordinary fierceness. 
 
 "jSTonsense, dear! AVho minds anything he saj^s, that 
 beast ? His language is always horrid ; he's not a gentle- 
 man. He had had too much this morning when he was here. 
 What matters what he says ? He won't know anything
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 253 
 
 about it to-morrow. But it was kind of my Philip to rescue 
 his poor little iiurse, wasu't it ? Like a novel. Come in, 
 and let me make you some tea. Don't go to no more smok- 
 ing : you have had enough. Come in and talk to me." 
 
 And, as a mother, with sweet pious face, yearns to her 
 little children from her seat, she fondles him, she watches 
 him ; she fills her teapot from her singing kettle. She 
 talks — talks in her homely way, and on this subject and 
 that. It is a wonder how she prattles on, who is generally 
 rather silent. She won't see Phil's eyes, which are follow- 
 ing her about very strangely and fiercely. And when again 
 he mutters, ''What did he mean by ... " ''La, my dear, 
 how cross you are ! " she breaks out. " It's always so ; you 
 won't be happy without your cigar. Here's a cheroot, a 
 beauty ! Pa brought it home from the club. A China cap- 
 tain gave him some. You must light it at the little end. 
 There ! " And if I could draw the picture which my mind 
 sees of her lighting Phil's cheroot for him, and smiling the 
 while, the little innocent Delilah coaxing and wheedling this 
 young Samson, I know it would be a pretty picture. I wish 
 Ridley would sketch it for me.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 DAMOCLES. 
 
 N the next morning, at an hour 
 so early that Old Parr Street 
 was scarce awake, and even the 
 maids wdio wash the broad steps 
 of the houses of the tailors and 
 medical gentlemen who inhabit 
 that region had not yet gone 
 down on their knees before their 
 respective doors, a ring was 
 heard at Dr. Firmin's night-bell, 
 and when the door w^as opened 
 by the yawning attendant, a 
 little person in a gray gown and 
 a black bonnet made her ap- 
 pearance, handed a note to the 
 servant, and said the case was 
 most urgent and the doctor 
 must come at once. Was not 
 Lad}^ Humandhaw the noble 
 j^erson whom we last mentioned, 
 as the invalid about whom the doctor and the nurse had 
 spoken a few words on the previous evening ? The Little 
 Sister, for it was she, used the very same name to the ser- 
 vant, who retired grumbling to waken up his master and 
 deliver the note. 
 
 Nurse Brandon sat awhile in the great gaunt dining-room 
 where hung the portrait of the doctor in his splendid black 
 collar and cuffs, and contemplated this masterpiece until an 
 invasion of housemaids drove her from the apartment, when 
 she took refuge in that other little room to which Mrs. Pir- 
 min's portrait had been consigned. 
 
 " That's like him ever so many years and years ago," she 
 thinks. "It is a little handsomer; but it has his wicked 
 look that I used to think so killing, and so did my sisters, 
 
 254
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 255 
 
 both of tliem — tliey were read}^ to tear out each other's 
 eyes for jealousy. And that's Mrs. Firmin ! Well, I sup- 
 pose the painter haven't flattered her. If he have she 
 could have been no great things, Mrs. F. couldn't." And 
 the doctor, entering softly by the opened door and over the 
 thick Turkey carpet, comes up to her noiselessly, and hnds 
 the Little Sister gazing at the portrait of the departed Isidj. 
 
 '- Oh, it's you, is it ? I wonder whether you treated her 
 no better than you treated me. Dr. F. I've a notion she's 
 not the only one. She don't look happy, poor thing," says 
 the little lady. 
 
 '• What is it, Caroline ? " asks the deep-voiced doctor ; 
 *' and what brings you so early ? " 
 
 The Little Sister then explains to him. '-Last night 
 after he went away Hunt came, sure enough. He had been 
 drinking. He was ver}^ rude, and Philip wouldn't bear it. 
 Philip had a good courage of his own and a hot blood. 
 And JPhilip thought Hunt was insulting her, the Little Sis- 
 ter. So he up with liis hand and down goes Mr. Hunt on 
 the pavement. Well, when he was down he was in a dread- 
 ful way, and he called Philip a dreadful name." 
 
 " A name ? what name ? " Then Caroline told the doctor 
 the name Mr. Hunt had used ; and if Firmin's face usually 
 looked wicked, I dare say it did not seem very angelical 
 when he heard, how this odious name had been applied to 
 his son. '' Can he do Philip a mischief ? " Caroline con- 
 tinued. " I thought I was bound to tell his father. Look 
 here, Doctor F., I don't want to do my dear boy a harm. 
 But suppose what 3'ou told me last night isn't true — as I 
 don't think you much mind — mind — saj'ing things as are 
 incorrect, j'ou know, when us women are in the case. But 
 suppose when you. played the villain, thinking only to take 
 in a poor innocent girl of sixteen, it was you who were 
 took in, and that I was your real wife after all ? There 
 would be a punishment ! " 
 
 " I should have an honest and good wife, Caroline," said 
 the doctor, with a groan. 
 
 " This would be a punishment, not for you, but for mj 
 poor Philip," the woman goes on. ''What has he done, 
 that his honest name should be took from him — and his 
 fortune perhaps ? I have been lying broad awake all night 
 thinking of him. Ah, George Brandon I Why, why did 
 you come to my poor old father's house, and bring this 
 misery down on me, a.nd on your child unborn ? "
 
 256 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 " On myself, the worst of all/' says the doctor. 
 
 " You deserve it. But it's us innocent that has had, or 
 will have, to suffer most. George Brandon ! Think of a 
 poor child, flung away, and left to starve and die, without 
 even so much as knowing your real name ! Think of your 
 boy, perhaps brought to shame and poverty through your 
 fault ! " 
 
 " Do you suppose I don't often think of my wrong ? " 
 says the doctor. " That it does not cause me sleepless 
 nights, and hours of anguish ? Ah ! Caroline ! " and he 
 looks in the glass ; " I am not shaved, and it's very unbe- 
 coming," he thinks ; that is, if I may dare to read his 
 thoughts, as I do to report his unheard words. 
 
 " You think of your wrong now it may be found out, I 
 dare say ! " says Caroline. " Suppose this Hunt turns 
 against you ? He is desperate ; mad for drink and money ; 
 has been in jail — as he said this very night to me and my 
 papa. He'll do or say anything. If you treat him hard, 
 and Philip have treated him hard — not harder than served 
 him right though — he'll pull the house down, and himself 
 under it, but he'll be revenged. Perhaps he drank so much 
 last night that he may have forgot. But I fear he means 
 mischief, and I came here to say so, and hoping that you 
 might be kep' on your guard. Doctor F., and if you have to 
 quarrel with him, I don't know what you ever wall do, I am 
 sure — no more than if you had to fight a chimney-sweep 
 in the street. I have been awake all night thinking, and 
 as soon as ever I saw the daylight, I determined I would 
 run and tell you." 
 
 "When he called Philip that name, did the boy seem 
 much disturbed ? " asked the doctor. 
 
 "Yes; he referred to it again and again — though I tried 
 to coax him out of it. But it was on his mind last night, 
 and I am sure he will think of it the first thing this morn- 
 ing. Ah, yes, doctor ! conscience will sometimes let a 
 gentleman doze ; but after discovery has come, and opened 
 your curtains, and said, 'You desired to be called early !' 
 there's little use in trying to sleep much. You look very 
 much frightened. Doctor F.," the nurse continues. "You 
 haven't such a courage as Philip has ; or as you had when 
 you were a young man, and came a-leading poor girls 
 astray. You used to be afraid of nothing then. Do you 
 remember that fellow on board the steamboat in Scotland 
 in our wedding-trip, and, la ! I thought you was going to
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 257 
 
 kill liiin. That poor little Lord Ciiiqbiirs told me ever so 
 many stories then about your courage and shooting people. 
 It wasn't very courageous, leaving a poor girl without even 
 a name, and scarce a guinea, was it? But I ain't come to 
 call up old stories — only to warn you. Even in old times, 
 Avhen he married us, and I tli ought he was doing a kind- 
 ness, I never could abide this horrible man. In Scotland, 
 Avhen you was away shooting -with your poor little lord, 
 the things Hunt used to say and look was dreadful. I 
 wonder how ever you, who were gentlemen, could put up 
 Avith such a fellow ! Ah, that was a sad hone^'moon of 
 jQurs ! I wonder why I'm a-thinking of it now ? I sup- 
 pose it's from having seen the picture of the other one — 
 poor lady ! " 
 
 " I have told you, Caroline, that I was so Avild and des- 
 perate at that unhappy time, I was scarcely accountable 
 for my actions. If I left you, it was because I had no 
 other resource but flight. I was a ruined, penniless man, 
 but for my marriage with Ellen Eingwood. You don't sup- 
 pose the marriage was happy ? Happy ! when have I ever 
 been happy ? My lot is to be wretched, Fj:d bring wretch- 
 edness down on those I love ! On you, on my father, on 
 my wife, on my boy — I am a doomed man. Ah, that the 
 innocent should suffer for me ! " And our friend looks 
 askance in the glass, at the blue chin, and hollow eyes 
 which make his guilt look the more haggard. 
 
 " I never had my lines," the Little Sister continued, " I 
 never knew there Avere papers, or writings, or anything but 
 a ring and a clergyman, when you married me. But I've 
 heard tell that people in Scotland don't Avant a clergyman 
 at all ; and if they call themselves man and Avife, they are 
 man and Avife. ISToav, sir, Mr. and Mrs. Brandon certainly 
 did travel together in Scotland — Avitness that man Avhom 
 you Avere going to throAV into the lake for being rude to 
 your Avife — and ... La! don't fly out so! It Avasn't me, 
 a ])oor girl of sixteen, Avho did Avrong. It Avas you, a man 
 of the Avorld, Avho AA'as years and years older." 
 
 When Brandon carried off his poor little A^ctim and 
 Avife, there had been a journey to Scotland, Avhere Lord 
 Cinqbars, then aliA^e, had sporting quarters. His lordship's 
 chaplain. ^Nfr. Hunt, had been of the party, Avhich fate very 
 soon afterwards separated. Death seized on Cinqbars at 
 Naples. Debt caused Firmin — Brandon, as he called him- 
 self then — to fly the countr3\ The chaplain AA^andered 
 
 A'OL. I. — 17
 
 258 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 from jail to jail. And as for poor little Caroline Bran- 
 don, I su23pose the husband who had married her under a 
 false name thought that to escape her, leave lier, and dis- 
 own her altogether was an easier and less dangerous plan 
 than to continue relations with her. So one day, four 
 months after their marriage, the young couple being then 
 at Dover, Caroline's husband happened to go out for a 
 walk. But he sent away a portmanteau by the back-door 
 when he went out for the walk, and as Caroline Avas wait- 
 ing for her little dinner some hours after, the porter who 
 carried the luggage came with a little note from her 
 dearest G. B. ; and it was full of little fond expressions of 
 regard and affection, such as gentlemen put into little 
 notes; but dearest G. B. said the baililfs were upon him, 
 and one of them had arrived that morning, and he must 
 fly : and lie took half the money he had, and left half for 
 his little Carry. And he would be back soon, and arrange 
 matters ; or tell her where to write and follow him. And 
 she was to take care of her little health, and to Avrite a 
 grea,t deal to her Georgy. And she did not know how to 
 write very well then; but she did her best, and improved 
 a great deal; for, indeed, she wrote a great deal, poor 
 thing. Sheets and sheets of paper she blotted with ink 
 and tears. And then the money was spent ; and the next 
 money ; and no more came, and no more letters. And she 
 was alone at sea, sinking, sinking, when it pleased heaven 
 to send that friend to rescue her. It is such a sad, sad 
 little story, that in fact I don't like dwelling on it ; not 
 caring to look upon poor innocent, trusting creatures in 
 pain. 
 
 . . . Well, then, when Caroline exclaimed, " La ! don't 
 fly out so, Dr. Firmin ! " I suppose the doctor had been cry- 
 ing out, and swearing fiercely, at the recollections of his 
 friend ^Mr. Brandon, and at the danger which possibly hung 
 over that gentleman. Marriage ceremonies are dangerous 
 risks in jest or in earnest. You can't pretend to marry 
 even a poor old bankrupt lodging-house-keeper's daughter 
 without some risk of being brought subsequently to book. 
 If you have a vulgar wife alive, and afterwards choose to 
 leave her and marry an earl's niece, you will come to 
 trouble, however well connected you are and highly placed 
 in society. If you have had thirty thousand pounds with 
 wife No. 2, and have to pay it back on a sudden, the pay- 
 ment may be inconvenient. You may be tried for bigamy,
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 259 
 
 and sentenced, goodness knows to what punishment. At 
 any rate, if the matter is made public, and you are a most 
 respectalile man, moving in the highest scientific and social 
 circles, those circles may be disposed to request you to 
 walk out of their circumference. A novelist, 1 know, ought 
 to have no likes, dislikes, pit}', partiality for his characters ; 
 but I declare, I cannot help feeling a respectful compassion 
 for a gentleman who, in consequence of a youthful, and, 1 
 am sure, sincerely regretted folly, may be liable to lose his 
 fortune, his place in society, and his considerable practice. 
 Punishment hasn't a right to come with such a|:>e^e claudo. 
 There ought to be limitations ; and it is shabby and 
 revengeful of Justice to present her little bill when it has 
 been more than twenty years owing. . . . Having had 
 his talk out with the Little Sister ; having a long-past crime 
 suddenly taken down from the shelf; having a remorse 
 long since supposed to be dead and buried, suddenly start- 
 ing up in the most blustering, boisterous, inconvenient 
 manner ; having a rage and terror tearing him within ; I 
 can fancy this most respectable physician going about his 
 day's work, and most sincerely sympathize with him. 
 Who is to heal the physician ? Is he not more sick at 
 heart than most of his patients that day ? He has to 
 listen to Lady Megrim cackling for half an hour at least, 
 and describing her little ailments. He has to listen, and 
 never once to dare to say, "Confound you, old chatterbox! 
 What are you prating aljout your ailments to me, who am 
 suffering real torture whilst I am smirking in your face ?" 
 He has to wear the inspiriting smile, to breathe the gentle 
 joke, to console, to whisper hope, to administer remedy ; 
 and all day, perhaps, he sees no one so utterly sick, so sad, 
 so despairing, as himself. 
 
 The first person on whom he had to practise hypocrisy 
 that day was his own son, who chose to come to breakfast 
 — a meal of which son and father seldom now partook in 
 company. "What does he know, and what does he sus- 
 pect ? " are the father's thoughts ; but a lowering gloom is 
 on Philip's face, and the father's eyes look into the son's, 
 but cannot penetrate their darkness. 
 
 " Did you stay late last night, Philip ? " says papa. 
 
 " Yes, sir, rather late," answers the son. 
 
 " Pleasant party ? " 
 
 " Xo, sir, stupid. Your friend Mr. Hunt wanted to come 
 in. He was drunk, and rude to Mrs. Brandon, and I was
 
 2G0 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 obliged to put him out of the door. He was dreadfully 
 violent and abusive." 
 
 " Swore a good deal, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Fiercely, sir, and called names." 
 
 I dare say Philip's heart beat so when he said these last 
 words that they Avere inaudible : at all events, Philip's 
 father did not appear to pay much attention to the words, 
 for he wa^ busy reading the Morning Fost, and behind that 
 sheet of fashionable news hid whatever expression of 
 agony there might be on his face. Philip afterwards told 
 his present biographer of this breakfast meeting and dreary 
 tete-a-tete. "I burned to ask what was the meaning of 
 that scoundrel's words of the past night," Philip said to his 
 biographer; "but I did not dare, somehow. You see, 
 Pendennis, it is not pleasant to say point-blank to your 
 father, ' Sir, are you a confirmed scoundrel, or are you not ? 
 Is it possible that you have made a double marriage, as 
 yonder other rascal hiuted; and that my own legitimacy 
 and my mother's fair fame, as well as poor, harmless Caro- 
 line's honor and happiness, have been destroyed by your 
 crime?' But I had lain awake all night thinking about 
 that scoundrel Hunt's words, and whether there was any 
 meaning beyond drunken malice in what he said." So we 
 find that three people had passed a bad night in consequence 
 of ]\Ir. Firmin's evil behavior of five-and-twenty years back, 
 which surely was a most unreasonable punishment for a sin 
 of such old date. I wish, dearly beloved brother sinners, 
 we could take all the punishment for our individual crimes 
 on our individual shoulders : but we drag them all down 
 with us — that is the fact; and when Macheath is 
 condemned to hang, it is Polly and Lucy who have to weep 
 and suffer and wear piteous mourning in their hearts long 
 after the dare-devil rogue has lumped off the T^^burn 
 ladder." 
 
 " Well, sir, he did not say a Avord," said Phil, recount- 
 ing the meeting to his friend ; '^ not a word, at least re gTird- 
 ing the mattei- both of ns had on our hearts. But about 
 fashion, parties, politics, he discoursed much more freely 
 than was usual with him. He said I might have had Lord 
 Eingwood's seat for Whipham but for my unfortunate 
 politics. What made a radical of me, he asked, who was 
 naturally one of the most haughty of men ? — and that, 
 I think, perhaps I am," says Phil, " and a good many lib- 
 eral fellows are. I should calm down, he was sure — I
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 261 
 
 should calm down, and be of the politics des homines du 
 inondeP 
 
 Philip could not say to his father, " Sir, it is seeing you 
 cringe before great ones that has set my own back up." 
 There were countless points about which father and son 
 could not speak ; and an invisible, unexpressed, perfectly 
 unintelligible mistrust always was present when those two 
 were tete-a-tete. 
 
 Their meal was scarce ended when entered to them Mr. 
 Hunt, with his hat on. I was not present at the time, and 
 cannot speak as a certainty ; but I should think at his omi- 
 nous appearance Philip may have turned red and his father 
 pale. " Xow is the time," both, I dare say, thought ; and 
 the doctor remembered his stormy young daj'S of foreign 
 gambling, intrigue, and duel, when he was put on his ground 
 before his adversary, and bidden, at a given signal, to fire. 
 One, two, three ! Each man's hand was armed with malice 
 and murder. Philip had plenty of pluck for his part, but I 
 should think on such an occasion might be a little nervous 
 and "fluttered, whereas his father's eye was keen, and his 
 aim rapid and steady. 
 
 ''You and Philip had a difference last night, Philip tells 
 me," said the doctor. 
 
 " Yes, and I promised he should pay me," said the clergy- 
 man. 
 
 " And I said I should desire no better,'' says Mr. Phil. 
 
 "He struck his senior, his father's friend — a sick man, a 
 clergyman," gasped Hunt. 
 
 " Were j^ou to repeat what jom did last night, I should 
 repeat what I did," said Phil. "You insulted a good 
 woman." 
 
 " It's a lie, sir," cries the other. 
 
 " You insulted a good woman, a lady in her own house, 
 and I turned you out of it," said Phil. 
 
 " I say again, it is a lie, sir ! " screams Hunt, with a 
 stamp on the table. 
 
 " That you should give me the lie, or otherwise, is per- 
 fectly immaterial to me. But whenever you insult Mrs. 
 Brandon, or any harmless woman in my presence, I shall do 
 my best to chastise yon," cries Philip of the red moustaches, 
 curling them with much dignity. 
 
 " You hear him, Firmin ?" says the parson. 
 
 " Faith, I do, Hunt ! " says the physician ; " and I tliink 
 he means wliat lie says, too."
 
 262 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 '•'' Oh ! you take that line, do you ? " cries Hunt of the 
 dirty hands, the dirty teeth, the dirty neckcloth. 
 
 " I take what you call that line \ and whenever a rude- 
 ness is otfered to that admirable woman in my son's hear- 
 ing, I shall be astonished if he does not resent it," says the 
 doctor. " Thank you, Philip ! " 
 
 The father's resolute speech and behavior gave Philip 
 great momentary comfort. Hunt's words of the night be- 
 fore had been occupying the young man's thoughts. Had 
 Firmin been criminal, he could not be so bold. 
 
 " You talk this way in presence of your son ? You 
 have been talking over the matter together before ? " asks 
 Hunt. 
 
 "We have been talking over the matter before — yes. 
 We were engaged on it when you came in to breakfast," 
 says the doctor. " Shall we go on with the conversation 
 where we left it off ? " 
 
 " Well, do — that is, if you dare," said the clergyman, 
 somewhat astonished. 
 
 " Philip, my dear, it is ill for a man to hide his head be- 
 fore his own son ; but if I am to speak — and speak I must 
 one day or the other — why not now ? " 
 
 " Why at all, Pirmin ? " asks the clergyman, astonished 
 at the other's rather sudden resolve. 
 
 " Why ? Because I am sick and tired of you, Mr, Tufton 
 Hunt," cries the physician, in his most lofty manner, " of 
 you and your presence in my h®use ; your blackguard 
 behavior and your rascal extortions — because you will force 
 me to speak one day or the other — and now, Philip, if you 
 like, shall be the day." 
 
 ''' Hang it, I say ! Stop a bit ! " cries the clergj-man. 
 
 '• I understand you want some more money from me." 
 
 " I did promise Jacobs I Avould pay him to-day, and that 
 was what made me so sulky last night ; and, perhaps, I 
 took a little too much. You see my mind was out of order ; 
 and what's the use of telling a story that is no good to any 
 one, Firmin — least of all to you," cries the parson, 
 darkly. 
 
 "Because, you ruffian, I'll bear with you no more," cries 
 the doctor, the veins of his forehead swelling as he looks 
 fiercely at his dirty adversary. " In the last nine months, 
 Philip, this man has had nine hundred pounds from me." 
 
 " The luck has been so very bad, so bad, upon my lionor, 
 now," grumbles the parson.
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 263 
 
 " To-morrow he will want more ; and the next day more ; 
 and the next day more ; and, in tine, I won't live with this 
 accursed man of the sea round my neck. You shall have 
 the story ; and jNIr. Hunt shall sit by and witness against 
 his own crime and mine. I had been very wild at Cam- 
 bridge, when I was a young man. I had quarrelled with 
 my lather, lived with a dissipated set, and be3'ond my 
 means ; and had had ni}^ debts paid so often by your grand- 
 father, that I was afraid to ask for more. He was stern to 
 me ; I was not dutiful to him. I own my fault. Mr. Hunt 
 can bear witness to what I say. 
 
 '' I was in hiding at Margate, under a false name. You 
 know the name." 
 
 '' Yes, sir, I think I know the name," Philip said, think- 
 ing he liked his father better now than he had ever liked 
 him in his life, and sighing, " Ah, if he had alwa^^s been 
 frank and true with me ! " 
 
 " I took humble lodgings with an obscure family." [If 
 Dr. Firmin had a prodigious idea of his own grandeur and 
 importance, you see I cannot help it — and he was long 
 held to be such a respectable man.] " And there I found a 
 young girl — one of the most innocent beings that ever a 
 man played with and betrayed. Betrayed, 1 own it, heaven 
 forgive me ! The crime has been the shame of ni}^ life, and 
 darkened my whole career with misery. I got a man worse 
 than myself, if that could be. I got Hunt, for a few pounds 
 which he owed me, to make a sham marriage between me 
 and poor Caroline. jNIy money was soon gone. My cred- 
 itors were after me. I fled the country, and I left her." 
 
 ''A sham marriage ! a sham marriage ! " cries the clergy- 
 man. " Didn't you make me perform it by holding a pistol 
 to my throat ? A fellow won't risk transportation for 
 nothing. But I owed him money for cards, and he had my 
 bill, and he said he would let me off, and that's why I 
 helped him. Xever mind. I am out of the business now, 
 ]\Er. Brummell Firmin, and you are in it. I have read the 
 Act, sir. The clergyman who performs the marriage is 
 liable to punishment, if informed against within three 
 years, and it's twenty years or more. But you, JMr. Brum- 
 mell Firmin — 3'our case is different; and you, my young 
 gentleman, with the fiery whiskers, who strike down old 
 men of a night — you may find some of us know how to re- 
 venge ourselves, though we are down." And with this, 
 Hunt rushed to his greasy hat, and quitted the house, dis-
 
 264 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 chari,aiig imprecations at his hosts as he passed througlj 
 the halL 
 
 Son and father sat awhile silent, after the departure of 
 their common enemy. At last the father spoke. 
 
 '•This is the sword that lias always been hanging over my 
 head, and it is now falling, Pliilip." 
 
 " What can the man do ? Is the first marriage a good 
 marriage ? " asked Philip, with alarmed face. 
 
 "It is no marriage. It is void to all intents and purposes. 
 You may suppose I have taken care to learn the law about 
 that. Your legitimacy is safe, sure enough. But that man 
 can ruin me, or nearly so. He will try to-morrow, if not 
 to-day. As long as you or I can give him a guinea, he will 
 take it to the gambling-house. I had the mania on me my- 
 self once. My poor father quarrelled with me in conse- 
 quence, and died without seeing me. I married your mother 
 — heaven help her, poor soul ! and forgive me for being 
 but a harsh husband to her — with a view of mending my 
 shattered fortunes. I wished she had been more happy, 
 poor thing. But do not blame me utterl}^, Philip. I was 
 desperate, and she wished for the marriage so much ! I had 
 good looks and high spirits in those days. People said so." 
 [And here he glances obliquely at his own handsome por- 
 trait.] "Now I am a wreck, a wreck ! " 
 
 " I conceive, sir, that this will annoy you ; but how can 
 it ruin you ? " asked Philip. 
 
 " What becomes of my practice as a family physician ? 
 The practice is not now what it was, between ourselves, 
 Philip and the expenses greater than you imagine. I have 
 made unlucky speculations. If you count of much increase 
 of wealth from me, my boy, you will be disappointed : 
 though you were never mercenary, no, never. But the story 
 bruited about by this rascal, of a physician of eminence en- 
 gaged in two marriages, do you suppose my rivals won't 
 hear it, and take advantage of it — my patients hear it, and 
 avoid me ? " 
 
 " Make terms with the man at once, then, sir. and silence 
 him." 
 
 "To make terms with a gambler is impossible. My 
 purse is always there open for him to thrust his hand into 
 when he loses. No man can withstand such a temptation. 
 I am glad you have never fallen into it. I have quarrelled 
 with you sometimes for living with people below your 
 rank : perhaps you were right, and I was wrong. I have
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 265 
 
 liked, always did, I duirt disguise it, to live witli persons 
 of station. And these, when I was at the University, 
 taught me play and extravagance ; and in the Avorld haven't 
 helped me much. Who would ? AVho would ? " and the 
 doctor relapsed into meditation. 
 
 A little catastrophe presently occurred, after which ^h\ 
 Philip Firmin told me the substance of this story. He 
 described his father's long acquiescence in Hunt's demands, 
 and sudden resistance to them, and was at a loss to account 
 for the change. I did not tell m}^ friend in express terms, 
 but I fancied I could account for the change of behavior. 
 Dr. Firmin, in his interviews with Caroline, had had his 
 mind set at rest about one part of his danger. The doctor 
 need no longer fear the charge of a double marriage. The 
 Little Sister resigned her claims, past, present, future. 
 
 If a gentleman is sentenced to be hung, I wonder is it a 
 matter of comfort to him or not to know beforehand tlie 
 day of the operation ? Hunt would take his revenge. 
 When and how ? Dr. Firmin asked himself. Xay, possibh^, 
 you will have to learn that this eminent practitioner walked 
 about with more than danger hanging imminent over him. 
 Perhaps it was a rope : perhaps it was a sword : some 
 weapon of execution, at any rate, as we frequenth^ may see. 
 A day passes : no assassin darts at the doctor as he threads 
 the dim opera-colonnade passage on his way to his club. A 
 week goes by : no stiletto is plunged into his well-wadded 
 breast as he steps from his carriage at some noble patient's 
 door. Philip says he never knew his father more pleasant, 
 easy, good-humored, and affable than during this period 
 when he must have felt that a danger was hanging over him 
 of which his son at this time had no idea. I dined in Old 
 Parr Street once in this memorable period (memorable it 
 seemed to me from immediately subsequent ev^ents). Never 
 was the dinner better served : the wine more excellent : the 
 guests and conversation more gravely respectable than at 
 this entertainment ; and my neighbor remarked with pleas- 
 ure how the father and son seemed to be on much better 
 terms than ordinary. The doctor addressed PhilijD point- 
 edl}^ once or twice ; alluded to his foreign travels, spoke of 
 his mother's family — it was most gratifying to see the pair 
 together. Day after day passes so. The enemy has dis- 
 appeared. At least, the lining of his dirty hat is no longer 
 visible on the broad marble table of Dr. Firmin's hall. 
 
 But one day — it may be ten days after the quarrel — a
 
 266 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 little messenger comes to Philip and says, " Philij^ dear, I 
 am sure there is something wrong; that horrible Hunt has 
 been here with a veiy quiet, soft-spoken old gentleman, and 
 they have been going on with my poor pa about my wrongs 
 and his — his, indeed ! — and they have worked him up to 
 believe that somebody has cheated his daughter out of a 
 great fortune ; and who can that somebody be but your 
 father ? And whenever they see me coming, papa and that 
 horrid Hunt go off to the 'Admiral Byng' : and one night 
 when papa came home he said, ' Bless you, bless you, my 
 poor, innocent, injured child; and blessed you will be, 
 mark a fond father's words ! ' They are scheming some- 
 thing against Philip and Philip's father. Mr. Bond the 
 soft-spoken old gentleman's name is : and twice there has 
 been a Mr. Walls to inquire if Mr. Hunt was at our 
 house." 
 
 "Mr. Bond? — Mr. Walls? — A gentleman of the name 
 of Bond was uncle Twysden's attorney. An old gentleman, 
 with a bald head, and one eye bigger than the other ? " 
 
 " Well, this old man has one smaller than the other, I do 
 think," says Caroline. "First man who came v/as Mr. 
 Walls — a rattling j^oung fashionable chap, always laugh- 
 ing, talking about theatres, operas, everything — came home 
 from the 'Byng' along with pa and his new friend — oh! 
 I do hate him, that man, that Hunt ! — theii he brought the 
 old man, this Mr. Bond. What are they scheming against 
 you, Philip ? I tell you this matter is all about you and 
 your father." 
 
 Years and years ago, in the poor mother's lifetime, Philip 
 remembered an outbreak of wrath on his father's part, who 
 called uncle Twysden a swindling miser, and this very Mr. 
 Bond a scoundrel who deserved to be hung for interfering 
 in some way in the management of a part of the property 
 which Mrs. Twysden and her sister inherited from their 
 own mother. That quarrel had been made up, as such 
 quarrels are. The brothers-in-law liad continued to mis- 
 trust each other; but there was no reason why the feud 
 should descend to the children; and Philip and his aunt, 
 and one of her daughters at least, were on good terms to- 
 gether. Philip's uncle's lawyers engaged with his father's 
 debtor and enemy against Dr. Firmin ; the alliance boded 
 no good. 
 
 " I won't tell you what I think, Philip," said the father. 
 " You are fond of your cousin ? "
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 267 
 
 "Oh! forev— " 
 
 " Forever, of course ! At least until we change our mind, 
 or one of us grows tired, or liuds a better mate." 
 
 " Ah, sir ! " cries Philip, but suddenly stops in his remon- 
 strance. 
 
 " What were you going to say, Philip, and why do you 
 pause ? " 
 
 " I was going to say, father, if I might without offending, 
 that I think you judge hardly of women. I know two who 
 have been very faithful to you." 
 
 " And I a traitor to both of them. Yes ; and my re- 
 morse, Philip, my remorse ! " says his father in his deepest 
 tragedy voice, clutching his hand over a heart that I believe 
 beat very coolly. But, psha ! why am I, Philip's biogra- 
 pher, going out of the way to abuse Philip's papa ? Is not 
 the threat of bigamy and exposure enough to disturb any 
 man's equanimity ? I say again, suppose there is another 
 sword — a rope, if you will so call it — hanging over the 
 head of our Damocles of Old Parr Street ? . . . How- 
 beit, the father and the son met and parted in these days 
 with unusual gentleness and cordiality. And these were 
 the last days in which they were to meet together. Nor 
 could Philip recall without satisfaction, afterwards, that the 
 hand which he took was pressed and given with a real kind- 
 ness and cordiality. 
 
 Wiiy were these the last days son and father were to pass 
 together ? Dr. Firniin is still alive. Philip is a very toler- 
 ably prosperous gentleman. He and his father parted good 
 friends, and it is the biographer's business to narrate how 
 and wherefore. When Philip told his father that Messrs. 
 Bond and Selby, his uncle Twysden's attorneys, were sud- 
 denly interested about ^Nlr. Brandon and his affairs, the 
 father instantly guessed, though the son was too simple as 
 yet to understand, how it was that these gentlemen inter- 
 fered. If Mr. Brandon-Pirmin's marriage with Miss Ping- 
 wood was null, her son was illegitimate, and her fortune 
 went to her sister. Painful as such a duty might be to such 
 tender-hearted people as our Twysden acquaintances to de- 
 prive a dear nephew of his fortune, yet, after all, duty is 
 duty, and a pare at must sacrifice everything for justice and 
 his own children. "Had I been in such a case," Talbot 
 Twysden subsequently and repeatedly declared, " I should 
 never have been easy a moment if I thought I possessed 
 wrongfully a beloved nephew's property. I could not have
 
 268 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 slept in peace ; I could not have shown my face at my own 
 club, or to my own conscience, had I the weight of such an 
 injustice on my mind." In a word, when he found that 
 there was a chance of annexing Philip's share of the prop- 
 erty to his own, Twysden saw clearly that his duty was to 
 stand by his own wife and children. 
 
 The information upon which Talbot Twysden, Esq., acted 
 was brought to him at his office by a gentleman in dingy 
 black, who, after a long interview with him, accompanied 
 him to his lawyer, Mr. Bond, before mentioned. Here, 
 in South Square, Gray's Inn, the three gentlemen held a 
 consultation, of which the results began quickly to show 
 themselves. Messrs. Bond and Selby had an exceedingly 
 lively, cheerful, jovial, and intelligent confidential clerk, 
 who combined business and pleasure with the utmost affa- 
 bility, and was acquainted with a thousand queer things, 
 and queer histories about queer people in this town ; who 
 lent money ; who wanted money ; who was in debt ; and 
 who was outrunning the constable ; whose diamonds were in 
 pawn ; whose estates were over-mortgaged ; who was over- 
 building himself; who was casting eyes of longing at what 
 pretty opera dancer — about races, fights, bill brokers, quic- 
 quid agunt homines. This Tom AValls had a deal of infor- 
 mation, and imparted it so as to make you die of laughing. 
 
 The Eeverencl Tufton Hunt brought this jolly fellow first 
 to the " Admiral Byng," where his amiability won all hearts 
 at the club. At the "Byng" it w^as not very difficult to 
 gain Captain Gann's easy confidence. And this old man 
 was, in the course of a very trifling consumption of rum-and- 
 water, brought to see that his daughter had been the object 
 of a wicked conspiracy, and was the rightful and most 
 injured wife of a man who ought to declare her fair fame 
 before the world, and put her in possession of a portion of 
 his great fortune. 
 
 A great fortune ? How great a fortune ? Was it three 
 hundred thousand, say ? Those doctors, many of them, had 
 fifteen thousand a year. Mr. Walls (who perhaps knew 
 better) was not at liberty to say what the fortune was : but 
 it was a shame that Mrs. Brandon was kept out of her rights, 
 that was clear. 
 
 Old Gann's excitement, when this matter was first 
 broached to him (under vows of profound secrecy) was so 
 intense that his old reason tottered on its rickety old throne. 
 He well-nigh burst with longing to speak upon this mystery.
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 269 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Oves, the esteemed landlord and lady of the 
 " Byng," never saw him so excited. He had a great opinion 
 of the judgment of his friend, Mr. Ridley ; in fact, he must 
 have gone to Bedlam, unless he had talked to somebody on 
 this most nefarious transaction, which might make the blood 
 of every Briton curdle with horror — as he was free to say. 
 
 Old Mr. Ridley was of a much cooler temperament, and 
 altogether a more cautious person. The doctor rich ? He 
 wished to tell no secrets, nor to meddle in no gentleman's 
 affairs : but he have heard very different statements regard- 
 ing Dr. Firmin's affairs. 
 
 When dark hints about treason, wicked desertion, rights 
 denied, " and a great fortune which you are kep' out of, my 
 poor Caroline, by a rascally wolf in sheep's clothing, you 
 are; and I always mistrusted him from the moment I saw 
 him, and said to your mother, 'Emily, that Brandon is a bad 
 fellow, Brandon is ; ' and bitterly, bitterly I've rued ever re- 
 ceiving him under my roof." When speeches of this nature 
 were made to Mrs. Caroline, strange to say, the little lady 
 made light of them. " Oh, nonsense. Pa ! , Don't be bring- 
 ing that sad old story up again. I have suffered enough 
 from it already. If Mr. F. left me, he wasn't the only one 
 who flung me away ; and I have been able to live, thank 
 mercy, through it all." 
 
 This was a hard hit, and not to be parried. The truth is, 
 that when poor Caroline, deserted by her husband, had come 
 back, in wretchedness, to her father's door, the man, and 
 the wife who then ruled him, had thought ht to thrust her 
 away. And she had forgiven them : and had been enabled 
 to heap a rare quantity of coals on that old gentleman's 
 head. 
 
 When the Captain remarked his daughter's indifference 
 and unwillingness to reopen this painful question of her 
 sham marriage with Firmin, his wrath was moved, and his 
 suspicion excited. " Ha ! " says he, " have this man been 
 a-tampering with you again ? " 
 
 " Nonsense, Pa ! " once more says Caroline. " I tell 3'ou, 
 it is this fine-talking lawyers' clerk has been tampering with 
 you. You're made a tool of, Pa ! and you've been made a 
 tool of all your life ! " 
 
 " Well, now, upon my honor, my good madam," interposes 
 Mr. Walls. 
 
 "Don't talk to me, sir! I don't want any lawyers' clerks 
 to meddle in my business ! " cries Mrs. Brandon^ very briskly.
 
 270 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 " I don't know what you're come about. I don't want to 
 know, and I'm most certain it is for no good." 
 
 I suppose it was the ill success of his ambassador that 
 brought Mr. Bond himself to Thornhaugh Street ; and a 
 more kind, fatherly little man never looked than Mr. Bond, 
 although he may have had one eye smaller than the other. 
 '' What is this, my dear madam, I hear from my confiden- 
 tial clerk, Mr. Walls ? " he asked of the Little Sister. 
 " You refuse to give him your confidence because he is only 
 a clerk ? I wonder whether you will accord it to me as a 
 principal ? " 
 
 " She may, sir, she may — every confidence ! " says the 
 Captain, laying his hand on that snuffy satin waistcoat 
 which all his friends so long admired on him. " She might 
 have spoken to Mr. Walls." 
 
 " Mr. Walls is not a family man. I am. I have children 
 at home, Mrs. Brandon, as old as you are," says the benevo- 
 lent Bond. "I would have justice done them, and for you 
 too." 
 
 " You're very good to take so much trouble about me all 
 of a sudden, to be sure," says Mrs. Brandon, demurely. "I 
 suppose you don't do it for nothing." 
 
 " I should not require much fee to help a good woman to 
 her rights; and a lady I don't think needs much persuasion 
 to be helped to her advantage," remarks Mr. Bond. 
 
 " That depends who the helper is." 
 
 " Well, if I can do you no harm, and help you possibly to 
 a name, to a fortune, to a high place in the world, I don't 
 think you need be frightened. I don't look very wicked or 
 very artful, do I ? " 
 
 " Many is that don't look so. I've learned as much as that 
 about you gentlemen," remarks Mrs. Brandon. 
 
 '• You have been wronged by one man, and doubt all." 
 
 "Xot alL Some, sir!" 
 
 "Doubt about me if I can by any possibility injure you. 
 But how and why should I ? Your good father knows 
 Avhat has brought me here. I have no secret from him. 
 Have I, Mr. Gann, or Captain Gaun, as I have heard you 
 addressed ? " 
 
 "Mr., sir — plain Mr. — No, sir; your conduct have been 
 most open, honorable, and like a gentleman. Neither would 
 you, sir, do aught to disparage Mrs. Brandon; neither would 
 I, her father. ^S'o ways, I think, would a parent do harm 
 to his own child. May I offer you any refreshment, sir ? "
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 271 
 
 And a shaky, a dingy, but a hospitable hand is laid upon the 
 glossy cupboard, in which Mrs. Brandon keeps her modest 
 little store of strong waters. 
 
 "■ Xot one drop, thank you ! Yoi\ trust me, I think, more 
 than Mrs. Firm — I beg your pardon — Mrs. Brandon, is 
 disposed to do." 
 
 At the utterance of that monosyllable Firm, Caroline 
 became so white, and trembled so, that her interlocutor 
 stopped, rather alarmed at the elfect of his word — his 
 word ! — his syllable of a word. 
 
 The old lawyei recovered himself with much grace. 
 
 "Pardon me, madam,"' he said; "I know your wrongs; I 
 know your most melancholy history ; I know j^our name, 
 and was going to use it, but it seemed to renew pain- 
 ful recollections to you, which I would not needlessly 
 recall." 
 
 Captain Gann took out a snuffy pocket-handkerchief, 
 wiped two red eyes and a shirt-front, and winked at the 
 attorney, and gasped in a pathetic manner. 
 
 '•' You know my story and name, sir, who are a stranger to 
 me. Have you told this old gentleman all about me and my 
 affairs, Pa ? " asks Caroline, with some asperity. "' Have 
 3^ou told him that my ma never gave me a word of kindness 
 — that I toiled for you and her like a servant — and when I 
 came back to you, after being deceived and deserted, that 
 you and ma shut the door in my face ? You did ! you did ! 
 I forgive you ; but a hundred thousand billion years can't 
 mend that injury, father, while you broke a poor child's 
 heart Avith it that day ! My pa has told you all this, j\[r. 
 AVhat's-your-name ? I'm s'prised he didn't find something 
 pleasanter to talk about, I'm sure ! " 
 
 '•' My love ! " interposed the Captain. 
 
 " Prett}^ love ! to go and tell a stranger in a public-house, 
 and ever so many there besides, I suppose, your daughter's 
 misfortunes, pa. Pretty love ! That's what I've had from 
 you ! " 
 
 " ISTot a soul, on the honor of a gentleman, except me and 
 Mr. Walls." . 
 
 " Then what do you come to talk about me at all for ? 
 and what scheme on hearth are you driving at ? and what 
 brings this old man here ? " cries the landlady of Thorn- 
 haugh Street, stamping her foot. 
 
 " Shall I tell you frankly, my good lady ? I called you 
 Mrs. Firmin now, because, on my honor and word, I believe
 
 272 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 such to be your rightful name — because you are the lawful 
 wife of George Brand Firmin. If such be your lawful 
 name, others bear it who have no right to bear it — and in- 
 herit property to which they can lay no just claim. In the 
 year 1827, you, Caroline Gaun, a child of sixteen, w^ere 
 married by a clergyman whom you know, to George Brand 
 Firmin, calling himself George Brandon. He was guilty of 
 deceiving you; but you were guilty of no deceit. He was a 
 hardened and wily man ; but you were an innocent child out 
 of a schoobroom. And though he thought the marriage 
 was not binding upon him, binding it is by Act of Parlia- 
 ment and judges' decision ; and you are as assuredly George 
 Firmin's wife, madam, as Mrs. Bond is mine ! " 
 
 " You have been cruelly injured, Caroline," says the Cap- 
 tain, wagging his old nose over his handkerchief. 
 
 Caroline seemed to be very well versed in the law of the 
 transaction. '- You mean, sir," she said slowly, " that if me 
 and Mr. Brandon was married to each other, he knowing 
 that he was only playing at marriage, and me believing that 
 it was all for good, we are really married." 
 
 " Undoubtedly you are, madam — my client has — that is, 
 I have had advice on the point." 
 
 "But if we both knew that it was — was only a sort of a 
 marriage — an irregular marriage, you know ? " 
 
 " Then the Act sa3's that to all intents and purposes tlie 
 marriage is null and void." 
 
 " But you didn't know, my poor innocent child ! " cries 
 Mr. Gann. "How should you? How old was you? She 
 was a child in the nursery, Mr. Bond, when the villain 
 inveigled her away from her poor old father. She knew 
 nothing of irregular marriages." 
 
 " Of course she didn't, the poor creature," cries the old 
 gentleman, rubbing his hands together with perfect good- 
 humor. "Poor young thing, poor young thing ! " 
 
 As he was speaking, Caroline, very pale and still, was 
 sitting looking at Kidley's sketch of Philip, which hung in 
 her little room. Presently she turned round on the attorney, 
 folding her little hands over her work. 
 
 "Mr. Bond," she said, "girls, though they may be ever so 
 young, know more than some folks fancy. I was more than 
 sixteen when that — that business happened. I wasn't 
 happy at home, and eager to get away. I knew that a gen- 
 tleman of his rank wouldn't be likely realh^ to marry a poor 
 Cinderella out of a lodging-house, like me. If the truth
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE (WORLD. 273 
 
 must be told, I — I knew it was no marriage -L- never tihouglit 
 it- was a marriage — not for good, you knoAviAs-^ v "^V 
 
 And she folds lier little hands together al^ke^n^te^tiie.") w 
 words, and I dare say once more looks at Phil^s jdortrait'^ • ^^ 
 
 '• Gracious goodness, madam, jou must be tir^er some 
 error I " cries the attorney. " How should a child li4ie^you 
 know that the marriage was irregular ? " '■:>?-;_— ^-^ 
 
 " Because I had no lines ! " cries Caroline quickly. 
 " Never asked for none ! And our maid we had then said 
 to me, ' Miss Carry, where's your lines ? And it's no good 
 without.' And I knew it wasn't ! And I'm ready to go 
 before the Lord Chancellor to-morrow and say so ! " cries 
 Caroline, to the bewilderment of her father and her cross- 
 examinant. 
 
 '' Pause, pause ! my good madam ! " exclaims the meek 
 old gentleman, rising from his chair. 
 
 " Go and tell this to them as sent you, sir ! " cries Caro- 
 line, ver}^ imperiously, leaving the lawyer amazed, and her 
 father's face in a bewilderment, over which we will :fling 
 his snuffy old pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 " If such is unfortunately the case — if j^ou actually mean 
 to abide by this astonishing confession — whicli deprives 
 you of a high place in society — and — and casts down the 
 hope we had formed of redressing your injured reputation 
 — I have nothing for it ! I take my leave, madam ! Good 
 morning, Mr. Hum I — Mr. Gann 1 " And the old lawyer 
 walks out of the Little Sister's room. 
 
 " She won't own to the marriage ! She is fond of some 
 one else — the little suicide !" thinks the old lawyer, as he 
 clatters down the street to a neighboring house, where his 
 anxious principal was in waiting. " She's fond of some one 
 else : " 
 
 Yes. But the some one else whom Caroline loved was 
 Brand Firmin's son : and it was to save Philip from ruin 
 that the poor Little Sister chose to forget her marriaoe to 
 his father. 
 
 VOL. I. — le
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 HILST tlie battle is raging, 
 the old folks and ladies 
 peep over the battlements, 
 to watch the turns of the 
 combat, and the behavior 
 of the knights. To prin- 
 cesses in old days, whose 
 lovely hands were to be be- 
 stowed upon the conqueror, 
 it must have been a matter 
 of no small interest to 
 know whether the slim 
 young champion with the 
 lovely eyes, on the milk- 
 white steed, should van- 
 quish, or the dumpy, 
 elderly, square-shouldered, 
 squinting, carroty whisker- 
 ando of a warrior who was 
 laying about him so savagely ; and so in this battle, on the 
 issue of which depended the keeping or losing of poor 
 Philip's, inheritance, there were several non-combatants 
 deeply interested. Or suppose we withdraw the chival- 
 rous simile (as in fact the conduct and views of certain 
 parties engaged in the matter were anything but what we 
 call chivalrous), and imagine a wily old monkey who 
 engages a cat to take certain chestnuts out of the fire, and 
 pussy putting her paw through the bars, seizing the nut 
 and then dropping it ? Jacko is disappointed and angry, 
 sliows his sharp teeth, and bites if he dares. When the 
 attorney went down to do battle for Philip's patrimony, 
 some of those who wanted it were spectators of the light, 
 and lurking up a tree hard by. When Mr. Piond came 
 forward to try and seize Phil's che&tnuts, there was a wily 
 
 274
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 275 
 
 old monkey who thrust the cat's paw out; and proposed to 
 gobble up the smoking prize. 
 
 If you have ever been at the " Admiral Byng," you know, 
 my dear madam, that the parlor where the club meets is 
 just behind Mrs. Oves's bar, so that by lifting up the sash 
 of the window which communicates between the two apart- 
 ments, that good-natured woman may put her face into the 
 club-room, and actually be one of the society. Sometimes 
 for company, old Mr. Ridley goes and sits with Mrs. 0. in 
 her bar, and reads the paper there. He is slow at his read- 
 ing. The long words puzzle the worthy gentleman. As 
 lie has plenty of time to spare, he does not grudge it to the 
 study of his paper. 
 
 On the day when Mr. Bond went to persuade Mrs. Bran- 
 don in Thornhaugh Street to claim Dr. Firmin for her 
 husband, and to disinherit poor Philip, a little gentleman 
 wrapt most solemnly and mysteriously in a great cloak 
 appeared at the bar of the "Admiral Byng," and said in an 
 aristocratic manner, "You have a parlor, show me to it." 
 And being introduced to the parlor (where there are fine 
 pictures of Oves, Mrs. 0., and " Spotty-Kose," their 
 favorite defunct bull-dog), sat down and called for a glass 
 of sherry and a newspaper. 
 
 The civil and intelligent pot-boy of the "Byng " took the 
 party The Advertise?^ of yesterday (which to-day's paper 
 was in 'and), and when the gentleman began to swear over 
 the old paper, Frederick gave it as his opinion to his 
 mistress that the new-comer was a harbitrary gent, — as, 
 indeed, he was, with the omission, perhaps, of a single 
 letter ; a man who bullied ev^erybody who would submit to 
 be bullied. In fact, it was our friend Talbot Twysden, 
 Esq., Commissioner of the Powder and Pomatum Office ; 
 and I leave those who know him to say whether he is 
 arbitrary or not. 
 
 To him presently came that bland old gentleman, Mr. 
 Bond, who also asked for a parlor and some sherry-and- 
 water ; and this is how Philip and his veracious and astute 
 biographer came to know for a certainty that dear uncle 
 Talbot was the person who wished to — to have Philip's 
 chestnuts. 
 
 j\rr. Bond and Mr. Twysden had been scarcel}' a minute 
 together when such a storm of imprecations came clatter- 
 ing through the glass-window which communicates with 
 Mrs. Oves's bar that I dare say they made the jugs and
 
 276 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 tumblers clatter on the shelves, and Mr. Ridley, a very 
 modest-spoken man, reading his paper, lay it down with a 
 scared face, and say — "Well, I never." Nor did he often, 
 I dare to say. 
 
 This volley was fired by Talbot Twysden, in consequence 
 of his rage at the news which Mr. Bond brought him. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Bond; well, Mr. Bond! What does she 
 say ? " he asked of his emissarj^ 
 
 "She will have nothing to do with the business, Mr. 
 Twysden. We can't touch it ; and I don't see how we can 
 move her. She denies the marriage as much as Firmin 
 does : says she knew it was a mere sham when the cere- 
 mony was performed." 
 
 " Sir, you didn't bribe her enough," shrieked Mr. Twys- 
 den. " You have bungled this business ; by G-eorge, you 
 have, sir." 
 
 " Go and do it yourself, sir, if you are not ashamed to 
 appear in it," says the lawyer. " You don't suppose I did 
 it because I liked it: or want to take that poor young 
 fellow's inheritance from him, as you do." 
 
 " I wish justice and the law, sir. If I were wrongfully 
 detaining his property I would give it up. I would be the 
 first to give it up. I desire justice and law, and employ 
 you because you are a law agent. Are you not ? " 
 
 " And I have been on your errand, and shall send in my 
 bill in due time ; and there will be an end of my connec- 
 tion with you as your law agent, Mr. Twysden," cried the 
 old lawyer. 
 
 " You know, sir, how badly Firmin acted to me in the 
 last matter." 
 
 "Faith, sir, if you ask my opinion as a law agent, I don't 
 think there was much to choose between you. How much 
 is the sherry-and- water ? — keep the change. Sorry I'd no 
 better news to bring you, Mr. T., and as you are dissatis- 
 fied, again recommend you to employ another law agent." 
 
 " My good sir, I — " 
 
 "My good sir, I have had other dealings with your 
 family, and am no more going to put up with your highti- 
 tightiness than I would with Lord Kingwood's when I was 
 one of his law agents. I am not going to tell Mr. Philip 
 Firmin that his uncle and aimt propose to ease him of his 
 property ; but if anybody else does — that good little Mrs. 
 Brandon — or that old goose Mr. What-d'3'e-call-um, her 
 father — I don't suppose he will be over well pleased. I
 
 ox HIS WA Y THROUGH THE WORLD. 277 
 
 am speaking as a gentleman now, not as a law agent. You 
 and your nepliew had each a half-share of Mr. Philip 
 Firmin's grandfather's joroperty, and you wanted it all, 
 that's the truth, and set a law agent to get it for you ; and 
 swore at him because he could not get it from its right 
 owner. And so, sir, I wish you a good - morning, and 
 recommend you to take your papers to some other agent, 
 j\Ir. Twysden." And with this, exit Mr. Bond. And now, 
 I ask you, if that secret could be kept which was known 
 through a trembling glass-door to Mrs. Oves of the "Ad- 
 miral Byng," and to j\Ir. Ridley the father of J. J., and the 
 obsequious husband of Mrs. Kidley ? On that very after- 
 noon, at tea-time, Mrs. Ridley Avas made acquainted by her 
 husband (in his noble and circumlocutory manner) with the 
 conversation which he had overheard. It was agreed that 
 an embassy should be sent to J. J. on the business, and his 
 advice taken regarding it ; and J. J.'s opinion was that the 
 conversation certainly should be reported to Mr. Philip 
 Firmin, who might afterwards act upon it as he should 
 think best. 
 
 What ? His own aunt, cousins, and uncle agreed in a 
 scheme to overthrow his legitimacy, and deprive him of his 
 grandfather's inheritance ? It seemed impossible. Big 
 with the tremendous news, Philip came to his adviser, Mr. 
 Pendennis, of the Temple, and told him what had occurred 
 on the part of father, uncle, and Little Sister. Her abne- 
 gation had been so noble that you may be sure Philip 
 appreciated it ; and a tie of friendship was formed between 
 the young man and the little lady even more close and 
 tender than that wliich had bound them previously. But 
 the Twysdens, his kinsfolk, to employ a law3^er in order to 
 rob him of his inheritance ! — Oh, it was dastardly ! Philip 
 bawled, and stamped, and thumped his sense of the wrong 
 in his usual energetic manner. As for his cousin Ring- 
 wood Twysden, Phil had often entertained a strong desire 
 to wring his neck and pitch him downstairs. "As for 
 Uncle Talbot : that he is an old pump, that he is a pompous 
 old humVnig, and the queerest old sycophant, I grant you ; 
 but I couldn't have believed him guilty of this. And as 
 for the girls — oh, Mrs. Pendennis, you who are good, you 
 who are kind, although you hate tliem, I know you do — 
 you can't say, you won't say, that they Avere in the con- 
 spiracy ? " 
 
 "But suppose Twysden was asking only for what he con-
 
 278 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 ceives to be his rights ? " asked Mr. Pendennis. " Had 
 your father been married to Mrs. Brandon, you woukl not 
 have been Dr. Firmin's legitimate son. Had you not been 
 his legitimate son, you had no right to a half-share of your 
 grandfather's j^roperty. Uncle Talbot acts only the part 
 of honor and justice in the transaction. He is Brutus, and 
 lie orders you off to death, with a bleeding heart." 
 
 '' And he orders his family out of the way," roars Phil, 
 " so that they mayn't be pained by seeing the execution ! 
 I see it all now. I wish somebody Avould send a knife 
 through me at once, and put an end to me. I see it all 
 now. Do you know that for the last week I have been to 
 Beaunash Street, and found nobody ? Agnes had the bron- 
 chitis, and her mother was attending to her ; Blanche came 
 for a minute or two, and was as cool — as cool as I have 
 seen Lady Iceberg be cool to her. Then they must go 
 away for change of air. They have been gone these three 
 days : whilst Uncle Talbot and that viper of a Eingwood 
 have been closeted with their nice new friend, ^Ir. Hunt. 
 Oh, conf — ! I beg your pardon, ma'am ; but I know you 
 always allow for the energy of my language." 
 
 " I should like to see that Little Sister, Mr. Firmin. 
 She has not been selfish, or had any scheme but for your 
 good," remarks my wife. 
 
 " A little angel who drops her h'^ — a little heart, so 
 good and tender that I melt as I think of it," says Philip, 
 drawing his big hand over his eyes. "What have men 
 done to get the love of some women ? We don't earn it ; 
 we don't deserve it, perhaps. We don't return it. They 
 bestow it on us. I have given nothing back for all this 
 love and kindness, but I look a little like my father of old 
 days, for whom — for whom she had an attachment. And 
 see now how she would die to serve me ! You are wonder- 
 ful, women are ! your fidelities and your ficklenesses alike 
 marvellous. What can any woman have found to adore in 
 the doctor ? Do you think my father could ever have been 
 adorable, Mrs. Pendennis ? And yet I have heard my poor 
 mother say she Avas obliged to marry him. She knew it 
 was a bad match, but she couldn't resist it. In Avliat was 
 my father so irresistible ? He is not to my taste. Be- 
 tween ourselves, I tliink he is a — well, never mind 
 what." 
 
 "I think we had best not mind what?" says my wife 
 with a smile.
 
 Oy HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 270 
 
 " Quite right — quite right ; only I blurt out everything 
 that is on my mind. Can't keep it in," cries Phil, gnawing 
 his mustachios. " If my fortune depended on my silence 
 I should be a beggar, that's the fact. And, you see, if you 
 had such a father as mine, you yoiirself would find it 
 rather difficult to hold your tongue about him. But now, 
 tell me : this ordering away of the girls and Aunt Twys- 
 den, whilst the little attack upon my property is being car- 
 ried on — isn't it queer ? " 
 
 " The question is at an end," said Mr. Pendennis. " You 
 are restored to your atavls reglbus and ancestral honors. 
 Now that Uncle Twysden can't get the property without 
 you, have courage, my boy — he may take it, along with 
 the encumbrance." 
 
 Poor Phil had not known — but some of us, Avho are 
 pretty clear-sighted when our noble selv^es are not con- 
 cerned, had perceived that Philip's dear aunt was playing 
 fast and loose with the lad, and when his back was turned 
 was encouraging a richer suitor for her daughter. 
 
 Hand on heart I can say of my wife, that she meddles 
 with her neighbors as little as any person I ever knew; 
 but when treacheries in love-aft'airs are in question, she 
 fires up at once, and would persecute to death almost the 
 heartless male or female criminal who would break love's 
 sacred laws. The idea of a man or woman trifling with 
 that holy compact awakens in her a flame of indignation. 
 In curtain confidences (of which let me not vulgarize the 
 arcana) she had given me her mind about some of ^Miss 
 Twysden's behavior with that odious blackamoor, as she 
 chose to call Captain Woolcomb, who, I own, had a very 
 slight tinge of complexion ; and when, quoting the words 
 of Hamlet regarding his father and mother, I asked, 
 " Could she on this fair mountain leave to feed, and batten 
 on tliis Moor ? " ^Irs. Pendennis cried out that this matter 
 was all too serious for jest, and wondered how her husband 
 could make word plays about it. Perhaps she has not the 
 exquisite sense of humor possessed by some folks ; or is 
 it that she has more reverence ? In her creed, if not in 
 her church, marriage is a sacrament, and the fond believer 
 never speaks of it without awe. 
 
 Now, as she expects both parties to the marriage engage- 
 ment to keep that compact holy, she no more under- 
 stands trifling with it than she could comprehend laughing 
 and joking in a churcdi. She has no patience with flirta-
 
 280 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 tions, as they are called. "Don't tell me, sir," says the 
 enthusiast, "a light word between a man and a married 
 woman ought not to be permitted." And this is why she 
 is harder on the woman than the man, in cases where such 
 dismal matters happen to fall under discussion. A look, a 
 word from a woman, she says, will check a libertine 
 thought or word in a man; and these cases might be 
 stopped at once if the woman but showed the slightest res- 
 olution. She is thus more angry (I am only mentioning 
 the peculiarities, not defending the ethics of this indi- 
 vidual moralist) — she is, I say, more angrily disposed tow- 
 ards the woman than the man in such delicate cases ; and, 
 I am afraid, considers that women are for the most part 
 only victims because they choose to be so. 
 
 Now, we had happened during this season to be at sev- 
 eral entertainments, routs, and so forth, where poor Phil, 
 owing to his unhappy Bohemian preferences and love of 
 tobacco, &c., was not present — and where we saw Miss 
 Agnes Twysden carrying on sucli a game with the tawny 
 Woolcomb as set Mrs. Laura in a tremor of indignation. 
 What though Agnes's blue-eyed mamma sat near her blue- 
 eyed daughter and kept her keen clear orbs perfectly wide 
 open and cognizant of all that happened ? So much the 
 worse for her, the worse for both. It was a shame and a 
 sin that a Christian English mother should suffer her 
 daughter to deal lightly with the most holy, the most 
 awful of human contracts ; should be preparing her child 
 who knows for what after misery of mind and soul. Three 
 months ago, you saw how she encouraged poor Philip, and 
 now see her with this mulatto ! 
 
 " Is he not a man, and a brother, my dear ? " perhaps at 
 this Mr. Pendennis interposes. 
 
 "Oh, for shame, Pen, no levity on this — no sneers and 
 laughter on this the most sacred subject of all." And here, 
 I dare say the woman falls to caressing her own children 
 and huggiug them to her heart as her manner was when 
 moved. Que voulez-vous ? Tliere are some women in the 
 world to whom love and truth are all in all here below. 
 Other ladies there are who see the benefit of a good joint- 
 ure, a town and country house, and so forth, and who are 
 not so very particular as to the character, intellect, or 
 complexion of gentlemen who are in a position to offer 
 their dear girls these benefits. In hue, I say, that re- 
 garding this blue-eyed mother and daughter, Mrs. Laur.-j
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 281 
 
 Pendennis was in such a state of mind that she was ready 
 to tear their blue eyes out. 
 
 Xa}', it was with no little difficult}^ that Mrs. Laura 
 could be induced to hold her tongue upon the matter and 
 not give Philip her opinion. " What ? " she would ask, " the 
 poor young man is to be deceived and cajoled ; to be taken 
 or left as it suits these people ; to be made miserable for 
 life certainly if she marries him ; and his friends are not 
 to dare to warn him ? The cowards ! The cowardice of 
 you men, Pen, upon matters of opinion, of you masters 
 and lords of creation, is really despicable, sir ! You dare 
 not have opinions, or holding them you dare not declare 
 them and act by them. You compromise with crime every 
 day because you think it would be officious to declare your- 
 self and interfere. You are not afraid of outraging morals, 
 but of inflicting eiiiiui upon society, and losing your popu- 
 larity. You are as C3'nical as — as, what was the name of 
 the horrid old man who lived in the tub — Demosthenes ? 
 — well, Diogenes, then, and the name does not matter a 
 pin, sir. You are as cynical, only you wear fine ruffled 
 shirts and wristbands, and you carry your lantern dark. 
 It is not right to 'put your oar in,' as you say in your 
 jargon (and even your slang is a sort of cowardice, sir, for 
 you are afraid to speak the feelings of your heart) — it is 
 not right to meddle and speak the truth, not right to rescue 
 a poor soul who is drowning — of course not. What call 
 have you fine gentlemen of the world to put your oar in ? 
 Let him perish ! What did he in that galley ? That is 
 the language of the world, baby, darling. And, ni}- poor, 
 poor child, when you are sinking, nobody is to stretch out 
 a hand to save you ! '' As for that wife of mine, when she 
 sets forth the maternal plea, and appeals to the exuberant 
 school of philosophers, I know there is no reasoning Avith 
 her. I retire to my books, and leave her to kiss out the 
 rest of the argument over the children. 
 
 Philip did not know the extent of the obligation which 
 he owed to his little friend and guardian, Caroline ; but he 
 was aware that he had no better friend than herself in the 
 world ; and, I dare say, returned to her, as the wont is in 
 such bargains between man and Avoman — woman and man, 
 at least — a sixpence for that pure gold treasure, her sov- 
 ereign affection. I suppose Caroline thought her sacrifice 
 gave her a little authority to counsel Philip : for she it was 
 whoj I believe, first bid him to inquire whether that en-
 
 282 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 gagement which he had virtually contracted with his 
 cousin was likely to lead to good, and was to be binding 
 upon him but not on her ? She brought Ridley to add 
 his doubts to her remonstrances. She showed Philip that 
 not only his uncle's conduct, but his cousin's, was inter- 
 ested, and set him to inquire into it further. 
 
 That peculiar form of bronchitis under which poor dear 
 Agnes was suffering was relieved by absence from London. 
 The smoke, the crowded parties and assemblies, the late 
 hours, and, perhaps, the gloom of the house in Beaunash 
 Street, distressed the poor dear child; and her cough was 
 very much soothed by that fine, cutting east wind, which 
 blows so liberally along the Brighton cliffs, and Avhicli is so 
 good for coughs, as we all know. But there was one fault 
 in Brighton which could not be helped in her bad case : it 
 is too near London. The air, that chartered libertine, can 
 blow down from London quite easily; or people can come 
 from London to Brighton, bringing, I dare say, the insidi- 
 ous London fog along with them. At any rate, Agnes, if 
 she wished for quiet, poor thing, might have gone farther 
 and fared better. Why, if you owe a tailor a bill, he can run 
 down and present it in a few hours. Vulgar, inconvenient 
 acquaintances thrust themselves upon you at every moment 
 and corner. Was ever such a tohuhohu of people as there 
 assembles ? You can't be tranquil, if you will. Organs 
 pipe and scream without cease at your windows. Your 
 name is put down in the papers when you arrive ; and 
 everybody meets everybody ever so many times a day. 
 
 On finding that his uncle had set lawyers to work, with 
 the charitable purpose of ascertaining whether Philip's 
 property was legitimately his own, Philip was a good deal 
 disturbed in mind. He could not appreciate that high 
 sense of moral obligation by which Mr. Twysden was actu- 
 ated. At least, he thought that these inquiries should not 
 have been secretly set afoot ; and as he himself was per- 
 fectly open — a great deal too open, perhaps — in his 
 words and his actions, he was hard with those who at- 
 tempted to hoodwink or deceive him. 
 
 It could not be ; ah ! no, it never could be, that Agnes 
 the pure and gentle was privy to this conspiracy. But 
 then, how very — very often of late she has been from 
 home ; how very, very cold Aunt Twysden's shoulder had 
 somehow become. Once, when he reached the door, a fish- 
 monger's boy was leaving a fine salmon at the kitchen, — a
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 283 
 
 salmon and a tub of ice. Once, twice, at five o'clock, when 
 he called, a smell of cooking pervaded the hall, — that hall 
 which culinary odors very seldom visited. Some of those 
 noble Twysden dinners were on the tapis, and Philip was 
 not asked. Xot to be asked was no great deprivation ; but 
 who were the guests ? To be sure, these were trifles light 
 as air; but Philip smelt mischief in the steam of these 
 Twysden dinners. He chewed that salmon with a bitter 
 sauce as he saw it sink down the area steps and disappear 
 with its attendant lobster in the dark kitchen regions. 
 
 Yes ; eyes were somehow averted that used to look into 
 his very frankly ; a glove somehow had grown over a little 
 hand which once used to lie very comfortably in his broad 
 palm. Was anybody else going to seize it, and was it going 
 to paddle in that blackamoor's unblest lingers ? Ah ! fiends 
 and tortures ! a gentleman may cease to love, but does he 
 like a woman to cease to love him ? People carry on ever 
 so long for fear of that declaration that all is over. 
 No confession is more dismal to make. The sun of love has 
 set. We sit in the dark. I mean you, dear madam, and 
 Corydon, or I and Amaryllis ; uncomfortably, with nothing 
 more to say to one another ; with the night dew falling, 
 and a risk of catching cold, drearily contemplating the fad- 
 ing west, with "the cold remains of lustre gone, of lire 
 long passed away." Sink, fire of love ! Eise, gentle moon, 
 and mists of chilly evening. And, my good Madam Amaryl- 
 lis, let us go home to some tea and a fire. 
 
 So Philip determined to go and seek his cousin. Arrived 
 at his hotel (and if it were the * * I can't conceive 
 Philip in much better quarters), he had the opportunity 
 of inspecting those delightful newspaper arrivals, a peru- 
 sal of which has so often edified us at Brighton. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Penfold, he was informed, continued their residence. 
 No. 96, Horizontal Place ; and it was with those guardians 
 he knew his Agnes was staying. He speeds to Horizontal 
 Place. Idiss Twysden is out. He heaves a sigh, and 
 leaves a card. Has it ever happened to you to leave a 
 card at that house — that house whi^h was once the house 
 — almost your own; where j^ou were ever welcome; 
 where the kindest hand was ready to grasp yours, the 
 brightest eye to greet you ? And now your friendship 
 has dwindled away to a little bit of pasteboard, shed once 
 a year, and poor dear ]\lrs. Jones (it is with J. you have 
 quarrelled) still calls on the ladies of your family and slips
 
 284 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 lier husband's ticket upon the hall table. Oh, life and time, 
 that it shcndd have come to tliis I Oh, gracious j)owei.s! 
 Do you recall the time when Arabella Briggs was Arabella 
 Tliompson ? You call and t^W fadaises to her (at first she 
 is rather nervous, and has the children in) ; you talk rain 
 and fine weather ; the last novel ; the next party ; Thomp- 
 son in the City ? Yes, Mr. Thompson is in the City. He's 
 pretty well, thank you. Ah ! Daggers, ropes, and poi- 
 sons, has it come to this ? You are talking about the 
 weather, and another man's health, and another man's 
 children, of which she is mother, to her? Time was, the 
 weather was all a burning sunshine, in which you and she 
 basked; or if clouds gathered, and a storm fell, such a 
 glorious rainbow haloed round you, such delicious tears 
 fell and refreshed you, that the storm was more ravishing 
 than the calm. And now another man's children are sit- 
 ting on her knee — their mother's knee ; and once a year 
 Mr. and Mrs. John Thompson request the honor of Mr. 
 Brown's company at dinner ; and once a year you read in 
 The Times, " In Nursery Street, the wife of J. Thompson, 
 Esq., of a Son." To come to the once-beloved one's door, 
 and find the knocker tied up with a white kid glove, is 
 humiliating — say what you will, it is humiliating. 
 
 Philip leaves his card, and walks on to the Cliff, and of 
 course, in three minutes, meets Clinker. Indeed, who ever 
 went to Brighton for half an hour without meeting Clinker? 
 
 " Father pretty well ? His old patient, Lady Geminy, 
 is down here with the children ; what a number of them 
 there are, to be sure ! Come to make any stay ? See your 
 cousin, Miss Twysden, is here with the Penfolds. Little 
 party at the Grigsons' last night ; she looked uncommonly 
 well : danced ever so many times with the Black Prince, 
 Woolcomb of the Greens. Suppose I may congratulate 
 you. Six thousand five hundred a year now, and thirteen 
 thousand when his grandmother dies ; but those negresses 
 live forever. I suppose the thing is settled. I saw them 
 on the pier just now, and Mrs. Penfold was reading a book 
 in the arbor. Book of sermons it was — pious woman, 
 Mrs. Penfold. I dare say they are on the pier still." 
 Striding with hurried steps Philip Fii-min makes for the 
 pier. The breathless Clinker cannot keep alongside of his 
 face. I should like to have seen it when Clinker said that 
 "the thing" was settled between Miss Twysden and the 
 cavalry gentleman.
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 2So 
 
 There were a few nursery governesses, maids, and cliil- 
 dren, paddling about at the end of the pier ; and there was 
 a fat woman reading a book in one of the arbors — but no 
 Agnes, no Wook'omb. Where can they be ? Can they be 
 weighing each other ? or buying those mad pebbles, which 
 people are known to purchase ? or having their silhouettes 
 done in black ? Ha ! ha ! Woolcomb would hardly have 
 his face done in black. The idea would provoke odious 
 comparisons. 1 see Philip is in a dreadfully bad sarcastic 
 humor. 
 
 Up there comes from one of those trap-doors wdiich lead 
 down from the pier-head to the green sea-waves ever rest- 
 lessly jumping below — up there comes a little Skye-terrier 
 dog with a red collar, who, as soon as she sees Philip, sings, 
 squeaks, whines, runs, jumps, flumps up on him, if I may 
 use the expression, kisses his hands, and with eyes, tongue, 
 paws, and tail shows him a thousand marks of welcome and 
 affection. " What, Brownie, Brownie ! *' J^hilip is glad to 
 see the dog, an old friend who has many a time licked his 
 hand and bounced upon his knee. 
 
 The greeting over, Brownie, wagging her tail with pro- 
 digious activity, trots before Philip — trots down an open- 
 ing, down the steps under which the waves shimmer 
 greenly, and into quite a quiet remote corner just over 
 the water, whence you may command a most beautiful view 
 of the sea, the shore, the Marine Parade, and the " Albion 
 Hotel," and where, were I five-and-twenty say, with 
 nothing else to do, I would gladly pass a quarter of an 
 hour talking about " G-laucus, or the Wonders of the Deep " 
 with the object of my affections. 
 
 Here, amongst the labyrinth of piles, Brow^nie goes 
 flouncing along till she comes to a young couple who are 
 looking at the view just described. In order to view it 
 better, the young man has laid his hand, a pretty little 
 hand most delicately gloved, on the lady's hand ; and 
 Brownie comes up and nuzzles against her, and whines and 
 talks as much as to say, "Here's somebody," and the lady 
 says, " Down, Brownie, miss." 
 
 " It's no good, Agnes, that dog," says the gentleman (he 
 has very curly, not to say woolly hair, under his natty 
 little hat). " I'll give j'ou a pug with a nose you can 
 hang your hat on. I do know of one now. My man Kum- 
 mins knows of one. Do you like pugs ? " 
 
 " I adore them/" says the lady.
 
 286 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 "I'll give you one, if i have to pay fifty pounds for it. 
 And they fetch a good figure, the real pugs do, I can tell 
 you. Once in London there was an exhibition of 'em, 
 and — " 
 
 "Brownie, Brownie, down !" cries Agnes. The dog was 
 jumping at a gentleman, a tall gentleman with a red mous- 
 tache and beard, who advances through the checkered sliade, 
 under the ponderous beams, over the translucent sea.
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 287 
 
 " Pray don't mind, Brownie won't hurt me," says a per- 
 fectly Avell known voice, the sound of which sends all the 
 color shuddering out of Miss Agnes's pink cheeks. 
 
 " You see I gave my cousin this dog, Captain Wool- 
 comb," says the gentleman ; " and the little slut remem- 
 bers me. Perhaps Miss Twysden prefers the pug better." 
 
 " Sir ! " 
 
 " If it has a nose you can hang 3'our hat on, it must be a 
 very pretty dog, and I suppose you intend to hang your hat 
 on it a good deal." 
 
 ''Oh, Philip!" says the lady; but an attack of that 
 dreadful coughing stops further utterance.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 eO]?J^TAIXS TWO OF PHILIP's MISHAPS. 
 
 Oil know that, in some parts 
 of India, infanticide is the 
 common custom. It is part 
 of the religion of the land, 
 as, in other districts, widow- 
 burning used to be. I can't 
 imagine that ladies like to 
 destroy either themselves or 
 their children, though they 
 submit with bravery, and 
 even cheerfulness, to the de- 
 crees of that religion which 
 orders them to make away 
 with their own or their 
 young ones' lives. Now, 
 suppose you and I, as Euro- 
 peans, happened to drive up where a young creature was 
 just about to roast herself, under the advice of her family 
 and the highest dignitaries of her church ; what could we 
 do ? Rescue her? No such thing. We know better than 
 to interfere with her, and the laws and usages of her 
 country. We turn away with a sigh from the mournful 
 scene ; we pull out our pocket-handkerchiefs, tell coachman 
 to drive on, and leave her to her sad fate. 
 
 Now about poor Agnes Twysden : how, in the name of 
 goodness, can we help her ? You see she is a well-brought- 
 up and religious young woman of the Brahminical sect. If 
 she is to be sacrificed, that old Brahmin, her father, that 
 good and devout mother, that most special Brahmin her 
 brother, and that admirable girl her straight-laced sister, all 
 insist upon her undergoing the ceremony, and deck her 
 with flowers ere they lead her to that dismal altar flame. 
 Suppose, I say, she has made up her mind to throw over 
 poor Philip, and take on with some one else ? What seati- 
 
 288
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 289 
 
 ment ought our virtuous bosoms to entertain towards her ? 
 Anger ? I have just been holding a conversation with a 
 young fellow in rags and without shoes, whose bed is com- 
 monly a dry arch, who has been repeatedly in .prison, 
 whose father and mother were thieves, and whose grand- 
 fathers were thieves ; — are we to be angry with him for 
 following the paternal profession ? With one eye brim- 
 ming with pity, the other steadily keeping watch over 
 the family spoons, I listen to his artless tale. I have no 
 anger against that child; nor towards thee, Agnes, daughter 
 of Talbot the Brahmin. 
 
 For though duty is duty, when it comes to the pinch, it 
 is often hard to do. Though dear jjapa and mamma say 
 that here is a gentleman with ever so many thousands a 
 year, an undoubted part in So-and-So-shire, and whole 
 islands in the western main, who is wildly in love with 
 your fair skin and blue ej^es, and is ready to fling all his 
 treasures at your feet ; yet, after all, when you consider 
 that he is very ignorant, though very cunning ; very stingy, 
 though very rich; very ill tempered, probably, if faces and 
 eyes and mouths can tell truth : and as for Philip Firmin 
 — though actually his legitimacy is dubious, as we have 
 lately heard, in wliich case his maternal fortune is ours — 
 and as for his paternal inheritance, we don't know whether 
 the doctor is worth thirty thousand pounds or a shilling ; — 
 yet, after all — as for Philip — he is a man ; he is a gentle- 
 man ; he has brains in his head, and a great honest heart 
 of which he has offered to give the best feelings to his 
 cousin : — I say, when a poor girl has to be off with that 
 old love, that honest and fair love, and be on with the new 
 one, the dark one, I feel for her; and though the Brahmins 
 iS-e, as we know, the most genteel sect in Hindostan, I 
 rather wish the poor child could have belonged to some 
 lower and less rigid sect. Poor Agnes ! to think that he 
 has sat for hours, with mamma and Blanche or the gover- 
 ness, of course, in the room (for, you know, when she and 
 Phili]) were quite wee, wee things, dear mamma had little 
 amiable plans in view) ; has sat for hours b}' Miss Twys- 
 den's side pouring out his heart to her; has had, mayhap, 
 little precious moments of confidential talk — little hasty 
 whispers in corridors, on stairs, behind window-curtains, 
 and — and so forth in fact. She must remember all this 
 past ; and can't, without some pang, listen on the same sofa, 
 behind the same window-curtains, to her dark suitor pour- 
 
 VOL. I. — 19
 
 290 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 ing out his artless tales of barracks, boxing, horseflesh, and 
 the tender passion. He is dull, he is mean, he is ill-tenv 
 pered, he is ignorant, and the other was . . . ; but she 
 will do- her duty ; oh, yes ! she will do her duty ! Poor 
 Agnes ! C'est a fendre le cwur. I declare I quite feel for 
 her. 
 
 When Philip's temper was roused, I have been compelled, 
 as his biographer, to own how very rude and disagreeable 
 he could be ; and you must acknowledge that a young man 
 has some reason to be displeased, when he finds the girl ot 
 his heart hand-in-hand with another young gentleman in an 
 occult and shady recess of the wood-work of Brighton 
 Pier. The green waves are softly murmuring ; so is the 
 officer of the Life Guards Green. The waves are kissing 
 the beach. Ah, agonizing thought ! 1 will not pursue the 
 simile, Avhich may be but a jealous man's mad fantasy. Of 
 this I am sure, no pebble on that beach is cooler than 
 polished Agnes. But, then, Philip drunk with jealousy is 
 not a reasonable being like Philip sober. '' He had a dread- 
 ful temper," Philip's dear aunt said of him afterwards — 
 " I trembled for my dear gentle child, united forever to a 
 man of that violence. >[ever, in my secret mind, could I 
 think that their union could be a happy one. Besides, jou 
 know, the nearness of their relationship. M}^ scruples on 
 that score, dear Mrs. Candor, never, never could be quite 
 got over." And these scruples came to weigh whole tons, 
 when Mangrove Hall, the house in Berkeley Square, and 
 Mr. Woolcomb's West India island were put into the scale 
 along with them. 
 
 Of course there was no good in remaining amongst those 
 damp, reeking timbers, noAv that the pretty little tete-a-tete 
 was over. Little Brownie hung fondling and whining round 
 Philip's ankles, as the party ascended to the upper air. 
 " ^ly child, how pale you look ! " cried Mrs.Penfold, putting 
 down her volume. Out of the Captain's opal eyeballs shot 
 lurid flames, and hot blood burned behind his yellow 
 cheeks. In a quarrel, Mr. Philip Firmin coiQd be particu- 
 larly cool and self-possessed. When Miss Agnes rather 
 piteously introduced him to Mrs. Penfold, he made a bow 
 as polite and gracious as any performed by his royal father. 
 " My little dog knew me,'' he said, caressing the animal. 
 " She is a faithful little thing, and she led me down to my 
 cousin; and — Captain Wcolcomb, I think, is your name, 
 sir ? "
 
 ox Hrs WAV THROUGH THE WORLD. 291 
 
 As Philip curls his moustache and smiles blandly, Cap- 
 tun Wuolcunib pulls his and scowls hercely. " Yes, sir," 
 he mutters, '• my name is Woolcomb." Another bow and a 
 touch of the hat from Mr. Firmin. A touch? — a gracious 
 wave of the hat \ acknowledged by no means so gracefully 
 by Caj)tain Woolcomb. 
 
 To these remarks ^Irs. Tenfold says, '' Oh ! " In fact, 
 " Oh ! " is about the best thing that could be said under the 
 circunistances. 
 
 ^•' M}' cousin, Miss Twysden, looks so pale because she 
 was out very late dancing last night. I hear it was a very 
 pretty ball. But ought she to keep such late hours, Mrs. 
 Penfold, with her delicate health ? Indeed, you ought not, 
 Agnes ! Ought she to keep late hours, Brownie ? There — 
 don't, you little foolish thing ! I gave my cousin the dog: 
 and she's very fond of me — the dog is — still. You were 
 saying, Captain Woolcomb, when I came up, that you would 
 give Miss Twysden a dog on whose nose you could hang 
 your . . . I beg pardon?'' 
 
 j\lr. AVoolcomb, as Philip made this second allusion to 
 the peculiar n;isal formation of the pug, ground his little 
 white teeth together, and let slip a most impi-oper mono- 
 syllable. jNIore acute broncliial suffering was manifested 
 oil the part of ]\riss Twysden. ^Irs. Penfold said, '• The 
 day is clouding over. I think, Agnes, I will have my chair, 
 and go home." 
 
 '• May I be allowed to walk with you as far as your 
 house ? " says Philip, twiddling a little locket which he 
 wore at his watch-chain. It v/as a little gold locket, with a 
 little pale hair inside. Whose hair could it have been that 
 was so pale and fine ? As for the pretty, hieroglyphical A. 
 T. at the back, those letters might indicate Alfred Tenny- 
 son, or Anthony Trollope, who might have given a lock of 
 their golden hair to Philip, for I kr^ow he is an admirer of 
 'heir works. 
 
 Agnes looked guiltily at the little locket. Captain Wool- 
 comb pulled his moustache so, that yoii would have thought 
 he would have ])ulled it off; and his opal eyes glared with 
 fearful confusion and wrath. 
 
 " Will you please to fall back and let me speak to you, 
 Agnes ? Pardon me. Captain Woolcomb, I have a private 
 message for my cousin ; and I came from London expressly 
 to deliver it." 
 
 "If Miss Twysden desires me to withdraw, I fall back in
 
 292 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 one moment," says the Captain, clenching the little lemon- 
 colored gloves. 
 
 " j\[y cousin and 1 have lived together all our lives, and 
 I bring her a family message. Have you any particular 
 claim to hear it, Captain Woolcomb ? " 
 
 ''Not if Miss Twysden don't want me to hear it. . . . 
 D— the little brute." 
 
 " Don't kick poor little harmless Brownie ! He shan't 
 kick you, shall he, Brownie ? " 
 
 " If the brute comes between my shins, I'll kick her ! " 
 shrieks the Captain. '' Hang her, I'll throw her into the 
 sea ! " 
 
 " Whatever you do to my dog, I swear I will do to you ! " 
 whispers Philip to the Captain. 
 
 " Where are you staying ? " shrieks the Captain, " Hang 
 you, you shall hear from me." 
 
 " Quiet — ' Bedford Hotel.' Easy, or I shall think you 
 want the ladies to overhear." 
 
 '' Your conduct is horrible, sir," says Agnes, rapidly, in 
 the French language, " Mr. does not comprehend it." 
 
 " it ! If you have any secrets to talk, I'll withdraw 
 
 fast enough. Miss Agnes," says Othello. 
 
 " Oh, Grenville ! can I have any secrets from you ? Mr. 
 Firmin is my first cousin. AVe have lived together all our 
 lives. Philip, I — I don't know whether mamma announced 
 to you — my — my engagement with Captain Grenville 
 AVoolcomb." The agitation has brought on another severe 
 bronchial attack. Poor, poor, little Agnes ! What it is to 
 have a delicate throat ! 
 
 The pier tosses up to the skies, as though it had left its 
 moorings — the houses on the cliff dance and reel, as 
 though an earthquake was driving them — the sea walks up 
 into the lodging-houses — and Philip's legs are failing from 
 under him : it is only for a moment. When you have a 
 large, tough double-tooth out, doesn't the chair go up to the 
 ceiling, and your head come off too? But, in the next 
 instant, there is a grave gentleman before j^ou, making you 
 a bow, and concealing something in his right sleeve. The 
 crash is over. You are a man again. Philip clutches hold 
 of the chain-pier for a moment : it does not sink under him. 
 The houses, after reeling for a second or two, reassume the 
 perpendicular, and bulge their bow-windows towards the 
 main. He can see the people looking from the windows, 
 the carriages passing, Professor Spurrier riding on the cliff
 
 ON HJS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 293 
 
 with eighteen young ladies, liis pupils. In long after-days 
 he remembers those absurd little incidents with a curious 
 tenacity. 
 
 '•This news," Philip says, "was not — not altogether un- 
 expected. I congratulate my cousin, I am sure. Captain 
 AVoolcomb, had I known this for certain, I am sure I should 
 not have interrupted you. You were going, perhaps, to ask 
 me to your hospitable house, ^Irs. Penfold ? " 
 
 " Was she, though ? " cries the Captain. 
 
 " I have asked a friend to dine with nie at the ' Bedford,' 
 and shall go to town, I hope, in the morniug. Can I take 
 anything for you, Agnes ? Good-by." And he kisses his 
 hand m quite a deyiKje manner, as Mrs. Pen fold's chair 
 turns eastward and he goes to the west. Silently the tall 
 Agnes sweeps along, a fair hand laid upon her friend's 
 chair. 
 
 It's over ! it's over ! She has done it. He was bound, 
 and kept his honor, but she did not : it was she who for- 
 sook him. And I fear very much Mr. Philip's heart leaps 
 with pleasure and an immense sensation of relief at think- 
 ing he is free. He meets half a dozen acquaintances on the 
 cliff. He laughs, jokes, shakes hands, invites two or three 
 to dinner in the gayest manner. He sits down on that 
 green, not very far from his inn, and is laughing to himself, 
 when he suddenly feels something nestling at his knee, — 
 rubbing, and nestling, and whining plaintively. •' What, is 
 that you?" It is little Brownie who has followed him. 
 Poor little rogue ! 
 
 Then Philip bent down his head over the dog, and as it 
 jumped on him with little bleats, and whines, and innocent 
 caresses, he broke out into a sob, and a great refreshing 
 rain of tears fell from his eyes. Such a little illness I Such 
 a mild fever ! Such a speedy cure ! Some people have the 
 complaint so mildly that they are scarcely ever kept to their 
 beds. Some bear its scars forever. 
 
 Philip sat resolutely at the hotel all night, having given 
 special orders to the porter to say that he was at home, in 
 case any gentleman should call. '^ He had a faint hope, he 
 afterwards owned, that some friend of Cf ptain Woolcomb 
 might wait on him on that officer's part. He had a faint 
 hope that a letter might come explaining that treason, — as 
 people will have a sick, gnawing, yearning, foolish desire 
 for letters — letters which contain nothing, which never 
 did contain anything — letters which, nevertheless, you —
 
 294 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 You kno^y, in fact, about those letters, aud there is no 
 earthly use in asking to read Philip's. Have we not all 
 read those love-letters which, after love-quarrels, come into 
 court sometimes ? AVe have all read them ; and how many 
 have written them ? Nine o'clock. Ten o'clock. Eleven 
 o'clock. No challenge from the Captain ; no explanation 
 from Agnes. Philip declares he slept perfectly well. But 
 poor little Brownie the dog made a piteous howling all night 
 in the stables. She was not a well-bred dog. You could 
 not have hung the least hat on her nose. 
 
 We compared anon our dear Agnes to a Brahmin lady, 
 meekly offering herself up to sacrifice according to the 
 practice used in her highly respectable caste. Did we speak 
 in anger or in sorrow ? — surely in terms of respectful 
 grief and sympathy. And if we pity her, ought we not like- 
 wise to pity her highly respectable parents ? AVhen the 
 notorious Brutus ordered his sons to execurion, you can't 
 suppose he was such a brute as to be pleased ? All three 
 parties suffered by the transaction : the sons, probably, even 
 jnore than their austere father ; but it stands to reason that 
 the whole trio were very melancholy. At least, were I a poet 
 or musical composer depicting that business, I certainly 
 should make them so. The sons, piping in a very minor 
 key indeed ; the father's manl}^ basso accompanied by deep 
 wind instruments, and interrupted by appropriate sobs. 
 Though pretty fair Agnes is being led to execution, I don't 
 suppose she likes it, or that her parents are happy, who are 
 compelled to order the tragedy. 
 
 That the rich young proprietor of Mangrove Hall should 
 be fond of her was merely a coincidence, Mrs. Twysden 
 afterwards always averred. Not for mere wealth — ah, no ! 
 not for mines of gold — would the}^ sacrifice their darling 
 child. But when that sad Firmin affair happened, you see 
 it also happened that Captain Woolcomb was much struck 
 by dear Agnes, whom he met everywhere. Her scape- 
 grace of a cousin would go nowhere. He preferred his 
 bachelor associates, and horrible smoking and drinking 
 habits, to the amusements and pleasures of more refined 
 society. He neglected Agnes. There is not the slightest 
 doubt he neglected and mortified her, and his wilful and 
 frequent absence showed how little he cared for her. 
 Would you blame the dear girl for coldness to a man who 
 himself showed such indifference to her ? "No, my good 
 Mrs. Candor. Had Mr. Firmin been ten times as rich as
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 295 
 
 Mr. Woolcoinb, I should have counselled my child to refuse 
 him. / take the responsibility of the measure entirely on 
 myself — I, and her father, and her brother." 80 Mrs. 
 Twysden afterwards spoke, in circles where an absurd and 
 odious rumor ran, that the Tw3^sdens had forced their 
 daughter to jilt young Mr. Firmin in order to marry a 
 wealthy quadroon. People will talk, you know, de me, de 
 te. If AA'oolcomb's dinners had not gone off so after his 
 marriage, I have little doubt the scandal would have died 
 away, and he and his wife might have been pretty generally 
 respected and visited. 
 
 Nor must you suppose, as we have said, that dear Agnes 
 gave up her lirst love without a pang. That bronchitis 
 showed how acutely the poor thing felt her position. It 
 broke out very soon after Mr. Woolcomb's attentions became 
 a little particular ; and she actually left London in conse- 
 quence. It is true that he could follow her without diffi- 
 culty, but so, for the matter of that, could Philip, as we 
 have seen when he came down and behaved so rudely to 
 Captain Woolcomb. And before Philip came, poor Agnes 
 could plead, '• i\Iy father pressed me sair," as in the case of 
 the notorious Mrs. Eobin Gray. 
 
 Father and mother both pressed her sair. INIrs. Twysden, 
 I think I have mentioned, wrote an admirable letter, and 
 was aware of her accomplishment. She used to write reams 
 of gossip regularly every week to dear uncle Ringwood 
 when he was in the country : and when her daughter 
 Blanche married, she is said to have written several of her 
 new son's sermons. As a Christian mother, was she not to 
 give her daughter her advice at this momentous period of 
 her life ? That advice Avent against poor Philip's chances 
 with his cousin, w^ho was kept acquainted with all the cir- 
 cumstances of the controversy of which we have just seen 
 the issue. I do not mean to say that Mrs. Twysden gave 
 an impartial statement of the case. What parties in a 
 law-suit do speak impartially on their own side or their ad- 
 versaries' ? Mrs. Twysden's view, as I have learned subse- 
 quently, and as imparted to her daughter, was this : — Tliat 
 most unprincipled man, Dr. Firmin, who had already 
 attempted, and unjustly, to deprive the Twysdens of a part 
 of their property, had commenced in quite early life his 
 career of outrage and wickedness against the Pingwood 
 famih\ He had led dear Lord Pingwood's son, poor dea,r 
 Lord Cinqbars, into a career of vice and extravagance which
 
 296 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 caused the premature death of that unfortunate young 
 nobleman, llr. Firmin had then made a marriage, in spite 
 of the tears and entreaties of Mrs. Twysden, with her late 
 unhappy sister, whose whole life had been made wretched 
 by the doctor's conduct. But the climax of outrage and 
 wickedness was, that when he — he, a low, penniless adven- 
 turer — married Colonel Kingwood's daughter, he was 
 married already, as could be sworn by the repentant clergy- 
 man who had been forced, by threats of punishment which 
 Dr. Eirniin held over him, to perform the rite ! " The 
 mind " — JVIrs. Talbot Twysden's fine mind — " shuddered 
 at the thought of such wickedness." But most of all (for 
 to think ill of any one whom she had once loved gave her 
 pain) there was reason to believe that the unhappy Philip 
 Firmin was \\\?> father'^ s accomjjllce, and that he knew of his 
 own illegitimacy, which he was determined to set aside by 
 2ii\y fraud or artifice — (she trembled, she wept to have to 
 say this : heaven ! that there should be such perversity 
 in thy creatures !) And so little store did Philip set by 
 his mother's honor that he actually visited the abandoned 
 w^oman who acquiesced in her own infamy, and had brought 
 such unspeakable disgrace on the Eingwood family! The 
 thought of this crime had caused Mrs. Twysden and her 
 dear husband nights of sleepless anguish — had made them 
 years and years older — had stricken their hearts with a 
 grief which must endure to the end of their days. AVith 
 ] eople so scrupulous, so grasping, so artful as Dr. Pirmiu 
 and (must she sa}^ ?) his son, they were bound to be on 
 their guard; and though they had avoided Philip, she had 
 deemed it right, on the rare occasions when she and the 
 young man whom she must now call her illegitimate nejihew 
 met, to behave as though she knew nothing of this most 
 dreadful controversy. 
 
 ^'And now, dearest child" . . . Surely the moral is 
 obvious? The dearest child "must see at once that any 
 foolish plans which were formed in childish days and under 
 former delusions must be cast aside forever as impossible, 
 as unworthy of a Twysden — of a Ringwood. Be not con- 
 cerned for the young man himself," wrote Mrs. Tw3'sden, 
 — "I blush that he should bear that dear father's name 
 who was slain in honor on Busaco's glorious field. P. F. 
 has associates amongst whom he has ever been much more at 
 home than in our refined circle, and habits which will cause 
 him to forget jow only too easily. And if near you is one
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 207 
 
 whose ardor sliows itself in liis every word and action, 
 whose wealth and property may raise you to a place worthy 
 of my child, need I say, a mother's, a father's blessing go 
 with you." This letter was brought to Miss Twysden, at 
 Brighton, by a special messenger : and the superscription 
 announced that it was "honored by Captain Grenville 
 Woolcomb." 
 
 Xow when Miss Agnes has had a letter to this effect (I 
 may at some time tell you how I came to be acquainted 
 with its contents) ; when she remembers all the abuse her 
 brother lavishes against Philip as, heaven bless some of 
 them! dear relatives can best do; when she thinks how 
 cold he has of late been — how he ivlll come smelling of 
 cigars — how he won't conform to the usages du monde, and 
 has neglected all the decencies of society — how she often 
 can"t understand his strange rhapsodies about poetry, paint- 
 ing, and the like, nor how he can live with such associates 
 as those who seem to delight him — and now how he is 
 showing himself actually uiipriivnpled and abetting his 
 horrid father ; when we consider mither pressing sair, and 
 all these points in mither's favor, I don't think we can order 
 Agnes to instant execution for the resolution to which she 
 is coming. She will give him up — she will give him up. 
 Good-by, Philip. Good-by the past. Be forgotten, be for- 
 gotten, fond words spoken m not unwilling ears ! Be still 
 and breathe not, eager lips, that have trembled so near to 
 one another I Unlock, hands, and part forever, that seemed 
 to be formed for life's long journey ! Ah, to part forever 
 is hard ; but harder and more humiliating still to part with- 
 out regret. 
 
 That papa and mamma had influenced ^liss Tw^^sden in 
 her behavior my wife and I could easily imagine, when 
 Philip, in his wrath and grief, came to us and poured out 
 the feelings of his heart. My wife is a repository of men's 
 secrets, an untiring consoler and comforter ; and she knows 
 many a sad story which we are not at liberty to tell, like 
 this one of which this person, Mr. Firmin, has given us 
 possession. 
 
 •' Father and mother's orders,'^ shouts Philip, " T dare say, 
 Mrs. Pendennis ; but the wish was father to the thought of 
 parting, and it was for the blackamoor's parks and acres 
 that the girl jilted me. Look here. I told you just now 
 that I slept perfectly well on that infernal night after I had 
 said farewell to her. Well, I didn't. It was a lie. I
 
 298 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 walked ever so many times tlie wliole leiigtli of the cliff, 
 from Hove to Rottingdean almost, and then went to bed 
 afterwards, and slept a little, out of sheer fatigue. And as 
 I was passing by Horizontal Terrace ( — I happened to pass 
 by there two or three times in the moonlight, like a great 
 jackass — ) you know those verses of mine which I have 
 hummed here sometimes ? " (hummed ! he used to roar 
 them ! ) " ' When the locks of burnished gold, lady, shall 
 to silver turn ! ' ISTever mind the rest. You know the 
 verses about fidelity and old age ? She was singing them 
 on that night, to that negro. And I heard the beggar's 
 voice say ' Bravo ! ' through the open windows." 
 
 " Ah, Philip ! it was cruel," says my wife, heartily pity- 
 ing our friend's anguish and misfortune. " It was cruel 
 indeed. I am sure we can feel for you. But think what 
 certain misery a marriage with such a person would have 
 been ! Think of your warm heart given away forever to 
 that heartless creature." 
 
 "Laura, Laura, have you not often warned me not to 
 speak ill of people ? " says Laura's husband. 
 
 " I can't help it sometimes," cries Laura in a transport. 
 " I try and do my best not to speak ill of my neighbors ; 
 but the worldliness of those people shocks me so that I 
 can't bear to be near them. They are so utterly tied and 
 bound by conventionalities, so perfectly convinced of their 
 own excessive high-breeding, that they seem to me more 
 odious and more vulgar than quite low people; and I'm 
 sure Mr. Philip's friend, the Little Sister, is infinitely more 
 lady-like than his dreary aunt or either of his supercilious 
 cousins ! " Upon my word, Avhen this lady did speak her 
 mind, there was no mistaking her meaning. 
 
 I believe Mr. Firmin took a considerable number of 
 people into his confidence regarding this love-affair. He is 
 one of those individuals who can't keep their secrets; and 
 when hurt he roars so loudly that all his friends can hear. 
 It has been remarked that the sorrows of such persons do 
 not endure very long ; nor surely was there any great need 
 in this instance that Philip's heart should wear a lengthened 
 mourning. Ere long he smoked his pipes, he pla^^ed his 
 billiards, he shouted his songs ; he rode in the Park for the 
 pleasure of severely cutting his aunt and cousins when 
 their open carriage passed, or of riding down Ca])tain 
 Woolcomb or his cousin Eingwood, should either of those 
 worthies come in his way.
 
 O.Y HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 299 
 
 One day, when the okl Lord Riugwood came to town for 
 his accustomed spring visit, Philip condescended to wait 
 upon him, and was announced to his lordship just as 
 Talbot Twj-sden and Kingwood his son were taking leave 
 of their noble kinsman. Philip looked at them with a 
 flashing eye and a distended nostril, according to his swag- 
 gering wont. I dare say they on their part bore a very 
 mean and hang-dog appearance ; for my lord laughed at 
 their discomhture, and seemed immensely amused as they 
 slunk out of the door when Philip came hectoring in. 
 
 " So, sir, there has been a family row. Heard all about 
 it : at least, their side. Your father did me the favor to 
 marry my niece, having another wife already ! " 
 
 ''Having no other wife already, sir — though my dear 
 relations were anxious to show that he had." 
 
 " Wanted your money ; thirty thousand pound is not a 
 trifle. Ten thousand apiece for those children. And no 
 more need of any confounded pinching and scraping, as they 
 have to do at Beaunash Street. Aflair off" between you and 
 Agnes ! Absurd affair. So much the better." 
 
 " Yes, sir, so much the better." 
 
 '- Have ten thousand apiece. Would have twenty thou- 
 sand if the}^ got yours. Quite natural to want it." 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 '' Woolcomb a sort of negro, I understand. Pine prop- 
 erty here : besides the West India rubbish. Violent man 
 
 — so people tell me. Luckily Agnes seems a cool, easy- 
 going woman, and must put up with the rough as well as 
 the smooth in marrying a property like that. Very lucky 
 for you that that woman persists there was no marriage 
 with your father. Twysden says the doctor bribed her. 
 Take it he's not got much money to bribe unless you gave 
 some of 3^ours." 
 
 ^' I don't bribe people to bear false witness, my lord — 
 and if — " 
 
 " Don't be in a huff ; I didn't say so. Twysden says so 
 
 — perhaps thinks so. When people are at law they believe 
 anything of one another." 
 
 " I don't know what other people may (Jo, sir. If I had 
 another man's money, I should not be easy until I had paid 
 him back. Had mv share of my grandfather's property not 
 been lawfully mine — and for a few hours I thought it was 
 not — please"^ God, I would have given it up to its rightful 
 owners — at least, my father would."
 
 300 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 " Why, hang it all, man, 3'ou don't mean to say your 
 father has not settled with you ? " 
 
 Philip blushed a little. He had been rather surprised 
 that there had been no settlement between him and his 
 father. 
 
 "I am only of age a few months, sir. I am not under 
 any apprehension. I get my dividends regularly enough. 
 One of my grandfather's trustees, General Baynes, is in 
 India. He is to return almost immediately, or we should 
 have sent a power of attorney out to him. There's no 
 hurry about the business." 
 
 Philip's maternal grandfather, and Lord Ring wood's 
 brother, the late Colonel Philip Ringwood, had died 
 possessed of but trifling property of his own ; but his wife 
 had brought him a fortune of sixty thousand pounds, which 
 Avas settled on their children, and in the names of trustees 
 — Mr. Briggs, a lawyer, and Colonel Baynes, an East India 
 officer, and friend of Mrs. Philip Ring wood's family. 
 Colonel Baynes had been in England some eight years 
 before ; and Philip remembered a kind old gentleman 
 coming to see him at school, and leaving tokens of his 
 bounty behind. The other trustee, Mr. Briggs, a lawyer of 
 considerable county reputation, was dead long since, having 
 left his affairs in an involved condition. During the 
 trustee's absence and the son's minority, Philip's father 
 received the dividends on his son's property, and liberally 
 spent them on the boy. Indeed, I believe that for some 
 little time at college, and during his first journeys abroad, 
 Mr. Philip spent rather more than the income of his 
 maternal inheritance, being freely supplied by his father, 
 who told him not to stint himself. He was a sumptuous 
 man, Dr. Firmin — open-handed — subscribing to many 
 charities — a lover of solemn good cheer. The doctor's 
 dinners and the doctor's equipages were models in their way ; 
 and I remember the sincere respect with which my uncle 
 the ^lajor (the family guide in such matters) used to speak 
 of Dr. Firmin's taste. " No duchess in London, sir," he 
 would say, ''drove better horses than Mrs. Firmin. Sir 
 George Warrinder, sir, could not give a better dinner, sir, 
 than that to which we sat down yesterday." And for the 
 exercise of these civic virtues the doctor had the hearty 
 respect of the good Major. 
 
 " Don't tell me, sir," on the other hand, Lord Ringwood 
 would say ; " I dined with the fellow once — a swaggering
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 301 
 
 fellow, sir; but a servile fellow. The Avay lie bowed and 
 flattered was perfectly absurd. Those fellows think we like 
 it — and we may. Even at my age, I like flattery — any 
 quantity of it ; and not what you call delicate, but strong, 
 sir. I like a man to kneel down and kiss my shoe-strings. 
 I have my own opinion of him afterwards, but that is what 
 I like — what all men like ; and that is what Firmin gave 
 in quantities. But 3'ou could see that his house was mon- 
 strously expensive. His dinner was excellent, and you saw 
 it was good every day — not like your dinners, my good 
 Maria; not like your wines, Twj^sden, which, hang it, I 
 can't swallow, unless I send 'em in myself. Even at my 
 own house, I don't give that kind of wine on common occa- 
 sions which Eirmin used to give. I drink the best myself, 
 of cou.rse, and give it to some who know ; but I don't give 
 it to common fellows, who come to hunting dinners, or to 
 girls and boys who are dancing at my balls." 
 
 "' Yes ; Mr. Eirmin's dinners were very handsome — and 
 a pretty end came of the handsome dinners ! " sighed Mrs. 
 Twysden. 
 
 '• That's not the question ; I am only speaking about the 
 fellow's meat and drink, and they were both good. And it's 
 my opinion that fellow will have a good dinner wherever 
 he goes." 
 
 I had the fortune to be present at one of these feasts, 
 which Lord Eingwood attended, and at which I met Philip's 
 trustee. General Baynes, who had just arrived from India. 
 I remember now the smallest details of the little dinner, — 
 the brightness of the old plate, on which the doctor prided 
 himself, and the quiet comfort, not to say splendor of the 
 entertainmejit. The General seemed to take a great liking 
 to Philip, whose grandfather had been his special friend 
 and comrade in arms. He thought he saw something of 
 Philip Eingwood in Philip Eirmin's face. 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! " growls Lord Eingwood. 
 
 " You ain't a bit like him," says the downright General. 
 "Xever saw a handsomer or more open-looking fellow than 
 Philip Eingwood." 
 
 " Oh ! I dare say I looked pretty open myself forty years 
 ago," said my lord; "now I'm shut, I suppose. I don't see 
 the least likeness in this young man to my brother." 
 
 " That is some sherry as old as the century," whispers 
 the host ; " it is the same the Prince Eegent liked so at a 
 Mansion House dinner, five-and-twenty years ago."
 
 302 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 " Never knew any tiling about wine ; was always tippling 
 liqueurs and punch. What did you give for this sherry, 
 doctor ? " 
 
 The doctor sighed, and looked up to the chandelier. 
 " Drink it while it lasts, my good lord ; but don't ask me 
 the price. The fact is, I don't like to say what I gave 
 for it." 
 
 '' You need not stint yourself in the price of sherry, doc- 
 tor," cries the General, gayly ; '^ you have but one son, and 
 he has a fortune of his own, as I hajopen to know. You 
 haven't dipped it. Master Philip ? " 
 
 " I fear, sir, I may have exceeded my income sometimes, 
 in the last three years ; but my father has helped me." 
 
 " Exceeded nine hundred a year ! Upon my word ! When 
 I was a sub, my friends gave me hfty pounds a year, and I 
 never was a shilling in debt ! What are men coming to 
 now ? " 
 
 " If doctors drink Prince Regent's sherry at ten guineas 
 a dozen, what canyon expect of their sons. General Paynes ? " 
 grumbles my lord. 
 
 "My father gives you his best, my lord," says Philip, 
 gayly ; " if you know of any better, he will get it for you. 
 Si non his utere mecum ! Please to pass me that decanter, 
 Pen ! " 
 
 I thought the old lord did not seem ill pleased at the 
 young man's freedom ; and now, as I recall it, think I can 
 remember that a peculiar silence and anxiety seemed to 
 weigh upon our host — upon him whose face was commonly 
 so anxious and sad. 
 
 The famous sherry, which had made many voyages to 
 Indian climes before it acquired its exquisite flavor, had 
 travelled some three or four times round the doctor's pol- 
 ished table when Price, his man, entered with a letter on 
 his silver tray. Perhaps Philip's eyes and mine exchanged 
 glances in Avhich ever so small a scintilla of mischief might 
 sparkle. The doctor often had letters when he was enter- 
 taining his friends; and his patients had a knack of falling 
 ill at awkward times. 
 
 " Gracious heavens ! " cries the doctor, when he read the 
 despatch — it was a telegraphic message. " The poor Grand 
 Duke ! " 
 
 " What Grand Duke ? " asks the surly lord of Eing- 
 wood. 
 
 " My earliest patron and friend — the Grand Duke of
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 303 
 
 Groningen ! Seized this morning at eleven at Putzendorff ! 
 Has sent for me. I promised to go to him if ever he had 
 need of me. I must go ! I can save the night-train yet. 
 General ! our visit to the City must be deferred till my re- 
 turn. Get a portmanteau, Brice ; and call a cab at once. 
 Philip will entertain my friends for the evening. My dear 
 lord, you won't mind an old doctor leaving you to attend an 
 old patient ? I will write from Groningen. I shall be 
 there on Friday morning. Farewell, gentlemen! Brice, 
 another bottle of that sherry ! I pra}', don't let anybody 
 stir ! God bless you, Philip, my boy ! " And with this the 
 doctor went up, took his son by the hand, and laid the other 
 very kindly on the young man's shoulder. Then he made a 
 bow round the table to his guests — one of his graceful 
 bows, for which he w^as famous. I can see the sad smile 
 on his face now, and the light from the chandelier over 
 the dining-table glancing from his shining forehead, and 
 casting deep shadows on to his cheek from his heavy 
 brows. 
 
 The departure was a little abrupt, and of course cast 
 somewhat of a gloom upon the company. 
 
 " My carriage ain't ordered till ten — must go on sitting 
 here, I suppose. Confounded life doctors' must be ! Called 
 up any hour in the night ! Get their fees ! Must go ! " 
 growled the great man of the part}^ 
 
 " People are glad enough to have them when they are ill, 
 my lord. I think I have heard that once when you were at 
 Ryde ..." 
 
 The great man started back as if a littLe shock of cold 
 water had fallen on him ; and then looked at Philip with 
 not unfriendly glances. " Treated for gout — so he did. 
 Very well, too ! '* said my lord ; and whispered, not in- 
 audibly, " Cool hand, that boy ! " And then his lordship 
 fell to talk with General Baynes about his campaigning, 
 and his early acquaintance with his own brother, Philip's 
 grandfather. 
 
 The general did not care to brag about his own feats of 
 arms, but was loud in praises of his old comrade. Philip 
 was pleased to hear his grandsire so well spoken of. The 
 General had known Dr. Firmin's father also, who likewise 
 had been a colonel in the famous old Peninsular army. "A 
 Tartar that fellow was, and no mistake ! " said the good 
 officer. " Your father has a strong look of him ; and you 
 have a glance of him at times. But you remind me of
 
 304 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 Philip llingwood not a little; and you could not belong to 
 a better man." 
 
 " Ha ! " says my lord. There had been differences between 
 him and his brother. He may have been thinking of days 
 when they were friends. Lord Ringwood now graciously 
 asked if General Baynes was staying in London. But the 
 G-eneral had only come to do this piece of business, which 
 must now be dela3^ed. He was too poor to live in London. 
 He must look out for a country place, where he and his six 
 children could live cheaply. " Three boys at school, and one 
 at college, Mr. Philip — you know what that must cost ; 
 though, thank my stars, my college boy does not spend nine 
 hundred a year. Nine hundred ! Where should we be if 
 he did ? '^ In fact, the days of nabobs are long over, and 
 the General had come back to his native country with only 
 very small means for the support of a great family. 
 
 AVlien my lord's carriage came, he departed, and the other 
 guests presently took their leave. The General, who was a 
 bachelor for the nonce, remained awhile, and we three j)rat- 
 tled over cheroots in Philip's smoking-room. It was a night 
 like a hundred I have spent there, and yet how well I re- 
 member it ! We talked about Philip's future prospects, and 
 he communicated his intentions to us in his lordly way. As 
 for practising at the bar : " No, sir," he said, in rej^ly to 
 General Baynes's queries, " he should not make much hand 
 of that ; shouldn't if he were ever so poor. He had his 
 own money, and his father's ; " and he condescended to say 
 that '' he might, perhaps, try for Parliament should an eli- 
 gible opportunity offer." "Here's a fellow born with a 
 silver spoon in his mouth," says the General, as we walked 
 away together. " A fortune to begin with ; a fortune to in- 
 herit. My fortune was two thousand pounds, and the price 
 of my two first commissions ; and when I die my children 
 will not be quite so well off as their father was when he 
 began ! " 
 
 Having parted with the old officer at his modest sleeping 
 qTiarters near his club, I walked to my own home, little 
 thinking that yonder cigar, of which I had shaken some of 
 the ashes in Philip's smoking-room, Avas to be the last 
 tobacco I ever should smoke there. The pipe was smoked 
 out. The wine was drunk. When that door closed on me, 
 it closed for the last time — at least was never more to 
 admit me as Philip's, as Dr. Pirmin's, guest and friend. I 
 pass the i^lace often now. INIy youth comes back to me as I
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 305 
 
 gaze at those blank, shining windows. I see myself a boy 
 and Philip a child ; and his fair mother ; and his father, the 
 hospitable, the melancholy, the magnificent. I wish I could 
 have helped him. I wish somehow he had borrowed money. 
 He never did. He gave ine his often. I have never 
 seen him since that night when his own door closed upon 
 him. 
 
 On the second day after the doctor's departure, as I was 
 at breakfast with my family, I received the following 
 letter : — 
 
 "My dear Pexdkxxis, — Could I have seen you in private on 
 Tuesilay ni2;ht, I might have warned you of the calamity which Avas 
 hanging over my house, liut to what' good end ? That you sliould 
 know a lew weeks, hoiu-s, before Avliat all the world Avill ring with 
 to-morrow ? >^either you nor 1, nor one whom we both love, would 
 have been the happier for knowing my misfortunes a few hours 
 sooner. In four-and-twenty hours every club in London will be 
 busy with talk of the departure of the celebrated Dr. Firmin — the 
 wealthy Dr. Firmin; a few months more and (I have strict and con- 
 fidnitkd reason to believe) hereditary rank would have been mine, 
 but Sir George Finnin would have been an insolvent man, and his 
 son Sir Philip a beggar. Perhaps the thought of this honor has been 
 one of the reasons which has determined me on expatriating mj^self 
 sooner than I otherwise needed to have done. 
 
 " George Firmin, the honored, the wealthy physician, and his son a 
 beggar? I see you are startled at the news ! You wonder how. with 
 a great practice, and no great ostensible expenses, such ruin should 
 have come upon me — upon him. It has seemed as if for years 
 past Fate has been determined to make war upon George Brand 
 Firmin ; and who can battle against Fate ? A man universally ad- 
 mitted to be of good judgment, 1 have embarked in mercantile specu- 
 lations the most promising. Everything upon which I laid my hand 
 has crumbled to ruin ; but I can say with the Koman bard, ' Impuvidiiiii 
 ferient ruince.'' And, almost penniless, almost aged, an exile driven 
 from my country, I seek another where I do not despair — / evoi have 
 n^finn hcllf^f tha.t I shall be enabled to repair my shattered fortunes! 
 My race lias never been deficient in courage, and Philip and PJtiliji^s 
 father must use all theirs, so as to be enabled to face the dark times 
 which menace them. Si celeres quat'it pennas Fortiina, we must 
 resign what she gave us, and bear our calamity with unshaken hearts! 
 
 "There is a man, I own to you, whom I cannot. I nuist not face. 
 General Baynes has just come from India, with but very small sav- 
 ings, I fear; and these are jeopardized by his imprudence and my 
 most cruel and unexpected misfortune. 1 need not tell you that in}/ 
 nil would have been my boy's. My will, made long since, will be 
 found in the tortoise-shell secretaire standing in my consulting-room 
 imder the picture of Abraham offering up Isaac. In it you will see 
 that everything except annuities to old and deserving servants and a 
 legacy to one excellent and faithful won)an whom I own I have 
 wronged — my all, Avhich once was considerable, /.s left to my boy. 
 
 " I am nowMvortli less than nothing, and have compromised Philip's 
 
 VOL. I. — 20
 
 306 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 property along with my own. As a man of business, General Baynes, 
 Colonel lUng\vood"s old companion in arms, was culpably careless, 
 and I, — alas! that I must own it — deceived him. Being the only 
 surviving trustee (Mrs. Bhillp Kingwood's other trustee was an un- 
 principled attorney who has been long deatl), General B. signed a 
 paper authorizing, as he imagined, my bankers to receive Philip's 
 dividends, but, in fact, giving me the power to dispose of the capital 
 sum. On my honor, as a man, as a gentleman, as a father, Penden- 
 nis, I hoped to replace it ! 1 took it; I embarked it in speculations 
 in which it sank down with ten times the amount of my own private 
 property. Half-year after half-year, with straitened means and with 
 the greatest difficulti/ to myself, my poor boy has had his dividend; 
 and he at least has never known wluit was want or anxiety until now% 
 Want ? Anxiety ? Pray Heaven he never may suffer the sleepless 
 anguish, the racking care which has pursued me ! ' Post equltein sedet 
 atra cura,' our favorite poet says. Ah ! how truly, too, does he re- 
 mark, ' Patrice qiiis exal se quoque fii[iitf^ Think you where I go 
 grief and remorse will not follow me ? They will never leave me 
 until I shall return to this comitry — for that 1 shall return, my heart 
 tells me — until I can reimburse General Baynes, who stands indebted 
 to Philip through his incautiousness and my overpowering necessity; 
 and my heart— an erriu'^ but fond father's heart — tells me that my 
 boy will not eventually lose a penny by my misfortune, 
 
 '' I own, between ourselves, that this illness of the Grand Duke of 
 Groningen was a pretext wdiich I put forward. You will hear of me 
 ere long from the place wdiither for some time past I have determined 
 on bending my steps. I placed lOOL on Saturday, to Philip's credit, 
 at his banker's. I take little more than that sum with me; depressed, 
 yet full of hope; having done wrong, yet determined to retrieve it, 
 and vowing tliat ere I die my poor boy shall not have to blush at 
 bearing the name of . Geokge Bjiaxd Fiijmin. 
 
 "Good-by, dear Philip ! Your old friend wdll tell you of my mis- 
 fortunes. When I write again, it wdll be to tell you wdiere to address 
 me: and wdierever I am, or whatever misfortunes oppress me, think 
 of me always as your fond Fathek.'^ 
 
 I had scarce read this awful letter when Philip Firmin 
 himself came into our breakfast-room looking very much 
 disturbed.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SAMARITANS. 
 
 HE children trotted up to 
 their friend with out- 
 stretched hands and their 
 usual suiiles of welcome. 
 Philip patted their heads, 
 and sat down with very 
 woebegone aspect at 
 the family table. "Ah, 
 friends," said he, "do 
 you know all?" 
 
 "Yes, we do," said 
 Laura, sadly, who has 
 ever compassion for oth- 
 ers' misfortunes. 
 "What I is it all over the town already?" asked poor. 
 Philip. 
 
 "We have a letter from your father this morning." 
 And Ave brought the letter to him, and showed him the 
 affectionate special message for himself. 
 
 "His last thought was for you, Philip!" cries Laura. 
 " See here, those last kind words ! " 
 
 Philip shook his head. " It is not untrue, what is writ- 
 ten here : but it is not all the truth." And Phili]) Firmin 
 dismayed us by the intelligence which he proceeded to give. 
 There was an execution in the house in Old Parr Street. 
 A hundred clamorous creditors had already a]:)peared there. 
 Before going away, the doctor had taken considerable sums 
 from those dangerous liuanciers to whom he had been of 
 late resorting. They were in possession of numberless 
 lately signed bills, upon which the desperate man had 
 raised money. He had professed to share with Philip, 
 but he had taken the great share, and left Philip two hun- 
 dred pounds of his own money. All the rest was gone. 
 All Philip's stock had been sold out. The father's fraud 
 
 307
 
 308 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 had made liini master of the trustee's signature : and Philip 
 Firmin, reputed to be so wealthy, was a beggar in my room. 
 Luckily he had few, or very tritiing debts. Mr. Philip had 
 a lordly impatience of indebtedness, and, with a good 
 bachelor-income, had paid for all his pleasures as he 
 enjoyed them. 
 
 Well ! he must work. A young man ruined at two-and- 
 twenty, with a couple of hundred pounds yet in his pocket, 
 hardly knows that he is ruined. He Avill sell his horses — ■ 
 live in chambers — has enough to go on for a year. " AVhen 
 1 am very hard put to it," says Philip, " I will come and 
 dine with the children at one. I dare say you haven't 
 dined much at AYilliams's in the Old Bailey ? You can get 
 a famous dinner there for a shilling — beef, bread, potatoes, 
 beer, and a penny for the waiter." Yes, Philip seemed 
 actually to enjoy his discomfiture. It was long since we 
 had seen him in such spirits. " The weight is oif my mind 
 now. It has been throttling me for some time past. With- 
 out understanding why or wherefore, I have always been 
 looking out for this. My poor father had ruin written in 
 his face : and when those bailiffs made their appearance in 
 Old Parr Street yesterday, I felt as if I had known them 
 before. I had seen their hooked beaks in my dreams." 
 
 " That unlucky General Baynes, when he accepted your 
 mother's trust, took it with its consequences. If the sen- 
 try falls asleep on his post, he must pay the penalty," says 
 Mr. Pendennis, very severely. 
 
 " Great powers, you would not have me come down upon 
 an old man with a large family, and ruin them all ? " cries 
 Philip. 
 
 " ]Sro : I don't think Philip will do that," says my wife, 
 looking exceedingly pleased. 
 
 " If men accept Vusts they must fulfil them, my dear," 
 cries the master of the house. 
 
 " And I must make that old gentleman suffer for my 
 father's wrong ? If I do, may I starve ! there ! " cries 
 Philip. 
 
 " And so that poor Little Sister has made her sacrifice in 
 vain ! " sighed my wife. " As for the father — oh, Arthur ! 
 I can't tell you how odious that man was to me. There 
 was something dreadful about him. And in his manner to 
 women — oh ! — " 
 
 " If he had been a black draught, my dear, you could not 
 have shuddered more naturally."
 
 Oy HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 309 
 
 " Well, he was horrible ; and I know Philip will be bet- 
 ter now he is gone." 
 
 Women often make light of ruin. Give them but the 
 beloved objects, and poverty is a trifling sorrow to bear. 
 As for Philip, he, as we have said, is gayer than he has been 
 for years past. The doctor's flight occasions not a little 
 club talk : but, now he is gone, many people see quite well 
 that they were aware of his insolvency, and always knew 
 it must end so. The case is told, is canvassed, is exagger- 
 ated as such cases will be. I dare say it forms a week's 
 talk. But peo^jle know that poor Philip is his father's 
 largest creditor, and eye the young man with no unfriendly 
 looks when he comes to his club after his mishap, — with 
 burning cheeks, and a tingling sense of shame, imagining 
 that all the world will point at and avoid him as the guilty 
 fugitive's son. 
 
 No : the world takes very little heed of his misfortune. 
 One or two old acquaintances are kinder to him than before. 
 A few say his ruin, and his obligation to work, will do him 
 good. Only a very, very few avoid him, and look uncon- 
 scious as he passes them by. Amongst these cold counte- 
 nances, you, of course, will recognize the faces of the whole 
 Twysden family. Three statues, with marble eyes, could 
 not look more stony-calm than Aunt Twysden and her two 
 daughters, as they pass in the stately barouche. The 
 gentlemen turn red when they see Philip. It is rather late 
 times for Uncle Twysden to begin blushing, to be sure. 
 " Hang the fellow I he will, of course, be coming for money. 
 Dawkins, I am not at home, mind, when young Mr. Firmin 
 calls." So says Lord Ringwood regarding Philip fallen 
 among thieves. Ah, thanks to heaven, travellers find 
 Samaritans as well as Levites on life's hard way ! Philip 
 told us with much humor of a rencontre which he had had 
 with his cousin, Ringwood Twysden, in a public place. 
 Tywsden was enjoying himself with some young clerks of 
 his office ; but as Philip advanced upon him, assuming his 
 fiercest scowl and most hectoring manner, the other lost 
 heart, and fled. And no wonder. " Do you suppose," says 
 Twysden, •• I will willingly sit in the same room with that 
 cad, after the manner in which he has treated my family ! 
 No, sir ! " And so the tall door in Beaunash Street is to 
 open for Philip Finiiiii no niorc 
 
 The tall door in Beaunash Street flies optui readily 
 enough for another gentleman. A splendid cab-horse reins
 
 310 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 up before it every cLay. A pair of varnished boots leap out 
 of the cab, and spring up the broad stairs, where somebody 
 is waiting with a smile of genteel welcome — the same 
 smile — on the same sofa — the same mamma at her table 
 writing her letters. And beautiful bouquets from Covent 
 Garden decorate the room. And after half an hour mamma 
 goes out to speak to the housekeeper, vous comprenez. And 
 there is nothing particularly new under the sun. It will 
 shine to-morrow upon pretty much the same flowers, sports, 
 pastimes, &c., which it illuminated yesterday. And when 
 your love-making days are over, miss, and you are married, 
 and advantageously established, shall not your little sisters, 
 now in the nursery, trot down and play their little games ? 
 Would you on your conscience, now — you who are rather 
 inclined to consider Miss Agnes Twysden's conduct as 
 heartless — would yon, I say, have her cry her pretty eyes 
 out about a young man who does not care much for her, for 
 whom she never did care much herself, and who is now, 
 moreover, beggar, with a ruined and disgraced father and a 
 doubtful legitimacy ? Absurd ! That dear girl is like a 
 beautiful fragrant bower-room at the " Star and Garter " at 
 Richmond, with honeysuckles mayhap trailing round the 
 windoYv^s, from Avliich you behold one of the most lovely and 
 most pleasant of wood and river scenes. The tables are 
 decorated with flowers, rich wine-cups sparkle on the board, 
 and Captain Jones's party have everything they can desire. 
 Their dinner over and that company gone, the same waiters, 
 the same flowers, the same cups and crystals, array them- 
 selves for Mr. Brown and liis party. Or, if you won't have 
 Agnes Twysden compared to the " Star and Garter Tavern," 
 which must admit mixed company, liken her to the chaste 
 moon who shines on shepherds of all complexions, swarthy 
 or fair. 
 
 When, oppressed by superior odds, a commander is forced 
 to retreat, we like hiin to show his skill by carrying off his 
 guns, treasure, and camp equipages. Doctor Firmin, beaten 
 by fortune and compelled to fly, showed quite a splendid 
 skill and coolness in his manner of decamping, and left the 
 very smallest amount of spoils in the hands of the victori- 
 ous enemy. His wines had been famous amongst the grave 
 epicures with whom he dined : he used to boast, like a 
 worthy hon v'lvant who knows the value of wine-conversa- 
 tion after dinner, of the quantities which he possessed, and 
 the rare bins which he had in store : but when the execu-
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 311 
 
 tioners came to arrange his sale, there was found only a 
 beggarly account of empty bottles, and I fear some of the 
 unprincipled creditors put in a great quantity of bad liquor 
 which they endeavored to foist off on the public as the 
 genuine and carefull}^ selected stock of a well-known con- 
 noisseur. Xews of this dishonest proceeding reached Dr. 
 Firmin presently in his retreat; and he showed by his 
 letter a generous and manly indignation at the manner in 
 which his creditors had tampered with his honest name and 
 reputation as a hon vicant. He have bad wine ! For shame ! 
 He had the best from the best wine-merchant, and paid, or 
 rather owed, the best prices for it ; for of late 3-ears the 
 doctor had paid no bills at all : and the wdne-merchant 
 appeared in quite a handsome group of figures in his 
 schedule. In like manner his books were pawned to a book 
 auctioneer ; and Brice, the butler, had a bill of sale for the 
 furniture. Firmin retreated, we will not say with the 
 honors of war, but as little harmed as possible by defeat. 
 Did the enemy want the plunder of his city ? He had 
 smuggled almost all his valuable goods over the wall. Did 
 they desire his ships ? He had sunk them : and when at 
 length the conquerors poured into his stronghold, he was 
 far beyond the reach of their shot. Don't we often hear 
 still that Xana Sahib is alive and exceedingly comfortable. 
 We do not love him ; but Ave can't help having a kind of 
 admiration for that slippery fugitive who has escaped 
 from the dreadful jaws of tjie lion. In a Avord, when Fir- 
 min's furniture came to be sold, it was a marvel how little 
 his creditors benefited by the sale. Contemptuous brokers 
 declared there never Avas such a shabby lot of goods. A 
 friend of the house and poor Philip bought in his mother's 
 picture for a fcAv guineas ; and as for the doctor's OAvn state 
 portrait, I am afraid it Avent for a fcAv shillings only, and in 
 the midst of a roar of HebreAv laughter. I saAv in War- 
 dour Street, not long after, the doctor's sideboard, and what 
 dealers cheerfulh^ call the sarcophagus cellaret. Poor doc- 
 tor ! his Avine Avas all drunken ; his meat was eaten up ; but 
 his own body had slipped out of the reach of the hook- 
 beaked birds of prey. 
 
 We had spoken rapidly in undertones, innocently believ- 
 ing that the 3'oung people round about us Avere taking no 
 heed of our talk. P)ut in a lull of the couA^ersation, Mr. 
 Pendennis junior, Avho had ahvays been a friend to Philip, 
 broke out Avith — "Philip! if you are so re?'y poor, you'll
 
 312 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 be laiiigry, 3^ou know, and 3^011 may have m}^ piece of bread 
 and jam. And I don't want it, mamma," lie added; "and 
 you know Philip has often and often given me things." 
 
 Philip stooped down and kissed this good little Samari- 
 tan. "I'm not hungry, Arty, m^' boy," he said; '-and I'm 
 not so poor but I have got — look here — a line new shil- 
 ling for Arty ! " 
 
 " Oh, Philip, Philip ! " cried mamma. 
 
 " Don't take the money, Arthur," cried papa. 
 
 And the boy, with a rueful face but a manly heart, pre- 
 pared to give back the coin. " It's quite a new one ; and 
 it's a very pretty one : but I won't have it, Philip, thank 
 you," he said, turning very red. 
 
 " If he won't, I vow I will give it to the cabman," said 
 Philip. 
 
 "Keeping a cab all this while? Oh, Philip, Philip!" 
 again cries mamma, the economist. 
 
 "Loss of time is loss of money, my dear lady," says 
 Philip, very gravely. " I have ever so many places to go 
 to. When I am set in for being ruined, you shall see what 
 a screw I will become ! I must go to Mrs. Brandon, who 
 will be very uneasy, poor dear, until she knows the worst." 
 
 " Oh, Philip, I should like so to go with you ! " cries 
 Laura. " Pray, give her our very best regards and respects." 
 
 "3Ierci/'' said the young man, and squeezed Mrs. Pen- 
 dennis's hand in his own big one. " I will take your mes- 
 sage toiler, Laura. J'aime qic'on Vainie, savez-vous ? '^ 
 
 "That means, I love those who love her," cries little 
 Laura ; "' but I don't know," remarked this little person 
 afterwards to her paternal confidant, " that I like all \)eo- 
 ple to love my mamma. That is, I don't like her to like 
 them, papa — only you may, papa, and Ethel may, and 
 Arthur nia}^, and, I think, Philip may, now he is poor and 
 quite, quite alone — and we will take care of him, won't 
 we ? And, I think I'll buy him something with my money 
 which Aunt Ethel gave me." 
 
 "And I'll giv^e him my money," cries a boy. 
 
 "And I'll div him my — my — " Pslia ! what matters 
 what the little sweet lips prattled in their artless kindness? 
 But the soft words of love and pity smote the mother's 
 heart with an exquisite pang of gratitude and joy ; and I 
 know where her thanks were paid for those tender words 
 and thouc^Iits of her little ones. 
 
 Mrs. Pendennis made Philip promise to come to dinner,
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 313 
 
 and also to remember not to take a cab — ^vliieli promise 
 Mr. Firmin had not much difficult}^ in executing, for he 
 had but a few hundred yards to walk across the Park from 
 his club ; and I must say that my wife took a special care 
 of our dinner that day, preparing for Philip certain dishes 
 which she knew he liked, and enjoining the butler of the 
 establishment (who also happened to be the owner of the 
 house) to fetch from his cellar the very choicest wine in 
 his possession. 
 
 I have previously described our friend and his boisterous, 
 impetuous, generous nature. When Philip was moved, he 
 called to all the world to witness his emotion. When he 
 was angry, his enemies were all the rogues and scoundrels 
 in the world. He vowed he would have no mercy on them, 
 and desired all his acquaintances to participate in his anger. 
 How could such an open-mouthed son have had such a close- 
 spoken father ? I dare say you have seen very well-bred 
 young people, the children of vulgar and ill-bred parents ; 
 the swaggering father have a silent son ; the loud mother a 
 modest daughter. Our friend is not Amadis or Sir Charles 
 Grandison ; and I don't set him up for a moment as a per- 
 son to be revered or imitated ; but try to draw him faith- 
 fully and as nature made him. As nature made him, so he 
 was. I don't think he tried to improve himself much. 
 Perhaps few people do. They suppose they do : and you 
 read, in ajjologetic memoirs, and fond biographies, how this 
 man cured his bad temper, and t'other worked and strove 
 until he grew to be almost faultless. Very well and good, 
 my good people. You can learn a language ; you can mas- 
 ter a science ; I have heard of an old squaretoes of sixty 
 who learned, by study and intense application, very satis- 
 factorily to dance ; but can you, by taking thought, add to 
 your moral stature? Ah me! the doctor who preaches is 
 only taller than most of us by the height of the pulpit : and 
 when he steps down, I dare say he cringes to the duchess, 
 growls at his children, scolds his wife about the dinner. 
 All is vanit}^, look you : and so the preacher is vanity, too. 
 
 Well, then, I must again say that Philip roared his griefs : 
 he shouted his laughter : he bellowed his applause : he was 
 extravagant in his humility as in his pride, in his admiration 
 of his friends and contempt for his enemies : I dare say not 
 a just man, but I have met juster men not half so honest; 
 and certainly not a faultless man, though I know better 
 men not near so good. So, I believe, my Avif e thinks : else
 
 314 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 why should she be so fond of him ? Did we not know boys 
 who never Avent out of bounds, and never were Late for 
 school, and never made a false concord or quantity, and 
 never came under the ferule ; and others who were always 
 playing truant, aiid blundering, and being whipped; and
 
 ox HIS' WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 315 
 
 yet, somehow, was not jMaster jSTaughtyboy better liked 
 than Master Goodchikl ? AVhen Master Naughtyboy came 
 to dine with us on the tirst day of his ruin he bore a face of 
 radiant happiness — he houghed, he bounced about, he 
 caressed the children ; now he took a couple on his knees ; 
 now he tossed the baby to the ceiling; now he sprawled 
 over a sofa, and now he rode upon a chair; never was a 
 penniless gentleman more cheerful. As for his dinner, 
 Phil's appetite was always fine, but on this day an ogre 
 could scarcely play a more terrible knife and fork. He 
 asked for more and more, until his entertainers wondered 
 to behold him. " Dine for to-day and to-morrow too ; can't 
 expect such fare as this every day, you know. This claret, 
 how good it is ! Ma}" I pack some up in paper, and take it 
 home with me ? " The children roared with laughter at 
 this admirable idea of carrying home wine in a sheet of 
 l^aper. I don't know that it is always at the best jokes 
 that children laugh : — children and wise men too. 
 
 When we three were by ourselves, and freed from the com- 
 pany of servants and children, our friend told us the cause 
 of his gayety. " By George ! " he swore, " it is worth being 
 ruined to find such good people in the world. My dear, kind 
 Laura " — here the gentleman brushes his eyes with his 
 fist — " it was as mucii as I could do this morning to prevent 
 myself from hugging you in my arms, you were so gener- 
 ous, and — and so kind, so tender, and so good, by George. 
 And after leaving you, where do you think I went ? " 
 
 " I think I can guess, Philip," says Laura. 
 
 " Well," says Philip, winking his eyes again, and tossing 
 off a great bumper of wine, "I went to her, of course. I 
 think she is the best friend I have in the world. The old 
 man was out, and I told her about everything that had 
 happened. And what do you think she has done ? She 
 says she has been expecting me — she has; and she has 
 gone and fitted up a room with a nice little bed at the top 
 of the house, with everything as neat and trim as possible ; 
 and she begged and prayed I would go and stay with her 
 — and I said I would, to please her. And then she takes 
 me down to her room ; and she jumps up to a cupboard, 
 which she unlocks ; and she opens and takes three-and- 
 twenty pounds out of a — out of a tea — out of a tea-caddy 
 — confound me I — and she says, 'Here, Philip,' she says, 
 and — Boo ! what a fool I am ! " and here the orator fairly 
 broke down in his speech.
 
 CHAPTEK XVI. 
 
 IN WHICH PHILIP SHOWS HIS METTLE. 
 
 HEN the poor Little 
 Sister proffered her 
 mite, her all, to Philip, 
 T dare say some senti- 
 mental passages oc- 
 curred between them 
 which are much too 
 trivial to be narrated. 
 No doubt her pleas- 
 ure AYOuld have been 
 at that moment to 
 give him not only 
 that gold which she 
 had been saving up 
 against rent-day, but 
 the spoons, the furni- 
 ture, and all the valu- 
 ables of the house, 
 including, perhaps, J. 
 J.'s bric-a-brac, cabi- 
 nets, china, and so 
 forth. To perform a kindness, an act of self-sacrifice ; — 
 are not these the most delicious privileges of female tender- 
 ness ? Philip checked his little friend's enthusiasm. He 
 showed her a purse full of money, at which sight the poor 
 little soul was rather disappointed. He magnified the value 
 of his horses, which, according to Philip's calculation, were 
 to bring him at least two hundred pounds more than the 
 stock which he had already in hand; and the master of 
 such a sum as this, she was forced to confess, had no need 
 to despair. Indeed, she had never in her life possessed 
 the half of it. Her kind dear little offer of a home in her 
 house he would accept so]iietimes, and with gratitude, 
 little consolation in that. In a moment 
 
 Well, there was a 
 
 316
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 317 
 
 that active little housekeeper saw the room ready ; flowers 
 on the mantel-piece ; his looking-glass, which her father 
 could do quite well with the little one, as he was always 
 shaved by the barber now ; the quilted counterpane, which 
 she had herself made : — I know not what more improve- 
 ments she devised ; and I fear that at the idea of having 
 Philip with her, this little thing was as extravagantly and 
 unreasonably happy as we have just now seen Philip to be. 
 What was that last dish which Psetus and Arria shared in 
 common ? I have lost my Lempriere's dictionary (that 
 treasury of my youth), and forget whether it was a cold 
 dagger au naturel, or a dish of hot coals a la Romaine, of 
 which they partook ; but whatever it was, she smiled, and 
 delightedly received it, happy to share the beloved one's 
 fortune. 
 
 Yes : Philip would come home to his Little Sister some- 
 times : sometimes of a Saturday, and they would go to 
 church on Sunday, as he used to do when he was a boy at 
 school. " But then, you know," says Phil, " law is law ; 
 study is study. I must devote my whole energies to my 
 work — get up very early." 
 
 " Don't tire your eyes, my dear," interposes JMr. Philip's 
 soft, judicious friend. 
 
 ^' There must be no trifling with work," says Philip, with 
 awful gravity. ''There's Benton the judge: Benton and 
 Burbage, you know." 
 
 " Oh, Benton and Burbage ! "' whispers the Little Sister, 
 not a little bewildered. 
 
 "How do you suppose he became a judge before forty ? " 
 
 " Before forty who ? Law bless me ! " 
 
 "Before he was forty, Mrs. Carry. AVhen he came to 
 work he had his own way to make ; just like me. He had 
 a small allowance from his father : that's not like me. He 
 took chambers in the Temple. He went to a pleader's 
 office. He read fourteen, fifteen hours every day. He 
 dined on a cup of tea and a mutton-chop." 
 
 " La, bless me, child ! I wouldn't have you to do that 
 not to be Lord Chamberlain — Chancellor what's his name? 
 Destroy your youth with reading, and your eyes, and go 
 without your dinner ? You're not used to that sort of thing, 
 dear, and it would kill you ! " 
 
 Philip smoothed his fair hair off his ample forehead, 
 and nodded his head, smiling sweetly. I think his inward 
 monitor hinted to him that there was not much danger of
 
 318 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 Iris killing himself by over-work. " To succeed at the law, 
 as in all other professions," he continued, with much grav- 
 ity, '' requires the greatest perseverance, and industry, and 
 talent ; and then, perhaps, you don't succeed. Many have 
 failed who have had all these qualities." 
 
 " But they haven't talents like my Philip, I know they 
 haveii't. And I had to stand up in a court once, and was 
 cross-examined by a vulgar man before a horrid deaf old 
 judge; and I am sure if your lawyers are like them I 
 don't wish you to succeed at all. And now, look ! there's 
 a nice loin of pork coming up. Pa loves roast pork ; and 
 you must come and have some with us ; and every day and 
 all days, my dear, I should like to see you seated there." 
 And the Little Sister frisked about here, and bustled there, 
 and brought a cunning bottle of wine from some corner, 
 and made the boy welcome. So that, you see, far from 
 starving, he actually had two dinners on that first day of 
 his ruin. 
 
 Caroline consented to a compromise regarding the money, 
 on Philip's solemn vow and promise that she should be his 
 banker whenever necessity called. She rather desired his 
 poverty for the sake of its precious reward. She hid away 
 a little bag of gold for her darling's use whenever he should 
 need it. I dare say she pinched and had shabby dinners at 
 home, so as to save yet more, and so caused the Captain to 
 grumble. Wh}^, for that boy's sake, I believe she would 
 have been capable of shaving her lodger's legs of mutton, 
 and levying a tax on their tea-caddies and baker's stuff. If 
 you don't like unprincipled attachments of this sort, and 
 only desire that your womankind should love you for your- 
 self, and according to 3"our deserts, I am your very humble 
 servant. Hereditary bondswomen ! you knoAv that, were 
 you free, and did you strike the blow, my dears, you were 
 unhappy for your pain, and eagerly would claim your bonds 
 again. WJiat poet has uttered that sentiment ? It is per- 
 fectly true, and I know will receive the cordial approbation 
 of the dear ladies. 
 
 Philip has decreed in his own mind that he will go and 
 live in those chambers in the Temple where we have met 
 him. Van John, the sporting gentleman, had determined 
 for special reasons to withdraw from law and sport in this 
 country, and jNIr. Firmin took possession of his vacant 
 sleeping-chamber. To furnish a bachelor's bedroom need 
 not be a matter of much cost; but Mr. Philip was too
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 319 
 
 good-natured a fellow to haggle about the valuation of Van 
 John's bedsteads and chests of drawers, and generously 
 took them at twice their value. He and Mr. Cassidy now 
 divided the rooms in equal reign. Ah, happy rooms, 
 bright rooms, rooms near the sky, to remember you is to 
 be young again ! for I would have you to know that when 
 Philip went to take possession of his share of the fourth 
 floor m the Temple, his biographer Avas still comparatively 
 juvenile, and in one or two very old-fashioned families was 
 called "young Pendennis." 
 
 So Philip Firm in dwelt in a garret ; and the fourth part 
 of a laundress and the half of a boy now formed the domes- 
 tic establishment of him who had been attended b}^ house- 
 keepeTS, butlers, and obsequious liveried menials. To be 
 freed from that ceremonial and etiquette of plush and 
 worsted lace was an immense relief to Firmin. His pipe 
 need not lurk in crypts or back closets now ; its fragrance 
 breathed over the w^hole chambers and rose up to the sky, 
 their near neighbor. 
 
 The first month or two after being ruined, Philip vowed, 
 was an uncommonly pleasant time. He had still plenty of 
 money in his pocket; and the sense that, perhaps, it was 
 imprudent to take a cab or drink a bottle of wine added a 
 zest to those enjoyments, which they by no means possessed 
 wdien they were easy and of daily occurrence. I am not 
 certain that a dinner of beef and porter did not amuse our 
 young man almost as well as banquets much more costly to 
 which he had been accustomed. He laughed at the preten- 
 sions of his boyish days, when he and other solemn young 
 epicures used to sit down to elaborate tavern banquets, and 
 pretend to criticise vintages, and sauces, and turtle. As 
 yet there was not only content with his dinner, but plenty 
 therewith ; and I do not wish to alarm you by supposing 
 that Philip will ever have to encounter any dreadful ex- 
 tremities of poverty or hunger in the course of his history. 
 The wine in the jug was very low at times, but it never 
 was quite empty. This lamb was shorn, but the wind 
 was tempered to him. 
 
 So Philip took possession of his rooms in the Temple, 
 and began actually to reside there just as the long vacation 
 commenced, which he intended to devote to a course of 
 serious study of the law and private preparation, before 
 he should venture on the great business of circuits and the 
 bar. iSTothing is more necessary for desk-men than exercise,
 
 320 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 so Philip took a good deal ; especially on the water, where 
 he pulled a famous oar. Nothing is more natural after 
 exercise than refreshment; and Mr. Firmin,now he Avas too 
 poor for claret, showed a great capacity for beer. After 
 beer and bodily labor, rest of course is necessary ; and Fir- 
 min slept nine hours and looked as rosy as a girl in her 
 lirst season. Then such a man, with such a frame and 
 health, must have a good appetite for breakfast. And then 
 every man who wishes to succeed at the bar, in the senate, 
 on the bench, in the House of Peers, on the AYoolsack, 
 must know the quotidian history of his country ; so, of 
 course, Philip read the newspaper. Thus, you see, his 
 hours of study were perforce curtailed by the necessary 
 duties wdiich distracted him from his labors. 
 
 It has been said that Mr. Firmin's companion in cham- 
 bers, Mr. Cassidy, Avas a native of the neighboring king- 
 dom of Ireland, and engaged in literary pursuits in this 
 country. A merry, shrewd, silent-, observant little man, 
 he, unlike some of his compatriots, always knew how to 
 make both ends meet ; feared no man alive in the character 
 of a dun ; and out of small earnings managed to transmit 
 no small comforts and subsidies to old parents living some- 
 where in Munster. Of Cassidy's friends was Pinucane, 
 nov/ editor of the Fall Mull Gazette; he married the 
 widow" of the late eccentric and gifted Captain Shandon, 
 and Cass himself was the fashionable correspondent of the 
 Gazette, chronicling the marriages, deaths, births, dinner- 
 parties of the nobility. These Irish gentlemen knew other 
 Irish gentlemen, connected wdth other newspapers, who 
 formed a little literary society. They assembled at each 
 other's rooms, and at haunts where social pleasure was to be 
 purchased at no dear rate. Philip Firmin was known to 
 many of them before his misfortunes occurred, and when 
 there was gold in plenty in his pocket, and never-failing 
 applause for his songs. 
 
 When Pendennis and his friends wrote in this news- 
 paper, it was impertinent enough, and many men must 
 have heard the waiters laugh at the airs which they occa- 
 sionally thought proper to assume. The tone which they 
 took amused, annoyed, tickled, was popular. It was 
 continued, and, of course, caricatured by -their successors. 
 They w^orked for very moderate fees ; but paid themselves 
 by impertinence, and the satisfaction of assailing their 
 betters. Three or four persons w^eie reserved from their
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 321 
 
 abuse ; but sonieboth^ was sure every week to be tied up at 
 their post, aud the public made sport of the victim's con- 
 tortions. The writers were obscure barristers, ushers, and 
 college men, but they had omniscience at their pens' end, 
 and were ready to lay down the law on any given subject, 
 — to teach any man his business, were it a bishop in his 
 pulpit, a Minister in his place in the House, a captain on 
 his quxrter-deck, a tailor on his shopboard, or a jockey in 
 his saddle. 
 
 Since those early da3'S of the Pall Mall Gazette, when 
 old Shandon wielded his truculent tomahawk, and ^Messrs. 
 W — rr — ngt — n and P — nd — nn — s followed him in the 
 war path, the Gazette had passed through several hands ; 
 and the victims who were immolated by the editors of 
 to-day were very likely the objects of the best puffery of 
 the last dynasty. To be flogged in what was your own 
 school-room — that, sureh', is a queer sensation; and when 
 my Report was published on the decay of the sealing-wax 
 trade in the three kingdoms (owing to the prevalence of 
 gummed envelopes, — as you may see in that masterly doc- 
 ument) I was horsed up and smartly whipped in the Gazette 
 'by some of the rods which had come out of pickle since 
 my time. Was not good Dr. Guillotin executed by his own 
 neat invention ? T don't know Avho was the Monsieur San- 
 son who operated on me ; but have alwaj^s had my idea 
 that Digges, of Corpus, was the man to whom my flagella- 
 tion was intrusted. His father keeps a ladies' school at 
 Hackney; but there is an air of fashion in everything 
 Avhich Digges writes, and a chivalrous conservatism which 
 makes me })retty certain that D. was my scarifier. All 
 this, however, is naught. Let us turn away from the au- 
 thor's private griefs and egotisms to those of the hero of 
 the story. 
 
 Does any one remember the appearance some twenty 
 years ago of a little book called '• Trumpet Calls " — a book 
 of songs and poetry, dedicated to his brother officers by 
 Cornet Canterton ? His trumpet was very tolerably melo- 
 dious, and the cornet played some small airs on it Avith some 
 little grace and skill. But this poor Canterton belonged to 
 the Life-Guards Green, and Philip Firmin would have liked 
 to have the lives of one or two troops at least of that corps. 
 Entering into Mr. Cassidy's room, Philip found the little 
 volume. He set to work to exterminate Canterton. He 
 rode him down, trampled os'er his face and carcass, knocked 
 
 VOL. T. — 21
 
 322 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 the " Trumpet Calls " and all the teeth down the trumpe- 
 ter's throat. Never was such a smashing article as he wrote. 
 And Mugford, Mr. Cassidy's chief and owner, who likes 
 always to have at least one man served up and hashed small 
 in the Fall Mall Gazette, happened at this very juncture to 
 have no other victim ready in his larder. Philip's review 
 appeared there in print. He rushes off with immense glee 
 to Westminster, to show us his performance. Nothing 
 must content him but to give a dinner at Greenwich on his 
 success. Oh, Philip ! We wished that this had not been 
 his lirst fee ; and that sober law had given it to him, and not 
 the graceless and tickle muse with whom he had been flirt- 
 ing. Por, truth to say, certain wise old heads which wagged 
 over his performance could see but little merit in it. His 
 style was coarse, his wit clumsy and savage. Never mind 
 characterizing either now. He has seen the error of his 
 ways, and divorced with the muse whom he never ought to 
 have wooed. 
 
 The shrewd Cassidy not only could not write himself, but 
 knew he could not — or, at least, pen more than a plain par- 
 agraph, or a brief sentence to the point, but said he would 
 carry this paper to his chief. " His Excellency " was the 
 nickname by which this chief was called by his familiars. 
 Mugford — Frederick Mugford was his real name — and 
 putting out of sight that little defect in his character, that 
 he committed a systematic literary murder once a week, a 
 more worthy good-natured little .murderer did not live. He 
 came of the old school of the press. Like French Marshals, 
 he had risen from the ranks, and retained some of the man- 
 ners and oddities of the private soldier. A new race of 
 writers had grown up since he enlisted as a printer's boy — 
 men of the world, with the manners of other gentlemen. 
 IMugford never professed the least gentility. He knew that 
 his young men laughed at his peculiarities, and did not care 
 a fig for their scorn. As the knife with which he conveyed 
 his victuals to his mouth went down Ids throat at the plen- 
 teous banquets Avhich he gave, he saw his j^oung friends 
 Avince and wonder, and rather relished their surprise. Those 
 lips never cared in the least about placing his /«.'s in right 
 places. They used bad language Avith great freedom (to 
 hear him bullying a printing-office was a wonder of elo- 
 quence) — but they betrayed no secrets, and the Avords 
 Avhich they uttered you might trust. He had belonged to 
 two or three parties, and had respected them all. When he
 
 O.V HIS WAY TIIROUail THE WORLD. 323 
 
 went to the Under-Secretary's office he was never kept wait- 
 ing ; and once or twice Mrs. Mugford, who governed him, 
 ordered him to attend the Saturday reception of the Minis- 
 ters' ladies, where he might be seen, with dirty hands, it is 
 true, but a richly embroidered waistcoat and fancy satin tie. 
 His heart, however, was not in these entertainments. I 
 have heard him say that he only came because ^Irs. ^l. 
 would have it; and he frankly owned that he "would rather 
 'ave a pipe and a drop of something 'ot than all your ices 
 and rubbish." 
 
 ^lugford had a curious knowledge of what was going on 
 in the world, and of the affairs of countless people. AVhen 
 Cass brought Philip's article to his Excellency, and men- 
 tioned the author's name, Mugford showed himself to be 
 perfectly familiar with the histories of Philip and his father. 
 "The old chap has nobbled the young fellow's money, 
 almost every shilling of it, I hear. Knew he never would 
 carry on. His discounts would have killed any man. Seen 
 his paper about this ten year. Young one is a gentleman 
 — passionate fellow, hawhaw fellow, but kind to the poor. 
 Father never was a gentleman, with all his fine airs and fine 
 waistcoats. I don't set up in that line myself, Cass, but I 
 tell you I know 'em when I see 'em." 
 
 Philip had friends and private patrons whose influence 
 was great with the IMugford family, and of Avhom he little 
 kncAv. Every year iMrs" M. was in the habit of contributing 
 a ]\rugford to the world. She was one of ]Mrs. Erandon^s 
 most regular clients ; and year after year, almost from his 
 first arrival in London, Ridley, the painter, had been en- 
 gaged as portrait painter to this worthy family. Philip and 
 his illness ; Philip and his horses, splendors, and entertain- 
 ments ; Philip and his lamentable downfall and ruin, had 
 formed the subject of many an interesting talk between Mrs. 
 :Mugford and her friend the Little Sister; and as we know 
 Caroline's infatuation about the young fellow, we may sup- 
 ))Ose that his good qualities lost nothing in the description. 
 When that article in the Pall Jfall G'</;^^^^^ appeared, Xurse 
 Brandon took the omnibus to Haverstock Hill, where, as 
 you know, [Mugford had his villa; — arrived at Mrs. Mug- 
 ford's, Giczpffein liand, and had a long and delightful con- 
 versation with that lady. Mrs. lirandon bought I don't 
 kn(3W how many copies of that Pall Mall Gazette. She now 
 asked for it repeatedly in her walks at sundry ginger-beer 
 shoi)S, and of all sorts of news venders. 1 have heard that
 
 324 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 when tlie ^lugfords first purchased the Gazette, Mrs. M. used 
 to drop bills from her pony-chaise, and distribute placards 
 setting forth the excellence of the journal. "We keep our 
 carriage, but we ain't above our business, Brandon," that 
 good lady would say. And the business prospered under 
 the management of these worthy folks; and the pony-chaise 
 unfolded into a noble barouche ; and the pony increased and 
 multiplied, and became a pair of horses ; and there was not 
 a richer piece of gold lace round any coachman's hat in 
 London than now decorated John, who had grown with the 
 growth of his master's fortunes, and drove the chariot in 
 which his worthy employers rode on the way to Hampstead, 
 honor, and prosperity. 
 
 " All this pitching into the poet is very well, you know, 
 Cassidy," saj' s Mugford to his subordinate. " It's like shoot- 
 ing a butterfly with a blunderbuss ; but if Firmin likes that 
 kind of sport, I don't mind. There won't be any difficulty 
 about taking his copy at our place. The duchess knows 
 another old woman who is a friend of his " (" the duchess " 
 was the title which Mr. Mugford was in the playful habit 
 of conferring upon his wife). " It's my belief young F. had 
 better stick to the law, and leave the writing rubbish alone. 
 But he knows his own affairs best, and, mind you, the duch- 
 ess is determined we shall give him a helping hand." 
 
 Once, in the days of his prosperity, and in J. J.'s com- 
 pany, Philip had visited Mrs. Mugford and her family — a 
 circumstance which the gentleman had almost forgotten. 
 The painter and his friend were taking a Sunday walk and 
 came upon Mugford's pretty cottage and garden, and were 
 hospitably entertained there by the owners of the place. It 
 has disappeared, and the old garden has long since been 
 covered by terraces and villas, and INIugford and Mrs. M., 
 good souls, where are they ? But the lady thought she had 
 never seen such a fine-looking young fellow as Philip ; cast 
 about in her mind which of her little female ^lugfords 
 should marry him ; and insisted upon offering her guest 
 champagne. Poor Phil ! So, you see, whilst, perhaps, he 
 was rather pluming himself upon his literary talents, and 
 imagining that he was a clever fellow, he was only the 
 object of a job on the part of two or three good folks, who 
 knew his history, and compassionated his misfortunes. 
 
 Mugford recalled himself to Philip's recollection, when 
 they met after the ai)pearance of IVIr. Phil's first perform- 
 ance in the Gazette. If he still took a Sunday walk, Hamp-
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 325 
 
 stead way, ^h\ ]\r. requested him to remember tha-t there 
 was a slice of beef and a glass of wine at the old shop. 
 Philip remembered it well enough now : the ugly room, the 
 ugly family, the kind, Avorthy people. Ere long he learned 
 what had been Mrs. Brandon's connection with them, and the 
 young man's heart was softened and grateful as he thought 
 how this kind, gentle creature had been able to befriend 
 him. She, we may be sure, was not a little proud of her 
 protege. I believe she grew to fancy that the whole news- 
 paper was written by Philip. She made her fond parent 
 read it aloud as she worked. Mv. Eidley, senior, pronounced 
 it was remarkably fine, really now; without, I think, entirely 
 com})rehending the meaning of the sentiments which Mr. 
 Gann gave forth in his rich loud voice, and often dropping 
 asleep in his chair during this sermon. 
 
 In the autumn, Mi\ Firmin's friends, Mr. and Mrs. Pen- 
 dennis, selected the romantic seaport town of Boulogne for 
 their holiday residence ; and having roomy quarters in the 
 old town, we gave Mr. Philip an invitation to pay us a visit 
 whenever he could tear himself away from literature and 
 law. He came in high spirits. He amused us by imitations 
 and descriptions of his new proprietor and master, Mr. Mug- 
 ford — his blunders, his bad language, his good heart. One 
 day, Mugford expected a celebrated literary character to 
 dinner, and Philip and Cassidy were invited to meet him. 
 The great man was ill, and was unable to come. "Don't 
 dish up the side-dishes," called out Mugford to his cook, in 
 the hearing of his other guests. "Mr. Lyon ain't a-coming.'^ 
 They dined quite sufficiently v\dthout the side-dishes, and 
 were perfectly cheerful in the absence of the lion. Mugford 
 patronized his young men with amusing good-nature. "Fir- 
 min, cut the goose for the duchess, will you ? Cass can't 
 say Bo ! to one, he can't. Ridley, a little of the stuffing. 
 It'll make your hair curl." And Philip was going to imi- 
 tate a frightful act with the cold steel (with which I have 
 said Philip's master used to convey food to his mouth), but 
 our dear innocent third daughter uttered a shriek of terror, 
 which caused him to drop the dreadful weapon. Our dar- 
 ling little Florence is a nervous child, and tlie sight of an 
 edged tool causes her anguish, ever since our darling little 
 Tom nearly cut his thumb oft" with his father's razor. 
 
 Our main amusement in this delightful j^lace was to look 
 at the sea-sick, landing from the steamers; and one day as 
 we witnessed this phenomenon, Philip sprang to the ropes
 
 326 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 which divided us from the arriving passengers, and with a 
 cry of "How do you do, General ? " greeted a yellow-faced 
 gentleman, who started back, and, to my thinking, seemed 
 but ill inclined to reciprocate Philip's friendly greeting. 
 The General was fluttered, no doubt, by the bustle and in- 
 terruptions incidental to the landing. A pallid lady, the 
 partner of his existence probably, was calling out, '" Koof 
 et doo domestiques, Doo ! " to the sentries who kept the 
 line, and who seemed little interested by this family news. 
 A governess, a tall young lady, and several more male and 
 female children, followed tlie pale lady, who, as I thought, 
 looked strangely frightened when the gentleman addressed 
 as General communicated to her Philip's name. " Is that 
 him ? '^ said the lady in questionable grammar; and the tall 
 young lady turned a pair of large eyes upon the individual 
 designated as '-him," and showed a pair of dank ringlets, 
 out of which the envious sea-nymphs had shaken all the 
 curl. 
 
 The general turned out to be General Baynes ; the pale 
 lady was Mrs. General B. ; the tall 3^oung lady was Miss 
 Charlotte Baynes, the General's eldest child ; and the other 
 six, forming nine, or "noof," in all, as Mrs. General B. said, 
 were the other members of the Baynes family. And here 
 I may as well say why the General looked alarmed on see- 
 ing Philip, and why the General's lady froAvned at him. In 
 action, one of the bravest of men, in common life General 
 Bajaies was timorous and weak. Specially he was afraid of 
 jNIrs. General Baynes, who ruled him with a vigorous au- 
 thority. As Philip's trustee, he had allowed Philip's father 
 to make away with the boy's money. He learned with a 
 ghastly terror that lie was answerable for his own remiss- 
 ness and want of care. For a long while he did not dare to 
 tell his commander-in-chief of tins dreadful penalty which 
 was hanging over him. When at last he ventured ui)on 
 this confession, I do not envy him the scene which must 
 have ensued between him and his commanding officer. The 
 morning after the fatal confession, Avhen the children as- 
 sembled for breakfast and prayers, Mrs. Baynes gave their 
 young ones their porridge : she and Charlotte poured out 
 the tea and coffee for the elders, and then addressing her 
 eldest son, Ochterlony, she said, " Ocky, my boy, the 
 General has announced a charming piece of news this 
 morning." 
 
 " Bought that pony, sir ? " says Ocky.
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 327 
 
 " Oh, what jolly fun ! " says Moira. the second son. 
 
 " Dear I dear papa ! what's the matter, and why do 3'ou 
 look so ? " cries Cliarlotte, looking behind her father's 
 paper. 
 
 That guilty man would fain hare made a shroud of his 
 Morning Herald. He would have flung the sheet over his 
 whole bod\^, and lain hidden there from all eyes. 
 
 '' The fun, my dears, is that your father is ruined ; that's 
 the fun. Eat your porridge now, little ones. Charlotte, 
 pop a bit of butter in Carrick's porridge ; for you mayn't 
 have any to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh, gammon," cries Moira. 
 
 '• You'll soon see whether it is gammon or not, sir, when 
 you'll be starving, sir. Your father has ruined us — and a 
 very pleasant morning's work, I am sure." 
 
 And she calmly rubs the nose of her youngest child who 
 is near her, and too young, and innocent, and careless, per- 
 haps, of the world's censure as yet to keep in a strict 
 cleanliness her own dear little snub nose and dappled 
 cheeks. 
 
 " We are only ruined, and shall be starving soon, my 
 dears, and if the General has bought a pony — as I dare say 
 he has; he is quite capable of buying a pony when we are 
 starving — the best thing we can do is to eat the ^owj. 
 M'G-rigor, don't laugh. Starvation is no laughing matter.' 
 When we were at Dumdum in '36, we ate some colt. Don't 
 you remember Jubber's colt — Jubber of the Horse Artillery, 
 General ? Xever tasted anything more tender in all ni}^ 
 life. Charlotte, take Jany's hands out of the marmalade ! 
 We are all ruined, my dears, as sure as our name is Baynes." 
 Thus did the mother of the family prattle on in the midst 
 of her little ones, and announce to them the dreadful news 
 of impending starvation. " General Baynes, by his care- 
 lessness, had allowed Dr. Firmin to make away with the 
 money over Avhich the General had been set as sentinel. 
 Philip might recover from the trustee, and no doubt would. 
 Perhaps he would not press his claim ? My dear, what can 
 you expect from the son of such a father ? Depend on it, 
 Charlotte, no good fruit can come from a stalk like that. 
 The son is a bad one, the father is a bad one, and your father, 
 poor dear soul, is not fit to be trusted to walk the street 
 without some one to keep him from tumbling. Why did I 
 allow him to go to town without me ? We were quartered 
 at Colchester then : and I could not move on account of
 
 323 ^THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 your brother M-Grigor. ^Baynes,' I said to your father, 
 ' as sure as I let you go away to town without me, you will 
 come to mischief.' And go he did, and come to mischief he 
 did. And through his folly I and my poor cliildren must 
 go and beg our bread in the streets — I and my seven poor, 
 robbed, penniless little ones. Oh, it's cruel, cruel ! " 
 
 Indeed, one cannot fancy a more dismal prospect for this 
 worthy mother and wife than to see her children without 
 provision at the commencement of their lives, and her luck- 
 less husband robbed of his life's earnings, and ruined just 
 when he was too old to work. 
 
 What was to become of them ? ISTow poor Charlotte 
 thought, with pangs of a keen remorse, how idle she had 
 been, and how she had snubbed her governesses, and how 
 little she knew, and how badly she played the piano. Oh, 
 neglected opportunities ! Oh, remorse, now the time was 
 past and irrecoverable ! Does any young lady read this who, 
 perchance, ought to be doing her lessons ? My dear, lay 
 down the story-book at once. Go up to your school-room, 
 and practise your piano for two hours this moment ; so that 
 you may be prepared to support your family, should ruin in 
 any case fall upon you. A great girl of sixteen, I pity Char- 
 lotte Baynes's feelings of anguish. She can't write a very 
 good hand ; she can scarcely answer any question to speak 
 of in any educational books; her pianoforte playing is ver}^, 
 very so-so indeed. If she is to go out and get a living for 
 the family, how, in the name of goodness, is she to set about 
 it ? What are they to do with the boys, and the money 
 that has been put aw\ay for Ochterlony when he goes to col- 
 lege, and for Moira's commission ? " Why, we can't afford 
 to keep them at Dr. Pybus's, where they were doing so well ; 
 and they were ever so much better and more gentlemanlike 
 than Colonel Chandler's boys ; and to lose the army will 
 break Moira's heart, it will. And the little ones, my little 
 blue-eyed Carrick, and mydarling Jany, and my Mar}^, that 
 I nursed almost miraculousl}^ out of her scarlet fever. God 
 help them ! God help us all ! " thinks the poor mother. 
 No wonder that her nights are wakeful, and her heart in a 
 tumult of alarm at the idea of the impending danger. 
 
 And the father of the family ? — the stout old General 
 whose battles and campaigns are over, who has come home 
 to rest his war-worn limbs, and make his peace Avith heaven 
 ere it calls him away — what must he his fec^lings when he 
 thinks that he has been entrapped by a villain into commit
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 329 
 
 ting an imprudence wliicli makes his children penniless and 
 himself dishonored and a beggar ? When he found what 
 Dr. Firmin had done, and how he had been cheated, he went 
 away, aghast, to his lawyer, who could give him no help. 
 Philip's mother's trustee was answerable to Philip for his 
 property. It had been stolen through Baynes's own care- 
 lessness, and the law bound him to replace it. General 
 Baynes's man of business could not help him out of his 
 perplexity at all ; and I hope my worthy reader is not going 
 to be angry with the General for Avhat I own he did. You 
 never would, my dear sir, I know. Xo power on earth 
 would induce you to depart one inch from the path of recti- 
 tude ; or, having done an act of imprudence, to shrink from 
 bearing the consequence. The long and short of the matter 
 is, that j)Oor Baynes and his wife, after holding agitated, 
 stealthy councils together — after believing that every 
 strange face they saw was a bailiff's coming to arrest them 
 on Philij^'s account — after horrible days of remorse, misery, 
 guilt — I say the long and the short of the matter was that 
 these poor people determined to run away. The}^ would go 
 and hide themselves anywhere — in an impenetrable pine 
 forest in Norway — up an inaccessible mountain in Swit- 
 zerland. They would change their names ; dye their mus- 
 tachios and honest old white hair; fly with their little ones 
 away, awaj^, away, out of the reach of law and Philip ; and 
 the first flight lands them on Boulogne Pier, and there is 
 !^[r. Philip holding out his hand and actually eying them as 
 they get out of the steamer ! Eying them ? It is the eye 
 of heaven that is on those criminals. Holding out his hand 
 to them ? It is the hand of fate that is on their wretched 
 shoulders. Xo wonder they shuddered and turned pale. 
 That whicfi I tooK loi sea sickness, I am sorry to say, was 
 a guilty conscience ; and where is the steward, my dear 
 friends, who can relieve us of that ? 
 
 As this party came staggering out of the custom-house, 
 poor Baynes still found Philip's hand stretched out to catch 
 hold of him, and saluted him with a ghastly cordiality. 
 •• These are your children. General, and this is Mrs. 
 Baynes ?" says Philip, smiling, and taking off his hat. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I'm ^Irs. General Baynes ! " says the poor 
 woman ; " and these are the children — yes, yes. Charlotte, 
 this is ^Ir. Firmin, of whom j^ou have heard us speak ; and 
 these are my boys, jNIoira and Ochterlony." 
 
 "I have had the honor of meeting General Baynes at Old
 
 330 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 Parr Street. Don't you remember, sir?" says Mr. Penden- 
 iiis, with great affability to the General. 
 
 " What, another who knows me ? " I dare say the poor 
 wretch thinks ; and glances of a dreadful meaning pass 
 between the guilty wife and the guilty husband. 
 
 " You are going to stay at any hotel ? " 
 
 " ' Hotel des Bains ! ' " " ' Hotel du Kord ! ' " " ^ Hotel 
 d'Angieterre ! ' " here cry twenty commissioners in a 
 breath. 
 
 ^' Hotel ? Oh, yes ! That is, we have not made up our 
 minds whether we shall go on to-night or whether we shall 
 stay," say those guilty ones, looking at one another, and 
 then down to the ground ; on which one of the children, 
 with a roar, says — 
 
 " Oh, ma, what a story ! You said you'd stay to-night ; 
 and I was so sick in the beastly boat, and I ivonH travel any 
 more ! " And tears choke his artless utterance. " And you 
 said Bang to the man who took your ke3^s, you know^ you 
 did," resumes the innocent, as soon as he can gasp a further 
 remark. 
 
 " Who told you to speak ? " cried mamma, giving the boy 
 a shake. 
 
 '' This is the way to the ' Hotel des Bains, ' " says Philip, 
 making Miss Baynes another of his best bows. And Miss 
 Baynes makes a courtesy, and her eyes look up at the hand- 
 some young man — large brown honest eyes in a comely 
 round face, on each side of which depend two straight wisps 
 of brown hair that were ringlets when they left Folkestone 
 a few hours since. 
 
 " Oh, I say, look at those women with the short petti- 
 coats ! and wooden shoes, by George ! Oh ! it's jolly, ain't 
 it ? " cries one young gentleman. 
 
 "By George, there's a man with ear-rings on ! There is, 
 Ocky, upon my word ! " calls out another. And the elder 
 boy, turning round to his father, points to some soldiers. 
 " Did you ever see such little beggars ? " he says, tossing his 
 head up. " They wouldn't take such fellows into our line." 
 
 " I am not at all tired, thank you," says Charlotte. " I 
 am accustomed to carry him." I had forgot to say that the 
 young lady had one of the children asleep on her shoulder; 
 and another was toddling at her side, holding by his sister's 
 dress, and admiring Mr. Firmin's whiskers, that flamed and 
 curled very luminously and gloriously, like to the rays of 
 the setting sun.
 
 Oi\ HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 331 
 
 " I am very glad we met, sir," says Philip, in the most 
 friendly manner, taking leave of the General at the gate of 
 his hotel. " 1 hope you won't go aAvay to-morrow, and that 
 I may come and pay my respects to Mrs. Baynes." Again 
 he salutes that lady with a coiijj cle cliapeau. Again he bows 
 to Miss Baynes. She makes a pretty courtesy enough, con- 
 sidering that she has a baby asleep on her shoulder. And 
 they enter the hotel, the excellent Marie marshalling them 
 to htting apartments, where some of them, I have no doubt, 
 will sleep very soundly. How much more comfortably 
 might poor BaA'nes and his wife have slept had they known 
 what were Philip's feelings regarding them I 
 
 AVe both admired Charlotte, the tall girl who carried her 
 little brother, and around whom the others clung. And we 
 spoke loudly in Miss Charlotte's praises to Mrs. Pendennis, 
 when we joined that lady at dinner. In the praise of ]\[rs. 
 Baynes we had not a great deal to say, further than that 
 she seemed to take command of the whole expedition, 
 including the general officer, her husband. 
 
 Though Marie's beds at the " Hotel des Bains " are as 
 comfortable .is any beds in Europe, you see that admirable 
 chamber-maid cannot lay out a clean, easy conscience upon 
 the clean, fragrant pillow-case ; and General and ]Mrs. 
 Baynes owned, in after days, that one of the most dreadful 
 nights they ever passed was that of their first landing in 
 France. What refugee from his country can fly from him- 
 self ? Kailways were not as yet in that part of Prance. 
 The General was too poor to fly with a couple of private 
 carriages, which he must have had for his family of " noof," 
 his governess, and two servants. Encumbered with such a 
 train, his enemy would speedih' have pursued and overtaken 
 him. It is a fact that, immediately after landing at his 
 hotel, he and his commanding officer went off to see when 
 they could get places for — never mind the name of the 
 place where they really thought of taking refuge. They 
 never told, but Mrs. General Baynes had a sister, ^Nlrs. 
 Major MacWhirter (married to MacW. of the Bengal Cav- 
 alry), and the sisters loved each other very affectionately, 
 especially by letter, for it must be owned that they quar- 
 relled frightfully when together ; and INIrs. MacWhirter 
 never could bear that her younger sister should be taken 
 out to dinner before her, because she was married to a 
 superior officer. Well, their little differences were forgotten 
 when the two ladies were apart. TLs sisters wrote to each
 
 332 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 other prodigious long letters, in which household affairs, 
 the children's puerile diseases, the relative prices of veal, 
 eggs, chickens, the rent of lodging and houses in various 
 places, were fully discussed. And as Mrs. Baynes showed 
 a surprising knowledge of Tours, the markets, rents, clergy- 
 men, society there, and as Major and Mrs. Mac. were stay- 
 ing there, I have little doubt, for my part, from this and 
 another not unimportant circumstance, that it was to that 
 fair city our fugitives were wending their way, when cA'^ents 
 occurred which must now be narrated, and which caused 
 General Baynes at the head of his domestic regiment to do 
 what the King of France with twenty thousand men is said 
 to have done in old times. 
 
 Philip was greatly interested about the family. The truth 
 is, we were all very much bored at Boulogne. We read the 
 feeblest London papers at the reading-room with frantic 
 assiduity. We saw all the boats come in : and the day was 
 lost when we missed the Folkestone boat or the London 
 boat. We consumed much time and absinthe at cafes ; and 
 tramped leagues upon that old pier every day. AVell, Philip 
 Avas at the "Hotel des Bains" at a very early hour next 
 morning, and there he saw the General, with a woe-worn 
 face, leaning on his stick, and looking at his luggage, as it 
 lay piled in the porte-cochere of the hotel. There they lay, 
 thirty-seven packages in all, including washing-tubs, and a 
 child's India sleeping-cot ; and all these packages were 
 ticketed M. le Geni^ral Baynp:s, Officiek Anglais, 
 Tours, Touraine, France. I say, putting two and two 
 together ; calling to mind Mrs. General's singular knowledge 
 of Tours and familiarity with the place and its prices ; re- 
 membering that her sister Emily — Mrs. Major MacWhirter, 
 in fact — was there ; and seeing thirty-seven trunks, bags, 
 and portmanteaus, all directed " M. le General Baynes, 
 Officier Anglais, Tours, Touraine," am I wrong in supposing 
 that Tours was the General's destination ? On the other 
 hand, we have the old officer's declaration to Philip that he 
 did not know where he was going. Oh, you sly old man ! 
 Oh, you gray old fox, beginning to double and to turn at 
 sixty-seven years of age ! Well ? The General was in 
 retreat, and he did not wish the eneni}- to know upon what 
 lines he was retreating. What is the harm of that, pray ? 
 Besides, he was under the orders of his commanding officer, 
 and when Mrs. General gave her orders, I should have liked 
 to see any officer of hers disobey.
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 333 
 
 " What a pyramid of portmanteaus ! You are not think- 
 ing of moving- to-da}', General ? " says Philip. 
 
 ^'It is Sunday, sir," says the General; which you will 
 perceive was not answering the question ; but, in truth, 
 except for a very great emergency, the good General would 
 not travel on that day. 
 
 " I hope the ladies slept well after their windy voy- 
 age." 
 
 " Thank you. My wife is an old sailor, and has made 
 two voyages out and home to India." Here, you under- 
 stand, the old man is again eluding his interlocutor's artless 
 queries. 
 
 " I should like to have some talk with you, sir, when you 
 are free," continues Philip, not having leisure as yet to be 
 surprised at the other's demeanor. 
 
 ''There are other days besides Sunday for talk on busi- 
 ness," says that piteous sly-boots of an old officer. Ah, 
 conscience ! conscience ! Twenty-four Sikhs, sword in hand, 
 two dozen Pindarries, Mahrattas, Ghoorkas, what you please 
 — that old man felt that he would rather have met them 
 than Philip's unsuspecting blue eyes. These, however, now 
 lighted up with rather an angry, "Well, sir, as you don't 
 talk business on Sunday, may I call on you to-morrow 
 morning ? " 
 
 And what advantage had the poor old fellow got by all 
 this doubling and hesitating and artfulness? — a respite 
 until to-morrow morning ! Another night of horrible wake- 
 fulness and hopeless guilt, and Philip waiting ready the 
 next morning with his little bill, and, " Please pay me the 
 thirty thousand which my father spent and j^ou owe me. 
 Please turn out into the streets with your wife and family, 
 and beg and starve. Have the goodness to hand me out 
 your last rupee. Be kind enough to sell your children's 
 clothes and your wife's jewels, and hand over the proceeds 
 to me. I'll call to-morrow. Bye, bye." 
 
 Here there came tripping over the marble pavement of 
 the hall of the hotel a tall young lady in a brown silk 
 dress and rich curling ringlets falling upon her fair young 
 neck — beautiful brown curling ringlets, vous comprenez, 
 not Avisps of moistened hair, and a broad clear forehead, 
 and two honest eyes shining below it, and cheeks not pale 
 as they were yesterday ; and lips redder still ; and she 
 says, " Papa, papa, won't j^ou come to breakfast ? The tea 
 is — " What the precise state of the tea is I don't know ^
 
 334 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 none of us ever sliall — for here she says " 0\\, ^Ir. Firniin ! " 
 and makes a courtesy. 
 
 To which remark Philip replied, '' Miss Baynes, I hope 
 you are very well this morning, and not the worse for yes- 
 terday's rough weather." 
 
 •' I am quite well, thank 3^ou," w^as ^liss Baynes's instant 
 reply. The answer was not witty, to be sure ; but I don't 
 know that under the circumstances she could have said any- 
 thing more appropriate. Indeed, never was a pleasante; 
 picl5ure of health and good-humor than the young lady 
 presented; a difference more pleasant to note than Miss 
 Charlotte's pale face from the steamboat on Saturday, and 
 shining, rosy, happy, and innocent, in the cloudless Sabbath 
 morn. 
 
 " A Madame, 
 " Madame i.e Majou MacWuirter, 
 '• A Tours, 
 
 "toukaine, 
 "France. 
 
 '•Tixtelleries, Boulogxe-sur-Mer, 
 Wednesday, August 24, IS — . 
 "Dearest Emily, — After suffering more dreadf ally in t\\Q two 
 hours' passage from Folkestone to this place than I have in four pas- 
 sages out and home from India, except in that terrible storm off the 
 Cape, in September, 1824, when I certainly did suffer most cruelly on 
 board that honible troopsliip, we reached this place last Saturday even- 
 ing, having a full deterininatioa to proceed immediately on our route. 
 Now, you will perceive that our minds are changed. We found this 
 place pleasant, and the lodgings besides most neat, comfortable, and 
 well found in everything, more reamnahle than you proposed to get 
 for us at Tours, which I am told also is damp, and might bring on the 
 general's jungle fever a'/nln. Owincc to the whooping-cough having 
 just been in tlie house, which, praised be mercy, all my dear ones have 
 had it, including dea:- baby, who is quite well through it, and recom- 
 mended sea air, we got this liouse more reasonable than prices you 
 mention at Tours. A whole house: little room for two boys; nursery; 
 nice little room for Charlotte, and a den for the General. I don't 
 know how ever we should have brought our party safe all the way to 
 Tours. Thirtij-Heven articles of luggage, and Miss Flixby, who 
 announced herself as perfect French governess, acquired at Paris — 
 perfect, hut perfectbj useless. She can't understand the French people 
 when tliey speak to her, and goes about the house in a most bewilder- 
 ing ivay. I am the interpreter; poor Charlotte is much too timid to 
 speak when I am by. I have rubbed up the old French which we 
 learned at Chiswick at Miss Pinkerton's; and I find my Hindostanee 
 of great help: wliich I use it when we are at a loss for a word, and it 
 
 answers extremely v;elL We pay for lodgings, the whole house 
 
 francs per month. Butcher's meat and poultry plentiful but dear. A 
 grocer in the Grande Kue sells excellent wine at fifteenpence per
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 335 
 
 bottle; and groceries pretty much at English prices, ^h: Blowman at 
 the Euglibh chapel of Llie Tintelleries has a fine voice, and appears to 
 be a most excellent cler</uman. 1 have heard hiin only once, however, 
 on Sunday evening, wlien I was so agitated and so iinliappy in my 
 mind that I own 1 took little note of his sermon. 
 
 " The cause of that agitation you knoii\ having imparted it to you 
 in my letters of July, June, and 24th of May. ult. My poor simple, 
 guileless Baynes was trustee to Mrs. Dr. Firmin, before she married 
 that most unprincipled man. When we were at home last, and ex- 
 changed to the 12Uth from the 99th, my poor husband was inveigled 
 by t ,e liorrid man into signing a paper which put the doctor in pos- 
 session of all /lis icife's pi-operty; whereas Cliarles thought he was 
 only signing a power of attorney, enabling him to i-eceive his son's 
 dividends. Dr. F., after the most atrocious deceit, forgery, and 
 criminality of every kind, fled the country; and Hunt and Pegler, our 
 solicitors, informed us that the General was answerable for the icick- 
 edness of this miscreant. He is so weak that he has been many and 
 7»o»// times on the point of going to young Mr. F. and giving ?(p every- 
 thin;/. It was only by my prayers, by my commands, that I have been 
 enabled to keep him quiet; and, indeed, Lmily, the effort lias almost 
 killed him. Brandy repeatedly I was obliged to administer on the 
 dreadful night of our arrival here. 
 
 " For tlie first person we met on landing was Mr. Philip Firmin, 
 loith a pert friend of his, Mr. Pendennis, wbom 1 don't at all like, 
 though his wife is an amiable person like Emma Fletcber of the Horse 
 Artillery: not with Emma's style, however, but still amiable, and 
 disposed to be most civil. Charlotte has taken a great fancy to her, 
 as she always does to every new pers(m. Well, fancy our state on 
 landing, when a young gentleman calls out, ' How^ do you do, Gen- 
 eral ? ' and turns out to be Mr. Firmin ! 1 thought I should have lost 
 Charles in the night. I have seen him before going into action as 
 calm, and sleep and smile as- sweet, as any babe. It was all I could 
 do to keep up his courage; and, but for me, but for my prayers, but 
 for my agonies, I think he would have jumped out of bed, and gone 
 to Mr. F. that night, and said ' Take everything I have.' 
 
 " Th<; young man I own has behaved in the most honorable way. 
 He came to see us before breakfast on Sunday, when the poor General 
 was so ill that I thought he would \m\Qfahded over his tea. He was 
 too ill to go to church, where 1 went alone, with my dear ones, having, 
 as I own, but very small comfort in the sermon: but oh, Emily, 
 fancy, on our return, when I went into our room, I found my General 
 on his knees with his Church service before him, crying, crying like a 
 babv! You know I am hasty in my temper sometimes, and his is 
 indeed an angel's — and I said to him, * Charles Baynes, be a man and 
 don't cry like a child!' 'Ah,' says he, 'Eliza do you kneel, and 
 thank God too;' on which I said that I thought I did not requu-e 
 instruction in my religion from him or any man, except a clergyman, 
 and many of these are but poor instructors, as you know. 
 
 "' He has been here,' savs Charles; when I said, ' Who has been 
 here?' 'That noble voung fellow,' says my General, 'that noble, 
 noble Philip Firmin.' " Which noble his conduct I own it has been. 
 ' Whilst you were at church he came again — here into this very room, 
 where I was sitting, doubting and despairing, with the Holy Book be- 
 fore my eyes, and no comfort out of it. And he said to me, " General, 
 I want' to talk to you about my grandfather's will. You don't suppose
 
 336 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 that because my father lias deceived you and ruined me, I will carry 
 the ruin fartlier, and visit liis wrong upon cliildren and innocent 
 people?" Those were the young man's words,' my General said; 
 and 'oh, Eliza!' says he, 'what pangs of remorse I felt when I re- 
 membered we had used hard words about him,' which I own we had, 
 for his manners are rough and haughty, and I have heard things of 
 him which I do believe now can't be true. 
 
 " All Monday my poor man was obliged to keep his bed with a 
 smart attack of his fever. But yesterday he was quite bright and 
 well again, and the Pendennis party took Charlotte for a drive, and 
 show^ed themselves most polite. She reminds me of Mrs. Tom 
 Fletcher of the Horse Artillery, but that I think I have mentioned 
 before. My paper is full; and with our best to MacWhirter and the 
 children, I am always my dearest Emily's affectionate sister, 
 
 "Eliza Baynes."
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 BREVIS ESSE LABORO. 
 
 EVER, General B ay n e s 
 ' afterwards declared, did 
 fever coine and go so 
 pleasantly as that attack 
 to which we have seen the 
 Mrs. General advert in her 
 letter to her sister, Mrs. 
 Major ]\[acWhirter. The 
 cold fit was merely a lively, 
 pleasant chatter and rattle 
 of the teeth ; the hot fit an 
 agreeable warmth ; and 
 though the ensuing sleep, 
 with which I believe such 
 aguish attacks are usually 
 concluded, was enlivened by several dreams of death, de- 
 mons, and torture, how felicitous it was to wake and find 
 that dreadful thought of ruin removed which had always, 
 for the last few months, ever since Dr. Eirmin's flight 
 and the knowledge of his own imprudence, pursued the 
 good-natured gentleman ! What ! this boy might go to col- 
 lege, and that get his commission ; and their meals need be 
 embittered by no more dreadful thoughts of the morrow, 
 and their walks no longer Avere dogged by imaginary bailiffs, 
 and presented a jail in the vista! It was too much bliss ; 
 and again and again the old soldier said his thankful 
 prayers, and blessed his benefactor. 
 
 Philip thought no more of his act of kindness, except to 
 be ver}^ grateful and very happy that he had rendered 
 other people so. He could no more have taken the old 
 man's all, and plunged that innocent family into poverty, 
 than he could have stolen the forks off my table. But 
 other folks were disposed to rate his virtue much more 
 highly ; and amongst these was my vj if e, who chose posi- 
 VOL. I. — 22 337
 
 338 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 tively to Avorship this young gentleman, and I believe 
 would have let him smoke in her drawing-room if he had 
 been so minded, and though her genteelest acquaintances 
 were in the room. Goodness knows what a noise and 
 what piteous looks are produced if ever the master of the 
 house chooses to indulge in a cigar after dinner ; but then, 
 you understand, / have never declined to claim mine and 
 my children's right because an old gentleman would be 
 inconvenienced : and this is what I tell j\Irs. Pen. If I 
 order a coat from my tailor, must I refuse to pay him be- 
 cause a rogue steals it, and ought I to expect to be let off ? 
 Women won't see matters of fact in a matter-of-fact point 
 of view, and justice, unless it is tinged with a little romance, 
 gets no respect from them. 
 
 So, forsooth, because Philip has performed this certainly 
 most generous, most dashing, most reckless piece of extrava- 
 gance, he is to be held up as a most perfect ^9?'ei/a:; chevalier. 
 The most riotous dinners are ordered for him. We are to 
 wait until he comes to breakfast, and he is pretty nearly 
 always late. The children are to be sent round to kiss 
 Uncle Philip, as he is now called. The children ? I won- 
 der the mother did not jump up and kiss him too. Elle en 
 eta it caimhle. As for the osculations which took place 
 between Mrs. Pendennis and her new-found young friend. 
 Miss Charlotte Baynes, they Avere perfectly ridiculous ; two 
 school children could not have behaved more absurdly ; 
 and I don't know which seemed to be the younger of these 
 two. There were colloquies, assignations, meetings on the 
 ramparts, on the pier, where know I ? — and the servants 
 and little children of the two establishments were per- 
 j^etuall}^ trotting to and fro with letters from dearest Laura 
 to dearest Charlotte, and dearest Charlotte to her dearest 
 Mrs. Pendennis. Why, my wife absolutely went the length 
 of saying that dearest Charlotte's mother. Mrs. Baynes, was 
 a worthy, clever woman, and a good mother — a woman 
 whose tongue never ceased clacking about the regiment, 
 and all the officers, and all the officers' wives ; of whom, by 
 the way, she had v^ery little good to tell. 
 
 ''A worthy mother, is she, my dear ?" I say. ''But, oh, 
 mercy ! IVErs. Baynes would be an awful mother-in-law ! " 
 
 I shuddered at the thouglit of having such a common- 
 place, hard, ill-bred woman in a state of quasi authority 
 over me. 
 
 On this ]\Irs. Laura must break out in quite a petulant
 
 ox HIS WAV THROUGH THE WORLD. 339 
 
 tone — " Oh, how stale this kind of ca thing is, Arthur, from 
 a man qui vent ^^(;6-.sy^/* i^oiw lui honime d'esjjrlt! You are 
 always attacking mothers-in-law ! " 
 
 ''Witness Mrs. Mackenzie, my love — Clive Newcome's 
 mother-in-law. That's a nice creature ; not selfish, not 
 wicked, not — " 
 
 "Not nonsense, Arthur ! " 
 
 "Mrs. Baynes knew Mrs. Mackenzie in the West Indies, 
 as she knew all the female army. . She considers Mrs. Mac- 
 kenzie was a most elegant, handsome, dashing woman — 
 only a little too fond of the admiration of our sex. There 
 was, I own, a fascination about Captain Goby. Do you 
 remember, my love, that man vy^ith the stavs and dved hair, 
 who — " 
 
 '•Oh, Arthur ! When our girls marry, I suppose you will 
 teach their husbands to abuse, and scorn, and mistrust their 
 mother-in-law\ Will he, my darlings ? Will he, my bless- 
 ings ? " (This apart to the children, if you please.) " Go ! 
 I have no patience with such talk ! " 
 
 "Well, my love, jNlrs. Baynes is a most agreeable woman, 
 and when I have heard that story about the Highlanders at 
 the Cape of Good Hope a lew times more " (1 do not tell it 
 here, for it has nothing to do with the present history), "I 
 dare say I shall begin to be amused by it." 
 
 " Ah ! here comes Charlotte, I'm glad to sa3^ How pretty 
 she is ! What a color ! What a dear creature ! " 
 
 To all Avhich, of course, I could not say a contradictory 
 word, for a prettier, fresher lass than ]\Iiss Baynes, with a 
 sweeter voice, face, huighter, it Avas difficult to see. 
 
 " W^hy does mamma like Charlotte better than she likes 
 us ? " says our dear and justly indignant eldest girl. 
 
 "I could not love her better if I were her mothev-'m-Iaiv,^^ 
 says Laura, running to her young friend, casting a glance 
 at me over her shoulder ; and that kissing nonsense begins 
 between the two ladies. To be sure the girl looks uncom- 
 monly bright and pretty with her pink cheeks, her bright 
 eyes, her slim form, and that charming white India shawl 
 wliich her father brouglit home for her. 
 
 To this osculatory party enters presently ISIr. Philip Fir- 
 min, who has been dawdling about the ramparts ever since 
 breakfast. He says he has been reading law there. He 
 has found a jolly quiet place to read law, has he ? And 
 much good may it do him ! Why has he not gone back to 
 his law and his reviewing ?
 
 340 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 " You must — you 7?iust stay on a little longer. You have 
 only been here five clays. Do, Charlotte, ask Philip to stay 
 a little." 
 
 All the children sing in a chorus, " Oh, do, Uncle Philip, 
 stay a little longer !" Miss Baynes says, " I hope you will 
 stay, Mr. Firmin," and looks at him. 
 
 "Five days has he been here? Five years. Five lives. 
 Five hundred years. What do you mean ? In that little 
 time of — let me see, a hundred and twenty hours, and, at 
 least, a half of them for sleep and dinner (for Philip's appe- 
 tite was very fine) — do you mean that in that little time, 
 his heart cruelly stabbed by a jjrevious monster in female 
 shape, has healed, got quite well, and actually begun to be 
 wounded again ? Have two walks on the pier, as many 
 visits to the Tintelleries (where he hears the story of the 
 Highlanders at the Cape of Good Hope with respectful 
 interest), a word or two about the weather, a look or two, a 
 squeezekin, perhaps, of a little handy kin — I say, do you 
 mean that this absurd young idiot, and that little round- 
 faced girl, pretty, certainl}^, but only just out of the school- 
 room — do you mean to say that they have — Upon my 
 word, Laura, this is too bad. Why, Philip has not a penny 
 piece in the world." 
 
 " Yes, he has a hundred pounds, and expects to sell his 
 mare for ninety at least. He has excellent talents. He 
 can easily write three articles a week in the Pall Hall Ga- 
 zette. I am sure no one writes so well, and it is much better 
 done and more amusing than it used to be. That is three 
 hundred a year. Lord Ringwood must be applied to, and 
 must and shall get him something. Don't you know that 
 Captain Baynes stood by Colonel Kingwood's side at Busaco, 
 and that they were the closest friends ? And pray how did 
 tve get on, I should like to know ? How did tue get on, 
 baby ? " 
 
 " How did we det on ? " says the baby. 
 
 " Oh, woman ! woman ! " yells the father of the family. 
 "Why, Philip Firmin has all the habits of a rich man with 
 the pay of a mechanic. Do you suppose he ever sat in a 
 second-class carriage in his life, or denied himself any pleas- 
 ure to which he had a mind ? He gave five francs to a 
 beggar-girl yesterday." 
 
 "He had always a noble heart," said my wife. "He 
 gave a fortune to a whole family a week ago ; and " 
 (out comes the pocket-handkerchief — oh, of course, the
 
 ON HIS WAY TIIROUGH THE WORLD. 341 
 
 pocket-liandkercliief) — "and — 'God loves a cheerful 
 giver ! ' " 
 
 " He is careless ; he is extravagant ; he is lazy ; — I don't 
 know that he is remarkably clever — " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! he is your friend, of course. Xow, abuse him 
 — do, Arthur ! " 
 
 " And, pray, when did you become acquainted with this 
 astounding piece of news ? " I inquire. 
 
 " When ? From the very first moment when I saw 
 Charlotte looking at him, to be sure. The poor child said 
 to me only yesterday, ' Oh, Laura ! he is our preserver ! ' 
 And their preserver he has been, under Heaven." 
 
 '• Yes. But he has not got a five-pound note ! " I cry. 
 
 "Arthur, I am surprised at you. Oh, men are awfully 
 worldly ! Do 3'ou suppose Heaven Avill not send him help 
 at its good time, and be kind to him who has rescued so 
 many from ruin ? Do you su|)pose the prayers, the bless- 
 ings of that father, of those little ones, of that dear child 
 will not avail him ? Suppose he has to wait a year, ten 
 years, have they not time, and will not the good day come ? " 
 
 Yes. This was actually the talk of a woman of sense 
 and discernment, when her prejudices and romance were 
 not in the way, and she looked forward to the marriage 
 of these folks some ten j^ears hence, as confidently as if 
 they Avere both rich, and going to St. George's to-morrow. 
 
 As for making a romantic stor}^ of it, or spinning out love 
 conversations between Jenny and Jessamy, or describing 
 moonlight raptures and passionate outpourings of two 
 young hearts and so forth — excuse me, s^il vo2(s ^:>ZfnY. I 
 am a man of the world, and of a certain age. Let the 
 young people fill in this outline, and color it as they please. 
 Let the old folks who read lay down the book a minute, 
 and remember. It is well remembered, isn't it, that time ? 
 Yes, good John Anderson, and ]\Irs. John. Yes, good 
 Darby and Joan. The lips won't tell now what they did 
 once. To-day is for the happy, and to-morrow for the 
 young, and yesterday, is not that dear and here too ? 
 
 I Avas in the company of an elderly gentleman, not very 
 long since, who was perfectly sober, who is not particularly 
 handsome, or healthy, or wealth}^, or witty; and who, 
 speaking of his past life, volunteered to declare that he 
 would gladly live every minute of it over again. Is a man 
 who can sa}' that a hardened sinner, not aware how miser- 
 able he ought to be by rights, and therefore really in a
 
 342 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 most desperate and deplorable condition; or is lie fort imatus 
 nu/iluin, and ought his statue to be put up in the most 
 splendid and crowded thoroughfare of the town ? Would 
 you, who are reading this, for example, like to live you?' 
 life over again ? What has been its chief joy ? What 
 are to-day's pleasures ? Are they so exquisite that you 
 would prolong them forever. Would you like to have the 
 roast beef on which you have dined brought back again to 
 the table, and have more beef, and more, and more ? 
 Would you like to hear yesterday's sermon over and over 
 again — eternally voluble ? Would you like to get on the 
 Edinburgh mail, and travel outside for fifty hours as you 
 did in your youth. You might as well say you would like 
 to go into the flogging-room, and take a turn under the 
 rods : you would like to be thrashed over again by your 
 bully at school : you would like to go to the dentist's, 
 where your dear parents were in the habit of taking you : 
 you would like to be, taking hot Epsom salts, with a piece 
 of dry bread to take away the taste : you would like to be 
 jilted by your first love : you would like to be going in to 
 your father to tell him you had contracted debts to the 
 amount of x-{-i/-\-z, whilst you were at the university. As 
 I consider the passionate griefs of childhood, the weariness 
 and sameness of shaving, the agony of corns, and the 
 thousand other ills to which flesh is heir, I cheerfully say 
 for one, I am not anxious to wear it forever. No. I do 
 not want to go to school again. I do not want to hear 
 Trotnian's sermon over again. Take me out and finish me. 
 Give me the cup of hemlock at once. Here's a health to 
 you, my lads. Don't weep, my Simmias. Be cheerful, my 
 Phsedon. Ha! I feel the co-o-old stealing, stealing up- 
 wards. Now it is in my ankles — no more gout in my foot : 
 now my knees are numb. What, is — is that poor execu- 
 tioner crying too ? Good-by. Sacrifice a cock to ^^scu — 
 to ^scula — . . . Have you ever read the chapter in 
 " Grote's History " ? Ah ! When the Sacred Ship returns 
 from Delos, and is telegraphed as entering into port, may 
 we be at peace and ready ! 
 
 What is this funeral chant, when the pipes should be 
 playing gayly as Love, and Youth, and Spring, and Joy are 
 dancing under the windows ? Look you. Men not so wise 
 as Socrates have their demons, Avho v.all be heard to 
 Avhisper in the queerest times and places. Perhaps I shall 
 have to tell of a funeral presently, and shall be outra-
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 343 
 
 geously cheerful ; or of an execution, and shall split my 
 sides with laughing. Arrived at my time of life, when I 
 see a penniless young friend falling in love and thinking of 
 course of committing matrimony, what can I do but be 
 melancholy ? How is a man to marry wdio has not enough 
 to keep ever so miniature a brougham — ever so small a 
 house — not enough to keep himself, let alone a wife and 
 family ? Gracious powers ! is it not blasphemy to marry 
 Avithout fifteen hundred a year ? Poverty, debt, protested 
 bills, duns, crime, fall assuredly on the wretch who has not 
 fifteen — say at once two thousand a year; for you can't 
 live decently in London for less. And a wife whom you 
 have met a score of times at balls or breakfasts, and with 
 her best dresses and behavior at a country house ; — how 
 do you know how she will turn out ; what her temper is ; 
 what her relations are likely to be ? Suppose she has poor 
 relations, or loud coarse brothers who are always dropping 
 in to dinner ? What is her mother like ? and can you 
 bear to have that woman meddling and domineering over 
 your establishment ? Old General Baynes was very well ; 
 a Aveak, qniet, and presentable old man : but jNIrs. General 
 Baynes, and that awful Mrs. jMajor MacWhirter, — and 
 those hobbledelioys of boys in creaking shoes, hectoring 
 about the premises ? As a man of the world I saw all 
 these dreadful liabilities impending over the husband of 
 Miss Charlotte Baynes, and could not view them without 
 horror. Gracefully and slightly, but wittily and in my 
 sarcastic way, I thought it my duty to show up the oddities 
 of the Baynes family to Philip. I mimicked the boySj and 
 their clumping Blucher boots. I touched off the dreadful 
 military ladies, very smartly and cleverly as I thought, and 
 as if I never sup])osed that Philip had any idea of Miss 
 Baynes. To do him justice, he laughed once or twice ; 
 then he grew very red. His sense of humor is very 
 limited ; that even Laura allows. Then he came out with 
 a strong expression, and said it was a confounded shame, 
 and strode off with his cigar. And when I remarked to 
 my wife how susceptible he was in some things, and how 
 little in the matter of joking, she shrugged her shoulders 
 and said, ''Philip not only understood perfectly well what 
 I said, but would tell it all to Mrs. General and INIrs. 
 Major on the first opportunity." And this was the fact, as 
 Mrs. Baynes took care to tell me afterivards. She was 
 aAvare who was her enemij. She was aware who spoke
 
 344 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 ill of her and lier blessed darling hehlnd our harl's. And 
 '• Do you think it was to see ijoa or any one belonging 
 to your stuck-up liouse, sir, that we came to you so 
 often, which we certainly did, day and night, break- 
 fast and supper, and no thanks to you? No, sir ! ha, ha ! " 
 I can see her flaunting out of my sitting-room as she 
 speaks, with a strident laugh, and snapping her dingily 
 gloved fingers at the door. Oh, Philip, Philip ! To think 
 that 3^ou were such a coward as to go and tell her ! But 
 I pardon him. Prom my heart I pity and pardon him. 
 
 Por the step which he is meditating 3'ou may be sure that 
 the young man himself does not feel the smallest need of 
 pardon or pity. He is in a state of happiness so crazy that 
 it is useless to reason with him. Not being at all of a 
 poetical turn originally, the wretch is actually perpetrating 
 verse in secret, and my servants found fragments of his 
 manuscript on the dressing-table in his bedroom. Heart 
 and art, sever and forever, and so on ; what stale rhymes 
 are these ! I do not feel at liberty to give in entire the 
 poem which our maid found in Mr. Philii)'s room, and 
 brought sniggering to my wife, wdio only said, "Poor 
 thing ! " The fact is, it was too pitiable. Such maunder- 
 ing rubbish ! Such stale rhymes, and such old thoughts ! 
 But then, says Laura, " I dare say all people's love-making 
 is not amusing to their neighbors ; and I know who wrote 
 not very wise love-verses when he w^as young." Xo, T 
 w^on't publish Philip's verses, until some day he shall 
 mortally offend me. I can recall some of my own written 
 under similar circumstances with twinges of shame ; and 
 shall drop a veil of decent friendship over my friend's 
 folly. 
 
 Under that veil, meanwhile, the young man is perfectly 
 contented, nay, uproariously happy. All earth and nature 
 smiles round about him. " AYlien Jove meets his Juno, in 
 Homer, sir," says Philip, in his hectoring way, "don't 
 immortal flowers of beauty spring up round them, and 
 rainbows of celestial hues bend over their heads ? Love, 
 sir, flings a halo round the loved one. Where she moves 
 rise roses, hyacinths, and ambrosial odors. Don't talk to 
 me about poverty, sir ! He either fears his fate too much 
 or his desert is small, who dares not put it to the touch and 
 wdn or lose it all ! Haven't T endured poverty ? Am I not 
 as poor now as a man can be — and what is there in it ? 
 Do I want for anything ? Haven't I got a guinea in my
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 345 
 
 pocket ? Do I owe any man anything ? Isn't there 
 manna in the wihlerness for those who have faith to walk 
 in it ? That's where yon fail, Pen. By all that is sacred, 
 yon have no faith ; 3'onr heart is cowardly, sir ; and if yon 
 are to escape, as perhaps yon may, 1 snspect it is by your 
 wife that yon will be saved. Lanra has a trust in heav^en, 
 but Arthur's morals are a genteel atheism. Just reach me 
 that claret — the wine's not bad. I say your morals are a 
 genteel atheism, and I shudder when I think of your con- 
 dition. Talk to vie about a brougham being necessary for 
 the comfort of a woman ! A broomstick to ride to the 
 moon I And I don't sa}' that a brougham is not a comfort, 
 mind you; but that, when it is a necessity, mark you, 
 heaven will provide it ! Why, sir, hang it, look at me ! 
 Ain't I suffering in the most abject poverty ? I ask you is 
 there a man in London so poor as T am ? And since my 
 father's ruin do I want for anything? I want for shelter 
 for a day or two. Good. There's my dear Little Sister 
 ready to give it me. I want for money. Does not that 
 sainted widow's cruse pour its oil out for me ? Heaven 
 bless and reward her. Boo ! " (Here, for reasons which 
 need not be named, the orator squeezes his fists into his 
 eyes.) " I want shelter ; ain't I in good quarters ? I want 
 work; haven't I got work, and did you not get it for me? 
 You should just see, sir, how I polished off tliat book of 
 travels this morning. I read some of the article to Char — , 
 
 to Miss , to some friends, in fact. I don't mean to say 
 
 that they are ver}^ intellectual people, but your common 
 humdrum average audience is the public to try. Recollect 
 Moliere and his housekeeper, you know." 
 
 " By the housekeeper, do you mean Mrs. Baynes ? " I 
 ask, in my amonflllado manner. (l^>y the way, who ever 
 heard of amontlllado in the early days of which I write ?) 
 " In manner she would do, and I dare say in accomplish- 
 ments ; but I donbt about her temper." 
 
 " You're almost as worldly as the Twysdens, by George, 
 you are ! Unless persons are of a certain monde, yon don't 
 value them. A little adversity would do you good. Pen ; 
 and I heartily wish you might get it, except for the dear 
 wife and children. You measure your morality by May 
 Fair standards ; and if an angel unawares came to you in 
 pattens and a cotton umbrella, you would turn away from 
 her. Yoit would never have found out the Little Sister. A 
 duchess — God bless her ! A creature of an imperial
 
 346 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 generosity, and delicaey, and intrepidity, and the finest 
 sense of Immor ; but she drops lier A's often, and how 
 could you pardon such a crime ? Sir, you are my better in 
 wit and a dexteroas application of your powers ; but I 
 think, sir," says Phil, curling the flaming moustache, "I 
 am your superior in a certain magnanimity ; though, by 
 Jove, old felloW; man and boy, you have always been one 
 of the best fellows in the world to P. F. ; one of the best 
 fellows, and the most generous, and the most cordial, — 
 that you have : only you do rile me when you sing in that 
 confounded May Fair twang." 
 
 Here one of the children summoned us to tea — and 
 ^^Papa was laughing, and Uncle Philip was flinging his 
 hands about and pulling his beard off," said the little 
 messenger. 
 
 ^''I shall keep a fine lock of it for you, Nelly, my dear," 
 says Uncle Philip. On which the child said, " Oh, no ! I 
 know whom you'll give it to, don't I, mamma ? " and she 
 goes up to her mamma and whispers. 
 
 Miss Nelly knows ? At what age do those little match- 
 makers begin to know, and how soon do they practise the 
 use of their young eyes, their little smiles, wiles, and ogles ? 
 This young woman, I believe, coquetted whilst she Avas yet 
 a baby in arms, over her nurse's shoulder. Before she 
 could speak, she could be proud of her new vermilion 
 shoes, and would point out the charms of her blue sash. 
 She was jealous in the nursery, and her little heart had 
 beat for years and years before she left off pinafores. 
 
 For whom will Philip keep a lock of that red, red gold 
 which curls round his face ? Can you guess ? Of what 
 color is the hair in that locket which the gentleman him- 
 self occultly wears ? A few months ago, I believe, a pale 
 straw-colored wisp of hair occupied that place of honor ; 
 now it is a chestnut-brown, as far as I can see, of precisely 
 the same color as that which waves round Charlotte 
 Baynes's pretty face, and tuml)les in clusters on her 
 neck, very nearly the color of Mrs. Paynter's this last 
 season. So, you see, we chop and we change ; straw gives 
 place to chestnut, and chestnut is succeeded by ebony ; 
 and, for our own parts, we defy time ; and if you want a 
 lock of my hair, Belinda, take this pair of scissors, and 
 look in that cupboard, in the bandbox marked No. 3, and 
 cut off a thick glossy piece, darlinq^, and wear it, dear, 
 and my blessings go with thee ! What is this ? Am I
 
 ON ins WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 347 
 
 sneering because Coiydon and Phyllis are wooing and 
 happy ? You see I pledged myself not to have any senti- 
 mental nonsense. To describe love-making is immoral and 
 immodest ; you know it is. To describe it as it really is, 
 or would appear to you and me as lookers-on, would be to 
 describe the most dreary farce, to chronicle the most tau- 
 tological twaddle. To take a note of sighs, hand-squeezes, 
 looks at the moon, and so forth — does this business 
 become our dignity as historians ? Come away from those 
 foolish young people — they don't want us; and dreary as 
 their farce is, and tautological as tlieir twaddle, you may 
 be sure it amuses them, and that they are happy enough 
 without us. Happy ? Is there any happiness like it, 
 jDray ? Was it not rapture to watch the messenger, to seize 
 the note, and fee the bearer ? — to retire out of sight of all 
 prying eyes, and read : — " Dearest ! Mamma's cold is bet- 
 ter this morning. The Joneses came to tea, and Julia 
 sang. 1 did hot enjoy it, as my dear was at his horrid 
 dinner, where I hope he amused himself. Send me a word 
 by Buttles, who brings this, if only to say you are your 
 Louisa's own, own," &c., &c., &c. That used to be the kind 
 of thing. In such coy lines artless Innocence used to 
 whisper its little vows. So she used to smile ; so she used 
 to warble ; so she used to prattle. Young people, at pres- 
 ent engaged in the pretty sport, be assured your middle- 
 aged parents have played the game, and remember the 
 rules of it. Y^es, under papa's bow-window^ of a w^aistcoat 
 is a heart which took very violent exercise when that 
 waist was slim. Now he sits tranquilly in his tent, and 
 watches the lads going in for their innings. AYhy, look at 
 grandmamma in her spectacles reading that sermon. In 
 lier old heart there is a corner as romantic still as when 
 she used to read the "AYild Irish Girl" or the "Scottish 
 Chiefs" in the days of her misshood. And as for your 
 grandfather, my dears, to see him now you would little 
 suppose that that calm, polished, dear old gentleman was 
 once as wild — as wild as Orson. . . . Under my Avindows, 
 as I write, there passes an itinerant flower-merchant. He 
 has his roses and geraniums on a cart drawn by a quad- 
 ruped — a little long-eared quadruped, which lifts up its 
 voice, and sings after its manner. When I was young, 
 donkeys used to bray precisely in the same w^ay ; and 
 others will heehaw so, when w^e are silent and our ears 
 hear no more.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 DRUM TST S SO WOHL MIR IN DER WELT. 
 
 UR new friends lived 
 for a while contentedly 
 enough at Boulogne, 
 where they found com- 
 rade s and acquaint- 
 ances gathered together 
 from those many re- 
 gions wjiich they had 
 visited in the course 
 of their military 
 career. JNIrs. Baynes, 
 out of the held, was 
 the commanding officer 
 over the G-eneral. She 
 ordered his clothes for 
 him, tied his neckcloth 
 into a neat bow, and, on tpR-party evenings, pinned his 
 brooch into his shirt-frill. Slie gave him to understand 
 when he had had enough to eat or drink at dinner, and 
 explained, with great frankness, how this or that dish did 
 not agree with him. If he was disposed to exceed, she 
 would call out, in a loud voice : " Remember, G-eneral, 
 Avhat you took this morning!" Knowing his constitution, 
 as she said, she knew the remedies which were necessary 
 for her husband, and administered them to him with great 
 liberality. Resistance was impossible, as the veteran 
 officer acknowledged. "The boys have fought about the 
 medicine since we came home," he confessed, " but she 
 has me under her thumb, by George. She really is a mag- 
 nificent physician, now. She has got some invaluable pre- 
 scriptions, and in India she used to doctor the whole 
 station." She would have taken the present writer's little 
 household under her care, and proposed several remedies 
 for my children, until their alarmed mother was obliged 
 
 348
 
 THE ADVENTURES OE PHILIP. 349 
 
 to keep tlieri out of lier sight. I am not saying this was 
 an agreeable woman. Her voice was loud and harsh. 
 The anecdotes which she was forever narrating related 
 to military personages in foreign countries with whom I 
 was unacquainted, and whose history failed to interest me. 
 She took her wine with much spirit, whilst engaged in this 
 prattle. I have heard talk not less foolish in much finer 
 company, and known people delighted to listen to anec- 
 dotes of the duchess and the marchioness who would yawn 
 over the history of Captain Jones's quarrels with his lady, 
 or ]\rrs. Major Wolfe's monstrous flirtations with young 
 Ensign Kyd. My wife, with the mischievousness of her 
 sex, would mimic the Baynes's conversation very drolly, 
 but always insisted that she was not more really vulgar 
 than many much greater persons. 
 
 For all this, ]Mrs. General Baynes did not hesitate to 
 declare that we were " stuck-up " people ; and from the 
 very first setting eyes on us she declared that she viewed 
 us with a constant darkling suspicion, Mrs. P. was a 
 harmless, washed-out creature, and nothing in her. As for 
 that high and mighty Mr. P. and his airs, she would be 
 glad to know whether the wife of the British general 
 officer who had seen service in every xjart of the (jlohe, and 
 met the most cUst'ituji'ished governors, generals, and their 
 ladies, several of whom were noblemen — she would be glad 
 to know whether such people were not good enough for, &c., 
 &c. Who has not met with these difficulties in life, and 
 who can escape them? "Hang it, sir," Phil would say, 
 twirling the red moustache, "I like to be hated by some 
 fellows " ; and it must be owned that Mr. Philip got what 
 he liked. I suppose Mr. Philip's friend and biographer 
 had something of the same feeling. At any rate, in regard 
 of this lady the hypocrisy of politeness was very hard to 
 keep up ; wanting us for reasons of her own, she covered 
 the dagger with which she would have stabbed us : but we 
 knew it was there clenched in her skinny hand in her 
 meagre pocket. She would pay us the most fulsome com- 
 pliments with anger raging out of her eyes — a little hate- 
 iDcaring woman, envious, malicious, but loving her cubs, 
 and nursing them, and clutching them in her lean arms 
 with a jealous strain. It was "Good-by, darling! I shall 
 leave you here with your friends. Oh, how kind you are 
 to her, l\[rs. Pendennis ! How can I ever thank you, and 
 Mr. P., I am sure ; " and she looked as if she could poison
 
 350 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 both of us, as she went away, courtesying and darting 
 dreary parting smiles. 
 
 This lady had an intimate friend and companion in arms, 
 ]\Irs. Colonel Bunch, in fact, of the — th Bengal Cavalry, . 
 who was now in Europe with Bunch and their children, 
 w^ho were residing at Paris for the young folks' education. 
 At first, as Ave have heard, Mrs. Baynes's predilections liad 
 been all for Tours, where her sister was living, and where 
 lodgings were cheap and food reasonable in proportion. 
 But Bunch happening to pass through Boulogne on his way 
 to his wife at Paris, and meeting liis old comrade, gave 
 General Baynes such an account of the cheapness and 
 pleasures of the French capital as to induce the General 
 to think of bending his steps thither. Mrs. Baynes would 
 not hear of such a plan. She was all for her dear sister 
 and Tours ; but when, in the course of conversation. 
 Colonel Bunch described a ball at the Tuileries, where he 
 and Mrs. B. had been received with the most flattering 
 politeness by the royal family, it was remarked that Mrs. 
 Baynes's mind underwent a change. AYhen Bunch went 
 on to aver that the balls at the Government House at 
 Calcutta were nothing compared to those at the Tuileries 
 or the Prefecture of the Seine; that the Engli&h were 
 invited and respected everywhere ; that the ambassador was 
 most hospitable ; that the clergymen were admirable ; and 
 that at their boarding-house, kept by Madame la Gencrale 
 Baronne de Smolensk, at the ''Petit Chateau d'Espagne," 
 Avenue de Valmy, Champs Elysees, they had balls twice a 
 month, the most comfortable apartments, the most clioice 
 society, and every comfort and luxury at so many francs 
 per month, with an allowance for children — I say Mrs. 
 Baynes was very greatly moved. " It is not," she said, " in 
 consequence of the balls at the Ambassador's or the Tuiler- 
 ies, for I am an old woman ; and in spite of what you say. 
 Colonel, I can't fancy, after Government House, anything 
 more magnificent in any Erencli palace. It is not for vie, 
 goodness knows, I speak : but the children should have 
 education, and my Charlotte an entree into the world ; and 
 what you say of the invaluable clergyman, Mr. X., I 
 have been thinking of it all night; but above all, above 
 all, of the chances of education for my darlings. Kothing 
 should give way to that — nothing!" On this a long and 
 delightful conversation and calculation took place. Bunch 
 produced his bills at the Baroness de Smolensk's. The
 
 ON HJS WAV THROUGH THE WORLD. 351 
 
 two gentlemen jotted up accounts, and made calculations 
 all through the evening. It was hard even for Mrs. 
 Baynes to force the figures into such a shape as to make 
 them accord with the General's income ; but, driven away 
 by one calculation after another, she returned again and 
 again to the charge, until she overcame the stubborn arith- 
 metical difficulties--, and the pounds, shillings, and pence 
 lay prostrate before her. They could save upon this point; 
 they could screw upon that ; they viiist make a sacrifice to 
 educate the children. " Sarah Bunch and her girls go to 
 Court, indeed ! Why shouldn't mine go ? " she asked. On 
 which her General said, '• By George, Eliza, that's the point 
 you are thinking of." On which Eliza said "No," and 
 repeated " Xo " a score of times, growing more angry as she 
 uttered each denial. And she declared before heaven she 
 did not want to go to any Court. Had she not refused to 
 be presented at home, though Mrs. Colonel Flack went, 
 because she did not choose to go to the wicked expense of 
 a train ? And it was base of the General, base and mean 
 of him to say so. And there was a hue scene, as I am 
 given to understand ; not that I was present at this family 
 light : but my informant was I^Ir. Firmin ; and ^Ir. 
 Firmin had his information from a little person who, about 
 this time, had got to prattle out all the secrets of her 
 young heart to him ; who would have jumped off the pier- 
 head with her hand in his if he had said " Come," without 
 his hand if he had said '•' Go " : a little person whose whole 
 life had been changed — changed for a month past — 
 changed in one minute, that minute when she saw Philip's 
 fiery whiskers and heard his great big voice saluting her 
 father amongst the commissioners on the quai before the 
 custom-house. 
 
 Tours was, at any rate, a hundred and fifty miles farther 
 off than Paris from — from a city where a 3'oung gentleman 
 lived in whom iSriss Charlotte Baynes felt an interest; 
 hence, I suppose, arose her delight that her parents had 
 determined upon taking up their residence in the larger 
 and nearer city. Besides, she owned, in the course of her 
 artless confidences to my wife, that, when together, mamma 
 and aunt ^lacWhirter quarrelled unceasingly ; and had once 
 caused the old boys, the ^lajor and the General, to call 
 each other out. ^She preferred, then, to live away from 
 aunt Mac. She had never had such a friend as Laura, 
 never. She had never been so happy as at Boulogne,
 
 352 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 never. She should always love everybody in our house, 
 that she should, forever and ever — and so forth, and so 
 forth. The ladies meet ; cling together ; osculations are 
 carried round the whole family circle, from our wondering 
 eldest boy, who cries, " I say, hullo ! what are you kissing 
 me so about ? " to darling baby, crowing and unconscious 
 in the rapturous young girl's embraces. I tell you, these 
 two women were making fools of themselves, and they 
 were burning with enthusiasm for the " preserver " of the 
 Baynes family, as they called that big fellow yonder, whose 
 biographer I have aspired to be. The lazy rogue lay bask- 
 ing in the glorious warmth and sunshine of early love. He 
 would stretch his big limbs out in our garden ; pour out 
 his feelings with endless volubility ; call upon homlnum 
 divumque voViiptas, ahna Venus ; vow that he had never 
 lived or been happy until now ; declared that he laughed 
 poverty to scorn and all lier ills ; and fume against his 
 masters of the Pall Mall Gazette, because they declined to 
 insert certain love-verses which Mr. Philip now composed 
 almost every day. Poor little Charlotte ! And didst thou 
 receive those treasures of song; and wonder over them, not 
 perhaps comprehending them altogether; and lock them 
 up in thy heart's inmost casket as well as in thy little 
 desk; and take them out in quiet hours, and kiss them, 
 and bless heaven for giving thee such jewels ? I dare say. 
 I can fancy all this, without seeing it. I can read the 
 little letters in the little desk, without picking lock or 
 breaking seal. Poor little letters ! Sometimes they are 
 not spelt right, quite ; but I don't know that the style is 
 worse for that. Poor little letters ! You are flung to the 
 winds sometimes and forgotten with all your sweet secrets 
 and loving artless confessions ; but not always — no, not 
 always. As for Phili]:), Avho was the most careless creature 
 alive, and left all his clothes and haberdashery sprawling on 
 his bedroom floor, he had at this time a breast-pocket stuffed 
 out with papers which crackled in the most ridiculous way. 
 He was always looking down at this precious pocket, and put- 
 ting one of his great hands over it as though he would 
 guard it. The pocket did not contain bank-notes, you may 
 be sure of that. It contained documents stating that 
 mamma's cold is better ; the Joneses came to tea, and eTulia 
 sang, &c. Ah, friend, however old you are now, however 
 cold you are now, however tough, I hope you, too, remem- 
 ber how Julia sang, and the Joneses came to tea.
 
 ox HIS WAY "Jim or Gil THE ViORLD. 3c3 
 
 ]\rr. Philip stayed on week after week, declaring to my 
 wife that she was a perfect angel for keeping him so long. 
 Bunch wrote from his boarding-house more and more enthu- 
 siastic reports about the comforts of the establishment. 
 For his sake Madame la Baronne de Smolensk would make 
 unheard-of sacrifices^ in order to accommodate the General 
 and his distinguished party. The balls were going to be 
 ])erfectly splendid that winter. There were several old 
 Indians living near; in fact they could form a regular little 
 club. It was agreed that Ba^^nes should go and reconnoitre 
 the ground. He did go. Madame de Smolensk, a most 
 elegant woman, had a magnificent dinner for him — quite 
 splendid, I give you my word, but only what they have 
 every day. Soup, of course, my love ; fish, capital wine, 
 and, I should say, some five or six and thirt}^ made dishes. 
 The General Avas quite enraptured. Bunch had put his 
 boys to a famous school, where the}^ might ''whop" the 
 French boj'S, and learn all the modern languages. The 
 little ones would dine early ; the baroness would take 
 the whole family at an astouishingl}^ cheap rate. In a 
 word, the Baynes column got the route for Paris shortly 
 before our family-party was crossing the seas to return to 
 London fogs and (hxtx. 
 
 You have, no doubt, remarked how, under certain J:ender 
 circumstances women will help one another. They help 
 where they ought not to help. When Mr. Darby ought to 
 be separated from ^liss Joan, and the best thing that could 
 happen for both would be a lettre de cachet to whip off 
 jMons. Darby to the Bastile for five years, and an order 
 from her parents to lock up Mademoiselle Jeanne in a 
 convent, some aunt, some relative, some pitying female 
 friend is sure to be found, who will give the pair a chance 
 of meeting, and turn her head away whilst those unhappy 
 lovers are warbling endless good-bys close up to each 
 other's ears. M}' wife, I have said, chose to feel this 
 absurd sympathy for the young j^eople about whom we 
 have been just talking. As the days for Charlotte's 
 departure drew near, this wretched, misguiding matron 
 would take the girl out walking into I know not what 
 unfrequented bj^-lanes, quiet streets, rampart-nooks, and the 
 like: and la! b}^ the most singular coincidence, Mr. Philip's 
 hulking boots would assuredly come tramping after the 
 Avomen's little feet. AVhat will you say, when I tell you, 
 that I myself, the father of the family, the renter of the 
 
 VOL. I. — '2?j
 
 354 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 old-fashioned house, Rue Roucoule, Haute Ville, Boulogne- 
 sur-Mer — as I am going into my own study — am met at 
 the threshokl by Helen, my eldest daughter, who puts her 
 little arms before the glass door at which I was about to 
 enter, and says, " You must not go in there, papa ! Mamma 
 says we none of us are to go in there." 
 
 " And why, pray ? " I ask. 
 
 '' Because Uncle Philip and Charlotte are talking secrets 
 there ; and nobody is to disturb them — nobody ! " 
 
 Upon my word, wasn't this too monstrous ? Am I Sir 
 Pandarus of Troy become ? Am I going to allow a penni- 
 less young man to steal away the heart of a young girl 
 who has not twopence halfpenny to her fortune ! Shall I, 
 I say, lend myself to this most unjustifiable intrigue ? 
 
 " Sir," says my wife (we happened to have been bred up 
 from childhood together, and I own to have had one or two 
 foolish initiatory flirtations before I settled down to matri- 
 monial fidelity) — " Sir," says she, '^ when you were so 
 wild — so spooney, I think is your elegant word — about 
 Blanche, and used to put letters into a hollow tree for 
 her at home, I used to see the letters, and I never dis- 
 turbed them. These two people have much warmer hearts, 
 and are a great deal fonder of each other than you and 
 Blanche used to be. I should not like to separate Char- 
 lotte from Philip now. It is too late, sir. She can never 
 like anybody else as she likes him. If she lives to be a 
 hundred, she will never forget him. Why should not the 
 poor thing be happy a little, while she may ? " 
 
 An old house, with a green old courtyard, and an ancient 
 mossy wall, through breaks of which I can see the roofs 
 and gables of the quaint old town, the city below, th^ 
 shining sea, and the white English cliffs beyond; a green 
 old courtyard, and a tall old stone house rising up in it, 
 grown over with many a creeper on which the sun casts 
 flickering shadows ; and under the shadows, and through the 
 glass of a tall gray window, I can just peep into a brown 
 twilight parlor, and there I see two hazy figures by a table. 
 One slim figure has brown hair, and one has flame-colored 
 whiskers. Look, a ray of sunshine has just peered into 
 the room, and is lighting the whiskers up ! 
 
 "Poor little thing," Avhispers my wife, very gently. 
 "They are going awa}^ to-morrow. Let them have their 
 talk out. She is crving her little eyes out, I am sure. 
 Poor little Charlotte!"
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. Z:^o 
 
 Whilst my wife was pitying Miss Charlotte in this 
 pathetic way, and was going, I dare say, to have recourse 
 to her own pocket-handkerchief, as I live there came a 
 burst of laughter from the darkling chamber where the 
 two lovers were billing and cooing. First came IMr. 
 Philip's great boom (such a roar — such a haw-haw, or 
 hee-haw, I never heard any other ^?6'o-legged animal per- 
 form). Then follows Miss Charlotte's tinkling peal ; and 
 presently that young person comes out into the garden, 
 with her round face not bedewed with tears at all, but per- 
 fectly rosy, fresh, dimpled, and good-humored. Charlotte 
 gives me a little courtesy, and my wife a hand and a kind 
 glance. They retreat through the open casement, twining 
 round each other, as the vine does round the window; 
 though which is the vine and which is the window in this 
 simile, I pretend not to say — I can't see through either of 
 them, that is the truth. They pass through the ^^arlor, 
 and into the street beyond, doubtless : and as for Mr. 
 Philip, I presently see his head popped out of his window 
 in the upper floor with his great pipe in his mouth. He 
 can't "work" without his pipe, he says; and my wife 
 believes him. AVork, indeed ! 
 
 Miss Charlotte paid us another little visit that evening, 
 when we happened to be alone. The children were gone 
 to bed. The darlings ! Charlotte must go up and kiss 
 them. ]\Ir. Philip Firniin was out. She did not seem to 
 miss him in the least, nor did she make a single inquiry 
 for him. We had been so good to her — so kind. How 
 should she ever forget our great kindness ? She had been 
 so happy — oh ! so happy ! She had never been so happy 
 before. She would write often and often, and Laura would 
 write constantly — wouldn't she ? " Yes, dear chid ! " says 
 my wife. And now a little more kissing, and it is time to 
 go home to the Tintelleries. What a lovely night ! Indeed 
 the moon was blazing in full round in the purple heavens, 
 and the stars were twinkling by myriads. 
 
 " Good-by, dear Charlotte ; happiness go with you ! " I 
 seize her hand. I feel a paternal desire to kiss her fair, 
 round face. Her sweetness, her happiness, her artless 
 good-humor and gentleness has endeared her to us all. As 
 for me, I love her with a fatherly affection. '■'■ Stay, my 
 dear!" I cry, with a happy gallantry. "I'll go home with 
 you to the Tintelleries." 
 
 You should have seen the fair round face then ! Such a
 
 35G THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 piteous expression came over it ! She looked at my wife; 
 and as for that Mrs. Laura, she pulled the tail of my coat. 
 
 " What do you mean, my dear ? " I ask. 
 
 "Don't go out on such a dreadful night. You'll catch 
 cold ! " says Laura. 
 
 " Cold, my love ! " I say. " Why, it's as fine a night as 
 ever — " 
 
 "Oh! you — you stoop id ! ^^ says Laura, and begins to 
 laugh. And there goes Miss Charlotte tripping away from 
 us without a word more. 
 
 Philip came in about half an hour afterwards. And do 
 you know I very strong!}- suspect that he had been waiting 
 round the corner. Few things escape me, you see, when I 
 have a mind to be observant. And, certainly, if I had 
 thought of that possibility and that I might be spoiling 
 sport, I should not have x)roposed to ]\Iiss Charlotte to 
 walk home with her. 
 
 At a very early hour on the next morning my wife arose, 
 and spent, in my opinion, a great deal of unprofitable time, 
 bread, butter, cold beef, mustard, and salt, in compiling a 
 heap of sandwiches, which were tied up in a copy of the 
 Pall Mall Gazette. That persistence in making sand- 
 wiches, in providing cakes and other refreshments for a 
 journey, is a strange infatuation in women ; as if there 
 was not always enough to eat to be had at road inns and 
 railway stations ! What a good dinner we used to have at 
 Montreuil in the old days, before railways were, and when 
 the diligence spent four or six and twenty cheerful hours 
 on its way to Paris ! I think the finest dishes are not to 
 be compared to that well-remembered fricandeau of j^outh, 
 nor do wines of the most dainty vintage surpass the rough, 
 honest, blue ordinaire which was served at the plenteous 
 inn-table. I took our bale of sandwiches down to the ofhee 
 of the Messageries, whence our friends were to start. We 
 saw six of the Baynes family packed into the interior of 
 the diligence ; and the boys climb cheerily into the rotonde. 
 Charlotte's pretty lips and hands wafted kisses to us from 
 her corner. Mrs. General Baynes commanded the column, 
 pushed the little ones into their places in the ark, ordered 
 the General and young ones hither and thither with her 
 parasol, declined to give the grumbling porters any but the 
 smallest gratuity, and talked a shrieking jargon of French 
 and Hindustanee to the people assembled round the car- 
 riage. My wife has that command over me that she actu-
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 357 
 
 -'rr^ WW V' ^f ' ZK ' wnni 
 
 ally made me demean myself so far as to deliver tlie sand- 
 wich parcel to one of tlie Baynes boys. I said, " Take this," 
 and the poor wretch held out his hand eagerly, evidently 
 expecting that T was about to tip him witli a five-franc 
 piece or some such coin. Fouette, cocJier ! The horses
 
 358 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 squeal. The huge machine jingles over the road, and 
 rattles down the street. Farewell, pretty Charlotte, with 
 your sweet face and sweet voice and kind eyes ! But, 
 why, prav, is Mr. Philip Firniin not here to say farewell 
 too? 
 
 Before the diligence got under way, the Baynes boys had 
 fought, and quarrelled, and wanted to mount on the imperial 
 or cabriolet of the carriage, where there was only one 
 passenger as yet. But the conductor called the lads oft", 
 saying that the remaining place was engaged by a gentle- 
 man whom they were to take up on the road. And who 
 should this turn out to be ? Just outside the town a man 
 springs up to the imperial; his light luggage, it appears, 
 was on the coach already, and that luggage belonged to Philip 
 Firmin. Ah, monsieur! and that was the reason, was it, 
 why they were so merry yesterday — the parting day ? 
 Because they were not going to part just then. Because, 
 when the time of execution drew near, they had managed 
 to smuggle a little reprieve ! Upon my conscience, I never 
 lieard of such imprudence in the whole course of my life ! 
 Why, it is starvation — certain misery to one and the other. 
 '' I don't like to meddle in other people's affairs," I say to 
 my wife ; " but I have no patience with such folly, or with 
 myself for not speaking to General Baynes on the subject. 
 I shall write to the General." 
 
 "My dear, the General knows all about it," says Char- 
 lotte's, Philip's (in my opinion) most injudicious friend. 
 " We have talked about it, and, like a man of sense, the 
 General makes light of it. ^ Young folks will be young 
 folks,' he says; 'and, by George! ma'am, when I married 
 — I should sa}^, when Mrs. B. ordered me to marry her — 
 she had nothing, and I but my captain's pay. People get 
 on, somehow. Better for a young man to marry, and keep 
 out of idleness and mischief; and I promise you, the chap 
 who marries my girl gets a treasure. I like the boy for the 
 sake of my old friend Phil Eingwood. I don't see that the 
 fellows with the rich wives are much the happier, or that 
 men should wait to marry until they are gouty old rakes.' " 
 And, it appears, the General instanced several officers of his 
 own acquaintance ; some of whom had married when they 
 were young and poor ; some who had married when they 
 were old and sulky : some who had never married at all. 
 And he mentioned his comrade, my own uncle, the Inte jNFajor 
 Pendennis, whom he called a seltish old creature, and hinted
 
 ON HIS WAY TlinOUGH THE WORLD. 359 
 
 that the j\[ajor had jilted some lady in early life, whom he 
 would have done much better to marry. 
 
 And so Philip is actually gone after his charmer, and is 
 pursuing her sunimci dil'ujentid? The Baynes family has 
 allowed this penniless young law student to make love to 
 their daughter, or accompany them to Paris, to appear as 
 the almost recognized son of the house. '^ Other people, 
 when they were young, wanted to make imprudent mar- 
 riages," says my wife (as if that wretched tu quo(j[ue w^ere 
 any answer to my remark ! ) '- This penniless law student 
 might have a good sum of money if he chose to press the 
 Baynes family to pay him what, after all, they owe him." 
 And so poor little Charlotte was to be her father's ransom ! 
 To be sure, little Charlotte did not object to offer herself up 
 in payment of her papa's debt! And though I objected as 
 a moral man, and a prudent man, and a father of a family, I 
 could not be very seriously angry. I am secretly of the 
 disposition of the time-honored ^j»e;'e defumille in the come- 
 dies, the irascible old gentleman in the crop wig and 
 George-the-Second coat, who is always menacing "Tom the 
 young dog " with his cane. When the deed is done, and 
 Miranda (the little sly-boots ! ) falls before my squaretoes 
 and shoebuckles, and Tom, the young dog, kneels before me 
 in his white ducks, and they cry out in a pretty chorus, 
 "Forgive us, grandpapa!" I say, "Well, j'Ou rogue, boys 
 will be boys. Take her, sirrah ! Be happy with her ; and, 
 hark ye ! in this pocket-book you will find ten thousand," 
 &c., &c. You all know the stor}^ : I cannot help liking it, 
 however old it may be. In love, somehow, one is pleased 
 that young people should dare a little. Was not Bessy 
 Eldon famous as an economist, and Lord Eldon celebrated 
 for Avisdom and .caution ? and did not John Scott marry 
 Elizabeth Surtees when they had scarcely twopence a j^ear 
 between them ? " Of course, my dear," I say to the x>artner 
 of my existence, " now this madcap fellow is utterly ruined, 
 now is the very time he ought to marry. The accepted 
 doctrine is that a man should spend his own fortune, then 
 his wife's fortune, and then he may begin to get on at the 
 bar. Philip has a hundred pounds, let us say ; Charlotte 
 has nothing; so that in about six weeks we may look to 
 hear of Philip being in successful practice — " 
 
 " Successful nonsense ! " cries the lady. " Don't go on 
 like a cold-blooded calculating machine ! You don't believe 
 a word of what you say, and a more imprudent person
 
 360 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 never lived than you yourself were as a young man." This 
 was departing from the question, which women will do. 
 "Nonsense ! " again says my romantic being of a partner-of- 
 existence. "Don't tell me, sir. They will be provided 
 for ! Are we to be forever taking care of the morrow, and 
 not trusting that we shall be cared for ? You may call 
 your way of thinking prudence. I call it sbifid ivorl(Ui7iess, 
 sir." When a life-partner speaks in a certain strain, I 
 know that remonstrance is useless, and argument unavailing, 
 and I generally resort to cowardly subterfuges, and sneak 
 out of the conversation by a pun, a side joke or some other 
 flippancy. Besides, in this case, though I argue against my 
 wife, my sympathy is on her side. I know Mr. Philip is 
 imprudent and headstrong, but I should like him to succeed, 
 and be happy. I own he is a scapegrace, but I wish him 
 well. 
 
 So, just as the diligence of Lafitte and Caillard is clearing 
 out of Boulogne town, the conductor causes the carriage to 
 stop, and a young fellow has mounted up on the roof in a 
 twinkling; and the postilion says "Hi ! " to his horses, and 
 away those squealing grays go clattering. And a young 
 lady, happening to look out of one of the windows of the 
 interieur, has perfectly recognized the young gentleman 
 who leaped up to the roof so nimbly ; and the two boys who 
 were in the rotonde would have recognized the gentleman, 
 but that they were already eating the sandwiches which my 
 wife had provided. And so the diligence goes on, until it 
 reaches that hill, where the girls used to come and offer to 
 sell you apples ; and some of the passengers descend and 
 walk, and the till young man on the roof jumps down, and 
 approaches the party in the interior, and a young lady cries 
 out " La ! " and her mamma looks impenetrably grave, and 
 not in the least surprised ; and her father gives a wink of 
 one eye, and says, " It's him, is it, by George ! " and the 
 two boys coming out of the rotonde, their mouths full of 
 mndwich, cry out, " Hullo ! It's Mr. Firmin." 
 
 " How do you do, ladies ? " he says, blushing as red as an 
 apple, and his heart thumping — but that may be from 
 walking up hill. And he puts a hand towards a carriage- 
 window and a little hand comes out and lights on his. 
 And Mrs. General Baynes, who is reading a religious work, 
 looks up and says, "Oh! how do you do, J\[r. Firmin?" 
 And this is the remarkable dialogue that takes place. It is 
 not very witty; but Philip's tones send a rapture into one
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 361 
 
 young heart ; and wlien lie is absent, and has climbed up to 
 his place in the cabriolet, the kick of his boots on the roof 
 gives the said young heart inexjjressible comfort and conso- 
 lation. Shine, stars and moon. Shriek, gray horses, through 
 the calm night. Snore sweetly, papa and mamma, in your 
 corners, with your pocket-handkerchiefs tied round your 
 old fronts ! I suppose, under all the stars of heaven, there 
 is nobody more happy than that child in that carriage — 
 that wakeful girl, in sweet maiden meditation — who has 
 given her heart to the keeping of the champion w^ho is so 
 near her. Has he not been always their champion and 
 preserver ? Don't they owe to his generosity eveiything in 
 life ? One of the little sisters wakes wildly, and cries in 
 the night, and Charlotte takes the child into her arms and 
 soothes her. "Hush, dear! He's there — he's there," she 
 whispers, as she bends over the child. Nothing wrong can 
 happen with him there, she feels. If the robbers were to 
 spring out from yonder dark pines, why, he would jump 
 down, and they would all fly before him ! The carriage rolls 
 on through sleeping villages, and as the old team retires all 
 in a halo of smoke, and the fresh horses came clattering up 
 to their pole, Charlotte sees a w^ell-known white face in the 
 gleam of the carriage-lanterns. Through the long avenues 
 the great vehicle rolls on its coarse. The dawn peers over 
 the poplars : the stars quiver out of sight : the sun is up in 
 the sky, and the heaven is all in a flame. The night is 
 over — the night of nights. In all the round world, 
 whether lighted by stars or sunshine, there were not two 
 people more happy than these had been. 
 
 A very short time afterwards, at the end of October, our 
 own little sea-side sojourn came to an end. That astound- 
 ing bill for broken glass, chairs, crockeiy, w^as paid. The 
 London steamer takes us all on board on a beautiful, sunny 
 autumn evening, and lands us at the Custom-House Quay in 
 the midst of a deep, dun fog, through which our cabs have 
 to work their way over greasy pavements, and bearing t^ro 
 loads of silent and terrified children. Ah, that return, if 
 but after a fortnight's absence and holiday ! Oh, that heap 
 of letters lying in a ghastly pile, and yet so clearly visible 
 in the dim twilight of master's study ! We cheerfully 
 breakfast by candlelight for the first two days after my 
 arrival at home, and I have the pleasure of cutting a part 
 of my chin off because it is too dark to shave at nine o'clock 
 in the morning.
 
 362 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 My wife can't be so unfeeling as to laugh and be merry 
 because I have met with an acciilent whicli temporarily dis- 
 figures me. If the dun fog makes her jocular, she has a 
 very queer sense of humor. She has a letter before her, 
 over which she is perfectly radiant. When she is especially 
 pleased I can see by her face and a particular animation 
 and affectionateness towards the rest of the family. On 
 this present morning her face beams out of the fog-clouds. 
 The room is illuminated by it, and perhaps by the two can- 
 dles which are placed one on either side of the urn. The 
 tire crackles, and flames, and spits most cheerfully ; and the 
 sky without, which is of the hue of brown paper, seems to 
 set off the brightness of the little interior scene. 
 
 " A letter from Charlotte, papa," cries one little girl; with 
 an air of consequence. " And a letter from Uncle Philip, 
 papa ! " cries another, " and they like Paris so much," con- 
 tinues the little reporter. 
 
 " And there, sir, didn't I tell you ? " cries the lady, hand- 
 ing me over a letter. 
 
 "Mamma always told you so," echoes the child, with an 
 important nod of the head ; " and I shouldn't be surprised 
 if he were to be very rich, should you, mamma ? " continues 
 this arithmetician. 
 
 I would not put Miss Charlotte's letter into print if I 
 could, for do you know that little person's grammar was 
 frequently incorrect ; there were three or four words spelt 
 wrongly ; and the letter was so scored and marked with 
 dashes under every other word, that it is clear to me her 
 education had been neglected; and as I am very fond of 
 her, I do not wish to make fun of her. And I can't print 
 Mr. Philip's letter, for I haven't kept it. Of what use keep- 
 ing letters ? I say. Burn, burn, burn. No heart-pangs. 
 No reproaches. No yesterda}^ Was it haj^py, or misera- 
 ble ? To think of it is always melancholy. Go to ! I dare 
 say it is the thought of that fog which is making this sen- 
 tence so dismal. Meanwhile there is Madame Laura's face 
 smiling out of the darkness, as pleased as may be ; and no 
 wonder, she is always happy when her friends are so. 
 
 Charlotte's letter contained a full account of the settle- 
 ment of the Baynes family at Madame Smolensk's board- 
 ing-house, where they appear to have been really very 
 comfortable, and to have lived at a very cheap rate. As for 
 Mr. Philip, he made his way to a crib, to which his artist 
 friends had recommen:!ed him, on the Faubourg St. Ger-
 
 Oy HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. SG3 
 
 main side of the water — the " Hotel Poiissin," in the street 
 of that name, which lies, you know, between the Mazarin 
 Library and the Musee des Beaux Arts. In former days, 
 my gentleman had lived in state and bounty in the English 
 hotels and quarter. Xow he found liimself very handsomely 
 lodged for thirty francs per month, and with five or six 
 pounds, he has repeatedly said si nee, he could carry through 
 the month very comfortably. I don't say, my young trav- 
 eller, that you can be so lucky nowadays. Are we not 
 telling a story of twenty years ago ? Aye, marry, — ere 
 steam-coaches had begun to scream on French rails ; and 
 when Louis Philippe was king. 
 
 As soon as Mr. Philip Firmin is ruined he must needs fall 
 in love. In order to be near the beloved object, he must 
 needs follow her to Paris, and give up his promised studies 
 for the bar at home ; where, to do him justice, I believe the 
 fellow would never have done any good. And he has not 
 been in Paris a fortnight when that fantastic jade. Fortune, 
 who had seemed to fly away from him, gives him a smiling 
 look of recognition, as if to say, " Young gentleman, I have 
 not quite done with you." 
 
 The good fortune was not much. Do not suppose that 
 Philip suddenly drew a twent3-thousand pound prize in a 
 lottery. But being in much want of money, he suddenly 
 found himself enabled to earn some in a way pretty easy to 
 himself. 
 
 In the first phace, Philip found his friends Mr. and Mrs. 
 Mugford in a bewildered state in the midst of Paris, in 
 which city ^Mugford Avould never consent to have a la qua is 
 de place^ being firmly convinced to the day of his death that 
 he knew the French language quite sufficientl}' for all pur- 
 poses of conversation. Philip, who had often visited Paris 
 before, came to the aid of his friends in a two-franc dining- 
 house, which he frequented for economy's sake ; and they, 
 because they thought the banquet there provided not only 
 cheap, but most magnificent and satisfactory. He inter- 
 preted for them, and rescued them from their perplexity, 
 whatever it was. He treated them handsomely to caffy on 
 the bullyvard, as ]\[ugford said on returning home and in 
 recounting the adventure to me. "He can't forget that he 
 has been a swell : and he does do things like a gentleman, 
 that Firmin does. He came back with us to our hotel — 
 Meurice's," said Mr. Mugford, " and who should drive into 
 the yard and step out of his carriage but Lord Kingwood —
 
 364 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 you know Lord Eingwood ? everybody knows him. As he 
 gets out of his carriage — ' What ! is that you, Philip?' 
 says his lordship, giving the young fellow his hand. ' Come 
 and breakfast with me to-morrow morning.' And away he 
 goes most friendly." 
 
 How came it to pass that Lord Eingwood, Avhose instinct 
 of self-preservation was strong — who, I fear, was rather a 
 selhsh nobleman — and who, of late, as we have heard, had 
 given orders to refuse Mr. Philip entrance at his door — 
 should all of a sudden turn round and greet the young man 
 with cordiality? In the first place, Philip had never 
 troubled his lordship's knocker at all ; and second, as luck 
 would have it, on this very day of their meeting his lordship 
 had been to dine with that well-known Parisian resident and 
 hon viuant, my Lord Viscount Trim, who had been governor 
 of the Sago Islands when Colonel Baynes was there with 
 his regiment, the gallant 100th. And the General and his 
 old West India governor meeting at church, my Lord Trim 
 straightway asked General Baynes to dinner, where Lord 
 Eingwood was present, along with other distinguished com- 
 pany, whom at present we need not particularize. Now it 
 has been said that Philip Eingwood, my lord's brother, and 
 Captain Baynes in early youth had been close friends, and 
 that the Colonel had died in the Captain's arms. Lord 
 Eingwood, who had an excellent memory when he chose to 
 use it, was pleased on this occasion to remember General 
 Baynes and his intimacy with his brother in old days. And 
 of those old times they talked ; the General waxing more 
 eloquent, I suppose, than his wont over Lord Trim's excel- 
 lent wine. And in the course of conversation Philip was 
 named, and the General, warm with drink, poured out a 
 most enthusiastic eulogium on his young friend, and men- 
 tioned how noble and self-denying Philip's conduct had been 
 in his own case. And perhaps Lord Eingwood was pleased 
 at hearing these praises of his brother's grandson ; and per- 
 haps he thought of old times, when he had a heart, and he 
 and his brother loved each other. And though he might 
 think Philip Pirmin an absurd young blockhead for giving 
 up any claims which he might have on General Baynes, at 
 any rate I have no doubt his lordship thought, " This boy is 
 not likely to come begging money from me ! " Hence, when 
 he drove back to his hotel on the very night after this 
 dinner, and in the courtyard saw that Philip Firmin, his 
 brother's grandson, the heart of the old noblen:.an was
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 365 
 
 smitten with a kindly sentiment, and he bade Philip to 
 come and see him. 
 
 I have described some of Philip's oddities, and amongst 
 these was a very remarkable change in his appearance, 
 Avhich ensned very speedily after his rnin. I know that the 
 greater nnmber of story readers are young, and those who 
 are ever so old remember that their own young days 
 occurred but a very, very short while ago. Don't you 
 remember, most potent, grave, and reverend senior, when you 
 were a junior, and actually rather pleased with new clothes ? 
 Does a new coat or a waistcoat cause you any pleasure now ? 
 To a Avell-constituted middle-aged gentleman, I rather trust 
 a smart new suit causes a sensation of uneasiness — not 
 from the tightness of the fit, which may be a reason — but 
 from the gloss and splendor. When my late kind friend, 
 
 Mrs. , gave me the emerald tabbinet waistcoat, with the 
 
 gold shamrocks, I wore it once to go to Eichmond to dine 
 Avith her; but I buttoned myself so closely in an upper 
 coat that I am sure nobod}^ in the omnibus saw what a 
 painted vest I had on. Gold sprigs and emerald tabbinet, 
 what a gorgeous raiment ! It has formed for ten j^ears the 
 chief ornament of my wardrobe ; and though I have never 
 dared to wear it since, I always think with a secret pleasure 
 of possessing that treasure. Do women, when they are 
 sixty, like handsome and fashionable attire, and a youthful 
 appearance ? Look at Lady Jezebel's blushing cheek, her 
 raven hair, her splendid garments ! But this disquisition 
 may be carried to too great a length. I want to note a fact 
 -which has occurred not seldom in my experience — that men 
 who have been great dandies will often and suddenly give 
 up their long-accustomed splendor of dress, and walk about, 
 most happy and contented, with the shabbiest of coats and 
 hats. No. The majority of men are not vain about their 
 dress. Por instance, within a very few years, men used to 
 have pretty feet. See in what a resolute wa}' they have 
 kicked their pretty boots off almost to a man, and wear great, 
 thick, formless, comfortable walking boots, of shape scarcely 
 more graceful than a tub ! 
 
 When Philip Firmin first came on the town, there were 
 dandies still ; there were dazzling waistcoats of velvet and 
 brocade, and tall stocks with cataracts of satin ; there were 
 pins, studs, neck-chains, I know not what fantastic splendors 
 of youth. His varnished boots grew upon forests of trees. 
 He had a most resplendent silver gilt dressing-case, pre-
 
 366 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 sented to liim by his father (for which, it is true, the doctoi 
 neglected to pay, leaving that duty to his son). " It is a 
 mere ceremony," said the worthy doctor, " a cumbrous thing 
 you may fancy at first; but take it about with you. It 
 looks well on a man's dressing-table at a country-house. It 
 2)oses a man, you understand. I have known women come 
 in and peep at it. A trifle, you may sa}^, my boy ; but what 
 is the use of flinging any chance in life away?" Now, 
 when misfortune came, 3'oung ]^hilip flung away all these 
 magnificeut follies. He wrapped himself virtute sua ; and 
 I am bound to say a more queer-looking fellow than friend 
 Philip seldom walked the pavement of London or Paris. 
 He could not wear the nap off all his coats, or rub his elbows 
 into rags in six months ; but, as he would say of himself 
 with much simplicity, "I do think I run to seed more 
 quickly than any fellow I ever knew. All my socks in holes, 
 Mrs. Pendennis ; all my shirt-buttons gone, I give you my 
 word. I dou't know how the things hold together, and why 
 they don't tumble to pieces. I suspect I must have a bad 
 laundress." Suspect ! My children used to laugh and crow 
 as they sewed buttons on to him. As for the Little Sister, 
 she broke into his apartments in his absence, and said that 
 it turned her hair gray to see the state of his poor wardrobe. 
 I believe that Mrs. I>randon put surreptitious linen into his 
 drawers. He did not know. He wore the shirts in a con- 
 tented spirit. The glossy boots began to crack and then to 
 burst, and Philip wore them with perfect equanimity. 
 AVhere were the beautiful lavender and lemon gloves of last 
 year ? His great naked hands (with Avhich he gesticulates 
 so grandly) were as brown as an Indian's now. We had 
 liked him heartily in his days of splendor ; we loved him 
 now in his threadbare suit. 
 
 I can fancy the young man striding into the room where 
 his lordship's guests were assembled. In the presence of 
 great or small, Philip has always been entirely unconcerned, 
 and he is one of the half-dozen men I have seen in my life 
 upon whom rank made no impression. It appears that, on 
 occasion of this breakfast, there were one or two dandies 
 present who were aghast at Philip's freedom of behavior. 
 He engaged in conversation with a famous French states- 
 man ; contradicted him with much energy in his own lan- 
 guage ; and when the statesman asked whether monsieur 
 was membre du Parlement, Philip burst into one of his 
 roars of laughter, which almost breaks the glasses on a
 
 ox HIS WAY TIIROUGII THE WORLD. 3G7 
 
 table, and said, "Je suis journaiiste, monsieur, a vos 
 ordres ! " Young Tinibuiy of tlie embassy "was aghast at 
 Philip's insolence ; and Dr. Botts, his lordship's travelling 
 physician, looked at him with a terrified face. A bottle of 
 claret was brought, wliich almost all the gentlemen present 
 began to swallow, until Thilip, tasting his glass, called out, 
 " Faugh ! It's corked ! " '• So it is, and very badly corked," 
 growls my lord, with (;ne of his usual oaths. '•' Why didn't 
 some of you fellows speak ? Do you like corked wine ? " 
 There were gallant fellows round that table who would have 
 drunk corked black dose, had his lordship professed to like 
 senna. The old host was tickled and amused. "Your 
 mother was a quiet soul, and your father used to bow like 
 a dancing-master. You ain't much like him. I dine at 
 home most days. Leave word in the morning with my 
 people, and come when you like, Philip," he growled. A 
 part of this news Philip narrated to us in his letter, and 
 other part was given verbally by Mr. and MrSo Mugford on 
 their return to London. "I tell you, sir," saj'S jMugford, 
 "he has been taken by the hand by some of the tip-top 
 people, and have booked him at three guineas a week for 
 a letter to the Pall Mall Gazette:' 
 
 And this was the cause of my wife's exultation and tri- 
 umphant "Didn't I tell you?" Philip's foot was on the 
 ladder ; and who so capable of mounting to the top ? 
 When happiness and a fond and lovely girl were waiting 
 for him there, would he lose heart, spare exertion, or be 
 afraid to climb ? He had no truer well-wisher than myself, 
 and no friend who liked him better, though, I dare say, 
 many admired him much more than I did. But these were 
 women for the most part ; and women become so absurdly 
 unjust and partial to persons whom they love, when these 
 latter are in misfortune, that I am surprised Mr. Philip did 
 not quite lose his head in his poverty, with such fond flat- 
 terers and sycophants round about him= Would you grudge 
 him the consolation to be had from these sweet uses of 
 adversity ? Many a heart would be hardened but for the 
 memory of past griefs ; when eyes, now averted, perhaps, 
 were full of sympathy, and hands, now cold, were eager to 
 soothe and succor.
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 QU^OX EST BTEN A VIXGT ANS. 
 
 FAIR correspondent — and I 
 would parenthetically hint 
 that all correspondents are 
 not fair — ^^^ints out the dis- 
 crepancy existing between 
 the text and the illustrations 
 of our story ; and justly re- 
 marks that the story dated 
 more than twenty years back, 
 while the costumes of the 
 actors of our little comedy 
 are of the fashion of to-day. 
 My dear madam, these 
 anachronisms must be, or you 
 would scarcely be able to 
 keep any interest for our 
 characters. What would be 
 a woman without a crinoline 
 petticoat, for example ? An 
 object ridiculous, hateful, 1 
 suppose hardl}^ proper. AVhat 
 would you think of a hero who wore a large high black- 
 satin stock cascading over a figured silk waistcoat ; and a 
 blue dress-coat, with brass buttons, mayhap ? If a person 
 so attired came up to ask you to dance, could you refrain 
 from laughing ? Time was wdien young men so decorated 
 found favor in the eyes of damsels who had never beheld 
 hooped petticoats, except in their grandmother's portraits. 
 Persons who flourished in the first part of the century never 
 thought to see the hoops of our ancestors' age- rolled down- 
 wards to our contemporaries and children. Did we ever 
 imagine that a period Avould arrive when our young men 
 
 atJ8
 
 THE ADVEXTL'JiES OF PHILIP. 369 
 
 would part their liair down the middle, and wear a piece of 
 tape for a neck-cloth ? As soon should we have thought of 
 their dyeing their bodies with woad, and arraying them- 
 selves like ancient Britons. So the ages have their dress 
 and undress ; and the gentlemen and ladies of Victoria's 
 time are satisfied with their manner of raiment; as no 
 doubt in Boadicea's court they looked charming tattooed 
 and painted blue. 
 
 The times of which we write, the times of Louis Philippe 
 the king, are so altered froui the present, that when Philip 
 Firmin went to Paris it was absolutely a cheap place to 
 live in ; and he has often bragged in subsequent days of 
 having lived well during a month for live pounds, and 
 bought a neat waistcoat with a part of the money. " A 
 capital bedroom, ait pr(imiei\ for a franc a day, sir," he 
 would call all persons to remark, '^a bedroom as good as 
 yours, my lord, at Meurice's. Very good tea or coffee 
 breakfast, twenty francs a month, Avith lots of bread and 
 butter. Twenty francs a month for washing, and fifty for 
 dinner and pocket-money — that's about the figure. The 
 dinner, I own, is shy, unless I come and dine with my 
 friends ; and then I make up for banyan days." And so 
 saying Philip would call out for more truffled partridges, or 
 affably filled his goblet with my Lord Kingwood's best 
 Sillery. "At those shops," he would observe, "where I 
 dine, I have beer : I can't stand the wine. And you see, I 
 can't go to the cheap English ordinaries, of which there are 
 many, because English gentlemen's servants are there, you 
 know, and it's not pleasant to sit with a fellow who waits 
 on you the day after." 
 
 "Oh! the English servants go to the cheap ordinaries, do 
 they? " asks my lord, greatly amused, and you drink hVere 
 de Mars at the shop where you dine ? " 
 
 " And dine very badly, too, I can tell you. Always come 
 away hungry. Giv^e me some champagne — the dry, if you 
 please. They mix very well together — sweet and dry. 
 Did you ever dine at Flicoteau's, Mr. l*ecker ? " 
 
 " I dine at one of your horrible two-franc houses ? " 
 cries Mr. Pecker, with a look of terror. "Do you know, 
 my lord, there are actually houses wliere people dine for 
 two francs ! " 
 
 "Two francs ! Seventeen sous I " bawls out Mr. Eirmin. 
 " The soup, the beef, tlu' roti, the salad, the dessert, and the 
 whitey-brown l)read at discretion. It's not a good dinner, 
 VOL. I. — 24
 
 370 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 certainly — in fact, it is a dreadful bad one. But to dine 
 so would do some fellows a great deal of good." 
 
 " Wliat do you say, Pecker ? Micoteau's ; seventeen 
 sous. We'll make a little party and try, and Firmin shall 
 do the honors of his restaurant," says my lord, with a grin. 
 
 " jVIercy ! " gasi)S Mr. Pecker. 
 
 'Q had rather dine here, if you please, my lord," says 
 the young man. " This is cheaper, and certainly better." 
 
 My lord's doctor, and many of the guests at his table, 
 my lord's henchmen, flatterers, and led captains, looked 
 aghast at the freedom of the young fellow in the shabby 
 coat. If they dared to be familiar with their host, there 
 came a scowl over that noble countenance Avhich was awful 
 to face. They drank his corked wine in meekness of spirit. 
 They laughed at his jokes trembling. One after another, 
 they were the objects of his satire ; and each grinned 
 piteously, as he took his turn of punishment. Some 
 dinners are dear, though they cost nothing. At some great 
 tables are not toads served along with the entrees ? Yes, 
 and many amateurs are exceedingly fond of the dish. 
 
 How do Parisians live at all ? is a question which has 
 often set me w^ondering. How do men in public offices, 
 with fifteen thousand francs, let us say, for a salary — and 
 this, for a French official, is a high salary — live in hand- 
 some apartments, give genteel entertainments ; clothe them- 
 selves and their families with much more sumptuous 
 raiment than English people of the same station can afford ; 
 take their country holiday, a six weeks' sojourn, aux eaux ; 
 and appear cheerful and to want for nothing? Pater- 
 familias, with six hundred a year in London, knows what a 
 straitened life his is, with rent high, and beef at a shilling 
 a pound. Well, in Paris, rent is higher, and meat is dearer ; 
 and yet madame is richly dressed when you see her; 
 monsieur has always a little money in his pocket for his 
 club or his cafe; and something is pretty surely put away 
 every year for the marriage portion of the young folks. 
 " Sir," Philip used to say, describing this period of his life, 
 on which and on most subjects regarding himself, by the 
 way, he was wont to be very eloquent, " when my income 
 was raised to five thousand francs a year, I give 3^ou my 
 word I was considered to be rich by my French acquaint- 
 ance. I gave four sous to the waiter at our dining-place ; 
 — in that respect I was always ostentations: — and I 
 believe they called me Milor. I should have been poor in
 
 ox HIS ]VAV THROUGH THE WORLD. 371 
 
 the Eue tie la Paix : but I was wealtliy in the Luxembourg 
 quarter. Dou't tell me about poverty, sir ! Poverty is a 
 bully if you are afraid of her, or truckle to her. Poverty 
 is good-natured enough if you meet her like a man. You 
 saAV how my poor old father was afraid of her, and thought 
 the world would come to an end if Dr. Firmin did not keep 
 his butler, and his footman, and his fine house, and fine 
 chariot and horses ? He was a poor man, if you please. 
 He must have suffered agonies in his struggle to make both 
 ends meet. Everything he bought must have cost him 
 twice the honest price ; and when I think of nights that 
 must have been i3assed without sleep — of that proud man 
 having to smirk and cringe before creditors — to coax 
 butchers, by George, and wheedle tailors — I pity him; I 
 can't be angry any more. That man has suffered enough. 
 As for me, haven't you remarked that since I have not a 
 guinea in the world, I swagger, and am a much greater 
 swell than before ? " And the truth is that a Prince Eoyal 
 could not have called for his gens with a more magnificent 
 air than ^Ir. Philip when he summoned the waiter, and 
 paid for his petit verre. 
 
 Talk of poverty, indeed ! That period, Philip vows, was 
 the happiest of his life. He liked to tell in after da^^s of 
 the choice acquaintance of Bohemians which he had 
 formed. Their jug, he said, though it contained but small 
 beer, was always full. Their tobacco, though it bore no 
 higher rank than that of caporal, was plentiful and fra- 
 grant. He knew some admirable medical students ; some 
 artists who only wanted talent and industry to be at the 
 height of their profession : and one or two of the magnates 
 of his own calling, the newspaper correspondents, whose 
 houses and tables were open to him. It was wonderful 
 what secrets of politics he learned and transmitted to his 
 own paper. He pursued French statesmen of those days 
 with prodigious eloquence and vigor. At the expense of 
 that old king he was wonderfully witty and sarcastical. 
 He reviewed the affairs of Europe, settled the destinies of 
 Russia, denounced the Spanish marriages, disposed of the 
 Pope, and advocated the Liberal cause in France with an 
 untiring eloquence. " Absinthe used to be my drink, sir," 
 so he was good enough to tell his friends. "It makes the 
 ink run, and imparts a fine eloquence to the style. Mercy 
 U])on us, how I woidd l)elabor that poor King of the French 
 under the influence of absinthe, in that cafe opposite the
 
 372 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 Bourse where I used to make my letter ! AVlio kuows, sir, 
 perhaps the iuflueuce of those letters precipitated the fall 
 of the Bourbou dynasty ! Before I had an ottiee, Gilligan, 
 of the Centicnj, and I, used to do our letters at that cafe ; 
 we compared notes and pitched into each other ami- 
 cably." 
 
 Gilligan of the Century, and Firmin of the Fall Mall 
 Gazette, were, however, very minor personages amongst the 
 London newspaper correspondents. Their seniors of the 
 daily press had handsome apartments, gave sumptuous 
 dinners, were closeted with ministers' secretaries, and 
 entertained members of the Chamber of Deputies. Philip, 
 on perfectly easy terms with himself and the world, swag- 
 gering about the embassy balls — Philip, the friend and 
 relative of Lord Eingwood — was viewed by his profes- 
 sional seniors and superiors with an eye of favor, which 
 was not certainly turned on all gentlemen following his 
 calling. Certainly poor Gilligan was never asked to those 
 dinners, which som3 of the newspaper ambassadors gave, 
 whereas Philip was received not inhospitably. Gilligan 
 received but a cold shoulder at ]Mrs. Morning Messenger's 
 Thursdays ; and as for being asked to dinner, •• Bedad, that 
 fellow, Firmin, has an air with him which will carry him 
 through anywhere ! " Phil's brother correspondent owned. 
 "He seems to patronize an ambassador when he goes up 
 and speaks to him ; and he says to a secretary, ' My good 
 fellow, tell your mister that Mr. Firmin, of the Pall Mall 
 Gazette, wants to see him, and will thank him to step over 
 to the Cafe de la Bourse.' " I don't think Philip, for his 
 part, would have seen much matter of surprise in a Minister 
 stepping over to speak to him. To him all folk were alike, 
 great and small ; and it is recorded of him that when, on 
 one occasion, Lord Ringwood paid him a visit at his lodg- 
 ings in the Faubourg St. Germiin, Philip affably offered his 
 lordship a cornet of fried potatoes, with which, and plenti- 
 ful tobacco of course, Philip and one or two of his friends 
 were regaling themselves when Lord Ringwood chanced to 
 call on his kinsman. 
 
 A crust and a carafon of small beer, a correspondence 
 with a weekly paper, and a remuneration such as that we 
 have mentioned, — was Philip Firmin to look for no more 
 than this pittance, and not to seek for more permanent and 
 lucrative employnirMit ? Some of his friends at home were 
 rather vexed at what Philip chose to consider his good
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 373 
 
 fortune; namely, his connection with the newspaper, and 
 the small stipend it gave him. He might quarrel Avith his 
 employer any day. Indeed no man was more likely to fling 
 his bread and butter out of window than Mr. Philip, He 
 was losing precious time at the bar ; where he, as hundreds 
 of other poor gentlemen had done before him, might make 
 a career for himself. Tor what are colonies made ? Why 
 do bankruptcies occur ? Why do people break the peace 
 and quarrel with policemen, but that barristers may be em- 
 ployed as judges, commissioners, magistrates? A reportei 
 to a newspaper remains all his life a newspaper reporter. 
 Philip, if he Avould but help himself, had friends in the 
 world who might aid effectually to advance him. So it was 
 we pleaded with him, in the language of moderation, urging 
 the dictates of common sense. As if moderation and com- 
 mon sense could be got to move that mule of a Philip Firmin ; 
 as if any persuasion of ours could induce him to do anything 
 but what he liked to do best himself ! 
 
 ^' That 1/ou sliould be Avorldly, my poor fellow" (so Philip 
 wrote to his present biographer) " — that you should be 
 thinking of money and the main chance, is no matter of 
 surprise to me. You have suffered under that curse of 
 manhood, that destroyer of generosity in the mind, that 
 parent of selfishness ^ — a little fortune. You have your 
 wretched hundreds " (my candid correspondent stated the 
 sum correctly enough ; and I wish it were double or treble ; 
 but that is not here the point), "paid quarterly. The 
 miserable pittance numbs your whole existence. It pre- 
 vents freedom of thought and action. It makes a screw of 
 a man who is certainly not without generous impulses, as I 
 know, my poor old Harpagon : for hast thou not offered to 
 open thy purse to me ? I tell you I am sick of the way in 
 which people in London, especially good people, think 
 about money. You live up to your income's edge. You are 
 miserably poor. You brag and flatter yourselves that you 
 owe no man anything ; but your estate has creditors upon 
 it as insatiable as any usurer, and as hard as any bailiff. 
 You call me reckless, and prodigal, and idle, and all sorts 
 of names, because I live in a single room, do as little work 
 as I can, and go about with holes in my boots : and you 
 flatter j-ourself you are prudent, because you liave a genteel 
 house, a grave flunky out of livery, and two green-grocers to 
 wait when you give your half-dozen dreary dinner-parties. 
 Wretched man ! You are a slave : not a man. You are a
 
 374 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 pauper, with a good house and good clothes. You are so 
 miserably prudent, that all your money is spent for you, 
 except the few wretched shillings which you allow yourself 
 for pocket-money. You tremble at the expense of a cab. 
 I believe you actually look at half a crown before you 
 spend it. The landlord is your master. The livery-stable 
 keeper is your master, A train of ruthless, useless ser- 
 vants are your pitiless creditors, to whom you have to pay 
 exorbitant dividends every day. I, with a hole in my 
 elbow, who live upon a shilling dinner, and walk on cracked 
 boot-soles, am called extravagant, idle, reckless, I don't 
 know what ; while you, forsooth, consider yourself prudent. 
 Miserable delusion ! You are flinging away heaps of 
 money on useless flunkies, on useless maid-servants, on 
 useless lodgings, on useless finery — and you say, ' Poor 
 Phil ! what a sad idler he is ! how he flings himself aAvay ! 
 in what a wretched, disreputable manner he lives ! ' Poor 
 Phil is as rich as you are, for he has enough, and is con- 
 tent. Poor Phil can afford to be idle, and you can't. You 
 must work in order to keep that great hulking footman, 
 that great raw-boned cook, that army of babbling nursery- 
 maids, and I don't know what more. And if you choose to 
 submit to the slavery and degradation inseparable from 
 your condition ; — the wretched inspection of candle-ends, 
 which you call order ; — the mean self-denials, which you 
 must daily practise — I pity you and don't quarrel with 
 you. But I wish you would not be so insufferably virtuous, 
 and ready with your blame and pity for w.e. If I am 
 happy, pray need you be disquieted? Suppose I prefer 
 independence, and shabby boots ? Are not these better 
 than to be pinched by your abominable varnished conven- 
 tionalism, and to be denied the liberty of free action ? My 
 poor fellow, I pity you from my heart ; and it grieves me 
 to think how those fine honest children — honest, and 
 hearty, and frank, and open as yet — are to lose their 
 natural good qualities, and to be swathed, and swaddled, 
 and stifled out of health and honesty by that obstinate 
 w^orldling their father. Don't tell me about the world ; I 
 know it. People sacrifice the next world to it, and are all 
 the while proud of their prudence. Look at my miserable 
 relations, steeped in respectability. Look at my father. 
 There is a chance for him, now he is down and in poverty. 
 I have had a letter from him, containing more of that 
 dreadful worldly advice which you Pharisees give. If it
 
 ON HIS WAV TlinOUGH THE WORLD. 375 
 
 weren't for Laura and the children, sir, I heartily wish you 
 Avere ruined like your att'ectionate — V. F. 
 
 ''X.B., P.S. — Oh, Pen! I am so happy ! She is such a 
 little darling ! I bathe in her innocence, sir ! I strengthen 
 myself in her purity. I kneel before her sweet goodness 
 an\l unconsciousness of guile. I walk from my room, and 
 see her every morning before seven o'clock. I see her 
 every afternoon. She loves you and Laura. And you love 
 her, don't you ? And to think that six months ago I was 
 going to marry a woman without a heart ! Why, sir, bless- 
 ings be on the poor old father for spending our money, and 
 rescuing me from that horrible fate ! I might have been 
 like that fellow in the 'Arabian Nights,' who married 
 Amina — the respectable woman, who dined upon grains of 
 rice, but supped upon cold dead body. Was it not worth 
 all the money I ever was heir to to have escaped from that 
 ghoul ? Lord Ringwood says he thinks I was well out of 
 that. He calls people by Anglo-Saxon names, and uses very 
 expressive monosyllables ; and of Aunt Twysden, of Uncle 
 Twysden, of the "girls, and their brother, he speaks in a 
 way which makes me see he has come to just conclusions 
 about them. 
 
 " P.S. No. 2. — Ah, Pen ! She is such a darling. I think 
 I am the happiest man in the world." 
 
 And this was what came of being ruined ! A scapegrace, 
 who, when he had plenty of money in his pocket, was ill- 
 tempered, imperious, and discontented ; now that he is not 
 worth twopence, declares himself the happiest fellow in 
 the world ! Do you remember, my dear, how he used to 
 grumble at our claret, and what wry faces he made when 
 there was only cold meat for dinner "? The wretch is abso- 
 lutely contented with bread and cheese and small beer, 
 even that bad beer which they have in Paris ! 
 
 Now and again, at this time, and as our mutual avoca- 
 tions permitted, I saw Philip's friend, the Little Sister. 
 He wrote to her dutifully from time to time. He told her 
 of his love-atfair with ^liss Charlotte ; and mv wife and I 
 could console Caroline, by assuring her that this time the 
 young man's heart was given to a worthy mistress. I say 
 console, for the news, after all, was sad for her. In the 
 little chamber which she always kept ready for him, he 
 woidd lie awake, and think of some one dearer to him than 
 a hundred poor Carolines. She wouid devise something 
 that should be agreeable to the young lady. At Christmas
 
 376 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 time there came to Miss Baynes a wonderfully worked 
 cambric pocket-liaudkercliief, with " Charlotte " most beau- 
 tifully embroidered in the corner. It was this poor 
 widow's mite of love and tenderness which she meekly 
 laid down in the place where she worshipped. "And I 
 have six for him, too, ma'am," Mrs. Brandon told my wife. 
 " Poor fellow ! his shirts was in a dreadful way when he 
 went away from here, and that you know, ma'am." So 
 you see this wayfarer, having fallen among undoubted 
 thieves, yet found many kind souls to relieve him, and 
 many a good Samaritan ready with his twopence, if need 
 were. 
 
 The reason why Philip was the happiest man in the 
 world of course you understand. French people are very 
 early risers ; and, at the little hotel where Mr. Philip lived, 
 the whole crew of the iiouse were up hours before lazy 
 English masters and servants think of stirring. At ever 
 so early an hour Phil had a fine bowl of coffee and milk 
 and bread for his breakfast ; and he was striding down to 
 the Invalides, and across the bridge to the Champs Elysees, 
 and the fumes of his pipe preceded him with a pleasant 
 odor. And a short time after passing the Bond Point in the 
 Elysian Fields, where an active fountain was flinging up 
 showers of diamonds to the sky, — after, I say, leaving the 
 Bond Point on his right, and passing under umbrageous 
 groves in the dirt^tion of the present Castle of Flowers, 
 Mr. Philip would see a little person. Sometimes a young 
 sister or brother came with the little person. Sometimes 
 only a blush fluttered on her cheek, and a sweet smile 
 beamed in her face as she came forward to greet him. For 
 the angels were scarce purer than this young maid ; and 
 Una was no more afraid of the lion, than Charlotte of her 
 companion with the loud voice and the tawny mane. T 
 would not have envied that reprobate's lot who should 
 have dared to say a doubtful word to this Una : but the 
 truth is, she never thought of danger, or met with any. 
 The workmen were going to their labor ; the dandies were 
 asleep ; and considering their age, and the relationship in 
 which they stood to one another, I am not surprised at 
 Philip for announcing that this was the happiest time of 
 his life. In later days, when two gentlemen of mature a.c^e 
 happened to be in Paris together, what must Mr. Philip 
 Firmin do but insist upon walking me sentimentally to the 
 Champs Elysees, and looking at an old house there, a
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 
 
 377 
 
 rather shabby old house in a garden. "That was the 
 place," sighs he. " That was Madame de Smolensk's. 
 That was the window, the third one, with the green 
 jalousie. By Jove, sir, how happy and how miserable I 
 have been behind that green blind I " And my friend 
 shakes his large fist at the somewhat dilapidated mansion,
 
 378 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 whence Madame de Smolensk and her boarders have long 
 since departed. 
 
 I fear that baroness had engaged in her enterprise with 
 insufficient capital, or conducted it with such liberality 
 that her profits were eaten up by her boarders. I could 
 tell dreadful stories impugning the baroness's moral char- 
 acter. People said she had no right to the title of baroness 
 at all, or to the noble foreign name of Smolensk. People 
 are still alive who knew her under a different name. 
 The baroness herself was what some amateurs call a fine 
 woman, especially at dinner-time, when she appeared in 
 black satin and with cheeks that blushed up as far as the 
 eyelids. In her j^eignolr in the morning, she was perhaps 
 the reverse of fine. Contours which were round at nighty 
 in the forenoon appeared lean and angular. Her roses 
 only bloomed half an hour before dinner-time on a cheek 
 which was quite yellow until five o'clock. I am sure it is 
 very kind of elderly and ill-complexioned people to supply 
 the ravages of time or jaundice, and present to our view a 
 figure blooming and agreeable, in place of an object faded 
 and withered. Do you quarrel with your opposite neigh- 
 bor for painting his house-front or putting roses in his 
 balcony ? You are rather thankful for the adornment. 
 Madame de Smolensk's front was so decorated of after- 
 noons. Geraniums were set pleasantly under, those first- 
 floor windows, her eyes. Carcel lamps beamed from those 
 windows : lamps which she had trimmed with her own 
 scissors, and into which that poor widow poured the oil 
 which she got somehow and anyhow. When the dingy 
 breakfast paplllotes were cast of an afternoon, what beauti- 
 ful black curls appeared round her brow ! The dingy 
 paplllotes were put away in the drawer : the peignoir 
 retired to its hook behind the door : the satin raiment 
 came forth, the shining, the ancient, the well-kept, the well- 
 wadded : and at the same moment the worthy woman took 
 that smile out of some cunning box on her scanty toilet- 
 table — that smile which she wore all the evening along 
 with the rest of her toilet, and took out of her mouth 
 when she went to bed and to think — to think how both 
 ends were to be made to meet. 
 
 Philip said he respected and admired that woman : and 
 worthy of respect she was in her way. She painted her 
 face and grinned at poverty. She laughed and rattled 
 with care gnawing at her side. She had to coax the milk-
 
 O.V HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 379 
 
 man out of his human kindness: to pour oil — his own oil 
 — upon the stormy epic.ier's soul : to melt the butterman : 
 to tap the Avine-merchant : to mollify the butcher : to 
 invent new pretexts for the landlord : to reconcile the lady 
 boarders. Mrs, General Baynes, let us say, and the Hon- 
 orable ]\[rs. Boldero, who were always quarrelling : to see 
 that the dinner, when procured, was cooked properly ; that 
 Francois, to whom she owed ever so many months' wages, 
 was not too rebellious or intoxicated; that Auguste, also 
 her creditor, had his glass clean and his lamps in order. 
 And this work done and the hour of six o'clock arriving, 
 she had to carve and be agreeable to her table ; not to hear 
 the growls of the discontented (and at what table-d'hote 
 are there not gruuiblers ?) ; to have a word for everybody 
 present ; a smile and a laugh for Mrs. Bunch (with whom 
 there had been very likely a dreadful row in the morning) ; 
 a remark for the Colonel ; a polite phrase for the General's 
 lady ; and even a good word and compliment for sulky Au- 
 guste, who just before dinner-time had unfolded the napkin 
 of mutinj" about his wages. 
 
 Was not this enough work for a woman to do ? Tc con- 
 duct a great house without sufficient money, and make 
 soup, fish, roasts, and half a dozen entrees out of wind as it 
 were ? to conjure up wine in piece and by the dozen ? to 
 laugh and joke without the least gayety ? to receive scorn, 
 abuse, rebuffs, insolence, with gay good-humor ? and then 
 to go to bed wearied at night, and have to think about fig- 
 ures and that dreadful, dreadful sum in arithmetic — given 
 51. to pay 6/. ? Lady Macbeth is supposed to have been a 
 resolute woman : and great, tall, loud, hectoring females are 
 set to represent the character. I say ISTo. She was a weak 
 woman. She began to walk in her sleep, and blab after 
 one disagreeable little incident had occurred in her house. 
 She broke down, and got all the people away from her own 
 table in the most abrupt and clumsy manner, because that 
 drivelling, epileptic husband of hers fancied he saw a 
 ghost. In Lady Smolensk's place Madame de Macbeth 
 would have broken down in a week, and Smolensk lasted 
 for years. If twenty gibbering ghosts had come to the 
 boarding-house dinner, madame would have gone on carv- 
 ing her dishes, and smiling, and helping the live guests, the 
 paying guests ; leaving the dead guests to gibber away 
 and help themselves. "My poor father had to keep up 
 appearances," Phil would say, recounting these things in
 
 380 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 after days ; " but how ? You know he always looked as if 
 he was going to be hung." Smolensk was the gayest of 
 the gay always. That widow would have tripped up to her 
 funeral pile and kissed her hands to her friends with a 
 smiling "Bon jour!" 
 
 " Pray, who was Monsieur de Smolensk ? '' asks a simple 
 lady who may be listening to our friend's narrative. 
 
 " Ah, my dear lady ! there was a pretty disturbance in 
 the house when that question came to be mooted, I promise 
 you," says our friend, laughing, as he recounts his adven- 
 tures. And, after all, what does it matter to you and me 
 and this story who Smolensk was ? I am sure this poor 
 lady had hardships enough in her life campaign, and that 
 Ney himself could not have faced fortune with a constancy 
 more heroical. 
 
 Well. When the Bayneses first came to her house, I tell 
 you Smolensk and all round her smiled, and our friends 
 thought they were landed in a real rosy Elysium in the 
 Champs of that name. Madame had a Carrick a VIndienne 
 prepared in compliment to her guests. She had had many 
 Indians in her establishment. ^' he adored Indians. Netait 
 ce la polygamie — they were most estimable people, the 
 Hindus. Sur tout, she adored Indian shawls. That of 
 Madame la Generale was ravishing. The company at 
 Madame's was pleasant. The honorable Mrs. Boldero was 
 a dashing woman of fashion and respectability, who had 
 lived in the best world — it was easy to see that. The 
 young ladies' duets were very striking The Honorable 
 Mr. Boldero was away shooting in Scotland at his brother, 
 Lord Strongitharm's, and would take Gaberlunzie Castle 
 and the duke's on his way south. Mrs. Baynes did 
 not know Lady Estridge, the ambassadress? When the 
 Estridges returned from Chantilly, the Honorable Mrs. B. 
 wouldbe delighted to introduce her. "Your pretty girl's 
 name is Charlotte ? So is Lady Estridge's — and very 
 nearly as tall; — fine girls the Estridges; fine long necks 
 — large feet — but your girl, Lady Baynes, has beautiful 
 feet. Lady Baynes, I said ? Well, you must be Lady 
 Baynes soon. The General must be a K.C.B. after his ser- 
 vices. What, you know Lord Trim ? He will, and must, 
 do it for you. If not, my brother Strongitharm shall." 1 
 have no doubt Mrs. Baynes was greatly elated by the atten- 
 tions of Lord Strongitharm's sister ; and looked him out in 
 tiie Peerage, where his Lordship's arms, pedigree, and resi-
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 381 
 
 dence of Gcaberlunzie Castle are duly recorded. The 
 Honorable Mrs. Boldero's daughters, the Misses Minna and 
 Brenda Boldero. played some rattling sonatas on a piano 
 which was a good deal fatigued by their exertions, for the 
 young ladies' hands were very powerful. And madaiue 
 said, "Thank you,'' with her sweetest smile ; and Auguste 
 handed about on a silver tray — I say silver, so that the 
 convenances may not be wounded — well, say silver that 
 was blushing to lind itself copper — handed up on a tray a 
 white drink which made the Baynes boys cr}' out, " I say, 
 mother, what's this beastly thing ? " On which madame, 
 with the sweetest smile, appealed to the company, and said, 
 " They love orgeat, these dear infants ! " and resumed her 
 piquet with old ^L Bidois — that odd old gentleman with 
 the long brown coat, with the red ribbon, who took so much 
 snuff and blew his nose so often and so loudly. One, two, 
 three rattling sonatas ^linna and Brenda played; Mr. 
 Clancy, of Trinity College, Dublin (M. de Clanci, Madame 
 called him), turning over the leaves, and presently being 
 persuaded to sing some Irish melodies for the ladies. I 
 don't think ]\[iss Charlotte Baynes listened to the music 
 much. She Avas listening to another music, which she and 
 Mr. Firmin were performing together. Oh, how pleasant 
 that music used to be ! There was a sameness in it, I dare 
 say, but still it was pleasant to hear the air over again. 
 The pretty little duet a quatre mains, where the hands 
 cross over, and hop up and down the keys, and the heads 
 get so close, so close. Oh, duets, oh, regrets ! Psha! no 
 more of this. Go down stairs, old dotard. Take your hat 
 and umbrella and go walk by the sea-shore, and whistle a 
 toothless old solo. " These are our quiet nights," whispers 
 M. de Clanci to the Baynes ladies, when the evening draws 
 to an end. " Madame's Thursdays are, I promise ye, much 
 more fully attended." Good-night, good-night. A squeeze 
 of a little hand, a hearty hand-shake from ])apa and mamma, 
 and Philip is striding through the dark Elysian fields and 
 over the Place of Concord to his lodgings in the Faubourg 
 St. Germain. Or, stay ! What is that glowworm beaming 
 by the wall opposite ^Nfadame de Smolensk's house ? — a 
 glowworm that wafts an aromatic incense and odor ? I do 
 believe it is ]\[r. Philip's cigar. And he is watching, watch- 
 ing a window b}^ which a slim figure flits now and again. 
 Then darkness falls on the little window. The sweet eyes 
 are closed. Oh, blessings, blessings be upon them ! The
 
 382 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP, 
 
 stars shine overhead. And homeward stalks Mr. Firmin, 
 talking to himself, and brandishing a great stick. 
 
 I wish that poor Madame Smolensk could sleep as well as 
 the people in her house. But Care, with the cold feet, gets 
 under the coverlid, and says, " Here I am ; you know that 
 bill is coming due to-morrow." Ah, atra cura ! can't you 
 leave the poor thing a little quiet? Hasn't she had work 
 euougli all day ?
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 
 
 E beg the gracious reader to 
 remember that Mr. Philip's 
 business at Paris was only 
 with a weekly London paper 
 as yet ; and hence that he 
 had on his hands a great deal 
 of leisure. He could glance 
 over the state of Europe ; 
 give the latest news from 
 the salons, imparted to him, 
 I do believe, for the most 
 part, by some brother hire- 
 ling scribes ; be present at 
 all the theatres by deputy; 
 and smash Louis Philippe or 
 Messieurs Guizot and Thiers 
 in a few easily turned para- 
 graphs, which cost but a very 
 few hours' labor to that bold 
 and rapid pen. A whole- 
 some though humiliating 
 thought it must be to great and learned public writers, that 
 their eloquent sermons are but for the day ; and that, hav- 
 ing read what the philosophers sa}' on Tuesday or Wednes- 
 day, we think about their 3'esterday's sermons or essays no 
 more. A score of years hence, men will read the papers of 
 1861 for the occurrences narrated — births, marriages, bank- 
 ruptcies, elections, murders, deaths, and so forth ; and not 
 for the leading articles. "■ Though there were some of my 
 letters," Mr. Philip would say, in after times, '-that I fondly 
 fancied the world would not willingly let die. I wanted to 
 have them or see them reprinted in a volume, but I could 
 find no publisher willing to undertake the risk. A fond 
 being, who fancies there is genius in everything I say or 
 
 ■himw^^'A^-^--
 
 384 THE^ ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 write, would haVe had me reprint my letters to the Pall 
 Mall Gazette ; 'but I was too timid, or she, perhaps, was too 
 eonlident. ."«The letters never were republished. Let them 
 pass." They have passed. And he sighs, in mentioning 
 this circumstance ; and I think tries to persuade himself, 
 rather than others, that he is an unrecognized genius. 
 
 " And then, you know," he pleads, " I was in love, sir, and 
 spending all my days at Omphale's knees. I didn't do jus- 
 tice to my powers. If I had had a daily paper, I still think 
 I might have made a good public writer ; and that J. had the 
 stuff in me — the stuff in me, sir ! " 
 
 The truth is that, if he had had a daily paper, and ten 
 times as much work as fell to his lot, Mr. Philip would have 
 found means of pursuing his inclination, as he ever through 
 life has done. The being whom a young man wishes to see, 
 he sees. What business is superior to that of seeing her ? 
 'Tis a little Hellespontine matter keeps Leander from his 
 Hero ? He would die rather than not see her. Had he 
 swum out of that difficulty on that stormy night, and car- 
 ried on a few months later, it might have been, " Beloved ! 
 my cold and rheumatism are so severe that the doctor says 
 I must not thuik of cold bathing at night;" or, "Dearest! 
 we have a party at tea, and you mustn't expect your ever 
 fond Lambda to-night," and so forth, and so forth. But in 
 the heat of his passion water could not stay him ; tempests 
 could not frighten him; and in one of them he went dov/n, 
 while poor Hero's lamp was twinkling and spending its best 
 flame in vain. So Philip came from Sestos to Abydos daily 
 — across one of the bridges, and paying a halfpenny toll 
 very likely — and, late or early, poor little Charlotte's virgin 
 lamps were lighted in her eyes, and watching for him. 
 
 Philip made many sacrifices, mind you : sacrifices which 
 all men are not in the habit of making. When Lord Ring- 
 wood was in Paris, twice, thrice he refused to dine with his 
 lordship, until that nobleman smelt a rat, as the saying is — 
 and said, "Well, youngster, I suppose you are going where 
 there is metal more attractive. When you come to twelve 
 lustres, my boy, j^ou'll find vanity and vexation in that sort 
 of thing, and a good dinner better, and cheaper, too, than 
 the best of them." And when some of Philip's rich college 
 friends met him in his exile, and asked him to the "Rocher " 
 or the " Trois Freres," he would break away from those ban- 
 quets ; and as for meeting at those feasts doubtful compan- 
 ions, whom young men will sometimes invite to their en-
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THEm'OltLD. 385 
 
 tertaiiiments, Philip tiii-ned from such with acorn and anger. 
 His virtue was loud, and he proclaimed it ftj^ly. ■«- He- ex- 
 pected little Charlotte to give him credit for n^^id toM he\- 
 of his self-denial. And she believed anything n^sltid^ and 
 delighted in ever3-thing he wrote ; and copied out^iii^^ti- 
 cles for the Foil Mall Gazette ; and treasured his poems «i 
 her desk of desks : and there never Avas in all Sestos, in all 
 Abydos, in all Europe, in all Asia Minor or Asia Major, such 
 a noble creature as Leander, Hero thought ; never, never ! 
 I hope, young Jadies, 3'ou may all have a Leander on his 
 way to the tower where the light of your love is burning 
 steadfastly. I hope, 3'oung gentlemen, you have each of you 
 a beacon in sight, and may meet with no mishap in swim- 
 ming to it. 
 
 From my previous remarks regarding Mrs. Baynes, the 
 reader has been made aware that the General's wife was no 
 more faultless than the rest of her fellow-creatures ; and 
 having already candidly informed the public that the writer 
 and his family Avere no favorites of this lady, I have now 
 the pleasing duty of recording my own opinions regarding 
 her. Mrs. General B. was an early riser. She was a frugal 
 woman ; fond of her young, or, let us say, anxious to provide 
 for their maintenance; and here, with my best compliments, 
 I think the catalogue of her good qualities is ended. She 
 had a bad, violent temper ; a disagreeable person, attired in 
 very bad taste ; a shrieking voice ; and two manners, the re- 
 spectful and the patronizing, which were both alike odious. 
 When she ordered Baynes to marry her, gracious powers ! 
 why did he not run away ? Who dared first to say that 
 marriages are made in heaven ? We know that there are 
 not only blunders, but roguery in the marriage office. Do 
 not mistakes occur every day, and are not the Avrong people 
 coupled ? Had heaven anything to do with the bargain by 
 which 3'Oung Miss Blushrose was sold to old Mr. Hoarfrost? 
 Did heaven order young iSIiss Tripper to throw over poor 
 Tom Spooner, and marry the wealthy ]\rr. Bung ? You may 
 as well sa}' that horses are sold in heaven, which, as you 
 know, are groomed, are doctored, are chanted on to the 
 market, and warranted by dexterous horse-venders as pos- 
 sessing every quality of blood, pace, temper, age. Against 
 these Mr. Greenhorn has his remedy sometimes ; but against 
 a mother who sells you a warranted daughter, Avhat remedy 
 is there ? You have been jockeyed by false representations 
 into bidding for the Cecilia, and the animal is yours for life. 
 
 VOL. I. — 25
 
 386 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 She sliies, kicks, stumbles, has an infernal temper, is a crib- 
 biter — and she was warranted to you by her mother as the 
 most perfect, good-tempered creature, wliom the most timid 
 might manage ! You have bought her. 8he is yours. 
 Heaven bless you ! Take her home, and be miserable for 
 the rest of your days. You have no redress. You have 
 done the deed. Marriages were made in heaven, you know; 
 and in yours you were as much sold as Moses Primrose was 
 when he bought the gross of green spectacles. 
 
 I don't think poor General Baynes ever, had a proper 
 sense of his situation, or kneAv how miserable he ought by 
 rights to have been. He Avas not uncheerful at times : a 
 silent man, liking his rubber, and his gliss of wine, a very 
 weak person in the common affairs of life as his best 
 friends must own; but, as I have heard, a very tiger in 
 action. "I know your opinion of the General," Philip used 
 to say to me, in his grandiloquent way. "You despise 
 men who don't bully their wives ; you do, sir ! You think 
 the General weak, I know, I know. Other brave men were 
 so about women, as I dare say you have heard. This man, 
 so weak at home, was mighty on the war-path ; and in his 
 "vrigwam are the scalps of countless warriors." 
 
 "In his wig ?rArt^.^" say I. The truth is, on his meek 
 head the General wore a little curling chestnut top-knot, 
 which looked very queer and out of place over that wrin- 
 kled and war-worn face. 
 
 "If 3'ou choose to laugh at your joke, pray do," says 
 Phil, majestically. " I make a noble image of a warrior. 
 You prefer a barber's pole. Bon! Pass me the wine. 
 The veteran Avhom I hope to salute as father ere long — 
 the soldier of twenty battles, Avho saw my own brave 
 grandfather die at his side — die at Busaco, by George — 
 you laugh at on account of his wig. It's a capital joke." 
 And here Phil scowled and slapped the table, and passed 
 his hand across his eyes, as though the death of his grand- 
 father, which occurred long before Philip was born, caused 
 him a very serious pang of grief. Philip's newspaper busi- 
 ness brought him to London on occasions. I think it was 
 on one of these visits that we had our talk about General 
 Baynes. And it was at the same time Philip described the 
 boarding-house to us, and its inmates, and the landlady, 
 and the doings there. 
 
 For that struggling landlady, as for all women in dis- 
 tress, our friend had a great sympathy and liking ; and she
 
 ox ins ]VAy rnnoLXiH the would. 387 
 
 returned Philip's kindness by being very good to Mademoi- 
 selle Charlotte, and very forbearing with the General's 
 wife and his other children. The appetites of those little 
 ones were frightful, the temper of Madame la Generale 
 was almost intolerable, but Charlotte was an angel, and the 
 General was a mutton — a true mutton. Her own father 
 had been so. The brave are often muttons at home. I 
 suspect that, though madame could have made but little 
 proht by the General's family, his monthly payments were 
 very welcome to her meagre little exchequer. " Ah ! if all 
 my locataires were like him!" sighed the poor lady. "That 
 Madame Boldero, whom the Generaless treats always as 
 Honorable, I wish I was as sure of hers ! And others 
 again ! " 
 
 I never kept a boarding-house, but I am sure there must 
 be many painful duties attendant on that profession. 
 What can you do if a lady or gentleman doesn't pay his 
 bill ? Turn him or her out ? Perhaps the very thing that 
 lady or gentleman would desire. They go. Those -trunks 
 which you have insanely detained, and about which you 
 have made a hght and a scandal, do not contain a hundred 
 francs' worth of goods, and your debtors never come back 
 again. You do not like to have a row in a boarding-house 
 any more than you would like to have a party with scarlet- 
 fever in your best bedroom. The scarlet-fever party staj^s, 
 and the other boarders go away. What, you ask, do I 
 mean by this m vster}^ ? I am sorry to have to give up 
 names, and titled names. I am sorry to say the Honor- 
 able Mrs. Boldero did not pay her bills. She was waiting 
 for remittances which the Honorable Boldero was dreadfully 
 remiss in sending. A dreadful man. He was still at his 
 lordship's at Gaberlunzie Castle, shooting the wild deer 
 and hunting the roe. And though the Honorable Mrs. 
 B.'s heart was in the Highlands, of course how could she 
 join her Highland chief without the money to pay madame ? 
 The Highlands, indeed ! One dull da}^ it came out that the 
 Honorable Boldero was amusing himself in uhe Highlands 
 of Hesse Homburg ; and engaged in the dangerous sport 
 which is to be had in the green plains about Loch Baden- 
 bade noch ! 
 
 " Did you ever hear of such depravity ? The woman is 
 a desperate and un}»rincipled adventuress ! I wonder 
 madame dares to put me and my children and my General 
 down at table with such people as those, Philip ! " cries
 
 388 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 Madame la Generale. "I mean those opposite — that 
 woman and her two daughters who haven't paid madame 
 a shilling for three months — who owes me live hundred 
 francs, which she borrowed until next Tuesday, expecting 
 a remittance — a pretty remittance, indeed — from Lord 
 Strongitharm. Lord Strongitharm, I dare say! And she 
 pretends to be most intimate at the embassy ; and that she 
 would introduce us there, and at the Tuileries ; and she 
 told me Lady Garterton had the small-pox in the house ; 
 and when I said all ours had been vaccinated, and I didn't 
 mind, she fobbed me off with some other excuse ; and it's 
 my belief the woman's a humbug. Overhear me ! I don't 
 care if she does overhear me. No. You may look as much 
 as you like, my Honorable Mrs. Boldero ; and I don't care 
 if you do overhear me. Ogoost ! Pomdytare pour le 
 General ! How tough madame's boof is, and it's boof, 
 boof, boof every day till I'm sick of boof. Ogoost! why 
 don't you attend to my children ? " And so forth. 
 
 By this report of the worthy woman's conversation, you 
 will see that the friendship which had sprung up between 
 the two ladies had come to an end, in consequence of pain- 
 ful pecuniary disputes between them ; that to keep a board- 
 ing-house can't be a very pleasant occupation; and that 
 even to dine in a boarding-house must be only bad fun 
 when the company is frightened and dull, and when there 
 are two old women at table ready to fling the dishes at each 
 other's fronts. At the period of which I now write, I 
 promise you, there was very little of the piano-duet business 
 going on after dinner. In the first place everybody knew 
 the girls' pieces, and when they began, Mrs. General 
 Baynes would lift up a voice louder than the jingling old 
 instrument, thumped Minna and Brenda ever so loudly. 
 " Perfect strangers to me, Mr. Clancy, I assure you. Had 
 I known her, you don't suppose I would have lent her the 
 money. Honorable Mrs. Boldero, indeed. Pive weeks she 
 has owed me five hundred frongs. Bong swor. Monsieur 
 Bidois. Sang song frong pas payy encor ! Prommy, pas 
 payy ! '' Fancy, I say, what a dreary life that must have 
 been at the select boarding-house, where these two parties 
 were doing battle daily after dinner ! Pancy, at the select 
 soirees, the General's lady seizing upon one guest after 
 another, and calling out her wrongs and pointing to the 
 wrong-doer ; and poor Madame Smolensk, smirking and 
 smiling and flying from one end of the salon to the other,
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 389 
 
 and thanking M. Pivoine for his charming romance, and M. 
 Brumm for his admirable performance on the violoncello, 
 and eveL asking those poor Miss Bolderos to perform their 
 duet — for her heart melted towards them. Xot ignorant 
 of evil, she had learned to succor the miserable. She 
 knew what poverty was and had to coax scowling duns and 
 wheedle vulgar creditors. "Tenez, Monsieur Philippe," 
 she said, "the Geiierale is too cruel. There are others 
 here who might complain, and are silent." Philip lelt all 
 this ; the conduct of his future mother-in-law filled him 
 with dismay and horror. And some time after these 
 remarkable circumstances he told me, blushing as he 
 spoke, a humiliating secret. " Do 3'ou know, sir," says he, 
 " that that autumn I made a pretty good thing of it with 
 one thing or another. I did my work for the Fall Mall 
 Gazette: and Smith of the Daily Intellifjencer, wanting a 
 month's holiday, gave me his letter and ten francs a day. 
 And at that very time I met Eedman, who had owed me twenty 
 pounds ever since we were at college, and who Avas just 
 coming back flush from Homburg, and paid me. Well, now. 
 Swear you won't tell. SAvear on your faith as a Christian 
 man ! With this money I Avent, sir, privily to Mrs. Bol- 
 der©. I said if she Avould pay the dragon — I mean Mrs. 
 Baynes — I AA^ould lend her the money. And I did lend 
 her the money, and the Boldero never paid back Mrs. 
 Baynes. Don't mention it. Promise me you Avon't tell 
 Mrs. Baynes. I never expected to get Redman's money, 
 you know, and am no worse off than before. One day of 
 the Grandes Eaux Ave Avent to Versailles, I think, and the 
 Honorable Mrs. Boldero gaA'e us the slip. She left the 
 poor girls behind her in pledge, AA^ho, to do them justice, 
 cried and Avere in a dreadful Avay ; and when Mrs. Baynes, 
 on our return, began shrieking about her 'sang song frong,' 
 Madame Smolensk fairly lost patience for once, and said, 
 ' Mais, madame, vous nous fatiguez avec a^os cinq cent 
 francs ; ' on Avhich the other muttered something about 
 ' Ansolong,' but was briskly taken up by her husband, AAdio 
 said, 'By George, Eliza, madame is quite right. And I 
 Avisli the fiA^e hundred francs Avere in the sea.' " 
 
 Thus, you understand, if ]\rrs. General Baynes thought 
 some people Avere " stuck-up people," some people can — 
 and hereby do by these presents — pay off ]Mrs. Baynes, by 
 furnishing the public Avith a candid opinion of that lady's 
 morals, manners, and character. How cou'd such a shrcAvd
 
 390 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 Avoman be dazzled so repeatedly by ranks and titles ? There 
 used to dine at ^ladame Smolensk's boarding-house a certain 
 German baron, with a large linger-ring, upon a dingy finger, 
 towards whom the lady was pleased to cast the eye of favor, 
 and who chose to fall in love with her pretty daughter ; 
 young Mr. Clancy, the Irish poet, was also smitten with the 
 charms of the fair young lady ; and this intrepid mother 
 encouraged both suitors, to the unspeakable agonies of Philip 
 Firmin, who felt often that whilst he was away at his work 
 these inmates of Madame Smolensk's house were -near his 
 charmer — at her side at lunch, ever handing her the cup at 
 breakfast, on the watch for her when she walked forth in 
 the garden ; and I take the pangs of jealousy to have formed 
 a part of those unspeakable sufferings which Philip said he 
 endured in the house whither he came courting. 
 
 Little Charlotte, in one or two of her letters to her friends 
 in Queen Square, London, meekly complained of Philip's 
 tendency to jealousy. " Does he think, after knowing him, 
 1 can think of these horrid men ? " she asked. " I don't 
 understand what ]\Ir. Clancy is talking about, when he comes 
 to me with his ' pomes and potry ; ' and who can read poetry 
 like Philip himself? Then the G-erman baron — who does 
 not call even himself baron : it is mamma who will insist 
 upon calling him so — has such very dirty things, and smells 
 so of cigars, that I don't like to come near him. Philip 
 smokes too, but his cigars are quite pleasant. Ah, dear 
 friend, how could he ever think such men as these were to 
 be put in comparison with him ! And he scolds so ; and 
 scowls at the poor men in the evening when he comes ! and 
 his temper is so high ! Do say a word to him — quite cau- 
 tiously and gently, you know — in behalf of your fondly 
 attached and most happy — only he will make me unhappy 
 sometimes ; but you'll prevent him, won't you ? — Char- 
 lotte B." 
 
 I could fancy Philip hectoring through the part of Othello, 
 and his poor young Desdemona not a little frightened at his 
 black humors. Such sentiments as jV[r. Philip felt strongly, 
 he expressed with an uproar. Charlotte's correspondent, as 
 usual, made light of these little domestic confidences and 
 grievances. "Women don't dislike a jealous scolding," she 
 said. " It may be rather tiresome, but it is always a com- 
 pliment. Some husbands think so well of themselves, that 
 they can't condescend to be jealous." " Yes," I saj^, '' women 
 prefer to have t^a-ants over them. A scolding you think is
 
 ox ins WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 391 
 
 a mark of attention. Hadn't you better adopt the Russian 
 system at once, and go out and buy me a whip, and present 
 it to me with a courtesy, and 3^ oui- compliments ; and a 
 meek prayer that I should use it/"' ''Present you a whip ! 
 present j^ou a goose ! " saj^s the lad}^, who encourages scold- 
 ing in other husbands, it seems, but won't suffer a word 
 from her own. 
 
 Both disputants had set their sentimental hearts on the 
 marriage of this young man and this youn.2: woman. Little 
 Charlotte's heart was so bent on the match, that it would 
 break, we fancied, if she were disappointed ; and in her 
 mother's behavior we felt, from the knowledge we had of 
 the woman's disposition, there was a serious cause for 
 alarm. Should a better offer present itself, INIrs. Baynes, 
 we feared, would fling over poor Philip : or it was in reason 
 and nature that he would come to a quarrel with her, and 
 in the course of the pitched battle which must ensue be- 
 tween them, he would hre off expressions mortally injurious. 
 Are there not many people, in every one's acquaintance, 
 who, as soon as they have made a bargain, repent of it? 
 Philip, as " preserver " of General Baynes, in the first fervor 
 of family gratitude for that act of self-sacrihce on the 
 young man's part, was very well. But gratitude wears out; 
 or suppose a woman says, "It is my duty to mj^ child to 
 recall my word, and not allow her to fling herself away on 
 a beggar." Suppose that you and I, strongly inclined to do 
 a mean action, get a good, available, and moral motive for 
 it ? I trembled for poor Philip's course of true love, and 
 little Charlotte's chances, when these surmises crossed my 
 mind. There was a hope still in the honor and gratitude of 
 General Baynes. He would not desert his young friend and 
 benefactor. Xow General Baynes was a brave man of war, 
 and so was John of ^Marlborough a brave man of war ; but 
 it is certain that both were afraid of their wives. 
 
 We have said by .vhose invitation and encouragement 
 General Baynes was induced to bring his family to the 
 boarding-house at Paris ; the instigation, namely, of his 
 friend and companion in arms, the gallant Colonel Bunch. 
 AVhen the Baynes family arrived, the Bunches were on the 
 steps of madame's house, waving a welcome to their new- 
 comers. It was, " Here we are. Bunch, my boy." " Glad 
 to see you, Baynes. Right well you're looking, and so's 
 Mrs. B." And the General replies, " And so are you, Bunch ; 
 and so do t/ou, Mrs. B." '^ How do, boys ? How d'you do,
 
 392 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 Miss Charlotte ? Come to show the Paris fellows what a 
 pretty girl is, hey ? Blooming like a rose, Bayiies ! " "I'm 
 telling the General," cries the Colonel to the General's lady, 
 " the girl's the very image of her mother." In this case 
 poor Charlotte must have looked like a yellow rose, for 
 ]\[rs. Baynes was of a bilious temperament and complexion, 
 whereas Miss Charlotte was as fresh pink and white as — 
 what shall we say? — as the very freshest strawberries 
 mingled with the very nicest cream. 
 
 The two old soldiers were of very great comfort to one 
 another. They toddled down to Galignani's together daily, 
 and read the papers there. They went and looked at the 
 reviews in the Carrousel, and once or twice to the Champ 
 de Mars : — recognizing here and there the numbers of the 
 regiments against which they had been engaged in the 
 famous ancient w^ars. They did not brag in the least about 
 their achievements, they winked and understood each other. 
 They got their old uniforms out of their old boxes, and 
 took a volture de remise, by Jove ! and went to be presented 
 to Louis Philippe. They bought a catalogue, and went to 
 the Louvre, and wagged their honest old heads before the 
 pictures ; and, I dare say, winked and nudged each other's 
 brave old sides at some of the nymphs in the statue gallery. 
 They went out to Versailles Avlth their families ; loyally 
 stood treat to the ladies at the restaurateur's. (Bunch had 
 taken down a memorandum in his pocket-book from Benyon, 
 who had been the duke's aide-de-camp in the last campaign, 
 to '• go to Beauvillier's," only Beauvillier's had been shut 
 up for twenty years.) They took their families and Char- 
 lotte to the Theatre Frangais, to a tragedy 5 and they had 
 books : and they said it was the most confounded nonsense 
 they ever saw in their lives ; and I am bound to say that 
 Bunch, in the back of the box, snored so that, though in 
 retirement, he created quite a sensation. "Corneal," he 
 owns, was too much for him : give him Shakspeare : give 
 him John Kemble : give him Mrs. Siddons : give him Mrs. 
 Jordan. But as for this sort of thing ? "I think our play 
 days are over, Baynes, — hey?" And I also believe that 
 Miss Charlotte Baynes, whose knowledge of the language 
 was imperfect as yet, was very much bewildered during the 
 tragedy, and could give but an imperfect account of it. 
 But then Philip Pirmin was in the orchestra stalls ; and 
 had he not sent three bouquets for the three ladies, regret- 
 ting that he could not come to see somebody in the Champs
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 393 
 
 Elysees, because it was liis post da}^, aud lie must write his 
 letter for the Fall Mall Gazette ? There he was, her Cid ; 
 her peerless champion : and to give up father and mother 
 iov him? oiu* little Chimene thought such a sacrifice not 
 too difficult. After that dismal attempt at the theatre, the 
 experiment was not repeated. The old gentlemen pre- 
 ferred their w^hist to those pompous Alexandrines sung 
 through the nose, which Colonel Bunch, a facetious little 
 Colonel, used to imitate, and, I am given to understand, 
 very badly. 
 
 The good gentlemen's ordinary amusement was a game at 
 cards after dinner; and they compared Madame's to an East 
 Indian ship, quarrels and all. Sarah went on just in that 
 way on board the " Burrumpooter." Always rows about 
 precedence, and the services, and the deuce knows what. 
 Women always will. Sarah Bunch went on in that way : 
 and Eliza Baynes also went on in that way ; but I should 
 think, from the most trustworthy^ information, that Eliza 
 was worse than Sarah. 
 
 ''About any person with a title, that women will make a 
 fool of herself to the end of the chapter," remarked Sarah 
 of her friend. " You remember how she used to go on at 
 Barrackpore about that little shrimp, Stoney Battersby, 
 because he was an Irish viscount's son ? See how she flings 
 herself at the head of this Mrs. Boldero, — with her airs, 
 and her paint, and her black front I I can't bear the woman ! 
 I know she has not paid madame. I know she is no better 
 than she should be — and to see Eliza Baynes coaxing her, 
 and sidling up to her, and flattering her ; — it's too bad, 
 that it is ! A woman who owes ever so much to madame ! 
 a woman who doesn't pay her washerwoman I " 
 
 " Just like the ' Burrumpooter ' over again, my dear," 
 cries Colonel Bunch. " You and Eliza Baynes were always 
 quarrelling, that's the fact. Wh}' did you ask her to come 
 here ? I knew you would begin again, as soon as you met." 
 And the truth was that these ladies were always fighting 
 and making up again. 
 
 " So you and Mrs. Bunch were old acquaintances ? " asked 
 Mrs. Boldero of her new friend. " My dear Mrs. Baynes ! 
 I should hardly have thought it : your manners are so dif- 
 ferent ! Your friend, if I may be so free as to speak, has 
 the camp manner. You have not the camp manner at all. 
 I should have thought you — excuse me the phrase, but I'm 
 so open, and always speak my mind out — you haven't the
 
 394 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 camp manner at all. You seem as if you were one of us. 
 Minna ! doesn't Mrs. Baynes put you in mind of Lady 
 
 Hm ? " (The name is inaudible, in consequence of 
 
 Mrs. Boldero's exceeding shyness in mentioning names — 
 
 but the girls see the likeness to dear Lady Hm at once.) 
 
 '' And when you bring your dear girl to London you'll know 
 the lady I mean, and judge for yourself. I assure you I am 
 not disparaging you, my dear Mrs. Baynes, in comparing 
 you to her ! " 
 
 And so the conversation goes on. If Mrs. Major Mac- 
 Whirter at Tours chose to betray secrets, she could give 
 extracts from her sister's letters to show how profound was 
 the impression created in Mrs. General Baynes's mind by 
 the professions and conversations of the Scotch lady. 
 
 " Didn't the General shoot, and love deer-stalking ? The 
 dear General must come to Gaberlunzie Castle, where she 
 would promise him a Highland welcome. Her brother 
 Strongitharm was the most amiable of men ; adored her 
 and her girls : there was talk even of marrying Minna to 
 the Captain, but she, for her part, could not endure the 
 marriage of first-cousins. There was a tradition against 
 such marriages in their family. Of three Bolderos and 
 Strongitharms who married their first-cousins, one was 
 drowned in Gaberlunzie lake three weeks after the mar- 
 riage ; one lost his wife by a galloping consumption, and 
 died a monk at Rome ; and the third married a fortnight 
 before the battle of Culloden, where he was slain at the 
 head of the Strongitharms. ]\Irs. Baynes had no idea of 
 the splendor of Gaberlunzie Castle ; seventy bedrooms and 
 thirteen company-rooms, besides the picture-galler}^ I In 
 Edinburgh, the Strongitharm had the right to wear his 
 bonnet in the presence of his sovereign." " A bonnet ! how 
 very odd, my dear ! But with ostrich plumes, I dare say it 
 may look well, especially as the Highlanders wear frocks, 
 too." " Lord Strongitharm had no house in London, having 
 almost ruined himself in building his princely castle in the 
 North. Mrs. Baynes must come there and meet their noble 
 relatives and all the Scottish nobility." "Nor do / care 
 about these vanities, my dear, but to bring my sweet 
 Charlotte into the world : is it not a mother's duty ? " 
 
 Not only to her sister, but likewise to Charlotte's friends 
 of Queen Square, did Mrs. Baynes impart these delightful 
 news. But this is in the first ardor of the friendship 
 which arises between Mrs. Baynes and Mrs. Boldero, and
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 395 
 
 before those unpleasant money disputes of which we have 
 spoken. 
 
 Afterwards, when the two ladies have quarrelled regard- 
 ing the memorable " sang song frong," I think Mrs. Bunch 
 came round to Mrs. Boldero's side. "Eliza Baynes is too 
 hard on her. It is too cruel to insult her before those two 
 unhappy daughters. The woman is an odious woman, and 
 a vulgar woman, and a schemer, and I always said so. But 
 to box her ears before her daughters — her honorable friend 
 of last week ! it's a shame of Eliza ! " 
 
 "My dear, you'd better tell her so ! " says Bunch, dryly. 
 " But if you do, tell her when I'm out of the way, please ! " 
 And accordingly, one day when the two old officers return 
 from their stroll, Mrs. Bunch informs the Colonel that she 
 has had it out with Eliza : and Mrs. Baynes, with a heated 
 face, tells the General that she and Mrs. Colonel Bunch 
 have quarrelled ; and she is determined it shall be for 
 the last time. So that poor Madame de Smolensk has to 
 interpose between Mrs. Baj'ues and ]\Irs. Boldero ; between 
 jSIrs. Baynes and Mrs. Bunch ; and to sit surrounded by 
 glaring eyes, and hissing innuendoes, and in the midst of 
 feuds unhealable. Of course, from the women the quarrel- 
 ling will spread to the gentlemen. That always happens. 
 Poor madame trembles. Again Bunch gives his neighbor 
 his word that it is like the "Burrumpooter " East Indiaman 
 — the " Burrumpooter " in very bad weather, too. 
 
 "At any rate, we won't be lugged into it, Baj'nes my 
 boy ! " says the Colonel, who is of a sanguine temperament, 
 to his friend. 
 
 " Hey, hey ! don't be too sure, Bunch ; don't be too sure," 
 sighs the other veteran, who, it may be, is of a more de- 
 sponding turn, as, after a battle at luncheon, in which the 
 Amazons were fiercely engaged, the two old warriors take 
 their Avalk to Galignani's. 
 
 Towards his Charlotte's relatives poor Philip was respect- 
 ful by duty and a sense of interest, perhaps. Before mar- 
 riage, especially, men are very kind to the relatives of the 
 beloved object. They pay compliments to mamma ; they 
 listen to papa's old stories, and laugh appositely ; they 
 bring presents for the innocent young ones, and let the 
 little brothers kick their shins. Philip endured the juvenile 
 Bayneses ver}^ kindly : he took the boys to Franconi's, and 
 made his conversation as suitable as he could to the old 
 people. He was fond of the old General, a simple and
 
 396 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 worthy old man; and had, as we have said, a hearty- 
 sympathy and respect for Madame Smolensk, admiring her 
 constancy and good-humor under her many trials. But 
 those who have perused his memoirs are aware that Mr. 
 Firmin could make himself, on occasions, not a little dis- 
 agreeable. When sprawling on a sofa, engaged in conver- 
 sation with his charmer, he would not budge, when other 
 ladies entered the room. He scowled at them, if he did 
 not like them. He was not at the least trouble to conceal 
 his likes or dislikes. He had a manner of hxing his glass 
 in his eye, putting his thumbs into the armholes of his 
 waistcoat, and talking and laughing very loudly at his own 
 jokes or conceits, which was not pleasant or respectful to 
 ladies. 
 
 " Your loud young friend, with the cracked boots, is very 
 mauvais to?i, my dear Mrs. Baynes," Mrs. Boldero remarked 
 to her new friend, in the first ardor of their friendship. 
 '' A relative of Lord Ringwood's, is he ? Lord Eingwood 
 is a very queer person. A son of that dreadful Dr. Firmin, 
 who ran away after cheating everybody ? Poor young 
 man ! He can't help having such a father, as you say, and 
 most good, and kind, and generous of you to say so. And 
 the General and the Honorable Philip Pingwood were 
 early companions together, I dare say. But, having such 
 an unfortunate father as Dr. Firmin, I think Mr. Firmin 
 might be a little less ^^ro?io?Z("e; don't you? And to see 
 him in cracked boots, sprawling over the sofas, and hear 
 him, when my loves are playing their duets, laughing and 
 talking so very loud — I confess isn't pleasant to me. I 
 am not used to that kind of monde, nor are my dear loves. 
 You are under great obligations to him, and he has behaved 
 nobly, you say ? Of course. To get into your society an 
 unfortunate young man will be on his best behavior, though 
 he certainly does not condescend to be civil to us. But . . . 
 What! that young man engaged to that lovely, innocent, 
 charming child, your daughter ? My dear creature, you 
 frighten me ! A man with such a father ; and, excuse me, 
 with such a manner ; and without a penny in the world, 
 engaged to Miss Baynes ! G-oodness, powers ! It must 
 never be. It shall not be, my dear Mrs. Baynes. Why, I 
 have written to my nephew Lenox to come over, Strongith- 
 arni's favorite son and my favorite nephew. I have told 
 him that there is a sweet young creature here, whom he 
 must and ought to see. How well that dear child would
 
 OiV HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 397 
 
 look presiding at Strongitharm Castle ? And yon are going 
 to give her to that dreadful young man with the loud voice 
 and the cracked boots — that smoky young man — oh, im- 
 possible ! " 
 
 Madame had, no doubt, given a very favorable report of her 
 new lodgers to the other inmates of her house ; and she 
 and Mrs. Boldero had concluded that all general officers 
 returning from India were immensely rich. To think that 
 her daughter might be the Honorable Mrs. Strongitharm, 
 Baroness Strongitharm, and walk in a coronation in robes, 
 with a coronet in her hand ! Mrs. Baynes yielded in loyalty 
 to no w^oman, but I fear her wicked desires compassed a 
 speedy royal demise, as this thought passed through her 
 mind of the Honorable Lenox Strongitharm. She looked 
 him out in the Peerage, and found that young nobleman des- 
 ignated as the Captain of Strongitharm ! Charlotte might 
 be the Honorable Mrs. Captain of Strongitharm ! When 
 poor Phil stalked in after dinner that evening in his shabby 
 boots and smoky paletot, Mrs. Baynes gave him but a grim 
 welcome. He went and prattled unconsciously by the side 
 of his little Charlotte, whose tender eyes dwelt upon his, 
 and whose fair cheeks flung out their blushes of welcome. 
 He prattled away. He laughed out loud whilst Minna and 
 Brenda were thumping their duet. " Taisez-vous done, Mon- 
 sieur Philippe," cries madame, putting her finger to her lip. 
 The Honorable Mrs. Boldero looked at dear Mrs. Baynes, 
 and shrugged her shoulders. Poor Philip I would he have 
 laughed so loudly (and so rudely too, as I own) had he 
 known what was passing in the minds of those women ? 
 Treason was passing there : and before that glance of know- 
 ing scorn, shot from the Honorable Mrs. Boldero's eyes, 
 dear Mrs. General Baynes faltered. How very curt and 
 dry she was with Philip ! how testy with Charlotte ! Poor 
 Philip, knowing that his charmer was in the power of her 
 mother, was pretty humble to this dragon ; and attempted, 
 by uncouth flatteries, to soothe and propitiate her. She 
 had a queer, dr}^ humor, and loved a joke ; but Phil's fell 
 very flat this night. Mrs. Baynes received his pleasantries 
 with an " Oh, indeed ! " She was sure she heard one of the 
 children crying in their nursery. *' Do, pray, go and see, 
 Charlotte, what that child is crying about." And away goes 
 poor Charlotte, having but dim presentiment of misfortune 
 as yet. Was not mamma often in an ill humor ; and were 
 they not all used to her scoldings ?
 
 398 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 As for Mrs. Colonel Bunch, I am sorry to say that, up to 
 this time, Philip was not only no favorite with her, but was 
 heartily disliked by that lady. I have told you our friend's 
 faults. He was loud : he was abrupt : he was rude often : 
 and often gave just cause of annoyance by his laughter, his 
 disresj)ect, and his swaggering manner. To those whom he 
 liked he was as gentle as a woman ; and treated them with 
 an extreme tenderness and touching rough respect. But 
 those persons about whom he was indifferent, he never took 
 the least trouble to conciliate or please. If they told long 
 stories, for example, he would turn on his heel, or interrupt 
 them by observations of his own on some quite different 
 subject. Mrs. Colonel Bunch, then, positively disliked that 
 young man, and I think had very good reasons for her dis- 
 like. As for Bunch, Bunch said to Baynes, " Cool hand, 
 that young fellow ! " and winked. And Baynes said to 
 Bunch, "Queer chap. Fine fellow, as I have reason to 
 know pretty well. I play a club. No club ? I mark 
 honors and two tricks." And the game went on. Clancy 
 hated Philip : a meek man whom Pirmin had yet managed 
 to offend. ''That man," the poet Clancy remarked, "has a 
 manner of treading on me corrans which is intolerable to 
 me ! " 
 
 The truth is, Philip was always putting his foot on some 
 other foot, and trampling it. And as for the Boldero clan, 
 Mr. Pirmin treated them with the most amusing insolence, 
 and ignored them as if they w^ere out of existence altogether. 
 So you see the poor fellow^ had not wdth his poverty learned 
 the least lesson of humility, or acquired the very earliest 
 rudiments of the art of making friends. I think his best 
 friend in the house was its mistress, Madame Smolensk. 
 Mr. Philip treated her as an equal : which mark of affability 
 he was not in the habit of bestowing on all persons. Some 
 great people, some rich people, some would-be-fine people, 
 he would patronize with an insufferable audacit3^ Bank or 
 wealth do not seem somehow to influence this man, as they 
 do common mortals. He would tap a bishop on the waist- 
 coat, and contradict a duke at their first meeting. I have 
 seen him walk out of church during a stupid sermon, with 
 an audible remark perhaps to that effect, and as if it were 
 a matter of course that he should go. If the company 
 bored him at dinner, he would go to sleep in the most 
 unaffected manner. At home we were always kept in a 
 pleasant state of anxiety, not only by what he did and said,
 
 O.V HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 399 
 
 but by the idea of what he might do or say next. He did 
 not go to sleep at madame's boarding-house, preferring to 
 keep his eyes open to look at pretty Charlotte's. And were 
 there ever such sapphires as his ? she thought. And hers ? 
 Ah ! if they have tears to shed, I hope a kind fate will dry 
 them quickly !
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 TREATS OF DANCING, DINING, DYING. 
 
 LD scliool-boys remember 
 how, when pious ^neas 
 was compelled by pain- 
 ful circumstances to quit 
 his country, he and his 
 select band of Trojans 
 founded a new Troy, 
 where they landed; 
 raising temples to the 
 Trojan gods ; building 
 streets with T r o j a n 
 names ; and endeavor- 
 ing, to the utmost of 
 their power, to recall 
 their beloved native 
 place. In like manner 
 British Trojans and French Trojans take their Troy every- 
 where. Algiers I have only seen from the sea; but New 
 Orleans and Leicester Square I have visited ; and have seen 
 a quaint old France still lingering on the banks of the 
 Mississippi ; a dingy modern France round that great 
 Globe of Mr. Wyld's, which they say is coming to an end. 
 There are French cafes, billiards, estaminets, waiters, 
 markers, poor Frenchmen, and rich Frenchmen, in a new 
 Paris — shabby and dirty, it is true — but offering the 
 emigrant the dominoes, the chopine, the petit-verre of the 
 patrie. And do not British Trojans, who emigrate to the 
 continent of Europe, take their Troy Avith them ? You all 
 know the quarters of Paris which swarm with us Trojans. 
 From Peace Street to the Arch of the Star are collected 
 thousands of refugees from our Ilium. Under the arcades 
 of the Rue de Rivoli you meet, at certain hours, as many 
 of our Trojans as of the natives. In the Trojan inns of 
 " Meurice," the " Louvre," &c., Ave swarm. We have 
 
 400
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 401 
 
 numerous Auglo-Trojau doctors and apothecaries, who give 
 us the dear pills and doses of Pergamus. We go to Mrs. 
 Guerre or kind Mrs. Colombin, and can purchase the sand- 
 wiches of Troy, the pale ale and sherry of Troy, and the 
 dear, dear muffins of home. We live for years, never 
 speaking any language but our native Trojan ; except to our 
 servants, whom we instruct in the Trojan way of preparing 
 toast for breakfast; Trojan bread-sauce for fowls and 
 partridges; Trojan corn-beef, i&c. We have temples where 
 Ave worship according to the Trojan rites. A kindly sight 
 is that which one beholds of a Sunday in the Elysian fields 
 and the St. Honore quarter, of processions of English grown 
 people and children, stalwart, red-cheeked, marching to 
 their churches, their gilded prayer-books in hand, to sing in 
 a stranger's land the sacred songs of their Zion. I am sure 
 there are many English in Paris who never speak to any 
 native above the rank of a waiter or shopman. Not long 
 since I was listening to a Erenchman at Folkestone, speak- 
 ing English to the waiters and acting as interpreter for his 
 party. He spoke p»retty well and very quickly. He was 
 irresistibly comical. 1 wonder how we maintained our 
 gravity. And you and I, my dear friend, when we speak 
 French, I dare say we are just as absurd. As absurd ! And 
 why not ? Don't you be discouraged, young fellow. Courage^ 
 vionjeune ami! Remember, Trojans have a conquering way 
 with them. When ^Eneas landed at Carthage, I dare say 
 he spoke Carthaginian with a ridiculous Trojan accent ; but, 
 for all that, poor Dido fell desperately in love with him. 
 Take example by the son of Anchises, my boy. iSTever 
 mind the grammar or the pronunciation, but tackle the lady, 
 and sjDeak j^our mind to her as best you can. 
 
 This is the plan which the Vicomte de Loisy used to 
 adopt. He was following a cours of English according to 
 the celebrated methode Johson. The cours assembled twice 
 a week ; and the Vicomte, with laudable assiduity, went to 
 all English parties to which he could gain an introduction, 
 for the purpose of acquiring the English language, and 
 marrying une Anglaise. This industrious young man even 
 went au Temple on Sundays for the purpose of familiariz- 
 ing himself with the English language ; and as he sat un- 
 der Dr. Murrogh iMacmanus of T. C. I)., a very eloquent 
 preacher at Paris in those days, the Vicomte acquired a 
 very fine pronunciation. Attached to the cause of unfortu- 
 nate monarchy all over the world, the Vicomte had fought 
 
 VOL. I. — 26
 
 402 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 ill the Spaiiisli Carlist armies. He waltzed well : and 
 iiiadame thought his cross looked nice at her parties. 
 Will it be believed that Mrs. General Baynes took this 
 gentleman into special favor ; talked with him at soiree 
 after soiree ; never laughed at his English ; encouraged her 
 girl to waltz with him (which he did to perfection, whereas 
 poor Philip was but a hulking and clumsy performer) ; and 
 showed him the very greatest favor, until one day, on going 
 into Mr. Bonus's, the house-agent (who lets lodgings, and 
 sells British pickles, tea, sherry, and the like), she found 
 the Vicomte occupying a stool as clerk in Mr. Bonus's 
 establishment, where for twelve hundred francs a year he 
 gave his invaluable services during the day ! Mrs. Baynes 
 took poor midame severely to task for admitting such a 
 man to her assemblies. Madame was astonished. Monsieur 
 Avas a gentleman of ancient family who had met with 
 misfortunes. He was earning his maintenance. To sit in 
 a bureau was not a dishonor. Knowing that houtiq^iie meant 
 shop and gar^on meant boy, Mrs. Baynes made use of the 
 words boutique gargon the next time she saw the Vicomte. 
 The little man wept tsars of rage and mortihcation. There 
 was a very painful scene, at which, thank mercy, poor 
 Charlotte thought, Philip was not present. Were it not 
 for the General's cheveux hlancs (by which phrase the 
 Vicomte very kindly designated General Baynes's chestnut 
 top-knot), the Vicomte would have had reason from him. 
 "Charming miss," he said to Charlotte, "your respectable 
 papa is safe from my sword ! Madame your mamma has 
 addressed me words which I qualify not. But you — you 
 are too 'andsome, too good, to despise a poor soldier, a poor 
 gentleman!" I have heard the Vicomte still dances at 
 boarding-houses and is still in pursuit of an Anglaise. He 
 must be a wooer now almost as elderly as the good General 
 whose scalp he respected. 
 
 Mrs. Baynes was, to be sure, a heavy weight to bear for 
 poor madame, but her lean shoulders were accustomed to 
 many a burden ; and if the General's wife was quarrelsome 
 and odious, he, as madame said, was as soft as a mutton ; 
 and Charlotte's pretty face and manners were the admira- 
 tion of all. The yellow Miss Bolderos, those hapless 
 elderly orphans left in pawn, might bite their lips with 
 envy, but they never could make them ai red as Miss 
 Charlotte's smiling mouth. To the honor of Madame 
 Smolensk be it said that never, by word or hint, did she
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 403 
 
 cause those unliappy 3'ouug ladies any needless pain. 
 She never stinted them of any meal. jSTo full-priced 
 pensioner of madame's could have breakfast, luncheon, 
 dinners served more regularly. The day after their 
 mother's flight, that good Madame Smolensk took early 
 cups of tea to the girls' rooms, with her own hands ; and I 
 believe helped to do the hair of one of them, and otherwise 
 to soothe them in their misfortune. They could not keep 
 their secret. It must be owned that ]\Irs. Baynes never 
 lost an opportunity of deploring their situation and 
 acquainting all new-comers with their mother's flight and 
 transgression. But she was good-natured to the captives in 
 her grim way : and admired madame's forbearance regard- 
 ing them. The two old officers were now especially polite 
 to the poor things : and the General rapped one of his boys 
 over the knuckles for saying to Miss Brenda, "If your 
 uncle is a lord, why doesn't he give you any money ? " 
 " And these girls used to hold their heads above mine, and 
 their mother used to give herself such airs ! " cried Mrs. 
 Baynes. " And Eliza Baynes used to flatter those x^oor 
 girls and their mother, and fancy they were going to make 
 a woman of fashion of her ! " said Mrs. Bunch. " We all 
 have our weaknesses. Lords are not yours, my dear. Faith, 
 I don't think you know one," says stout little Colonel 
 Bunch. "I wouldn't pay a duchess such court as Eliza 
 paid that woman I " cried Sarah ; and she made sarcastic 
 inquiries of the General, whether Eliza had heard from her 
 friend the Honorable Mrs. Boldero ? But for all this Mrs. 
 Bunch pitied the young ladies, and I believe gave them a 
 little supply of coin from her private purse. A word as to 
 their private history. Their mamma became the terror of 
 boarding-house keepers : and the poor girls practised their 
 duets all over Europe. Mrs. Boldero's noble nephew, the 
 present Strongitharm (as a friend who knows the fashion- 
 able world informs me), was victimized by his own uncle, 
 and a most painful affair occurred between them at a game 
 at " blind hookey." The Honorable Mrs. Boldero is living 
 in the precincts of Holyrood; one of her daughters is 
 happily married to a minister; and the other to an apothe- 
 cary who was called in to attend her in quinsy. So I am 
 inclined to think that ])lirase about " select " boarding- 
 houses is a mere complimentary term; and as for the 
 strictest references being given and required, I certainly 
 should not lay out extra money for printing that expression
 
 404 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 in my advertisement, were I going to set up an establish- 
 ment myself. 
 
 Old college friends of Philip's visited Paris from time to 
 time; and rejoiced in carrying him off to "Borel's" or the 
 " Trois Freres," and hospitably treating him who had been 
 so hospitable in his time. Yes, thanks be to heaven, there 
 are good Samaritans in pretty large numbers in this world, 
 and hands ready enough to succor a man in misfortune. I 
 could name two or three gentlemen who drive about in 
 chariots and look at people's tongues and write queer 
 hgures and queer Latin on note-paper, who occultly made a 
 purse containing some seven or ten score fees, and sent 
 them out to Dr. Firniin in his banishment. The poor 
 wretch had behaved as ill as might be, but he was without 
 a penny or a friend. I dare say Dr. Goodenough, amongst 
 other philanthropists, put his hands into his pocket. Hav- 
 ing heartily disliked and mistrusted Firmin in prosperity, 
 in adversity he melted towards the poor fugitive wretch : 
 he even could believe that Firmin had some skill in his 
 profession, and in his practice was not quite a quack. 
 
 Philip's old college and school cronies laughed at hearing 
 that, now his ruin was comjjlete, he was thinking about 
 marriage. Such a plan was of a piece with Mr. Firmin's 
 known prudence and foresight. But they made an objec- 
 tion to his proposed union, which had struck us at home 
 previously. Papa-in-law was well enough, or at least 
 inoffensive : but ah, ye powers ! what a mother-in-law was 
 poor Phil laying up for his future days ! Two or three of 
 our mutual companions made this remark on returning to 
 work and chambers after their autumn holiday. We never 
 had too much charity for Mrs. Baynes ; and what Philip 
 told us about her did not serve to increase our regard. 
 
 About Christmas Mr. Firmin's own affairs brought him 
 on a brief visit to London. We were not jealous that he 
 took up his quarters with his little friend, of Thornhaugh 
 Street, who was contented that he should dine with us, 
 provided she could have the pleasure of housing him under 
 her kind shelter. High and mighty people as we were — 
 for under what humble roofs does not Vanity hold her 
 sway? — we, who knew Mrs. Brandon's virtues, and were 
 aware of her early story, would have condescended to 
 receive her into our society ; but it was the little lady her- 
 self who had her pride, and held aloof. "My parents did 
 not give me the education you have had, ma'am," Caroline
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 405 
 
 said to my wife. " My place is not here, I know very well ; 
 unless you should be took ill, and tke?i, ma'am, you'll see 
 that I will be glad enough to come. Philip can come and 
 see 7ne ; and a blessing it is to me to set eyes on him. 
 But I shouldn't be happy in your drawing-room, nor you in 
 having me. The dear children look surprised at my way 
 of talking ; and no wonder : and they laugh sometimes to 
 one another, God bless 'em ! I don't mind. My education 
 was not cared for. I scarce had any schooling but what I 
 taught myself. My pa hadn't the means of learning me 
 much : and it is too late to go to school at forty odd. I've 
 got all his stockings and things darned ; and his linen, 
 poor fellow! — beautiful: I wish they kep' it as nice in 
 France, where he is ! You'll give my love to the young 
 lady, won't }■ ou, ma'am ? and oh ! it's a blessing to me to 
 hear how good and gentle she is ! He has a high temper, 
 Philip have : but them he likes can easy manage him. You 
 have been his best kind friends ; and so will she be, I 
 trust ; and they may be happy though they're poor. But 
 they've time to get rich, haven't they ? And it's not the 
 richest that's the happiest, that I can see in many a fine 
 house where Xurse Brandon goes and has her eyes open, 
 though she don't say much, you know." In this way 
 Nurse Brandon would prattle on to us when she came to 
 see us. She would share our meal, always thanking by 
 name the servant who helped her. She insisted on calling 
 our children "Miss" an 1 "Master," and I think those 
 young satirists did not laugh often or unkindly at her 
 peculiarities. I know they were told that Xurse Brandon 
 was very good ; and that she took care of her father in his 
 old age ; and that she had passed through very great griefs 
 and trials ; and that she had nursed Uncle Philip when he 
 had been very ill indeed, and when many people would 
 have been afraid to come near him ; and that her life was 
 spent in tending the sick, and in doing good to her 
 neighbor. 
 
 One da}^ during Philip's stay with us we happen to read 
 in the paper Lord Ringwood's arrival in London. My lord 
 had a grand town-house of his own which he did not 
 always inhabit. He liked the cheerfulness of a hotel 
 better. Ring wood House was too large and too dismal. 
 He did not care to eat a solitary mutton-chop in a great 
 dining-room surrounded by ghostly images of dead King- 
 woods — his dead son, a boy who had died in his boyhood j
 
 406 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 his dead brother attired in the uniform of his day (in 
 which picture there was no little resemblance to Philip 
 Firmin, the Colonel's grandson) ; Lord Eingwood's dead 
 self, hnally, as he appeared still a young man when 
 Lawrence painted him, and when lie was the companion of 
 the Regent and his friends. "Ah! that's the fellow I 
 least like to look at," the old man would say, scowling at 
 the picture, and breaking out into the old-fashioned oaths 
 which garnished many conversations in his young days. 
 " That fellow could ride all day ; and sleep all night, or go 
 without sleep as he chose ; and drink his four bottles, and 
 never have a headache ; and break his collar-bone, and 
 see the fox killed three hours after. That was once a man, 
 as old Marlborough said, looking at his own picture. Now 
 my doctor's my master ; my doctor and the infernal gout 
 over him. I live upon pap and puddens, like a baby ; only 
 I've shed all my teeth, hang 'em. If I drink three glasses 
 of sherry, my butler threatens me. You young fellow, 
 who haven't twopence in your pocket, by George, I would 
 like to change with you. Only you wouldn't, hang you, 
 you wouldn't. Why, I don't believe Todhunter would 
 change with me: would you, Todhunter? — and you're 
 about as fond of a great man as any fellow I ever knew. 
 Don't tell me. You are, sir. Why, when I walked with 
 you on Ryde Sands one day, I said to that fellow, ' Tod- 
 hunter, don't you think I could order the sea to stand 
 still ? ' I did. And you had never heard of King Canute, 
 hanged if you had, and never read any book except the 
 Stud-book and Mrs. Glasse's Cookery, hanged if vou did." 
 Such remarks and conversations of his relative has Philip 
 reported to me. Two or three men about town had very 
 good imitations of this toothless, growling, blasphemous old 
 cynic. He was splendid a*nd penurious ; violent and easily 
 led ; surrounded by flatterers and utterly lonely. He had 
 old-world notions, which I believe have passed out of the 
 manners of great folks now. He thought it beneath him 
 to travel by railway, and his post-chaise was one of the last 
 on the road. The tide rolled on in spite of this old 
 Canute, and has long since rolled over him and his post- 
 chaise. Why, almost all his imitators are actually dead ; 
 and only this year, when old Jack Mummers gave an imita- 
 tion of him at " Ba3^s's " (where Jack's mimicry used to be 
 received with shouts of laughter but a few years since), 
 there was a dismal silence in the coffee-room, except from
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 407 
 
 two or three young men at a near table, who said, " What 
 is the okl fool nuinibling and swearing at now ? An imita- 
 tion of Lord Kingwood, and who was he ? " So our names 
 pass away, and are forgotten : and the tallest statues, do 
 not the sands of time accumulate and overwhelm them ? 1 
 have not forgotten my lord ; any more than I have forgotten 
 the cock of my school, about whom, perhaps, you don't 
 care to hear. I see my lord's bald head, and hooked beak, 
 and bushy eyebrows, and tall velvet collar, and brass 
 buttons, and great black mouth, and trembling hand, and 
 trembling parasites around him, and I can hear his voice, 
 and great oaths, and laughter. You parasites of to-day are 
 bowing to other great people ; and this great one, who 
 was alive only yesterday, is as dead as George tV. or 
 Kebuchadnezzar. 
 
 Well, we happen to read that Philip's noble relative Lord 
 Kingwood has arrived at Hotel, whilst Philip is stay- 
 ing with us ; and I own that I counsel my friend to go and 
 wait upon his lordship. He had been very kind at Paris : 
 he had evidentl}^ taken a liking to Philip. Firmin ought 
 to go and see him. Who knows ? Lord Eingwood might 
 be inclined to do something for his brother's grandson. 
 
 This was just the point which any one who knew Philip 
 should have hesitated to urge upon him. To try and make 
 him bow and smile on a great man with a view of future 
 favors, was to demand the impossible from Firmin. The 
 king's men may lead the king's horses to the water, but the 
 king himself can't make them drink. I own that I came 
 back to the subject, and urged it repeatedly on my friend. 
 " I have been," said Philip, sulkily. " I have left a card 
 upon him. If he wants me, he can send to No. 120, Queen 
 Square, Westminster, my present hotel. But if you think 
 he will give me anything beyond a dinner, I tell you you 
 are mistaken." 
 
 We dined that day with Philip's employer, worthy Mr. 
 ]\rugford, of the Pall Mall Gazette, Avho was profuse in his 
 hospitalities, and especially gracious to Philip. Mugford 
 was pleased with Fii-min's letters ; and you may be sure that 
 severer critics did not contradict their friend's good-natured 
 patron. We drove to the suburban villa at Hampstead, and 
 steaming odors of soup, mutton, onions, rushed out into the 
 hall to give us welcome, and to warn us of the good cheer 
 in store for the party. This was not one of Mugford's days 
 for countermanding side-dishes, I promise you. Men in
 
 408 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 black with noble white cotton gloves were in waiting to re- 
 ceive us; and Mrs. Mugford, in a rich blue satin and 
 feathers, a profusion of flounces, laces, marabouts, jewels, 
 and eau-de-Cologne, rose to welcome us from a stately sofa, 
 where she sat surrounded by her children. These, too, were 
 in brilliant dresses, with shining new-combed hair. The 
 ladies, of course, instantly began to talk about their children, 
 and my wife's unfeigned admiration for Mrs. Mugford's 
 last baby I think won that worthy lady's good-will at once. 
 I made some remark regarding one of the boys as being the 
 picture of his father, which was not lucky. I don't know 
 why, but I have it from her husband's own admission, that 
 Mrs. Mugford always thinks I am " chaffing her." One of 
 the boys frankly informed me there was goose for dinner ; 
 and when a cheerful cloop was heard from a neighboring 
 room, told me that was pa drawing the corks. Why should 
 Mrs. Mugford reprove the outspoken child and say, "James, 
 hold your tongue, do now " ? Better wine than was poured 
 forth, when those corks were drawn, never flowed from 
 bottle, — I say, I never saw better wine nor more bottles. 
 If ever a table may be said to have groaned, that expression 
 might with justic3 be applied to Mugford's mahogany. 
 Talbot Twysden would have feasted forty people with the 
 meal here provided for eight by our most hospitable enter- 
 tainer. Though Mugford's editor was present, who thinks 
 himself a very fine fellow, I assure you, but whose name I 
 am not at liberty to divulge, all the honors of the entertain- 
 ment were for the Paris Corresj)ondent, who was specially 
 requested to take Mrs. M. to dinner. As an earl's grand- 
 nephew, and a lord's great-grandson, of course we felt that 
 this place of honor was Firmin's right. How Mrs. Mugford 
 pressed him to eat ! She carved — I am very glad she 
 would not let Philip carve for her, for he might have sent 
 the goose into her lap — she carved, I say, and I really 
 think she gave him more stuffing than to any of us, but that 
 may have been mere envy on my part. Allusions to Lord 
 Ringwood were repeatedly made during dinner. '' Lord R. 
 has come to town, Mr. F., I perceive," says Mugford, wink- 
 ing. "You've been to see him, of course?" Mr. Firmin 
 glared at me very fiercely : he had to own he had been to 
 call on Lord Ringwood. Mugford led the conversation to 
 the noble lord so frequently that Philip madly kicked my 
 shins under the table. I don't know how many times I had 
 to suffer from that foot which in its time has trampled on
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 409 
 
 so many persons : a kick for each time Lord Kingwood's 
 name, houses, parks, properties, were mentioned was a 
 frightful allowance. Mrs. Mugford would say, "]\lay I 
 assist you to a little pheasant, Mr. Firmin ? I dare say 
 they are not as good as Lord Ringwood's " (a kick from 
 Philip) ; or ^[ugtord would exclaim, '' Mr. F., try that 'ock ! 
 Lord Kingwood hasn't better wine than that." (Dreadful 
 punishment upon my tibia under the table.) " John ! Two 
 'ocks. me and ^Ir. Firmin. Join us, Mr. P.," and so forth. 
 And after dinner, to the ladies — as my wife, who betrayed 
 their mysteries, informed me — Mrs. ^Mugford's conversation 
 was incessant regarding the Eingwood family and Firmin's 
 relationship to that noble house. The meeting of the old 
 lord and Firmin in Paris was discussed with immense 
 interest. '' His lordship called him Philip most affable ! he 
 was very fond of Mr. Firmin." A little bird had told Mrs. 
 Mugford that somebody else was very fond of Mr. Firmin. 
 She hoped it would be a match, and that his lordship would 
 do the handsome thing by his nephew. What ? My wife 
 wondered that Mrs. Mugford should know about Philip's 
 affairs (and wonder indeed she did) ? A little bird had 
 told Mrs. ^L — a friend of both ladies, that dear, good little 
 nurse Brandon, who was engaged — and here the conversa- 
 tion went ■ off into mysteries which I certainly shall not 
 reveal. Suffice it that Mrs. ^lugford was one of Mrs. 
 Brandon's best, kindest, and most constant patrons — or 
 might I be permitted to say matrons ? — and had received 
 a most favorable report of us from the little nurse. And 
 here Mrs. Pendennis gave a verbatim report not only of our 
 hostess's speech, but of her manner and accent. ''Yes, 
 ma'am," says Mrs. Mugford to ^Irs. Pendennis, "our friend 
 Mrs. B. has told me of a certain rjentleman whose name 
 shall be nameless. His manner is cold, not to say 'aughty. 
 He seems to be laus^hing at people sometimes — don't say 
 Xo ; I saw him once or twice at dinner, both him and ]\[r. 
 Firmin. But he is a true friend, Mrs. Brandon spys he is. 
 And when you know him, his heart is good." Is it ? 
 Amen. A distinguished writer has composed, in not very 
 late days, a comedy of which the cheerful moral is, that we 
 are "not so bad as we seem." Aren't we? Amen, again. 
 Give us thy hearty hand, lago I Tartuffe, how the world 
 has been mistaken in you I ^lacbeth ! put that little affair 
 of the murder out of your mind. It was a momentary 
 weakness; and who is not weak at times? Bliiil, a more
 
 410 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 maligned man than you does not exist ! humanity ! how 
 we have been mistaken in you ! Let us expunge the vulgar 
 expression " miserable sinners '^ out of all prayer-books ; 
 open the portholes of all hulks ; break the chains of all 
 convicts ; and unlock the boxes of all spoons. 
 
 As we discussed Mr. Mugford's entertainment on our 
 return home, I improved the occasion with Philip; I 
 pointed out the reasonableness of the hopes which he might 
 entertain of help from his wealthy kinsman, and actually 
 forced him to promise to wait upon my lord the next day. 
 Now when Philip Firmin did a thing against his will, he 
 did it with a bad grace. When he is not pleased, he does 
 not pretend to be happy ; and when he is sulk}^, Mr. Firmin 
 is a very disagreeable companion. Though he never once 
 reproached me afterwards with what happened, I own that 
 I have had cruel twinges of conscience since. If I had not 
 sent him on that dutiful visit to his grand-uncle, what 
 occurred might never, perhaps, have occurred at all. I 
 acted for the best, and that I aver; however I may grieve 
 for the consequences which ensued when the poor fellow 
 followed ni}' advice. 
 
 If Philip held aloof from Lord Kingwood in London, you 
 may be sure Philip's dear cousins were in waiting on his 
 lordship, and never lost an opportunity of showing their 
 respectful sympathy. Was Lord Eingwood ailing ? Mr. 
 Twysden, or Mrs. Twysden, or the dear girls, or Eingwood 
 their brother, were daily in his lordship's antechamber, ask- 
 ing for news of his health. They bent down respectfully 
 before Lord Eingwood's major-domo. They would have 
 given him money, as they always averred, only what sum 
 could they give to such a man as Eudge ? Thej actually 
 offered to bribe Mr. Eudge with their wine, over which he 
 made horrible faces. They fawned and smiled before him 
 always. I should like to have seen that calm Mrs. Twys- 
 den, that serene, high-bred woman, who would cut her 
 dearest friend if misfortune befell her, or the world turned 
 its back; — I should like to have seen, and can see her in 
 my mind's eye, simpering, and coaxing, and wheedling this 
 footman. She made cheap presents to Mr. Eudge: she 
 smiled on him and asked after his health. And of course 
 Talbot Twysden flattered him too in Talbot's jolly way. It 
 was a wink, and nod, and a hearty " How do you do ? " — 
 and (after due inquiries made and answered about his lord- 
 ship) it would be '^ Eudge ! I think my housekeeper has a
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 411 
 
 good glass of port wine in her room, if you happen to be 
 passing that way, and my lord don't want you ! " And with 
 a grave courtesy, I can fancy Mr. Kudge bowing to Mr. and 
 Mrs. Twysden, and thanking them, and descending to Mrs. 
 Blenkinsop's skinny room where the port wine is ready — 
 and if Mr. Rudge and Mrs. Blenkinsop are confidential, I 
 can fancy their talking over the characters and peculiarities 
 of the folks upstairs. Servants sometimes actually do ; and 
 if master and mistress are humbugs, these wretched menials 
 sometimes find them out. 
 
 Now no duke could be more lordly and condescending in 
 his bearing than Mr. Philip Firmin towards the menial 
 throng. In those days, when he had money in his pockets, 
 he gave Mr. Rudge out of his plenty ; and the man 
 remembered his generosity when he was poor ; and declared 
 — in a select societ}', and in the company of the relative of 
 a person from whom I have the information — declared in 
 tlie presence of Captain Grann at the "Admiral B — ng 
 Club " in fact, that Mr. Heff was always a swell ; but since 
 he was done, he, Rudge, '- was blest if that young chap 
 warn't a greater swell than hever." And Rudge actually 
 liked this poor young fellow better than the family in Beau- 
 nash Street, whom Mr. R. pronounced to be " a shabby lot." 
 And in fact it was Rudge as well as myself, who advised 
 that Philip should see his lordship. 
 
 When at length Philip paid his second visit, Mr. Rudge 
 said, " My lord will see you, sir, I think. He has been 
 speaking of you. He's very unwell. He's going to have a 
 fit of the gout, I think. I'll tell him you are here." And 
 coming back to Philip, after a brief disappearance, and with 
 rather a scared face, he repeated the permission to enter, 
 and again cautioned him, saying, that "my lord was very 
 queer." 
 
 In fact, as we learned afterwards, through the channel 
 previously indicated, my lord, when he heard Philip had 
 called, cried, "He has, has he? Hang him, send him in;" 
 using, I am constrained to say, in place of the monosyllable 
 "hang," a much stronger expression. 
 
 " Oh, it's you, is it ? " says my lord. " You have been in 
 London ever so long. Twysden told me of vou yester- 
 day." 
 
 " I have called before, sir," said Philip, very quietly. 
 
 " I wonder you have the face to call at all, sir ! " cries 
 the old man, glaring at Philip. His lordship's countenance
 
 412 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 was of a gamboge color : his noble eyes were bloodshot and 
 starting,- his voice, always very harsh and strident, was 
 now specially unpleasant ; and from the crater of his 
 mouth shot loud exploding oaths. 
 
 " Face, my lord ? " says Philip, still very meek.
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 413 
 
 " Yes, if you call that a face which is covered over with 
 hair like a baboon ! ' ' growled my lord, showing his tusks. 
 ''Twysdenwas here last night, and tells me some pretty 
 news about yoi^" 
 
 Philip blushed; he knew what the news most likely 
 would be. 
 
 " Twysden says that now you are a pauper, by George, 
 and living by breaking stones in the street, — you have 
 been such an infernal, drivelling, hanged fool, as to engage 
 yourself to another pauper I " 
 
 Poor Philip turned white from red ; and spoke slowly : 
 "I beg your pardon, my lord, 3'ou said — " 
 
 " I said you were a hanged fool, sir I " roared the old man ; 
 "can't you hear ?" 
 
 " I believe I am a member of your family, my lord," says 
 Philip, rising up. In a quarrel he would sometimes lose 
 his temper, and speak out his mind; or sometimes, and 
 then he was most dangerous, he would be especially calm 
 and Grandisonian. 
 
 "Some hanged adventurer, thinking you were to get 
 money from me, has hooked you for his daughter, has 
 he ? " 
 
 " I have engaged myself to a young lady, and I am the 
 poorer of the two," says Philip. 
 
 " She thinks you will get money from me," continues his 
 lordship. 
 
 " Does she ? T never did ! " replied Philip. 
 
 " By heaven, you shan't, unless you give up this rubbish." 
 
 " I shan't give her up, sir, and I shall do without the 
 money," said Mr. Firmin, very boldly. 
 
 " Go to Tartarus ! " screamed the old man. 
 
 On which Philip told us, " I said, ' Seniores priores, my 
 lord,' and turned on my heel. So you see if he was going 
 to leave me something, and he nearly said he was, that 
 chance is past now, and I have made a pretty morning's 
 work." And a pretty morning's work it was : and it was I 
 who had set him upon it ! ^ly brave Philip not only did 
 not rebuke me for having sent him on this errand, but took 
 the blame of the business on himself. " Since I have been 
 engaged," he said, "I am growing dreadfully avaricious, 
 and am almost as sordid about money as those Twysdens. 
 I cringed to that old man : I crawled before his gouty 
 feet. Well, I could crawl from here to Saint James's 
 Palace to get some money for my little Charlotte." Philip
 
 414 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 cringe and crawl ! If there were no posture-masters more 
 supple than Philip Firmin, kotowing would be a lost art, 
 like the Menuet de la Cour. But fear not, ye great ! Men's 
 backs were made to bend, and the race of parasites is still 
 in good repute. 
 
 When our friend told us how his brief interview with 
 Lord Ringwood had begun and ended, I think those who 
 counselled Philip to wait upon his grand-uncle felt rather 
 ashamed of their worldly wisdom and the advice which 
 they had given. We ought to have known our Huron 
 sufficiently to be aware that it was a dangerous experiment 
 to set him bowing in lords' ante-chambers. Were not his 
 elbows sure to break some courtly china, his feet to tram- 
 ple and tear some lace train ? So all the good we had done 
 was to occasion a quarrel between him and his patron. 
 Lord Ringwood avowed that he had intended to leave 
 Philip money ; and by thrusting the poor fellow into the 
 old nobleman's sick-chamber, we had occasioned a quarrel 
 between the relatives, who parted with mutual threats 
 and anger. " Oh, dear me ! " I groaned in connubial col- 
 loquies. "Let us get him away. He will be boxing 
 Mugford's ears next, and telling Mrs. Mugford that she is 
 vulgar, and a bore." He was eager to get back to his work, 
 or rather to his lady-love at Paris. We did not try to 
 detain him. For fear of further accidents we were rather 
 anxious that he should be gone. Crestfallen and sad, I 
 accompanied him to the Boulogne boat. He paid for his 
 place in the second cabin, and stoutl}'' bade us adieu. A 
 rough night : a wet, slippery deck : a crowd of frowzy fel- 
 low-passengers : and poor Philip in the midst of them in a 
 thin cloak, his yellow hair and beard blowing about: I 
 see the steamer now, and left her with I know not what 
 feelings of contrition and shame. AVhy had I sent Philip 
 to call upon that savage, overbearing old patron of his ? 
 Why compelled him to that bootless act of submission ? 
 Lord Eingwood's brutalities were matters of common 
 notoriety. A wicked, dissolute, cynical old man : and we 
 must try to make friends with thi3 mammon of unright- 
 eousness, and set poor Philip to bow before him and flatter 
 him! Ah, mea culpa, 7}iea culpa! The wind blev/ hard 
 that winter night, and many tiles and chimney-pots blew 
 down : and as I thought of poor Philip tossing in the 
 frowzy second cabin, I rolled about my own bed very 
 uneasily.
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 415 
 
 I looked into ''Bays's Club" the day after, and there fell 
 on both the Twysdens. The parasite of a father was cling- 
 ing to the button of a great man when I entered : the little 
 reptile of a son came to the club in Captain Woolcomb's 
 brougham, and in that distinguished mulatto officer's com- 
 pany. They looked at me in a peculiar way. I was sure 
 they did. Talbot Twysden, pouring his loud, braggart 
 talk in the ear of poor Lord Lepel, eyed me with a glance 
 of triumph, and talked and swaggered so that I should 
 hear. Eingwood Twysden and Woolcomb, drinking ab- 
 sinthe to whet their noble appetites, exchanged glances 
 and grins. Woolcomb's eyes were of the color of the 
 absinthe he swallowed. I did not see that Twysden tore 
 off one of Lord LepeFs buttons, but that nobleman, with a 
 scared countenance, moved away rapidly from his little 
 persecutor. " Hang him, throw him over, and come to 
 me ! " T heard the generous Twysden say. " I expect 
 Kingwood and one or two more." At this proposition, 
 JiOrd Lepel, in a tremulous way, muttered that he could 
 not break his engagement, and fled out of the club. 
 
 Twysden's dinners, the polite reader has been previously 
 informed, were notorious ; and he constantly bragged of 
 having the company of Lord Ringwood. Now it so hap- 
 ])ened that on this very evening, Lord Ringwood, wdth 
 three of his followers, henchmen, or led captains, dined at 
 Bays's Club, being determined to see a pantomime in which 
 a very pretty young Columbine figured : and some one in 
 the house joked with his lordship, and said, "Why, you are 
 going to dine with Talbot Twysden. He said, just now, 
 that he expected vou." 
 
 " Did he ? " said his lordship. " Then Talbot Twysden 
 told a hanged lie ! " And little Tom Eaves, my informant, 
 remembered these remarkable words, because of a circum- 
 stance which now almost immediatel}' followed. 
 
 A very few daj^s after Philip's departure, our friend, the 
 Little Sister, came to us at our breakfast-table w^earing an 
 expression of much trouble and sadness on her kind little 
 face ; the causes of which sorrow she explained to us, as 
 soon as our chiklren had gone away to their school-room. 
 Amongst Mrs. Brandon's friends, and one of her father's 
 constant companions, Avas the worth}' ]\Ir. Ridley, father of 
 the celebrated painter of that name, who was himself of 
 much too honorable and noble a nature to be ashamed of 
 his humble paternal origin. Companionship between father
 
 416 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 and son could not be very close or intimate ; especially as 
 in the younger Ridley's boyhood, his father, who knew 
 nothing of the fine arts, had looked upon the child as a 
 sickly, half-witted creature, who would be to his parents 
 but a grief and a burden. But when J. J. Ridley, Esq., 
 began to attain eminence in his profession, his father's eyes 
 were opened ; in place of neglect and contempt, he looked 
 up to his boy with a sincere, naive admiration, and often, 
 with tears, has narrated the pride and pleasure which he 
 felt on the day when he waited on John James at his mas- 
 ter Lord Todmorden's table. Ridley senior now felt that 
 he had been unkind and unjust to his boy in the latter 's 
 early days, and with a very touching humility the old man 
 acknowledged his j^revious injustice, and tried to atone for 
 it by present respect and affection. 
 
 Though fondness for his son, and delight in the company 
 of Captain Gann, often drew ]\[r. Ridley to Thornhaugh 
 Street, and to the " Admiral Byng " Club, of which both 
 were leading members, Ridley senior belonged to other 
 clubs at the West End, where Lord Todmorden's butler 
 consorted with the confidential butlers of others of the 
 nobility : and I am informed that in those clubs Ridley 
 continued to be called " Todmorden " long after his connec- 
 tion with that venerable nobleman had ceased. He contin- 
 ued to be called Lord Todmorden, in fact, just as Lord 
 Popinjoy is still called by his old friends Popinjoy, though 
 his father is dead, and Popinjoy, as everybody knows, is at 
 present Earl of Pintado. 
 
 At one of these clubs of their order, Lord Todmorden's 
 man was in the constant habit of meeting Lord Ringwood's 
 man, when their lordships (master and man) were in town. 
 These gentlemen had a regard for each other ; and, when 
 they met, communicated to each other their views of 
 society, and their opinions of the characters of the various 
 noble lords and influential commoners whom they served. 
 ;Mr. Rudge knew everything about Philip Eirmin's affairs, 
 about the Doctor's flight, about Philip's generous behavior. 
 " Generous ! / call it admiral ! " old Ridley remarked, 
 while narrating this trait of our friend's — and his present 
 position. And Rudge contrasted Philip's manly behavior 
 with the conduct of some sneaks which he would not name 
 them, but which they were always speaking ill of the poor 
 young fellow behind his back, and sneaking up to my lord, 
 and greater skinflints and meaner humbugs never were:
 
 ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 417 
 
 and there was no accounting for tastes, but lie, Rudge, 
 would not marry his daughter to a black man. 
 
 Kow that da}^ when Mr. Firmin went to see my Lord 
 Ringwood was one of my lord's very worst days, when it 
 was almost as dangerous to go near him as to approach a 
 Bengal tiger. '^ When he is going to have a fit of gout, his 
 lordship •' (Mr. Rudge remarked) " is hawful. He curse and 
 swear, he do, at everybody; even the clergy or the ladies 
 — all's one. On that very day when Mr. Firmin called he 
 had said to Mr, Twysden, ' Get out, and don't come slan- 
 dering, and backbiting, and bullying that poor devil of a 
 boy any more. It's blackguardly, by George, sir — it's 
 blackguardly.' And Twysden came out with his tail be- 
 tween his legs, and he says to me — ' Rudge,' says he, 'my 
 lord's uncommon bad to-day.' Well, he hadn't been gone 
 an hour when pore Philip comes, bad luck to him, and my 
 lord, who had just heard from Twysden all about that 
 young woman — that party at Paris, Mr. Ridley — and it 
 is about as great a piece of folly as ever I heard tell of — 
 my lord turns upon the pore young fellar and call him 
 names worse than Twysden. But Mr. Firmin ain't that 
 sort of man, he isn't. He won't suffer any man to call hirn 
 names ; and I suppose he gave my lord his own back again, 
 for I heard my lord swear at him tremendous, I did, with 
 my own ears. When my lord has the gout flying about 
 I told you he is awful. When he takes his colchicum 
 he's worse. Xow, we have got a party at Whipham at 
 Christmas, and at Whipham we must be. And he took 
 his colchicum night before last, and to-day he was in such 
 a tremendous rage of swearing, cursing, and blowing up 
 everybody, that it was as if he was red hot. And when 
 Twysden and Mrs. Twysden called that day — (if you kick 
 that fellar out at the hall door, I'm blest if he won't come 
 smirking down the chimney) — he wouldn't see any of 
 them. And he bawled out after me, 'If Firmin comes, 
 kick him downstairs — do you hear ? ' with ever so many 
 oaths and curses against the poor fellow, while he vowed 
 he would never see his hanged impudent face again. But 
 this wasn't all, Ridley. He sent for Bradgate, his lawyer, 
 that very day. He had back his will, which I signed 
 myself as one of the witnesses — me and Wilcox, the 
 master of the hotel — and I know he had left Firmin 
 something in it. Take my word for it. To that poor 
 young fellow he means mischief." A full report of this 
 
 VOL. I. — 27
 
 418 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 conversation Mr. Ridley gave to his little friend Mrs. 
 Brandon, knowing the interest which Mrs. Brandon took 
 in the young gentleman ; and with these unpleasant news 
 Mrs. Brandon came off to advise with those who — the 
 good nurse was pleased to say — were Philip's best friends 
 in the world. We wished we could give the Little Sister 
 comfort ; but all the world knew what a man Lord Ring- 
 wood was — how arbitrary, how revengeful, how cruel! 
 
 I knew Mr. Bradgate the lawyer, with whom I had busi- 
 ness, and called upon him, more anxious to speak about 
 Philip's affairs than my own. I suppose I was too eager 
 in coming to my point, for Bradgate saw the meaning of 
 my questions, and declined to answer them. "My client 
 and I are not the dearest friends in the world," Bradgate 
 said, "but I must keep his counsel, and must not tell you 
 \vhether ]\[r. Firmin's name is down in his lordship's will 
 or not. How should I know ? He may have altered his 
 will. He may have left Firmin money ; he may have left 
 him none. I hope young Firmin does not count on a 
 legacy. That's all. He may be disappointed if he does. 
 Why, you may hope for a legacy from Lord Ringwood, 
 and you may be disappointed. I know scores of people 
 who do hope for something, and who won't get a penny." 
 And this was all the reply I could get at that time from 
 the oracular little lawyer. 
 
 I told my wife, as of course every dutiful man tells 
 everything to every dutiful wife: — but, though Bradgate 
 discouraged us, there was somehow a lurking hope still 
 that the old nobleman would provide for our friend. Then 
 Philip would marry Charlotte. Then he would earn ever 
 so much more money by his newspaper. Then he would 
 be happy ever after. My wife counts eggs not only before 
 they are hatched, but before they are laid. Never was 
 such an obstinate hopefulness of character. I, on the other 
 hand, take a rational and despondent view of things ; and 
 if they turn out better than I expect,, as sometimes they 
 w411, I affably own that I have been mistaken. 
 
 But an early day came when Mr. Bradgate was no longer 
 needful, or when he thought himself released from the 
 obligations of silence with regard to his noble client. It 
 was two days before Christmas, and I took my accustomed 
 afternoon saunter to "Bays's," Avhere other habitues of the 
 club were assembled. There was no little buzzing and 
 the frequenters of the place. Talbot
 
 ON HIS WAY TIlllOUGH THE WORLD. 419 
 
 Twysdeu always arrived at "Bays's" at ten minutes past 
 four, and scuffled for the evening paper, as if its contents 
 were matter of great importance to Talbot. He would 
 hold men's buttons, and discourse to them the leading 
 article out of that paper with an astounding emphasis and 
 gravity. On this day, some ten minutes after his accus- 
 tomed hour, he reached the club. Other gentlemen were 
 engaged in perusing the evening journal. The lamps on 
 the tarbles lighted up the bald heads, the gray heads, dyed 
 heads, and the wigs of many assembled fogies — murmurs 
 went about the room: ''Very sudden." "Gout in the 
 stomach." "Dined here only four days ago." "Looked 
 very well." " Very Avell ? Xo I ISTever saw a fellow look 
 worse in my life." " Yellow as a guinea." " Couldn't eat." 
 "' K?wore dreadfully at the waiters, and at Tom Eaves, who 
 dined with him." "Seventy-six, I see. — Born in the same 
 year with the Duke of York." " Forty thousand a year." 
 " Forty ? tiftj^-eight thousand three hundred, I tell you. 
 Always been a saving man." " Estate goes to his cousin, 
 Sir John Ringwood ; not a member here — member of 
 ' Boodle's.' " " Hated each other furiously. Very violent 
 temper, the old fellow was. Never got over the Reform 
 Bill, they used to say." "' Wonder whether he'll leave any- 
 thing to old bow-wow Twys — " Here enters Talbot 
 T^^ysden, Esq. — "Ha, Colonel ! How are you ? What's 
 the news to-night ? Kept late at my • office, making up 
 accounts. Going down to Whipham to-morrow to pass 
 Christmas with my wife's uncle — Ringwood, you know. 
 Always go down io AVhipham at Christmas. Keeps the 
 pheasants for us. Xo longer a hunting man myself. Lost 
 my nerve, by George." 
 
 Whilst the braggart little creature indulged in this pom- 
 pous talk, he did not see the significant looks which were 
 fixed upon him, or if he remarked them, was perhaps 
 pleased b}^ the attention which he excited. " Bays's " had 
 long echoed with Twysden's account of Ringwood, the 
 pheasants, his own loss of nerve in hunting, and the sum 
 which their family would inherit at the death of their 
 noble relative. 
 
 "I think I have heard you say Sir John Ringwood 
 inherits after your relative ? " asked Mr. Hookham. 
 
 "Yes; the estate, not the title. The earldom goes to 
 my lord and his heirs — Hookham. Why shouldn't he 
 marry again? I often say to him, 'Ringwood, why don't
 
 420 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 you marry, if it's only to disappoint that Whig fellow, Sir 
 John ? You are fresh and hale, Kingwood. You may 
 live twenty years, five-and-twenty years. If you leave your 
 niece and my children anything we're not in a hurry to 
 inherit,' I say ; ' why don't you marry ? ' " 
 
 " Ah ! Twysden, he's past marrying," groans Mr. Hook- 
 ham. 
 
 "Not at all. Sober man, now. Stout man. Immense 
 powerful man. Healthy man but for gout. I often say to 
 him, ' Ringwood ! I say — ' " 
 
 " Oh, for mercy's sake, stop this ! " groans old Mr. 
 Tremlett, who always begins to shudder at the sound of 
 poor Twysden's voice. " Tell him, somebody." 
 
 "Haven't you heard, Twysden? Haven't you seen? 
 Don't you know ? " asks Mr. Hookham, solemnly. 
 
 " Heard, seen, known — what ? " cries the other. 
 
 "An accident has happened to Lord Kingwood. Look at 
 the paper. Here it is." And Twysden pulls out his great 
 gold eye-glasses, holds the paper as far as his little arm will 
 reach, and — and merciful Powers ! — but I will not ven- 
 ture to depict the agony on that noble face. Like Timan- 
 thes the painter, I hide this Agamemnon with a veil. I 
 cast the Globe newspaper over him. Illahatitr orbis : and 
 let imagination depict our Twysden under the ruins. 
 
 What Twysden read in the Globe was a mere curt para- 
 graph ; but in next morning's Times there was one of those 
 obituary notices to which noblemen of eminence must sub- 
 mit from the mysterious necrographer engaged by that 
 paper.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 PULVIS ET UMBRA SUMUS. 
 
 HE first and only Earl of 
 Kingwood has submitted to 
 the fate which peers and com- 
 moners are alike destined to 
 undergo. Hastening to his 
 magiiiticent seat of Whipham 
 IMarket, where he proposed 
 to entertain an illustrious 
 Christmas party, his lordship 
 left London scarcely recovered 
 from an attack of gout to 
 which he has been for many 
 years a martyr. The disease 
 must have flown to his stom- 
 ach, and suddenly mastered him. At Turreys Eegum, 
 thirty miles from his own princely habitation, where he 
 had been accustomed to dine on his almost royal progresses 
 to his home, he was already in a state of dreadful suf- 
 fering, to which his attendants did not pay the attention 
 which his condition ought to have excited ; for when labor- 
 ing under this most painful malady his outcries were loud, 
 and his language and demeanor exceedingly violent. He 
 angrily refused to send for medical aid at Turreys, and 
 insisted on continuing his journe}^ homewards. He was 
 one of the old school, who never would enter a railway 
 (though his fortune was greatly increased by the passage 
 of the railway through his property) ; and his own horses 
 always met him at ' Popper's Tavern,' an obscure hamlet, 
 seventeen miles from his princely seat. He made no sign 
 on arriving at ' Popper's,' and spoke no word, to the now 
 serious alarm of his servants. When they came to light 
 his carriage-lamps, and look into his post-<:;haise, the lord of 
 many thousand acres, and, according to report, of immense 
 wealth, was dead. The journey from Turreys had been 
 
 421
 
 422 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 the last stage of a long, a prosperous, and, if not a famous, 
 at least a notorious and magnificent career. 
 
 " The late John George, Earl and Baron Eingwood and 
 Viscount Cinqbars, entered into public life at the danger- 
 ous period before the French lie volution ; and commenced 
 his career as the friend and companion of the Prince of 
 Wales. When his lioyal Highness seceded from the Whig 
 party, Lord liingwood also joined the Tory side of pol- 
 iticians, and an earldom was the price of his fidelity. 
 But on the elevation of Loid Steyne to a marquisate. Lord 
 Ringwood quarrelled for a while with his royal patron and 
 friend, deeming his own services unjustly slighted, as a 
 like dignity was not conferred on himself. On several 
 occasions he gave his vote against Government, and caused 
 his nominees in the House of Commons to vote Avith the 
 Whigs. He never was reconciled to his late Majesty 
 George IV., of whom he was in the habit of speaking with 
 characteristic bluntness. The approach of the Reform 
 Bill, however, threw this nobleman definitively on the Tory 
 side, of which he has ever since remained, if not an elo- 
 quent, at least a violent supporter. He was said to be a 
 liberal landlord, so long as his tenants did not thwart him 
 in his views. His only son died early : and his lordship, 
 according to report, has long been on ill terms with his 
 kinsman and successor, Sir JoJm Ringwood, of Appleshaw, 
 Baronet. The Barony has been in this ancient family 
 since the reign of George I., when Sir John Ringwood was 
 ennobled, and Sir Francis, his brother, a Baron of the 
 Exchequer, was advanced to the dignity of Baronet by the 
 first of our Hanoverian sovereigns." 
 
 This was the article which my wife and I read on the 
 morning of Christmas eve, as our children were decking 
 lamps and looking-glasses with holly and red berries for 
 the approaching festival. I had despatched a hurried note, 
 containing the news, to Philip on the night previous. We 
 were painf\dly anxious about his fate now, when a few 
 days would decide it. Again my business or curiosity 
 took me to see Mr. Bradgate, the laAvyer, He was in pos- 
 session of the news, of course. He was not averse to talk 
 about it. The death of his client unsealed the lawyer's 
 lips partially : and I must say Bradgate spoke in a manner 
 not flattering to his noble deceased client. The brutalities 
 of the late nobleman had been very hard to bear. On 
 occasion of their last meeting his oaths and disrespect-
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 423 
 
 ful behavior had been specially odious. He had abused 
 almost every one of his relatives. His heir, he said, was 
 a prating, republican humbug. He had a relative (whom 
 Bradgate said he would not name) who was a scheming, 
 swaggering, swindling, lickspittle parasite, always cring- 
 ing at his heels and longing for his death. And he had 
 another relative, the impudent son of a swindling doctor, 
 who had insulted him two hours before in his own room ; 
 — a fellow who was a pauper, and going to propagate a 
 breed for the workhouse; for, after his behavior of that 
 day, he would be condemned to the lowest pit of Acheron, 
 before he, Lord Eingwood, would give that scoundrel a 
 penny of his money. "And his lordship desired me to 
 send him back his will," said Mr. Bradgate. And he 
 destroyed that will before he went away : it was not the 
 first he had burned. " And I may tell you, now all is over, 
 that he had left his brother's grandson a handsome legacy 
 in that will, which your poor friend might have had, but 
 that he went to see my lord in his unlucky fit of gout." 
 Ah, mea culpa! mea culpa! And who sent Philip to see 
 his relative in that unlucky lit of gout ? Who was so 
 Avorldly-wise, so Twysden-like, as to counsel Philip to 
 flattery and submission ? But for that advice he might be 
 wealthy now ; he might be happy ; he might be ready 
 to marry his young sweetheart. Our Christmas turkey 
 choked me as I ate of it. The lights burned dimty, and 
 the kisses and laughter under the mistletoe were but mel- 
 ancholy sport. But for my advice, how happy might my 
 friend have been ! I looked askance at the honest faces 
 of Tny children. What would they say if they knew their 
 father had advised a friend to cringe, and bow, and humble 
 himself before a rich, wicked old man ? I sat as mute at 
 the pantomime as at a burial : the laughter of the little 
 ones smote me as with a reproof. A burial ? With 
 plumes and lights, and upholsterers' pageantry, and 
 mourning by the yard measure, they were burying mj 
 Lord Ringwood, who might have made Philip Firmin rich 
 but for me. 
 
 All lingering hopes regarding our friend were quickly 
 put to an end. A will was found at Whipham, dated a 
 year back, in which no mention was made of poor Philip 
 Firmin. Small legacies — disgracefully shabby and small, 
 Twysden said — were left to the Tw^^sden family, with the 
 full-length portrait of the late earl in his coronation robes,
 
 424 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 which, I should think, must have given but small satisfac- 
 tion to his surviving relatives ; for his lordship was but an 
 ill-favored nobleman, and the price of the carriage of the 
 large picture from Whipham was a tax which poor Talbot 
 made very wry faces at paying. Had the picture been 
 accompanied by thirty or forty thousand pounds, or lifty 
 thousand — why should he not have left them fifty thou- 
 sand? — how different Talbot's grief would have been! 
 Whereas when Talbot counted up the dinners he had 
 given to Lord Ringwood, all of which he could easily cal- 
 culate by his cunning ledgers and journals in which was 
 noted down every feast at which his lordship attended, 
 every guest assembled, and every bottle of wine drunk, 
 Twysden found that he had absolutely spent more money 
 upon my lord than the old man had paid back in his will. 
 But all the family went into mourning, and the Twysden 
 coachman and footman turned out in black worsted epau- 
 lets in honor of the illustrious deceased. It is not every 
 day that a man gets a chance of publicly bewailing the 
 loss of an earl his relative. I suppose Twysden took many 
 hundred people into his confidence on this matter, and 
 bewailed his uncle's death and his own wrongs whilst 
 clinging to many scores of buttonholes. 
 
 And how did poor Philip bear the disappointment ? He 
 must have felt it, for I fear we ourselves had encouraged 
 him in the hope that his grand-uncle would do something 
 to relieve his necessity. Philip put a bit of crape round 
 his hat, wrapped himself in his shabby old mantle, and 
 declined any outward show of grief at all. If the old man 
 had left him money, it had been well. As he did not," a 
 puff of cigar, perhaps, ends the sentence, and our philoso- 
 pher gives no further thought to his disappointment. 
 Was not Philip the poor as lordly and independent as 
 Philip the rich ? A struggle with poverty is a wholesoiiie 
 wrestling match at three or five and twenty. The sinews 
 are young, and are braced by the contest. It is upon the 
 aged that the battle falls hardly, who are weakened by 
 failing health, and perhaps enervated by long years of 
 prosperity. 
 
 Pirmin's broad back could carry a heavy burden, and he 
 was glad to take all work which fell in his way. Phipps, 
 of the Daily Intelligence^^ wanting an assirtant, Philip 
 gladly sold four hours of his day to Mr. Phipps : trans- 
 lated page after page of newspapers, French and German ,•
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 425 
 
 took an occasional turn at the Chamber of Depnties, and 
 gave an account of a sitting of importance, and made him- 
 self quite an active lieutenant. He began positively to 
 save money. He wore dreadfully shabby clothes, to be 
 sure : for Charlotte could not go to his chamber and mend 
 his rags as the Little Sister had done: but when Mrs. 
 Baynes abused him for his shabby appearance — and 
 indeed it must have been mortifying sometimes to see the 
 fellow in his old clothes swaggering about in ^Madame 
 Smolensk's apartments, talking loud, contradicting, and 
 laying down the law — Charlotte defended her maligned 
 Philip. " Do you know why Monsieur Philip has those 
 shabby clothes ? " she asked of Madame de Smolensk. 
 '•Because he has been sending money to his father in 
 America." And Smolensk said that Monsieur Philip was 
 a brave young man, and that he might come dressed like 
 an Iroquois to her soiree, and he should be welcome. And 
 Mrs. Baynes was rude to Philip when he was present, and 
 scornful in her remarks when he was absent. And Philip 
 trembled before Mrs. Baynes ; and he took her boxes on 
 the ear with much meekness ; for was not his Charlotte a 
 hostage in her mother's hands, and might not Mrs. General 
 B. make that poor little creature suffer ? 
 
 One or two Indian ladies of Mrs. Baynes's acquaintance 
 happened to ])ass this winter in Paris, and these persons, 
 who had furnished lodgings in the Faubourg St. Honore, 
 or the Champs Elysees, and rode in their carriages with, 
 very likely, a footman on the box, rather looked down 
 upon Mrs. Baynes for living in a boarding-house, and 
 keeping no equipage. No woman likes to be locked down 
 upon by any other woman, especially by such a creature 
 as JNIrs. Batters, the lawyer's wife, from Calcutta, who was 
 not in society, and did not go to Government House, and 
 here was driving about in the Champs Elysees, and giving 
 herself such airs, indeed ! So was Mrs. Doctor Maccon, 
 with her lach/s-maicl, and her man-cook, and her ojjen car- 
 riage, and her close carriage. (Pray read these words with 
 the most withering emphasis which you can lay upon 
 them.) And who was ^Frs. Macoon, pray ? Madame 
 Beret, the Prench milliner's daughter, neither more nor 
 less. And this creature must scatter her mud over her 
 betters who went on foot. ''I am telling my poor girls, 
 Madame," she would say to Madame Smolensk, '^ that if 
 I had been a milliner's girl, or their father had been a
 
 426 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 pettifogging attorney, and not a soldier, who has served 
 liis sovereign in every quarter of the workl, they would be 
 better dressed than they are now, poor chicks ! — we might 
 have a fine apartment in the Faubourg St. Honore — we 
 need not live at a boarding-house." 
 
 " And if / had been a milliner, Madame Generale," cried 
 Smolensk, with spirit, " perhaps I should not have had need 
 to keep a boarding-house. My father was a general officer, 
 and served his emperor too. But what will you ? AVe have 
 all to do disagreeable things, and to live with disagreeable 
 people, Madame ! " And with this Smolensk makes IVh-s. 
 General Baynes a fine courtesy, and goes off to other affairs 
 or guests. She was of the opinion of many of Philip's 
 friends. "Ah, Monsieur Philip," she said to him, "when 
 you are married, you will live far from that woman ; is it 
 not ? " 
 
 Hearing that Mrs. Batters was going to the Tuileries, 
 I am sorry to say a violent emulation inspired Mrs. 
 Baynes, and she never was easy until she persuaded her 
 General to take her to the ambassador's, and to the enter- 
 tainments of the citizen king who governed France in those 
 days. It would cost little or nothing. Charlotte must be 
 brought out. Her aunt, MacWhirter, from Tours, had sent 
 Chai-lotte a present of money for a dress. To do Mrs. 
 Baynes justice, she spent very little money upon her own 
 raiment, and extracted from one of her trunks a costume 
 which had done duty at Barrackpore and Calcutta. " After 
 hearing that Mrs. Batters went, I knew she would never be 
 easy," General Baynes said, with a sigh. His wife denied 
 the accusation as an outrage ; said that men alwaj^s imputed 
 the worst motives to women, whereas her wish, heaven 
 knows, was only to see her darling child properly presented, 
 and her husband in his proper rank in the world. And 
 Charlotte looked lovely, upon the evening of the ball ; and 
 Madame Smolensk dressed Charlotte's hair very prettily, 
 and offered to lend Auguste to accompany the General's 
 carriage ; but Ogoost revolted, and said, " Non, merci ! he 
 would do anything for the General and Miss Charlotte — 
 but for the Generale, no, no, no ! " and he made signs of vio- 
 lent abnegation. And though Charlotte looked as sweet as 
 a rosebud, she had little pleasure in her ball, Philip not 
 being present. And how could he be present, who had but 
 one old coat, and holes in his boots ? 
 
 So you see, after a sunny autumn, a cold winter comes,
 
 ON HIS WAY Tim UGH THE WORLD. 427 
 
 when the wind is bad for delicate chests, and muddy for lit- 
 tle shoes. How could Charlotte come out at eight o'clock 
 through mud or snow of a winter's morning, if she had been 
 out at an evening party late over-night ? Mrs. General 
 Baynes began to go out a good deal to the Paris evening par- 
 ties — I mean to the parties of us Trojans — parties Avhere 
 there are forty English people, three Frenchmen, and a Ger- 
 man who plays the piano. Charlotte was very much ad- 
 mired. The fame of her good looks spread abroad. I prom- 
 ise you that there were persons of much more importance 
 than the poor Vicomte de Gcuyon-boutlque, who were charmed 
 by her bright eyes, her bright smiles, her artless, rosy beauty. 
 AVhy, little Hely, of the Embassy, actually invited himself 
 to Mrs. Dr. Macoon's, in order to see this young beauty, and 
 danced with her without ceasing : Mr. Hely, who was the 
 pink of fashion, you know ; who danced with the royal prin- 
 cesses; and was at all the grand parties of the Faubourg St. 
 Germain. He saw her to her carriage (a very shabby fly, it 
 must be confessed; but Mrs. Baynes told him they had been 
 accustomed to a very different kind of equipage in India). 
 He actually called at the boarding-house, and left his card, 
 3L Wa Is hi (J ham Hely, attache a V Amhassade de S. M. Brit- 
 annique, for General Baynes and his lady. To what balls 
 would Mrs. Baynes like to go ? to the Tuileries ? to the 
 Embassy ? to the Faubourg St. Germain ? to the Faubourg 
 St. Honore ? I could name many more persons of distinc- 
 tion who were fascinated by pretty Miss Charlotte. Her 
 mother felt more and more ashamed of the shabb}^ fly, in 
 which our young lady was conveyed to and from her par- 
 ties; — of the shabby fly, and of that shabby cavalier who 
 was in waiting sometimes to put Miss Charlotte into her car- 
 riage. Charlotte's mother's ears were only too acute when 
 disparaging remarks were made about that cavalier. What ? 
 engaged to that queer red-bearded fellow, with the ragged 
 shirt-collars, who trod upon everybody in the polka? A 
 newspaper writer, was he ? The son of that doctor who ran 
 away after cheating everybody ? What a very odd thing 
 of General Baynes to think of engaging his daughter to such 
 a person ! 
 
 So Mr. Firmin was not asked to many distinguished 
 houses where his Charlotte was made welcome; where there 
 was dancing in the salon, very mild negus and cakes in the 
 salle-a-manrjer, and cards in the lady's bedroom. And he 
 did not care to be asked ; and he made himself very arrogant
 
 428 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 and disagreeable when he was asked ; and he would upset 
 tea-trays, and burst out into roars of laughter at all times, 
 and swagger about the drawiug-room as if he were a man 
 of importance — he indeed — giving himself such airs, be- 
 cause his grandfather's brother was an earl ! And what had 
 the earl done for him, pray ? And what right had he to 
 burst out laughing when Miss Crackley sang a little out of 
 tune ? What could General Baynes mean by selecting such 
 a husband for tliat nice, modest young girl ? 
 
 The old General, sitting in the best bedroom, placidly 
 playing at whist with the other British fogies, does not hear 
 these remarks, perhaps, but little Mrs. Baynes with her 
 eager eyes and ears sees and knows everything. Many peo- 
 ple have told her that Philip is a bad match for her daugh- 
 ter. She has heard him contradict calmly quite wealthy 
 people. Mr. Hobday, who has a house in Carlton Terrace, 
 London, and goes to the first houses in Paris, Philip has 
 contradicted him point blank, until Mr. Hobday turned quite 
 red, and Mrs. Hobday didn't know where to look. Mr. Pep- 
 loAV, a clergyman and a baronet's eldest son, who will be one 
 day the Rev. Sir Charles Peplow of Peplow Manor, was 
 praising Tomlinson's poems, and offered to read them out 
 at Mr. Badger's — he reads very finely, though a little per- 
 haps through his nose — and when he wa^ going to begin, 
 Mr. Firmin said, " My dear Peplow, for heaven's sake don't 
 give us any of that rot. I would as soon hear one of your 
 own prize poems." Eot, indeed! What an expression ! Of 
 course Mr. Peplow was very much annoyed. And this from 
 a mere newspaper writer. Never heard of such rudeness ! 
 Mrs. Tuffin said she took her line at once after seeing this 
 Mr. Firmin. " He may be an earl's grand-nephew, for what 
 I care. He may have been at college, he has not learned 
 good manners there. He may be clever, I don't profess to 
 be a judge. But he is most overbearing, clumsy, and disa- 
 greeable. I shall not ask him to my Tuesdays ; and Emma, 
 if he asks you to dance, I beg you will do no such thing ! " 
 A bull, you understand, in a meadow, or on a prairie Avith 
 a herd of other buffaloes, is a noble animal : but a bull in a 
 china-shop is out of place ; and even so was Philip amongst 
 the crockery of those little simple tea-parties, where his 
 mane, and hoofs, and roar, caused endless disturbance. 
 
 These remarks concerning the accepted son-in-law Mrs 
 Baynes heard and, at proper moments, repeated. She ruled 
 Baynes ; but was very cautious, and secretly afraid of him.
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 429 
 
 Once or twice she had gone too far in her dealings with the 
 quiet old man, and he had revolted, put her down and never 
 forgiven her. Beyond a certain point, she dared not pro- 
 voke her husband. She would say, "Well, Baynes, marriage 
 is a lottery : and I am afraid our poor Charlotte has not 
 pulled a prize : " on which the General would reply, " Xo 
 more have others, my dear ! " and so drop the subject for 
 the time being. On another occasion it would be, "You 
 have heard how rude Philip Firmin was to Mr. Hobday ? " 
 and the General Avould answer, " I was at cards, my dear." 
 Again she might say, " ^Irs. Tuffin says she will not have 
 Pliilip Firmin to her Tuesdays, my dear : " and the General's 
 rejoinder would be, " Begad, so much the better for him ! " 
 " Ah," she groans, " he's always offending some one ! " "I 
 don't think he seems to please you much, Eliza ! " responds 
 the General: and she answers, "Xo, he don't, and that I 
 confess ; and I don't like to think, Baynes, of my sweet 
 child given up to certain poverty, and such a man ! " At 
 which the General with some of his garrison phrases would 
 break out with a " Hang it, Eliza, do you suppose I think 
 it is a very good match ? " and turn to the wall, and, I hoj^e, 
 to sleep. 
 
 As for poor little Charlotte, her mother is not afraid of 
 little Charlotte : and when the two are alone the poor child 
 knows she is to be made wretched by her mother's assaults 
 upon Philip. Was there ever anything so bad as his be- 
 havior, to burst out laughing when ^liss Crackley was sing- 
 ing ? Was he called upon to contradict Sir Charles Peplow 
 in that abrupt way, and as good as tell him he was a fool ? 
 It was very wrong certainly, and poor Charlotte thinks, 
 with a blush perhaps, how she was just at the point of 
 admiring Sir Charles Peplow's reading very much, and had 
 been prepared to think Tomlinson's poems delightful, until 
 Philip ordered her to adopt a contemptuous opinion of the 
 poet. " And did you see how he was dressed ? a button 
 wanting on his waistcoat, and a hole in his boot ? " 
 
 " ^Nlamma," cries Charlotte, turning very red. " He might 
 have been better dressed — if — if — " 
 
 " That is, you would like your own father to be in prison, 
 your mother to beg her bread, your sisters to go in rags, and 
 your brothers to starve, Charlotte, in order that we should 
 pay Philip Firmin back the money of which his father 
 robbed him ! Yes. That's your meaning. You needn't 
 explain yourself. I can understand quite well, thank you.
 
 430 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 
 
 Good-niglrt. I hope youHl sleep well ; / shan't after this 
 conversation. Good-night, (charlotte ! " Ah, me. O course 
 of true love, didst thou ever run smooth ? As we peep into 
 that boarding-house, whereof I have already described the 
 mistress as wakeful with racking care regarding the mor- 
 roAv; wherein lie the Miss Bolderos, who must naturally be 
 very uncomfortable, being on suiferance and as it were in 
 pain, as they lie on their beds; — what sorrows do we not 
 perceive brooding over the nightcaps ? There is poor Char- 
 lotte who has said her prayer for her Philip ; and as she 
 lays her young eyes on the pillow, they wet it with their 
 tears. Why does her mother forever and forever speak 
 against him ? Why is her father so cold when Philip's 
 name is mentioned ? Could Charlotte ever think of any but 
 him ? Oh, never, never ! And so the wet eyes are veiled 
 at last ; and close in doubt and fear and care. And in the 
 next room to Charlotte's, a little yellow old woman lies 
 stark awake ; and in the bed by her side an old gentleman 
 can't close his eyes for thinking — my poor girl is promised 
 to a beggar. All the fine hopes which we had of his getting 
 a legacy from that lord are over. Poor child, poor child, 
 what will become of her ? 
 
 Now, Two Sticks, let us fly over the river Seine to Mr. 
 Philip Firmin's quarters ; to Philip's house, who has not got 
 a penny ; to Philip's bed, who has made himself so rude 
 and disagreeable at that tea-party. He has no idea that he 
 has offended anybody. He has gone home perfectly well 
 pleased. He has kicked off the tattered boot. He has 
 found a little fire lingering in his stove by which he has 
 smoked the pipe of thought. Ere he has jumped into his 
 bed he has knelt a moment beside it ; and with all his heart 
 — oh ! with all his heart and soul — has committed the 
 dearest one to heaven's loving protection ! And now he 
 sleeps like a child.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 i:n which we still hover about the elysian fields. 
 
 HE clescriber 
 and biographer 
 of my friend 
 Mr. Philip Fir- 
 min has tried 
 to extenuate 
 nothing; and, I 
 hope, has set 
 down naught in 
 malice. If 
 ^ Philip's boots 
 had holes in 
 them, I have 
 written that he 
 had holes in 
 his boots. If 
 he had a red 
 beard, there it 
 is red in this 
 stor3\ I might 
 have oiled it 
 with a tinge of 
 brown, and 
 painted it a 
 rich auburn. 
 Towards modest people he was gentle and tender ; but I 
 must own that in general societ}' he was not alwaj'S an 
 agreeable companion. He was often haughty and arrogant : 
 he was impatient of old stories : he was intolerant of 
 commonplaces. Mrs. I>aynes's anecdotes of her garrison 
 experiences in India and Europe got a very impatient hear- 
 ing from ]\rr. Phili]:> ; and though little Charlotte gently 
 remonstrated with him, saying, "■ Do, do let mamma tell her 
 Btory out; and don't turn away and talk about something 
 
 4<il
 
 432 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 else in the inidst of it : and don't tell her you have heard 
 the story before, you rude man ! If she is not pleased Avith 
 you, she is angry with me, and I have to suffer when you 
 are gone away." Miss Charlotte did not say how much she 
 had to suffer when Philip was absent; how constantly her 
 mother found fault with him ; what a sad life, in conse- 
 quence of her attachment to him, the young maiden had to 
 lead ; and I fear that clumsy Philip, in his selhsh thought- 
 lessness, did not take enough count of the sufferings which 
 his behavior brought on the girl. You see I am acknowl- 
 edging that there were many faults on his side, which per- 
 haps may in some degree excuse or account for those which 
 Mrs. General Baynes certainly committed towards him. 
 She did not love Philip naturally ; and do you suppose she 
 loved him because she was under great obligations to him ? 
 Do you love your creditor because you owe him more than 
 you can ever pay ? If I never paid my tailor, should I be 
 on good terms with him ? I might go on ordering suits of 
 clothes from now to the year nineteen hundred; but I 
 should hate him worse year after year. I should find fault 
 with his cut and his cloth : I dare say I should end by 
 thinking his bills extortionate, though I never paid them. 
 Kindness is very indigestible. It disagrees with very 
 proud stomachs. I wonder was that traveller who fell 
 among the thieves grateful afterwards to the Samaritan 
 who rescued him ? He gave money certainly ; but he didn't 
 miss it. The religious- opinions of Samaritans are lamen- 
 tably heterodox. brother ! may we help the fallen still, 
 though they never pay us, and may we lend without exact- 
 ing the usury of gratitude ! 
 
 Of this I am determined, that whenever I go courting 
 again, I will not pay my addresses to my dear creature — 
 day after da}^, and from year's end to year's end, very likel}' 
 — with the dear girl's mother, father, and half a dozen young 
 brothers and sisters in the room. I shall begin by being 
 civil to the old lady, of course. She is flattered at first by 
 having a young fellow coming courting her daughter. She 
 calls me " dear Edward ; " works me a pair of braces ; writes 
 to mamma and sisters, and so forth. Old gentleman says, 
 ''Brown my boy" (I am here fondly imagining myself to be 
 a young fellow named Edward Brown, attached, let us say, 
 to Miss Kate Thompson) — Thompson, I say, says, "Brown 
 my boy, come to dinner at seven. Cover laid for you 
 always." And of course, delicious thought ! that cover is
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 433 
 
 by dearest Kate's side. But the dinner is bad sometimes. 
 Sometimes I come late. Sometimes things are going badly 
 in the City. Sometimes ]\Irs. Thompson is out of humor ; 
 — she always thought Kate might have done better. And 
 in the midst of these doubts and delays, suppose Joxes 
 appears, who is older, but of a better temper, a better family, 
 and — plague on him ! — twice as rich ? What are engage- 
 ments ? What are promises ? It is sometimes an affec- 
 tionate mother's duty to break her promise, and that duty 
 the resolute matron will do. 
 
 Then Edward is Edward no more, but Mr. Brown ; or, 
 worse still, nameless in the house. Then the knife and 
 fork are removed from poor Kate's side, and she swallows 
 her own sad meal in tears. Then if one of the little 
 Thompsons says, artlessly, "Papa, I met Teddy Brown in 
 Eegent Street; he looked so — " "Hold your tongue, 
 unfeeling wretch I " cries mamma. "Look at that dear 
 child ! " Kate is swooning. She has sal-volatile. The 
 medical man is sent for. And presently — Charles Jones 
 is taking Kate Thompson to dinner. Long voyages are 
 dangerous ; so are long courtships. In long voyages passen- 
 gers perpetually quarrel (for that Mrs. General could 
 vouch) ; in long courtships the same danger exists ; and how 
 much the more when in that latter ship you have a mother 
 who is forever putting in her oar ! And then to think of 
 the annoyance of that love voyage when you and the 
 beloved and beloved's papa, mamma, half a dozen brothers 
 and sisters, are all in one cabin ! For economy's sake the 
 Bayneses had no sitting-room at Madame's — for you could 
 not call that room on the second floor a sitting-room which 
 had two beds in it, and in which the young ones practised 
 the piano, Avith poor Cliarlotte as their mistress. Philip's 
 courting had to take place for the most part before the 
 whole family ; and to make love under sucli difficulties 
 would have been horrible and maddening and impossible 
 almost, only we have admitted that our young friends had 
 little walks in the Champs Elysees ; and then you must 
 own that it must have been delightful for them to write 
 each other perpetual little notes, which were delivered 
 occultly under the very nose of papa and mamma, and in the 
 acutal presence of the other boarders at Madame's, who, of 
 course, never saw anything tliat was going on. Yes, those 
 sly monkeys actually made little post-offices about the room. 
 There was, for instance, tlie clock on the mantel-piece in the 
 VOL. T. — 28
 
 434 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 salon on which was carved the old French allegory, ^^ Le 
 temjys fait ^jasser l^tmour." One of those artful young 
 people would pop a note into Time's boat, where you may 
 be sure no one saw it. The trictrac board was another 
 post-office. So was the drawer of the music-stand. So was 
 the Sevres china flower-pot, &c., &c., to each of which 
 repositories in its turn the lovers confided the delicious 
 secrets of their wooing. 
 
 Have you ever looked at your love-letters to Darby, when 
 you were courting, dear Joan ? They are sacred pages to 
 read. You have his tied up somewhere in a faded ribbon. 
 You scarce need spectacles as you look at them. The 
 hair grows black ; the eyes moisten and brighten ; the 
 cheeks fill and blush again. I protest there is nothing so 
 beautiful as Darby and Joan in the world. I hope Philip 
 and his wife will be Darby and Joan to the end. I tell you 
 they are married ; and don't want to make any mysteries 
 about the business. I disdain that sort of artifice. In the 
 days of the old three-volume novels, didn't you always look 
 at the end, to see that Louisa and the earl (or young clergy- 
 man, as the case might be) were happy ? If they died, or 
 met Avith other grief, for my part I put the book away. 
 This pair, then, are well ; are married ; are, I trust, happy : 
 but before they married, and afterwards, they had great 
 griefs and troubles ; as no doubt you have had, dear sir or 
 madam, since you underwent that ceremony. Married ? 
 Of course they are. Do you suppose I would have allowed 
 little Charlotte to meet Philip in the Champs Ely sees with 
 only a giddy little boy of a brother for a companion, who 
 would turn away to see Punch, Guignol, the soldiers march- 
 ing by, the old woman's gingerbread and toffy stall, and so 
 forth ? Do you, I say, suppose I would have allowed those 
 two to go out together, unless they were to be married 
 afterwards ? Out walking together they did go ; and, once, 
 as they were arm-in-arm in the Champs Elysees, whom 
 should they see in a fine open carriage but 3'oung Twysden 
 and Captain and Mrs. Woolcomb, to whom, as they passed, 
 Philip doffed his hat with a i)rofound bow, and Avhom he 
 further saluted with a roar of immense laughter. Wool- 
 comb must have heard the peal. I dare say it brought a 
 little blush to Mrs. Woolcomb's cheek : and — and so, no 
 doubt, added to the many attractions of that elegant lady. 
 I have no secrets about my characters, and speak my mind 
 about them quite freely. They said that Woolcomb Avas
 
 ON HIS WAY rU ROUGH THE WOULD. 435 
 
 Lli3 most jealous, stingy, ostentatious, cruel little brute; 
 tiiat he led his wife a dismal life. Well ? If he did? I'm 
 oure I don't care. "There is that swaggering bankrupt 
 beggar Firmin I " cries the tawny bridegroom, biting his 
 moustache. "Impudent ragged blackguard," says Twysden 
 minor. " I saw him." 
 
 "Hadn't you better stop the carriage, and abuse him to 
 himself, and not to me ? " says Mrs. Woolcomb, languidly, 
 flinging herself back on her cushions. 
 
 *• Go on, hang you ! Ally ! Vite ! " cry the gentlemen 
 in the carriage to the laquals de place on the box. 
 
 " I can fancy you don't care about seeing him," resumes 
 Mrs. Woolcomb. "He has a violent temper, and I would 
 not have you quarfel for the world." So I suppose Wool- 
 comb again swears at the laquals de place: and the happy 
 couple, as the saying is, roll away to the Bois de Boulogne. 
 
 " What makes you laugh so ? " says little Charlotte, 
 fondl}', as she trips along by her lover's side. 
 
 " Becaus3 I am so happy, my dearest ! " says the other, 
 squeezing to his heart the little hand that lies on his arm. 
 As he thinks on yonder woman, and then looks into the 
 pure, eager face of the sweet girl beside him, the scornful 
 laughter occasioned by the sudden meeting w^hich is just 
 over hushes ; and an immense feeling of thankfulness fills 
 the breast of the young man; — thankfulness for the dan- 
 ger from which he has escaped, and for the blessed prize 
 which has fallen to him. 
 
 But Mr. Philip's walks were not to be all as pleasant as 
 this walk; and we are now coming to a history of wet, 
 slippery roads, bad times, and winter weather. All I can 
 promise about this gloomy part is, that it shall not be a 
 long story. You will acknowledge we made very short 
 work with the love-making, which I give you my word T 
 consider to be the very easiest part of the novel-writer's 
 business. As those rapturous scenes between the captain 
 and the heroine are going on, a writer who knows his busi- 
 ness may be thinking about anything else — about the 
 ensuing chapter, or about what he is going to have for 
 dinner, or what you will ; therefore, as w^e passed over the 
 raptures and joys of the courting so very curtly, you must 
 please to gratify me by taking the grief in a very short 
 measure. If our young peo}jle are going to suffer, let the 
 pain be soon over. " Sit down in the chair, Miss Baynes, 
 if you please, and you, Mr. Firmin, in this. Allow me to
 
 436 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 examine you; just open 3'our mouth, if you please ; and — 
 oh, oh, my dear miss — there, it is out! A little eau-de- 
 Cologne and water, my dear. And now, Mr. Firmin, if 
 you please, we will — what fangs! what a big ore! Two 
 guineas. Thank you. Good-morning. Come to me once 
 a year. John, show in the next party." About the ensu- 
 ing painful business, then, I protest I don't intend to be 
 much longer occupied than the humane and dexterous 
 operator to whom I have made so bold as to liken myself. 
 If my pretty Charlotte is to have a tooth out, it shall be 
 removed as gently as possible, poor dear. As for Philiji 
 and his great red-bearded jaw, I don't care so much if the 
 tug makes him roar a little. And yet they remain, they 
 remain and throb in after life, those wounds of early days. 
 Have I not said how, as I chanced to walk with Mr. Fir- 
 min in Paris, many years after the domestic circumstances 
 here recorded, he paused before the window of that house 
 near the Champs Elysees where Madame Smolensk once held 
 her j)e7islo7i, shook his fist at a jalousie of the now dingy 
 and dilapidated mansion, and intimated to me that he had 
 undergone severe sufferings in the chamber lighted by yon- 
 der window ? So have we all suffered ; so, very likely, my 
 dear young miss or master who peruses this modest page, 
 will you have to suffer in your time. You will not die of 
 the operation, most probably : but it is painful : it makes 
 a gap in the mouth, voyez-vous? and years and years, 
 maybe, after, as you think of it, the smart is renewed, and 
 the dismal tragedy enacts itself over again. 
 
 Philip liked his little maiden to go out, to dance, to 
 laugh, to be admired, to be happy. In her artless way she 
 told him of her balls, her tea-parties, her pleasures, her 
 partners. In a girl's first little season nothing escapes her. 
 Have you not wondered to hear them tell about the events 
 of the evening, about the dresses of the dowagers, about 
 the compliments of the young men, about the behavior of 
 the girls, and what not ? 
 
 Little Charlotte used to enact the over-night's comedy 
 for Philip, pouring out her young heart in her prattle as 
 her little feet skipped by his side. And to hear Philip 
 roar with laughter ! It would have done you good. You 
 might have heard him from the Obelisk to the Etoile. 
 People turned roun»l to look at him, and shrugged their 
 shoulders wonderingh^, as good-natured French folks will 
 do. How could a man who had been lately ruined, a man
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 4.^J 
 
 who had just been disappointed of a great legacy from the 
 Earl his great-uncle, a man whose boots were in that 
 lamentable condition, laugh so, and have such high spirits ? 
 To think of such an impudent ragged blackguard, as Iving- 
 wood Tw^^sden called his cousin, daring to be happy ! The 
 fact is, that clap of laughter smote those three Twysden 
 people like three boxes on the ear, and made all their 
 cheeks tingle and blush at once. At Philip's merriment 
 clouds which had come over Charlotte's sweet face would 
 be chased away. As she clung to him, doubts which 
 throbbed at the girl's heart would vanish. When she was 
 acting those scenes of the past night's entertainment, she 
 was not always happy. As she talked and prattled, her 
 own spirits would rise ; and hope and natural joy would 
 spring in her heart again, and come flushing up to her 
 cheek. Charlotte was being a hypocrite, as, thank heaven, 
 all good women sometimes are. She had griefs ; she hid 
 them from him. She had doubts and fears : they fled 
 when he came in view, and she clung to his strong arm, 
 and looked in his honest blue eyes. She did not tell him 
 of those painful nights when her eyes were wakeful and 
 tearful. A yellow old woman in a white jacket, with a 
 nightcap and a night-light, would come, night after night, 
 to the side of her little bed; and there stand, and with 
 her grim voice bark against Philip. That old woman's 
 lean finger would point to all the rents in poor Philip's 
 threadbare paletot of a character — point to the holes and 
 tear them wider open. She would stamp on those muddy 
 boots. She would throw up her peaked nose at the idea of 
 the poor fellow's pipe — his pipe, his great companion and 
 comforter when his dear little mistress was awa}^ She would 
 discourse on the partners of the night ; the evident atten- 
 tions of this gentleman, the politeness and high breeding 
 of that. 
 
 And when that dreary nightly torture was over, and 
 Charlotte's mother had left the ])oor child to herself, some- 
 times Madame Smolensk, sitting up over her ledgers and bills, 
 and wakeful with her own cares, would steal up and con- 
 sole poor Charlotte ; and bring her some tisane, excellent 
 for the nerves; and talk to her about — about the subject 
 of which Charlotte best liked to hear. And though Smo- 
 lensk was civil to Mrs. Baynes in the morning, as her j)ro- 
 fessional duty obliged her to be, she has owned that she 
 often felt a desire to strangle Madame la Generale for her
 
 438 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 conduct to her little angel of a daugliter ; and all because 
 Monsieur Philippe smells the pipe, parbleu ! ''What? a 
 family that owes you the bread Avhich they eat ; and they 
 draw back for a pipe ! The cowards, the cowards ! A sol- 
 dier's daughter is not afraid of it. Merci ! Tenoz, M. 
 Philippe," she said to our friend when matters came to an 
 extremity. "Do you know what in your place I would 
 do ? To a Frenchman I would not say so ; that under- 
 stands itself. But these things make themselves otherwise 
 in England. I have no money, but I have a cachemire. 
 Take him ; and if I were you, I would make a little voyage 
 to Gretna Grin." 
 
 And now, if you please, we will quit the Champs 
 Elysees. We will cross the road from Madame's boarding- 
 house. AVe will make our way into the Faubourg St. 
 Honore, and actually enter a gate over which the L-on, 
 the Un-c-rn, and the K-y-1 Cr-wn and A-ms of the Three 
 K-ngd-ms are sculptured, and going under the porte- 
 cochere, and turning to the right, ascend a little stair, and 
 ask of the attendant on the landing, who is in the chan- 
 cellerie ? The attendant says that several of those mes~ 
 sleitrs y sont. In fact, on entering the room, you find Mr. 
 Motcomb, — let us say — Mr. Lowndes, Mr. Halkin and 
 our young friend Mr. Walsingham Hely, seated at their 
 respective tables in the midst of considerable smoke. 
 Smoking in the midst of these gentlemen, and bestriding 
 his chair, as though it were his horse, sits that gallant 
 young Irish chieftain. The O'Eourke. Some of the gentle- 
 men are copying, in a large handwriting, despatches on 
 foolscap paper. I would rather be torn to pieces by 
 O'Eourke's wildest horses, than be understood to hint at 
 what those despatches, at what those despatch-boxes contain. 
 Perhaps they contain some news from the Court of Spain, 
 where some intrigues are carried on, a knowledge of which 
 would make your hair start off your head; perhaps that 
 box, for which a messenger is waiting in a neighboring 
 apartment, has locked up twenty-four yards of Chantilly 
 lace for Lady Belweather, and six new French farces for 
 Tom Tiddler of the Foreign Office, who is mad about the 
 theatre. It is years and years ago ; how should I know 
 what there is in those despatch-boxes ? 
 
 But the work, whatever it may be, is not very pressing 
 — for there is only Mr. Chesham — did I say Chesham 
 before, by the way ? You may call him Mr. Sloanestreet if
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 439 
 
 you like. There is only Chesham (and he always takes 
 things to the grand serious) wiio seems to be much engaged 
 in writing; and the conversation goes on. 
 
 '' Who gave it ? " asks Motcomb. 
 
 " The black man, of course, gave it. We would not pre- 
 tend to compete with such a long purse as his. You 
 should have seen what faces he made at the bill ! Thirty 
 francs a bottle for Khine wine. He grinned with the most 
 horrible agony when he read the addition. He almost 
 turned yellow. He sent away his wife early. How long 
 that girl was hanging about London; and think of her 
 hooking a millionnaire at last ! Othello is a frightful 
 screw, and diabolically jealous of his wife." 
 
 " WHiat is the name of the little man who got so dismally 
 drunk, and began to cry about old Ringwood ? " 
 
 "Twysden — the woman's brother. Don't you know 
 Humbug Twysden, the father ? The youth is more offen- 
 sive than the parent." 
 
 "A most disgusting little beast. Would come to the 
 Varietes, because we said we were going: would go to 
 Lamoignon's, where the Russians gave a dance and a lans- 
 quenet. Why didn't you come, Hely ?" 
 
 Mr. Hell/. — I tell you I hate the whole thing. Those 
 painted old actresses give me the horrors. What do I want 
 with winning Motcomb's money, who hasn't got any ? Do 
 you think it gives me ^mj pleasure to dance with old Cara- 
 dol ? She puts me in mind of my grandmother — only she 
 is older. Do you think I want to go and see that insane 
 old Boutzoff leering at Corinne and Palmyrine, and making 
 a group of three old women together ! I wonder how you 
 fellows can go on. Aren't you tired of truffles and ecre- 
 visses a la Bordelaise ; and those old opera people, whose 
 withered old carcasses are stuffed with them ? 
 
 The O'R. — There was Cerisette, I give ye me honor. 
 Ye never saw. She fell asleep in her cheer — 
 
 3fr. Lowndes. — In her hwhat, O'E. ? 
 
 The 0'^.— Well, in her chair then! And Figaroff 
 smayred her feece all over with the craym out of a Char- 
 lotte Roose. She's a regular bird and moustache, you know, 
 Cerisette has. 
 
 Mr. Hehj. — Charlotte, Charlotte ! Oh ! {He clutches his 
 hair madly. His elbows are on the table.) 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. — It's that girl he meets at the tea-parties, 
 where he goes to be admired.
 
 440 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 3Ir. Hely. — It is better to drink tea than, like you fel- 
 lows, to muddle wliat brains you have with bad champagne. 
 It is better to look, and to hear, and to see, and to dance 
 with a modest girl, than, like you fellows, to be capering 
 about in taverns with painted old hags like that old Ceris- 
 ette, who has got a face like d^iiomvie culte, and who danced 
 before Lord Malmesbury at the Peace of Amiens. She did, 
 I tell you ; and before Napoleon. 
 
 Mr. Chesham. — (Looks up from his writinfj.) — There was 
 no Napoleon then. It is of no consequence, but — 
 
 Lowndes. — Thank you, I owe you one. You're a most 
 valuable man, Chesham, and a credit to your father and 
 mother. 
 
 Mr. Chesham. — Well, the Eirst Consul was Bonaparte. 
 
 Lowndes. — I am obliged to you. I say I am obliged to 
 you, Chesham, and if you would, like any refreshment, order 
 it meis snmptihus^ old boy — at my expense. 
 
 Chesham. — These fellows will never be serious. {He 
 resumes his tvriting.) 
 
 Hely. — (Iterum, but very low.) — Oh Charlotte, Char — 
 
 Mr. Loumdes. — Hely is raving about that girl — that girl 
 with the horrible old mother in yellow, don't you remem- 
 ber ? and old father — good old military party, in a shabby 
 old coat — who was at the last ball. What was the name ? 
 O'Rourke, what is the rhyme for Baynes ? 
 
 The O'E. — Fays, and be hanged to you. You're always 
 makin' fun on me, you little cockney ! 
 
 Mr. Motcomh. — Hely was just as bad about the Danish 
 girl. You know, Walse, you composed ever so many verses 
 to her, and wrote home to your mother to ask leave to 
 marry her ! 
 
 The O^E. — I'd think him big enough to marry without 
 anybody's leave — only they wouldn't have him because he's 
 so ugly. 
 
 Mr. Hely. — Very good, O'Rourke. Very neat and good. 
 You were diverting the company Avith an anecdote. Will 
 you proceed ? 
 
 The O'E. — AVell, then, the Cerisette had been dancing 
 both on and off the stage till she was dead tired, I suppose, 
 and so she fell dead asleep, and Figaroff, taking the what- 
 d'ye-call-'em out of the Charlotte Roose, smayred her face 
 all — 
 
 Voice ivithout. — Deet Mosho Bingw^ood Twysden, sivo 
 play, poor I'honorable Moshoo Lownds !
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 441 
 
 Servant. — ^Monsieur Twysdex ! 
 
 Mr. Twysden. — ]\Lr, Lowndes, how are you ? 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. — Very v/ell, thank you ; how are you ? 
 
 Mr. Hely. — Lowndes is uncommonly brilliant to-day. 
 
 Mr. Twysden. — Not the worse for last night ? Some of 
 as were a little elevated, I think ! 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. — Some of us quite the reverse. (Little 
 (M(l, what does he want ? Elevated I he couldn't keep his 
 little legs !) 
 
 Mr. Twysden. — Eh ! Smoking, I see. Thank you. I 
 very seldom do — but as you are so kind — puff. Eh — 
 uncommonly handsome person that, eh — Madame Cerisette. 
 
 The O'Pi. — Thank ye for telling us. 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. — If she meets with your applause, Mr. 
 Twysden, I should think Mademoiselle Cerisette is all 
 right. 
 
 The O'B. — Maybe they'd raise her salary if ye told her. 
 
 Mr. Twysden. — Heh — I see you're chaffing me. We 
 have a good deal of that kind of thing in Somerset — iu 
 our — in — hem! This tobacco is a little strong. I am a 
 little shaky this morning. Who, by the wa}', is that Prince 
 Boutzoff who played lansquenet with us ? Is he one of the 
 Livonian Boutzoffs, or one of the Hessian Boutzoffs ? I 
 remember at my poor uncle's, Lord Ringwood, meeting a 
 Prince Blucher de Boutzoff, something like this man, by the 
 way. You knew my poor uncle ? 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. — Dined with him here three months ago 
 at the " Trois Ereres." 
 
 3Ir. Twysden. — Been at Whipham, I dare say ? I was 
 bred up there. It was said once that I was to have been 
 his heir. He was very fond of me. He was my god- 
 father. 
 
 The O^R. — Then he gave you a mug, and it wasn't a 
 beauty (sotto voce). 
 
 Mr. Twysden. — You said somethin' ? I was speaking of 
 Whipham, Mr. Lowndes — one of the linest places in 
 England, I should say, except Chatsworth, you know, and 
 that sort of thing. %lj grandfather built it — I mean my 
 great grandfather, for I'm of the Ringwood family. 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. — Then was Lord Ringwood your grand- 
 father, or 3'our grand godfather ? 
 
 Mr. Twysden. — He ! he ! ]\Iy mother was his own niece. 
 My grandfather was his own brother, and I am — 
 
 Mr, Lowndes. — Thank you. I see now.
 
 442 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 Mr. Halkln. — Das ist sehr interessant. Ich versichere 
 ilinen das ist sehr interessant. 
 
 Mr. Twysden. — Said sometliin' ? (This cigar is really 
 — I'll throw it away, please.) I was saying that at Whip- 
 ham, where I was bred up, we would be forty at dinner, and 
 as many more in the upper servants' hall. 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. — And you dined in the — you had pretty 
 good dinners. 
 
 Mr. Twysden. — A French chef. Two aids, besides turtle 
 from town. Two or three regular cooks on the establish- 
 ment, besides kitchen-maids, roasters, and that kind of 
 thing, you understand. How many have you here now ? 
 In Lord Estridge's kitchen you can't do, I should say, at 
 least without — let me see — why, in our small way — and 
 if you come to London my father will be dev'lish glad to 
 see you — we — 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. — How is Mrs. AVoolcomb this morning ? 
 That was a fair dinner Woolcomb gave us yesterday. 
 
 Mr. Twysden. — He has plenty of money, plenty of 
 money. I hope, Lowndes, when you come to town — the 
 first time you come, mind — to give you a hearty welcome 
 and some of my father's old por — 
 
 Mr. Hely. — Will nobody kick this little beast out ? 
 
 Servant. — Monsieur Chesham peut-il voir M. Firmin ? 
 
 Mr. Chesham. — Certainly. Come in, Firmin ! 
 
 Mr. Twysden. — Mr. Fearmang — Mr. Fir — Mr. who ? 
 You don't mean to say you receive that fellow, Mr. Ches- 
 ham ? 
 
 Mr. Chesham. — AVhat fellow ? and what do you mean, 
 Mr. What-d'ye-call-'im ? 
 
 Mr. Twysden. — That blackg — oh — that is, I — I beg 
 your — 
 
 Mr. Firmin {entering and going %q) to Mr. Cheshani). — I 
 say, give me a bit of news of to-day. What were you say- 
 ing about that — hum and hum and haw — mayn't I have 
 it ? {He is talking eonfidentially ivith Mr. Chesham, when 
 he sees Mr. Twysden.) W^hat ! you have got that little cad 
 here ? 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. — You know Mr. Twysden, Mr. Firmin. 
 He was just speaking about you. 
 
 Mr. Firmin. — Was he ? So much the worse for me. 
 
 Mr. Twysden. — Sir ! W^e don't speak. You've no right 
 to speak to me in this manner ! Don't speak to me : and 
 I won't speak to you, sir — there ! Good - morning, Mr.
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 443 
 
 Lowndes ! Remember your promise to come and dine with 
 us when you come to town. And — one word — (Jie holds 
 Mr. Lowndes by the button. By the way, he has very curious 
 resemblances to Twysden senior) — we shall be here for ten 
 days certainly. I think Lady Estridge has something next 
 week. I have left our cards, and — 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. — Take care, ^e will be there (jwintivrj 
 to Mr. Firm in). 
 
 Mr. Twysden. — What? T/mz^ beggar ? You don't mean 
 to say Lord Estridge will receive such a fellow as — Good- 
 by, good-by ! (Lxit Mr. TwysdeJi.) 
 
 Mr. Firmin. — I caught that little fellow's eye. He's my 
 cousin, you know. We have had a quarrel. I am sure he 
 was speaking about me. 
 
 3Ir. Lowndes. — Well, now^ you mention it, he was speak- 
 ing about 3^ou. 
 
 3Ir. Firmin. — Was he? Then donH believe him, Mr. 
 Lowndes. That is my advice. 
 
 Mr. Hely {at his desk composing). — "Maiden of the 
 blushing cheek, maiden of the — oh, Charlotte, Char — " he 
 bites his pen and dashes off rapid rhymes on Government 
 paper. 
 
 Mr. Firmin. — What does he say ? He said Charlotte. 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. — He is always in love and breaking his 
 heart, and he puts it into poems ; he wraj^s it up in paper, 
 and falls in love with somebody else. Sit down and smoke 
 a cigar, won't you ? 
 
 Mr. Firmin. — Can't stay. Must make up my letter. 
 We print to-morrow. 
 
 Mr. Loicndes. — Who wrote that article pitching into 
 Peel? 
 
 Mr. Firmin. — Family secret — can't say — good by. 
 {Exit Mr. Firmin.) 
 
 Mr. Chesham. — In my opinion a most ill-advised and 
 intemperate article. That journal, the Pall Mall Gazette, 
 indulges in a very needless acrimony, I think. 
 
 Mr. Loicndes. — Chesham does not like to call a spade a 
 spade. He calls it a horticultural utensil. You have a 
 great career before you, Chesham. You have a wisdom and 
 gravity beyond your years. You bore us slightly, but we 
 all respect you — we do indeed. What was the text at 
 church last Sunday ? Oh, by the way, Hely, you litUe 
 miscreant, you were at church J 
 
 Mr. Chesham. — You need not blush, Hely. I am not a
 
 444 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 joking man ; but this kind of jesting does not strike me as 
 being particularly amusing, Lowndes. 
 
 Mr. Lowndes. — You go to church because you are good, 
 because your aunt was a bishop or something. But Hely 
 goes because he is a little miscreant. You hypocritical 
 little beggar, you got yourself up as if you were going to a 
 (lejeuner, and you had your hair curled, and you were seen 
 singing out of the same hymn-book with that pretty Miss 
 Baynes, you little wheedling sinner ; and you walked home 
 with the family — my sisters saw you — to a boarding- 
 house where they live — by Jove ! you did. And I'll tell 
 your mother ! 
 
 Mr. Chesham. — I wish you would not make such a noise, 
 and let ma do my work, Lowndes. You — 
 
 Here Asmodeus whisks us out of the room, and we lose the 
 rest of the young men's conversation. But enough has 
 been overheard, I think, to show what direction young Mr. 
 Hely's thoughts had taken. Since he was seventeen years 
 of age (at the time when we behold him he may be twenty- 
 three), this romantic youth has been repeatedly in love: 
 with his elderly tutor's daughter, of course ; with a young 
 haberdasher at the university ; with his sister's confidential 
 friend ; with the blooming young Danish beauty last year ; 
 and now, I very much fear, a young acquaintance of ours 
 has attracted the attention of this imaginative Don Juan. 
 Whenever Heiy is in love, he fancies his passion will last 
 forever, makes a confidant of the first person at hand, weeps 
 plenteously, and writes reams of verses. Do you remember 
 how in a previous chapter we told you that Mrs. Tuffin was 
 determined she would not ask Philip to her soirees, and 
 declared him to be a forward and disagreeable young man ? 
 She was glad enough to receive young Walsingham_ Hely,' 
 with his languid air, his drooping head, his fair curls, and 
 his flower in his button-hole ; and Hely, being then in hot 
 pursuit of one of the tall Miss Blacklocks, went to Mrs. 
 Tuffin's, was welcomed there with all the honors ; and 
 there, fluttering away from Miss Blacklock, our butterfly 
 lighted on ^liss Baynes. oSTow Miss Baynes would have 
 danced with a mopstick, she was so fond of dancins^: and 
 Hely, who had practised in a thousand Chaumieres, Mabilles 
 (or whatever was the public dance-room then in vogue), was 
 a most amiable, agile, and excellent partner. And she told 
 Philip next day what a nice little partner she had found — ■ 
 poor Philip, who was not asked to that paradise of a party,
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 445 
 
 And Pliilip said that he knew the little man ; that he be- 
 lieved he was rich ; that he wrote pretty little verses : — - 
 in a word, Philip, in his leonine ways, regarded little Hely 
 as a lion regards a lapdog. 
 
 Xow this little Slyboots had a thousand artful little ways. 
 He had a very keen sensibility and a line taste, which was 
 most readily touched by innocence and beauty. He had 
 tears, I won't say at command ; for they were under no 
 command, and gushed from his line eyes in spite of himself. 
 Charlotte's innocence and freshness smote him with a keen 
 pleasure. Bon Dieu ! "What was that great, tall Miss Black- 
 lock who had tramped through a thousand ball-rooms, com- 
 pared to this artless, happy creature ? He danced away 
 from Miss Blacklock and after Charlotte the moment he 
 saw our young friend ; and the Blacklocks who knew all 
 about him, and his money, and his mother, and his expecta- 
 tions — who had his verses in their poor album, by whose 
 carriage he had capered day after day in the Bois de Bou- 
 logne — stood scowling and deserted, as this young fellow 
 danced off with that Miss Baynes, who lived in a boarding- 
 house, and came to parties in a cab with her horrid old 
 mother! The Blacklocks were as though they were not 
 henceforth for Mr. Hely. They asked him to dinner. 
 Bless my soul, he utterly forgot all about it ! He never 
 came to their box on their night at the opera. Not one 
 twinge of remorse had he, Not one pang of remembrance. 
 If he did remember them, it was when they bored him, like 
 those tall tragic women in black who are always coming in 
 their great long trains to sing sermons to Don Juan. 
 Ladies, your name is down in his lordship's catalogue ; his 
 servant has it ; and you, ISfiss Anna, are number one thou- 
 sand and three. 
 
 But, as for Miss Charlotte, that is a different affair. 
 What innocence! What afratcheicr / What a merry good- 
 humor ! Don Slyboots is touched, he is tenderly interested : 
 her artless voice thrills through his frame ; he trembles as 
 he waltzes with her ; as his line eyes look at her, psha ! 
 what is that film coming over them ? Slyboots, Slyboots 1 
 And as she has nothing to conceal, she has told him all he 
 wants to know before long. This is her first winter in 
 Paris : her first season of coming out. She has only been 
 to two balls before, and two plays, and an opera. And her 
 father met ^Mr. Hely at Lord Trim's. That was her father 
 playing at whist. And tliey lived at Madame Smolensk's
 
 446 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
 
 boarding-house in the Champs Ely sees. And they had been 
 to Mr. Dash's, and to Mrs. Blank's, and she believed they 
 were going to Mrs. Star's on Friday. And did they go to 
 church ? Of course they went to church, to the Eue 
 d'Aguesseau, or wherever it might be. And Slyboots went 
 to church next Sunday. You may perhaps guess to what 
 church. And he went the Sunday after. And he sang his 
 own songs, accompanying himself on the guitar, at his 
 lodgings. And he sang elsewhere. And he had a very 
 pretty little voice, Slyboots had. I believe those poems 
 under the common title of " Gretchen " in our Walsingham's 
 charming volume were all inspired by Miss Baynes. He 
 began to write about her and himself the very first night 
 after seeing her. He smoked cigarettes and drank green 
 tea. He looked so pale — so pale and sad that he quite 
 pitied himself in the looking-glass in his apartments in the 
 Rue Miromenil. And he compared himself to a wrecked 
 mariner, and to a grave, and to a m.an entranced and 
 brought to life. And he cried quite freely and satisfactorily 
 by himself. And he went to see his mother and sister next 
 day at the '^ Hotel de la Terrasse," and cried to them, and 
 said he was in love this time forever and ever. And his 
 sister called him a goose. And after crying he ate an un- 
 commonly good dinner. And he took every one into his 
 confidence, as he always did whenever he was in love : 
 always telling, always making verses, and always crying. 
 As for Miss Blacklock, he buried the dead body of that 
 love deep in the ocean of his soul. The waves engulfed 
 Miss B. The ship rolled on. The storm went doAvn. And 
 the stars rose, and the dawn was in his soul, &c. Well, well ! 
 The mother was a vulgar woman, and I am glad, you are 
 out of it. And what sort of people are General Baynes and 
 Mrs. Baynes ? 
 
 " Oh, delightful people ! Most distinguished officer, the 
 father; modest — doesn't say a word. The mother, a most 
 lively, brisk, agreeable woman. You must go and see. her, 
 ma'am. I desire you'll go immediately." 
 
 " And leave cards with P. P. Cfor the Miss Blacklocks ! " 
 says Miss Hely, who was a plain, lively person. And both 
 mother and sister spoiled this young Hely ; as women 
 ought always to spoil a son, a brother, a father, husband, 
 grandfather — any male relative, in a word. 
 
 To see this spoiled son married was the good-natured 
 mother's fond prayer. An eldest son had died a rake ; a
 
 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 447 
 
 victim to too inucli money, pleasure, idleness. The 
 widowed mother would give anything to save this one 
 from the career through which the elder passed. The 
 young man would be one day so wealthy, that she knew 
 many and many a schemer would try and entrap him. 
 Perhaps she had been made to marry his father because he 
 was rich ; and she remembered the gloom and wretchedness 
 of her own union. Oh, that she could see her son out of 
 temptation, and the husband of an honest girl ! It was 
 the young lady's first season ? So much the more likely 
 that she should be unworldly. "The General — don't you 
 remember a nice old gentleman — in a — well, in a wig — 
 that day we dined at Lord Trim's, when that horrible old 
 Lord Ring wood was there ? That was G-eneral Baynes ; 
 and he broke out so enthusiastically in defence of a poor 
 young man — Dr. Firmin's son — who was a bad man, I 
 believe ; but I shall never have confidence in another doctor 
 again, that I shan't. And we'll call on these people, Fanny. 
 Yes, in a brown wig — the General, I perfectly well 
 remember him, and Lord Trim said he was a most dis- 
 tinguished ofUcer. And I have no doubt his Avife will be a 
 most agreeable person. Those generals' wives who have 
 travelled over the world must have acquired a quantity of 
 delightful information. At a boarding-house, are they ? I 
 dare say very pleasant and amusing. And we'll drive there 
 and call on them immediately." 
 
 On that day as Macgrigor and Moira Baynes were dis- 
 porting in the little front garden of Madame Smolensk's, I 
 think Moira was just about to lick Macgrigor, when his 
 fratricidal hand was stopped by the sight of a large yellow 
 carriage — a large London dowager family carriage — from 
 which descended a large London family footman, with side- 
 locks begrimed with powder, with calves such as only 
 belong to large London family footmen, and with cards in 
 his liand. " Ceci ^[adame Smolensk ? " says the large 
 menial. " Oui," says the boy, nodding his head ; on which 
 the footman was puzzled, for he thouglit from his readiness 
 in the use of the French language that the boy was a 
 Frenchman. 
 
 " Ici demure General Bang?" continued the man. 
 
 "Hand us ov^er the cards, John. Not at home," said 
 Moira. 
 
 " Who ain't at 'ome ? " inquired the menial. 
 
 "General Baynes, my father, ain't at home. He shall
 
 448 THE ADVENTURES OF PhlLIP 
 
 have the pasteboard when he comes in. ' Mrs. Hely ? ' 
 Oh, Mac, it's the same name as that young swell who called 
 the other day ! Ain't at home. John. Gone out to pay 
 some visits. Had a fly on purpose. Gone out with my 
 sister. 'Pon my word, they have, John.'' And from this 
 accurate report of the boy's behavior, I fear that the young 
 Baynes must have been brought up at a classical and 
 commercial academy, where economy was more studied 
 than politeness. 
 
 Philip comes trudging up to dinner, and as this is not his 
 post day, arrives early ; he hopes, perhaps, for a walk with 
 Miss Charlotte, or a coze in Madame Smolensk's little 
 private room. He hnds the two boys in the forecourt ; and 
 they have Mrs. Hely's cards in their hands ; and they 
 narrate to him the advent and departure of the lady in the 
 swell carriage, the mother of the young swell with the 
 flower in his button-hole, who came the other day on such 
 a jolly horse. "Yes. And he was at church last Sunday, 
 Philip, and he gave Charlotte a hymn-book. And he sang : 
 he sang like the piper who played before Moses, Pa said. 
 And Ma said it was wicked, but it wasn't : only Pa's fun, 
 you know. And Ma said you never came to church. AVhy 
 don't you ? " 
 
 Philip had no taint of jealousy in his magnanimous com- 
 position, and would as soon have accused Charlotte of 
 flirting with other men as of stealing Madame's silver 
 spoons. " So you have had some fine visitors," he says, as 
 the fly drives up. " I remember that rich ISIrs. Hely, a 
 patient of my father's. My poor mother used to drive to 
 her house." 
 
 " Oh, we have seen a great deal of Mr. Hely, Philip ! " 
 cries i\Iiss Charlotte, not heeding the scowls of her mother, 
 who is nodding and beckoning angrily to the girl. 
 
 " You never once mentioned him. He is one of the 
 greatest dandies about Paris : quite a lion," remarks Philip. 
 
 " Is he ? What a funny little lion ! I never thought 
 about him," says Miss Charlotte, quite simply. ingrati- 
 tude ! ingratitude ! And we have told how Mr. Walsiug- 
 ham was crying his eyes out for her. 
 
 " She never thought about him ? " cries Mrs. Baynes, 
 quite eagerly. 
 
 " The piper, is it, you're talking about ? " asks papa. ^^ I 
 called him piper, you see, because he piped so sweetly at 
 eh — Well, my love ? '*
 
 ON HIS WAY THBOUGH THE WORLD. 449 
 
 Mrs. Baynes was nudging her General at this moment. 
 She did not wish that the pi^^er should form the subject of 
 conversation, I suppose. 
 
 " The piper's mother is very rich, and the piper will 
 inherit after her. She has a hue house in London. She 
 gives very line parties. She drives in a great carriage, and 
 she has come to call upon you, and ask you to her balls, I 
 suppose." 
 
 Mrs. Baynes was delighted at this call. And when she 
 said, " I'm sure / don't value fine people, or their fine 
 parties, or their fine carriages, but. I wish that my dear 
 child should see the world," — I don't believe a word which 
 Mrs. Baynes said. She was much more pleased than Char- 
 lotte at the idea of visiting this fine lady; or else, why 
 should she have coaxed, and wheedled, and been so particu- 
 larly gracious to the General all the evening ? She wanted 
 a new gown. The truth is, her yellow tvas very shabby, 
 whereas Charlotte, in plain white muslin, looked pretty 
 enough to be able to dispense with the aid of any French 
 milliner. I fancy a consultation with Madame and Mrs. 
 Bunch. I fancy a fly ordered, and a visit to the milliner's 
 the next day. And when the pattern of the gown is 
 settled with the milliner, I fancy the terror on Mrs. 
 Baynes's wizened face when she ascertains the amount of 
 the bill. To do her justice, the General's wife had spent 
 little upon her own homely person. She chose her gowns 
 ugly, but cheap. There were so many backs to clothe in 
 that family that the thrifty mother did not heed the 
 decoration of her own. 
 
 VOL. I. — 29
 
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