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 BEAUCHAMP: 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE ERROR 
 
 BY G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ. 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 " THE SMUGGLER," " DARXLEY," " RICHELIEU," 
 
 ETC. ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 60, CORNHILL. 
 
 1848. 
 
 #
 
 I/. I 
 
 B E A U C H A M P 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE ERROR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It was in the reign of one of the Georges — it 
 
 does not matter which, though perhaps the 
 
 reader may discover in the course of this his- 
 
 toYY. After all, what does it signify in what 
 
 <^ king's reign an event happened ? for although 
 
 / there may be something in giving to any par- 
 ts 
 C ticular story *• a local habitation and a name," 
 
 — yet there is nothing, strange to say, which gives 
 man — I speak from my own experience — a 
 more vivid perception of the delusiveness of 
 
 1 everything on earth, than the study of, and 
 
 T) VOL. I. B
 
 2 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 deep acquaintance with the annals of a many- 
 lined monarchy. To see how these spoilt 
 children of fortune have fought and struggled, 
 coveted and endeavoured, obtained or have 
 been disappointed, hoped, feared, joyed, and 
 passed away — ay, passed, so that the monu- 
 mental stone, and a few historic lines from 
 friend and foe, as dry as doubtful, are all that 
 remains of them — it gives us a sensation that 
 all on earth is a delusion, that history is but 
 the pages of a dream-book, the truest chronicle, 
 but a record of unreal pageants that are gone. 
 
 However that may be, it was in the reign of 
 one of the Georges — I wont be particular as to 
 the date, for Heaven knows I am likely to be 
 mistaken in the curl of a wig, or the fashion 
 of a sleeve-button, and then w^hat would the 
 antiquaries say ? 
 
 It was in the reign of one of the Georges — 
 thank Heaven, there were four of them, in long 
 and even succession, so that I may do anything 
 I like with the coats, waistcoats, and breeches, 
 and have a vast range through a wilderness of 
 petticoats, (hooped and unhooped, tight, loose,
 
 THE ERROR. 3 
 
 long, short, flowing, tucked up,) to say nothing 
 of flounces and furbelows, besides head-dresses, 
 in endless variety, patches, powder, and po- 
 matum, fens, gloves, and high-heeled shoes. 
 Heaven and earth, what a scope ! — but I am 
 determined to write this work just as it suits 
 me. I have written enough to suit the public, 
 and I am very happy to find that I have suited 
 them; but in this, I hope and trust, both to 
 please my public and myself, too. Thus I wish 
 to secure myself a clear field, and therefore to 
 declare, in the first instance, that I will stand 
 upon no unities of time or place, but will in- 
 dulge in all the vagaries that I please, will 
 wander hither and thither at my own discre- 
 tion, will dwell upon those points that please 
 myself, as long as I can find pleasure therein, 
 and will leap over every unsafe or disagreeable 
 place with the bound of a kangaroo. That 
 being settled, and perfectly agreed upon be- 
 tween the reader and myself, we will go on if 
 you please. 
 
 It was in the reign of one of the Georges — I 
 have a great mind to dart away again, but I 
 B 2
 
 4 beauchamp: or, 
 
 wont, for it is well to be compassionate — when 
 a gentleman of six or seven-and-twenty years 
 of age, rode along a pleasant country road 
 somewhere in the west of England. It was 
 eventide, when the sun, tired with his long 
 race, slowly wends downwards to the place of 
 his repose, looking back mth a beaming glance 
 of satisfaction on the bright things he has seen, 
 and, like a benevolent heart, smiling at the 
 blessings and the benefits he has left behind 
 him. 
 
 The season of the year was one that has served 
 poets and romance-writers a great deal, and 
 which, with very becoming, but somewhat dis- 
 honest gratitude, they have praised ten times 
 more than it deserves. It was, in short, spring 
 — that season when we are often enticed to 
 wander forth by a bright sky, as if for the ex- 
 press purpose of being wet to the skin by a 
 drenching shower, or cut to the heart by the 
 piercing east wind; that coquetish season, 
 which is never for ten minutes in the same 
 mind, which delights in disappointing expec- 
 tations, and in frowning as soon as she has
 
 THE ERROR. 5 
 
 smiled. Let those Tivho love coquettes sing of 
 spring ; for my part, 1 abhor the whole race of 
 them. Nevertheless, there is something very 
 engaging in that first youth of the year. We 
 may be cross with its wild tricks and sportive 
 mischief, we may be vexed at its whims and 
 caprices, as with those of an untamed boy or 
 girl, but yet there is a grace in its wayward- 
 ness, a softness in its blue violet eyes, a bright- 
 ness in its uncontaminated smile, a lustre even 
 in the penitential tears, dried up as soon as 
 shed, that has a charm we cannot, if we would, 
 shake off. Oh, yes, youth and spring speak to 
 every heart of hope, and hope is the magic of 
 life ! Do you not see the glorious promise of 
 great things to be done in that wild and way- 
 ward boy ? Do you not see the bright assur- 
 ance of warmer and mellower days to come in 
 that chequered April sky } Youth, and spring, 
 and hope, they are a glad triad, inseparable in 
 essence, and all aspiring towards the ever- 
 lasting goal of thought — the Future. 
 
 It was the month of May — now if poets and 
 romance-writers, as we have before said, have
 
 6 beauchamp: or, 
 
 done injustice, or more than justice to spring, 
 as a whole, never were two poor months so 
 scandalously overpraised as April and May. 
 The good old Scotch poet declares that in 
 April, 
 
 ' Primroses paint the sweet plain,' 
 And summer returning rejoices the swain ;' 
 
 but rarely, oh, how rarely ! do we ever see 
 primroses busy at such artistical work ; and as 
 for summer, if he is returning at all, it is like a 
 boy going back to school, and lingering sadly 
 by the way. Such, at least, is the case now-a- 
 days ; and the advice of another old poet, who 
 tells us, 
 
 ' Stu- not a clout, 
 Till May be out,' 
 
 would seem to prove that in ancient times, as 
 well as at present. May was by no means so 
 genial a month as it has pleased certain per- 
 sonages to represent it. Nevertheless, we 
 know that every now and then in May, comes 
 in a warm and summer-like day, bright, and 
 soft, and beautiful, full of a tempered sunshine, 
 appearing, after the cold days of winter, like
 
 THE ERROR. 7 
 
 joy succeeding sorrow and entendered by the 
 memories of the past. Such was the sort of 
 day upon which the traveller we have spoken 
 of rode on upon his way through a ver^' fair 
 and smiling country. The season had been 
 somewhat early in its expansion ; the weather 
 had been unusually mild in March ; frequent 
 and heavy showers had succeeded in April, 
 and pouring through the veins of the earth the 
 bountiful libation of the sky, had warmed the 
 bosom of our common mother to a rich and 
 lovely glow. The trees were all out in leaf, 
 but yet not sufficiently unclosed to have lost 
 the variety of hues displayed by the early buds. 
 The colouring would have been almost that of 
 autumn, so bright and manifold were the tints 
 upon the wood, had it not been for a certain 
 tenderness of aspect which spoke of youth and 
 not decay. There was the oak in its red and 
 brown, here and there mingled with the ver- 
 dant hue of summer ; but beside it waved the 
 beech, with its long arms robed in the gentlest 
 and the softest green, the ash pointed its taper 
 fingers in the direction where the wind was
 
 8 beauchamp: or, 
 
 going, and the larch lifted up its graceful spire, 
 fringed with its grass-like filaments, while its 
 beautiful cones, full of their coral studs, afforded 
 ornaments that queens might be proud to 
 wear. The fields were spangled with a thou- 
 sand flowers, and every bank and hedge was 
 jewelled with vegetable stars; not only the 
 pale violet, and the yellow primrose, but the 
 purple columbine and the white hawthorn, 
 even the odorous-breathed cowslip, the wild 
 geranium, and a long list beside, were all 
 spreading their beauty in the evening air, and 
 glittering with the drops of a shower not long 
 passed by. Overhead, too, the sky was full of 
 radiance, wann yet soft, deep in the azure, yet 
 tinted with the evening light, as if the sun- 
 beams were the threads of a crimson woof 
 woven in with the blue warp of the sky. 
 
 But enough of this : it was a very fine even- 
 ing, of a very fine day, of a very fine season, 
 and that surely was enough to make any man 
 happy who had good health, a guinea in his 
 purse, and had not committed either mm'der or 
 bigamy. The horseman seemed to feel the in-
 
 THE ERROR. 9 
 
 fluence of the scene as much as could be ex- 
 pected of any man. When he was in a gi'een 
 bowery lane, with the wild plants ti'ailing up 
 and down the red banks, and he could neither 
 look to the right nor to the left, he whistled 
 snatches of a popular song : when he rose the 
 side of the hill, and could gaze over the world 
 around, he looked at the green fields, or the 
 clear stream, or the woody coverts with search- 
 ing and yet well satisfied eyes, and murmured 
 to himself, " Capital sport here, I dare say!" 
 
 He seemed to be fond of variety, for some- 
 times he trotted his horse, sometimes made him 
 canter, sometimes brought him into a walk, but 
 it would appear that there was a certain por- 
 tion of humanity mingling with the latent mo- 
 tives for these proceedings — inasmuch as the 
 walk was either up or down a steep hill, the 
 canter over a soft piece of turf wherever it could 
 be found, and the trot, where the road was to- 
 lerably level. Ever and anon, too, he patted 
 the beast's neck, and talked to him quite 
 friendly, and the horse would have answered 
 him in the same tone, beyond doubt, if horses*
 
 10 beauchamp: or, 
 
 throats and tongues had been formed by nature 
 with the design of holding long conversations. 
 Such not being the case, however, all the beast 
 could do to express his satisfaction at his mas- 
 ter's commendations, was to arch his neck and 
 bend down his under lip till it touched his 
 chest, and put his quivering ears backwards 
 and forwards in a very significant mamier. It 
 was a handsome animal, of a bright bay colour, 
 about fifteen hands and a half high, strongly 
 built, yet showing a good deal of blood, and its 
 coat was as soft and shining as satin. There 
 was a good deal of red dust about its feet and 
 legs, however, which showed that it had made 
 a somewhat long journey ; but yet it displayed 
 no signs of weariness: its head had no drowsy 
 droop, like that of a county member on the 
 back benches at three o'clock in the morning 
 after a long debate. Oh no, there was muscle 
 and courage for forty miles more, had it been 
 necessary, and the noble beast would have 
 done it right willingly. The horseman rode 
 him well — that is to say, lightly ; and though 
 he was tall, muscular, and powerful in frame.
 
 THE ERROR. 11 
 
 many a man of less weight would have wearied 
 his horse much more. His hand was light and 
 easy, his seat was light and easy, and his yen- 
 look was light and easy. There was no black 
 care sat behind that horseman, so that the bur- 
 den was not burdensome, and the pair went on 
 together with alacrity and good fellowship. 
 The gentleman's dress was in very good taste, 
 neither too smart nor too plain, well fitted for 
 a journey, yet not unfitted for a drawing-room 
 in the moiTiing. This is enough upon that 
 subject, and I will not say another word about 
 it ; but as to his face, I must have a word or 
 two more — it was gay and good-humoured, and 
 though it might be called somewhat thought- 
 less in expression, yet somehow — I know not 
 very well from what cause — when one ex- 
 amined it, one was convinced that the thought- 
 less look was more a matter of habit than of 
 nature. He was dark in complexion, but with 
 a healthy glow in his cheeks, and though cer- 
 tainly his face was not as perfect as that of 
 the Apollo of Belvidere, yet few would have 
 scrupled to pronounce him a good-looking
 
 12 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 man. There was also an easy, almost careless 
 swinging, rapid air about him, which generally 
 engages kindly feelings, if it cannot secure 
 much respect; and one could not watch him 
 come cantering over the lea, with his open, 
 smiling face, Avithout judging he would make 
 an entertaining, good-humoured companion, 
 with whom any body might pass a few hours 
 very pleasantly. 
 
 Thus he rode along, blithe as a lark, till the 
 sun went down in glory, showing, at the dis- 
 tance of about a couple of miles, the spire of a 
 small church in a small town — or perhaps I 
 had better call it a village, for '' I am not sure 
 that it had grown up to townhood in those 
 days. 
 
 The hint that I have given that he could see 
 the spire of the church must have shown the 
 reader, that at the moment of the sun's setting 
 he was on the brow of a hill, for there are no 
 plains in that part of the country, and it was 
 well wooded also. Down from the spot at 
 which he had then arrived, in a line very 
 nearly direct towards the spire, descended the
 
 THE ERROR. 13- 
 
 road, crossing first a small patch of common, 
 perhaj^s not twenty acres in extent, and then 
 entering between deep, shady banks, as it went 
 down the hill, not only arched over with 
 shiiibs, but canopied by the branches of tall 
 trees. There was quite sufficient light in the 
 sky to show him the entrance of this green 
 avenue, and he said to himself, as he looked 
 on, " What a pretty approach to the village ; 
 how peaceful and quiet everything looks." 
 
 He was not aware that he had work to do in 
 that quiet road, nor that it was to be of any- 
 thing but a peaceful character; but so it is 
 with us in life, we never know what is before 
 us at the next step. We may scheme, and we 
 may calculate ; we may devise, and we may 
 expect, but, after all, we are but blind men, 
 led we know not whither by a dog, and the 
 dog's name is. Fate. 
 
 When he saw that he was so near the vil- 
 lage, he slackened his pace, and proceeded at 
 a walk, wishing, like a wise and experienced 
 equestrian, to bring his horse in cool. At the 
 first trees of the road a deeper shade came
 
 14 beauchamp: or, 
 
 into the twilight. About half a mile farther it 
 became quite dark under the boughs, whatever 
 it might be in the open fields; the darkness 
 did not make him quicken his pace, but the 
 minute after he heard some sounds before him 
 which did. It is not very easy to explain what 
 those sounds were, or by what process it was, 
 that, striking upon the tympanum of his ear, 
 the two or three air- waves conveyed to his 
 brain a notion that there were people in dan- 
 ger or distress at no great distance. There 
 was a word spoken in a sudden and imperative 
 tone, and that was the first sound he heard ; 
 and then there was a voice of remonstrance 
 and entreaty, a woman's voice, and then some- 
 thing like a shriek, not loud and prolonged, 
 but uttered as if the person from whose lips it 
 came caught it as it was issuing forth, and 
 strove to stifle it in the birth. Some loud 
 swearing and oaths were next heard, mingled 
 with the noise of quick footfalls, as if some one 
 were running fast towards the spot from the 
 side of the village, and the next moment the 
 horseman perceived, at the first indistinctly,
 
 THE EREOR. 16 
 
 and then clearly, a number of objects on the 
 road before him, the largest, if not the most 
 important of which, was a carriage. At the 
 head of the horses which had drawn it stood a 
 man with something in his hand which might 
 be a pistol. At the side of the vehicle were 
 two more, with a saddled horse standing by, 
 and they were apparently di'agging out of the 
 carriage a lady who seemed ver}- unwilling to 
 come forth ; but from the village side of the 
 scene was hurr^-ing up, as hard as he could 
 run, another personage of very different ap- 
 pearance fi'om the three other men. By this 
 time he was within ten yards of them ; and our 
 horseman, from his elevation on his beast's 
 back, could see the head and shoulders of him 
 who was approaching, and judged at once that 
 he was a gentleman. 
 
 I have said that under the trees it was quite 
 dark, and yet that he could see all this, but 
 neither of these is a mistake, whatever the 
 reader may think ; for just at that part of the 
 liighway where the can-iage stood, it was crossed 
 by another road, which let in all that remained
 
 16 beauchamp: or, 
 
 of the western light, and there the whole scene 
 was before his eyes, as a picture, even while he 
 himself was in comparative darkness. Impulse 
 is an excellent thing, and a great deal more 
 frequently leads us right than reason, which, in 
 cases of emergency, is a very unserviceable 
 commodity. It is only necessary to have a 
 clever impulse, and things go wonderfully well. 
 The horseman stuck his spurs into his horse's 
 sides : he had been going at a trot, since the 
 first sounds struck his ear, but now it became 
 a canter, and two or three springs brought him 
 up to the carriage. He was making straight 
 for the side, but the man who was at the horses' 
 heads seemed to regard his coming as unplea« 
 sant, and shouting to him in a thundering- 
 voice to keep back, he presented a pistol 
 straight at him with a sharp, disagreeable, 
 clicking sound, which, under various circum- 
 stances, is peculiarly ungrateful to the human 
 ear, especially when the muzzle of the instru- 
 ment is towards us, for there is no knowing 
 what may come out of the mouth at the next 
 minute. But the horseman was quick, active.
 
 THE ERROR. 17 
 
 and not accustomed to be daunted by a little 
 thing like a pistol ; and therefore, holding his 
 heavy riding-whip by the wrong end, though 
 in this instance it proved the right one, he 
 struck the personage opposite to him a thun- 
 dering blow over the arm. That limb instantly 
 dropped powerless by his side, and the pistol 
 went off under the horse's feet, causing the 
 animal to rear a little, but hurting no one. In 
 an instant, the horse was turned and amongst 
 the pSiTty by the carriage ; but that party was 
 by this time increased in number, though not 
 fortified by unanimity, for the person who had 
 been seen running up, was by this time engaged 
 in fierce struggle with one of the original 
 possessors of the ground, while the other kept 
 a tight grasp upon the lady who had just been 
 dragged out of the carriage. With the two 
 combatants our horseman thought it best not 
 to meddle in the first instance, though he saw 
 that the object of one of them was to get a 
 pistol at the head of the other, who seemed 
 neither unwiUing nor unable to prevent him 
 from accomplishing that object; but they vrere 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 BEAUCHAMP : OB, 
 
 grappling so closely, that it was difficult to 
 strike one without hitting the other, especially 
 in the twilight ; and therefore, before he inter- 
 fered in their concerns, he bestowed another 
 blow, with the full sweep of his arm, upon the 
 head of the man who was holding the lady, and 
 who seemed to take so deep an interest in 
 what was going on between the other two, as 
 not to perceive that any one was coming up 
 behind him. The worthy recipient instantly 
 staggered back, and would have fallen, had not 
 the wheel of the carriage stopped him ; but 
 then turning fiercely round, he stretched out 
 his arm, and a flash and report followed, while 
 a ball whistled past the horseman's cheek, went 
 through his hair, and grazed his hat. 
 
 " Missed, on my life," cried the horseman ; 
 " take that for your pains, you clumsy hound." 
 And he again struck him, though on this occa- 
 sion the person's head was defended by his 
 arm. 
 
 " H — 1 and d n," cried the other, seizing 
 
 his horse's bridle and trying to force him back 
 upon his haunches, but another blow, which
 
 THE ERROR. 19 
 
 made him stagger again, showed him that the 
 combat was not likely to end in his favour, and 
 darting past, he exclaimed, " Run, Wolf, run. 
 The captain is off!" And before our friend on 
 the bay horse could strike another blow at 
 him, he had sprung upon the back of the beast 
 that stood near, and without waiting to put his 
 feet into the stirrups, galloped away as hard as 
 he could go. In regard to the other tsvo who 
 were wrestling, as we have said, in deadly 
 strife, the game they were playing had just 
 reached a critical point, for the gentleman who 
 had come up, had contrived to get hold of the 
 barrel of the pistol, and at the very instant the 
 other galloped away, the respectable person he 
 called Wolf received a straightforward blow in 
 the face, which made him stagger back, leading 
 his weapon in the hand of his opponent. 
 Finding that his only advantage was gone, he 
 instantly darted round the back of the carriage 
 to make his escape up the other road. 
 
 "Jump down and stop him, post-boy," cried 
 the horseman, pursuing him at the same time 
 without a moment's pause, but the post-boy's 
 c 2
 
 20 BEAUCHAMP; OR, 
 
 legs, though cased in leather, seemed to be 
 made of wood, if one might judge by the stiff 
 slowness with which they moved ; and before 
 he had got his feet to the ground, and his whip 
 deliberately laid over the horse's back, the 
 fugitive, finding that the horseman had cut him 
 off from the road, caught the stem of a young 
 ash, swung himself up to the top of the bank, 
 and disappeared amongst the trees. 
 
 " Hark, there is a carriage coming," said the 
 horseman, addressing the stranger, who had 
 followed him as fast as two legs could follow 
 four. They both paused for an instant and 
 listened, but to their surprise the sound of 
 rolling wheels, which they distinctly heard, 
 diminished instead of increasing, and it became 
 evident that some vehicle was driving away 
 from a spot at no great distance. 
 
 "That's droll," said the horseman, dis- 
 mounting; "but we had better see after the 
 ladies, for I dare say they are frightened." 
 
 " No doubt they are," replied the other, in a 
 mild and musical voice, leading the way round 
 the carriage again. "Do you know who they 
 are ?"
 
 THE ERROR. 21 
 
 " Not I," answered the horseman — " don't 
 your" 
 
 " No, I am a stranger here," answered the 
 other, approaching the side of the carriage, to 
 which the lady who had been dragged out had 
 now returned. 
 
 She was seated with her hands over her eyes, 
 as if either crying \s'ith agitation or in deep 
 thought; but the moment the gentleman who had 
 come up on foot addressed her, expressing a 
 hope that she had not been much alarmed, she 
 replied, " Oh, yes, I could not help it; but my 
 mother has fainted. We must go back, I fear." 
 
 " It is not far, I think, to the village, madam," 
 said our friend the horseman, " and we will 
 easily bring the lady to herself again ; but it is 
 a -pity she fainted, too. These things will 
 happen ; and if they had not got your money 
 there is no great harm done." 
 
 " T am better, Mary," said a voice from the 
 other side of the carriage, faint and low, yet 
 sweet and harmonious. " Are they gone — are 
 you quite sure they are gone r" 
 
 " Oh, dear, yes, madam," replied the horse-
 
 22 BEAU champ: or, 
 
 man, while the lady next him laid her hand 
 tenderly upon her mother's. " One of the 
 worthies scampered off on horseback after he 
 had fired at me, and the other was too quick 
 for us all, thanks to your stifF-jointed di-iver. 
 What became of the other fellow I don't know." 
 
 " You are not hurt, sir, I hope," said the 
 younger of the two ladies, gazing timidly at 
 him through the half light. 
 
 " Not in the least," he replied. " The man 
 missed me, though it wasn't a bad shot after 
 all, for I felt it go through my hair — but an 
 inch one side or the other makes a wonderful 
 difference — and now, ladies, what will you 
 do?" 
 
 A murmured consultation took place between 
 the two tenants of the carriage, while a whis- 
 pered conference was held by the gentlemen 
 who came to their assistance. It is wonderful 
 how often in this world several parties of the 
 good folks of which it is composed are all 
 thinking — ay, and even talking — of the same 
 thing, without any one group knowing what 
 the other is about.
 
 THE ERROR. 23 
 
 " I'm doubtful of that post-boy," said the 
 gentleman on foot to the gentleman who had 
 been on horseback. 
 
 " Ay, and so am I," replied the other. " He's 
 in league with them, depend upon it All post- 
 boys are so. Their conscience is like the inn 
 leather breeches, wide enough to fit anything. 
 I wonder how far these two ladies are going ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell," answered the other, " but it 
 will be hardly safe for them to go alone." 
 
 " Can I speak to you, sir, for a moment," 
 said the voice of the younger lady from the 
 carriage, and the horseman advancing a step, 
 leaned against the doorway, and put his head 
 partly in, bending down his ear, as if he were 
 perfectly certain that he was going to hear a 
 secret. 
 
 " My mother thinks, and so do I," continued 
 the young lady, " that the man who drives us 
 must have been bribed by those people who 
 attacked us, for he drove very slowly as soon 
 as he came near this spot. He stopped, too, 
 the moment they called to him." 
 
 " Perhaps not bribed, my dear madam," re-
 
 24 beauchamp: or, 
 
 plied the gentleman ; " all these post-boys, as 
 they are called, favour your honest highway- 
 men, either in hopes of a part of the booty, or 
 merely out of fellow feeling. They are every 
 one of them amateurs, and some of them con- 
 noisseurs of the arts of the road. You must 
 have some protection, that's certain, and I 
 think it would be better for you to turn back 
 and get some people from the village to ac- 
 company the carriage." 
 
 " I'm afraid that can hardly be," said the 
 elder lady. " We are already very late, and 
 this has delayed us. My brother may be dead 
 ere we arrive, for I'm going on a sad errand, 
 sir, he having been suddenly seized with gout 
 in the stomach, and sent to call me to him in 
 his last moment. However, it is not very far, 
 and I trust that nothing more will happen." 
 
 " No, no, madam ; you must not go without 
 protection," replied the gentleman, in a good- 
 humoiured tone. " I will ride with you and 
 see you safe — ^how far is it ?" 
 
 " About five miles, I am afraid," answered 
 the lady.
 
 THE ERROR. 25r' 
 
 " Oh, that's nothing — that's nothing," cried 
 their companion. " It will but make me an 
 hour later at supper." And turning to the 
 other gentleman, he continued, " I wish, sir, if 
 you pass the inn called the White Hart " 
 
 " I lodge there myself," returned the stranger. 
 
 " Then pray tell the people to have a chicken 
 ready in an hour," continued the horseman. 
 " It will be roasting while I am riding, so that 
 will be one way of killing time, and not losing 
 patience." 
 
 Thus saying, with a gay laugh, he sprang 
 upon his horse's back, and addressing the post- 
 boy, exclaimed, while the other gentleman shut 
 the door, and bade the ladies adieu, " Now, 
 boy, into the saddle ; and remember, if these 
 ladies are interrupted again, the first head that 
 is broken shall be yours." 
 
 The man made no reply, but got up with 
 more alacrity than he had got down, and was 
 soon trotting along the road at a rapid rate. 
 
 The horseman kept close to the carriage all 
 the way, and after a ride of about five-and- 
 thirty minutes, through pleasant lanes and
 
 26 beauchamp: or, 
 
 fields, they came to what seemed the gates of a 
 park, but the porter's lodge was dim and un- 
 lighted, and the post-boy gave the horseman a 
 significant hint that he had better get down and 
 open the gates, as there was nobody there to 
 do it for him. The gentleman, however, 
 managed the feat dexterously without dis- 
 mounting, and the carriage rolled through and 
 entered a long avenue of magnificent chesnuts. 
 Between the boughs of the trees, every here 
 and there, were to be seen glimpses of soft 
 green slopes studded with wild hawthorns, and 
 masses of dark wood beyond, and at the end of 
 about three quarters of a mile more, appeared 
 a fine old stone house, with a somewhat flat 
 but imposing face, like that of an old country 
 gentleman, with a great idea of his own im- 
 portance. 
 
 As the horseman looked up to the house, 
 however, which was raised upon a little terrace, 
 and approached by a gentle rise, he could not 
 help thinking, " That does not look very much 
 like the dwelling of a man dying of gout in 
 the stomach; it looks more like that of one
 
 THE ERROR. 27 
 
 getting up a good fit ; for three windows on 
 the ground floor, haying very much of a dining- 
 room aspect about them, were thrown up to 
 admit the air, and in addition to a blaze of 
 light, there came forth the sounds of merry 
 laughter, and several persons talking. 
 
 The post-boy drove up to the great door, 
 however, and the horseman, springing to the 
 ground, rang the bell, after which, returning to 
 the side of the carriage, he leaned against it, 
 saying, 
 
 " I tnist your relation is better, madam, for 
 the house does not seem to be one of mourning." 
 
 The lady did not reply directly to his words, 
 but she said, " I hope if you remain in this 
 part of the country, sir, you will give me an 
 opportunity of thanking you, either here, or at 
 my own house, called Hinton, for the great 
 service you have rendered me. The people of 
 the inn will direct you, for it is only ten miles 
 on the other side of Tamingham." 
 
 " I shall certainly have the honour of wait- 
 ing on you to inquire how you do," replied the 
 horseman, and then adding, " these people do
 
 28 beauchamp: or, 
 
 not seem inclined to come," he returned to the 
 bell, and rang it vigorously. 
 
 The next moment the door was opened, and 
 a capacious butler appeared, and the stranger, 
 without more ado, assisted the ladies to alight, 
 remarking as he did so, that the younger of 
 the two was an exceedingly pretty girl, some 
 nineteen or twenty years of age. 
 
 " How is my brother now ?" demanded the 
 elder lady, who wore a widow's dress. 
 
 " Quite well, ma'am, thank you," answered 
 the butler, in the most commonplace tone 
 possible; and before she had time to make 
 any more inquiries, the stranger who had come 
 to her rescue wished her and her daughter 
 good night, and, mounting his horse, rode down 
 the avenue again.
 
 THE ERROR. 29 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The White Hart of Tarningham Tvas a neat 
 little country inn, such as was commonly found 
 in most of the small towns of England at the 
 period of my tale. They are rapidly being 
 brushed off the face of the earth by the great 
 broom of the steam-engine, and very soon the 
 " pleasures of an inn" will be no longer known 
 but by the records of history, while men run 
 through the world at the rate of a hundred 
 miles an hour, finding nothing on their way 
 but stations and " hotels." I hate the very 
 name, hotel. It is un-English, uncomfortable, 
 unsatisfactory — a combination, I suppose, cf 
 host and hell — the recipient of perturbed spirits,
 
 30 beauchamp: or, 
 
 and their tormentor. But the word inn, how 
 comfortable it is in all its significations ! We 
 have only retained the double n in it, that we 
 may " wear our rue with a difference," and 
 whether we think of being in place, or in power, 
 or in the house during a storm, or in the hearts 
 of those we love, how pleasant is the feeling it 
 produces! It has a home-like and British 
 sound, and I do with all my heart wish that 
 my fellow-countrymen would neither change 
 their w^ords nor their manners for worse things 
 of foreign parentage. An inn, in the days I 
 speak of, w^as a place famous for white linen, 
 broiled ham, and fresh eggs. I cannot say 
 that the beefsteaks were always tender, or the 
 veal cutlets always done to a turn, or the beds 
 always the softest in the world, but then think 
 of the white dimity curtains, and the casements 
 that rattled just enough to let you know that it 
 was blowing hard without, and the rosy, apple- 
 faced chambermaid, and the host himself, round 
 as his own butts — ay, and as full of beer. An 
 innkeeper of those days would have been 
 ashamed to show himself under nineteen stone.
 
 THE ERROR. 31 
 
 He was a part of his own sign, the recommenda- 
 tion of his own ale. His very paunch seemed 
 to say " Look what it has done for me." It 
 entered into his fat, it flowed tlnrough his veins, 
 it puffed out his cheeks, it ran out at his eyes, 
 and malt and hops was heard in every accent 
 of his tongue. You had no lean, wizen-faced, 
 black-silk-stockinged innkeepers in those days, 
 and the Tery aspiring waiters imitated their 
 landlord, and hourly grew fat under the eye, 
 that they might be in a fit condition to marrj^ 
 the widow and take up the business when the 
 '• poor dear gentleman" was swallowed up in 
 beer. 
 
 Such an inn was the White Hart at Tam- 
 ingham, and such a host was the landlord; 
 but he was a wise man, and loved not to look 
 upon his successors, for which cause, as well 
 as on account of the trade not being very brisk 
 in that quarter, he maintained no regular 
 waiter ; he had a tapster it is true, but the cloth 
 in the neat little parlour on the left hand was 
 laid by a white-capped, black-eyed, blooming 
 maid-servant, and the landlord himself prepared
 
 32 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 to carry in the first dish, and then leave his 
 expected guest to the tendance of the same 
 fair damsel. 
 
 The room was already occupied by one 
 gentleman, the same who, in taking his evening 
 walk, had joined with our friend the horseman 
 in the rescue of the two ladies, and to say truth, 
 it was owing to his courtesy that the cloth was 
 laid there at all, for he had prior possession, 
 and on communicating to the landlord the fact 
 that a guest would soon arrive who proposed 
 to sup upon roast chicken, the worthy host had 
 exclaimed in a voice of consternation, " Good 
 gracious me, what shall I do ? I must turn 
 those fellows out of the tap-room and serve it 
 there, for there is old Mrs. Grover, the lawyer's 
 widow, in the other parlour, and ne'er a sitting- 
 room else in the house !" 
 
 " You can make use of this, landlord," replied 
 the stranger; "this gentleman seems a very 
 good-humoured person, and I do not think will 
 be inclined to find fault, although he may not 
 have a whole sitting-room to himself." 
 
 " I'd bet a quart," cried the landlord, as if a
 
 THE ERROR. 33 
 
 sudden thought stmck him, " I'd bet a quart 
 that it's the gentleman whose portmanteaus 
 and gun-cases and a whole bundle of fishing- 
 rods came do^Yn this morning. I'll run and 
 see what's the name." 
 
 Whatever he felt, the gentleman already in 
 possession expressed no curiosity ; but in two 
 minutes the host rolled back again — ^for to run, 
 as he threatened, was impossible — and informed 
 his guest that the things were addressed to 
 "Edward Hayward, Esq., to be left at the 
 "White Hart, Tamingham." 
 
 "Very well," said the guest, and without 
 more ado, he took up a book which had been 
 lying on the mantel-piece since the morning, 
 and placing his feet upon another chair, began 
 to read. The landlord bustled about the room, 
 and put the things in order. One of his fat 
 sides knocked his guest's chair, and he begged 
 pardon, but the gentleman read on. He then 
 took up the hat, which had been knocked off 
 in the struggle near the chaise, wiped off the 
 red sand which it had gathered, and exclaimed, 
 " Lord bless me, sir ! your hat's all beaten 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 beauchamp: or, 
 
 about ;" but his companion merely gave a nod, 
 and read on. 
 
 At length, when the table was laid, and 
 mustard, pepper, salt, vinegar, and bread had 
 been brought in severally, when the maid had 
 re-arranged what the landlord had arranged 
 before, smoothed what he had smoothed, and 
 brushed what he had brushed, a horse's feet, 
 trotting past the window, were heard, and the 
 minute after a voice exclaimed at the door of 
 the inn, " Here, ostler, take my horse; loose the 
 girths, but don't take off the saddle yet; sponge 
 his mouth, and walk him up and down for five 
 minutes. Has his clothing come ?" 
 
 " Oh, dear, yes, sir — come this morning," 
 answered the landlord. " This way, sir, if you 
 please. Sorry you did not let me know before, 
 for positively there is not a whole sitting-room 
 in the house." 
 
 "Well, then, I will do with half of one," 
 answered the stranger. " Why, my friend, if 
 you grow any more you must have the doors 
 widened. You are the man for defending a 
 pass; for, upon my life, in default of harder
 
 THE ERROR. 35 
 
 materials, you would block up Thermopylae. 
 Ale, ale, ale, it's all ale, landlord, and if you 
 don't mind, it will set you ailing. Have my 
 fishing-rods come down r — all safe I hope ?" 
 and by the time he had run through these 
 questions and observations, he was in the door- 
 way of the little parlour on the left-hand. He 
 stared for a minute at the previous tenant of 
 the room, who rose to receive him -svith a smile, 
 and whose face he did not seem to have 
 observed very accurately in the semi-darkness 
 of the road. But the height and general 
 appearance of the stranger soon showed him 
 that they had met before, and with an easy, 
 good-humoured, dashing air, he went up and 
 shook him by the hand. 
 
 " A strange means of making acquaintance, 
 my dear sir," he said, " but I'm very happy to 
 see yon again, and safe and well, too, for I 
 thought at one time you were likely to get 
 knocked on the head ; and I scarcely dared to 
 interfere, lest I should do it for you myself in 
 trying to hit the other fellow. I hope you did 
 not get any wounds or bruises in the aflfray ?" 
 d2
 
 36 beauchamp: or, 
 
 " Oh, no !" replied the stranger ; " I was 
 nearly strangled, that is certain, and shall not 
 easily forget the grasp of that man's fingers on 
 my throat ; but in regard to this way of making 
 an acquaintance, no two men, I should think, 
 could desire a better than to be both engaged, 
 even accidentally, in rescuing two ladies from 
 wrong." 
 
 " Quite chivalrous !" exclaimed the horseman, 
 laughing; " but two Don Quixotes would never 
 do in the world; so I'll acknowledge, at once, 
 that I've not the least spark of chivalry in my 
 nature. If I see a strong thing hurting a weak 
 thing, I knock the strong thing down, of course. 
 I can't bear to see a big dog worry a little one, 
 and don't much like to see a terrier catch a 
 rat. But it's all impulse, my dear sir — all im- 
 pulse. Thank Heaven, I am totally destitute 
 of any sort of enthusiasm ! I like everything 
 in the world well enough, but do not wish to 
 like anything too much, except, indeed, a par- 
 ticularly good bottle of claret — there, there, I 
 am afraid I am weak. As to helping two ladies, 
 it is always a very pleasant thing, especially if
 
 THE ERROR. 37 
 
 one of them be a particularly pretty girl, as is 
 the case in this instance, I can tell you ; but 
 we really should do something to have these 
 fellows caught; for they might have had the 
 decency to wait till it was quite dark, and not 
 begin their lawless avocations before the sun 
 has been down half an hour." 
 
 "1 went immediately to a magistrate," an- 
 wered the stranger ; '•' but, as in very many 
 country places, I did not find the ornament of 
 the bench ver}' highly enlightened. Because I 
 was not the party actually attacked, he demurred 
 to taking any steps whatever, and though I shook 
 his resolution on that point, and he seemed in- 
 clined to accede to my demand, yet as soon as 
 he found that I could not even give him the 
 names of the two ladies, he went all the way 
 back again, and would not even take my depo- 
 sition. Perhaps, after supper, we had better 
 go to him together, for I dare say you can sup- 
 ply my deficiency by this time, and tell him 
 the name of your pretty lady and her mother." 
 
 " No ; 'pon my life I can't," rejoined his 
 companion ; " I quite forgot to ask — a very
 
 2S BEAUCHAMP; OR, 
 
 beautiful girl, though, and I wonder I didn't 
 inquire, for I always like to ticket pretty faces. 
 What is the name of your Midas ? we'll soon 
 bring him to reason, I doubt not. A country 
 magistrate not take a deposition against a 
 highwayman ! By Heaven, he will make the 
 people think he goes shares in the booty !" 
 
 " A highwayman !" exclaimed the landlord, 
 who had been going in and out, and listening 
 to all that was said, whether he had a bread- 
 basket, or boiled potatoes, or a jug of fresh 
 drawn beer in his hand. " Why, lord, Mr. 
 Beauchamp, you never told me !" 
 
 " No, my good friend," answered the other, 
 " I did not, because to spread such a tale 
 through an inn, is the very best way I know of 
 insuring the highwayman's escape." 
 
 « Well, I dare say, my good round friend," 
 exclaimed the horseman, whom we shall here- 
 after call Hayward, or as almost all who knew 
 him had it, Ned Hayward, " I dare say you 
 can help us to the names of these two ladies. 
 Who was it one of your post-boys drove to- 
 night, out there to the westward, to a house in 
 a park ?"
 
 THE ERROR. 39 
 
 "What, to Sir John Slingsby's?" exclaimed 
 the host ; but before he could proceed to 
 answer the more immediate question, Ned 
 Hayward gave himself a knock on the forehead, 
 exclaiming, 
 
 " Sir John Slingsby's ! Why, that's the very 
 house I'm going to, and I never thought to ask 
 the name — what a fool I am ! Well might 
 they call me, when I was in the 40th, Thought- 
 less Ned Hayward. But come, ' mine host of 
 the Garter' " 
 
 " Of the White Hart, your honour," replied 
 the landlord, with as low a bow as his stomach 
 would permit. 
 
 " Ay, of the White Hart be it then," said 
 Ned Hayward ; " let us hear who are these 
 beautiful ladies whom yoiu: post-boy drove so 
 slowly, and stopped with so soon, at the bidding 
 of three gentlemen of the road, wdth pistols in 
 their hands r" 
 
 *^ Lord-a-mercy I" cried the host, " and was 
 it Mrs. Cliflford and her daughter that they 
 stopped ? Well, I shouldn't wonder — but mum's 
 the word — ^it's no affair of mine, and the least 
 said is soonest mended."
 
 40 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 The host's countenance had assumed a mys- 
 terious look. His whole aspect had an air of 
 secrecy. He laid his finger upon the side of 
 his nose, as men do for a practical exemplifica- 
 tion of the process which is taking place in 
 their mind when they are putting " that and 
 that" together. He half closed one eye also, 
 as if to give an indication to the beholders that 
 whatever might be the mental light in his own 
 brain, it should not escape for the illumination 
 of those without. There is a perversity in 
 human nature which makes all men — saving 
 the exceptions that prove the general rule — 
 anxious to discover anything that is hidden, 
 and consequently both Mr. Hayward and Mr. 
 Beauchamp attacked the worthy landlord, totis 
 viribus, and attempted to wrench from him his 
 secret. He held it fast, however, with both 
 hands, exclaiming, 
 
 " No, no, gentlemen, I'll not say a word — it's 
 no business of mine — I've nothing to do with 
 it — it's all guess work, and a man who beers 
 and horses all the neighbourhood, must keep a 
 good tongue in his head. But one thing I will
 
 THE EPvKOR. 41 
 
 say, just to give you two gentlemen a hint, that 
 perhaps you had better not meddle in this 
 matter, or you may make a mess of it. Sally, 
 is not that chicken ready?" And he called 
 from the door of the room to the bar. 
 
 " I certainly shall meddle with it, my good 
 friend," said Ned Hayward, in a determined 
 tone, " and that very soon. I'm not the least 
 afraid of making a mess, as you call it, certain 
 that none of it will fall upon myself. So, as 
 soon as we have got supper, which seems a 
 very long time coming, we will set off, Mr. 
 Beauchamp, if you please, for this good magis- 
 trate's, and try " 
 
 He was interrupted in the midst of his speech, 
 though it had by this time nearly come to a 
 conclusion, by a voice in the passage, exclaim- 
 ing, "Groomber! Mr. Groomber!" and the host 
 instantly vociferated, "Coming, sir! coming!" 
 and rushed out of the room. 
 
 The voice was heard to demand, as soon as 
 the landlord appeared blocking up the way, 
 " Have you a person by the name of Beau- 
 champ here r"
 
 42 BEAUCHAMP; OR, 
 
 " Yes, your worship," replied the host, and 
 after a few more words, in a lower tone, the 
 door of the room was thrown open, and Mr. 
 Wittingham was announced, just as Mr. Beau- 
 champ was observing to his new-found friend, 
 Ned Hayward, that the voice was very like that 
 of the worthy magistrate to whom he had ap- 
 plied. 
 
 Mr. Wittingham was a tall and very respect- 
 able-looking gentleman, somewhat past the 
 middle age, and verging towards that decline of 
 life which is marked by protuberance of the 
 stomach, and thinness of the legs. But, never- 
 theless, Mr. Wittingham carried it off very well, 
 for his height diminished the appearance of 
 that which is usually called a corporation, and 
 his legs were skilfully concealed in his top- 
 boots. He was exceedingly neat in his ap- 
 parel, tolerably rosy in the gills, and having a 
 certain dogmatical peremptory expression, es- 
 pecially about the thick eyebrows and hook 
 nose, which he found wonderfully efficacious in 
 the decision of cases at petty sessions. 
 
 The moment he entered the room, he fixed
 
 THE ERROR. 4S 
 
 his eyes somewhat sternly upon Mr. Beau- 
 champ ^whom we have forgotten to describe as 
 a very gentlemanlike — even distinguished — 
 looking person of about thirty years of age), 
 and addressing him in a rough, and rather 
 uncivil tone, said, " Your name, I think you 
 told me, is Beau champ, sir, and you came to 
 lay an information before me against certain 
 persons for stopping a chaise upon the king's 
 highway." 
 
 " I am, as you say, sir, called Beauchamp," 
 replied the other gentleman, "and I waited 
 upon you, as the nearest magistrate, to give 
 information of a crime which had been com- 
 mitted in your neighbourhood, which you re- 
 fused to receive. Do me the honour of taking 
 a seat" 
 
 " And pray, sir, if I may be so bold as to 
 ask, who and what are jou?" inquired the 
 magistrate, suffering himself to drop heavily 
 into a ehair. 
 
 " I should conceive that had verj' little to 
 do with the matter," interposed Ned Hayward, 
 before Mr. Beauchamp could answer. " The
 
 44 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 simple question is, whether an attempt at high- 
 way robbery, or perhaps a worse offence, has 
 or has not been made this night, upon Mrs. 
 and Miss Clifford, as they were going over to 
 my friend Sir John Slingsby's ; and allow me 
 to say that any magistrate who refuses to take 
 a deposition on such a subject, and to employ 
 the best means at his command to apprehend 
 the offenders, grossly neglects his duty." 
 
 The host brought in the roast fowl, and 
 stared at the dashing tone of Ned Hayward's 
 speech towards one of the magnates of the 
 neighbourhood. Some words in the com- 
 mencement of that speech had caused Mr. 
 Wittingham's countenance to fall, but the attack 
 upon himself in the conclusion, roused him to 
 indignant resistance, so that his reply was an 
 angry demand of " Who the devil are you, 
 sir?" 
 
 " I am the devil of nobody, Mr. Wittington," 
 answered Ned Hayward. " I am my own 
 devil, if anybody's, and my name is Edward 
 Hayward, commonly called Captain Hayward, 
 late of the 40th regiment, and now unattached.
 
 THE ERROR. 45- 
 
 But as my supper is ready, I will beg leave to 
 eat my chicken hot. Beauchamp, won't you 
 join ? Mr. Wittington, shall I give you a wing? 
 Odd name, Wittington. Descendant of the 
 renowned Lord Mayor of London, I presume ?" 
 
 " No, sir — no," answered the magistrate, while 
 Beauchamp could scarcely refrain from laugh- 
 ing. " What I want to know is, what you have 
 to do with this affair ?" 
 
 "Everything in the world," answered Ned 
 Hayward, carving the chicken, '• as I and my 
 friend Beauchamp here had equal shares in 
 saving the ladies from the clutches of these 
 vagabonds. He came back here to give in- 
 formation, while I rode on with the ladies to 
 protect them. Bring me a bottle of your best 
 sherry, landlord. Now, I'll tell you what, Mr. 
 Wittington — Haven't you got any ham that you 
 could broil ? — I hate chicken without ham, it's 
 as insipid as a countiy magistrate. I'll tell you 
 what, Mr. Wittington, this matter shall be 
 investigated to the bottom, whether you like it 
 or not ; and I have taken care to leave such 
 marks upon two of the vagabonds, that they'll
 
 46 BEAUCHAMP: OR, 
 
 be easily known for the next month to come. 
 One of them is very like you, by the way, but 
 younger. I hit him just over the eye, and 
 down about the nose, so that I'll answer for it 
 I have lettered him in black and blue as well 
 as any sheep in your fields ; and we'll catch 
 him before we've done, though we must insist 
 upon having the assistance of the justices." 
 
 " I think, sir, you intend to insult me," said 
 the magistrate, rising with a very angry air, and 
 a blank and embarrassed countenance. 
 
 " Not a whit, my dear sir," answered Ned 
 Hayward. " Pray sit down and take a glass 
 of wine." 
 
 " I wont, sir," exclaimed Mr. Wittingham, 
 " and I shall leave the room. If you have 
 anything to say to me, it must come before me 
 in a formal manner, and at a proper hour. 
 To-morrow I shall be at the justice-room till 
 eleven, and I hope you will be then prepared 
 to treat the bench with respect." 
 
 " The most profound, sir," said Ned Hay- 
 ward, rising and bowing till his face almost 
 touched the table before him, and then as Mr.
 
 THE ERROR. 47 
 
 Wittingham walked away with an indignant 
 toss of the head, and closed the door behind 
 him, our gay Mend turned to his companion, 
 saying, " There's something under this. Beau- 
 champ. We must find out what it is."
 
 48 BEAUCHAMP; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 I WILL have nothing to do with antecedents. 
 The reader must find them out if he can, as the 
 story must explain what precedes the storj. 
 
 The past is a tomb. There let events, as 
 well as men, sleep in peacs. Foul befal him 
 who disturbs them ; and indeed, were there not 
 even a sort of profanation in raking up things 
 done as well as in troubling the ashes of the 
 dead, what does man obtain by breaking into 
 the grave of the past ? Nothing but dry bones, 
 denuded of all that made the living act interest- 
 ing. History is but a great museum of osteo- 
 logy, where the skeletons of great deeds are 
 preserved without the muscles — here a tall fact
 
 THE ERROR. 49 
 
 and there a short one; some sadly dismem- 
 bered, and all crumbling with age, and covered 
 with dust and cobwebs. Take up a skull, chap- 
 fallen as Yorick's. See how it grins at you 
 with its lank jaws and gumless teeth. See how 
 the vacant sockets of the eyes glare meaning- 
 less, and the brow, where high intelligence sat 
 throned, commanding veneration, looks little 
 wiser than a dried pumpkin. And thus — even 
 thus, as insignificant of the li^'ing deeds that 
 have been, are the dry bones of history, needing 
 the inductive imagination of a Cuvier to clothe 
 them again with the forms that once they wore. 
 
 Xo, no ; I will have nothing to do with ante- 
 cedents. They were past before the Tale be- 
 gan, and let them rest. 
 
 Nevertheless, it is always well woith while, 
 in order to avoid any long journeys back, to 
 keep eyery part of the story going at once, and 
 manfully to resist both our owq inclination and 
 the reader's, to follow any particular character, 
 or class of characters, or series of events. 
 Rather let us, going from scene to scene, and 
 person to person, as often as it may be neces- 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 beauchamp: or, 
 
 sary, bring them up from the rear. It is like- 
 wise well worth while to pm-sue the career of 
 such new characters as may be introduced, till 
 those who are newly made acquainted with him 
 have discovered a sufficient portion of his pe- 
 culiarities. 
 
 I shall therefore beg leave to follow Mr. Wit- 
 tingham on his way homeward ; but first I will 
 ask the reader to remark him as he pauses for 
 a moment at the inn-door, with worthy Mr. 
 Groomber a step behind. See how the excel- 
 lent magistrate rubs the little vacant spot be- 
 tween the ear and the wig with the fore-finger 
 of the right-hand, as if he were a man amaz- 
 ingly puzzled, and then turns his head over 
 his shoulder to inquire of the landlord if he 
 knows who the two guests are, without obtain- 
 ing any further information than that one of 
 them had been for some weeks in the house — 
 which Mr. Wittingham well knew before, he 
 having the organ of Observation strongly de- 
 veloped — and that the other had just arrived ; 
 a fact which was also within the worthy magis- 
 trate's previous cognizance. 
 
 Mr. Wittingham rubs the organ above the
 
 THE ERROR. 51 
 
 ear again, gets the finger up to Ideality-, and 
 rubs that, then round to Cautiousness, and 
 having shghdy excited it with the extreme 
 point of the index of the right-hand, pauses 
 there, as if afraid of stimulating it too strongly, 
 and unmanning his greater purposes. But it 
 is a ticklish organ, soon called into action, in 
 some men, and see how easily Mr. Wittingham 
 has brought its functions into operation. He 
 buttons his coat up to the chin, as if it were 
 winter, and yet it is as mild an evening as one 
 could wish to take a walk in by the side of a 
 clear stream, with the fair moon for a compa- 
 nion, or something fairer still. It is evident 
 that Cautiousness is at work at a terrible rate, 
 otherwise he would never think of buttoning 
 up his coat on such a night as that; and now, 
 without another word to the landlord, he crosses 
 the street, and bends his steps homeward 
 with a slow, thoughtful, vacillating step, mur- 
 muring to himself two or three words which 
 our friend Ned Hayward had pronounced, as 
 if they contained some spell which forced his 
 tongue to their repetition. 
 E 2 
 
 u. ^f ILL ua
 
 52 beauchamp: or, 
 
 " Very like me," he said — " very like me ? 
 Hang the fellow ! Very like me ! Why, what 
 the devil ! Very like me ! I shall have roystering 
 Sir John upon my back — 'pon my life, I do not 
 know what to do. Perhaps it would be better to 
 be civil to these two young fellows, and ask them 
 to dinner ; though I do not half like that Beau- 
 champ — I always thought there was something 
 suspicious about him, with his grave look, and 
 his long solitary walks, nobody knowing him, 
 and he knowing nobody. Yet this Captain 
 Hay ward seems a great friend of his, and he is 
 a friend of Sir John's — so he must be some- 
 body — I wonder who the devil he is ? Beau- 
 champ ? — Beauchamp ? I shouldn't wonder if 
 he were some man rusticated from Oxford. I'll 
 write and ask Henry. He can most likely tell." 
 
 The distance which Mr. Wittingham had to 
 go was by no means great, for the little town 
 contained only three streets — one long one, 
 and two others leading out of it. In one of the 
 latter, or rather at the end of one of the latter — 
 for it verged upon the open country beyond the 
 town — was a large house, his own particular 
 dwelling, built upon the rise of the hill, with
 
 THE ERROR. 53 
 
 large gardens and pleasure-grounds surround- 
 ing it, a new, well-constructed, neatly pointed 
 brick wall, two green gates, and sundry con- 
 servatories. It had altogether an air of fresh- 
 ness and comfort about it, which was certainly 
 pleasant to look upon, but it had nothing ve- 
 nerable. It spoke of fortunes lately made, 
 and riches fully enjoyed, because they had not 
 always been possessed. It was too neat to be 
 picturesque — too smart to be in good taste. It 
 was a bit of Clapham or Tooting transported a 
 hundred or tsvo of miles into the country — very 
 subiurban indeed ! 
 
 And yet it is possible that Mr. Wittingham 
 had never seen Clapham in his life, or Tooting 
 either ; for he had been bom in the town where 
 he now lived, had accumulated wealth as a 
 merchant on a small scale, in a sea-port town 
 about fifty miles distant ; had improved consi- 
 derably, by perseverance, a very limited stock 
 of abilities ; and, having done all this in a short 
 time, had returned, at the age of fifty, to enact 
 the country gentleman in his native place. With 
 the ordinary- ambition of low minds, however, 
 he wished much that his origin, and the means
 
 54 beauchamp: or, 
 
 of his rise should be forgotten by those who 
 knew them, concealed from those who did not ; 
 and therefore he dressed like a country gentle- 
 man, spoke like a country gentleman, hunted 
 with the fox-hounds, and added " J, P." to his 
 " Esquire." 
 
 Nevertheless, do what he would, there was 
 something of his former calling which still re- 
 mained about liim. It is a dirty world this we 
 live in, and everything has its stain. A door is 
 never painted five minutes, but some indelible 
 finger-mark is printed on it ; a table is never 
 polished half an hour, but some drop of water 
 falls and spots it. Give either precisely the 
 same colour again, if you can! Each trade, 
 each profession, from the shopkeeper to the 
 prime minister, marks its man more or less for 
 life, and I am not quite sure that the stamp of 
 one is much fouler than that of another. There 
 is great vulgarity in all pride, and most of all 
 in official pride, and the difference between that 
 vulgarity and the vulgaiity of inferior educa- 
 tion is not in favour of the former ; for it affects 
 the mind, while the other principally affects the 
 manner.
 
 THE ERROR. 56 
 
 Heaven and earth, what a ramble I have 
 taken ! but I will go back again gently by a 
 path across the fields. 
 
 Something of the merchant — the small mer- 
 chant — still hung about Mr. Wittingham. It 
 was not alone that he kept all his books by 
 double entry, and even in his magisterial capa- 
 city, when dealing with rogues and vagabonds, 
 had a sort of debtor and creditor account with 
 them, very curious in its items ; neither was it 
 altogether that he had a vast idea of the im- 
 portance of wealth, and looked upon a good 
 banker's book, with heavy balance in favour, as 
 the chief of the cardinal virtues ; but there were 
 various peculiarities of manner and small traits 
 of character, which- displayed the habit of mind 
 to inquiring eyes very remarkably. His figures 
 of speech, whenever he forgot himself for a 
 moment, were all of the counting-house : when 
 on the bench he did not know what to do with 
 his legs for want of a high stool ; but the trait 
 with which we have most to do was a certain 
 propensity to inquire into the solidity and 
 monetary respectability of all men, whether
 
 56 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 they came into relationship with himself or not. 
 He looked upon them all as "Firms," with 
 whom at some time he might have to transact 
 business ; and I much doubt whether he did not 
 mentally put " and Co." to the name of eveiy 
 one of his acquaintances. Now Beauchamp 
 and Co. puzzled him; he doubted that the 
 house was firm ; he could make nothing out of 
 their affairs ; he had not, since Mr. Beauchamp 
 first appeared in the place, been able even to 
 get a glimpse of their transactions ; and though 
 it was but a short distance, as I have said, 
 from the inn to his own dwelling, before he had 
 reached the latter, he had asked himself at least 
 twenty times, " Who and what Mr. Beauchamp 
 could be .?" 
 
 " I should like to look at his ledger," said 
 Mr. Wittingham to himself at length, as he 
 opened his gate and went in ; but there was a 
 book open for Mr. Wittingham in his own 
 house, which was not likely to show a very 
 favourable account. 
 
 Although the door of Mr. Wittingham's house, 
 w^hich was a glass door, stood confidingly un-
 
 THE ERROR. 57 
 
 locked as long as the sun was above the hori- 
 zon, yet Mr. Wittingham had always a pass- 
 key in his pocket, and when the first marble 
 step leading from the gravel walk up to the 
 entrance was found, the worthy magistrate's 
 hand was always applied to an aperture in his 
 upper garment just upon the haunch, fi'om 
 which the key was sure to issue forth, whether 
 the door was open or not. 
 
 The door, however, was now shut, and the 
 pass key proved seniceable ; but no sooner 
 did Mr. Wittingham stand in the passage of 
 his own mansion than he stopped short in 
 breathless and powerless astonishment ; for 
 there before him stood two figures in close 
 confabulation, which he certainly did not expect 
 to see in that place, at that time, in such near 
 proximity. 
 
 The one was that of a woman, perhaps fifty- 
 five years of age, but who looked still older 
 from the fact of being dressed in the mode of 
 thirty years before. Her gaiTnents might be 
 those of an upper servant, and indeed they 
 were so ; for the personage was neither more
 
 58 BEAUCHAMP: OR, 
 
 nor less than the housekeeper; but to all 
 appearance she was a resuscitated housekeeper 
 of a former age ; for the gown padded in a long 
 roll just under the blade-bones, the straight 
 cut bodice, the tall but flat-crowned and wide- 
 spreading cap, were not of the day in which 
 she lived, and her face too was as dry as the 
 outer shell of a cocoa-nut. The other figure 
 had the back turned to the door, and was 
 evidently speaking earnestly to Mrs. Billiter ; 
 but it was that of a man, tall, and although 
 slightly made, yet sinewy and strong. 
 
 Mr. Wittingham's breath came thick and 
 short; but the noise of his suddenly opening 
 the door, and his step in the hall, made the 
 housekeeper utter a low cry of surprise, and 
 caused her male companion to turn quickly 
 round. Then Mr. Wittingham's worst appre- 
 hensions were realized, for the face he saw 
 before him was that of his own son, though 
 somewhat disfigured by an eye swollen and 
 discoloured, and a deep long cut just over it on 
 the brow. 
 
 The young man seemed surprised and con-
 
 THE ERROR. 59 
 
 founded by the unexpected apparition of his 
 father, but it was too late to shirk the encounter, 
 though he well knew it would not be a pleasant 
 one. He was accustomed, too, to scenes of 
 altercation with his parent ; for Mr. Wittingham 
 had not proceeded wisely with his son, who 
 was a mere boy when he himself retired from 
 business. He had not only alternately indulged 
 him and thwarted him; encoiu-aged him to 
 spend money largely, and to dazzle the eyes of 
 the neighbours by expense, at the same time 
 limiting his means and exacting a rigid account 
 of his payments ; but as the young man had 
 grown up, he had continued sometimes to treat 
 him as a boy, sometimes as a man ; and while 
 he more than connived at his emulating the 
 great in those pleasures which approach vices, 
 he denied him the sums by which such a 
 course could alone be carried out. 
 
 Thus a disposition naturally vehement and 
 passionate, had been rendered irritable and 
 reckless, and a character self-willed and per- 
 verse had become obstinate and disobedient. 
 Dispute after dispute arose between father and
 
 60 beauchamp: or, 
 
 son after the spoilt boy became the daring and 
 violent youth, till at length Mr. Wittingham, 
 for the threefold purpose of putting him under 
 some sort of discipline, of removing him from 
 bad associates, and giving him the tone of a 
 gentleman, had sent him to Oxford. One year 
 had passed over well enough; but at the 
 commencement of the second year, Mr. Wit- 
 tingham found that his notions of proper 
 economy were very different from his son's, 
 and that Oxford was not likely to reconcile the 
 difference. He heard of him horse -racing, 
 driving stage-coaches, betting on pugilists, 
 gambling, drinking, getting deeper and deeper 
 in debt; and his letters of remonstrance were 
 either not answered at all, or answered with 
 contempt. 
 
 A time had come, however, when the absolute 
 necessity of recruiting his finances from his 
 father's j)urse had reduced the youth to pro- 
 mises of amendment and a feigned repentance ; 
 and just at the time our tale opens, the worthy 
 magistrate was rocking himself in the cradle of 
 delusive expectations, and laying out many a
 
 THE ERKOR. 61 
 
 plan for the future life of his reformed son, 
 when suddenly as we have seen, he found him 
 standing talking to the housekeeper in his own 
 hall with the marks of a recent scuffle very 
 visible on his face. 
 
 The consternation of Mr. Wittingham was 
 tenible; for though by no means a man of 
 ready combinations in any other matter than 
 pounds, shillings, and pence, his fancy was not 
 so slow a beast as to fail in joining together 
 the description which Xed Hayward had given 
 of the marks he had set upon one of the 
 worthy gentlemen who had been found attack- 
 ing Mrs. Clifford's carriage, and the cuts and 
 bruises upon the fair face of his gentle offspring. 
 He had also various private reasons of his own 
 for supposing that such an enterprise as that 
 which had been interrupted in Tamingham- 
 lane, as the place was called, might \ery well 
 come within the sphere of his son's energies, 
 and for a moment he gave himself up to a sort 
 of apathetic despair, seeing all his fond hopes 
 of rustic rule and provincial importance dashed 
 to the ground by the conduct of his own child.
 
 62 beauchamp: or, 
 
 It was reserved for that child to rouse him 
 from his stupor, however; for, though un- 
 doubtedly the apparition of his father was any- 
 thing but pleasant to Henry Wittingham, at 
 that particular moment, when he was arranging 
 with the housekeeper (who had aided to spoil 
 him with all her energies) that he was to have 
 secret board and lodging in the house for a 
 couple of days, without his parent's knowledge, 
 yet his was a bold spirit, not easily cowed, and 
 much accustomed to outface circumstances 
 however disagreeable they might be. Marching 
 straight up to his father, then, without a blush, 
 as soon as he had recovered from the first 
 surprise, he said, " So, you see I have come 
 back, sir, for a day or two, to worship my 
 household gods, as we say at Oxford, and to 
 get a little more money ; for you did not send 
 me enough. However, it may be as well, for 
 various reasons, not to let people know that I 
 am here. Our old dons do not like us to be 
 absent without leave, and may think that I 
 ought to have notified to them my intention of 
 giving you an agreeable surprise."
 
 THE ERROR. 63 
 
 Such overpowering impudence was too much 
 for Mr. Wittingham's patience, the stock of 
 which was somewhat restricted; and he first 
 swore a loud and very unmagisterial oath; 
 then, however, recollecting himself, witliout 
 abating one particle of his wrath, he said, in a 
 stern tone and with a frowning brow, "Be so 
 good as to walk into that room for five minutes, 
 sir." 
 
 " Lord, sir — don't be angry," exclaimed the 
 housekeeper, who did not at all like the look 
 of her master's face — " it is only a frolic, sir." 
 
 "Hold your tongue, BiUiter! You are a 
 fool," thimdered Mr. Wittingham. " Walk in 
 there, sir, and you shall soon hear my mind as 
 to your frolics." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, I will walk in," replied his 
 son, not appearing in the least alarmed, though 
 there was something in the expression of his 
 father's countenance that did frighten him a 
 little, because he had never seen that sometliing 
 before — something difficult to describe — a 
 struggle as it were with himself, which showed 
 the anger he felt to be more profound than he
 
 64 BEAUCHAMP : OK, 
 
 thought it right to display all at once. "I 
 certainly will walk in, and take a cup of tea if 
 you will give me one," and as he spoke he 
 passed the door into the library. 
 
 " You will neither eat nor drink in this house 
 more, till your conduct is wholly changed, sir,'' 
 said Mr. Wittingham, shutting the door behind 
 him ; " the books are closed, sir — there is a 
 large balance against you, and that must be 
 liquidated before they can be opened again. 
 What brought you here ?" 
 
 " What I have said," answered the young 
 man, beginning to feel that his situation was 
 not a very good one, but still keeping up his 
 affected composure, " the yearnings of filial 
 affection, and a lack of pocket-money." 
 
 " So, you can lie, too, to your father," said 
 Mr. Wittingham, bitterly. *^ You will find that 
 I can tell the truth, however, and to begin, I 
 will inform you of what brought you hither — 
 but no, it would take too much time to do that ; 
 for the sooner you are gone the better for your- 
 self and all concerned — you must go, sir, I tell 
 you — you must go directly." 
 
 A hesitation had come upon Mr. Witting-
 
 THE ERROR. 65 
 
 ham while he spoke ; his voice shook, his Up 
 quivered, his tall frame was terribly agitated ; 
 and his son attributed all these external signs 
 of emotion to a very diflPerent cause from the 
 real one. He thought he saw in them the 
 symptoms of a relenting parent, or at least of 
 an iiTesolute one, and he prepared to act ac- 
 cordingly ; while his father thought of nothing 
 but the danger of having him found in his 
 house, after the commission of such an out- 
 rage as that which he had perj^etrated that 
 night ; but the very thought made him tremble 
 in ever}- limb — not so much for his son, indeed, 
 as for himself. 
 
 " I beg pardon, my dear sir," replied the 
 young man, recovering all his own impudence 
 at the sight of his father's agitation, "but it 
 would not be quite convenient for me to go to- 
 night. It is late ; I am tired ; my purse is very 
 empty." 
 
 " Pray how did you get that cut u})on your 
 head?" demanded the magistrate, abruptly. 
 
 " Oh, a little accident," replied his son ; " it 
 is a mere scratch — nothing at all." 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 beauchamp: or, 
 
 " It looks very much like a blow from the 
 butt-end of a heavy horsewhip," said his father, 
 sternly ; "just such as a man who had stopped 
 two ladies in a carriage might receive from a 
 strong arm come to their rescue. You do not 
 propose to go, then ? Well, if that be the case, 
 I must send for the constable and give you 
 into his hands, for there is an information laid 
 against you for felony, and witnesses ready to 
 swear to your person. Shall I ring the bell, or 
 do you go." 
 
 The young man's face had turned deadly 
 pale, and he crushed the two sides of his hat 
 together between his hands. He uttered but 
 one word, however, and that was, " Money." 
 
 " Not a penny," answered Mr. Wittingham, 
 turning his shoulder, " not one penny ; you 
 have had too much already — you would make 
 me bankrupt and yourself too." The next mo- 
 ment, however, he continued, " Stay ; on one 
 condition, I will give you twenty pounds." 
 
 " What is it ?" asked the son, eagerly, but 
 somewhat fiercely, too, for he suspected that 
 the condition would be hard.
 
 THE ERROR. 67 
 
 " It is that you instantly go back to Oxford, 
 and swear by all you hold sacred — if you hold 
 any thing sacred at all — not to quit it for twelve 
 months, or till Mary Cliflford is married." 
 
 " You ask what I cannot do," said the son, 
 in a tone of deep and bitter despondency, con- 
 trasting strangely with that which he had pre- 
 viously used ; " I cannot go back to Oxford. 
 You must know all in time, and may as well 
 know it now — I am expelled from Oxford ; and 
 you had your share in it ; for had you sent me 
 what I asked, I should not have been driven to 
 do what I have done. I cannot go back ; and 
 as to abandoning my pursuit of Mary Clifford' 
 I will not do that either. I love her, and she 
 shall be mine, sooner or later, let who will say 
 No." 
 
 " Expelled fi-om Oxford !" cried Mr. Witting- 
 ham, with his eyes almost starting fi'om their 
 sockets. " Get out of my sight, and out of my 
 house ; go where you will — do what you will — 
 you are no son of mine any more. Away with 
 you, or I will myself give you into custody, and 
 sign the warrant for your committal. Not a 
 f2
 
 68 beauchamp: or, 
 
 word more, sir — begone ! y ou may take j our 
 clothes, if you will ; but let me see no more of 
 you. I cast you off; begone, I say." 
 
 "I go," answered his son, "but one day you 
 will repent of this, and wish me back, when 
 perhaps you will not be able to find me." 
 
 " No fear of that," answered Mr. Witting- 
 ham ; " if you do not return till I seek you, the 
 house will be long free from your presence. 
 Away with you at once, and no more words." 
 
 Without reply, Henry Wittingham quitted 
 
 the room, and hurried up to the bed-chamber 
 
 which he inhabited when he was at home, 
 
 opened several drawers, and took out various 
 
 articles of dress, and some valuable trinkets — 
 
 a gold chain, a diamond brooch, two or three 
 
 jewelled pins and rings. He lingered a little, 
 
 perhaps fancying that his father might relent, 
 
 perhaps calculating what his own conduct 
 
 should be when he was summoned back to tlie 
 
 library. But when he had been about five 
 
 minutes in his chamber, there was a tap at the 
 
 door ; and the housekeeper came in. 
 
 " It is no use, Billiter," said the young man;
 
 THE ERROR. 69 
 
 " I am going. My father has treated me 
 shamefully." 
 
 *' It is no use indeed, Master HaiTy," replied 
 the good woman ; " he is as hard as stone. I 
 have said every thing he would let me say : 
 but he drove me out of the room like a wild 
 beast. But don't give it up, Master Harry. 
 Go away for a day or two to Buxton's inn, by 
 Chandleigh — he'll come round in time, and you 
 can very well spend a week or so there, and be 
 very comfortable." 
 
 " But money, Billiter — money !" exclaimed 
 the young man, whose heart had sunk again 
 to find that all his expectations of his father's 
 resolution giving way were vain. " I have but 
 a few pounds in my pocket. What shall I do 
 for money r" 
 
 " Stay a bit — stay a bit," said the good 
 woman; "what I have got you may have. 
 Master Harry, as welcome as the flowers in 
 May. I've ten pounds here in this little purse," 
 and she dived into one of the large pockets 
 that hung outside of her capacious petticoat, 
 producing a very dirty old knitted purse with
 
 70 beauchamp: or, 
 
 a steel clasp, and adding, as she placed it in 
 her young master's hand, " It is a pity now 
 that Mr. Wittingham wheedled me into putting 
 all the rest of my earnings into the Tarning- 
 ham bank, where he has a share — but that will 
 do for the present, if you are careful, Master 
 Harry — but don't go to drink claret and such 
 expensive nasty stuff, there's a good boy !" 
 
 " That I won't, Billiter," answered Heniy 
 Wittingham, pocketing the money without re- 
 morse of conscience, "and I will repay you 
 when I can — some day or another I shall cer- 
 tainly be able, for the houses at Exmouth are 
 settled upon me ;" and packing up all that he 
 thought fit to take in a large silk handkerchief, 
 he opened the door again, and began to de- 
 scend the stairs. A chilly sensation crept over 
 him ere he reached the bottom, as memory 
 brought back happy days, and he thought that 
 he was going forth from the home of his youth, 
 perhaps for ever ; that he was an exile fi'om his 
 father's dwelling, from his love, an outcast, a 
 wanderer, with nothing but his own wayward 
 spirit for his guide — nought but his own pride
 
 THE ERROR. 71 
 
 for his support. He was not yet sufficiently 
 hardened to bear the shadow of his exile 
 lightly, to look upon it as a relief from re- 
 straint, a mere joyous adventure, which would 
 have its interest during its progress, and would 
 soon be over. But, neyertheless, his pride was 
 strong, and as yet unchecked ; and when the 
 thought of going back to his father, asking his 
 forgiveness, and promising all that he required, 
 crossed his mind, he cast it from him witli dis- 
 dain, saying, " Never ! never ! He shall ask 
 me humbly first." And, with this very lowly 
 determination, he walked out of the house. 
 
 " I shall be able to hear of you at Buxton's, 
 by Chandleigh," said the housekeeper, as he 
 stood just beyond the threshold. 
 
 " Yes, yes, you will hear of me there," he 
 replied, and descending the steps, he was soon 
 wandering in darkness amongst parterres, 
 every step of the way being as familiar to liim 
 as his father's librar}-.
 
 72 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 After a few words of common observation 
 upon Mr. Wittingham and his proceedings 
 when that excellent gentleman had left the 
 room at the little inn of Tarningham, Ned 
 Hay ward fell into a very unusual fit of thought. 
 I do not mean in the least to say that it was 
 unusual for Ned Hayward to think ; for pro- 
 bable he thought as much as other men, but 
 there are various ways of thinking. There 
 are pondering, meditating, brown-studying, 
 day-dreaming, revolving, considering, contem- 
 plating ; and though many of these terms may 
 At first sight seem synonymous, yet upon close 
 examination it will be found that there are
 
 THE ERROR. 7$ 
 
 shades of difference between the meanings. 
 Besides these ways or modes of thinking, there 
 are various other mental processes, such as 
 investigating, examining, disentangling, in- 
 quiring, but with these I Avill not meddle, as 
 my business is merely with the various opera- 
 tions of the mind which require various degrees 
 of rapidity. Now, though Ned Hayward, as I 
 have said, probably thought as much as other 
 men, his sort of thought was generally of a 
 very quick and active habit. He was not fond 
 of meditating, his mind's slowest pace was a 
 canter, and when he found an obstacle of any 
 kind — hedge, gate, fence, or stone wall — he took 
 up his stiiTups and went over it. Now, how- 
 ever, for once in his life, he paused and pon- 
 dered for full five minutes; and then thinking 
 perhaps it might seem a little rude if he treated 
 his new-found friend to nothing but meditation, 
 he began to talk of other things, still medi- 
 tating over the former subject of his contem- 
 plations all the while. 
 
 It must not be supposed, however, that he 
 did not think of what he was saying. Such a
 
 74 beauchamp: or, 
 
 supposition might indeed be founded upon the 
 old axiom that men cannot do two things at 
 once. But the axiom is false : there never was 
 a falser. We are always doing many things at 
 once. There would be very little use of our 
 having hands and feet, tongues and eyes, ears 
 and nose, unless each of our organs with a little 
 practice could go on quite quietly in its little 
 workshop, without disturbing the others. In- 
 deed, it is very serviceable sometimes to give 
 our more volatile members something light to 
 do, when we are employing others upon more 
 serious business, just to keep them out of the 
 way, as we do wdth noisy children. So also is 
 it with the mind and its faculties, and it is not 
 only quite possible, depend upon it, dear 
 reader, to think of two subjects at once, but 
 very common also. 
 
 Totally unacquainted with Mr. Beauchamp's 
 habits and character, or what topics he could 
 converse upon, and what not, Ned Hayward 
 naturally chose one which seemed perfectly in- 
 different and perfectly easy; but it led them 
 soon to deeper considerations, as a very small
 
 THE ERROR. 75 
 
 key will often open a very large door. It led 
 to some political discussions, too ; but let it be 
 remarked, this is not a political novel, that 
 most wearisome and useless of all the illegiti- 
 mate offsprings of literature, and therefore if I 
 give a few sentences of their conversation, it is 
 not to insinuate sneakingly my o^vn opinions, 
 but merely to display my characters more fully. 
 
 " This seems a very pretty little town," said 
 Ned Hay ward, choosing the first free subject 
 at hand ; " quite rural, and with all the tran- 
 quillity of the country about it." 
 
 " It is, indeed," answered Mr. Beauchamp; 
 "but I should almost have supposed that a 
 gayer place would have pleased you more. 
 Were you never here before ?" 
 
 " Never in my life," replied his companion ; 
 " but you are quite mistaken about my tastes. 
 London, indeed, is a very pleasant place for 
 three months or so; but one soon grows tired 
 of it It gets slow — very slow, after a while. 
 One cannot go to the theatre every night. 
 There is little use of going to balls and parties, 
 and risking falling in love, if one has not money
 
 76 
 
 enough to many. One gets weary of the faces 
 ^nd the houses in St. James's-street. Morning 
 visits are the greatest bores in the world. 
 Epsom and Ascot are good enough things in 
 their way, but they are soon over for one who 
 does not bet and runs no horses. The ncAvs- 
 papers tire me to death — romances I abomi- 
 nate; and though a good opera comes in twice 
 a week to lighten the load a little, it gets des- 
 perately heavy on one's shoulders before the first 
 of July. Antiquaries, connoisseurs, lawyers, 
 physicians, fiddlers, and portrait-painters, with 
 merchants, and all the bees of the hive, may 
 find London a very pleasant and profitable 
 place. I am nothing but a drone, and so I fly 
 away into the country. Of all towns after the 
 second month, I hate London the most — except 
 a manufacturing town, indeed, and that is 
 always horrible, even to change horses in." 
 
 " And yet, perhaps," answered Beauchamp, 
 " a manufacturing town offers subjects of deeper 
 interest than any other spot of the earth — 
 especially at the present moment." 
 
 " Not in themselves, surely," said Ned Hay-
 
 THE ERROR. 77 
 
 ward ; " the abstract idea of broad cloth is to 
 me very flat, cotton- spinning not particularly 
 exciting, iron ware is far too hard for me to 
 handle, and as for the production of soda and 
 pearlash, I have no genius that way. But I 
 suppose," he continued, " you mean that the 
 manufacturing towns are interesting from their 
 bearing upon the j^ro'sperity of the country;, 
 but in that case, it is your speculations regard- 
 ing them that interest you, not the places them- 
 selves." 
 
 " So it is with everything," answered Mr. 
 Beauchamp; "no single image or impression 
 gives us gTcat pleasure. It is in their combina- 
 tion that our enjoyment dwells. Single ideas 
 are but straight lines, blank plains, monotonous 
 patches of colour. Associate them with other 
 shapes and hues, and you produce beauty and 
 pleasure. Thus with the manufacturing towns ; 
 if I only went to see a steam-engine work, a 
 shuttle play, or a spindle turn, I should soon 
 be tired enough; but when in all that I behold 
 there I perceive a new development of man's 
 mind, a fresh course opened for his energies
 
 78 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 when old ones are exhausted, when I discover 
 the commencement of a great social change, 
 which shall convert the pursuits of tribes and 
 nations from agricultural to manufacturing — or 
 rather, which shall throw the great mass of 
 human industry, for which its former sphere 
 was too small, into another and almost inter- 
 minable channel, I feel that I am a spectator 
 of a great social phenomenon, as awful and as 
 grand as the lightning that rends the pine, or 
 the earthquake that overthrows the mountain. 
 It is magnificent, yet terrible; beautiful, but 
 still sad." 
 
 " Why sad ?" demanded Ned Hayward. " I 
 have considered the matter in the same light a 
 little, and have talked with various grave manu- 
 facturers about it; but they all seem to see 
 nothing in it but what is very fine and plea- 
 sant. They have no apprehension for the 
 result, or doubts about its doing a great deal 
 of good to everybody in the end." 
 
 " The end !" said Beauchamp. " Where is the 
 end ? What will the end be ? They see no- 
 thing but good ; they augur nothing but good.
 
 THE ERROR. 79 
 
 because they are actively employed in that one 
 particular course, and buoyed up with those 
 sanguine expectations which active exertion 
 always produces. Neither do I doubt that the 
 end will be good; but still, ere that end be 
 reached, how much misery, how much strife, 
 how much evil must be encountered. One 
 needs but to set one's foot in a factory, ay, or 
 in a manufacturing town, to see that the evil 
 not only will be, but is ; that we are wading 
 into a dark stream which we must pass over, 
 and ai'e already knee deep. I speak not of 
 the evils inseparable from the working of any 
 great change in the relations of society, or in 
 its objects. As we can never climb a hill with- 
 out some fatigue, so we can never reach a 
 higher point in social advance without some 
 suffering; but that inevitable evil I look upon 
 as light, compared with many other things be- 
 fore us. I doubt not that in God's good pro- 
 vidence new resources \vill be ever opened 
 before mankind for the employment of human 
 industry; but when I see even a temporary- 
 superfluity of laboui', I tremble to think of
 
 80 beauchamp: or, 
 
 what vast power of grinding and oppressing 
 that very circumstance places in the hands of 
 the employer. Combine that power with the 
 state of men's minds at present, and all the ten- 
 dencies of the age; remember that to accumu- 
 late wealth, to rival others in luxury and dis- 
 play, to acquire at any price and by any means, 
 is a part not of the manufacturer's spirit, but of 
 the spirit of the age, and especially of this 
 country, and then see to what purposes must 
 and will be applied that vast authority or 
 command which the existing superabundance 
 of labour, brought about by mechanical inven- 
 tions, and the natural increase of population, 
 intrusts to those who have already the power 
 of wealth. Were it not for this spirit acting 
 through this power, should w^e see in our 
 manufactories such squalid misery, such en- 
 feebled frames, such overtasked exertions, such 
 want of moral and religious culture, such reck- 
 lessness, such vice, such infamy, such famine ?" 
 " Perhaps not," answered Ned Hayward ; 
 " but yet something is to be said for the manu- 
 facturers, too. You see, my good sir, they have
 
 THE ERROR. St 
 
 to compete with all Europe. They are, as it 
 were, running a race, and they must win it, 
 even if they break their horses' wind." 
 
 " If they do that, they will lose it," replied 
 Beauchamp ; " but yet I do not blame them. 
 I blame the spirit of the times we live in. 
 They only share it with other men; many of 
 them are humane, kind, generous, just, who do 
 as much good and as little evil as the ii*on 
 hand of circumstances will permit; and were 
 all to strive in the same manner, and to the 
 same degi-ee, that iron hand would be broken, 
 and all would be wiser, happier, better — ay, 
 even wealthier than they are ; but, alas ! the 
 example of the good has little influence on the 
 rest on the same level with themselves; and 
 the example of the bad, immense influence on 
 every grade beneath them. The cupidity of 
 the great mill-owner is imitated and exceeded 
 by those below him. He robs the poor artizan 
 of his labour, by allowing him as little out of 
 the wealth his exertions earn as the suj^erfluity 
 of industry compels the artizan to take, and 
 justifies himself with the cold axiom, that he- 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 beauchamp: or, 
 
 is not bound to pay more than other men; 
 those in authority below him rob the same 
 defenceless being of a great part of even those 
 poor wages by a more direct kind of plunder, 
 and have their axiom too. One of the great 
 problems of the day is this: what proportion 
 of the profits accruing from the joint operation 
 of capital and labour is to be assigned to each 
 of those two elements ? And the day will come 
 ere long, depend upon it, when that great 
 problem must be solved — I trust, not in bloody 
 characters. At present, there is no check to 
 secure a fair division ; and so long as there is 
 none, wealth will always take advantage of 
 poverty, and the competition for mere food will 
 induce necessity to submit to avarice, till the 
 burden becomes intolerable — and then " 
 
 " What then ?" asked Ned Hay ward. 
 
 "Nay, God forbid," answered Beauchamp, 
 "that the fears which will sometimes arise 
 should ever be verified. A thousand unfore- 
 seen events may occur to waft away the dan- 
 gers that seem to menace us; but I cannot 
 help thinking that in the meantime there are
 
 THE ERROR. 8S^ 
 
 many duties neglected by those who have the 
 power to interfere; for surely, if any foresight 
 be wisdom, any human providence a virtue, 
 they are the foresight which perceives the future 
 magnitude of evils yet in the bud, and the pro- 
 vidence that applies a remedy in time." 
 
 " Very true," answered Ned Hayward ; " things 
 do look rather badly ; but I dare say all will 
 get right at last. I have not thought of such 
 things very deeply — not half so deeply as you 
 have done, I know; but still I have been sorry 
 to see, in many of our great towns, the people 
 so wretched-looking; and sometimes I have 
 thought that if better care were taken of them 
 — I mean both in mind and body — our judges 
 at the assizes would not have so much to do. 
 Just as fevers spread through whole countries 
 from a great congregation of sickly people, so 
 crimes extend through a land from great con- 
 gregations of ricious people. For my part, if, 
 like our good friend Abon Hassan, I could but 
 be caliph for a short time, Td open out all the 
 narrow streets, and drain all the foul lands, and 
 cultivate all ignorant minds, and try to purify 
 g2
 
 84 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 all the corrupt hearts, by the only thing that 
 can purify them. But I am not caliph ; and if 
 I were, the task is above me, I fancy : but still, 
 if it could be accomplished, even in part, I am 
 quite sure that jurymen would dine earlier, 
 lawyers have less to do, courts would rise at 
 three o'clock, and the lord-mayor and sheriiFs 
 eat their turtle more in peace. But talking of 
 that, do you know I have been thinking all this 
 while, how we could get some insight into this 
 affair of the highway robbery; for I am deter- 
 mined I will not let the matter sleep. High- 
 way robberies are going quite out of fashion. 
 I have not heard of one for these four months. 
 Hounslow Heath is almost as safe as Berkeley- 
 square, and Bagshot no more to be feared than 
 Windsor Castle. It is a pity to let such things 
 revive; and there is something about that old 
 fellow Wittingham which strikes me as odd. 
 Another thing, too, was funny enough. Why 
 should they pull the young lady out of the 
 chaise ? She could just as well have handed 
 her purse and her trinkets out of the window !" 
 " That seemed strange to me also," answered
 
 THE ERROR. Sb 
 
 Beauchamp. " But how do you propose to pro- 
 ceed ?" 
 
 ''Why, I think the best way will be to 
 frighten the post-boy," replied Xed Hayward. 
 " He's in league with the rogues, whoever they 
 are, depend upon it ; and if he thinks his neck's 
 in a noose, he'll peach." 
 
 " That is not improbable," said his compa- 
 nion : " but we had better proceed cautiously; 
 for if we frighten him into denying all know- 
 ledge of the parties, he will adhere to his story 
 for mere consistency's sake." 
 
 " Oh, I'll manage him — I will manage him," 
 answered Ned Haj-ward, who had carried so 
 many points in his life by his dashing straight- 
 forwardness, that he had very little doubt of his 
 own powers. " Come along, and we will see. 
 Let us saunter out into the yard, in a quiet, 
 careless way, as if we were sentimental, and 
 loved moonlight. We shall find him some- 
 where rubbing down his horses, or drinking a 
 pint on the bench." 
 
 The two gentlemen accordingly took their 
 hats, and issued forth, Ned Hayward leading
 
 S$ beauchamp: or, 
 
 the way first out into the street through a glass- 
 door, and then round into the yard by an arch- 
 way. This manoeuvre was intended to ehide 
 the vigilant eyes of Mr. Groomber, and was so 
 far successful that the landlord, being one of 
 that small class of men who can take a hint, 
 did not come out after them to offer his services, 
 though he saw the whole proceeding, and while 
 he was uncorking sherry, or portioning out tea, 
 or making up a bill, kept one eye — generally 
 the right — turned towards a window that looked 
 in the direction of the stables. Before those 
 stables the bright moon was laying out her 
 silver carpeting, though, truth to say, she might 
 have found a cleaner floor to spread it on ; and 
 there, too, paraded up and down our friends, 
 Ned Hay ward and Mr. Beauchamp, looking for 
 the post-boy who had driven Mrs. Clifford and 
 her daughter, but not perceiving him in any 
 direction, Ned Hayward began to suspect he 
 had reckoned without his host. The man was 
 not rubbing down his horses, he was not drink- 
 ing a pint on the bench, he was not smoking a 
 pipe at the inn door.
 
 THE ERROR. ^ 
 
 " Well," he said at length, " I will look into 
 all the stables to see after my horse. It is but 
 right I should attend to his supper now I have 
 had my own, and perhaps we may find what 
 we are looking for on the road. Let us wait 
 awhile, however, till that one-eyed ostler is 
 passed, or he will tell us where the horse is, 
 and spoil our manoeuvre." And, walking on, 
 he pointed out to Beauchamp a peculiar spot 
 upon the moon's surface, and commented upon 
 it, with face upturned, till the inconvenient 
 ostler had gone by. 
 
 At that moment, however, another figure ap- 
 peared in the yard, which at once brought light 
 into Ned Hay ward's mind. It was not a pretty 
 figure, nor had it a pretty face belonging to it. 
 The back was bowed and contorted in such a 
 manner as to puzzle the tailor exceedingly to 
 fit it vrith a fustian jacket when it required a 
 new one, which luckily was not often ; the legs 
 were thin, and more like a bird's than a human 
 being's, and though the skull was large and not 
 badly shaped, the features that appeared below 
 the tall forehead seemed all to be squeezed to-
 
 88 beauchamp: or, 
 
 gether, so as to acquire a rat-like expression, 
 not uncommon in the deformed. The head, 
 which was bare, was thatched with thin yellow 
 hair, but the eyes were black and clear, and the 
 teeth large and white. The garments which 
 this poor creature wore, were those of an infe- 
 rior servant of an inn ; and his peculiar func- 
 tion seemed to be denoted by a tankard of beer, 
 which he carried in his hand from the door of 
 the tap towards the stables. 
 
 " He is carrying our friend his drink," said 
 Ned Hayward, in a whisper to Beauchamp, 
 " let us watch where the little pot-boy goes 
 in, and I'll take seven to one we find the man 
 we want." 
 
 The pot-boy gave a shrewd glance at the 
 two gentlemen as he passed them, but hurried 
 on towards one of the doors far down the yard, 
 which, when it was opened, displayed a light 
 within ; and as soon as he had deposited his 
 tankard and returned, those who had watched 
 him followed his course, and threw back the 
 same door without ceremony. There before 
 them, seated astride on a bench, was the post-
 
 THE ERROR. 80 
 
 boy of whom they were iu search. They had 
 both marked him well by the evening light, and 
 there could be no doubt of his identity, though 
 by this time he had got his hat and jacket off, 
 and was sitting with a mane-comb on one 
 hand and a ciuTycomb on the other, and the 
 tankard of beer between them. He was a dull, 
 unpleasant, black-bearded sort of fellow of fifty- 
 five or six, with a peculiarly cunning gray eye, 
 and a peculiarly resolute slow mouth ; and as 
 soon as Ned Hayward beheld the expression 
 by the light of a tallow-candle in a high state 
 of perspiration, he muttered, " We shall not 
 make much of this specimen." 
 
 Nevertheless, he went on in his usual care- 
 less tone addressing the lord of the posting- 
 saddle, and saying, " Good night, my man ; I 
 want you to tell me where I can find a gentle- 
 man I wish to see hereabouts." 
 
 The post-boy had risen, and pulled the lock 
 of short black and white hair upon his forehead, 
 but without looking a bit more communicative 
 than at first, and he merely answered, " If I 
 knows where he lives, sir. What's his name ?"
 
 90 beauchamp: or, 
 
 " Why, that's another matter," replied Ned 
 Hay ward ; " perhaps he may not much like his 
 name mentioned; but I can tell you what 
 people call him sometimes. He goes by the 
 name of Wolf occasionally." 
 
 The slightest possible twinkle of intelligence 
 came into the man's eyes for a moment, and 
 then went out again, just as when clouds are 
 driving over the sky at night, we sometimes see 
 something sparkle for an instant, and then 
 disappear from the heavens, so faint while it is 
 present, and so soon gone, that we cannot tell 
 whether it be a star or not. 
 
 " Can't say I ever heard of such a gemman 
 here, sir," replied the post-boy. " There is 
 Billy Lamb, sir, the pot-boy, but that's the 
 nearest name to Wolf we have in these parts." 
 
 " Why, my good friend, you saw him this 
 very night," said Mr. Beauchamp, " when the 
 chaise was stopped that you were driving. He 
 was one of the principals in that affair." 
 
 " Likely, sir," answered the other, " but they 
 were all strangers to me — never set eyes on 
 one on 'em afore. But if you knows 'em, you'll
 
 THE ERROR. 91 
 
 soon catch 'em ; and that will be a good job, 
 for it is very unpleasant to be kept a waiting 
 so. It's as bad as a 'pike." 
 
 " I've a notion," said Ned Hayward, " that 
 you can find out my man for me if you like ; 
 and if you do, you may earn a crown ; but if 
 you do not you may get into trouble, for con- 
 cealing felons renders you what is called an 
 accessory, and that is a capital crime. You 
 know the law, sir," he continued, turning to 
 Beauchamp, and speaking in an authoritative 
 tone, " and if I am not mistaken, this comes 
 under the statute of limitations as a clear case 
 of misprison, which under the old law was 
 merely burning in the hand and transportation 
 for life, but is now hanging matter. You had 
 better think over the business, my man, and let 
 me have an immediate answer with due deli- 
 beration, for you are not a person, I should 
 think, to put your head in a halter, and if you 
 were, I should not advise you to do so in this 
 case." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said the post-boy, " I 
 won't; but I don't know the gemmenas showed
 
 ^2 beauchamp: or, 
 
 themselves such rum customers, nor him either 
 as you are a axing arter." 
 
 " It is in vain, I fear," said Beauchamp to 
 his companion, in a very low voice, as their 
 respondent made this very definite answer; 
 " the magistrates may perhaps obtain some 
 further information from him when he finds 
 that the matter is serious, but we shall not." 
 
 The post-boy caught a few of the words 
 apparently, and perhaps it was intended that he 
 should do so, but they were without effect ; and 
 when at length they walked away baffled, he 
 twisted the eyelid into a sort of wreath round 
 his left eye, observing, with his tongue in his 
 cheek, " Ay, ay, my covies — no go !" 
 
 Ned Hayward opened the door somewhat 
 suddenly, and as he went out, he almost 
 tumbled over the little humpbacked pot-boy. 
 Now whether the young gentleman — his years 
 might be nineteen or twenty, though his stature 
 was that of a child of eight — came thither to re- 
 plenish the tankard he had previously brought, 
 or whether he affected the moonlight, or was 
 fond of conversation in which he did not take
 
 THE ERROR. 93^ 
 
 a part, Ned Hayward could not at the momeut 
 divine; but before he and Beauchamp had 
 taken a dozen steps up the yard, Hayward felt 
 a gentle pull at his coat-tail. 
 
 " What is it, my lad r" he said, looking down 
 upon the pot-boy, and at the same time stoop- 
 ing his head as if with a full impression that 
 his ears at their actual height could hear 
 nothing that proceeded fi'om a point so much 
 below as the deformed youth's mouth. 
 
 Instantly a small high-pitched but very 
 musical voice replied, " I'll come for your boots 
 early to-mon*ow, sir, and tell you all about it." 
 
 " Can't you tell me, now V asked the young 
 gentleman ; " I am going into the stable to see 
 my horse, and you can say your say there, my 
 man." 
 
 " I daren't," answered the pot-boy ; " there's 
 Tim the Ostler, and Jack Millman's groom, 
 and Long Billy, the Taunton post-boy, all 
 about. I'll come to-morrow and fetch your 
 boots." 
 
 At the same moment the landlord's voice, 
 exclaiming in sharp tones, " Billy ! Billy Lamb !
 
 94 beauchamp: or, 
 
 — what the devil are you so long about?" was 
 heard, and the pot-boy ran off as fast as his 
 long thin legs would carry him. 
 
 " Well, this affair promises some amuse- 
 ment," said Ned Hayward, when they had 
 again reached the little parlour, which in his 
 good-humoured easy way he now looked upon 
 as common to them both. " Upon my word, I 
 am obliged to these highwaymen, or whatever 
 the scoundrels may be, for giving me some- 
 thing fresh to think of. Although at good Sir 
 John Slingsby's I shall have fishing enough, I 
 dare say, yet one cannot fish all day and every 
 day, and sometimes one gets desperately bored 
 in an old country house, unless fate strikes out 
 something not quite in the common way to 
 occupy one." 
 
 " Did you ever try falling in love ?" asked 
 Beauchamp, with a quiet smile, as he glanced 
 his eyes over the fine form and handsome 
 features of his companion ; " it is an excellent 
 pastime, I am told." 
 
 " No !" answered Ned Hayward, quickly 
 and straightforwardly ; " I never did, and
 
 THE ERROR. 95 
 
 never shall. I am too poor, Mr. Beauchamp, 
 to marry in my own class of societj^, and main- 
 tain my wife in the state which that class 
 implies. I am too honest to make love with- 
 out intending to marry ; too wise, I trust, to 
 fall in love where nothing could be the result 
 but unhappiness to myself, if not to another 
 also." He spoke these few sentences very 
 seriously; but then, resuming at once his gay 
 rattling manner, he went on: " Oh, I have 
 drilled myself capitally, I assure you. At 
 twenty I was like a raw recruit, bungling at 
 every step ; found myself saying all manner 
 of sweet things to everv' pretty face I met; 
 felt my heart beating whenever, under the 
 pretty face, I thought I discovered something 
 that would last longer. But I saw so much of 
 love in a cottage and its results, that, after 
 calculating well what a woman brought up in 
 good society would have to sacrifice who mar- 
 ried a man with 6001. a-year, I voted it unfair 
 to ask her, and made up my mind to my con- 
 duct. As soon as ever I find that I wish to 
 dance with any dear girl twice in a night, and
 
 96 beauchamp: or, 
 
 fall into reveries when I think of her, and feel 
 a sort of warm blood at my fingers' ends when 
 my hand touches, I am off like a hair trigger ; 
 for if a man is bound to act with honour to 
 other men, who can make him if he does not 
 willingly, he is ten times more strongly bound to 
 do so towards women, who can neither defend 
 nor avenge themselves." 
 
 With a sudden impulse Beauchamp held out 
 his hand to him, and shook his heartily ; and 
 that grasp seemed to say, " I know you now 
 to the heart. We are friends." 
 
 Ned Playward was a little surprised at this 
 enthusiastic burst of Mr. Beauchamp, for he 
 had set him down for what is generally called 
 a very gentlemanlike person, which means, in 
 the common parlance of the world, a man who 
 has either used up everything like warm feel- 
 ing, or has never possessed it, and who, not 
 being troubled with any emotions, suffers polite 
 manners and conventional habits to rule him 
 in and out. With his usual rapid way of 
 jumping at conclusions — which he often found 
 very convenient, though, to say the truth, he
 
 THE ERROR. 97 
 
 sometimes jumped over the right ones — he 
 said to himself at once, " Well, this is really a 
 good fellow, I do believe, and a man of some 
 heart and soul." 
 
 But though Beauchamp's warm shake of the 
 hand had led him to this conviction, and he 
 thought he began to understand him, yet Ned 
 Hayward was a little curious as to a question 
 which liis new friend had asked him some time 
 before. He had answered it, it is true, by tell- 
 ing him that he took care not to fall in love ; 
 but he fancied that Mr. Beauchamp had in- 
 quired in a peculiar tone, and that he must 
 have had some meaning more than the words 
 implied, taken in their simple and straightfor- 
 ward application. 
 
 " Come now, tell me, Beauchamp," he said, 
 after just five seconds' consideration, " what 
 made you ask if I had ever tried falling in love 
 by way of amusement? Did you ever hear 
 any story of my being guilty of such practices ? 
 Ifyouhave, it was no true one — at least, for six 
 or seven years past." 
 
 " Oh, no !" replied Beauchamp, laughing ; " T 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 BEAUCHAMP: OR, 
 
 have had no means of learning your secret his- 
 tory. I only inquired because, if you have 
 never tried that pleasant amusement, you will 
 soon have a capital opportunity. Sir John 
 Slingsby's daughter is one of the loveliest girls 
 I ever saw." 
 
 " What, old Jack with a daughter !" ex- 
 claimed Ned Hayward, and then added, after 
 a moment's thought — " By the way, so he had. 
 I remember her coming to see him at his 
 quarters. I had forgotten all about it. A 
 pretty little girl she was ; I think five or six 
 years old. Let me see, she must be about six- 
 teen or seventeen now ; for that is just eleven 
 years ago, when I was an ensign." 
 
 " She is more than that," answered Beau- 
 champ, " by two or three years ; and either it 
 must be longer since you saw her, or " 
 
 " Oh, no ; it is just eleven years ago !" cried 
 Captain Hayward ; " eleven years, next month, 
 for I was then seventeen myself." 
 
 " Well, then she must have been older than 
 you thought," replied his companion. 
 
 " Very likely," said Ned Hayward. " I
 
 THE ERROR. 99 
 
 never could tell girls' ages, especially when 
 they are children. But there is no fear of my 
 falling in love with her, if she is what you tell 
 me. I never fell in love with a beautiful 
 woman in my life — I don't like them ; they are 
 always either pert, or conceited, or vain, or 
 haughty, or foolish. Sooner or later they are 
 sure to find some ass to tell them how beautiful 
 they are, and then they think that is quite suf- 
 ficient for all the purposes of life." 
 
 "Perhaps because they are first impressed 
 with a wrong notion of the pui-poses of life," 
 answered Beauchamp ; " but yet I never heard 
 of a man before who objected to a woman be- 
 cause she was pretty." 
 
 " No, no," answered Ned Hay ward, " that is 
 a verv^ different thing. I did not say pretty. 
 I am very fond of what is pretty. Oh, the 
 verv' word is delightful ! It gives one such a 
 nice, good-humoured, comfortable idea ; it is 
 full of health, and youth, and good spirits, and 
 light-heartedness — the word seems to smile and 
 speak content ; and when it is the expression 
 that is spoken of, and not the mere features, it 
 H 2
 
 100 beauchamp: or, 
 
 is very charming indeed. But a beautiful 
 woman is a very different thing. I would as 
 soon marry the Venus de Medicis, pedestal 
 and all, as what is usually called a beautiful 
 woman. But now let us talk of this other 
 affair. I wonder what will come of my mys- 
 terious pot-boy !" 
 
 "Why, I doubt not you will obtain some in- 
 formation regarding the gentleman calling him- 
 self Wolf," replied Beauchamp ; " but if you 
 do, how do you intend to proceed ?" 
 
 "Hunt him down as I would a wolf," an- 
 swered Ned Hayward. 
 
 " Then, pray let me share the sport," rejoined 
 Beauchamp. 
 
 " Oh ! certainly, certainly," said Ned Hay- 
 ward ; " I'll give the view halloo as soon as I 
 have found him ; and so now, good night, for I 
 am somewhat sleepy." 
 
 " Good night, good night !" answered Beau- 
 champ ; and Ned Hayward rang for a bed- 
 candle, a boot-jack, a pair of slippers, and 
 sundry other things that he wanted, which 
 were brought instantly, and with great good
 
 THE ERROR. 101 
 
 will. Had he asked for a night-cap it would 
 have been provided with the same alacrity ; for 
 those were days in which night-caps were fur- 
 nished by every host to ever)' guest: though 
 now (alas ! for the good old times) no landlord 
 ever thinks that a guest will stay long enough 
 in his house to make it worth while to attend 
 to his head-gear. But Ned Hayward needed 
 no night-cap, for he never wore one, and there- 
 fore his demands did not at all overtax his 
 host's stock.
 
 102 beauchamp: or, 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 It was just in the gray of the morning, and the 
 silver light of dawn was stealing through the 
 deep glens of the wood, brightening the dewy- 
 filaments which busy insects had spun across 
 and across the grass, and shining in long, 
 glistening lines, upon the broad clear stream. 
 It was a lovely stream as ever the eye of medi- 
 tation rested on, or thoughtful angler walked 
 beside; and from about ten miles beyond 
 Slingsby Park to within half a mile of the 
 small town of Tarningham, it presented an in- 
 finite variety of quiet English scenery, such as 
 does the heart of man good to look upon. In 
 one part it was surrounded by high hills, not
 
 THE ERROR. lOS 
 
 unbroken by jagged rocks and lofty banks, and 
 went on tumbling in miniature cascades and 
 tiny rapids. At another place it flowed on in 
 greater tranquillity through green meadows, 
 flanked on either hand by tall, stately trees, at 
 the distance of eighty or ninety yards from the 
 banks ; not in trim rows, all ranged like rank 
 and tile upon parade, but straggling out as 
 chance or taste had decided, sometimes group- 
 ing into masses, sometimes protruding far to- 
 wards the stream, sometimes receding coyly 
 into the opening of a little dell. Then, again, 
 the river dashed on at a more hurried rate 
 through a low copse, brawling as it went over 
 innumerable shelves of rock and masses of 
 stone, or banks of gravel, which attempted to 
 obstruct its course ; and nearer still to the town 
 it flowed through turfy banks, slowly and 
 quietly, every now and then diversified by a 
 dashing ripple over a shallow, and a tumble 
 into a deep pool. 
 
 It was in the gray of the morning, then, that 
 a man in a velveteen jacket was seen walking 
 slowly along by the margin, at a spot where
 
 104 beauchamp: or, 
 
 the river was in a sort of middle state, neither 
 so fierce and restive as it seemed amongst the 
 hills, nor so tranquil and sluggish as in the 
 neighbourhood of the little town. There were 
 green fields around ; and numerous trees and 
 copses, approaching sometimes very close to 
 the water, but sometimes breaking away to a 
 considerable distance, but generally far enough 
 off for the angler to throw a fly without hook- 
 ing the branches around. Amongst some elms, 
 and walnuts, and Huntingdon poplars on the 
 right bank, was an old square tower of very 
 rough stone, gray and cold-looking, with some 
 ivy up one side, clustering round the glassless 
 window. It might have been mistaken for the 
 ruin of some ancient castle of no great extent, 
 had it not been for the axletree and some of 
 the spokes and fellies of a dilapidated water- 
 wheel projecting over the river, and at once 
 announcing for what purpose the building had 
 been formerly used, and that they had long 
 ceased. There was still a little causeway and 
 small stone bridge of a single arch spanning a 
 rivulet that here and there joined the stream.
 
 THE ERROR. 105 
 
 and from a door-way near the wheel still 
 stretched a frail plank to the other side of the 
 dam, which, being principally constructed of 
 rude layers of rock, remained entire, and kept 
 up the water so as to fonn an artificial cascade. 
 Early as was the hour, some matutinal trout, 
 who, having risen by times, and perhaps taken 
 a long swim before breakfast, felt hungry and 
 sharpset, were attempting to satisfy their vora- 
 cious maws by snapping at a number of fawn- 
 coloured moths which imprudently trusted 
 themselves too near the surface of the water. 
 The religious birds were singing their sweet 
 hymns all around, and a large goatsucker 
 whirled by on his long wings, depriving the 
 trout of many a delicate fly before it came 
 within reach of the greedy jaws that were 
 waiting for it below the ripple. 
 
 But what was the man doing, while fish, 
 flies, and birds were thus engaged? MaiTy, 
 he was engaged in a very curious and mys- 
 terious occupation. With a slow step and a 
 careful eye fixed upon the glassy surface be- 
 neath him, he walked along the course of the
 
 106 beauchamp: or, 
 
 current, down towards the park paling that you 
 see there upon the left. Was he admiring the 
 speckled tenants of the river? Was he ad- 
 miring his own reflected image on the shining 
 mirror of the stream? He might be doing 
 either or both ; but, nevertheless, he often put 
 his finger and thumb into the pocket of a 
 striped waistcoat, and pulled out some small 
 round balls, about the size of a pea or a little 
 larger, marvellously like one of those boluses 
 which doctors are sometimes fain to prescribe, 
 and chemists right willing to furnish, but which 
 patients find it somewhat difiicidt to swallow. 
 These he dropped one by one into the water, 
 wherever he found a quiet place, and thus pro- 
 ceeded till he had come within about three 
 hundred yards of the park wall. There he 
 stopped the administration of these pills ; and 
 then, walking a little further, sat down by the 
 side of the river, in the very midst of a tall 
 clump of rushes. 
 
 In a minute or two something white, about 
 the length of eighteen inches, floated down ; 
 and instantly stretching forth a long hooked
 
 THE ERROR. 107 
 
 Stick, our Mend drew dexterously in to the 
 shore a fine large trout of a pound and a half 
 in weight. The poor fellow was quite dead, or 
 at least so insensible that he did not seem at 
 all surprised or annoyed to find himself sud- 
 denly out of his element, and into another 
 gentleman's pocket, though the transition was 
 somewhat marvellous, from the fresh, clear 
 stream to a piece of glazed buckram. Most 
 people would have disliked the change, but 
 Mister Trout was in that sort of state that he 
 did not care about anything. Hardly was he 
 thus deposited when one of his finny com- 
 panions — ^perhaps his own brother, or some 
 other near relation — was seen coming down 
 the stream with his stomach upwards, a sort of 
 position which, to a trout, is the same as 
 standing on the head would be to a human 
 being. This one was nearer the bank; and 
 first he hit his nose against a stump of tree ; 
 then, whirling quietly round, he tried the cur- 
 rent tail foremost ; but it was all of no avail, he 
 found his way, likewise, into the pocket, and 
 two more were easily consigned to the same
 
 108 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 receptacle, all of them showing the same placid 
 equanimity. At length, one very fine fish, 
 which seemed to weigh two pounds and a half 
 at the least, followed advice, and took a middle 
 course. He was out of reach of the stick ; the 
 water was too deep at that spot to wade, and 
 what was our friend of the pocket to do ? He 
 watched the fish carried slowly down the stream 
 towards the place where the river passed under 
 an archway into Sir John Slingsby's park. It 
 was fat and fair, and its fins were rosy as if the 
 morning sun had tinged them. Its belly was 
 of a glossy white, with a kindly look about its 
 half-expanded gills, that quite won our friend's 
 affection. Yet he hesitated; and being a 
 natural philosopher, he knew that by displacing 
 the atoms of water the floating body might be 
 brought nearer to the shore. He therefore 
 tried a stone : but whether he threw it too far, 
 or not far enough, I cannot tell ; certain it is, 
 the trout was driven further away than before, 
 and to his inexpressible disappointment, he 
 saw it carried through the arch. He was re- 
 solved, however, that it should not thus escape
 
 THE ERROR. 109 
 
 him. Difficult circumstances try, if they do 
 not make, great men ; and taking a little run, 
 he vaulted over the park paling and into the 
 park. 
 
 He was just in the act of getting over again 
 — perhaps feeling if he stayed too long it might 
 be considered an intrusion — and had the fish 
 in his hand, so that his movements were some- 
 what embarrassed, when a little incident oc- 
 curred which considerably affected his plans 
 and pui-poses for the day. 
 
 I have mentioned an old mill, and sundry 
 trees and bushes at different distances from the 
 bank, breaking the soft green meadow turf in 
 a very picturesque manner. In the present 
 instance, tkose various objects proved not only 
 ornamental but useful — at least to a personage 
 who had been upon the spot nearly as long as 
 our friend in the velveteen jacket. That per- 
 sonage had been tempted into the mill either 
 by its curious and ancient aspect, or by the 
 open door, or by surprise, or by some other 
 circumstance or motive ; and once in, he 
 thought he might as well look out of the vrin-
 
 110 beauchamp: or, 
 
 dow. When he did look out of the window, 
 the first thing his eyes fell upon was the first- 
 mentioned gentleman dropping his pills into 
 the water; and there being something curious 
 and interesting in the whole proceeding, the 
 man in the mill watched the man by the river 
 for some minutes. He then quietly slipped 
 out, and as the door was on the opposite side 
 from that on which the operations I have de- 
 scribed were going on, he did so unperceived. 
 It would seem that the watcher became much 
 affected by what he saw, for the next minute 
 he glided softly over the turf behind a bush, 
 and thence to a clump of trees, and then to a 
 single old oak, with a good wide trunk — rather 
 hollow, and somewhat shattered* about the 
 branches, but still with two or three of the 
 lower boughs left, having a fair show of leaves, 
 like a fringe of curly hair round the poll of 
 some bald Anacreon. From that he went to 
 another, and so on; in fact, dodging our first 
 friend all the way dowai, till the four first trout 
 were pocketed, and the fifth took its course 
 into the park. When the betrayer of these
 
 THE ERROR. Ill 
 
 tender innocents, however, vaulted over the 
 paUng in piu'suit, the dodger came out and 
 got behind some bushes — brambles, and other 
 similar shrubs, which have occasionally other 
 uses than bearing blackberries; and no sooner 
 did he see the successful chaser of the trout, 
 with his goodly fish in his hand, and one leg 
 over the paling, about to return to the open 
 country, than taking two steps forward, he laid 
 his hand upon his collar, and courteously 
 helped him over somewhat faster than he 
 would have come without such assistance. 
 
 The man of fishes had his back to his new 
 companion at the moment when he received 
 such unexpected support; but as soon as his 
 feet touched the gi'ound on the other side, he 
 struggled most unreasonably to free his collar 
 from the grasp that still retained it. He did 
 not succeed in this effort; far fi'om it; for he 
 well-nigh strangled himself in the attempt to 
 get out of that iron clutch; but nevertheless, 
 he contrived, at the risk of suffocation, to bring 
 himself face to face with his tenacious friend, 
 and beheld, certainly what he did not expect
 
 112 beauchamp: or, 
 
 to see. No form of grim and grisly game- 
 keeper was before him; no shooting-jacket and 
 leathern leggings; but a person in the garb of 
 a gentleman of good station, furnished with 
 arms, legs, and chest of dimensions and mate- 
 rials which seemed to show that a combat 
 would neither be a very safe nor pleasant 
 affair. 
 
 " Who the devil are you ?" asked the lover 
 of trout, in the same terms which Mr. Witting- 
 ham had used the night before to the very same 
 personage. 
 
 " Ha, ha, my friend !" exclaimed Ned Hay- 
 ward; "so you have been hocussing the trout, 
 have you?" And there they stood for a few 
 minutes, without any answers to either ques- 
 tion.
 
 THE ERROR. IIS 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Of all the turnings and windings in this 
 crooked life, one of the most disagreeable is 
 turning back; and yet it is one we aie all 
 doomed to from childhood to old age. We 
 are turned back with the smaller and the 
 greater lessons of life, and have, alas, but too 
 often, in our obstinacy or our stupidity, to 
 learn them over and over again ! I with the 
 rest of my herd must also turn back from time 
 to time ; but on the present occasion it shall 
 not be for a long way. 
 
 We have seen our good friend, Ned Hay- 
 ward, lay his hand stoutly on tlie collar of a 
 gentleman who had been taking some unwar- 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 beauchamp: or, 
 
 rantable liberties with the finny fair ones of the 
 stream ; but the question is, how happened 
 Ned Hayward to be there at that particular 
 hour of the morning ? Was he so exceedingly 
 matutinal in his habits as to be usually up, 
 dressed, and out and walking by a piece of 
 water at a period of the day when most things 
 except birds, fish, and poachers, are in their 
 beds ? Had he been roused at that hour by 
 heartache, or headache, or any other ache ? Was 
 he gouty and could not sleep — in love, and not 
 inclined to sleep ? No, reader — no. He was 
 an early man in his habits, it is true, for he was 
 in high health and spirits, and with a busy and 
 active mind, which looked upon slumber as 
 time thrown away ; but then though he rose 
 early he was always careful as to his dress. 
 He had a stiff beard, which required a good 
 deal of shaving ; his hair took him a long time, 
 for he liked it to be exceedingly clean and 
 glossy. Smooth he could not make it, for 
 that the curls prevented — curls being obstinate 
 things, and resolved to have their own way. 
 Thus, with one thing or another, sometimes
 
 THE ERROR. 115 
 
 reading scraps of a book that lay upon his 
 dressing-table, sometimes looking out of win- 
 dow, and thinking more poetically than he had 
 any notion of, sometimes cleaning his teeth till 
 they looked as white and as straight as the 
 keys of a new pianoforte, sometimes playing a 
 tune with his fingers on the top of the table, 
 and musing philosophically the while, it was 
 generally at least one hour and a half from the 
 time he arose before he issued forth into the 
 world. 
 
 This was not always the case, indeed ; for on 
 May mornings, when the trout rise — in August, 
 if he were near the moors — on the first of Sep- 
 tember, wherever he might be, for he was never 
 at that season in London — he usually abridged 
 his toilet, and might be seen in the green fields, 
 duly equipped for the sport of the season, very 
 shortly after daybreak. 
 
 " On the present occasion, and the morning 
 of which I have just spoken, there cannot be 
 the slightest doubt that he would have lain in 
 bed somewhat longer than usual, for he had 
 had a long ride the day before, some excite- 
 l2
 
 116 beauchamp: or, 
 
 ment, and a good supper ; but there was one 
 little circumstance which roused him and sent 
 him forth. At about a quarter before five, he 
 heard his door open, and a noise made amongst 
 the boots and shoes. He was in that sleepy 
 state in which the events of even five or six 
 hours before are vague and indefinite, if re- 
 collected at all ; and although he had some 
 confused notion of having ordered himself to 
 be called early, yet he knew not the why or the 
 wherefore, and internally concluded that it was 
 one of the servants of the inn come to take his 
 clothes away for the purpose of brushing them. 
 He thought, as that was a process with which 
 he had nothing to do, he might as well turn on 
 his other side, and sleep it out. Still, however, 
 there was a noise in the room, which in the end 
 disturbed him, and he gave over all the boots, 
 physical or metaphysical, to the devil. Then 
 raising himself upon his elbow, he looked 
 about, and by the dim light which was stream- 
 ing through the dimity curtains- — for the win- 
 dow was unfurnished with shutters — he saw a 
 figure somewhat like that of a large goose
 
 THE ERROR. 117 
 
 wandering about amidst the fragments of his 
 apparel. 
 
 "What in the mischief's name are you 
 about?" asked Ned Hayward, impatiently. 
 " Can't you take the things and get along ?" 
 
 " It's me, sir," said the low, sweet-toned 
 voice of the humpbacked pot-boy, who had not 
 a perfect certainty in his own mind that neuter 
 verbs are followed by a nominative case ; " you 
 were wishing to know last night about " 
 
 " Ah, hang it, so I was !" exclaimed Ned 
 Hayward ; " but I had forgotten all about it. 
 Well, my man, what can you tell me about 
 this fellow — this Wolf r Where does he live — 
 how can one get at him ? None of the j^eople 
 here will own they know anything about him, 
 but I believe they are lying, and I am very 
 sure of it. The name's a remarkable one, and 
 not to be mistaken." 
 
 " Ay, sir,' answered the pot-boy, " they 
 knew well enough whom you want, though 
 you did not mention the name they chose to 
 know him by. Wolf's a cant name, you see, 
 which he got on account of his walking about
 
 118 beauchamp: or, 
 
 so much at night, as they say wolves do, 
 though I never sav7 one." 
 
 " Well, where is he to be found ?" asked 
 Ned Hayward, in his usual rapid manner, and 
 he then added, to smooth down all difficulties, 
 *' I don't want to do the man any harm, for I 
 have a notion, somehow, that he is but a tool 
 in the business ; and therefore, although I could 
 doubtless find him out sooner or later, and 
 deal with him as I think fit, yet I would rather 
 have his address privately, that I may go and 
 talk to him alone." 
 
 " Ah, sir, he may be a tool," answered the 
 pot-boy, " but he's an awkward tool to work 
 with. I could tell you something about him, if 
 I were quite sure you did not intend him any 
 harm, because he is not a bad fellow at heart, 
 sir." 
 
 " I do not intend to harm him, upon my 
 honour," replied Ned Hayward ; " and you 
 may trust me safely, my man." 
 
 "I am sure I can, sir," answered the lad. 
 " You do not look like one to harm a poor fel- 
 low. WeU, if you had asked the people for
 
 THE ERROR. 119 
 
 Ste Gimlet, they'd have been obliged to answer; 
 for they can't deny having heard of him.''' 
 
 " But where does he live ? How am I to 
 find him ?" asked Ned Hay ward. 
 
 " That's not quite so easy, sir," replied the 
 hunchback, " for he wanders about a good deal, 
 but he has got a place where he says he lives 
 on Yaldon Moor, behind the park ; and that 
 he's there some time in every day is certain. I 
 should think the morning as good a time as 
 any, and you may catch him on the look-out 
 if you go round by the back of the park, and 
 then up the river by the old mill. There's an 
 overgo a little higher up, and I shouldn't won- 
 der if he were dabbhng about in the water \ for 
 it isn't the time for partridges or hares, and he 
 must be doing something." 
 
 " But what sort of a place has he on the 
 moor ?" asked Ned Hayward, beginning to get 
 more and more interested in the pursuit of his 
 inquiries ; " how can I find it, my man ?" 
 
 " It's not easy," answered his companion, 
 " for it's built down in the pit. However, when 
 you have crossed by the overgo, you will find
 
 120 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 a little path just before you, and if you go along 
 that straight, without either turning to the right 
 or the left, it will lead you right up to the moor. 
 Then I'm sure I don't know how to direct you, 
 for the roads go turning about in all manner of 
 ways." 
 
 " Is it east, west, north, or south ?" asked 
 Captain Hayward, impatiently. 
 
 " Why, east," answered the boy ; " and I dare 
 say, if you go soon, you will find the sun just 
 peeping out over the moor in that direction. 
 It's a pretty sight, and I've looked at it often, 
 to see the sunshine come streaming through 
 the morning mist, and making all the green 
 things that grow about there look like gold and 
 purple ; and very often, too, I've seen the blue 
 smoke coming up out of the pit from Ste's cot- 
 tage-chimney. Perhaps it may be so wheii you 
 go, and then you'll easily find it." 
 
 " And whose park is it you speak of, boy ?" 
 said Ned Hayward. " There may be half-a- 
 dozen about here." 
 
 " Why, Sir John Slingsby's," answered the 
 boy ; " that's the only one we call the Park 
 about here."
 
 THE ERROR. 121 
 
 " Oh, then, I know it," rejoined the gentle- 
 man, stre telling out his hand at the same time, 
 and taking his purse from a chair that stood by 
 his bedside; "there's a crown for you; and 
 now carry oflf the boots and clothes, and get 
 them brushed as fast as possible." 
 
 The boy did as he was told, took the crown 
 with many thanks, gathered together the various 
 articles of apparel which lay scattered about, 
 and retired from the room. Ned Hay ward,, 
 however, without waiting for his return, jumped 
 out of bed, drew forth fi'om one of his port- 
 manteaus another complete suit of clothes, 
 plunged his head, hands, and neck in cold 
 water, and then mentally saying, " I will shave 
 when I come back ; there is no use of waken- 
 ing Beauchamp," he dressed himself in haste, 
 and looked out for a moment into the }^^ard, to 
 see whether many of the members of the house- 
 hold were astir. There was a man at the very 
 fiu'ther end of the yard cleaning a horse, and 
 just under the window, the little defonned pot- 
 boy, whistling a plaintive air with the most ex- 
 quisite taste, while he was brushing a coat and
 
 1-22 
 
 waistcoat. The finest and most beautiful 
 player on the flageolet, never equalled the tones 
 that were issuing from his little pale lips, and 
 Ned Hayward could not refrain from pausing 
 a moment to listen ; but then putting on his 
 hat, he hurried down stairs, and beckoned the 
 boy towards him. 
 
 " Do not say that I am out, my man, unless 
 any questions are asked," he said ; " and when 
 you have brushed the clothes, put them on a 
 chair at the door." 
 
 The boy nodded significantly; and our friend, 
 Ned Hayward, took his way out of the town in 
 the direction which the boy had indicated. Of 
 all the various bumps in the human head, the 
 bump of locality is the foremost. This book, 
 the reader is well aware, is merely a phrenolo- 
 gical essay in a new form. So the bump of 
 locality is the most capricious, whimsical, irra- 
 tional, unaccountable, perverse, and unmanage- 
 able of all bumps. To some men it affords a 
 faculty of finding their way about houses — I 
 wish to Heaven it did so with me, for I am 
 always getting into wrong rooms and places
 
 THE ERROR. 128 
 
 where I have no business — others it enables to 
 go through all sorts of tortuous paths and ways 
 almost by intuition ; with others it is strong 
 regarding government offices, and the places 
 connected therewith ; but in Ned Hay ward it 
 was powerful in the country, and it would have 
 been a very vigorous ignis fatuus indeed that 
 would lead him astray either on horseback or 
 on foot. Three words of direction generally 
 sufficed — if they were clear, and he was as 
 sure of his journey as if he knew every step of 
 the way. There might be a little calculation 
 in the thing — a sort of latent argumentation — 
 for no one knew better that if a place lay due 
 north, the best way to arrive at it was not to 
 go due south, or was more clearly aware that 
 in ordinary circumstances, the way into the 
 valley was not to climb the hill ; but Ned Hay- 
 ward was rarely disposed to analyse any pro- 
 cess in his own mind. He had always hated 
 dissected puzzles even in his boyhood; and as 
 his mind was a very good mind, he generally 
 let it take its own way, without troubling it 
 with questions. Thus he walked straight on
 
 124 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 out of the little town, along the bank of the 
 river, and finding himself interrupted, after 
 about three miles, by the park wall, he took a 
 path through the fields to the left, then struck 
 back again to the right, and soon after had a 
 glimpse of the river again above its passage 
 through Sir John Slingsby's park. 
 
 All this time, Ned Hayward's mind was not 
 unoccupied. He saw everything that was pass- 
 ing about him, and meditated upon it without 
 knowing that he was meditating. The sky was 
 still quite gray when he set out ; but presently 
 the morning began to hang out her banners of 
 purple and gold to welcome the. monarch of 
 day; and Ned Hay ward said to hiijhself, " How 
 wonderfully beautiful all this is, and w^hat a 
 fine ordination is it that every change in nature 
 should produce some variety of beauty !'' Then 
 he remarked upon the trees, and the birc^y ^id 
 the meadows, and the reflections of the sky in 
 a clear, smooth part of the river, and with some- 
 what of a painter's mind, perceived the beau- 
 tiful harmony that is produced by the effect 
 which one colour has upon another by its side.
 
 THE ERROR. 125 
 
 And then he passed a little -village church, with 
 the steeple shrouded in ivy; and it filled his 
 mind full of quiet and peaceful images, and 
 simple rural life (with a moral to it all), and 
 his thoughts ran on to a thousand scenes of 
 honest happiness, till he had the game at skit- 
 tles, and the maypole on the green before him 
 as plain as if it were all real ; and the ivy and 
 two old yews carried him away to early times 
 when that ancient church was new. Heaven 
 knows how far his fancy went galloping ! — 
 through the whole history of England, at least. 
 But all these reveries went out of his head 
 almost as soon as the objects that excited them ; 
 and then, as he went through some neat hedge- 
 rows and pleasant corn-fields, which promised 
 well in their green freshness for an abundant 
 harvest, he began to think of partridges and an 
 occasional pheasant lying under a holly-bush, 
 and pointing dogs and tumbling birds, a full 
 game-bag, and a capital dinner, with a drowsy 
 evening afterwards. Good Heavens ! what a 
 thing it is to be young, and in high health, and 
 in high spirits ! — how easy the load of life sits
 
 126 beauchamp: or, 
 
 upon one ! — how insignificant are its cares to its 
 enjoyments! — every moment has its flitting 
 dream; every hour its becoming enjoyment, if 
 we choose to seek it ; every flower, be it bitter 
 or be it sweet, be it inodorous or be it per- 
 fumed, has its nectary full of honeyed drops, ripe 
 for the lip that will vouchsafe to press it. But 
 years, years, they bring on the autumn of the 
 heart, when the bright and blooming petals have 
 passed away, when the dreams have vanished 
 with the light slumbers of early years, and 
 everything is in the seed for generations to 
 come ; we feel ourselves the husks of the earth, 
 and find that it is time to fall off", and give 
 place to the bloom and blossom of another 
 epoch. 
 
 Our friend, however, if not in the budding 
 time of life, had nothing of the sere and yellow 
 leaf about him. He was one of those men who 
 are calculated to carry on the day-dream of 
 boyhood, even beyond its legitimate limit; 
 nothing fretted him, nothing wore him, few 
 things grieved him. It required the diamond 
 point to make a deep impression, and though
 
 THE ERROR. 127 
 
 he reflected the lights that fell upon him from 
 other objects, it was but the more powerful 
 rays that penetrated into the depth, and that 
 not very frequently. Thus on he went upon 
 his way, and what he had got to after partridges 
 and pheasants, and matters of such kind, 
 Heaven only knows ! He might be up in the 
 moon for aught I can tell, or in the Indies, or 
 riding astride upon a comet, or in any other 
 position the least likely for a man to place 
 himself in except when aided by the wings of 
 imagination ; and yet, strange to say, Ned 
 Hayward had not the slightest idea that he had 
 any imagination at all ! He believed himself 
 to be the most simple, jog-trot, matter-of-fact 
 creature in all the world. But to return, he 
 was indulging in all sorts of fantasies, just when 
 a little path between two high hedges opened 
 out upon a narrow meadow, by the side of the 
 river, at a spot just opposite the old mill, and 
 not more than forty or fifty yards distant from 
 the door thereof. He saw the old mill and the 
 stream, but saw nothing else, upon my word, 
 and thinking to himself —
 
 128 beauchamp: or, 
 
 " What a picturesque ruin that is ; it looks 
 like some feudal castle built beside the water 
 parting two hostile barons' domains ! What the 
 deuce can it have been ?" 
 
 Doubt with him always led to examination, 
 so, without more ado, he crossed over the open 
 space with his usual quick step, entered the 
 mill, looked about him, satisfied himself in a 
 minute as to what had been its destination, 
 and then gazed out of the windows, first up 
 the stream, and next down. Up the stream he 
 saw some swallows skimming over the water, 
 the first that summer had brought to our shores; 
 and, moreover, a sedate heron, with its blue 
 back appearing over some reeds, one leg in the 
 water, and one raised to its breast. When he 
 looked down, however, he perceived the gentle- 
 man I have described, dropping some pellets 
 into the water, and he thought " That's a 
 curious operation. What can he be about?" 
 
 The next minute, however, the illegitimate 
 wooer of the fishes turned his face partly 
 towards the mill, and Ned Hayward murmured 
 " Ah, ha, Master Wolf, alias Ste Gimlet, I have
 
 THE ERROR. 129 
 
 you now, I think." And issuing forth, he 
 dogged him down the bank as I have before 
 described, till at length, choosing his moment 
 dexterously, he grasped him by the collar, in 
 such a manner, that if he had had the strength 
 of Hercules, he would have found it a more 
 difficult matter to escape, than to kill forty 
 Hydras, or clean fifty Augean stables. 
 
 " Hocussing the fish !" said the prisoner, in 
 answer to one of Captain Hay ward's first in- 
 timations of what he thought of his proceedings, 
 " I don't know what you mean by hocussing 
 the fish — I've got a few dead 'uns out of the 
 river — that's all ; and no great harm, I should 
 think, just to make a fry." 
 
 " Ay, my good friend," replied Ned Hayward, 
 " dead enough, I dare say they were when you 
 got them ; but I'm afraid we must have a 
 coroner's inquest upon them, and I do not 
 think the verdict will be * Found drowned.' 
 What T mean, my man, is, that you have 
 poisoned them — a cunning trick, but one that 
 I know as well as your name or my own." 
 
 " And what the devil is your name .'"' asked 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 beauchamp: or, 
 
 the captive, trying to twist himself round, so as 
 at least to get a blow or a kick at his captor. 
 
 " Be quiet — be quiet !" answered Ned Hay- 
 ward, half strangling him in his collar. " My 
 name is my own property, and I certainly will 
 not give it to you ; but your own you shall have, 
 if you like. You are called Ste Gimlet, or I am 
 mistaken, but better known at night by the 
 name of Wolf." 
 
 The man muttered an angry growl, and Ned 
 Hayward continued, 
 
 " You see I know all about you ; and, to 
 tell you the truth, I was looking for you." 
 
 " Ah, so he's had some 'un down from 
 London," said Wolf, entirely mistaking the 
 nature of Captain Hay ward's rank and avoca- 
 tion. " Well, so help me , if ever I did 
 
 this on his ground afore, sir." 
 
 " Well, Master Gimlet," answered Ned Hay- 
 ward, perfectly understanding what was passing 
 in the man's mind, and willing to encourage 
 the mistake, " I have been asked down cer- 
 tainly, and I suppose I must take you before 
 Sir John Slingsby at once — unless, indeed,
 
 THE ERROR. 131 
 
 you like to make the matter up one way or 
 another." 
 
 " I haven't got a single crown in the world," 
 answered the poacher ; " if you know all, you'd 
 know that I am poor enough." 
 
 " Ay, but there are more ways than one of 
 making matters up," rejoined Ned Hay ward, in 
 a meaning tone. " You know a httle bit of 
 business you were about last night." 
 
 The man's face turned as white as a sheet, 
 and his limbs trembled as if he had been in the 
 cold fit of an ague. All his strength was gone 
 in a moment, and he was as powerless as a 
 baby. 
 
 " Why," faltered he, at length, " you could not 
 be sent for that affair, for there's not been time." 
 
 " Xo, certainly," replied the young gentle- 
 man ; " but having been asked down here on 
 other matters, I have just taken that up, and 
 may go through with it or not, just as it suits 
 me. Now you see, Ste," he continued, en- 
 deavouring to assume, as well as he could, 
 somewhat of the Bow-street officer tone, and 
 doing so quite sufficiently to effect his object 
 k2
 
 132 beauchamp: or, 
 
 with a country delinquent, " a nod, you know, is 
 quite as good as a wink to a blind horse." 
 
 " Ay, ay, I understand, sir," answered Mr. 
 Gimlet. 
 
 " Well, then," continued Ned Hayward, " 1 
 understand, too ; and being quite sure that you 
 are not what we call the principal in this 
 business, but only an accessory, I am willing 
 to give you a chance." 
 
 " Thank'ee, sir," replied Wolf, in a medita- 
 tive tone, but he said no more ; and his captor, 
 who wished him to speak voluntarily, was 
 somewhat disappointed. 
 
 "You are mighty dull. Master Wolf," said 
 Ned Hayward, " and therefore I must ask you 
 just as plain a question as the judge does when 
 he has got the black cap in his hand ready to 
 put on. Have you anything to say why I 
 should not take you at once before Sir John 
 Slingsby ?" 
 
 " Why, what the devil should I say ?" rejoined 
 the man, impatiently. " If you know me, I 
 dare say you know the others, and if you're so 
 cunning, you must guess very well that it was
 
 THE ERROR. 1:33 
 
 not money that we were after ; so that it can't 
 be no felony, after all." 
 
 " If it is not a felony, it is not worth my 
 while to meddle with," answered Xed Hayward, 
 " but there may be different opinions ujDon that 
 subject ; and if you like to tell me aU about it, 
 I shall be able to judge. I guessed it was not 
 for money ; but there is many a thing as bad 
 as that. I don't ask you to speak, but you 
 'may if you like. If you don't, come along." 
 
 "Well, I'll speak all I know," answered 
 Wolf; "that's to say, if you'll just let me get 
 breath, for, hang me if your grip does not half 
 strangle me. I'll not mention names though, 
 for I won't peach ; but just to show you that 
 there was nothing so very wrong, I'll tell you 
 what it was all about — that's to say, if you'll 
 let me off about these devils of fish." 
 
 " Agreed as to the fish," replied Ned Hay- 
 ward, " if you tell the truth. I don't want to 
 throttle you either, my good friend ; but mark 
 me well, if I let go my hold, and you attempt 
 to bolt, I will knock you down, and have you 
 before a magistrate in five minutes. Sit down
 
 134 beauchamp: or, 
 
 there on the bank, then." And without loosen- 
 ing his grasp, he forced his prisoner to bend 
 his knees and take up a position before him, 
 from which it would not have been possible to 
 rise without encountering a blow from a very 
 powerful fist. When this was accomplished, 
 he let the man's collar go, and standing directly 
 opposite, bade him proceed. 
 
 This seemed not so easy a task as might 
 have been imagined, at least to our friend Mr. 
 Gimlet, who, not being a practised orator, 
 wanted the art of saying as much as possible 
 upon everything unimportant, and as little 
 as possible upon everything important. He 
 scratched his head heartily, however, and that 
 stimulus at length enabled him to produce the 
 following sentence. 
 
 " Well, you see, sir, it was nothing at all but 
 a bit of love-making." 
 
 "It did not look like it," answered Ned 
 Hayward. 
 
 " Well, it was, though," said Mr. Gimlet, in 
 a decided tone. "The young gentleman, 
 whom I'm talking of, wanted to get the young
 
 THE ERROR. 135 
 
 lady away ; for you see her mother looks very 
 sharp after her, and so he had a chaise ready, 
 and me and another to help him ; and if those 
 two fellows had not come up just as we were 
 about it, he'd have had her half way to Scotland 
 by this time." 
 
 " And where is the young gentleman, as you 
 call him, now ?" asked Ned Haj^ward, in that 
 sort of quiet, easy tone, in which people some- 
 times put questions, which, if considered seri- 
 ously, would be the least likely to receive an 
 answer. 
 
 But his companion was upon his guard. 
 " That's neither here nor there," he replied. 
 
 "It is, I can assure you, my good fiiend 
 Wolf," said the young gentleman ; " for what- 
 ever you may think, this was just as much a 
 felony as if you had taken a purse or cut a 
 throat Two pistols were fired, I think — the 
 young lady is an heiress ; and forcibly canying 
 away an heiress, is as bad as a robbery ; it is a 
 sort of picking her pocket of herself. So, if 
 you have a mind to escape a noose, you'll 
 instantly tell me where he is."
 
 136 beauchamp: or, 
 
 The man thrust his hands into his pockets, 
 and gazed at his interrogator with a sullen 
 face, in which fear might be seen struggling 
 with dogged resolution; but Ned Hayward 
 the moment after, added as a sort of rider to 
 his bill, 
 
 " I dare say he is some low fellow who did 
 it for her money." 
 
 " No, that he's not, by !" cried the other. 
 
 " He's a gentleman's son, and a devilish rich 
 one's, too." 
 
 "Ah ha! Mr. Wittingham's !" cried Ned 
 Hayward; "now I understand you," and he 
 laughed with his peculiar clear, merry laugh, 
 which made Mr. Gimlet at first angry, and 
 then inclined to join him. " And now, my good 
 friend," continued Ned Hayward, laying his 
 hand upon his companion's shoulder, " you may 
 get up, and be off. You've made a great 
 blunder, and mistaken me for a very respectable 
 sort of functionary, upon whose peculiar pro- 
 vince I have no inclination to trespass any 
 further — I mean a thief- taker. If you will take 
 my advice, however, neither you nor Mr. Wit-
 
 THE ERROR. 137 
 
 tingham will play such tricks again, for if you 
 do, you may fare worse ; and you may as well 
 leave off hocussing trout, snaring pheasants 
 and hares, and shooting partridges on the sly, 
 and take to some more legitimate occupation. 
 You would make a very good gamekeeper, I 
 dare say, upon the principle of setting a thief 
 to catch a thief; and some of these days I will 
 come up to your place upon the moor, and have 
 a chat with you about it ; I doubt not you could 
 show me some sport with otters, or badgers, or 
 things of that kind." 
 
 "Upon my soul and body, you're a cool 
 hand !" cried Ste Gimlet, rising and looking at 
 Captain Hayward, as if he did not well know 
 whether to knock him down or not 
 
 "I am," answered our friend Ned, with a 
 calm smile, " quite cool, and always cool, as 
 you'll find when you know me better. As to 
 what has passed to-day I shall take no notice 
 of this fish affair ; and in regard to Mr. Wit- 
 tingham's proceedings last night, I shall deli- 
 berate a little before I act. You'd better tell 
 him so when you next see him, just to keep
 
 138 beauchamp: or, 
 
 him on his good behaviour; and so good morning 
 to you, my friend." 
 
 Thus saying, Ned Hayward turned away, 
 and walked towards the town, without once 
 looking to see whether his late prisoner was or 
 was not about to hit him a blow on the head. 
 Perhaps had he known what was passing in 
 worthy Mr. Gimlet's mind, he might have taken 
 some precaution ; for certainly that gentleman 
 was considerably moved ; but if the good and 
 the bad spirit had a struggle together in his 
 breast, the good got the better at length, and 
 he exclaimed, " No, hang it, I won't !" and with 
 a slow and thoughtful step he walked up the 
 stream again, towards the path which led to 
 the moor. 
 
 Upon that path I shall leave him, and 
 begging the reader to get upon any favourite 
 horse he may have in the stable — hobby or not 
 hobby — canter gaily back again to take up 
 some friends we have left far behind.
 
 THE ERROR. 139 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The reader may remember that we left a lady 
 and her daughter, whom Ned Hayward after- 
 wards discovered to be a IMrs. and Miss Clif- 
 ford, standing at the door of Sir John Slingsby's 
 house, in the heart of what was called Taming- 
 ham Pai'k. All that Xed Hayward (or the 
 reader either) knew of their historj' at the 
 moment that he quitted them, after ha^-ing 
 assisted them to alight from their carriage, 
 was as follows : that the elder lady had been 
 sent for to see her elder brother in his last 
 moments, he having been accused of having 
 gout in the stomach, and that she and her
 
 140 
 
 daughter had been stopped on the king's high- 
 way by three personages, two of whom, at 
 least, had pistols with them; that they had been 
 rescued by Captain Hayward himself, and 
 another gentleman ; that on arriving at Tarning- 
 ham House it did not look at all like the dwell- 
 ing of a dying man, and that the answer of the 
 butler to Mrs. Clifford's inquiries regarding her 
 brother's health was, " Quite well, thank you, 
 ma'am," delivered in the most commonplace 
 tone in the world. 
 
 At the precise point of time when this reply 
 was made, Ned Hayward took his leave, re- 
 mounted his horse, and rode back to Tarning- 
 ham; and after he was gone, Mrs. Clifford 
 remained for at least thirty seconds somewhat , 
 bewildered with what seemed to her a very 
 strange announcement. When she had done 
 being bewildered, and seemed to have got a 
 slight glimpse of the real state of the case, she 
 turned^an anxious glance to her daughter, to 
 which Miss Clifford, who fully understood what 
 it meant, replied at once, without requiring to 
 have it put into words : " You had better go in.
 
 THE ERROR. 141 
 
 clear ruammaj" she said ; " it will grieve poor 
 Isabella if you do not ; and besides, it might 
 be risking a great deal to go back at night with 
 nobody to protect us." 
 
 Mrs. Clifford still hesitated a little, but in 
 the meantime some by-play had been going on 
 which decided the question. The butler had 
 called a footman; the footman had taken a 
 portmanteau and some smaller packages from 
 the boot of the carriage ; the name of Mrs. 
 Clifford had been mentioned once or twice; a 
 lady's-maid crossing the hall had seen the two 
 ladies' faces by the light of a great lamp ; and 
 in a moment after, from a door on the -opposite 
 side of the vestibule, came forth a fair and 
 graceful figure, looking like Hebe dressed for 
 dinner. 
 
 " Oh, my dear aunt !" she exclaimed, running 
 across to Mrs. Chfford and kissing her, " and 
 you, too, my dear Mary ! This is indeed an 
 unexpected pleasure ; but come in — come into 
 the drawing-room. They will bring in all the 
 thmgs. There is no one there," she continued, 
 seeing her aunt hesitate a little ; " I am quite
 
 142 beauchamp: or, 
 
 alone, and shall be for the next two hours, I 
 dare say." 
 
 Mrs. Clifford suffered herself to be led on 
 into a fine large old-fashioned drawing-room ; 
 and then began the explanations. 
 
 " And so, Isabella, you did not expect me 
 to-night?" said the elder lady, addressing Hebe. 
 " Either for jest or for mischief, some one has 
 played us a trick. Have you got the letter, 
 Mary ?" 
 
 It was in Miss Clifford's writing-desk, how- 
 ever, as letters always are in some place where 
 they cannot be found when they are wanted ; 
 but the -fact was soon explained that Mrs. 
 Clifford, that very day about four o'clock, had 
 received a letter, purporting to come from the 
 housekeeper at Tarningham House, informing 
 her that her brother, Sir John Slingsby, had 
 been suddenly seized with gout in the stomach, 
 and was not expected to live from hour to 
 hour; that Miss Slingsby was too much agi- 
 tated to write ; but that Sir John expressed an 
 eager desire to see his sister before he died. 
 
 " Good gracious !" exclaimed the fair Isabella,
 
 THE ERROR. 143 
 
 *• who could ha% e done such a thing as that ?" 
 and then she laughed quietly, adding — " well, 
 at all events I am very much obliged to them ; 
 but it was a shameful trick, notwithstanding." 
 
 " You haven't heard the whole yet, Isabella," 
 replied Mrs. Clifford, " for we have been 
 stopped between this and Tamingham, and 
 should have been robbed — perhaps murdered 
 — if two gentlemen had not come up to our 
 rescue. Good Heaven, it makes me feel quite 
 faint to think of it." And she sat down in one 
 of the large arm-chairs, and put her hand to 
 her head, while her cheek turned somewhat 
 pale. 
 
 " Take a little wine, my dear aunt," cried 
 Isabella ; and, before Mrs. Clifford could stop 
 her, she had darted out of the room. 
 
 As soon as she was alone with her daughter, 
 the widow lady gazed round the chamber in 
 which she sat, with a thoughtful and melan- 
 choly look. She was in the house where her 
 early days of girlhood had passed — she was in 
 the very room whence she had gone, in all the 
 agitation of happy love, as a bride to the altar.
 
 144 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 She peopled the place with forms that could 
 no longer be seen, she called up the loved and 
 the dead, the parents who had cherished and 
 instructed her, the fair sister who had bloomed 
 and withered by her side. How many happy, 
 how many a painful scene rose to the eye of 
 memory, on that stage where they had been 
 enacted ! All the material objects were the 
 same — the pictures, the furniture, the old oak 
 panelling, with its carved wreaths ; but where 
 were they who moved so lately beside her in 
 that chamber — where was all that had there 
 been done? The grave and the past — man's 
 tomb, and the tomb of man's actions had re- 
 ceived them, and in the short space of twenty 
 years all had gone, fading away, and dissolving 
 into air, like a smoke rising up unto heaven, 
 and spreading out thinner and thinner, till 
 nought remains. Herself and a brother, from 
 whom many circumstances had detached her, 
 were all that were left of the crowd of happy 
 faces which remembrance called back as she 
 sat there and gazed around. Some tears rose 
 to her eyes, and Mary, who had been standing
 
 THE ERROR. 145 
 
 by, gazing at her face, and reading in it with 
 the quick appreciation of affection all the emo- 
 tions which brought such shadows over the 
 loved mother's brow, knelt down beside her, 
 and taking her hand in hers, said earnestly, 
 " Mamma, dear mamma, I know this is painful ; 
 but pray, for my sake and Isabella's, let the 
 shameful deceit that has been played upon us 
 produce a good and happy result. You are 
 here in my uncle's house; be reconciled to 
 him fully, I beseech you. You know that he is 
 good-humoured, notwithstanding all his faults; 
 and I cannot but think that if those who might 
 have led him to better things, had not with- 
 drawn from him so completely, he might now 
 have been a different man." 
 
 Mrs. Clifford shook her head mournfully. 
 
 " My dear child," she said, " you know that 
 it is not resentment; it was your good father 
 who did not feel it consistent with his character 
 and station to countenance all that takes place 
 here." 
 
 " But for Isabella's sake," said Miss Clifford, 
 earnestly ; and before her mother could answer, 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 beauchamp: or, 
 
 the young lady of whom she spoke re-entered 
 the room, with a servant carrying some refresh- 
 ments. 
 
 "Oh, dear aunt," she said, while the wine 
 and water and biscuits were placed upon a 
 small table at Mrs. Clifford's elbow, " it makes 
 me so glad to see you, and I have ordered the 
 blue room at the south side to be got ready for 
 you directly, and then there is the corner one 
 for Mary, because it has a window both ways, 
 and when she is in a gay mood she can look 
 out over the meadows and the stream, and 
 when she is in her high pensiveness she can 
 gaze over the deep woods and hills. Then 
 she is next to me, too, so that she may have 
 merry nonsense on one side, and grave sense 
 on the other; for I am sure you will stay a long 
 while with us now you are here, and papa will 
 be so glad." 
 
 "I fear it cannot be very long, my love," 
 replied Mrs. Clifford. " In the first place, I 
 have come, it seems, uninvited ; and in the next 
 place, you know, Isabella, that I am sometimes 
 out of spirits, and perhaps fastidious, so that
 
 THE ERROR. 147 
 
 all guests do not at all times please me. Who 
 have you here now? There seemed a large 
 party in the dining-room." 
 
 " Oh J there are several very foolish men," 
 answered Sir John Slingsby's daughter, laugh- 
 ing, " and one wise one. There is Mr. Dabble- 
 worth, who was trying to prove to me all 
 dinner-time that I am an electrical machine ; 
 and in the end, I told him I could easily be- 
 lieve he was one, for he certainly gave me a 
 shock; and Sir James Vestage, who joined in, 
 and insisted that instead of electrical machines 
 men were merely improved monkeys. I told 
 him that I perfectly agreed with him, and that 
 I saw fresh proofs of it every day. Then up 
 by papa was sitting old Mr. Harrington, the 
 fox-hunter; what he was saying I do not know, 
 for I never listen to anything he says, as it is 
 sure either to be stupid or offensive. Then 
 there was Charles Harrington, who lisped a 
 good deal, and thought himself exceedingly 
 pretty; and Mr. Wharton, the lawyer, who 
 thought deeply and drank deeply, and said 
 nothing but once." 
 
 L 2
 
 148 beauchamp: or, 
 
 "But who was your wise man, dear Isabella?" 
 asked Mary, very willing to encourage her fair 
 cousin in her light cheerfulness, hoping that it 
 might win Mrs. Clifford gently from sadder 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Oh, who but good Dr. Miles," answered 
 Miss Slingsby, " who grumbled sadly at every 
 body, and even papa did not escape, I can 
 assure you. But all these people will be gone 
 in an hour or two, and in the meantime I shall 
 have you all alone." 
 
 " Then there is no one staying in the house, 
 Isabella?" said Mrs. Clifford. "I heard at 
 Tarningham that your father expected some 
 people from London." 
 
 " Only one, I believe," answered the fair 
 daughter of the house, " but he has not arrived 
 yet, and perhaps may not. He is Captain 
 Hayward, who was ensign in papa's regiment 
 long ago. He was a gay, thoughtless, good- 
 humoured lad at that time, I recollect ; but I 
 do not remember much about him, except that 
 he was a gentleman, which some others in the 
 regiment were not. Pray, pray, do stay, dear
 
 THE ERROR. 149 
 
 aunt, till he is gone, for I know not what I should 
 do with him in the house by myself. I posi- 
 tively must get papa to ask somebody else, or 
 persuade the good doctor to come up and flirt 
 with me to my heart's content, just as a diver- 
 sion from the pleasures of this Captain Hay- 
 ward's society." 
 
 " A very disagreeable person, I dare say," 
 replied Mary Clifford. 
 
 But all further discussion was suddenly 
 brought to an end by the door of the drawing- 
 room being thrown open, and Sir John Slingsby 
 rushing in. 
 
 Stay a moment, reader, and observe him 
 before he advances. Honest Jack Slingsby ! 
 Roystering Sir John ! Jolly old Jack ! Glorious 
 Johnny ! By all these names was he known, 
 or had been known, by persons in different 
 degrees of acquaintanceship with him. That 
 round and portly form, now extending the 
 white waistcoat and black-silk breeches, had 
 once been slim and graceful: that face, glowing 
 with the grape in all its different hues, from the 
 ceil de perdrix upon the temples and forehead
 
 150 beauchamp: or, 
 
 to the deep purple of old port in the nose, had 
 once been smooth and fair. That nose itself, 
 raising itself now into mighty dominion over 
 the rest of the face, and spreading out. Heaven 
 knows where, over the map of his countenance, 
 like the empire of Russia in the map of Europe, 
 was once fine and chiselled like Apollo's own. 
 That thin white hair, flaring up into a cockatoo 
 on the top of his head, to cover the well-con- 
 firmed baldness, was once a mass of dark curls 
 that would not have disgraced the brow of 
 Jove. You may see the remains of former 
 dandyism in the smart shoe, the tight silk 
 stocking, the well cut blue coat; and you may 
 imagine how much activity those limbs once 
 possessed from the quick and buoyant step 
 with which the capacious stomach is carried 
 into the room. There is a jauntiness, too, in 
 the step which would seem to imply that the 
 portion of youthful vigour and activity which is 
 undoubtedly gone has been parted from with 
 regret, and that he would fain persuade himself 
 and others that he still retains it in its full 
 elasticity; but yet there is nothing affected
 
 THE ERROR. 151 
 
 about it either, and perhaps after all it is 
 merely an effort of the mind to overcome the 
 approach of corporeal infirmity, and to carrj^ on 
 the war as well as may be. Look at the good- 
 humoured smile, too, the buoyant, boisterous, 
 overflowing satisfaction which is radiating from 
 every point of that rosy countenance. Who 
 on earth could be angry with him ? One might 
 be provoked, but angry one couldn't be. It is 
 evidently the face of one who takes the world 
 lightly — who esteems nothing as very heavy — 
 retains no impressions very long — enjoys the 
 hour and its pleasures to the very utmost — and 
 has no great consciousness of sin or shame in 
 anything that he does. He is, in fact, a fat 
 butterfly, who, though he may have some diffi- 
 culty in fluttering from flower to flower, does 
 his best to sip the sweets of all he finds, and 
 not very imsuccessftdly. 
 
 With that same jaunty light step, with that 
 same good-humoured, well-satisfied smile. Sir 
 John Slingsby advanced straight to his sister, 
 took her in his arms, gave her a hearty kiss, 
 and shook both her hands, exclaiming, in a
 
 152 beauchamp: ok, 
 
 round, full, juicy voice, almost as fat as himself, 
 " Well, my dear Harriet, I'm very happy to 
 see you ! This is kind, this is very kind indeed; 
 I could hardly believe my ears when the ser- 
 vants told me you were here ; but I left the 
 fellows immediately, to fuddle their noses at 
 leisure, and came to assure myself that it was 
 a fact. And my dear Mary, too, my little 
 saint, how are you, my dear girl ?" 
 
 " We were brought here, John," replied Mrs. 
 Clifford, " by a very shameful trick." And she 
 proceeded to explain to him the trick which 
 had been practised upon her. 
 
 " Gout 1" exclaimed Sir John, " gout in the 
 stomach ! It would be a devilish large gout to 
 take up his abode in my stomach, or else he'd 
 find the house too big for him ;" and he laid 
 his hand upon his large paunch with an air of 
 pride and satisfaction. " Gout ! that does not 
 look like gout, I think," and he stuck out his 
 neat foot, and trim, well-shaped ankle ; " never 
 had but one threatening of a fit in my life, and 
 then I cured it in an afternoon — with three 
 bottles of Champagne and a glass of brandy,"
 
 THE ERROR. 15S 
 
 he added, in a sort of loud aside to Man*, as if 
 she would enter into the joke better than her 
 mother. " And so really, Harriet, you would 
 not have come if you had not thought me dying. 
 Come, come, now, forget and forgive. Let by- 
 gones be bygones. I know I am a great fool, 
 and do a great many very silly things; but 
 'pon my soul I'm very sorry for it — I am indeed. 
 You can't think how I abominate myself some- 
 times, and wonder what the devil possesses me. 
 I'll repent and reform, upon my life I will, 
 Harriet, if you'U just stay and help me — it's 
 being left all alone to struggle with temptation 
 that makes me fall so often: but every ten 
 minutes I'm saying to myself, ^ What an old 
 fool you are. Jack Slingsby !' so now you'll 
 stay, like a dear, good girl, as you always were, 
 and help to make my house a little respectable. 
 Forget and forgive — forget and forgive I" 
 
 " My dear John, I have nothing to forgive," 
 answered Mrs. Clifford. " You know very well 
 that I would do anything in the world ta 
 promote your welfare, and always wished it, 
 but "
 
 154 beauchamp: or, 
 
 "Ay, ay, it was your husband," answered 
 Sir John, bringing an instant cloud over his 
 sister's face. " Well, he was a good man — an 
 excellent man — ay, and a kind man, too, and 
 he was devilish right, after all ; I can't help 
 saying it, though I suffer. In his station, what 
 could he do ? An archdeacon and then a dean, 
 it was not to be expected that he should coun- 
 tenance rioting, and roaring, and drinking, and 
 all that, as we used to do here ; but 'pon my 
 life, Harriet, I'll put an end to it. Now you 
 shall see, I won't drink another glass to-night, 
 and I'll send all those fellows away within half 
 an hour, by Jove ! I'll just go back and order 
 coffee in the dining-room, and that'll be a broad 
 hint, you know. Bella will take care of you in 
 the meantime, and I'll be back in half an hour 
 — high time I should reform, indeed — even 
 that monkey begins to lecture me. I've got a 
 capital fellow coming down to stay with me — 
 the best fellow in the world — as gay as a lark, 
 and as active as a squirrel ; yet, somehow or 
 other, he always kept himself right, and never 
 played at cards, the dog, nor got drunk either.
 
 THE ERROR. 155 
 
 that I ever saw ; yet he must have got drunk, too 
 — every man must, sometimes ; but he kept it 
 snug if he did. Make yourselves comfortable ;" 
 and without waiting to hear his sister's further 
 adventures on the road, Sir John Slingsby 
 tripped out of the room again, and notwith- 
 standing aU his good resolutions, finished two- 
 thh'ds of a bottle of claret while the servants 
 were bringing in the coflfee. 
 
 " Rather a more favourable account of your 
 expected guest, Isabella, than might have been 
 supposed," said Mrs. Clifford, as soon as Sir 
 John Slingsby was gone. " A young man who 
 did not drink or play in your father's regiment, 
 must have been a rare exception; for I am 
 sorry to say that it had a bad name in those 
 respects long before he got it, and I believe 
 that it did him a great deal of harm." 
 
 " Papa is so good-humoured," replied Miss 
 Slingsby, " that he lets people do just what 
 they like with him. I am sure he wishes to do 
 all that is right." 
 
 Mrs. Clifford was silent for a moment or 
 two, and then turned the conversation ; but in
 
 156 beauchamp: or, 
 
 the house of her brother she was rather like a 
 traveller, who, riding through a country, finds 
 himself suddenly and unexpectedly in the 
 midst of what they call in Scotland a shaking 
 moss; whichever path she took, the ground 
 seemed to be giving way under her. She 
 spoke of the old park and the fine trees, and 
 to her dismay, she heard that Sir John had 
 ordered three hundred magnificent oaks to be 
 cut down and sold. She spoke of a sort of 
 model farm which had been her father's pride, 
 and after a moment or two of silence, Isabella 
 thought it better to prevent her coming upon 
 the same subject with her father, by telling her 
 that Sir John, not being fond of farming, had 
 disposed of it some three months before to 
 Mr. Wharton, the solicitor. 
 
 " He could not find a tenant easily for it," 
 she continued, " and it annoyed him to have it 
 unoccupied, so he was persuaded to sell it, 
 intending to invest the money in land adjoining 
 the rest of the property." 
 
 " I hope Mr. Wharton gave him a fair price 
 for it?" said Mrs. Clifford.
 
 THE ERROB. 157 
 
 " I really don't know," answered her niece ; 
 " I dislike that man very much." 
 
 " And so do I," said Maiy Clifford. 
 
 " And so do I," added her mother, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 Mr. Wharton had evidently not established 
 himself in the favour of the ladies, and as ladies 
 are always right, he must have been a very bad 
 man indeed. 
 
 To vary the pleasures of such a conversation, 
 Miss Slingsby soon after ordered tea, ti'usting 
 that her father would return before it was over. 
 Sir John Slingsby's half hour, however, ex- 
 tended itself to an houi* and a half ; but then 
 an immense deal of loud laughing and talking, 
 moving of feet, seeking for hats and coats, and 
 ultimately rolling of wheels, and trotting of 
 horses, was heard in the drawing-room, and 
 the baronet himself again appeared, as full of 
 fun and good-humour as ever. He tried, in- 
 deed, somewhat to lower the tone of his gaiety, 
 to suit his sister's more rigid notions; but 
 although he was not in the least tipsy — and, 
 indeed, it was a question which might have
 
 158 beauchamp: or, 
 
 puzzled Babbage's calculating machine to re- 
 solve what quantity of any given kind of wine 
 would have affected his brain to the point of 
 inebriety — yet the potations in which he had 
 indulged had certainly spread a genial warmth 
 through his bosom, which kept his spirits at a 
 pitch considerably higher than harmonized very 
 well with Mrs. Clifford's feelings. 
 
 At the end of about half an hour's conversa- 
 tion, then, complaining of fatigue, she retired 
 to bed, and was followed by her niece and her 
 daughter, after the former, at her father's de- 
 sire, had sung him a song to make him sleep 
 comfortably. Sir John then stretched his legs 
 upon a chair to meditate for a minute or two 
 over the unexpected event of his sister's ar- 
 rival. But the process of meditation was not 
 one that he was at all accustomed to, and con- 
 sequently he did not perform it with great ease 
 and dexterity. After he had tried it for about 
 thirty seconds, his head nodded, and then look- 
 ing up, he said, " Ah !" and then attempted 
 it again. Fifteen seconds were enough this 
 time ; but his head, finding that it had dis-
 
 THE ERROR. 159 
 
 turbed itself by its rapid declension on the 
 former occasion, now sank gradually on his 
 shoulder, and thence found its way slowly 
 round to his breast. Deep breathing suc- 
 ceeded for about a quarter of an hour, and 
 then an awful snore, loud enough to rouse the 
 worthy baronet by his own trumpet. Up he 
 started, and getting unsteadily upon his legs, 
 nibbed his eyes, and muttered to himself, 
 " Time to go to bed." Such was the conclu- 
 sion of his meditation, and the logical result 
 of the process in which he had been engaged. 
 
 The next morning, however, at the hour of 
 half-past nine, found Sir John in the breakfast 
 room, as fresh, as rosy, and as gay as ever. 
 If wine had no effect upon his intellect at 
 night, it had none upon his health and comfort 
 in the morning ; the blushing banner which he 
 bore in his countenance was the only indica- 
 tion of the deeds that he achieved; and kiss- 
 ing the ladies all round, he sat down to the 
 breakfast table, and spent an hour with them 
 in very agreeable chat. He was by no means 
 ill-informed, not without natural taste, a very
 
 160 beauchamp: or, 
 
 fair theoretical judgment, which was lamen- 
 tably seldom brought into practice, and he 
 could discourse of many things, when he liked 
 it, in as gentlemanlike and reasonable a man- 
 ner as any man living; while his cheerful 
 good-humour shed a sunshine around that, in 
 its sparkling warmth, made men forget his 
 faults and over-estimate his good qualities. 
 He had a particular tact, too, of palliating 
 errors which he had committed, sometimes by 
 acknowledging them frankly, and lamenting 
 the infatuation that produced them, sometimes 
 by finding out excellent good reasons for doing 
 things which had a great deal better been 
 left undone. Mary and Isabella had been 
 walking in the park before breakfast, talking of 
 all those things which young ladies find to 
 converse about when they have not met for 
 some time ; and Sir John, at once aware that 
 his niece's eye must have marked the destruc- 
 tion going on amongst the old trees, asked her 
 in the most deliberate tone in the world, if she 
 had seen the improvements he was making. 
 Mary Clifford replied " No," and looked at
 
 THE ERROR. 161 
 
 her cousin as if for explanation, and then Sir 
 John exclaimed — 
 
 " Bless my soul, did you not see the alley I 
 am cutting ? It will make the most beautiful 
 vista in the world. First you will go round 
 from the house by the back of the wood, slowly 
 moimting the hill, by what we call the Broad 
 Walk, and then when you have reached the 
 top, you will have a clear view down through 
 a sort of glade, with the old trees on your 
 right and left hand, over the clumps of young 
 firs in the bottom, catching the stream here 
 and there, and having the park-wall quite con- 
 cealed, till the eye, passing over the meadows, 
 just rests upon Tamingham church, and then 
 running on, gets a view of your ovra place, 
 Hinton, looking like a white speck on the side 
 of the hill, and the prospect is closed by the 
 high grounds beyond. My dear Mar}-, it is 
 the greatest improvement that ever was made 
 — we will go and see it." 
 
 Now the real truth was, that Sir John 
 Slingsby, some four or five months before, had 
 very much wanted three thousand pounds, and 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 beauchamp: or, 
 
 he had determined to convert a certain number 
 of his trees into bank-notes ; but being a man 
 of very good taste, as I have said, he had ar- 
 ranged the cutting so as to damage his park 
 scenery as little as possible. Nevertheless, in 
 all he said to Mary Clifford, strange as the as- 
 sertion may seem, he v^as perfectly sincere ', 
 for he w^as one of those men who always begin 
 by deceiving themselves, and having done that, 
 can hardly be said to deceive others. It is a 
 sort of infectious disease they have, that is all, 
 and they communicate it, after having got it 
 themselves. Before he had cut a single tree, 
 he had perfectly persuaded himself that to do 
 so would eflfect the greatest improvement in 
 the world ; and he was quite proud of having 
 beautified his park, and at the same time ob- 
 tained three thousand pounds of ready money. 
 Doubtless, had the conversation turned that 
 way, he would have found as good an excuse 
 as valid a reason, as legitimate a motive, for 
 selling the model farm ; but that not being the 
 case, they went on talking of different subjects, 
 till suddenly the door opened, the butler, who
 
 THE ERROR. 163 
 
 was nearly as fat as his master, advanced three 
 steps in a solemn manner, and announced, 
 " Captain Hay ward." 
 
 Sir John instantly started up, and the three 
 ladies raised their eyes simultaneously, partly 
 with that peculiar sort of curiosity which 
 people feel when they look into the den of some 
 rare wild beast, and partly with that degree of 
 interest which we all take in the outward form 
 and configuration of one of our own species, 
 upon whom depends a certain portion of the 
 pleasure or pain, amusement or dulness, of 
 even a few hours. The next moment our 
 friend Ned Hayward was in the room. He 
 was well-dressed and well-looking, as I haTC 
 already described him in his riding costume. 
 Gentleman was in every line and every move- 
 ment, and his frank, pleasant smile, his clear, 
 open countenance were very engaging even at 
 the first sight Sir John shook him warmly 
 by the hand, and although the baronet's coun- 
 tenance had so burgeoned and blossomed since 
 he last saw him, that the young gentleman 
 had some difficulty in recognising his former 
 M 2
 
 164 beauchamp: or, 
 
 colonel, yet Ned Hayward returned his grasp 
 with equal cordiality, and then looked round, 
 as his host led him up towards Miss Slingsby, 
 and re-introduced them to each other. Great 
 was the surprise of both the baronet and his 
 daughter, to see Mrs. Clifford rise, and with a 
 warm smile extend her hand to their new 
 guest, and even Mary Clifford follow her 
 mother's example, and welcome, as if he were 
 an old friend, the very person with whose 
 name they had seemed unacquainted the night 
 before. 
 
 « Ah, ha, Ned !" cried Sir John ; " how is 
 this, boy ? Have you been poaching upon my 
 preserves without my knowing it? 'Pon my 
 life, Harriet, you have kept your acquaintance 
 with my little ensign quite snug and secret." 
 
 " It is an acquaintance of a very short date, 
 John," replied Mrs. Clifford ; " but one which 
 has been of inestimable service to me already." 
 
 And she proceeded in a very few words to 
 explain to her brother the debt of gratitude 
 she owed to Captain Hayward for his inter- 
 ference the night before, and for the courtesy
 
 THE ERROR. 165 
 
 he had shown in escorting and protecting her 
 to the doors of that very house. 
 
 Sir John immediately seized his guest by 
 the lappels of the coat, exclaiming — 
 
 " And why the devil didn't you come in, you 
 dog ? "What, Ned Hay ward at my gates, an 
 expected guest, and not come in ! I can tell 
 you, we should have given you a warm recep- 
 tion, fined you a couple of bottles for being 
 late at dinner, and sent you to bed roaring 
 drunk." 
 
 Ned Hayward gave a gay glance round at 
 the ladies, as if inquiring whether they thought 
 these were great inducements; he answered, 
 however — 
 
 " Strange to say, I did not know it was your 
 house, Sir John." 
 
 And now, haAdng placed our friend Ned 
 Hayward comfortably between two excessively 
 pretty girls of very different styles of beauty, 
 and very different kinds of mind, T shall leave 
 Fate to settle his destiny, and turo. to another 
 scene which had preceded his arrival at Tar- 
 ningham House.
 
 166 BEAtrCHAMP: OR, 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Man never sees above half of anything, never 
 knows above half of anything, never under- 
 stands above half of anything; and upon this 
 half sight, half knowledge, and half under- 
 standing, he acts, supplying the deficiency of 
 his information by a guess at the rest, in which 
 there is more than an equal chance that he is 
 wrong instead of right. That is the moral of 
 this chapter. 
 
 After Ned Hayward's interview with Stephen 
 Gimlet, alias Wolf, our friend turned his steps 
 back towards Tamingham, and arrived at the 
 White Hart by eight o'clock. About three quar- 
 ters of an hour had shaved him, dressed him, and
 
 THE ERROR. 167 
 
 brushed his hair, and down he went to the little 
 parlour in which he had passed the preceding 
 evening, just in time to find Mr. Beauchamp 
 beginning his breakfast. Although the latter 
 gentleman shook his companion cordially by 
 the hand, and seemed to look upon his pre- 
 sence in the parlour as a matter of course, Ned 
 Hayward thought fit to apologize for his in- 
 trusion, adding, " I shall not maroon myself 
 upon you ver>' long, for soon after breakfast I 
 shall decamp to Sir John Slingsby's." 
 
 " I am sorry, I assure you, to lose the plea- 
 sure of your society so soon," replied Beau- 
 champ, and then added, addressing the maid, 
 who had just brought in some broiled ham, 
 "you had better bring some more cups and 
 saucers, my good girl.^' 
 
 " And some more ham, and also a cold fowl." 
 added Ned Hayward. " I have the appetite of 
 an ogre, and if you do not make haste, I must 
 have a bit out of your rosy cheek, my dear, 
 just to stay my stomach." 
 
 " La, sir !" cried the maid, with a coquettish 
 little titter ; but she ran away to get what was
 
 168 beauchamp: or, 
 
 wanted, as if she were really afraid of the con- 
 sequences of Ned Hayward's appetite ; and as 
 soon as she was gone, he said — 
 
 " I have got news for you, Beauchamp ; but 
 I will wait till the room is clear before I give 
 it. I have been up and out, over the hills and 
 far away, this morning ; so I have well earned 
 my breakfast." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed his companion, with 
 a look of surprise ; " really you are an active 
 general ; but you should have given your fellow- 
 soldiers information of your movements, and 
 we might have combined operations." 
 
 " There was no time to be lost," answered 
 Hay ward. 
 
 But at that moment the maid returned with 
 the cold fowl ; the ham was still in the rear, 
 and it was not till breakfast was half over that 
 the young officer could tell his tale. When 
 he had got as far with it as the first explana- 
 tions of Mr. Gimlet, Beauchamp exclaimed 
 eagerly, " And what did it turn out to be ?" 
 
 " Nothing, after all, but a love affair," 
 answered Ned. " Now, my dear Beauchamp,
 
 THE ERROR. 169 
 
 I have as much compassion for all lovers as au 
 old match-making dowager; and therefore I 
 think it will be better to let this matter drop 
 quietly." 
 
 " Oh, certainly," answered his new friend, 
 " I am quite as tender-hearted in such matters 
 as yourself; but are you quite sure of the fact? 
 for this seems to me to have been a very odd 
 way of making love." 
 
 " It was so, assuredly," replied Hayward, 
 " but, nevertheless, the tale is true. The fact 
 is, the young lady is an heiress, the mother 
 strict — most likely the latter looks for some 
 high match for her daughter, and will not hear 
 of the youth's addresses. He falls into despair, 
 and, with a Roman courage, resolves to carry 
 off a bride. Unfortunately for his purpose, we 
 come up, and the rape of the Sabines is pre- 
 vented; but, 'pon my honour, I admire the 
 fellow for his spirit. There is something 
 chivalrous — nay, more — feudal about it. He 
 must fancy himself some old baron who had a 
 right prescriptive to run away with every man's 
 daughter that suited him; and, on my life, my
 
 170 beauchamp: or, 
 
 dear Beauchamp, I can go on no further in 
 attempting to punish him for a deed whose hot 
 and proof spirit shames this milk-and-water 
 age. Oh, the times of carrying off heiresses, 
 of robbing in cocked hats and full-bottomed 
 wigs, of pinking one's adversary under the 
 fifth rib in Leicester Fields, with gentlemen in 
 high shoes and gold lace for seconds, and 
 chairmen for spectators, when will they come 
 again? Gone, gone for ever, my dear Beau- 
 champ, into the same box as our grandmother's 
 brocade -gown, and with them the last spark of 
 the spirit of chivalry has expired." 
 
 " Very true," answered Beauchamp, smiling 
 at his companion's tirade, " there was certainly 
 an adventurous turn about those days which 
 saved them from dulness ; but yet there was a 
 primness about them which was curious, a 
 formality mingling with their wildest excesses, 
 a prudery with their licentiousness, which can 
 only be attributed to the cut of their clothes. 
 There is some mysterious link between them, 
 depend upon it. Hay ward ; and whether it be 
 that the clothes affect the man, or the man the
 
 THE EEROR. 171 
 
 clothes, it is not for me to say ; but the grand 
 internal harmony of nature will not be violated, 
 and the spirit of the age is represented in the 
 coats, waistcoats, and breeches of the people of 
 the period much better than in all the stupid 
 books written from time to time to display it." 
 
 This was the first sentence that Ned Hay- 
 ward had ever heard his companion speak in a 
 jocular tone, but Beauchamp immediately went 
 on, in a graver manner, to say, " Yet, after all, 
 I do not see how we can drop this matter en- 
 tirely. Far be it from me, of all men on earth, 
 to persecute another ; but yet, having already 
 given information of this attempt at robberj', as 
 it seemed to us, and tendered our evidence on 
 oath, we cannot well draw back. A gross 
 oflfence has indubitably been committed, not 
 only in the attack upon these two ladies, but 
 also in the very violent and murderous resist- 
 ance which was made when we arrived to their 
 rescue ; and this young gentleman should have 
 a warning, at least." 
 
 " To be sure — to be sure," answered Ned 
 Hayward ; " I have got the pistol ball singing
 
 172 beauchamp: or, 
 
 in my ear now, and I am quite willing to give 
 him a fright, and old Wittingham too. The 
 latter I will, please Heaven, torment out of the 
 remnant of seven senses that he has left : for a 
 more pompous, vulgar old blockhead I never 
 saw; and therefore I should propose at once — 
 that is to say, as soon as I have done this cup of 
 coffee — you have finished, I see — to go to good 
 Mr. Wittingham's, and belabour him with our 
 small wits, till he is nearl}^ like the man who 
 w^as scourged to death with rushes." 
 
 " Nay, nothing quite so sanguinary as that, 
 I trust," said Beauchamp ; " but I will accom- 
 pany you willingly, and see fair play between 
 you and the magistrate." 
 
 According to this arrangement, as soon as 
 breakfast was over, and Ned Hayward had 
 given some directions with regard to preparing 
 his horse, his baggage, and a conveyance for 
 the latter, the two gentlemen sallied forth to 
 the magistrate's room in the town, where they 
 found Mr. Wittingham seated with a clerk, 
 the inferior attorney of the place. The latter 
 was a man well fitted to prompt an ignorant
 
 THE ERROR. 173 
 
 and self-conceited magistrate in a matter of 
 difficulty, if its importance were not very great, 
 and he knew all the particulars. He was a 
 little, fat, compact man — in form, feature, and 
 expression very like a Chinese pig. His nose 
 had the peculiar turn-up of the snout of that 
 animal, his small eyes the same sagacious 
 twinkle, his retreating under-jaw the same 
 voracious and ever-ready look, and when at all 
 puzzled, he would lift his head and give a 
 peculiar snort, so exceedingly porcine in its 
 tone, that one could scarcely divest oneself of 
 the idea that he was one of the mud-loving 
 herd. Nevertheless, he was a very good sort 
 of little man. 
 
 On the present occasion, indeed he was 
 ignorant of the facts of the case about to be 
 brought before Mr. Wittingham — the latter 
 gentleman having considered \vith great soli- 
 citude whether he should make him acquainted 
 with all that had occun'ed, and seek his advice 
 and co-operation. But Mr. Wittingham was 
 cautious, exceedingly cautious, as I have 
 already shown, when no strong passion caused
 
 174 BEAUCHAMP; OR, 
 
 him to act in a decided manner upon the spur 
 of the moment. His natural impulse might 
 indeed be vehement, and he frequently had to 
 repeat to himself that sage adage, " The least 
 said is soonest mended," before he could get 
 himself to refrain from saying a word to the 
 clerk, Mr. Bacon, except that two men had 
 come to him the night before, with a cock-and- 
 a-buU story about 4 highway robbery, of which 
 he did not believe a word, and they were to 
 come again that morning, when he should sift 
 it thoroughly. 
 
 Now it is wonderful how the very least bits 
 of art will frequently betray the artist. Mr. 
 Wittingham merely said, " Two men," which 
 led his clerk, Mr. Bacon, to suppose that he 
 had never seen either of the two men before ; 
 but when Mr. Beauchamp appeared, in com- 
 pany with Ned Hayward, and the clerk recol- 
 lected that the magistrate had very frequently 
 wondered, in his presence, who Mr. Beauchamp 
 could be, and had directed him to make every 
 sort of inquiry, he naturally said to himself, 
 " Ha, ha, Wittingham has got something that
 
 THE EEOOR, 175 
 
 he wishes to conceal ; if not, why didn't he say 
 at once that Mr. Beauchamp was one of the 
 two r There's a screw loose somewhere — that's 
 clear." 
 
 On Ned Hayward, the clerk's small eyes 
 fixed with a keen, inquisitive, and marvelling 
 glance, as, with his gay dashing air, half mili- 
 tary, half sporting, firm and yet light, mea- 
 sured and yet easy, he advanced into the room 
 and approached the table. It was a sort of 
 animal that Mr. Bacon had never beheld in his 
 life before ; and he looked just like a young 
 pig when it sees a stage-coach dash by, stand- 
 ing firm for a minute, but ready in an instant 
 to toss up its snout, curl up its tail, and caper 
 off with a squeak as fast as it can go. 
 
 '' Well, Mr. Witherington," said Ned Hay- 
 ward, perfectly aware that nothing so much 
 provokes a pompous man as mistaking his 
 name, " here we are according to appoint- 
 ment; and doubtless you are ready to take our 
 depositions, Mr. Witherington." 
 
 " Wittingham, sir," said the magistrate, im- 
 pressively, laying a strong emphasis on each
 
 176 beauchamp: or, 
 
 syllable, " I beg you'll give me my own name, 
 and nobody else's." 
 
 " Ay, ay ; Wittington," said Ned Hay ward, 
 with the utmost composure, " I forgot ; I knew 
 it was some absurd name in an old ballad or 
 story, and confounded you, somehow or other, 
 with the man in ' Chevy Chase,' who 
 
 * When his legs were smitten off, 
 He fought upon his stumps.' 
 
 But I remember now, you're the son of the 
 Lord-Mayor of London, the cat-man." 
 
 " No, sir — no," exclaimed Mr. Wittingham, 
 whose face had turned purple with rage ; " I 
 am not his son, and you must be a fool to 
 think so, for he died two hundred years ago." 
 
 " Oh, I know nothing of history," said Ned 
 Hayward, laughing ; " and besides, I dare say 
 it's all a fable." 
 
 " This gentleman's name is Wittingham, 
 sir," said the clerk, '•' W-I-T wit, T-I-N-G 
 ting, H-A-M ham, Wittingham." 
 
 " Oh, thank you — thank you, sir," said the 
 young gentleman, " I shan't forget it now. 
 ^ Littera scripta manet,^ Mr. What's-your-name."
 
 THE ERROR. 177 
 
 " My name is Bacon, sir," said the clerk, 
 Tvith a grunt. 
 
 " Ah, very well — very well," replied Xed 
 Hayward, " now to business. Wittingham, 
 Bacon, and Co. ; I shan't forget that ; an excel- 
 lent good firm, especially when the junior 
 partner is cut into rashers and well roasted. 
 We are here, sir, to tender information upon 
 oath, when it can no longer be of any avail, 
 which we tendered last night, when it might 
 have been of avail, in regard to an attempt at 
 highway robbery, committed yesterday evening 
 upon the persons of tsvo ladies in this neigh- 
 bourhood — namely, Mrs. Clifford and her 
 <Iaughter." 
 
 " Tendered last night, sir !" exclaimed the 
 clerk, in spite of a tremendous nudge from Mr. 
 Wittingham — " pray whom did you tender 
 it to ?" 
 
 " To the right reverend gentleman on the 
 bench," said Ned Hayward, with a profound 
 bow to the worthy magistrate ; and ^then look- 
 ing at him full in the face with a significant 
 smile, the young gentleman added, " he re- 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 beauchamp: or, 
 
 fused to take our depositions on secret motives, 
 or information of his own, which, as it was kept 
 in the profound depth of his mind, I will not 
 attempt to penetrate." 
 
 Mr. Wittingham was in a state of most dis- 
 tressing perplexity. His fears were a powder 
 magazine, Ned Hayward's smile was a spark, 
 and there was a terrible explosion in his chest, 
 which had nearly blown the window out. 
 
 "I — I — you see, Bacon," he whispered to 
 the clerk, " I thought it was all nonsense, I 
 was sure it was all nonsense — you may see by 
 the fellow's manner that it is so. Who'd at- 
 tend to such stuff ?" 
 
 " I don't know, sir," said the clerk ; " magis- 
 trates are bound to take informations of felonies 
 tendered on oath ; but we shall soon see who 
 he is ; we'll swear him," and, taking up a paper 
 from the table, he began to write, lifting up his 
 head, after a moment, and inquiring, " What is 
 yom* name and profession ?" 
 
 " My name is Edward Hay ward," answered 
 our friend, "late captain in His Majesty's 40th 
 regiment, now unattached."
 
 THE ERROR. 179 
 
 Mr. Wittingham's face grew blanker and 
 blanker. Yamen's own could not have looked 
 a more russety brown. He did not know how 
 to interfere with the clerk, or how to proceed 
 himself; but at length, after sundry hums and 
 haws, he said, " I think we had better hear the 
 whole story first, and then take down the de- 
 position, if we should find it necessary. If 
 Mrs. Clifford was robbed, or attempted to be 
 robbed, why doesn't Mrs. Clifford come to give 
 information herself ? I see no reason why we 
 should suffer such accounts to be gone into by 
 deputy. The offence was against Mrs. Clifford, 
 and we shall always be ready to balance." 
 
 "The offence was against the law of the 
 land, sir," said Mr. Beauchamp, stepping for- 
 ward, " and we who witnessed the offence, and 
 prevented it from being carried further, now 
 come forward to demand that interference of 
 justice which cannot be refused, without great 
 danger to those who deny it." 
 
 " Well, well," said Mr. Wittingham, " I am 
 not going to deny it. Let us hear your story, 
 and as you are one of the informers, be so 
 n2
 
 180 beauchamp: or, 
 
 good as to favour us with your name, profes- 
 sion, etc." 
 
 " My name, sir, is Beauchamp," replied the 
 gentleman he addressed, "profession, I am 
 sorry to say, I have none." 
 
 '•' Ah," said the magistrate, drily ; but the 
 elerk whisp ered sharply in his ear : " He has 
 two thousand pounds in the bank, paid in the 
 day before yesterday. Jenkins told me last 
 night at the Free and Easy, so it's all a mistake 
 about his being — you know what." 
 
 The clerk had a reverence for gentlemen 
 who had two thousand pounds at one time in 
 a country bank — much greater reverence than 
 for captains of infantry unattached; and con- 
 sequently he proceeded to take Mr. Beau- 
 ehamp's deposition first, with all due respect, 
 notwithstanding every thing Mr. Wittingham 
 could do to embarrass his course of operations. 
 Then came Ned Hayward's turn, but our good 
 friend thought fit to be more serious when an 
 oath had been administered, and delivered his 
 evidence with gravity and propriety. As soon, 
 however, as Mr. Wittingham began to meddle 
 with the matter again, and to treat the affair as
 
 THE ERROR. 181 
 
 one of little consequence, and not deserving 
 much consideration, the spirit of malicious fun 
 seized upon Ned once more, and he said with 
 a mysterious air, " Sir, I beg you will give this 
 your most serious attention, for you cannot yet 
 tell what parties may be implicated. In giv- 
 ing our testimony, of course we speak to facts 
 alone. I have strictly confined myself to what 
 I saw, and have not even mentioned one cir- 
 cumstance of which I have even a shade of 
 doubt ; but without interfering with your busi- 
 ness, Mr. Skittington — for I never take another 
 man's trade upon me — yet I shall certainly feel 
 myself called upon to investigate quietly, and 
 by all lawful means, the whole particulars of 
 this business. That a felony has been com- 
 mitted there can be no doubt ; two pistols were 
 fired at me with intent to take my life, or do 
 me some grievous bodily harm ; one ball went 
 through my hair, and the matter is a very 
 grave one, which may probably bring some 
 respectable persons into a noose under a gal- 
 lows. Look to it, look to it, Mr. Whittington 1 
 for I shall certainly look to it myself." 
 
 " Well, sir, well — do anything you please,"
 
 182 beauchamp: or, 
 
 said the magistrate, " I will do my duty with- 
 out being tutored by you. I consider your 
 
 conduct very disrespectful and ^" 
 
 But ere he could finish the sentence the 
 door of the justice-room opened, and a young 
 man entered, dressed in the garb of a gentle- 
 man. Mr. Wittingham's face turned as pale 
 as death ; and Ned Hayward fixed his eyes 
 for an instant — a single instant — upon the 
 countenance of the new-comer. It was by 
 no means a prepossessing one, and the ex- 
 pression was not improved by a black hand- 
 kerchief being tied over one eye, and hiding 
 part of the nose and cheek. The young officer 
 instantly withdrew his eyes, and fixed them 
 sternly on the ground. " This is too impu- 
 dent," he thought ; and there was a momentary 
 hesitation in his mind as to whether he should 
 not at once point out the intruder as the chief 
 offender in the acts lately under discussion. 
 Good-nature, however, prevailed, and while 
 Henry Wittingham advanced straight to his 
 father's side, and with a look of bold fierceness 
 whispered a word in his ear, Ned Hayward
 
 THE ERKOR. 183 
 
 turned to the door, saying, " Come, Beau- 
 champ, our business here is over, and I must 
 go up to Sir John Slingsby's." 
 
 Beauchamp followed him, after giving a 
 sharp glance at Henry Wittingham, and at the 
 door of the house they saw a horse standing 
 which seemed to have been ridden hard.
 
 I&4 beauchamp: or, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Mr. Beauchamp vcsls sitting alone in the little 
 room of the inn about four hours after Ned 
 Hay ward had left him. The day had been 
 very warm for the season of the year, and 
 though he had taken his walk as usual in the 
 most shady and pensive places he could dis- 
 cover, he had found it oppressive, and had re- 
 turned sooner than he ordinarily did. Mr. 
 Groomber, worthy Mr. Groomber, the landlord 
 of the White Hart, had perceived his return 
 through the glass-doors of the bar, and had 
 rolled in to tell him, as a piece of news, that 
 the post-boy who had driven Mrs. and Miss 
 Clifford had been, as he termed it, " had up,"
 
 THE ERROR. 18& 
 
 before Mr. Wittiugham and examined, but had 
 been speedily dismissed, he having sworn most 
 valorously that he could not identify any of 
 the persons concerned in stopping the chaise 
 on the preceding night. 
 
 Mr. Beauchamp merely replied, " I thought 
 so," and taking up a book, gave quiet intima- 
 tion that he wished to be alone. As soon as 
 the host had retired, however, he suffered the 
 open volume to drop upon his knee, and gave 
 himself up to thought, apparently of not the 
 most cheerful kind, for the broad open brow 
 became somewhat contracted, the fine dark 
 eyes fixed upon one particular spot on the 
 floor, the lip assumed a melancholy, even 
 a cynical expression, and without moving 
 limb or feature, he remained for at least a 
 quarter of an hour in meditation most pro- 
 found. 
 
 For my own part, I do not see what business 
 men have to think at all. If it be of the past, 
 can they recall it ? If it be of the future, can 
 they govern it? No, no; and the present is 
 for action, not for meditation. It was very
 
 186 beauchamp: or, 
 
 foolish of Mr. Beauchamp to think, but yet he 
 did so, and profoundly. But of what were his 
 thoughts ? I cannot tell. Some I know, some 
 I do not know; or rather, like an intercepted 
 letter, the actual course of his meditation was 
 plain enough, written in clear and forcible 
 lines, but the wide world of circumstances to 
 which it referred, its relations with his fate, 
 with his past history, with his present condi- 
 tion, with his future prospects, were all in 
 darkness. 
 
 " It is in vain," he said to himself, " all in 
 vain ! Peace, happiness, tranquillity — where 
 do they dwell ? Are they the mere phantasms 
 of man's ever-building imaginations ? creations 
 of fancy, to satisfy the craving need of the soul ? 
 And yet some men can obtain them. This 
 very Captain Hayward, he seems at least as 
 well contented, as well satisfied with himself, 
 the world, and all the world gives, as it is 
 possible to conceive. But it is not so — it can- 
 not be so. There is a black spot somewhere, 
 I am sure, — some bitter memory, some disap- 
 pointed hope, some aspiration for the some-
 
 THE ERROR. 187 
 
 thing ever desired. He owned he dared not 
 venture to love — is not that to be in a con- 
 tinued chain, to bear a fetter about one r and 
 yet he seemed contented with such a fate. It 
 is the regulation of our desires that makes us 
 happy, the bounding them to our means — ay, 
 with those who have no already existing cause 
 for sorrow, the cup of our fate is ever open for 
 each passing hand to drop a poison into it, and 
 once there, it pervades the whole — the whole ^ 
 by every drop down to the very dregs, turning 
 the sweetness and the spirit of the wine of life 
 to bitterness and death. What is it that I want 
 that can make existence pleasant ? Wealth, 
 health, a mind carefuUy trained and furnished 
 with the keys to every door of mental enjoy- 
 ment — with love for my fellow-creatures, good- 
 will to all men, I have all — surely all ; but, alas ! 
 I have memory, too, and like the piUar of the 
 cloud, it sometimes follows me, darkening the 
 past, sometimes goes before me, obscuring the 
 future. Yet this is very weak. An effort of 
 the mind — the mind I have vainly thought so 
 strong — should surely suffice to cast off the
 
 188 beauchamp: or, 
 
 load. I have tried occupation, calm enjoy- 
 ments, fair scenes, tranquil pleasures, peaceful 
 amusements. Perhaps in a more fiery and 
 eager course, in active, energetic pursuits, in 
 passions that absorb all the feelings, and wrap 
 the soul in their own mantle, I may find for- 
 getfulness. In all that I have hitherto done, 
 there have been long intervals, open gates for 
 bitter memory to enter, and the very nature of 
 my chosen objects has invited her. Oh, yes, 
 there must be such a thing as happiness ! that 
 girl's fair, joyous face, her smile teeming with 
 radiance, told me so. But I will not think of 
 her. She is too bright, and fair, and happy, to 
 risk her peace on so hazardous a speculation 
 as mine. I will go away from this place : it 
 has given my mind some little repose, and I 
 could have made a friend of that light, good- 
 humoured Hay ward, if he would have let me — 
 but he has left me, too — all things leave me, I 
 think. Well, he is gone, and I will go, too — 
 'tis not worth while lingering longer." 
 
 At this point of his meditations, some horses 
 passed the window, and shadows darkened the
 
 THE ERROR. 189 
 
 room ; but Beauchamp took no notice, till lie 
 heard a voice which had become somewhat 
 familiar to him during the last eighteen hours, 
 exclaiming, " Ostler, ostler !" and in a moment 
 after, Ned Hay ward was in the room again, 
 but not alone. He was followed by the portly 
 figure of Sir John Slingsby, dressed in riding 
 costume, and though somewhat dusty, and cer- 
 tainly very round and heavy, yet bearing that 
 imdefinable and almost ineffaceable look of a 
 gentleman which not even oddities and ex- 
 cesses had been able to wipe out. 
 
 Ned Hayward's words were few and soon 
 spoken : " Mr. Beauchamp, Sir John Slingsby; 
 Sir John, Mr. Beauchamp," were all he said, 
 but the old baronet soon took up the conversa- 
 tion, shaking his new acquaintance warmly 
 by the hand. 
 
 " Glad to see you, Mr. Beauchamp — very 
 glad to see you. 1 find my family are under a 
 great obligation to you — that is to say, my 
 sister Harriet, Mrs. Clifford. Devilish impu- 
 dent thing, by Jove, for those fellows to attack 
 a carriage at that time of the evening; and very
 
 190 
 
 lucky you happened to be there, for my friend 
 Ned Hayward here, though he has a notion of 
 tactics — haven't you, Ned? — and is a stout 
 fellow, could hardly have managed three of 
 them." 
 
 " I look upon myself as very fortunate, Sir 
 John," replied Mr. Beauchamp, " in having 
 taken my evening walk in that direction ; but 
 at the same time, it is but fair to acknowledge 
 that my share in the rescue of your sister and 
 her daughter was but small. I only kept one 
 man in play, while Captain Hayward had to 
 contend with two." 
 
 " All the same — all the same, my dear sir," 
 said the baronet; "the reserve shares all the 
 glory of a battle, even if it does not pull a 
 trigger. The ladies, however, are exceedingly 
 obliged to you — very good girls, both of them 
 — not that they have commissioned me to ex- 
 press their thanks, far from it, for they are 
 particularly anxious to do so themselves, if 
 you will give them the opportunity; and there- 
 fore they have begged me to ask if you would 
 favour us by your company at dinner to-day,
 
 THE ERROR. 191 
 
 and to say that they will be devilish sorry if 
 any previous engagement should prevent you, 
 though they calculate upon to-morrow, if not 
 to-day." 
 
 "I am quite an anchorite here, Sir John," 
 answered Mr. Beauchamp, with a grave smile; 
 but before he could finish his sentence, the old 
 baronet, thinking it was the commencement of 
 an excuse, hastened to stop it, saying — 
 
 " Quite a quiet dinner, I assure you — all as 
 grave and proper as possible ; no drinking, no 
 laughing, no fun — all upon our good behaviour. 
 There will be nobody but you, Ned Hay ward, 
 I, and the doctor there; Harriet, Mary, and 
 my girl — who, by the way, says she knows you 
 — has seen you more than once at the good 
 doctor's — Doctor Miles's." 
 
 " I have had the pleasure of meeting Miss 
 Slingsby," said Beauchamp. " I was only 
 about to answer you just now. Sir John, that 
 I am quite an anchorite here, and therefore not 
 likely to have many invitations to dinner. As 
 I have not much cultivated the people of the 
 place, they have not much cultivated me; and
 
 192 beauchamp: or, 
 
 I believe they look upon me as a somewhat 
 suspicious character, especially our friend Mr. 
 Wittingham, who, I find, has been very curious 
 in his inquiries as to whether I pay my bills, 
 and where I go to when I walk out." 
 
 " Wittingham's an old fool !" exclaimed Sir 
 John Slingsby ; " and, like all other old fools, 
 he thinks himself the wisest man in the world. 
 I wonder what the lord-lieutenant could be 
 dreaming of when he put him in the commis- 
 sion of the peace — a man no more fit for it than 
 my horsewhip. I'll pay him for it all — I'll pay 
 him — ask him to dinner — make him beastly 
 drunk, and lodge him for the night in a horse- 
 trough." 
 
 " I hope not this evening, Sir .John," said 
 Beauchamp, with a smile. 
 
 " Oh, dear, no," replied the baronet, with a 
 look of rueful fear ; " all very prim to-night — 
 all as grave as judges — quite proper and dis- 
 creet while my sister Harriet is with us — an 
 archdeacon's widow, you know — a dean's, after 
 all — though he was only dean for a couple of 
 months — a very good man, indeed, but exceed-
 
 THE ERROR. 193r 
 
 ingly proper — terribly proper : the very sound 
 of a cork frightened him out of his wits. I do 
 believe he fancied that Port and Madeira are 
 sent over in decanters, and claret in jugs with 
 handles. However, you'll come, that's settled : 
 half-past five, old-fashioned hours, gives plenty 
 of time after dinner. But now that's no use," 
 added the baronet, with a sigh ; " we might a?^ 
 well dine at seven now — no use of a long even- 
 ing. However, the girls will give us a song, or 
 music of some kind, and perhaps we can make 
 up a rubber at long whist, which will make us 
 sleep as sound as dormice. Xo sin in that — 
 no, Ned?" 
 
 " None in the world. Sir John," answered 
 Ned Hayward, " but a great deal of dulness. 
 I never could make out in my life how men, 
 with their wits about them, could spend hours 
 throwing bits of painted pasteboard in a parti- 
 cular order for shillings and sixpences." 
 
 " Just as reasonable as standing up for hours 
 to be shot at for shillings and sixpences," 
 answered Sir John Slingsby; "and both you 
 and I have played at that, you dog. Every- 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 beauchamp: or, 
 
 thing is folly if you take it in the abstract — 
 love, war, wine, ambition ; and depend upon it, 
 Ned, the lightest follies are the best — isn't it so, 
 Mr. Beauchamp ?" 
 
 " There is indeed some truth in what you 
 say, Sir John," replied Beauchamp, with a 
 thoughtful smile ; " and I believe amusing 
 follies are better than serious ones — at least, I 
 begin to think so now." 
 
 " To be sure — to be sure," answered Sir John 
 Slingsby ; " man was made for fun and not for 
 sadness. It's a very nice world if people would 
 let it be so. Oh, we'll show you some sport, 
 Mr. Beauchamp, before we have done with you ; 
 but to-day, you know, we'll all be very proper 
 — very good boys indeed — and then when the 
 cat's away the mice will play. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 At half-past five, you know, and in the mean- 
 time, Ned and I will ride off and abuse old 
 Wittingham. I'll give him a pretty lecture." 
 
 Good Sir John was disappointed, however; 
 his horses, his groom, and his bulky person, 
 had all been seen from the windows of Mr. 
 Wittingham's house as he rode into the town
 
 THE ERROK. 195 
 
 with Ned Hayward, and as a matter of course, 
 Mr. Wittingham was over the hills and far 
 away before the visit of Mr. Beauchamp was 
 concluded. 
 
 When Sir John and Ned Hayward left him, 
 Beauchamp remained for some minutes with a 
 smile upon his countenance — a meditative — 
 nay, a melancholy smile. 
 
 " So fleet our resolutions !" he said to him- 
 self, " so fade away our schemes and purposes ! 
 Who can say in this life what he will do and 
 what he will not do the next day — nay, the 
 next minute ? Which is the happiest, after all, 
 the man who struggles with fate and circum- 
 stance, and strives to perform the impracticable 
 task of ruling them, or he who, like a light 
 thing upon the waters, suffers himself to be 
 carried easily down the current, whirling round 
 with every eddy, resting quietly in the still 
 pool, or dashing gaily down the rapids ? Heaven 
 knows, but at all events, fate has shown herself 
 so resolute to take my affairs into her own 
 hands, that I will not try to resist her. I will 
 indulge every whim, and leave fortune to settle
 
 196 beauchamp: or, 
 
 the result. I may as well purchase that pro- 
 perty : it is as good an investment as any other. 
 I dare say,, and if not, it does not much signify, 
 I will write to my agent to transmit the money 
 to-day." 
 
 With this resolution he sat down, and had 
 soon despatched a few lines, which he carried 
 to the post himself: then strolled out of the 
 town for an hour, and then returned to dress, 
 ordering a post-chaise for Tarningham Park. 
 
 How different are the sensations with which 
 one goes out to dinner at different times — ay, 
 even when it is to the house of a new acquaint- 
 ance, where we have little means of judging 
 previously whether our day will be pleasant or 
 unpleasant, joyous or sad ! As there must be 
 more than one party to each compact, and as 
 the agent and its object act and react upon each 
 other, so the qualities of each have their share 
 in the effect upon either, and the mood of the 
 visitor has at least as much to do with the im- 
 pression that he receives as the mood of the 
 host. Wonderfully trite ! — is it not, reader } It 
 has been said a thousand times before, but it
 
 THE ERROR. IW 
 
 will not do you the least harm to have it re- 
 peated, especially as I wish you clearly to 
 understand the mood in which Mr. Beauchamp 
 went, for the first time, to the house of Sir John 
 Slingsby. It was, then, in that kind of indif- 
 ferent mood of which I have shown some indi- 
 cations, by describing what was passing in his 
 mind after the baronet and Ned Hayward left 
 him. There are, however, various sorts of in- 
 different moods : there is the gay indifference, 
 which is very commonly called de\'il-me-carish- 
 ness ; then there is the impertinent indifference, 
 with a dash of persiflage in it, just to take off 
 the chill — as men put brandy into soda-water 
 — which very empty and conceited men assume 
 to give them an air of that superiority to which 
 they are entitled by no mental quality. Then 
 there is the indifference of despair, and the in- 
 difference of satiety. But none of these was 
 the exact sort of indifference which Mr. Beau- 
 champ felt, or thought he felt. It was a grave 
 indifference, springing from a sort of morbid 
 conviction that the happiness or unhappiness 
 of man is not at all in his own hands, or that
 
 198 beauchamp: or, 
 
 if it be at all so, it is only at his outset in life, 
 and that the very first step so affects the whole 
 course of after events, as to place the control 
 over them totally beyond his own power. It is 
 a bad philosophy — a very unsafe, untrue, un- 
 wise philosophy; and a great author has made 
 it the philosophy of the devil : 
 
 Thus we 
 In our first clioice are ever free ; 
 Choose, and the right choice is o'er ; 
 "We who were free, are free no more. 
 
 So says Gothe, according to Anster's beauti- 
 ftd translation ; and I think it much better to 
 give that translation which every body can 
 understand, than the original which one half 
 of my readers cannot, and which would not be 
 a bit better if they could. 
 
 Now Mr. Beauchamp was not the devil, nor 
 anything the least like it ; but yet this philo- 
 sophy had been driven into him by his own 
 previous history, and though he often resisted 
 its influence, and strove to struggle with it, to 
 cast off the chain that bound him, and by new 
 acts to shape a new fate, yet he had been so
 
 THE ERROR. 199 
 
 often disappointed in the attempt, he had found 
 every course, indeed, so constantly lead to the 
 same result, that the philosophy returned as 
 soon as the effort was over, and he looked upon 
 almost every event with indifference, as de- 
 stined to end in one manner, and that not a 
 pleasant one. 
 
 Nevertheless, he could enjoy for the time : 
 there was no man by nature better fitted for 
 enjoyment. He had a fondness for every 
 thing that was great and beautiful ; for every 
 thing that was good and noble : he loved 
 flowers, and birds, and music, and the fair face 
 of nature. His breast was full of harmonies, 
 but unfortunately the tones were never pro- 
 longed; to bon'ow a simile from the musical 
 instrument, there was a damper that fell almost 
 as soon as the chord was struck, and the sound, 
 sweet as it might be, ceased before the music 
 was complete. 
 
 In driving along, — although the post-boy 
 went somewhat slowly, and with a peculiarly 
 irritating jog in the saddle, which would have 
 sadly disturbed a person of a less indifferent
 
 200 beauchamp: or, 
 
 mind — there was plenty of room for pleasant 
 observation, if not reflection. The road ran 
 through wooded groves, and often turned along 
 the bank of the stream. At times it mounted 
 over a hill-side, and showed, beyond a rich and 
 leaiy foreground, the wide extended landscape, 
 undulating away towards the horizon, with the 
 lines of wood and slope beautifully marked in 
 the aerial perspective, and filling the mind with 
 vague imaginations of things that the eye could 
 not define. It dipped down into a valley, too, 
 and passed through a quiet, peaceful little 
 village, with a group of tall silver poplars before 
 the church, and a congregation of fine old 
 beech trees around the rectory. The whole 
 aspect of the place was home tranquillity ; that 
 of a purely English village under the most 
 favourable circumstances. Cleanliness, neat- 
 ness, rustic ornament, an air of comfort, a 
 cheerful openness, a look of healthfulness. 
 How different from the villages one sometimes 
 sees, alas ! in every country, but less in England 
 than anywhere else in the wide world: the 
 abodes of fever, dirt, penury, wretchedness.
 
 THE ERROR. 201 
 
 As he passed the rectory, with its smooth, 
 well-mown lawn, and green gates, Beauchamp 
 put his head to the carriage-window and looked 
 out. He expected to see, perhaps, a neat one- 
 horse chaise, and a sleek, well-fed beast to 
 draw it; but there was nothing of the kind 
 there, and he remarked the traces of a pair of 
 wheels from the door on the road before him. 
 Half a mile further were the gates of Sir John 
 Slingsby's park. It cannot be said that they 
 were in very good order, the iron- work wanted 
 painting sadly, one or two of the bars had got 
 a sad twist, the columns of stone -work to which 
 they were fixed needed pointing, if not more 
 solid repairs. The lodge had all the shutters 
 up, and the post-boy had to get down and open 
 the gates. 
 
 Beauchamp sighed, not because he took any 
 gi*eat interest in the place or the people it con- 
 tained, but because the aspect of desolation — 
 of the decay of man's works — especially from 
 neglect, is well worth a sigh. The drive 
 through the park, however, was delightful. Old 
 trees were all around, glorious old trees, those
 
 202 
 
 ever-growing monuments of the past, those 
 silent leafy chroniclers of ages gone. Who 
 planted them, who nourished, who protected 
 them ? what times have they seen, what deeds 
 have they witnessed, what storms have passed 
 over them, what sunshine have they drunk, 
 what sorrows, and what joys have visited the 
 generations of man, since first they sprang up 
 from the small seed till now, when they stretch 
 out their giant arms to shelter the remote pos- 
 terity of those whom they have seen flourish 
 and pass away ? Who can wander among old 
 trees, and not ask such questions — ay, and a 
 thousand more. 
 
 The sight was pleasant to Mr. Beauchamp, 
 it had a serious yet pleasing effect upon his 
 mind, and when the chaise drew up at the door 
 of Tarningham House, he felt more disposed 
 than before to enjoy the society within, what- 
 ever it might be. 
 
 The outer door was open, the fat butler 
 threw back pompously the two glass doors 
 within, a couple of round footmen, whose 
 lineaments were full of ale, flanked the hall on
 
 THE ERROR. 203 
 
 either side, and thus Mr. Beauehamp was 
 marshalled to the drawing-room, which he 
 entered with his calm and dignified air, not in 
 the slightest degree agitated, although he was 
 well aware that two very pretty faces were most 
 likely looking for his arrival. 
 
 Sir John Slingsby, in the blue coat, the white 
 waistcoat, the black breeches and stockings, 
 with the rubicund countenance and white hair, 
 advanced at once to receive him, and presented 
 him to Mrs. Clifford and her daughter. 
 
 " This young lady you already know, Mr. 
 Beauehamp," he said, pointing to his daughter, 
 " so I shan't introduce you here." 
 
 But that gentleman shook hands with Miss 
 Slingsby first, proving that their acquaintance, 
 however short, had made some steps towards 
 friendship. 
 
 Isabella was a little fluttered in her manner, 
 why, she scarcely knew herself, and the colour 
 grew a little deeper in her cheek, and her smile 
 wavered, as if she would fain have seemed not 
 too well pleased. All this, however, did not 
 at all take fi:om her beaut)^ ; for as a fair scene
 
 204 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 is never lovelier than when the shadows of 
 drifting clouds are passing over it, so a pretty- 
 face is never prettier than under the influence 
 of slight emotions. 
 
 Miss Slingsby and Mary Clifibrd were stand- 
 ing both together, so that Beauchamp had both 
 those sweet faces before him at once. Isabella 
 was as fair as a lily, with eyes of a deep blue, 
 and warm brown hair, neither light nor dark, 
 clustering richly round her brow and cheek in 
 wilful curls that would have their own way. 
 Mary Clifford was darker in complexion, with 
 the hair braided on her brow, there was deep 
 but gentle thought in her dark eyes, and though 
 the short chiselled upper lip could at times 
 bear a joyous smile enough, yet the general 
 expression was grave though not melancholy. 
 
 Beauchamp was a serious man, of a calm, 
 quiet temper, somewhat saddened by various 
 events which had befallen him, but which of 
 those two faces, reader, think you he admired 
 the most ! The gay one, to be sure, the one 
 the least like himself. So it is wisely ordained 
 by nature, and it is the force of circumstances
 
 THE ERROR. 205 
 
 alone that ever makes us choose a being simi- 
 lar to ourselves to be. our companion through 
 existence. Two tones, exactly the same, even 
 upon different instruments, produce unison not 
 harmony ; and so it is throughout all nature. 
 
 After a few words to Isabella, Mr. Beau- 
 champ turned again to Mrs. Clifford, who at 
 once spoke of their adventure of the night be- 
 fore, and thanked him for his kind assistance. 
 Beauchamp said all that courtesy required, 
 and said it gracefully and well. He expressed 
 the pleasure that he felt to see tliat neither of 
 the ladies had suffered from the fear or agita- 
 tion they had undergone, and expressed great 
 satisfaction at having been near the spot at the 
 moment the attack was made. 
 
 "VMiile they were speaking, Sir John Slings- 
 by had twice taken out his watch — it was a 
 large one, hanging by a thick gold chain, and 
 Mr. Beauchamp, thinking that he divined the 
 cause of his disquiet, observed, with a smile — 
 
 "Dr. Miles must be here, I think, for, judg- 
 ing by small signs, such as the traces of wheels 
 and an open gate, I imagine that he had left 
 home before I passed."
 
 206 beauchamp: oe, 
 
 " Oh, yes ; he is here," answered Sir John 
 Slingsby, "he has been here ten minutes ; but 
 the old boy, who is as neat in his person as in 
 his ideas, had got a little dust upon his black 
 coat, and is gone to brush it off and wash his 
 hands. That open chaise of his costs him 
 more time in washing and brushing, than writ- 
 ing his sermons ; but I can't think what has 
 become of that fellow, Ned Hayward. The 
 dog went out two hours ago for a walk through 
 the park up to the moor, and I suppose, 
 ' Thoughtless Ned,' aswe used to call him, has 
 forgotten that we dine at half-past five. Well, 
 we won't wait for him ; as soon as the doctor 
 comes we will order dinner, and fine him a 
 bumper for being late." 
 
 While he was speaking. Dr. Miles, the 
 clergyman of the Tillage through which Beau- 
 champ had passed, entered the room, and 
 shook him warmly by the hand. He was a 
 tall, spare man, with a look of florid health in 
 his countenance, and snow-white hair ; his face 
 was certainly not handsome, and there was a 
 grave and somewhat stern expression in it, but
 
 THE ERROR. 207 
 
 yet it was pleasing, especially when he smiled, 
 which, to say the truth, was not often. It may 
 seem a contradiction in terms to say that he 
 laughed oftener than he snuled, yet so it was, 
 for his laugh was not always good-humoured, 
 especially in the house of Sir John Slingsby. 
 There was, from time to time, something bitter 
 and cynical in it, and generally found vent 
 when anything was said, the folly of which he 
 thought exceeded the wickedness. He was 
 one of the few men of perfect respectability 
 who was a constant visitor at Tarningham 
 House ; but the truth was, that he was the 
 rector of Sir John Slingsby's parish. Now, no 
 consideration of tithes, perquisites, good din- 
 ners, comforts, and conveniences, would have 
 induced Dr. Miles to do anything that he 
 thought wrong ; but he argued in this man- 
 ner: — 
 
 " Sir John Slingsby is an old fool, and one 
 who is likely to get worse instead of better, if 
 nobody of more rational views, higher feelings, 
 and more reasonable pursuits takes any notice 
 of him. Now T, from my position, am bound
 
 208 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 to do the best I can to bring him to a better 
 state of mind. I may effect something in this 
 way, by seeing him frequently. At all events, 
 I can do much to prevent his becoming worse ; 
 my presence is some check upon these people; 
 and even if it does little good to the father, 
 there is that sweet, dear, amiable girl, who 
 needs some support and comfort in her un- 
 pleasant situation." 
 
 Such were some of the considerations upon 
 which Dr. Miles acted. There were many 
 more indeed, but these are enough for my pur- 
 pose. He shook Beauchamp warmly by the 
 hand, as we have seen, and seemed to be more 
 inthnate with him than anybody in the room, 
 taking him aside, and speaking to him for a 
 moment or two in private, while Sir John 
 Slingsby rang the bell, and ordered dinner 
 without waiting for Captain Hay ward. 
 
 " William Slack, Sir John, has seen him," 
 said the butler, *' coming down the long avenue 
 with something in his arms — he thinks it's a 
 fawn." 
 
 "Well then, he'll be here soon," said the
 
 THE ERROR. 209 
 
 master of the mansion ; " serve dinner, serve 
 dinner; by Jove, I won't wait ! Devil take the 
 fellow, the ensign shouldn't keep his colonel 
 waiting. It's not respectful. I'll fine him two 
 bumpers if the soup's off before he makes his 
 appearance." 
 
 In the meantime, the first words of Dr. Miles 
 to Mr. Beauchamp were, " I have made the 
 inquiries, my dear sir, according to your re- 
 quest, and it is well worth the money. It will 
 return, they say, four per cent, clear, which in 
 these times is well enough." 
 
 " I have already determined upon it," said 
 Beauchamp, " and have written to London 
 about it." 
 
 " Ay, ay," said the worthy doctor, "just like 
 all the rest of the world, my young friend — 
 asking for advice, and acting without it." 
 
 " Not exactly," answered Beauchamp ; " you 
 told me before what you thought upon the sub- 
 ject, and I knew you were not one to express 
 an opinion except upon good grounds. The 
 only question is now what lawyer I can employ 
 here to arrange minor matters. The more im- 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 beauchamp: or, 
 
 portant must, of course, be referred to my so- 
 licitors in London." 
 
 "We have no great choice," replied Dr. 
 Miles; "there are but two in Tarningham, 
 thank God. The one is a Mr. Wharton, the 
 other a Mr. Bacon, neither of them particularly- 
 excellent specimens of humanity ; but in the 
 one, the body is better than the mind, in the 
 other, the mind better than the body." 
 
 " Probably I should like the latter best," an- 
 swered Beauchamp ; " but pray, my dear doc- 
 tor, give me a somewhat clearer knowledge of 
 these two gentlemen for my guidance." 
 
 " Well then, though I do not love in general to 
 say aught in disparagement of my neighbours 
 behind their backs," Dr. Miles replied, " I must, 
 I suppose, be more definite. Mr. Wharton is 
 a quiet, silent man, gentlemanlike in appear- 
 ance and in manners, cautious, plausible, and 
 affecting friendship for his clients. I have 
 never known him set the poor by the ears for 
 the sake of small gains, or promote dissensions 
 amongst farmers in order to make by a law^- 
 suit. On the contrary, I have heard him dis-
 
 THE ERROR. 511 
 
 suade from legal proceedings, and say that 
 quarrels are yerj foolish things." 
 
 " A good sort of person," said Beauchamp. 
 
 "Hear the other side, my dear sir," rejoined 
 the doctor; "such game as I have been speaking 
 of is too small for him. He was once poor ; 
 he is now very rich. I have rarely heard of 
 his having a client who somehow did not iTiin 
 himself; and although I do not by any means 
 intend to say that I have been able distinctly 
 to trace Mr. Wharton's hand in their destruc- 
 tion, certain it is that the bulk of the property 
 — at least a large share of what they squandered 
 or lost — has found its way into his possession. 
 I have seen him always ready to smoothe men's 
 way to ruin, to lend money, to encourage ex- 
 travagance, to lull apprehension, to embarrass 
 eflforts at retrenchment, and then, when the 
 beast was in the toUs, to despatch it and take 
 his share. No mercy then, when destruction is 
 inevitable ; the lawyer must be paid, and must 
 be paid first." 
 
 " And now for Mr. Bacon ?" said Beauchamp . 
 
 "Why he is simply a vulgar little man," 
 p 2
 
 212 beauchamp: or, 
 
 answered the clergyman, " coarse in manners 
 and in person: cunning and yet stolid, but with 
 a competent knowledge of law: and keen at 
 finding out faults and flaws. His practice is 
 in an inferior line to the other's, but he is at all 
 events safer, and I believe, more honest and 
 sincere." 
 
 " How do you mean, cunning and stolid ?" 
 asked Beauchamp. " Those two qualities would 
 seem to me incompatible." 
 
 " Oh, dear no," replied Dr. Miles ; but before 
 he could explain, the butler announced dinner; 
 and as Sir John gave his arm to Mrs. Clifford, 
 Beauchamp advanced towards Isabella. The 
 doors were thrown wide open, and the party 
 were issuing forth to cross the vestibule to the 
 dining-room, when suddenly Sir John and his 
 sister halted, encountered by an apparition 
 which certainly was unexpected in the form 
 that it assumed. In fact, they had not taken 
 two steps out of the drawing-room ere the glass 
 doors were flung open, and Ned Hayward stood 
 before them, as unlike the Ned Hayward I first 
 presented to the reader as possible. His coat
 
 THE ERROR. 213 
 
 was covered with a dull whitish gray powder, 
 his linen soiled, and apparently singed, his 
 hands and face as black as soot, his glossy 
 brown hair rugged and burnt, no hat upon his 
 head, and in his arms a veiy pretty boy of 
 about two years old, or a little more perhaps, 
 on whose face were e\ident marks of recent 
 tears, though he seemed now pacified, and was 
 staring about with large eyes at the various 
 objects in the grand house to which he was just 
 introduced. 
 
 " WTiy Ned, Ned, Ned ! what in the mischiefs 
 name has happened to your" exclaimed Sir 
 John Slingsby. " Have you all at once become 
 ' a poor young man with a small family of 
 young children ?' " 
 
 " No, my dear sir," answered Ned Ha^-ward, 
 in a hurried tone, " but if you have any women 
 in the house, I will give this little fellow into 
 their care, and tell you all about it in a few 
 minutes. Hush, my little man, hush ! We are 
 all friends: we will take care of you. Now 
 don't cry again : no harm shall happen." 
 
 " Women ! to be sure !" cried Sir John :
 
 214 beauchamp: or, 
 
 " call the housekeeper, one of you rascals. 
 Women ! Hang it, Ned, do you think I could 
 live in a house without women ? A bottle of 
 claret is not more necessary to my existence 
 than the sight of a cap and a petticoat flying 
 about the house — in the distance, Ned, in the 
 distance ! No brooms and dust-pans too near 
 me ; but, in a discreet position, far enough off, 
 yet visible, woman is the sunshine of a house." 
 
 " Give him to me. Captain Hay ward," said 
 Miss Clifford, holding out her arms for the boy. 
 *' He will be quiet with me, I am sure. Won't 
 you, my poor little fellow ?" 
 
 The child gazed at her strangely as she took 
 him, letting go Dr. Miles's arm to do so ; but 
 meeting the sweet smile that lighted up her 
 beautiful face, he put his little arms round 
 her neck the next moment, and hid his large 
 blue eyes upon her shoulder. She held him 
 kindly there, speaking a few gentle words to 
 him, while Ned Hayward, looking round the 
 party, addressed himself to the worthy clergy- 
 man, inquiring, "You are the rector of this 
 parish, sir, I think ?"
 
 THE ERROR. 215 
 
 Dr. Miles made a stiff bow, not prepossessed 
 in favour of any of Sir John Slingsby's old 
 friends, and answered as briefly as possible, 
 "lam, sin" 
 
 " Then can you tell me," asked the young 
 gentleman, eagerly, " if there was any woman 
 up at the cottage on the moor r" 
 
 Dr. Miles started, and replied with a look of 
 much greater interest, " No, sir — no. What has 
 happened ? Why do you ask ? What cottage 
 do you mean ? There are three." 
 
 " I mean the cottage of a man called Gim- 
 let," answered Ned Hayward. "I saw some 
 women's clothes — gowns and things; and I 
 thought there might be a woman there, that's 
 all. — There was none, then ?" 
 
 "There was one six months ago," replied 
 the clergyman, in a very grave tone, " as lovely 
 a creature as ever was seen, but she lies in my 
 churchyard, poor thing ! She is at peace." 
 
 " Thank God," said Ned Hayward, in a tone 
 of relief. " Ah, here comes somebody for the 
 child. My good lady, will you have the kind- 
 ness to take good care of this little fellow. See
 
 216 BEAU CHAMP : OR, 
 
 that he is not burnt or hurt, and let him have 
 some bread and milk, or things that children 
 eat — I don't know very well what they are, but 
 I dare say you do." 
 
 " Oh, by Jove ! that she does !" exclaimed 
 Sir John Slingsby ; " she feeds half the children 
 in the parish. You take good care of him, 
 Mrs. Hope — and now, Ned," he continued, 
 turning from the housekeeper to his guest, 
 " what the devil's the meaning of all this ?" 
 
 "I will tell you by and by, Sir John," 
 answered Captain Hay ward. "Pray go to 
 dinner, and I will be down directly. Many 
 apologies for being late ; but it was not to be 
 helped. I will not be ten minutes ; but do not 
 let me detain you " 
 
 " But what is it all about ? What has hap- 
 pened? Who the deuce is the child?" ex- 
 claimed Sir John. " Do you think either men 
 or women can eat soup or digest fish with their 
 stomachs full of curiosity ?" 
 
 " By and by. Sir John, by and by," said Ned 
 Hayward, making towards the stairs. "You
 
 THE ERROR. -217 
 
 shall have the whole story for dessert. At 
 present I am dirty, and the dinner's waiting. 
 It will get cold, and your curiosity keep hot." 
 Thus saying he left them, and the rest of the 
 part}' proceeded to dinner.
 
 218 beauchamp: or, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 If you quit the high-road from Tarningham on 
 the right-hand side by the little sandy path, 
 just a hundred yards on the other side of the 
 stone pump, equidistant from it and the mile- 
 stone which marks on the hither side five miles 
 and a half from Tarningham, and walk straight 
 on, it leads you over the moor, and through 
 the midst of scenery very common in England, 
 not much loved by ordinary ramblers, but 
 which for me and a few others has a peculiar 
 and almost indescribable charm. The ground 
 is broken, undulated, full of deep sand-pits and 
 holes, frequently covered with gorge and heath, 
 spotted occasionally with self-sown shrubs, a
 
 THE ERROR. 219 
 
 stunted hawthorn here and there, two or three 
 melancholy firs, gathered together on the top 
 of a mound, like a party of weary watchers 
 trying to console each other by close com- 
 panionship, whUe from time to time a few light 
 birches, with their quivering leaves, thin, 
 graceful arms, and ragged coats of silver and 
 brown, are seen hanging over the edge of a 
 bank, or decorating the side of a hollow. If 
 you dip down into one of the low dells, a 
 sensation of hermit-like solitude comes upon 
 you. You believe that there at least you may 
 be. 
 
 The world forgetting, by the world forgot ; 
 
 and you feel an irresistible desire to sit down 
 at the foot of this shrub, or that, where the 
 roots, like the members of a well- governed 
 state, serve to keep together, in close union, the 
 light and incoherent materials that sustain 
 them, and there to commune with your own 
 thoughts in the silent presence of Nature. If 
 you mount one of the little hills, the scene and 
 the sensation are very different. The solitude 
 is as deep, as striking ; no living thing is to be
 
 220 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 seen, unless it be a wild curlew, with its thin 
 arched wings, whirling away with a shrill cry 
 in the enjoyment of its own loneliness ; but 
 there is an expansion, a grandeur, a strange 
 sublimity in the extent of waste, with the long 
 lines waving off in diflferent hues like the 
 billows of the ocean, first yellow sand, and 
 green short turf ; then a brown mass, where the 
 sight loses its distinctness, then perhaps a 
 gleam of water, then a blue line, deep as 
 indigo, where the azure air and the black shade 
 mingle together under some threatening cloud ; 
 then long undulations of purple, fainter and 
 fainter, till who shall say where earth ends and 
 sky begins. The bleakness, the stillness, the 
 solitariness, the varied colouring, the vast 
 extent, the very monotony of the forms mingle 
 together in a whole that has not less grandeur 
 in it than the highest mountain that ever raised 
 its proud brow above its brother giants. 
 
 I have said you would have to go straight 
 on, but what I said was quite untrue, and it is 
 wonderful how many small falsehoods slip out 
 of the innocent and unconscious pen, either in
 
 THE ERROR. 221 
 
 tlie haste of writing — which is very pardonable 
 — or for the sake of a little graceful turn, a neat 
 expression, or a pretty figure, which is not so 
 small a fault. I do not believe there were ever 
 ten sentences written by poet, historian, or 
 romance-writer, in ancient or modem times, 
 that had not some lie in them, direct or implied. 
 I stand self-convicted. It is not true that you 
 would have to go straight-forward ; for if you 
 did you would walk into a pond, and moreover, 
 might never chance to get out again ; for what 
 between rushes and reeds, and weeds and 
 water-lilies, to say nothing of sundry deep 
 holes at the bottom, there is every risk that you 
 would get your feet entangled, and plunge 
 head foremost into a place where you could 
 neither swim nor disengage yourself. No, the 
 path does not go straight-forward. Of all man's 
 circuitous ways — and every one who knows 
 the human heart, is well aware that it is too 
 fond of crooked paths ever to pursue a straight- 
 forward course in anything — of all man's cir- 
 cuitous ways, I say, there never was one more 
 serpentine or meandering than that which leads
 
 222 beauchamp: or, 
 
 from the high-road upon the moor. First it 
 turns round that pond I have mentioned, then 
 it glides about the base of a little hill, then it 
 forces its way in a slanting direction, through 
 a bank of sand, then it turns aside from a deep 
 pit, then it respectfully passes at a little dis- 
 tance from a tumulus, where sleep the ashes of 
 the forgotten brave; and even when it gets 
 upon the flat green turf, it twists about like a 
 great snake, giving sad indications of man's 
 vagabond fancies that lead him hither and 
 thither, without rhyme or reason, wherever he 
 may be going, and whatever may be the object 
 before him. 
 
 But after all, why should he not be thus led ? 
 why should he not follow these fancies ? Life's 
 but a walk over a moor, and the wild-flowers 
 that grow upon our path are too few not to 
 gather them when they come within sight, even 
 though it cost us a step or two aside. It's all 
 in the day's journey, and we shall get home at 
 last. 
 
 Yet it is curious to consider all these various 
 bends and turnings in any little foot-way such
 
 THE ERROR. 22S 
 
 as that we are now following. There is very 
 often a reason for that which seems to us to be 
 the eflfects of mere caprice. Now, why did the 
 fellow who first beat this road with his wander- 
 ing foot, turn away here to the right, when it 
 is as evident as the sun at noonday (that's to 
 say, in fine weather,) that his object was to 
 pass straight between those two little hillocks 
 before us? Oh, I see, the grass is very green 
 there ; there is either some little spring, or else 
 the ground is soft and marshy in wet weather, 
 and so he went round to avoid it. But if he 
 did so, why did he not keep to the right of the 
 hillock — that one with the hawthorn upon it, 
 which is now in flower, scenting the solitary 
 air with a perfume that no art could ever ex- 
 tract? Could it be to take a look at that wide 
 view over the tall, magnificent trees of the 
 park, with the wide-spread country beyond, 
 and the little tower of Tamingham chiu*ch, 
 rising up between those tall silver poplars? 
 Perhaps it might be so; for there is an in- 
 herent sense of the picturesque in the breast 
 of most men, which, unlike any acquired taste,
 
 224 beauchamp: or, 
 
 grows and refines, and becomes stronger and 
 more overpowering the more it is indulged, 
 and the more opportunities of indulgence that 
 it has. It is perhaps the only thing of which 
 it can be truly said that " increase of appetite 
 grows by that it feeds on." And it is a beautiful 
 scene, too, which might well tempt one a little 
 out of the way. As to the rest, it is clear enough, 
 that when he had got there — the first wan- 
 derer over the moor, I mean — he was obliged 
 to turn away to the right, in order to come into 
 the proper direction again, so that here are 
 four of his deviations completely accounted 
 for, and indeed, dear reader, I cannot help 
 thinking, that if we were once or twice in life 
 to examine curiously the motives of our own 
 actions, or even of others, taking care to be 
 impartial in both cases, we should find cause 
 to cast away our critical spirit, and to believe 
 that there are very often good and rational 
 reasons for a turn to the right or a turn to the 
 left, which we have been inclined to blame, 
 simply because we did not perceive what those 
 reasons were. Oh, charity, charity, rightly
 
 THE ERROR. 225 
 
 understood in thy largest and holiest sense, 
 what a beautiful thing thou art ! and did men 
 but practise thee, ho\Y often should ^ye be 
 spared the crime and folly of condemning un- 
 wisely and unjustly ! 
 
 But to return to my path: upon my life, 
 after having regained the direction, the fellow 
 had followed it straight on for more than a 
 quarter of a mile. It is wonderful, it is mar- 
 yellous ! I never saw such a thing before ! 
 But, neyertheless, it is true that there was 
 nothing either to attract or drive him to one 
 side or the other : and then, as if to make up 
 for lost time, what zig-zags he takes after- 
 wards ! Romid that clump of firs, under that 
 bank, through between the birch trees, here 
 and there over the wildest part of the moor, 
 till he passes close by the edge of that deep 
 sand-pit, which must have rested a long time 
 since it contributed any of its crumbling par- 
 ticles to strew the floor of the public-house, or 
 sprinkle the passage of the cottage; for the 
 bushes are growing thick down the slope, 
 and there seems as if there had been a little 
 
 yoL. I. Q
 
 226 beauchamp: or, 
 
 kitchen-garden in the bottom, and a human 
 habitation. 
 
 In the reign of that King George under 
 whose paternal sceptre flourished the English 
 nation in the times whereof I am writing, there 
 was a cottage in that sand-pit, a small lonely 
 house, built of timber, laths, and mud, and 
 containing two or three rooms. The mate- 
 rials, as I have shown, were poor; ease and 
 comfort seemed far from it; yet there was 
 something altogether not unpleasant in the 
 idea of dwelling in that sheltered nook,with 
 the dry sand and the green bushes round, 
 and feeling, that let the wind rave as it would 
 over the hill, let it bend down the birch trees, 
 and make the pines rustle and crack, and 
 strike their branches against each other, the 
 fury of the tempest could not reach one there 
 — that let the rain pour down in ever such 
 heavy torrents, as if the windows of Heaven 
 were open, the thirsty ground would drink up 
 the streams as they fell, as if its drought were 
 insatiable. There were signs of taste, too, about 
 the building, of a humble and natural kind.
 
 THE ERROR. 227 
 
 Over the door liad been formed with some 
 labour a little sort of trellised portico, of rough 
 wood-work, like an arbour, and upon this had 
 been trained several plants of the wild-hop 
 and the wild clematis, with one solitar}- creep- 
 ing garden-rose. Sticks had been placed 
 across the house, too, to afford a stay for these 
 shrubs to spread themselves over the face of 
 the cottage, if they had any strength to spare 
 when they had covered the little portico, and 
 two or three wandering shoots, like truant 
 children, were already sporting along the fra- 
 gile path thus afforded them. 
 
 The interior of the house was less pre- 
 possessing than the outside; the mud-floor, 
 hard beaten down and very equally flattened, 
 was dry enough, for the sand below it carried 
 off all moisture ; but in the walls of the rooms 
 there was, alas ! many a flaw through which 
 sun or moon might shine, or the night- wind 
 enter ; and to say the truth, the inhabitants of 
 the cottage were as much indebted to the 
 banks of the pit for protection against such a 
 cold visitant, as to the construction of their 
 q2
 
 228 beauchamp: or, 
 
 dwelling. The furniture was scanty and rude, 
 seeming to have been made by a hand not 
 altogether unaccustomed to the use of a car- 
 penter's tools, but hastily and carelessly, so 
 that in gazing round the sleeping-chamber, one 
 was inclined to imagine that the common tent- 
 bed which stood in one corner, was the only 
 article that had ever tenanted a shop. The 
 great chest, the table, the two or three chairs, 
 all spoke ]3lainly the same artificer, and had 
 that been all that the room contained, it would 
 have looked very miserable indeed; but hang- 
 ing from nails driven into the wall, w^ere a 
 number of very peculiar ornaments. There 
 was a fox's head and a fox's brush, dried, and 
 in good preservation; there was the gray skin 
 of a badger, and the brown skin of an otter ; 
 birds of prey of various sizes and descriptions, 
 the butcher-bird, the sparrows-hawk, and the 
 buzzard, as well as several ow4s. Besides 
 these zoological specimens, were hung up in 
 the same manner a number of curious imple- 
 ments, the properties and applications of some 
 of which w^ere easy to divine, while others re-
 
 THE ERROR. 2*2 1) 
 
 mained mysterious. There were two or three 
 muzzles for dogs, which could be distinguished 
 at once, but then by their side was a curious 
 looking contrivance, which appeared to be a 
 Lilliputian wire-mousetrap, sewn on to some 
 straps of leather. Then came a large coil of 
 wire, a dog's collar, and a pair of greyhound 
 slips. Next appeared something difficidt to 
 describe, having two saw-liko jaws of iron, like 
 a rat-trap, supported on semi-circular bars 
 which were fixed into a wooden handle, having 
 a spring on the outside, and a revolving plate 
 within. It was evident that the jaws could be 
 opened and kept open in case of need, and 
 had I been a hare, a rabbit, or any other deli- 
 cate-footed animal, I should not have liked to 
 tiTist my ankle within theu* gripe. I could 
 describe several other instruments both of 
 leather and iron, which were similarly sus- 
 pended from the wall ; but as I really cannot 
 tell the reader what was the use of any one of 
 them, it would be but labour thrown away. 
 However, there were other things, the intent 
 and pui*port of which were quite self-evident.
 
 230 
 
 Two or three small cages, a landing-net, fish- 
 ing-rods, a gun, powder-flasks, shot-belts, a 
 casting-net, and a clap-net, and by the side of 
 the window hung four small cages, containing 
 singing-birds. 
 
 But who was he in the midst of all this 
 strange assortment ? Was he the owner of this 
 wild, lonely dwelling ? Oh, no ! it was a young 
 man, dressed as none could be dressed who 
 frequented not very different scenes from those 
 that lay around him. His clothes were not 
 only those of a gentleman, but those of a 
 gentleman who thought much of his own per- 
 sonal appearance — too much, indeed, to be 
 perfectly gentlemanly. All that the tailor, the 
 boot-maker, the hat-maker could do had been 
 done to render the costume correct according 
 to the fashion of the day; but there was a 
 certain something which may be called a too- 
 smartness about it all — the colours were too 
 bright, the cut too decidedly fashionable, to be 
 quite in good taste. Neither was the arrange- 
 ment of the hues altogether harmonious. There 
 are the same colours in a China-aster and a
 
 THE ERROR. 231 
 
 rose, but yet what a difference in the appear- 
 ance of the two flowers; and the same sort of 
 difference, though not to the same extent, 
 existed between the dress of the person before 
 us and that of the truly well-dressed man, even 
 of his own time. In most other respects, his 
 appearance was good; he was tall, rather 
 slightly formed than otherwise, and had none 
 of that stiffness and rigidity which might have 
 been anticipated from his apparel. Demeanour 
 is almost always tinged more or less by cha- 
 racter, and a wild, rash, vehement disposition, 
 will, as in his case, give a fr*eedom to the move- 
 ments which no drilling can altogether do away 
 with. His features in themselves were not 
 bad ; but the whole countenance was disfigured 
 by a black silk shade which covered the right 
 eye, and a fresh scar all the way down the 
 same side of the nose, while from underneath 
 the shade, which was not large enough for its 
 purpose, peeped out sundry rainbow rings of 
 blue and yellow, invading both the cheek and 
 the temple. 
 
 By these marks the reader has already per-
 
 -232 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 €eived that this gentleman has been presented 
 to him before, but in a very different garb, 
 which he had thought fit to assume for his own 
 particular purposes on the preceding night; 
 and now he sat in the cottage of Stephen 
 Gimlet the poacher, judging it expedient to 
 keep himself at a distance from the peopled 
 haunts of man, during the bright and bustling 
 day at least. At night he proposed to betake 
 himself to the inn which had been mentioned 
 in his conversation with the housekeeper; but 
 after his pleasant and hopeful conversation 
 with his father, he had ridden straight to the 
 dwelling of his companion. Wolf, where, on the 
 preceding day, his portmanteaus had been left, 
 iifter they had arranged their plans; and hav- 
 ing stabled his horse in a shed at the back of 
 the building, he had there passed the heavy 
 hours of darkness, partly in bitter meditations, 
 and partly in conversation with his comrade. 
 Sleep could hardly be said to have visited his 
 eyelids, for though, after he cast himself down 
 to rest, he had dozed from time to time, yet 
 agitating thoughts continually returned, and 
 deprived him of all real repose.
 
 THE ERROR. 233 
 
 At an early hour of the morning, and while 
 it "was still dark, Ste Gimlet had gone out, as 
 was his wont; and rising with the first rays of 
 the sun, Henry Wittingham employed himself 
 in di'essing with scrupulous care, and then 
 filled up about half an hour more in making a 
 black patch to hide his disfigured eye, out of 
 an old silk handkerchief. When this was 
 accomplished, wanting something or another 
 to tie this covering in its right place, he looked 
 round the room, but in vain. Leather straps, 
 dog-collars, rat-traps, brass wire, would none 
 of them do, and although near the nets there 
 was lying a ball of whip-cord, he thought that 
 such a decoration as a string made with that 
 material would but ill accord with the rest of 
 his habiliments. He therefore walked across 
 the little passage to the next room, and lifted 
 the coarse wooden latch of the door. He found 
 the door locked, however, and muttering to 
 
 himself, " D n the fellow, did he think I 
 
 would steal anything r" he was turning away, 
 when a small sweet voice from within ex- 
 claimed, " I'm ready, daddy ; I've got my stock-
 
 234 beauchamp: or, 
 
 " Oh, he's locked the child in — that's it," said 
 Henry Wittingham, to himself, and then raising 
 his voice, he said, " Your daddy's not come 
 back, Charley ; so lie still and be quiet." 
 
 Then returning to the next room, the bril- 
 liant thought struck him of cutting off the hem 
 of the old silk handkerchief to make a string 
 for the black patch, which task being accom- 
 plished, and all complete, he sat down, and 
 thought. 
 
 Oh, how many sorts of misery there are in 
 the world ! In giving to man his fine organiza- 
 tion, in raising him above the brute by delicate 
 structure, by intellect, by imagination, and by 
 infinitely extended hope and long persisting 
 memory, nature, indeed, did afford him inex- 
 haustible sources of enjoyment, but at the same 
 time laid him open on every side to the attack 
 of evils. In perfect innocence, indeed, man and 
 his whole race might find nearly perfect happi- 
 ness. The Garden of Eden is but a type of 
 the moral Paradise of a perfectly virtuous state ; 
 but the moment that Sin entered, the thorns 
 and briers grew up to tear all feet; and the
 
 THE ERROR. 235 
 
 very capabilities of refined happiness became 
 the defenceless points for pain and wretched- 
 ness to assail us. Infinite, indeed, are their 
 attacks, and innumerable the forms that they 
 assume; but of all the shapes of misery, what 
 is to be more dreaded, what is more tenible 
 than thought to a vicious mind ^ And there 
 he sat in thought, with the morning sunshine 
 streaming around him — calm, and pure, and 
 tranquil. What did he think of? Where did 
 his meditations rest ? On the happiness that 
 was passed away, on the gay hours of child- 
 hood, on the sports of his boyish days, on the 
 times when the world was young for him, and 
 everything was full of freshness and enjoy- 
 ment ? Or did he think of the blessing cast 
 away, — of wealth, and comfort, and ease, with 
 no reasonable wish ungratified, no virtuous 
 pleasure denied ? Or did he look forward to 
 the future with fear and anguish, and to the 
 past with remorse and grief? Heaven only 
 knows ! but there he sat, with his head bent 
 forward, his brow contracted, his teeth tight 
 shut, his right arm fallen listlessly by his side,
 
 236 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 his left hand contracting and expanding invo- 
 luntarily ujDon some fragments of silk on the 
 table. He gazed forward through the window, 
 from under his bent brows. He saw not the 
 sunshine, but he felt it, and loved it not; and 
 ever and anon the dark shadows of strong 
 emotion crossed his countenance, like misty 
 clouds swept over the face of the mountain. 
 He sat long, and was at heart impatient for his 
 companion's return; but so strong was the 
 hold which thought had got upon him, he knew 
 not how time went. He heard not even the 
 child cry in the neighbouring room, when, 
 wearied with waiting, it got terrified at the un- 
 usual length of his father's absence. 
 
 The stout form of the poacher w-as at length 
 seen descending the small steep path which 
 led from the moor into the sand-pit. His step 
 was slow and heavy, his air dull and discon- 
 tented ; but Harry Wittingham, as soon as he 
 beheld him, started up, and opened the door 
 of the cottage, exclaiming, " We]l, Wolf, what 
 news ?" 
 
 " Neither the best in the world nor the 
 worst," answered the man, somewhat sullenly.
 
 THE ERROR. 237 
 
 "And what have you got for breakfast?" 
 inquired the young gentleman ; '• I am as 
 hungry as the devil !"' 
 
 " You must wait a bit, though," answered 
 Wolf, descending ; " I must look after the boy 
 first. Poor little man, I dare say he has cried 
 his eyes out — I've been so long. But if you're 
 in a great hurry, you'd better light the fire, 
 Master Hany ; you'll find some wood in the 
 corner there, and you can strike a light with 
 the pistol flint." 
 
 Harrj- Wittingham did not look well pleased, 
 and turning into the house again, walked to 
 the window, and affected to hum a tune, without 
 undertaking the menial office that the other 
 had assigned him. In the meanwhile, "Wolf 
 walked straight to the other door, unlocked it, 
 and catching up the beautiful boy, who was 
 sitting, half-di*essed, on a stool, crying, he 
 pressed him eagerly to his breast, and kissed 
 him once or twice. There were strange and 
 salutary thoughts passed through his brain at 
 that moment. He asked himself what would 
 have become of that child if he had been de- 
 tained and taken to prison, as, indeed, had
 
 238 beauchamp: or, 
 
 been very likely. Who would have let the boy 
 out of that solitary room — who would have 
 given him food — who would have nursed and 
 tended him ? And once or twice, while he was 
 finishing what the child's tiny hands had left 
 undone in attempting to dress himself, the 
 father rubbed his brow, and thought heavily. 
 Say what man will of the natural affections, 
 they are the best ties to good conduct. 
 
 When he had done, he took the boy by the 
 hand and led him into the other room, gave a 
 glance to the fire-place, and then to Harry 
 Wittingham, as he stood at the window, and 
 his brow gathered into a frown. He said 
 nothing, however, lighted the fire himself, and 
 taking the fish from his pocket, proceeded to 
 broil them. Then, from the great chest he 
 drew out a knife or two, a cut loaf of coarse 
 bread, and two or three glasses, which he 
 placed upon the table, and giving his child a 
 large hunch of the bread, told him, in a whisper, 
 as if it were a mighty secret, that he should 
 have a nice trout in a minute. To Harry Wit- 
 tingham he said not a word, till at length, the
 
 THE ERROR. 239 
 
 other turning round, exclaimed, " Well, Wolf, 
 you have not told me what news you bring." 
 
 " And you have not lighted the fire 1" said 
 Ste Gimlet. "If you think. Master Witting- 
 ham, that you can live in a place like this and 
 keep your hands clean, you are mistaken. 
 You must shape your manners to your com- 
 pany, or give it up." 
 
 Harr}' Wittingham felt inclined to make an 
 angry answer ; but recollecting how much he 
 was in his companion's power, prudence came 
 to his aid, and he only replied, " Pooh, pooh. 
 Wolf ! I am not accustomed to light fires, and I 
 do not know how to set about it." 
 
 " Faith, you may have to learn some day," 
 answered his comrade. " When I built all 
 this house, and made all these chairs and tables 
 with my own hands, I knew as little about a 
 trade I never thought to practise, as you about 
 this." 
 
 " Ay, you have practised many a trade in 
 your day," said Harry Wittingham, "and I 
 never but one." 
 
 "Nor that a very good one," murmured
 
 240 beauchamp: or, 
 
 Wolf to himself; but the storm thus passed 
 away for the time, and the trout were broiled 
 and put in a plate, from which the two men 
 and the little boy made each a hearty meal. 
 
 The magistrate's son suffered their breakfast 
 to pass over without any further inquiry re- 
 specting the tidings which his companion had 
 obtained in his morning's expedition; but 
 after Ste Gimlet had produced a bottle of very 
 fine white brandy, which certainly had not 
 turned pale at the sight of a custom-house 
 officer, and each of the men had taken a glass 
 mixed with some of the cold water which 
 formed the purer beverage of the child, the 
 poacher vouchsafed the information, unasked, 
 relating to Harry Wittingham a great part of 
 what had taken place between himself and 
 Ned Hayward. What he did not relate he 
 probably thought of no consequence, though 
 men's opinions might differ upon that subject ; 
 but at all events, Harry Wittingham gathered 
 that he had been met and narrowly escaped 
 being apprehended by a man, who had ques- 
 tioned him closely about the adventures of the
 
 THE ERROR. *241 
 
 night before, and who was acquainted with his 
 name, and the share he had had in a somewhat 
 perilous and disgraceful enterprise. 
 
 Such tidings cast Wolfs companion into 
 another fit of dark and gloomy thought, in 
 which he remained for about five minutes 
 without uttering a word ; but then he gave a 
 start, and looked up with a gleam of satisfaction 
 on his face, as if some new and pleasant con- 
 clusion had suddenly presented itself to his 
 mind. 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Ste," he said, " I've just 
 thought of something. You must go down to 
 Tarningham for me, and gather all the news 
 you can about this fellow — find out who he is, 
 and whether he is a London beak or not ; and 
 then, when you have done all that " 
 
 " I shall do none of it. Master HaiTy," an- 
 swered the poacher ; " I won't stir another step 
 in this business — I don't like it, sir ; it's not in 
 my way. I undertook it just to please you for 
 old companionship's sake, and because you 
 told me the young lady would have no objec- 
 tion ; and then when I was in it, I went through 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 beauchamp: or, 
 
 with it, though I saw well enough that she liked 
 the thought of going as much as I should like 
 to dance on a rope. But I will have no more 
 to do with it now; it has done me enough 
 harm already, and now I shall be watched ten 
 times closer than ever, and lose my living — so 
 go, I do not." 
 
 " Come, come. Wolf, there's a good fellow — 
 this is all nonsense," said Harry Wittingham, 
 in a coaxing tone. 
 
 But the man cut him short, repeating sternly 
 that he would not go. 
 
 " Then, by , I will go myself," exclaimed 
 
 the young gentleman, with a blasphemous oath ; 
 " if you are afraid, I am not." 
 
 And, starting up, he walked out of the cot- 
 tage, took his way round to the shed at the 
 back, trampling upon several of the flowers, 
 which the poacher loved to cultivate, as he 
 went ; and in about a quarter of an hour he 
 was seen riding up the little path towards the 
 moor. 
 
 After he was gone, Ste Gimlet remained for 
 some time in very thoughtful mood : now gazing
 
 THE ERROR. 243 
 
 idly at vacancy, now playing with the child's 
 hair, or answering its infantine questions with 
 an abstracted au*. At length he muttered, 
 "What's to be done now?" and then added 
 aloud, "well, something must be done. Go 
 out and play in the garden, Charley." 
 
 The child toddled out right gladly, and the 
 poacher set himself down to mend his bird-net ; 
 but ever and anon he laid down the cunning 
 meshes on his knee, and let his thoughts 
 entangle themselves in links not less intricate. 
 
 "I'll try the other thing," he said, after a 
 time ; " this does not do. I should not care for 
 myself, but it's the poor baby. Poor dear 
 Mary ! That always rested on her heart, what 
 I should do with the boy when she was gone. 
 Well, I'll try and do better. Perhaps she is 
 looking down on us — who knows ? " 
 
 And then he fell to his work again with a 
 sigh. He employed himself with several things 
 for two or three hours. He finished the net ; 
 he made a wicker-basket — it was the first he 
 had ever attempted, but he did it better than 
 might have been expected, and then he called 
 r2
 
 244 beauchamp: or, 
 
 the boy in to his dinner, giving him a trout he 
 had saved when he broiled the others. For his 
 own part, he contented himself with a lump of 
 the bread. When that was done, he went and 
 caught some small birds on the moor, just 
 above the edge of the pit, where he could see 
 the child playing below. When he had thus 
 provided their light supper — for the luxury of 
 tea was unknown in Ste Gimlet's cottage, he 
 came back and sat down by the boy, and played 
 with him fondly for several minutes, gazing at 
 him with a melancholy earnestness, which 
 mingled even with the smile of joy and pride 
 that lighted his eyes, as some movement of 
 childish grace called forth the beauties of his 
 child. Nevertheless, from time to time, there 
 was a sort of absent look ; and twice he went 
 up to the bank above, and gazed out over the 
 moor towards Tarningham. At length he went 
 away far enough to climb to the top of the 
 neighbouring barrow or tumulus, after having 
 told the boy not to venture up the path. From 
 the position in which he then stood, he had a 
 fair view of the scene I have already described,
 
 THE ERROR. 245 
 
 and caught the windings of the high road down 
 the hill more distinctly than from below. 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder if they had caught him," 
 said Wolf to himself with a frown, and an 
 anxious expression of countenance, '• and then 
 he will say it was my fault, and that I was 
 afraid to go, and all that ! — Hang it ! why should 
 I care what he says or what he thinks r" And 
 with this reflection he turned round and went 
 back homeward. He found the boy at the top 
 of the bank, however, and gave him a gentle 
 shake, scolding him till the big drops began to 
 gather in his large blue eyes. 
 
 Stephen Gimlet was not satisfied with him- 
 self, and scolding the child he found did not 
 act as a diversion to his own self-reproaches. 
 After he had set his son playing again, he 
 walked about moodily for near a quarter of an 
 hour, and then burst forth impetuously, saying, 
 
 " I can't stand this ; I must go and see what's 
 become of him — they'll know at the turnpike 
 if he's passed, and the old woman won't blab. 
 Here, Charley, boy, you must go and play in 
 the house now — it's growing late, and I'm going
 
 246 beauchamp: or, 
 
 away — I shan't be long, and you shall have the 
 bird-cages to play with." 
 
 The boy seemed to be well accustomed to it, 
 and trotted away to the house before his father, 
 without any signs of reluctance. He was placed 
 in the same room where he had been in the 
 morning, some empty bird-cages and two or 
 three other things were given him for his 
 amusement, and locking the door of the cham- 
 ber, the poacher walked away, saying with a 
 sigh, " There can no harm happen this time, 
 for I am going to do no wrong to any one." 
 
 Vain, however, are all such calculations. 
 The faults and virtues of others, as well as our 
 own faults and virtues, enter into the strange 
 composition of our fate, and affect us darkly 
 and mysteriously, in a manner which we can 
 never foresee. 
 
 The poacher had left his own door about a 
 quarter of an hour, when two men took their 
 way down into the sand-pit, the one on horse- 
 back, the other on foot. Harry Wittingham 
 fastened his horse's bridle to the latch of the 
 door, and going in with his companion, looked
 
 THE ERROR. 247 
 
 round for Wolf, then crossing over to the other 
 chamber, and finding it locked, he said — 
 
 " Stephen isn't here. There, take that up, 
 and be off with it ;" and he pointed to his port- 
 manteau in the comer where it lay. 
 
 The other man, who seemed a common farm- 
 servant, or one of the inferior stable-men of an 
 inn, got the portmanteau on his shoulder, and 
 walked away with it; and^ Harry Wittingham 
 remained for a minute or two with his hands 
 behind his back looking out of the window. 
 At the end of that time he said aloud : " Well, 
 it's no use waiting for him ; we should only 
 have a row, I dare say, so I'll be off, too." 
 
 Before he went, however, he looked round 
 the place for a moment, with an expression of 
 mockery and contempt. What was in his 
 bosom, it would be difficult to say, for the 
 heart of man is full of strange things. Per- 
 haps he felt it unpleasant to be imder an obliga- 
 tion to the owner of that poor tenement, even 
 for a night's shelter, and strove to salve the 
 woimd of pride by reducing the obligation to 
 the lowest point in his own estimation. He
 
 248 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 might think that the misery he saw around did 
 not make it a very desirable resting-place, and 
 that he had little to be thankful for in having 
 been permitted to share a beggar's hut. His 
 eyes, as he gazed around, fell upon some 
 embers of smouldering wood on the hearth, 
 and that called to mind one of the many bad 
 habits which he had lately acquired, and in 
 which he had not yet indulged through the 
 whole of that day. He accordingly put his 
 hand in his pocket, and pulled out some cigars, 
 then not very common in England. Next tak- 
 ing up with the tongs a piece of the chaiTed 
 and still burning wood, he lighted one of the 
 rolls of weed, cast down the ember, and threw 
 the tongs back upon the hearth ; after which, 
 mounting his horse, he cantered away as 
 blithely as if his heart had been innocent as a 
 child's. 
 
 The ember fell upon the earthen floor, where, 
 under ordinary circumstances, it could do no 
 harm ; but it so happened that Stephen Gim- 
 let, when he had done mending the net, had 
 east down the hank of twine close by the table.
 
 THE ERROR. 249" 
 
 A long end of the string had fallen towards the 
 fire-place, and a moment or two after Henry 
 Wittingham had quitted the cottage, the piece 
 of charred wood itself became black, but a 
 small spot of fire was seen close to it, and a 
 thin filmy curl of smoke arose. It went on 
 smouldering for about five minutes, creeping 
 forwards inch bj inch, and then a gust of wind 
 through the door, which Hariy Wittingham 
 had left open, fanned it, and a flame broke out. 
 Then it ran rapidly along, and caught the hank 
 of twine, which was in a blaze in a moment. 
 It spared the netting-needle, which was of hard 
 box-wood, and for an instant seemed to pro- 
 mise to go out of itself; but then the flame 
 leaped up, and the meshes of the net, which 
 had been left partly on the table, partly on a 
 chair, showed a spajk here and there, flashed 
 with the flame, and then, oh, how eagerly the 
 greedy element commenced dcToming all that 
 it could meet with I Wherever there was a 
 piece of wood-work it seized upon it ; the 
 table, the chair, the poles of the net, the up- 
 right posts of the wall, the beams of the roof.
 
 250 
 
 the thatch itself, and then instantly a cloud of 
 dull black smoke, mixed with sparks, rose up 
 upon the moor, from the sand-pit. The heat 
 became intense, the smoke penetrated into the 
 other chamber, the sparks began to fall before 
 the window, a red light spread around, and 
 then the terrified screams of a child were 
 heard. 
 
 About a quarter of an hour before, a gentle- 
 man had appeared upon the moor, from the 
 side of Sir John Slingsby's park. He had 
 come up the hill as if he were walking for a 
 wager, for there was something in the resis- 
 tance of the acclivity to his progress, which 
 made the vigorous spirit of youth and health 
 resolute to conquer it triumphantly. When 
 the feat was done, however, and the hill passed 
 as if it had been a piece of level ground, Ned 
 Hayward slackened his pace and looked about 
 him ; enjoyed to the full all that the wide ex- 
 panse had of grand and fine, breathed freer in 
 the high air, and let the spirit of solitary 
 grandeur sink into his heart. He had none of 
 the affected love of the picturesque and the
 
 THE ERROR. 251 
 
 sublime, wliich make the folks who assume the 
 poetical so ridiculous. He was rather inclined 
 to check what people call fine feelings than 
 not ; he was disposed to fancy himself, and to 
 make other people fancy him, a very common- 
 place sort of person, and he would not have 
 gone into an ecstasy for the world, even at the 
 very finest thing that the world ever produced ; 
 but he could not help, for the life of him, feel- 
 ing everything that was beautiful and great, 
 more than he altogether liked, so that, when in 
 society, he passed it off with a touch of per- 
 siflage, putting that sort of shield over what he 
 felt to be a vulnerable point. Now, however, 
 when he happened to be alone, he let Nature 
 have her way, and holding his riding- whip by 
 both ends, walked here and walked there, gaz- 
 ing at the prospect where he could get a sight 
 of it, and looking to the right and the left, as if 
 not to let any point of loveliness escape him. 
 His eyes soon fell upon the little tumulus 
 already mentioned, with the sentinel fir-trees 
 keeping guard upon the top, and thinking that 
 there must be a good look-out from that high
 
 252 beauchamp: or, 
 
 position, he walked slowly up, and gazed over 
 the park towards Tarningham. Suddenly, 
 however, his eyes were drawn to the other 
 side, as a cloud of white smoke came rolling 
 up out of the sand-pit. 
 
 "Ha, ha!" he said, "my friend Master Wolf 
 lighting his fire, I suppose." 
 
 But the smoke increased. Ned Hay ward 
 thought he saw some sparks rising over the 
 bushes. A sudden sensation of apprehension 
 crossed his mind, and he walked rapidly down 
 the side of the hillock, and crossed the inter- 
 vening space with a step quick in reality, 
 though intended to appear leisurely ; but in a 
 moment a cloud of deeper-coloured smoke, 
 tinged with flame, burst up into the evening 
 air, and he sprang forward at full speed. A 
 few bounds brought him to the side of the pit ; 
 and, as he reached it, a scream met his ear. 
 It was the easily recognised voice of childhood, 
 in terror or in pain, and Ned Hayward hesi- 
 tated not an instant. There was a path down 
 a couple of hundred yards away to the left, but 
 the scene before his eyes counselled no delay.
 
 THE ERROR. 253 
 
 There was the cottage, with the farther part of 
 the thatch all in a blaze, the window of the 
 room beneath it fallen in, and the flame rush- 
 ing forth, a cloud of smoke issuing from the 
 door, and scream after scream proceeding 
 from the nearer end of the building. His 
 riding-whip was cast down at once, and grasp- 
 ing the stem of the birch tree rooted in the 
 very edge, he swung himself over, thinking to 
 drop upon a sloping part of the bank about ten 
 feet below. The filmy roots of the shrub, 
 however, had not sufficient hold upon the 
 sandy soil to sustain his weight ; the tree bent, 
 gave way, and came down over him with a part 
 of the bank, so that he and his frail suj^port 
 rolled together to the bottom of the pit. He 
 was up in an instant, however — he might be 
 hurt or he might not, he knew nothing about 
 it — but the shrill cry of the child rang in his 
 ear, and he darted forward to the cottage door- 
 way. It was full of fire, and dark with suffo- 
 cating vapour, but in he rushed, scorching his 
 hair, hands, his face, and his clothes. He 
 found the other door blackened, and in some
 
 254 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 places alight with the encroaching fire ; tried 
 to open it, but failed, and then shouted aloud, 
 " Keep back, keep back ! and I will burst it 
 open ;" and then, setting his foot against it, he 
 cast it with a vigorous effort into the room. A 
 momentary glance around showed him the 
 child, who had crept as near to the window as 
 possible, and, darting forward, Ned Hayward 
 caught the boy up in his arms, and rushed out 
 with him, covering his head with his arm, that 
 none of the beams, which were beginning to 
 fall, might strike him as they passed; then 
 setting him down on the green turf when they 
 were at a little distance, he asked eagerly, 
 " Are there any more ?" 
 
 The child, however, stupified with terror, 
 gazed in his face and cried bitterly, but an- 
 swered not. Seeing he could obtain no reply, 
 Ned Hayward ran back to the cottage, and tried 
 to go in again, but it was now impossible ; the 
 whole way was blocked up with burning rafters, 
 and large detached masses of the thatch, which 
 had fallen in, and were now sending up vast 
 showers of sparks, as the wind stirred them.
 
 THE ERROR. -255 
 
 He hurried to the window, and looked in, and 
 though the small panes were cracking with the 
 heat, he forced it open, and shouted at the ex- 
 treme pitch of his voice, to drown the rushing 
 sound of the fire, " Is there any one within:" 
 
 There was no answer ; and the moment after, 
 the dry beams being burnt away, and the sup- 
 port at the other end gone, the whole thatch 
 above gave way, and fell into the room, while 
 the flame rushed up into a spire as it descended. 
 
 The heat was now intolerable, and forced a 
 retreat to a distance. Captain Hayward took 
 the boy up in his arms, and strove to soothe 
 him and gain some information from him. It 
 was all in vain, however ; and after a moment's 
 thought, the gentleman said to himself, " I vnli 
 carry him away to Tamingham House. Jack 
 Slingsby will never refuse him food and shelter, 
 I am sure, and in case there should be any one 
 else in the place, it is vain to hope that one 
 could save them now. We can send up people 
 to look for the bodies. But let us see what's 
 at the back of the house." He accordingly 
 walked round, still carrying the boy in his arms.
 
 256 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 but found nothing there, except a low detached 
 shed, which seemed in security, as the wind 
 blew the other way. A long trough and spout, 
 indeed, between the shed and the cottage, ap- 
 peared in a somewhat perilous position, and as 
 it was likely that they might lead the fire to the 
 building yet uninjured, Ned Hayward thought 
 fit to remove them before he left the ground. 
 This cost him some trouble, as they were rooted 
 in the sand ; but when it was once accomplished, 
 he took up the boy again, sought his hat, but 
 could not find it, and crossing the moor, entered 
 the western gates of Sir John Slingsby's park, 
 without meeting any one from whom he could 
 obtain information, or to whom he could com- 
 municate the event which had just occurred.
 
 THE ERROR. 257 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The events detailed in the last chapter, or at 
 least that portion of them in which he himself 
 had borne a share, were related by Ned Hay- 
 ward to the party at Sir John Slingsby's after 
 he had rejoined them at the dinner-table, having 
 done his best to remove the traces of his ad- 
 venture from his personal appearance. The 
 smoke and sand were washed away, the burnt 
 and singed garments had been changed for 
 others, and Ned Hay ward still appeared a very 
 good-looking fellow, not the less interesting^ 
 perhaps, in the eyes of the ladies there present 
 for all that he had done and suffered. Never- 
 theless, the fine wavy curls of his brown hair, 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 258 
 
 which had been burnt off, were not to be re- 
 covered in so short a time, and both his hands 
 showed evident signs of having been injured 
 by the fire. He was in high spirits, for the 
 assurance that there could be nobody else in 
 the cottage but the boy, unless it were Gimlet 
 the poacher himself, of which there was no pro- 
 bability, had relieved the young gentleman's 
 mind of a heavy weight, and, jesting gaily with 
 Sir John Slingsby, who vowed that, with those 
 hands of his, he would not be able to throw a 
 line for a fortnight, he replied, that he would 
 undertake to catch the finest trout in the whole 
 water before noon the next day. 
 
 " And now, my dear sir," he continued, 
 turning to the clergyman, " as you seem to 
 know something of this good gentleman. Gimlet, 
 and his affairs, I wish you'd give me a little 
 insight into his history." 
 
 " It is a sad and not uncommon one," an- 
 swered Dr. Miles, gravely, " and I will tell it 
 you some other time. My poor parishioners 
 have a superstitious feeling about that pit, and 
 that cottage, for a man was murdered there
 
 THE ERROR. 259 
 
 some years ago. You will find multitudes of 
 people who will vouch for his ghost having been 
 seen sitting on the bank above, and under a 
 solitary birch-tree." 
 
 " It wont sit there any more," answered Ned 
 Hayward, laughing, " for the birch-tree and I 
 rolled down into the pit together, as I tried to 
 drop down by its help, thinking it was quite 
 strong enough to support me." 
 
 " Then I am afraid the ghost is gone alto- 
 gether for the future," said Dr. MUes, in a tone 
 of some regret. 
 
 " Afraid ! my dear doctor," exclaimed Miss 
 Slingsby ; " surely you do not want ghosts 
 among your parishioners ?" 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha !" laughed Sir John Slingsby, 
 with a merrj', fat, overflowing chuckle. '' Isa- 
 bella means, doctor, that you may make your 
 flock as spiritual as you please, but not reduce 
 them quite to specti'es." 
 
 "No, papa, you are a wrong intei-preter," 
 rejoined his daughter ; " I meant to say, that 
 of all men on earth, I should have thought Dr. 
 Mdes was the last to patronise a ghost." 
 s -2
 
 260 beauchamp: or, 
 
 " I don't know, my dear," replied the worthy 
 clergyman, " a ghost is sometimes very service- 
 able in a parish. We are but children of a 
 bigger growth, and a bugbear is as necessary 
 sometimes for great babies as small ones ; not 
 that I ever used it or should use it ; but the 
 people's own imagination did that for me. I 
 have heard, Sir John, that some men when they 
 were lying out to shoot your deer, were scared 
 away by one of them fancying he saw the ghost, 
 and you saved two good haunches of venison, 
 to say nothing of the pasty." 
 
 "By Jove, that was a jolly ghost indeed," 
 answered Sir John Slingsby; "and I'll give 
 him a crown the first time I meet him. Doctor, 
 a glass of wine." 
 
 " If ghosts had such eflfects upon poachers," 
 said Beauchamp, who had been speaking in a 
 low tone to Miss Slingsby, " how happens it 
 that this man, the father of the boy whom 
 Captain Hay ward brought hither, fixed his 
 abode in the spirit's immediate neighbourhood?" 
 
 " Oh, he is a sad unbelieving dog," said Dr. 
 Miles ; but then suddenly checking himself, he
 
 THE ERROR. -261 
 
 added, " and yet in that I do him injustice ; 
 there is some good in the man, and a great 
 deal of imagination. Half his faults proceed 
 from an ill-disciplined fancy ; but the truth is, 
 being a very fearless fellow, and of this imagi- 
 native disposition, I believe he would just as 
 soon have a ghost for a next door neighbour 
 as not. Therefore, I do not suppose that it 
 v^-as from any doubt of the reality of the appa- 
 rition, but rather in defiance of it, that he set 
 up his abode there; and perhaps he thought, 
 too, that it might serve as a sort of safeguard 
 to him, a protection against the intrusion of 
 persons less bold than himself, at those hours 
 when ghosts and he himself are wont to wander. 
 He knew well that none of the country' people 
 would come near him then, for all the ignorant 
 believe in apparitions more or less." 
 
 "Now, dear Dr. [Miles, do tell me," cried 
 Isabella Slingsby with a gay laugh, " whether 
 some of the learned do not believe in them, too. 
 If it were put as a serious question to the 
 Rev. Dr. Miles himself, whether he had not a 
 little quiet belief at the bottom of his heart
 
 262 beauchamp: or, 
 
 ill the appearance of ghosts, what would he 
 answer ?" 
 
 "That he had never seen one, my dear," 
 replied the clergyman, with a good-humoured 
 smile ; " but at the same time I must say that a 
 belief in the occasional appearance of the 
 spirits of the dead for particular purposes, is a 
 part of our religion. I have no idea of a man 
 calling himself a Christian and taking what 
 parts of the Bible he likes, and rejecting or 
 explaining away the rest. The fact of the re- 
 appearance of dead people on this earth is 
 more than once mentioned in Scripture, and 
 therefore I believe that it has taken place. 
 The purposes for which it was permitted in all 
 the instances there noticed, were great and 
 momentous, and it may very possibly be that 
 since the Advent of Our Saviour, no such 
 deviations from usual laws have been requisite. 
 Of that, however, I can be no judge ; but at all 
 events my own reason tells me, that it is not 
 probable a spirit should be allowed to revisit 
 the glimpses of the moon for the purpose of 
 making an old woman say her prayers, or 
 frightening a village girl into fits."
 
 THE ERROR. 263 
 
 " You are speaking alone of the apparition 
 of the spirits of the dead," said Mr. Beauchamp ; 
 " did you ever hear of the appearance of the 
 spirits of the li\'ing r" 
 
 " Not without their bodies, surely !" said 
 Miss Clifford. 
 
 "Oh, yes, my dear Mary," answered Dr. 
 Miles, " such things are recorded, I can assure 
 you, ay, and upon testimony so strong that it is 
 impossible to doubt that the witnesses belieyed 
 what they related, whether the apparition was 
 a delusion of their own fancy or not — indeed, 
 it is scarcely possible to suppose that it was a 
 delusion, for in several instances the thing, 
 whatever it was, made itself visible to several 
 persons at once, and they all precisely agreed 
 in the description of it." 
 
 " One of the most curious occurrences of the 
 kind that ever I heard of," said Beauchamp, 
 " was told me by a German gentleman to whom 
 it happened. It was the case of a man seeing 
 his own spirit, and although we are continually 
 told we ought to know ourselves, few men have 
 ever had such an opportunity of doing so as 
 this gentleman."
 
 i264 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 " Oh, do tell us the whole story, Mr. Beau- 
 champ," cried Isabella, eagerly ; " I must beg 
 and entreat that you would not tantalize us 
 with a mere glimpse of such a delightful vision, 
 and then let fall the curtain again." 
 
 " My dear Bella, you are tantalizing him," 
 exclaimed her father. "Don't you see that 
 you are preventing him from eating his dinner ; 
 at all events, we will have a glass of wine first ; 
 shall it be Hermitage, Mr. Beauchamp? I 
 have some of 1808, the year before that rascal, 
 Napoleon, mixed all the vintages together." 
 
 The wine was drunk, but immediately this 
 was accomplished, Isabella renewed her attack, 
 calling upon Mr. Beauchamp for the story, and 
 in her eagerness laying one round taper finger 
 upon his arm as he sat beside her, to impress 
 more fully her commands upon him, as she 
 said, " I must and will have the story, Mr. 
 Beauchamp." 
 
 " Assuredly," he replied, in his usual quiet 
 tone ; " but first of all, I must premise one or 
 two things, that you may give it all the weight 
 it deserves. The gentleman who told it to me
 
 THE ERROR. 265 
 
 was, at the time of my acquaintance with him, 
 a man of about seventy years of age, very 
 simple in his manners, and, however excitable 
 his fancy might have been in youth, he was at 
 the time I speak of, as unimaginative a person 
 as it is possible to conceive. He assured me 
 most solemnly, as an old man upon the verge 
 of eternity, that every word he spoke was truth ; 
 and now I wUl tell it as nearly in his own 
 language as I can, and my memory is a very 
 retentive one. You must remember, however, 
 that it is he who is speaking, and not I ; and 
 fancy us sitting together, the old man and the 
 young one, warming ourselves by a stove on a 
 winter's night, in the fine old town of Xiu'em- 
 berg.'' 
 
 €l)t (Bits lHan'5 ^torp. 
 
 " I am of an Italian family," said my friend, 
 " but my father and my grandfather were both 
 bom in Germany ; exceedingly good people in 
 their way, but by no means very wealthy. My 
 elder brother was being educated for a phy- 
 sician, and had just finished his com'se of
 
 266 beauchamp: or, 
 
 study, when my father, having given me as 
 good an education as he could in Nuremberg, 
 thought fit to send me to Hamburg, that I 
 might pursue my studies there, and take ad- 
 vantage of any opportunity that might occur 
 for advancing myself in life. My stock of all 
 kinds was exceedingly small when I set out ; 
 my purse contained the closely-estimated ex- 
 penses of my journey, and the allowance made 
 for my maintenance during six months, which 
 did not admit of the slightest idea of luxury of 
 any kind. I was grateful, however, for what 
 was given, for I knew that my father could 
 afford no more, and I had no hope of another 
 ' heller'* till my half year was out. I had my 
 ordinary travelling dress, and my mother gave 
 me six new shirts, which she had spun with 
 her own hands ; besides these, my portmanteau 
 contained one complete black suit, two pair of 
 shoes, and a pair of silver buckles, which my 
 father took off his own feet, and bestowed 
 upon me, with his benediction. My elder 
 
 * The smallest German coin, till a certain prince thought fit 
 to coin half hellers.
 
 THE ERROR. 267 
 
 brother always loved me, and was kind to me ; 
 and when my going was first talked of, he re- 
 gretted deeply that he had nothing to give me ; 
 but my little preparations occupied a fortnight, 
 and during that time good luck befriended him 
 and me, and he treated and killed his first 
 patient skilfully. Thus he obtained the means 
 of making me a sumptuous present for my 
 journey, which consisted of a straight-cut blue 
 mantle, with a square collar. Let me dwell 
 upon the mantle, for it is important. It was in 
 the Nuremberg fashion, which had gone out of 
 vogue over all the rest of Germany for at least 
 thirty years, and when I first put it on, I felt 
 very proud of it, thinking that I looked like one 
 of the cavaliers in the great picture in the town- 
 hall. However, there was not another mantle 
 like it in all Germany, except in Nuremberg — 
 sky-blue, falling three inches below the knee, 
 with a square-cut collar. I will pass over my 
 journey to Hamburg, till my arrival in a little 
 common inn, in the old part of the town. Not 
 having a pfenning to spare, I set out early the 
 next morning to look out for a lodging, and
 
 268 beauchamp: or, 
 
 saw several that would have suited myself very 
 well, but which did not suit my finances. At 
 length, perceiving the wife of a grocer standing 
 at a door, with a good-humoured countenance, 
 in a narrow and dark street, containing some 
 large, fine houses, which had seen the splen- 
 dours of former times, I walked up to her and 
 asked if she could recommend a lodging to a 
 young man who was not over rich. After 
 thinking for a moment, she pointed across the 
 way, to a house with a decorated front, which 
 had become as black as ink with age. The 
 lower story was entirely occupied by an iron- 
 warehouse ; but she said that up above on the 
 first floor I should find Widow Gentner, who 
 let one room, and who had, she believed, no 
 lodger at the time. I thanked her many times 
 for her civility, and walking across the street 
 to the point she indicated, I looked up at the 
 cornices and other ornaments which were dis- 
 played upon the fagade. Dirty they were, be- 
 yond all doubt. A pair of stone ladies with 
 baskets in their hands, which had probably 
 been once as white as snow, now displayed
 
 THE ERROR. 269 
 
 long dripping lines of black upon their gar- 
 ments ; their noses had disappeared, but the 
 balls of the eyes were of the deepest brown, 
 though about the centre appeared a white spot, 
 which seemed to show the presence of cataract. 
 The fruit in the baskets, however, consisted 
 apparently of black cherries, and a dingy cor- 
 nucopia, which stood by the side of each, 
 vomited forth swarthy fruit and flowers of a 
 ver}' uninviting quality. I gazed in suiprise 
 and admu'ation, and asked myself if it ever 
 would be my fate to live in so fine a mansion. 
 Taking courage, however, I inquired at the 
 ironmonger's which was the door of Widow 
 Gentner, and of the three which opened into 
 the lower part of the house, I was directed to 
 the second. On the first floor I found a tidy 
 little maid, who introduced me to the presence 
 of her mistress, a quiet, dry old lady, who was 
 seated in a room which had apparently formed 
 part of a magnificent saloon — I say formed 
 part, for it was evident that the size of the 
 chamber had been much curtailed. On the 
 ceiling, which was of the most magnificent
 
 270 beauchamp: or, 
 
 stucco work I ever saw, appeared various 
 groups of angels and cherubs in high relief, as 
 large as life, and seated amidst clouds and 
 bunches of flowers as big as feather-beds. But 
 that ceiling betrayed the dismemberment of 
 the room ; for all along the side where ran the 
 wall behind the good lady were seen angels' 
 legs without the heads and bodies, baskets of 
 flowers cut in two, and cherubs with not above 
 one-half of those members even, which sculp- 
 tors have left them. This was soon explained : 
 the widow informed me that she had divided 
 her chamber into three, of which she reserved 
 one for herself, another for her little maid, and 
 let the third, which had a staircase to itself 
 opening from the street. She had done so 
 with a good wall, she said, to support the pla- 
 fond, so that if I wanted to see the room she 
 had to let, I must go down again with her and 
 mount the other stairs, as there was no door of 
 communication. I admired her prudence, and 
 accompanied her at once to a small room, 
 arrived at by a narrow staircase with its own 
 street-door ; and there I found on the ceiling
 
 THE ERROR. 271 
 
 above my head the lost bodies and wings of the 
 angels on the other side, besides a very solid 
 pair of cherubims of my own. It contained a 
 little, narrow bed, a table, a scanty propoition 
 of chairs and other things necessary for the 
 existence of a student ; and though an unplea- 
 sant feeling of solitude crept over me as I 
 thought of inhabiting an apartment so entirely 
 cut off from all human proximity, yet, as the 
 widow's rent was small, I closed the bargain at 
 once, and soon was installed in my new abode. 
 The good lady was ver^- kind and attentive, 
 and did all she could to make me comfortable, 
 inquiring, amongst other things, what letters of 
 introduction I had in Hamburg. I had but 
 one which I considered of any value, which 
 was addressed, with many of those flourishes 
 which you know are common amongst us, to 
 Mr. S., a famous man in his day, both as a 
 philosopher and literary man, and was also a 
 man of sense, of the world, and what is more 
 than all, of a kind and benevolent heart. I 
 went to deliver it that very day, and met with 
 a most friendly reception from a good-looking
 
 272 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 old gentleman, of perhaps sixty-three or four, 
 who at once made me feel myself at home with 
 him, treating me with that parental air which 
 inspired both respect and confidence. He 
 asked several questions about my journey, 
 where I lodged, how I intended to employ my 
 time, and last, what was the state of my 
 finances. I told him all exactly as it was, and 
 when I rose to depart, he laid his hand on my 
 arm with the most benevolent air in the world, 
 saying, ' You will dine with me to-morrow at 
 twelve o'clock, and I shall expect to see you 
 at dinner three days in the week as long as 
 you stay. From eight to ten at night I am 
 always at home, and whenever you have nothing 
 else to do, come in and spend those hours with 
 us.' I will not pretend to say I was not quite 
 well aware that the place thus granted me at 
 his dinner-table was offered from a knowledge 
 of the limited state of my finances ; but pride 
 in my case was out of the question, and I was 
 exceedingly grateful for the act of kindness, 
 which saved me a considerable sum in my 
 housekeeping, and enabled me to indulge in a
 
 THE ERROR. 273 
 
 few little luxuries which I could not otherwise 
 have commanded. 
 
 " It was the autumn of the year when I 
 arrived at Hamburg ; but the time passed very 
 pleasantly. All the day I was engaged in my 
 studies ; at twelve o'clock I dined, either at my 
 own chamber or at worthy Mr. S.'s, and almost 
 every evening was spent at his house, where he 
 failed not to regale me, either with a cup of fine 
 coffee, or sometimes, as a great treat, with a 
 cup of tea, according to your English mode. 
 In short, I became his nightly guest, and as 
 the evenings grew dark and sometimes fogg}", I 
 bought a litde lantern to light myself through 
 the long and lonely streets which I had to pass 
 from his house to my own. On these occasions, 
 too, as the weather grew intensely cold, my 
 blue cloak with the square collar proved a most 
 serviceable friend, and every night at ten 
 o'clock I might be seen in precisely the same 
 attire; with my black suit, in great part covered 
 by the azure mantle, and the small lantern in 
 my hand, finding my way homeward to my 
 solitary abode. Mr. S. lived in the fine new 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 part of the town, where he had a handsome 
 house, with two maid- servants and his coach- 
 man, but the latter slept at the stables. I lived, 
 as I have before said, in the old part of the 
 town, well nigh a mile distant ; thus, in coming 
 and going, I got exercise at night, if I did not 
 in the day, and I mark it particularly, that I 
 used to enjoy my walk to his house and back, 
 and used to look forward to it with pleasure 
 during my hours of study, in order that you 
 may see, that on the occasion of which I am 
 about to speak, I was affected by no fantastical 
 melancholy. 
 
 " At length, one night in the winter of 17 — , 
 after passing the evening at the house of Mr. 
 S., where I had taken nothing but a cup of 
 coffee and a slice of brown bread-and-butter, I 
 took leave of my friend, put on my blue mantle 
 with a square collar, lighted my lantern at the 
 house-maid's candle, and having safely shut 
 the glass, set out on my walk home. It was 
 about a quarter-past ten, and the night was 
 clear and very dark ; the sky, indeed, was full 
 of stars, which looked peculiarly bright, as I
 
 THE ERROR. 275 
 
 gazed up at them between the tall houses as if 
 from the bottom of a well, and I felt a sort of 
 exhilarating freshness in the air that raised my 
 spirits rather than otherwise. I walked along 
 to the end of the first street with a light step, 
 turned into the second, and was just entering 
 the third, when I saw a figure some thirty or 
 forty paces before me, standing in a corner as 
 if waiting for some one. Although the streets, 
 in the good old days of Hamburg, were gene- 
 rally by that time of night quite deserted, yet 
 there was nothing extraordinary in my meeting 
 one or two persons as I went home, so that I 
 took little or no notice of this figure, till I had 
 advanced to within about twenty paces, when 
 it turned itself full towards me, and at the same 
 time the light of my lantern fell directlyjupon it. 
 Guess my surprise, when I saw a being so ex- 
 actly like myself, that I could have imagined I 
 was looking in a glass. There were the black 
 legs, the shoes and silver buckles, the blue 
 mantle with the square-cut collar, and the little 
 lantern with the handle at the back, held just 
 as I held mine. I stopped suddenly, and 
 T 2
 
 276 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 rubbed my eyes with my left hand; but the 
 figure immediately turned round and walked 
 away before me. At the same time my heart 
 beat violently, and a sort of strange, dreamy 
 sensation of horror came over me, like that 
 which takes possession of one sometimes when 
 labouring under the nightmare. An instant's 
 reflection made me ashamed of what I felt, and 
 saying to myself, ' I'll look a little closer at this 
 gentleman,' I walked on, hurrying my pace. 
 The figure, however, quickened its steps in the 
 same proportion. I did not like to run, but I 
 was always a quick walker, and I hastened as 
 fast as ever I could ; but it had no effect ; the 
 figure, without the least apparent effort, kept 
 always at the same distance, and every moment 
 I felt the sort of superstitious dread which had 
 taken possession of me increasing, and strug- 
 gling against the efforts of resolution. Reso- 
 lution conquered, however ; and determined to 
 see who this was that was so like me, without 
 showing him too plainly that I was chasing 
 him, I stopped at a corner where a street wound 
 round, entering again the one that I was pur-
 
 THE ERROR. 277 
 
 suing at some distance, and then taking to my 
 heels, I ran as hard as I could to get before 
 my friend in the blue mantle. When T re- 
 turned to the other street again, though I must 
 have gained two or three minutes at least, in- 
 stead of seeing the figin-e coming from the side 
 where I had left it, there it was, walking on de- 
 liberately in the direction I usually followed 
 towards my own house. We were now within 
 three streets of Widow Gentner's, and though 
 they were all of them narrow enough, I gene- 
 rally took those which were most open. There 
 was a lane, however, to the left, which, passing 
 by the grocer's I have mentioned, cut off at least 
 a quarter of the way, and as I was now over- 
 powered by feelings I cannot describe, I re- 
 solved to take the shortest path, and run as 
 hard as I could, in order to get home, and shut 
 myself in before the figure in the blue mantle 
 reached the spot. Off I set, then, down the 
 narrow lane like lightning, but when I came to 
 the grocer's comer, my hoiTor was complete, 
 on beholding the same figure walking along 
 past the closed windows of the iron-shop, and
 
 278 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 I stopped, with my heart beating as if it would 
 have burst through my ribs. With eyes almost 
 starting from my head, and the light of the lan- 
 tern turned full upon it, I gazed at its proceed- 
 ings, when behold, it walked quietly up to my 
 door, stopped, turned round towards the house, 
 put the right-hand in its pocket, and seemed 
 feeling for my key. The key was produced, 
 and stooping down, just as I should have done, 
 after a little searching for the keyhole, the door 
 was opened, the figure went in, and instantly 
 the door closed again. 
 
 " If you had given me the empire of a w^orld, 
 I could not have made up my mind to go in 
 after it, and setting off more like a madman 
 than anything else, I returned to the house of 
 Mr. S., with the intention of telling him what 
 had occurred. The bell was answered quickly 
 enough by the housemaid, who gazed at my 
 wild and scared appearance with some surprise. 
 She told me, however, that the old gentleman 
 had gone to bed, and that she could not think 
 of waking him on any account ; and, resolved 
 not to go home, and yet not liking to walk the
 
 THE ERROR. 279 
 
 Streets of Hamburg all night, I persuaded her, 
 with some difficulty, to let me sit in the saloon 
 till I could speak with Mr. S. in the morning. 
 I will not detain you by describing how I passed 
 the night; but when my friend came down the 
 next day, I related to him all that occurred, 
 with many excuses for the liberty I had taken. 
 He listened gravely, and his first question na- 
 turally was, if I were quite sure I had gone 
 straight homeward, without entering any of 
 those places where strong drinks were sold. I 
 assured him most solemnly that the only thing 
 that had entered my lips that night was the cup 
 of coffee which I had taken at his house. 
 
 " * The maid can tell you,' I said, * that I had 
 not been absent more than three quarters of an 
 hour when I returned.' 
 
 " ' Well, my young friend,' he replied, * I 
 believe you fully; ver}' strange things occa- 
 sionally happen to us in life ; and this seems 
 one. However, we will have some breakfast, 
 and then go and inquire into it.' 
 
 " After breakfast, we set out, and walked to 
 my house, I pointing out by the way all the
 
 280 beauchamp: or, 
 
 different spots connected with my tale. When 
 we reached the gloomy old mansion, with its 
 decorated front, I was going direct to my own 
 door, but Mr. S. said, ' Stay, we will first talk 
 to your landlady for a minute.' And we ac- 
 cordingly walked up to the rooms of Widow 
 Gentner by the other door and the other stair- 
 case. The widow was very proud of the visit 
 of so distinguished a person in the town as Mr. 
 S., and answered his questions with due respect. 
 The first was a very common one in that part 
 of Germany — namely, whether she had slept 
 well that night. She assured him she had, 
 perfectly well ; and he then proceeded with a 
 somewhat impressive air, to inquire if nothing 
 had occurred to disturb her. She then sud- 
 denly seemed to recollect herself, and answered, 
 * Now you mention it, I recollect I was awoke 
 about eleven o'clock, I think, by a noise on the 
 other side of the wall ; but thinking that Mr. 
 Z. had thrown over his table, or something of 
 that kind, I turned on the other side, and went 
 to sleep again.' 
 
 " No further information being to be obtained
 
 THE ERROR. 281 
 
 we descended to the street, and taking out my 
 keys, I opened the door, and we went in. My 
 heart beat a little as we mounted the stairs; 
 but resolving not to show any want of courage, 
 I boldly unlocked the room-door, and threw it 
 open. The sight that presented itself made 
 me pause on the threshold, for there on my 
 bed, where I should have been lying at the very 
 moment of its fall, was the whole ceiling of 
 that part of the room, angels' heads, and cheru- 
 bim's wings, flower-baskets, and everything; 
 and so great was the weight and the force A^dth 
 which it had come down, that it had broken the 
 solid bedstead underneath it. As I do not sup- 
 pose my head is fonned of much more strong 
 materials, it is probable that it would have been 
 cracked as well as the bed, and I heartily 
 thank God for my preservation ! All my good 
 old friend ventured to say, however, was, ' A 
 most fortunate escaj^c ! Had you slept here 
 last night, you would have been killed to a 
 certainty.' Though a doctor of philosophy, 
 he did not risk any speculations upon the 
 strange apparition which I had beheld the
 
 282 beauchamp: or, 
 
 night before; but invited me to take up my 
 abode in his house till my room could be put 
 in order, never afterwards mentioning the ap- 
 pearance of my double; and I have only to 
 add that from that time to this, now between 
 fifty and sixty years, I have never seen myself 
 again, except in a looking-glass." 
 
 " Such," continued Beauchamp, " is the story 
 of my German friend, exactly as he told it to 
 me. I must leave you to judge of it as you 
 will, for unless, you could see the old man, and 
 know his perfect simplicity of character, and 
 quiet matter-of-fact temper of mind, you could 
 not take the same view of his history that I do." 
 
 " In short, Mr. Beauchamp, you are a be- 
 liever in ghosts," said Sir John Slingsby, 
 laughing ; " well, for my part, I never saw any 
 better spirit than a bottle of brandy, and hope 
 never to see a worse." 
 
 " Take care you don't find yourself mis- 
 taken, Sir John," answered Dr. Miles, " for 
 although it is rather difficult to meet with good 
 spirits, the bad ones are much more easily con- 
 jured up."
 
 THE ERROR. 283 
 
 " I am not afraid, doctor," answered Sir 
 John, " and mind, I have only had three or 
 four glasses of wine, so mine is not Dutch 
 coiu'age now ; but let us talk of something else 
 than ghosts and such things, or we shall all 
 have the blue devils before we've done — a 
 capital story, nevertheless, Beauchamp ; but 
 this is a good story, too, doctor, about my 
 sister being stopped on the king's highway. 
 Has she told you about it ?" 
 
 Dr. Miles merely nodded his head, and Sir 
 John went on. i 
 
 " I can't make out the game of that old 
 rascal Wittingham, who seems devilish un- 
 willing to catch the thieves, and had taken 
 himself out of the way when Ned Hayward and 
 I called this morning. The old linen-draper- 
 ing scamp shall find that he can't treat Jack 
 Shngsby in this way." 
 
 " Indeed, my dear brother, I wish you would 
 let the matter rest," said Mrs. Clifford ; " no 
 harm was done, except frightening me very 
 foolishly, and to pursue it fiirther may, perhaps, 
 lead to disagreeable consequences. The letter
 
 284 BEAUCHAMP : OR, 
 
 written beforehand, to bring me over by a 
 report of your illness, shows that this was no 
 ordinary affair." 
 
 " A fig for the consequences," cried Sir John 
 Slingsby; " if it were to set half the town on 
 fire, I would go on with it. Why, my dear 
 Harriet, am not I a magistrate, one of his 
 majesty's justices of the peace for the county 
 
 of ? Such a conscientious woman as you 
 
 are, would never have me neglect my solemn 
 duties." And Sir John chuckled with a low 
 merry laugh, a| the new view he chose to take 
 of his responsibilities. 
 
 In such conversation the dinner went on to 
 its close, the subjects changing rapidly, for the 
 worthy baronet was not one to adhere tena- 
 ciously to any particular line of thought, and 
 Mrs. Clifford, but more particularly still her 
 daughter, being anxious to quit the topic just 
 started as soon as possible. Miss Clifford, 
 indeed, seemed so much agitated and embar- 
 rassed, whilst the adventures of the preceding 
 night were under discussion, that Ned Hay- 
 ward, who was the kindest-hearted man alive.
 
 THE ERROR. 285 
 
 and not without tact, especially where women 
 were concerned, came zealously to her relief, 
 and engaged her in low and earnest conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 It was one of those cases in which two 
 people, without well knowing what they are 
 about, go on puzzling each other, though both 
 may be as frank as day. They talked of every 
 simple subject which all the world might have 
 heard discussed — music, painting, poetry ; but 
 yet the whole was carried on in so low a tone 
 that, to any one that did not know them, it 
 would have appeared that they were making 
 love. Miss Clifford was troubled, perplexed, 
 to make out her companion's character, for she 
 certainly expected nothing from a man fami- 
 liarly called Ned Hay ward, and more especially 
 from a particular friend of her uncle's, but a 
 gay, rattling, good-humoured scapegrace, at 
 the best ; yet in order to gain her full atten- 
 tion, and withdraw her thoughts from a subject 
 which he saw annoyed her. Captain Hay ward 
 put off for the time his usual careless, rapid man- 
 ner, and spoke with so much feeling and good
 
 286 beauchamp: or, 
 
 taste, and what is more, good sense also, upon 
 all the many topics upon which their conversa- 
 tion ran — he showed her that he had read so 
 much, and thought so much, and felt so much, 
 that she became convinced before he had done 
 of the complete fallacy of all her preconceived 
 notions of his disposition. Such a change of 
 opinion is always very favourable to a man 
 with a woman; for they are such generous 
 creatures, those women, that if they find they 
 have done one injustice, they are sure to go to 
 the opposite ^xtreme, and give us credit for 
 more than is our due. 
 
 Ned Hayward's puzzle was of a different 
 kind, bat it proceeded from the same soui'ce — 
 namely, an erroneous preconception. He saw 
 that "Mary Clifford was embarrassed whenever 
 the subject of the attack upon their carriage 
 was mentioned, that she changed colour, not 
 from red to white, as would have been the case 
 had terror had aught to do with it, but from 
 white to red, which is generally a change pro- 
 duced by other emotions. He therefore set it 
 down as a certain fact, that the fair lady's
 
 THE ERROR. '287 
 
 heart was a little engaged in the traDsaction; 
 and yet, as the}' went on talking in that same 
 low Yoice, she twice returned to the subject 
 herself, not without some degree of embarrass- 
 ment, it is true, but still as if she wished to 
 say more, and Ned Hayward thought, with 
 some degi-ee of pique, " Well, my pretty friend, 
 I am not quite old enough to be made a con- 
 fidant of yet." 
 
 At length, just as the dessert was being put 
 upon the table, troublesome Sir John Slingsby 
 harked back upon the subjegt, asking Mr. 
 Beauchamp if he thought he could swear to 
 any of the persons concerned ; and taking ad- 
 vantage of a quick and somewhat loud con- 
 versation which went on between those two 
 gentlemen and Dr. iVliles, Miss Clifibrd sud- 
 denly broke through what she was talking of 
 with her companion on the right, and said, 
 earnestly, but still almost in a whisper, '^ Cap- 
 tain Hayward, you rendered me a ver}' great 
 service last night, for which I shall ever feel 
 grateful, and it will add immensely to the 
 favour, if you can prevent my uncle from pur^
 
 •288 beauchamp: or, 
 
 suing the matter in the manner he seems in- 
 clined to do. Particular circumstances, which 
 I may some time have an opportunity of ex- 
 plaining, would render it most painful to me 
 to have the scandalous outrage which was 
 committed upon us last night dragged into a 
 court of justice ; indeed, I think it would half 
 kill me, especially if I had to give evidence, as 
 I suppose would be the case." 
 
 " I will do my best," answered Ned Hay- 
 ward, "but you must not be angry or surprised 
 at any means I may take for that purpose. I 
 could act better, indeed, if I knew the circum- 
 stances." 
 
 " All I can say at present," answered the 
 young lady, in a low tone, " is, that this was not 
 a case of robbery, as you all seem to suppose." 
 
 The colour mounted into her cheek as she 
 spoke, and she added, quickly, " I cannot 
 reproach myself with anything in the affair, 
 Captain Hayward, although I have scrutinized 
 my own conduct severely; but yet at the same 
 time, even to have my name talked of in con- 
 nexion with such a proceeding, and with such —
 
 THE ERROR. •289- 
 
 such a person, would distress me more 
 than I can describe. I will say more another 
 time." 
 
 " In the meanwhile, I will do my best," re- 
 plied the other; and instantly commenced a 
 jesting attack upon Sir John Slingsby, which 
 at once drew the baronet away from the sub- 
 ject. They had not got farther, however, than 
 a sharp shot and a rejoinder, when the roll of 
 wheels was heard driving up to the door, and 
 a minute or two after, one of the servants 
 entered, announcing that Mr. Wittingham was 
 in the library. 
 
 " Let him stay — let him stay 1" said Sir Jolm 
 Slingsby ; " he'll have an opportunity there of 
 improving his mind. What, what do you say?" 
 he continued, as the man whispered something 
 over his shoulder ; " weVe neither secrets of 
 state nor high ti'eason here, — speak out." 
 
 " Please you, Sir John, two of Mr. Witting- 
 ham's men have brought up Stephen Gimlet, 
 whom they call Wolf, in custody. I have kept 
 him in the hall." 
 
 " Hang it !" cried Ned Hayward, " my little 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 beauchamp: or, 
 
 hoy^s father. I hope he has not been doing 
 any serious mischief !" 
 
 " I don't think it — I don't think it," said Dr. 
 Miles, eagerly; "the man has a heart and a 
 conscience — a little warped, it is true, but still 
 sound — sound, I think — I will go and speak to 
 him." 
 
 " Hang him, he steals my pheasants !" ex- 
 claimed Sir John Slingsby. 
 
 " Then why don't you put him to keep them, 
 colonel?" asked Ned Hayward. "He would 
 make a capital keeper, I am sure. Set a thief 
 to catch a thief, Sir John." 
 
 " Not a bad idea, Ned," answered the baronet. 
 *'Stay, stay, doctor, he's not condemned yet, 
 and so does not want the parson. We had 
 better talk to old Wittingham first. We'll have 
 him in and fuddle him. Give my compliments 
 to Mr. Wittingham, Matthews, and beg him to 
 walk in. You need not go, Harriet. He's 
 quite a lady's man." 
 
 But Mrs. Clifford rose, not at all anxious to 
 witness the process of fuddling a magistrate, 
 and withdrew with her daughter and her niece.
 
 THE ERROR. 291 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Ah ! Wittingham ! Wittingham !" cried the 
 baronet, stretching forth his hand, ^yithout 
 rising, as the servant introduced the worthy 
 magistrate, " is that you, my old buck ? If you 
 haven't come in pudding-time, you have come 
 in wine-time, and will get what so few men 
 get in life — your dessert. Sit down and pledge 
 me, old fellow. WTiat shall it be in ? Here's 
 port that was bottled when I came of age, 
 so you may judge that it is good old stuff! 
 Madeira that has made more voyages than 
 Cook, Comet Claret of 1811, and a bottle of 
 Bui-gundy that smells under my nose like oil 
 of violets."
 
 292 BEAUCHAMP; OR, 
 
 " Why, Sir John," replied Mr. Wittingliam^ 
 taking the seat just left vacant by Mrs. Clifford, 
 and very well pleased with so familiar a recep- 
 tion, when he expected quite the reverse ; for 
 to say the truth, although some circumstances 
 had happened to make him resolve upon tak- 
 ing the bull by the horns, and visiting the old 
 lion of Tarningham Park in his den, it was 
 nevertheless with great pain and difficulty that 
 he had screwed his courage to the sticking- 
 point, — " why. Sir John, I come upon business, 
 and it is better to transact affairs of importance 
 with a clear head." 
 
 " Pooh, nonsense !" exclaimed the baronet ; 
 " no man ever did business well without being 
 half drunk. Look at my old friend Pitt, poor 
 fellow ! and Charley Fox, too. Sir William 
 Scott, and Dundas, and all of them ; not a set 
 of jollier topers in the world than they were,, 
 and are still — what are left of them. Well, 
 here's a health to the living, and peace to the 
 dead ! — Burgundy, eh V and he filled a glass 
 for Mr. Wittingham to the brim. 
 
 The worthy magistrate took it, and drinking-
 
 THE ERROR, '293 
 
 Sir John Slingsby's toast, was about to proceed 
 to business, when the baronet again interrupted 
 him, saying, " Let me introduce you to my 
 friends, Wittingham ; there's no fun in drink- 
 ing with men you don't know. With Dr. 
 Miles you are acquainted : this is my friend, 
 Mr. Beauchamp, and this my friend, Captain 
 Hayward. Gentlemen both, know, esteem, 
 and admire Henry Wittingham, Esq., one of 
 the ornaments of the bench of the county of 
 , one of the trustees of the turnpike roads, 
 a very active magistrate, and a very honest 
 man. Sink the shop. Witty," he continued, in 
 a friendly whisper to his companion; for Sir 
 John seldom, if ever, allowed Mr. Wittingham 
 to escape without some allusion to his previous 
 occupations, which naturally made that gentle- 
 man hate him mortally. " But before we have 
 another glass, my good friend, I must make 
 you acquainted with these gentlemen's high 
 qualities," proceeded the baronet. " Here's 
 Ned Hayward, the most deadly shot in Europe, 
 whether with pistol, rifle, or fowling-piece, no- 
 thing escapes him, from the human form divine
 
 294 beauchamp: or, 
 
 down to a cock-sparrow. The best angler in 
 England, too; would throw a fly into a tea- 
 spoon at fifty yards distance. He has come 
 down for an interminable number of months, 
 to catch my trout, kill my game, and drink my 
 Claret. Then, there is my friend Mr. Beau- 
 champ, — more sentimentally given, a very 
 learned man and profound, loves poetry and 
 solitary walks, and is somewhat for musing 
 melancholy made ; but is a good hand at a 
 trigger, too, I can tell you — a light finger, and 
 a steady aim ; ha ! Beauchamp ?" and the 
 baronet winked his eye and laughed. 
 
 Beauchamp smiled good-humouredly, and 
 in order to change the course of the conversa- 
 tion, which was not exactly what suited him, 
 he said that he had the pleasure of a slight 
 acquaintance with Mr. Wittingham. 
 
 Ned Hayward, however, somewhat to Beau- 
 champ's surprise, seemed determined to en- 
 courage their host in his light and rattling talk ; 
 and taking the latter up where Sir John had 
 left it, he said, " Oh dear, yes, I dare say we 
 shall have capital sport down here. The old
 
 THE ERROR. 295 
 
 work of the 40th, Sir John; clearing all the 
 fences, galloping over all the turnips, riding 
 down the young wheat, forgetting the limits of 
 the manor, letting the beasts out of the pound, 
 making a collection of knockers and bell-pulls, 
 fighting the young men, and making love to 
 the young women — Mr. Wittingham, the wine 
 stands with you." 
 
 Mr. AVittingham filled his glass, and drank, 
 saying, with a grave and somewhat alarmed 
 air, " I don't think that would exactly do in 
 this county, sir; the magistrates are rather 
 strict here." 
 
 " The devil they are !" said Ned Hay ward, 
 with a good deal of emphasis, the meaning of 
 which Mr. Wittingham could not well help 
 understanding ; but the next moment the 
 young gentleman went on : " but who cares a 
 pin for magistrates, Mr. Wittingham ? They're 
 nothing but a parcel of old women." 
 
 "Halo, halo, Ned!" cried Sir John, "you 
 forget in whose presence you are speaking; 
 " reverencet he bench, young man — reverence 
 the bench; and if you can't do that, reverence 
 the colonel."
 
 ^96 beauchamp: or, 
 
 " Oh, you're a great exception to the general 
 rule," replied Captain Hay ward; " but what I 
 say is true, nevertheless; and as I like to 
 define my positions, I will give you a lexico- 
 graphical description of the magistrates. They 
 should be called in any dictionary, a body of 
 men selected from the most ignorant of the 
 people, for the mal-administration of good 
 laws." 
 
 " Bravo, bravo !" shouted Sir John Slingsby, 
 roaring with laughter; and even Dr. Miles 
 nodded his head, with a grave smile, saying, 
 " Too just a definition, indeed." 
 
 Mr. Wittingham looked confounded, but 
 Sir John passed him the bottle, and for relief 
 he again filled his glass and emptied it. Now, 
 to men not quite sure of their position, there is 
 nothing so completely overpowering as jest 
 and merriment with a dash of sarcasm. In 
 grave argument, where they have their own 
 vanity for their backer, they will always ven- 
 ture to meet men both of superior abilities and 
 superior station, whether in so doing they ex- 
 pose themselves or not ; for in that case their
 
 THE ERROR. '297 
 
 notions are generally formed beforehand, and 
 they are fully convinced that those notions are 
 just ; but in a combat of the wit, it requires to 
 be a very ready man, and also to have all those 
 habits of society which enable one to make 
 the reply tart enough, with every semblance of 
 courtesy. On the bench and in the justice- 
 room Mr. AVittingham would often venture to 
 spar with Sir John Slingsby, and sometimes 
 with a good deal of success ; for although the 
 baronet had much greater natural abilities and 
 information, yet he had so many foibles and 
 failings, and occasionally such a degree of per- 
 versity, that from time to time his adversary 
 would get hold of a weak point, and drive him 
 into a corner. It always ended, however, by 
 Sir John coming off triumphant ; for when he 
 found that argument failed him he had recourse 
 to ridicule, and in two minutes would utterly 
 confound his antagonist, and overwhelm him 
 amidst peals of laughter. 
 
 In the present instance Mr. Wittingham 
 found that Sir John was in one of his jocular 
 moods, and scarcely dared to say a word, lest
 
 298 beauchamp: or, 
 
 he should bring some of his hard jests upon 
 his head, especially when the baronet had the 
 strong support which Ned Hayward seemed 
 capable of giving. He was therefore anxious 
 to proceed to the business that brought him as 
 speedily as possible ; and giving up the defence 
 of the magistracy after a momentary pause, he 
 said, " Really, Sir John, as I must get home 
 soon " 
 
 " Not till you have finished your bottle, 
 man," cried Sir John Slingsby, pushing the 
 Burgundy to him ; " whoever comes to see me 
 after dinner, must fight me or drink a bottle 
 with me; so here's to your health. Witty — 
 a bumper, a bumper, and no heel-taps." 
 
 Now the glasses at Sir John Slingsby's table 
 might well be called wine-glasses, for they 
 seldom had any other liquor in them ; but at 
 the same time, in size they were not much less 
 than those vessels which are named tumblers, 
 I suppose from their being less given to 
 tumbling than any other sort of glass. Mr. 
 Wittingham had drank three already, besides 
 the moderate portion which he had taken at
 
 THE ERROR. 299 
 
 his own dinner ; but in order to get rid of the 
 subject, he swallowed another of strong Bur- 
 gundy, and then commenced again, saying, 
 " Really, Sir John, we must go to business. 
 We can sip yoiu* good wine while we are 
 talking the affair over," 
 
 " Sip it ! " exclaimed his host, " whoever 
 heard of a man sipping such stuff as this ? 
 Nobody ever sips his wine but some lacka- 
 daisical, love-lorn swain, with a piece of 
 Cheshire cheese before him, making verses all 
 the time upon pouting lips and rounded hips, 
 and sparkling eyes and fragrant sighs, and 
 pearly teeth and balmy breath, and slender 
 nose and cheek that glows, and all the O's ! 
 and all the I*s ! that ever were twisted into bad 
 metre and bad sense; or else the reformed 
 toper, who is afraid of exceeding the stint that 
 his doctors have allowed him, and lingers out 
 every drop with the memory of many a past 
 carouse before his eyes. No, no, such wine 
 as this is made to be swallowed at a mouthful, 
 washing the lips viiih a flood of enjoyment, 
 stimulating the tongue, spreading a glow over
 
 300 beauchamp: or, 
 
 the palate, and cooling the tonsils and the 
 throat only to inflame them again with fresh 
 appetite for the following glass — sip it ! why- 
 hang it, Wittingham, it is to insult a good 
 bottle of wine, and I trust that you may be 
 shot dead by a Champagne cork to teach you 
 better manners." 
 
 " Well, then," cried Mr. Wittingham, stimu- 
 lated to repartee by impatience, " I will say, 
 Sir John, that we can swill your wine while we 
 are talking of business." 
 
 " Ay, that's something like," cried Sir John 
 Slingsby, not at all discomposed, " you shall 
 swill the wine, and I will drink it : that will 
 suit us both. Beauchamp we will let off, 
 because he's puny, and Doctor Miles because 
 he's reverend. Ned Hay ward will do us justice, 
 glass for glass, I'll answer for it. So another 
 bumper, and then to business ; but first we'll 
 have lights, your worship, for it's growing 
 dusky," and Sir John rose to ring the bell. 
 
 Scarcely, however, had he quitted his seat, 
 when there was heard a loud report. One of 
 the panes of glass in the window flew in shining
 
 THE ERROR. 301 
 
 splinters into the room, and a ball whistling 
 through, passed close to the head of Mr. Wit- 
 tingham, knocked off his wig, and lodged in the 
 eye of a Cupid who was playing with his mother 
 in a large picture on the other side of the room» 
 " Zounds !" cried Sir John Slingsby. 
 
 EXD OF VOL. I. 
 
 Savill & Edwards, Printers, 4, Chandos Street, Covent Garden,
 
 May 1848. 
 
 LIST OF 
 
 1^ 
 
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 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 65, CoRNHiLL, London. 
 
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 In 2 vols, post Svo. with Portraits, 
 
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 \ time."— Howitt's Journal. 
 
 { " One of the most notable domestic novels which have issued from the 
 J press for many years past." — People's Journal. 
 
 \ " Jane Eyre is a novel of remarkable power and beauty, impressing us with 
 
 I the belief that many of the scenes, as well as the feelings described, are real. 
 
 \ The story is one of woman's trials ; a long and terrible struggle and at last the 
 
 j final triumph of principle over passion."— Dublin University Magazine. 
 
 > "'Jane Eyre' has already acquired a standard renown. We have rarely 
 
 > read a better or more interesting wcrk of its class. The earnest tone, deep 
 
 > fervour, and truthful delineation of feeling and nature displayed in its page:;, 
 \ must render it a general favourite."— Tait's Magazine.
 
 New Works by Popular Aulliors, 
 
 : NEW NOVEL BY THE AUTHOE OF "RANTHORPE." 
 
 I Bose^ Blanche^ and Violet, 
 
 \ By G. H. LEWES, Esq. 
 
 ;' Author of " Raiithorpe," " A Biographical Eistory of Philosophy," &c. 
 
 \ 3 vols, post 8vo. price £1. lis. 6d. clotli. 
 
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 '.; successfully demonstrated."— Examiner. 
 
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 the incidents as from life itself."— Morning Chronicle. 
 
 3. 
 
 Adventures of an Aide-de-Camp ; 
 
 Or, a campaign in CALABRIA. 
 
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 tive from their beauty of description, or exciting from the romantic adven- 
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 PoMished by Smith, Elder, and Co. 
 
 MR. JAMES'S NEW NOVELS. 
 
 T. 
 
 Xow ready, at all the Libraries, 
 
 Si7' Theodore Brought on ; 
 
 Or, laurel water. 
 
 By G. p. R. J.^IES, Esq. 
 Author of "The Convict," "Russell," &c. 
 
 In 3 vols, post Svo. price £1. lis. 6d. 
 
 *' * Sir Theodore Brouehton' is founded upon the case of Donellan, who was 
 handed some seventy years a?o fur poisoning his brother-in-law. Mr. James 
 has a knowledge of the ag-e, and he indicates it both in manners and inci- 
 dents: the persons, also, are well discriminated."— Spectator. 
 
 "The main incident forms the consummation of a delig^htful story, with 
 characters altog-ether new to the orig:inal ground, sketched with all the skill 
 and fidelity to nature for which the author is so highly celebrated. We com- 
 mend to novel readers one of the most pleasant and interesting of the class 
 which it adorns."— Literary Gazette. 
 
 "Mr. James's invention is as inexhaustible as his industry. The story is 
 striking, well considered, and carefully laid down. The management of the 
 incidents and diversity of characters introduced, keep curiosity aUve to the 
 end-"— Atlas. 
 
 ** Sir Theodore Broughton is one of the best of Mr. James's romances in 
 plot and in composition. Some of the scenes are powerfully described ; the 
 incidents are numerous, and it is sure to please every reader."— Critic. 
 
 n. 
 
 The Convict: 
 
 A Tale. 
 
 By G. p. K JAMES, Esq. 
 
 In 3 vols, post 8vo. price £1. lis. 6d. 
 
 "The volumes are well filled with incident ; the sentiments are those of a 
 reflective and well-constituted mind; there is a perpetual flow of invention 
 in the conduct of the story ; and it agreeably combines a spirit of romance 
 with a just delineation of social life and manners."— Britannia. 
 
 "That novel reader must have an exorbitant appetite who should complain 
 of want of variety in this tale. It is crush-full of incidents, and presents 
 changes of scene which bring the antipodes together. It is studded with 
 effects, and has enough materials for at least a couple of ordinary novels." 
 
 Atlas.
 
 New Works by Popular Authors, 
 
 I Bussell ! 
 
 \ A Tale or the Reign of Charles II. \ 
 
 \ By G. P. K JAMES, JsQ. 
 
 > In 3 vols, post 8vo. price £1. lis. 6d. ^ 
 
 \ " One of the best of Mr. James's recent productions. The interest is well \ 
 
 > sustained to the last, and the point of history is well chosen. Mr. James has \ 
 \ made good use of his materials : the fusion is perfect."— Atlas. ) 
 
 'I " * Russell' is by far the best of all Mr. James's works as a whole : it reads \ 
 
 ^ well to the end."— John Bull. > 
 
 < "We hardly know of any work of this author in which fiction and history '< 
 
 \ are so well amalgamated ; the interest is sustained without straining. The 
 
 ;; choice of historical subject is timely, and its treatment very skilful : it is the I 
 
 \ essence of history connected with romance."— Spectatok. ^ 
 
 ;; " Since * Agincourt,' Mr. James has given us no novel as good as the pre- ■ 
 
 ■■; sent."— Economist. ; 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Castle of Ehrenstein : 
 
 Its Lords, Spiritual and Temporal ; its Inhabitants, Earthly and 
 Unearthly. 
 
 By G. p. R. JAMES, Esq. 
 
 In 3 vols, post 8vo. price £1. lis. 6d. 
 
 Arrah Neil; or^ Times of Old. 
 
 By G. p. E. JAMES, Esq. 
 
 In 3 vols, post 8vo. price £1. lis. 6d. \ 
 
 VI. \ 
 
 The Smuggler: \ 
 
 s 
 
 A. Novel. s 
 
 By G. p. R. JAMES, Esq. | 
 
 In 3 vols, post Svo. price £1. lis. 6d. \
 
 Published by Smitb, Elder, and Co. 
 
 MR. LEICH HUNT'S RECENT WORKS. 
 
 I. 
 
 A JarofRoneyfrom Mount Hybla. 
 
 By LEIGH HUIS'T. 
 
 Illustrated by Richard Doyle. 
 
 Square demy 8vo. in a novel and elegant binding, price 14s. 
 
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 of Sicily, ancient lejends, examples of pastoral poetry selected from Greece, 
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 to pleasurable account."— Ex.\miner. 
 
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 the rambling prose papers of Mr. Hunt from the days of 'The Indicator' 
 downwards. The cover itself is promising."— Times. ' 
 
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 composition is full of penetrating remarks cleverly expressed. Addison's 
 definition of fine writings — thoughts natural but not obvious." — Spectator. 
 
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 and delights them, it is particularly well calculated to ^ve them a taste for 
 classical literature— to make them relish at the fireside at home that which 
 has been so harsh and so unpleasant in the school-room. It induces a love 
 for classical literature. It is a charming book ; full of delicate fancies." 
 
 Morning Herald. 
 
 " As a work suggestive of fine literature, pure morals, and good feeling, it 
 may take rank with the best productions of its class in the entire range of 
 English compilation."— Obskrvkr.
 
 t 10 New Works by Popular Authors, \ 
 
 ^ -^ I 
 
 ^ II. I 
 
 j Selections from the English Poets; \ 
 
 \ EXEMPLIFYING ^ 
 
 ; 1 
 
 5 1. IMAGINATION AND PANCY. | 
 
 5 2. WIT AND HUMOUH. | 
 
 \ By LEIGH HUNT. 
 
 s 
 
 J: Bound in cloth, with gilt edges, price 10s. Gd. each. 
 
 Each volume is complete in itself, and preceded by an Essay illustrative 
 of the qualities respectively exemplified in the selections. The best passages 
 are marked and commented upon, and each author is characterised. 
 
 In " Imagination and Fancy," Mr. Leigh Hunt has given an answer 
 to the question " What is Poetry ?" in an Essay that forms an Introduc- 
 tion to the whole range of poetical invention ; one region of which — the 
 purely imaginative and fanciful — is investigated in a spirit of critical and 
 genial enjoyment. 
 
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 the various modes in which these qualities have been manifested in Prose 
 and Poetry. 
 
 " The desiafn of this delightful series extends beyond a collection of elegant :; 
 
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 for companionship on a journey, or to have at hand when tired of work, or \ 
 
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 respective kinds, illustrated by one who will himself leave no mean remem-
 
 Mlished by Smith, Eldnr, and Co. 11 
 
 brance to posteritj, in the snirit of gemai criticisin, mfomied by a delicate 
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 JfOKXI3(6 ChBOXICLE. 
 
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 The 3d Tol. of the Series, ilhistiadTe of 
 
 "ACTIOX A^'D PASSION/' 
 
 Win appear in the Aatmnii. 
 
 ni. 
 
 Men, Women J and Books : 
 
 A SEIXCnOIf PKOX HIS HITHEBTO rSCOLLKCTED PwWT WWTIXGS. 
 
 By LEIGH HUNT. 
 la 2 vols, post Svo. with a Portrait ti the Anthn' \ij Sereni. 
 
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 present most resembles in Mr. Hont's former writines (and this is a gnaH 
 compUment) is " The Indicator.'' Its pliers hare the same cordial mixtore 
 of fact and imagination."— Examixer. 
 
 " Mr. Leigh Hmit nerer writes otherwise than dKcrfhlly. He mU hare 
 sunshine — trill promote gay sfMrits— ari// npholdl liberal tmths; blithely, yet 
 earnestly. He is the Prince of Parloar-window writers."- Atb kx acx. 
 
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 shape a charming companion."— Westxixstes Rttiew. 
 
 " There is mnch rariety and agreeable lore of all kinds in these rofanBcs; 
 a sodI of reflection, brilliant animal s|Hrits, and a cheerfol phaosophy. The 
 sobjects emtwace almost erery topic of a pteasazaMe and a re&ning^ kind.** 
 
 ** Rupers iDnstratire of social matters, comicalities, and jonaUtiesy i 
 from fine spirits and delicate perceptions, fight and elegant criticisms, and 
 dissertations on beauties, floral and feounine ; all abovndii^ with that sag- 
 gestire power whidi madEs the kmg oooiae of this avdior's writings." 
 
 jEKmoLD's Kkwspapeb.
 
 '' 12 New Works by Popular Authors, 
 
 THE OXFORD GRADUATE ON ART. 
 
 " Modern Faint ers^ 
 
 Volume the First. 
 
 By a graduate OF OXEORD. 
 
 Fourth Edition. In imperial 8vo. price 18s. cloth. 
 
 II. 
 SECOND VOLUME OF 
 
 '^ Modern Painters f^ 
 
 Treating of the Imaginative and Theoretic Faculties. 
 By a graduate OE OXFORD. 
 
 \ In 1 vol. imperial 8vo. price 10s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 5 " This work is the most valuable contribution towards a proper view of 
 
 \ painting, its purpose and means, that has come within our knowledge." 
 
 ;; Foreign Quarterly Rkview. 
 
 \ " A work distinguished by an enlightened style of ci-iticism, new to English 
 
 1; readers, and by the profound observation of nature displayed by the author." 
 
 ) Dublin University Magazine. 
 
 \ " To a perfect idea of the scope of the in(}uiry, and a mastery of all the 
 
 .\ technicalities required for its due treatment, the Graduate unites considerable 
 
 ^ metaphysical power, extent of philosophical and scientific knowledjre, a clear 
 
 V and manly style of expression, and no inconsiderable command of humour 
 
 \ and satire."— Atlas. 
 
 ^ " A very extraordinary and delightful book, full of truth and goodness, of 
 
 \ power and beauty. This remarkable work contains more true philosophy, 
 
 \ more information of a strictly scientific kind, more original thought and exact 
 
 I; observation of nature, more enlightened and serious enthusiasm, and more 
 
 .^ eloquent writing, than it would be easy to match, not merely in works of its 
 
 ^ own class, but in those of any class whatever."— North British Review. 
 
 \ " A generous and impassioned review of the works of living painters. A 
 
 ^ hearty and earnest work, full of deep thought, and developing great and 
 
 ^ striking truths in art. It lays before us the deeply-studied reflections of a 
 
 ^ devout worshipper of nature— of one thoroughly imbued with the love of 
 
 ^ truth."— British Quabterlv Review. 
 
 s " One of the most remarkable works on art which has appeared in our 
 
 s time."— Edinburgh Review.
 
 Published by Smitb, Elder, and Co. 13 
 
 MR. STEINMETZ ON THE JESUITS. 
 
 I The Novitiate ; \ 
 
 \ Or, the JESUIT IN TRAINING. ^ 
 
 \ Being a Year among the English Jesuits : a Personal Narrative. \ 
 
 \ By ANDREW STEINMETZ. 
 
 ' 2d Edition, with a Memoir and Portrait of the Author, in 1 vol. post 8vo. | 
 : price 7s. 6d. bound in cloth. \ 
 
 " This is a remarkable book— a revealer of secrets, and full of materials for > 
 
 thouzht It describes, with a welcome minuteness, the daily, nightly, ( 
 
 hourly occupations of the Jesuit Novitiates at Stonyhurst, their religious \ 
 exercises and manners, in private and together ; and depicts, with considera- t, 
 ble acuteness and power, the conflicts of an intellia^ent, susceptible, honest- ^ 
 purposed spirit, while passing through such a process." 
 
 British Quarterly Review. 
 
 " This is as sinsrular a book of its kind as has appeared since Blanco White's 
 • Letters of Doblado,' with the advantage of dealing with the Jesuits in 
 
 England, instead of Popery iu Spain It will be found a very curious work." 
 
 Spectator. 
 
 " If it be desirable to know what is that mode of training by which the 
 Jesuit system prepares its novices for their duties, this is the book to inform 
 us, for it is a chronicle of actual experience. The author's thouirhts are 
 original, and the passages relatin? to his personal history and feelinss are 
 agreeably introduced, and add to the interest of his narrative."— Britannia. 
 
 " Mr. Steinmetz writes a most singular and interesting account of the 
 
 Jesuit seminary, and his way of life there He seems to be a perfectly 
 
 honest and credible informer, and his testimony may serve to enlighten 
 many a young devotional aspirant who is meditating ' submission' to Rome, 
 and the chain and scourge systems."— Morning Chronicle. 
 
 " The work has all the interest of a romance, and yet we do not believe that 
 
 any portion of it is fictitious The author writes well, and evinces a 
 
 strong and disciplined mind. The picture that he draws of Jesuitism is a 
 fearful one."— John Bull. 
 
 " A more remarkable work it has seldom been our fortune to peruse. Mr. 
 Steinmetz's book is mo<.t valuable; earnest and truthful in its tone, and ex- 
 tremely interesting in its detail."— New Quarterly Review. 
 
 II. 
 
 The Jesuit in the Family : 
 
 A Tale. 
 
 By ANDREW STEIKMETZ. 
 
 In 1 vol. post 8vo. 9s. cloth. 
 
 "A well-written and powerful novel, constructed for the development of 
 Jesuit practices, and to show the Jesuit in action. The interest iu some parts 
 is intensely wrought up."— John Bull. 
 
 "Remarkable for force of ideas and originality in style."— Britannia.
 
 MR. ROWCROFT'S TALES OF THE COLONIES. I 
 
 1. 'I 
 
 Tales of the Colonies ; \ 
 
 Or, the adventures OF AN EMIGRANT. \ 
 
 By CHARLES ROWCROET, Esq. •: 
 
 A late Colonial Magistrate. \ 
 
 Sth Edition, in fcp. 8vo. price 6s. cloth. \ 
 
 " ' Tales of the Colonies' is an able and interesting book. The author has ; 
 
 the first great requisite in fiction— a knowledg-e of the life he undertakes to ; 
 
 describe ; and his matter is solid and real."— Spectator. ; 
 
 " This is a book, as distinguished from one of the bundles of waste paper in \ 
 
 three divisions, calling themselves 'novels.' "— Athen^i^um. ^ 
 
 "The narration has a deep and exciting interest. No mere romance, no 
 
 mere fiction, however skilfully imagined or powerfully executed, can surpass ^ 
 
 it. The work to which it bears the nearest similitude is Robinson Crusoe, ;; 
 
 and it is scarcely, if at all, inferior to that extraordinary history." \ 
 
 John Bull. )■ 
 
 "The book is manifestly a mixture of fact and fiction, yet it gives, we have \ 
 
 every reason to believe, a true picture of a settler's life in that country ; and > 
 
 is thickly interspersed with genuine and useful information." ^ 
 
 Chambeks's Edinburgh Journal. ^ 
 
 SECOND SERIES OE TALES OE THE COLONIES. 
 
 The Bushranger 
 
 OF 
 
 VAN DIEMAN'S LAND. 
 
 By C. ROWCROET, Esq. 
 \ Author of "Tales of the Colonies." 
 
 \ In 3 vols, post 8vo. price £1. lis. 6d. 
 
 i " These volumes have the same qualities that gained so much popularity for 
 
 \ the author's previous work, 'Tales of the Colonies.' No one has depicted 
 
 ^ colonial life, as manifested in the settlements of Australia, with so much vigour 
 
 \ and truth as Mr. Rowcroft. He rather seems to be a narrator of actual 
 
 \ occurrences than an inventor of imaginary ones. His characters, his manners, 
 
 \ and his scenes are all real. He has been compared to De Foe, and the com- 
 
 X parison is just."— Britannia. 
 
 ) " The story contains all the merits of the ' Tales of the Colonies' as regards 
 
 \ style, being simple and Crusoitc, if we might use the term, in its narrative. 
 
 ? Mr. Rowcroft possesses invention to an extraordinary degree, and he pro- 
 
 ^ duces, by the simplest incidents, most interesting scenes,— pictures of nature 
 
 '} and of a society totally different from anything to be found elsewhere." 
 ) Weekly Chronicle.
 
 Published by Smith, Elder, and Co. 15 
 
 ELEMENTARY WORKS ON SOCIAL KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 1. 
 
 Outlines of Social Economy ; 
 
 "Writtea specially with a view to inculcate upon the rising generation the 
 three great duties of Social Life : 
 
 1st. To strive to be self-supporting — not to be a burthen upon Society. 
 
 2d. To avoid making any engagements, explicit or implied, whether with 
 persons now living or yet to be born, for the due performance of 
 which there is no reasonable prospect. 
 
 3d. To make such use of all superior advantages, whether of knowledge, 
 skill, or wealth, as to promote to the utmost the general happi- 
 ness of mankind. 
 
 Foolscap 8vo. price Is. 6d. half-bound. 
 
 *,* The publishers have instructions to supply to National Schools, British 
 and Foreig-n Schools, and to all Schrx)ls supported by Voluntary Contributions, 
 a limited number of copies at 6d. each. 
 
 2. 
 OUTLINES OF THE HISTORY AND FORMATION OF 
 
 The Under standing. 
 
 By the Author of "Outlines of Social Economy." 
 In 1 vol. fcp. 8vo. price 2s, half-bound. 
 
 Questions and Answers : 
 
 Suggested by a Consideration of some of the Arrangements and Relations 
 of Social Life ; 
 
 Being a Sequel to the " Outlines of Social Economy,'^ hy the same Author. 
 
 In fcp. 8vo. price 2s. 6d. half-bound. 
 
 " The author of these various manuals of the social sciences has the art of 
 f stating clearly the abstruse points of political economy and metaphysics, and j 
 ^ making them level to every understanding. His book gives a fair, concise, \ 
 I and clear view of all the' important questions of political economy, and is J 
 ) admirably well calculated to introduce students to more formal work's." 
 
 \ EcOiNOMIST.
 
 I H New Works published by Smith, Elder, and Co. ^ 
 
 ^ =======================^=^^============================^ ;, 
 
 ^' LECTURES ON THE HISTORY AND PRINCIPLES OF ^ 
 
 i Ancient Commerce. \ 
 
 \ By J. W. GILBART, Esq. F.R.S. j 
 
 Post 8vo. price 7s. 6cl. cloth. \ 
 
 " Full of practical intelligence and sound reasoning."— Literary Gazette. \ 
 
 *' An able and very readable compendium."— Spectator. s 
 
 " A work useful to students of political economy, and interesting to the ] 
 
 general reader."— Economist. | 
 
 " Mr. Gilbart writes forcibly and well, and has collected together a mass of 
 useful information, well digested and lucidly arranged."— Morning Post. 
 
 "This volume contains much valuable information, rendered more inte- 
 resting by a wise deduction of sound principles."— Jerrold's Newspaper. 
 
 TABLES EXHIBITING THE VARIOUS 
 
 Fluctuations in ^per Cent. Consols 
 
 In every Month during each Year from 1789 to 1847 inclusive: 
 With Ruled Pages for their continuance to 1857. 
 
 By JAMES YAN SOMMEB, 
 Secretary to the Managers of the Stock Exchange. 
 
 la 4to. price £1. Is. cloth. 
 
 — Q 
 
 Sermons^ 
 
 Preached at the Foundling Hospital ; with others preached at St. 
 Stephen's, Walbrook. 
 
 By the Rev. GEORGE CROLY, LL.D. 
 
 In 1 vol. 8vo. price 10s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 "This volume is historical, as several sermons relate to the public occur- 
 rences of the day. Dr. Croly is one of those who believe that the whole course 
 of events is a coinmentarv on the divine government of the world. Of all the 
 theological productions of Dr. Croly which have fallen under our notice, we 
 think this volume, in many respects, the most striking, and the most likely to 
 permanently establish his fame as an original, effective, and eloquent 
 preacher." — Britannia. 
 
 WILSON AND OOir.VY, PttlNTERS, f)?, SKINNER STREET, SNOWHItL, LONDON.
 
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