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 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
 WAY 1 5 
 
 L.
 
 HERBERT CHAUNCEY: 
 
 A MAN 
 MORE SINNED AGAINST THAN SINNING. 
 
 BY 
 
 SIR AETHUE HALLAI ELTON, BART.. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "BELOW THE SUBFACE." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUIHES. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO., C5, CORNHILL. 
 
 }L^DCCC.LX.
 
 IThe right of translation is reserved'.']
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 Chap. ^^^^ 
 L Severn Banks ..... I 
 
 11. Ada Littlecot . . . . . 24 
 
 m. Geosvenor Square . . . .49 
 
 IV. A Turn of the Wheel of Fortuxe . . 75 
 
 V. The Bei>'k of the Precipice . . .90 
 
 \1. Broken Vows . . . . . 104 
 
 VIL Glenarvox Court . . . .121 
 
 YliL Quarter Sessions . . • . . 139 
 
 IX. A Gross Insult . . . . .161 
 
 X. Honourable Satisfaction . . . . 179 
 
 XI. " Crowner's 'Quest Lu\.-w "... 20G 
 
 Xn. A Zealous Steward . . . . 232 
 
 XHI. Canvassing the County . . .251 
 
 XrV. On the Hustings . . • . . 267 
 
 XV. A Sorry Trioiph . . . .286
 
 HERBEET CIAMCEY: 
 
 A MAN MORE SINNED AGAINST THAN 
 
 SINNING. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 SEVERN BANKS. 
 
 Ada Littlecot. Strange it is tliat the mention 
 of that name, even now, sends a thrill of pain 
 through my very heart's core, and deepens the 
 shadows cast by the memory of many griefs and 
 many trials over my declining years. Yes, even 
 now, sitting by my solitary fireside, and looking 
 back over the waves of a stormy life into the 
 quiet days of my youth, her face rises clearly 
 before me, in sweet and delicate purity, not with 
 looks of reproachful bitterness, but of calm, 
 patient, gentle inquiry, and sorrow on my account 
 rather than on hers. I bend my head and medi- 
 TOL. I. 1
 
 2 HERBERT CHAUXCEY. 
 
 tate in all humility on past transgressions. Then 
 rushes in a tide of manifold recollections. Other 
 faces peer into mine ; other eyes gleam from the 
 darkness ; other thoughts flow through my mind 
 thicldy and confusedly : joys long vanished, hopes 
 crushed, aspirations once so keen and ardent, now 
 reduced in the sober judgment of age, to idle, 
 foolish dreams — dreams that must have ended, as 
 they did, in shame, and sorrow, and self-contempt. 
 
 My life has not been wholly dark and comfort- 
 less. The troubles that have vexed me were, I 
 would fain believe, sent to me in mercy, and have 
 borne their fruit ; but even in the dreariest period, 
 peace and joy came to me from time to time, 
 softly and almost as it were by stealth, lest the 
 burden of trial should have utterly crushed me 
 to the earth, and left me hopeless and desj^erate. 
 
 I am going to relate the principal passages of 
 my earlier life. Is it in order to teach the reader 
 a high moral lesson ? I fear not. Doubtless I 
 would not shrink from the attempt if the labour 
 would be well spent ; but people do not read 
 novels for the sake of edification, and if good is 
 done by a novel, it is because the writer of it 
 takes the reader unawares, and appears all the
 
 SEVERN BANKS. 3> 
 
 while simply to be trying to amuse him. My 
 chief object is a selfish one. I desire to methodize 
 my recollections, and gaze upon the past as upon 
 a clearly delineated map. I am not so sorrowful 
 as to make it a bitter task to muse upon pleasures 
 for ever gone ; neither so hopeless as to make even 
 the recollection of sin an insupportable weight 
 upon the spirit. It is good to search out bygone 
 times, and drink the cup of remembered troubles 
 quietly, to the very dregs. 
 
 Sometimes the scenes that I call to mind have 
 such a touch of strangeness, that I marvel whether 
 they could have really and truly occurred. Pro- 
 bably many men could also tell tales as strange, 
 if they made a clean breast of it ; as it is my 
 purpose to do. The student who threw aside 
 works of history, and took to reading romance, 
 "because history was so improbable," expressed 
 himself plausibly. Fiction at the first blush is 
 less strange than truth. What this book contains 
 may not be believed, but that matters little to me. 
 So let me commence without further preface. 
 
 It was very unfortunate, but I was not only 
 left an orphan when very young, but lost my 
 
 1—2
 
 4 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 guardian a few years after the death of my 
 parents. He was a kind, though perhaps not 
 very judicious friend, and I loved him tenderly. 
 His death seemed to leave me quite alone in 
 the world. It happened when I was about six- 
 teen years of age, so that I was to some extent 
 capable of taking care of myself; and indeed 
 should have felt myself grossly insulted if any 
 one had breathed a suspicion on that point. But 
 I had now no friend older than myself whom I 
 could consult, and it is a pleasure to consult 
 friends, even though one does not follow their 
 advice. I had no place I could call a home, 
 and this I felt very keenly ; though in all honesty 
 I must admit that I was perpetually leaving the 
 home of my guardian whilst he was alive, on one 
 plea or another, sometimes business, sometimes 
 pleasure. But then I knew that there was a home 
 to fall back upon, a kind face to welcome me, 
 a friendly hand to grasp mine, whether my ab- 
 sence had been long or short. Now I had no 
 locus standi, as it were, and the pleasure of a 
 week's gaiety in London, or a fortnight's grouse- 
 shooting in Scotland, or a rush up the Rhine, 
 and home by Paris, with or without my guardian's
 
 SEVERN BANKS. 5 
 
 permission, was really half destroyed. I miglit 
 go to tlie North Pole if I liked ; there was nobody 
 to object to it. Before, my little excursions were 
 the more agreeable because I was not always 
 sure my guardian would not be displeased with 
 me. 
 
 I had one or two friends, but they were younger 
 than myself; I was, therefore, in rather a lonely 
 condition. It is true that there was Sir Hugh 
 Littlecot, of Severn Banks, Meadshire ; he was no 
 friend of mine, and had never seen either myself 
 or my parents in his life ; but he was my guardian's 
 executor and trustee, and consequently it became 
 liis duty to manage my little affairs as well. I 
 believe he did not feel altogether pleased when 
 he was made aware of the fact. It involved, 
 however, small trouble. His solicitors, Messrs. 
 Quickset and Harp, paid for my schooling, and 
 arranged for me to be boarded during the holidays 
 with the head master of my school, providing me 
 also with a handsome allowance of pocket-money, 
 to enable me to amuse myself as I best might. 
 When I say " handsome allowance,'* I mean hand- 
 some for a schoolboy. My whole fortune was 
 only three hundred a year, ample for present
 
 6 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 purposes, but not enough to dispense with a pro- 
 fession hereafter. 
 
 I had some expectations. There was lAj 
 cousin, JefFry Ferris. He was a country squire 
 with a fine estate, Glenarvon, also in Meadshire. 
 But JefFry Ferris was a man of irregular life, 
 and my father had always forbidden my frequent- 
 ing his house. It was bad policy in the eyes of 
 the world, but my father never minded that. 
 JefFry took the matter good-humouredly enough, 
 contenting himself with styling my father "a 
 snivelling methodist," and rumour said that he 
 would do something for me in his will. Indeed, 
 some went so far as to report that JefFry had 
 sworn, with an oath which I need not repeat, that 
 the " little rascal," meaning me, '^ should come 
 to his house, sooner or later, in spite of all the 
 methodists of Meadshire," which might betoken 
 a great deal more than met the eye. 
 
 JefFry did not mend his ways, and at the time 
 my story commences, had started for the Con- 
 tinent, in company with a lady who was not his 
 wife. It was said he was very much in her 
 power, for hard living had begun to tell upon his 
 intellect. One other cousin I had, also named
 
 SEVERN BANKS. 7 
 
 Ferris. He was partner in a bank at Stoke-upon- 
 Avon, absorbed in the pursuit of wealth, and I 
 am sorry to say rather negligent in discharging his 
 duty towards his orphan cousin, Herbert Chauncey, 
 for that is the name I shall call myself. 
 
 To return, however, to Sir Hugh Littlecot. 
 For a year or two. Sir Hugh took not the smallest 
 notice of me save throufih the medium of Messrs. 
 Quickset and Harp. My guardian had saddled 
 him with a task which he had by no means antici- 
 pated. He was accordingly exceedingly offended, 
 and vented his first displeasure upon myself. 
 Now whether it was that after awhile it occurred 
 casually to Sir Hugh's mind that any unkindness 
 to myself would not very powerfully affect the 
 equanimity of my deceased guardian, and was 
 rather an umvorthy method of wreaking ven- 
 geance; or whether it was, as I sometimes 
 thought, that Lady Littlecot, wdio v^^as the sw^eetest, 
 gentlest creature that ever breathed, got an inkling 
 of the circumstance and interceded on my behalf, 
 I know not. But so it happened, that wdien the 
 holidays arrived, just after my sixteenth birthday, 
 and all the school w^as in the delirious throes of 
 •delight usual at that period, I was moodily pacing
 
 8 HEEBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 up and down under the lime-trees in the play- 
 ground, partly to indulge in melancholy thoughts, 
 partly to escape the obtrusive sympathy of my 
 schoolfellows, when there came a message to me 
 from Dr. Drax, the head master, requiring my 
 attendance in his private room. I hastily summed 
 up in my mind all my recent peccadilloes, great 
 and small, but finding nothing of serious magni- 
 tude weighing on my conscience, marched into 
 the doctor's sanctum with tolerable composure. 
 
 I was received with unusual courtesy. It 
 reminded me of the occasion when the doctor 
 had summoned me to hear the tidings of my poor 
 guardian's death, and I began to think some fresh 
 calamity had befallen me, but was rather puzzled 
 to conceive what. 
 
 " Chauncey, take a seat. You'll find yonder 
 arm-chair comfortable." And he pushed it toward 
 me, removing at the same time a certain painful 
 high-backed chair with long legs, ordinarily occu- 
 pied b}^ the doctor's baby, into which in the 
 nervous trepidation of the moment I had been 
 endeavouring to introduce myself. — " You'll find 
 the arm-chair comfortable. And now then to 
 business. Here's a letter from Sir Hugh Little-
 
 SEVERN BANKS. 9 
 
 cot. Baronet, of Severn Banks, wliicli will greatly 
 please you, Cliaimcey. He invites you to Severn 
 Banks, for a fortnight, Chauncey, during ttie vaca- 
 tion. A leading man in the comity, Chauncey, a 
 leading man. And Severn Banks is a fine place. 
 It's a privilege, my dear young friend, to have 
 such a man as Sir Hugh Littlecot standino-'zri loco 
 parentis to you. Take the letter, answer it in 
 your best style, and do not forget to pay the 
 postage. You will start to-morrow, Chauncey, 
 and in case I don't see you again, I wish you 
 good-bye, and a pleasant visit to Severn Banks. 
 Bless you, Chauncey, and make my respects to 
 Sir Hugh." 
 
 The doctor had never blessed me before, but I 
 took the compliment meekly, and retired to read 
 and answer the letter. It was rather stiffly worded, 
 but the invitation was distinct and unmistakeable. 
 I must of course go. I sat down at my desk, 
 and after spoiling three or four sheets of Bath 
 post, managed to write a decent sort of reply. 
 Then I returned to the playground, holding my 
 head higher than when I last left it, and blandly 
 made known to the juvenile pubhc the fact of Sir 
 Hugh's proffered hospitality. To tell the truth.
 
 10 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 though the invitation itself was very gratifying, 
 I did not particularly enjoy the prospect of avail- 
 ing myself of it. Having, for a lad of my age, 
 mixed very little in society, I felt uncomfortable 
 at the thought of going to a grand place full of 
 grand county people. Besides, though I did not 
 like to admit it, I was awfully afraid of Sir Hugh. 
 
 He was reputed to be a perfect gentleman, but 
 a consummate tyrant, especially in his own house- 
 hold. A man of irreproachable morals, but who 
 never forgave an injury, even if it arose from a 
 mistake. Deeply attached to his children, but so 
 anxious for their moral welfare that he had allowed 
 his only son to rot in gaol rather than pay his 
 debts. These may have been exaggerated stories. 
 I am only repeating what was ordinarily said re- 
 specting him. 
 
 I felt, therefore, a little uneasy on my first 
 xirrival at Severn Banks. No one was at home, 
 when the dogcart, in which myself and luggage had 
 been conveyed from Smelterstown, stopped at the 
 lodge-gate. We heard from the lodge-keeper that 
 most of the gentlemen were gone fishing, Sir 
 Hugh was at quarter sessions, and the ladies were 
 driving.
 
 SEVERN BANKS. 11 
 
 Nevertheless, being in a humble frame of mind, 
 I begged the groom to di'ive the dogcart romid 
 to the stable, and so crept in quietly by the back- 
 door. I narrowly escaped being bitten by a New- 
 foundland dog, and collared by the under butler, 
 both those individuals mistaking me for a thief or 
 sharper disguised as a young gentleman ; but I at 
 length explained my appearance satisfactorily, and 
 was shown to my room. 
 
 Everything at Severn Banks was conducted in 
 the most painfully punctilious and orderly fashion. 
 The servant who attended on me gave me a 
 friendly hint that Sir Hugh was " mainly put 
 out,'* unless his guests were all assembled in the 
 drawing-room when the gong sounded for dinner. 
 I accordingly began to make my toilette a fiiU 
 hour before it was necessary, and, as is often the 
 case, was very late in consequence. I loitered 
 and lingered about the room, sometimes busy- 
 ing myself in unpacking, sometimes leaning out 
 of window to watch a group of ladies and 
 gentlemen on the lawn, who were laughing and 
 talking, with what appeared to me the most 
 amazing audacity, right under Sir Hugh's library 
 window.
 
 12 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 I have said I had been hitherto very little in 
 society, and the graceful forms and bright-tinted 
 dresses of the ladies filled me with pleasurable be- 
 wilderment. How I envied those men, chattering, 
 and even joking with them, perfectly self-possessed 
 and comfortable. There was one man with a 
 conspicuous pair of moustaches, whom I took to 
 be a hussar ; for moustaches were not common 
 in those days. His good-humoured nonchalance 
 especially moved my wonder. What he said I 
 could not hear, but every time he opened his 
 mouth the group of ladies round him appeared 
 gently electrified with amusement, and their deli- 
 cately melodious laughter floated past me on the 
 evening breeze. 
 
 Two or three other men were near him. They 
 had been fishing, and were clad in light shooting 
 coats or blouses. Round their hats was twisted 
 abundance of fishing-tackle, and their boots were 
 as heavy as a ploughman's. But rough as their 
 outward man might be, their bearing was to my 
 schoolboy mind the perfection of aristocratic refine- 
 ment and easy grace. 
 
 Sir Hugh's library window was under mine, 
 and opened upon the lawn. I heard a voice issue
 
 SEVERN BANKS. 13 
 
 from it, deep, sonorous, but gentle, and felt assured 
 it was Sir Hugh's. The words uttered were 
 commonplace ; merely a remark to his guests on 
 the lawn that it wanted but twenty minutes to 
 dinner. But the tone was somewhat remarkable : 
 it was, as I have said, gentle, but for all that, you 
 felt it would be inexpedient not to yield implicit 
 obedience to it. 
 
 So thought, as it would seem, the guests on the 
 lawn. They fled, some one way and some an- 
 other, and disappeared in the house. Scarcely 
 had they vanished w^hen I noticed another figure 
 emerge from the shrubberies. It was a fair, blue- 
 eyed girl of about fourteen years of age, with long 
 sunny ringlets falling over her shoulders. She 
 glided across the soft lawn noiseless as a moonbeam, 
 and presently reached a distant parterre of flowers 
 where she busied herself in gathering a bouquet. 
 She looked so sweet and gentle, and darted so 
 nimbly yet so gracefully from flower to flower as 
 she moved along the border, that my attention 
 became absorbed and time passed by unheeded. 
 On a sudden the dreadful gong boomed upon 
 my ear louder and louder, filling every crevice 
 and corner of the mansion with its abominable
 
 14 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 clangour. I rushed from the window and finished 
 dressing with impetuous haste. 
 
 It was really a formidable ordeal to enter the 
 spacious dining-room and pass down the long 
 table crowded with guests, all strangers to me, 
 in order to pay my respects and make my apolo- 
 gies to Sir Hugh. Though I was not a good 
 hand at concealing my. emotion, I did not want 
 nerve, and went tlirough my task pretty well. 
 The provoking thing was, that the instant I 
 addressed Sir Hugh, I perceived he had never 
 noticed my absence. He was puzzled at first, 
 but presently, understanding how the case stood, 
 shook me by the hand with ceremonious dignity, 
 looked at me in a penetrating sort of way, that 
 made me feel my whole character had been 
 accurately ascertained and carefully " booked " in 
 some corner of his memory ; and then, not unkindly, 
 but a little abruptly, directed me to go to the other 
 end of the table and try to find a seat. With 
 countenance growing redder and redder, I hurried 
 round the table, stumbling against the servants 
 who were handing round soup, but failed to find 
 a vacant chair. At the end of the table I noticed, 
 however, a lady of middle age, with a sweet ex-
 
 SEVEFtX BANKS. 15 
 
 pression of countenance, wiio motioned to me to 
 approach. I read encouragement and sympathy 
 in her soft blue eyes, and recovering my presence 
 of mind, steered toAvards her as towards a haven 
 of repose. It was Lady Littlecot herself. By 
 her side was a handsome girl with a profusion of 
 dark ringlets, whose eyes beamed with merriment 
 and mischief. Good-naturedly she made room 
 for me between herself and Lady Littlecot. The 
 latter only said a few words to me, but the tones 
 of her voice were so kind and gentle that I began 
 to feel more at my ease, and even ventured to take 
 some soup. Clara Lamplugh, the girl who had 
 made room for me, was not many years older than 
 myself, but to my schoolboy eyes appeared quite 
 a woman of the world — a little hlasee, but danger- 
 ously lovely still. 
 
 " What courage you must have to walk right 
 up to Sir Hugh and m.ake your apologies face 
 to face ! There's not a man present who would 
 not rather have stormed a battery of cannon! 
 Tell me now — did not your heart sink when you 
 caught liis eye ? " 
 
 I frankly confessed I had been rather fright- 
 ened.
 
 16 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it ; for, you see, true 
 courage does not mean not being afraid : it 
 means not acting as if you were. The great 
 duke is inwardly a coward." 
 
 '' What ! the Duke of Wellington ? " 
 
 " Yes. A phrenologist found it out the other 
 day, and the duke confessed he was quite right. 
 He was a born coward, but a hero by strength 
 of will. So were you just now. But you ought 
 to have a glass of wine: it will calm your 
 nerves. Ask me to take wine." 
 
 I did so, and was more and more charmed 
 with my companion's agreeable qualities. She 
 continued talking. 
 
 " How long have you left college ? " 
 
 '^ Oh ! I am still at school. I am going to 
 college next year, though." 
 
 " Indeed ? I thought you were a Balliol man, by 
 your manner. You know I have brothers, and 
 learn a good deal from them about Oxford and 
 Oxford men. So you are really still at school ? 
 And what profession are you thinking of? The 
 army ? " 
 
 " No : the war's over, and I hate soldiering in 
 peace time : I intend to be a member of Parlia- 
 ment."
 
 SEVERN BANKS. 17 
 
 My companion laughed merrily, and I felt a 
 little hurt. 
 
 '' I don't see anything to laugh at." 
 
 "Pray forgive me, but it sounded so odd from 
 the lips of a good-looking young man." 
 
 This was too patronizing, and drawing myself 
 up, I replied stiffly, that I had never been much 
 given to bovish amusements. Our school con- 
 tained many men who were very much in earnest. 
 We had a debatinss: societv which met once a 
 week, and there were some really good speakers 
 amongst us : Jackson, junior, was thought to be 
 very like William Pitt. 
 
 " How delightful ! Now tell me, what was the 
 last subject of discussion ? " 
 
 ** Oh ! the question was, ' Has Christianity on 
 the whole, increased the temporal happiness of the 
 human race ? ' " 
 
 '^ What a lively debate you must have had ! 
 And how was it decided ? " 
 
 " Well, it was a tough struggle ; but Jackson, 
 junior — made a splendid speech, and the ^ Ayes ' 
 had it by a majority of two." 
 
 " You don't say so. What a relief that would be 
 to the bishop yonder ! I must tell him after dinner.'* 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 18 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 In this way, dinner passed away pleasantly. 
 When the ladies withdrew I rushed to open the 
 door ; but very soon wished I had left the duty 
 to some one else. Each lady, as she gracefully 
 sailed past, appeared to scan me keenly from head 
 to foot ; at leastj I suspected so, which was much 
 the same thing. I tried to feel at my ease ; hut a 
 horrible idea seized me that I looked like a 
 waiter, and I blushed till I was crimson. 
 
 The gaily dressed throng vanished at last. I 
 returned hastily to the table, where I sat in silence, 
 sipping wines the names of which I did not 
 know, and listening to a w^arm discussion on the 
 weight of a salmon caught that day after an 
 hour's struggle. The only observation I remem- 
 ber was one from a keen sportsman on my left. 
 
 " By Jove, it's a pity the fellow bled so before 
 we landed him, or he would have weighed thirty 
 pounds instead of twenty-nine. By Jove, it's a 
 fact." 
 
 This was at my end of the table. Far away at 
 the other end Sir Hugh was talking politics to an 
 admiring circle. In the drawing-room I sought 
 out Clara Lamplugh. She was on the sofa, and 
 there was a vacant place by her side. Encouraged
 
 SEVERN BANKS. 19 
 
 by the recollection of her affability at dinner, and 
 emboldened by an extra glass of Avine, I seated 
 myself beside her, and endeavoured to resume the 
 tlu'ead of our conversation. Somehow or other, 
 we did not get on so well as at dinner; that 
 abominable hussar. Captain Blandy, would stick 
 himself near us, and I thought she was afraid of 
 his overhearing us. I had half a mind to propose 
 adjom'ning with her to the other end of the room. 
 Presently, however, Clara said — 
 
 " By-the-by, you were talking of William Pitt 
 at dinner. There is a splendid likeness of him in 
 the ante-room. Just go and look at it, and tell me 
 what you think of it.*' 
 
 I liked her pretty little positive ways, and 
 started off. When I returned, Clara had vanished 
 from the sofa ; but I caught sight of her in the 
 distance retiring into the conservatory on the arm 
 of the detestable Blandy. 
 
 I believe my countenance must have presented 
 a very unamiable appearance at that moment. I 
 first thought of challenging Blandy ; then turned 
 my attention cursorily to the subject of suicide ; but 
 finally, sat down like a sensible young gentleman in 
 a remote corner of the room, and drank a cup of tea. 
 
 2 — 2
 
 20 HEKBERT CHAUXCEY. 
 
 Lady Littlecot sought me out, and led me to 
 a table covered with drawings and prints. Here 
 I amused myself tolerably for a quarter of an 
 hour, but was beginning to feel sleepy when my 
 shoulder was lightly tapped by a lady's fan. 
 I turned hastily, and beheld the mischievous 
 countenance of Clara Lamplugh smiling down 
 upon me. I was about to rise, and in my best 
 manner haughtily ask what were her commands, 
 when she said gaily : 
 
 " Now, don't bear malice. I am come to make 
 my amende lionorable. Ada Littlecot has just 
 entered the room, and I want to introduce you to 
 her." 
 
 I rose somewhat sulkily, but Clara's good- 
 humour soon smoothed my brow, and I followed 
 her hke a lamb. 
 
 Ada Littlecot was only fourteen or thereabouts, 
 and was dressed accordingly ; that is to say, in 
 the simplest muslin dress, without any ornament 
 but a small bouquet of geraniums in her bosom. 
 Her light brown hair fell in long waving curls 
 over her shoulders. I recognized her at once; 
 she was the same young girl whom I had seen in 
 the flower-garden before dinner.
 
 SEVERN BANKS. 21 
 
 Boys of sixteen are much more prone to fall 
 in love with ladies of between thirty and forty 
 than with girls of their own age. I did not feel 
 the slightest tendresse for Ada Littlecot, but I 
 thought her a sweet little creature, and com- 
 menced conversing with her in a friendly, rather 
 condescending manner. 
 
 " Are you fond of riding ? " 
 " Oh, very ! But papa does not like my riding 
 Juliette." 
 
 "Who is Juliette?" 
 
 '' Oh, the bay mare ; such a beauty, with such 
 a love of a tail, and a neck always arched. I 
 hope he will let me ride her to-morrow; I am 
 getting too tall for the pony." 
 
 And the young lady glanced at her small person 
 in a mirror near us. 
 
 We were continuing our conversation on horses, 
 when I saw my companion's countenance change. 
 She had been talking and laughing in a gay, 
 thoughtless way, but suddenly looked grave and 
 serious : not that she seemed friixhtened ; it w^as 
 rather as if she thought it necessary to be on 
 her best behaviour. 
 
 " I see papa coming this way," she said.
 
 22 HEKBEET CHAUNCEY. 
 
 Sir Hugh it was. His manner, however, was 
 friendly and kind. There seemed no need to re- 
 gard him with such awe. Putting his arm in mine, 
 he drew me a little to one side, at the same 
 moment making some almost imperceptible sign 
 to Ada, that sent her swiftly in the direction of 
 her mother, who was seated in the adjoining room. 
 
 Sir Hugh talked to me pleasantly, though 
 rather ceremoniously, about my school, my school- 
 fellows, and my schoolmaster. '^ Drax was a 
 worthy man and a sound scholar." I assented, 
 of course, and he went on to discuss my future 
 plans ; laying down the course I ought to pursue, 
 in an affable manner, but without the smallest 
 regard to my own wishes, tastes or inclinations. 
 I did not venture to allude to parliamentary as- 
 pirations. I listened to the old man's sonorous, 
 well-rounded sentences, and felt smaller and 
 smaller as he chalked out for me a struggling 
 career, as barrister on the Western Circuit under 
 the wing of an opulent solicitor, who, out of re- 
 spect for Sir Hugh, would take me by the hand 
 and help me to a few briefs by way of a begin- 
 ning. " You must not attempt too much," remarked 
 Sir Hugh, encouragingly. "Young men are
 
 SEVEEX BANKS. 23 
 
 apt to tliink themselves something out of the 
 common. I hope you have too much good sense 
 to do so yourself. And now let us listen to the 
 music." 
 
 We rose, and feeling, though I scarce knew 
 why, that Sir Hugh was rather bored, and wished 
 me to decamp, I retreated to another part of the 
 room, and presently made my escape to bed.
 
 24 HERBERT CHAUXCEY. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ADA LITTLECOT. 
 
 There were a great many guests staying at Severn 
 Banks, and after my first shyness had worn off 
 I began to enjoy my visit. One has always 
 most liberty in a crowd, and as long as I was out 
 of reach of Sir Hugh, I felt much at my ease. Sir 
 Hucrh duiino: the dav was seldom seen by his 
 guests ; two or three days in the week he was 
 absent from home, and on the days he was at 
 home he was generally secluded in his library. 
 He would ride out occasionally, attired in long 
 Hessian boots, and mounted on a strong built cob, 
 with a Roman nose and a vicious eye. Inquisi- 
 tive friends affirmed that his ride was only a 
 convenient mode of receiving the homage to which 
 he appeared to consider himself entitled by in- 
 defeasible right. Sitting bolt upright on the 
 strong built cob, Sir Hugh proceeded at a slow
 
 ADA LITTLECOT. 2 5 
 
 pace through tlie village. Farmers doffed their 
 hats, labouring men bent low in bareheaded 
 humility, women bobbed innumerable curtsies at 
 their cottage-doors, and the children of the village 
 school fled at his approach in speechless conster- 
 nation. Sir Hugh meanwhile moved on grimly 
 sedate, raising his silver-headed cane to his hat 
 in acknowledo-ment of the rustic salutations un- 
 couthly tendered to him. 
 
 A groom invariably followed him at a long 
 distance ; and sometimes Ada rode by his side 
 on a rough Welsh pony. Her sweet countenance 
 and gentle, graceful manner, contrasted curiously 
 with the stern old man, gazing straight before him 
 from under dark, shaggy eyebrows, and holding 
 with a firm grip the reins of his Koman-nosed cob. 
 
 Sir Hugh's departure from the house was 
 the signal for me to steal into the library, and 
 with a degree of fear and trembling that gave 
 zest to my enjoyment, I rummaged over books,, 
 old and new, and portfolios of prints, rare and 
 costly, which Sir Hugh had probably forgotten 
 were in his possession. At other times I joined 
 the guests in their diversions at home or abroad. 
 Blandy and myself soon made it up ; he was a very
 
 26 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 good-natured fellow, and won my heart by asking 
 me to smoke a cigar with him in the conservatory 
 after the company had retired for the niglit. We 
 smoked there every night, under the plea of ex- 
 terminating the red spiders on the rose-trees. 
 When, however, the drawing-room itself began 
 to be pervaded by a chronic odour of Manilla 
 cheroots. Lady Littlecot in her gentle way in- 
 formed us that of the two evils, tobacco smoke and 
 spiders, she preferred the latter ; so Blandy and 
 myself waited till the servants had gone to bed, 
 and then took refuge in the kitchen, where we 
 smoked, sitting in our shirt-sleeves at a tempera- 
 ture of 80 deo^rees. 
 
 Blandy initiated me into the mysteries of fly- 
 fishing. I do not think I made much progress. 
 The story of the bleeding salmon, absurd as it 
 may seem, gave me rather a distaste for the sport ; 
 but it looked unmanly not to join the fishing- 
 party, and I did so now and then. The stream 
 mostly frequented by us was broad and rather 
 rapid, full of occasional pits, and here and there 
 bristling with stakes. I had no idea of not doing 
 the same as others, so I whipped the stream with 
 Blandy 's rod, up to my waist in water, accoutred
 
 ADA LITTLE COT. 27 
 
 in Blandv's huge patent fisliing-boots, warranted 
 "waterproof, and obtained the reputation of being 
 an ardent lover of the gentle art. I never cauglit 
 a fish, but Blandj managed to slip two or three 
 into my basket just to saA^e my credit. 
 
 One day, however, my adventures nearly came 
 to an abrupt termination. Wading down the 
 stream, rod in hand, I walked suddenly into 
 a dangerous pit, of which I had been warned 
 before, but which I had forgotten. It was not 
 a mere hole, but a long, deep channel, or gully, 
 in the bottom of the stream. I plunged in and 
 disappeared from sight. My patent waterproof 
 fishing boots did their duty admirably, for my feet 
 and legs emerged from the water buoyant as corks; 
 but the drawback was that my head remained 
 under water : the spectators on the bank were 
 therefore entertained with the interesting spectacle 
 of a pair of legs clad in huge boots floating down 
 the stream, heels in the air. I righted myself 
 at last, and swam a few strokes till I got a foot- 
 ing, and with the aid of friends, plodded to the 
 bank, where I lay down in a state of utter ex- 
 haustion, and had to be carried home. I have 
 never gone out fishing since.
 
 28 HEIIBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 Next day the party at Severn Banks broke up. 
 Sir Hugh also left home for a day and night: 
 he was to preside at a public meeting in a dis- 
 tant part of the country. There were only Lady 
 Littlecot, Ada, and myself left; and we spent a 
 happy day. 
 
 Lady Littlecot's great treat was to dine early, 
 and an early dinner was accordingly always the 
 rule when Sir Hugh was absent. It was a sin- 
 gular contrast — this early dinner in an upstairs 
 apartment that had once been the schoolroom — 
 to the grand entertainment in the long dining- 
 room which I had been accustomed to. The school- 
 room was of moderate size, and plainly furnished ; 
 the walls were hung with maps and scriptural 
 prints, and a bookcase full of seedy lesson books 
 was in one corner. There was a picture in the room 
 of considerable merit, and worthy of a more con- 
 spicuous locality : it was an oil painting of a 
 young lad playing with a little child. The draw- 
 ing of the picture was bold and graceful, the 
 colouring rich and soft : the character of the boy's 
 face evidently true to nature — a high-spirted, 
 joyous lad ; that of the child was of course less 
 individualized ; a little thing with sweet baby
 
 ADA LITTLECOT. 29 
 
 features and a shower of sunny tresses. I asked 
 Lady Littlecot whether the child was Ada; but 
 I had no sooner spoken than I regretted it. A 
 shadow passed over Lady Littlecot's face, and her 
 eyes filled with tears. The child was Ada, the 
 lad was her brother ; who had died in a debtor's 
 prison a few years since. Great had been the re- 
 joicings and splendid the festivities when he came 
 of acre ; but whilst the recollection of them was 
 still fresh in the minds of friends and neighbours, 
 darker and sadder scenes followed and blotted it 
 out for ever. I blamed myself for my want of 
 tact, and managed in a clumsy way to change the 
 subject. 
 
 We had a pleasant meal : the sunshine streamed 
 into the quiet schoolroom through the chinks of 
 the Venetian blinds, and the great house was per- 
 fectly still. Dinner was served on a round table ; 
 a few simple dishes, with abundance of fruit and 
 every variety of cake and biscuit. I never had 
 seen Lady Littlecot so happy : she looked ten 
 years younger ; she talked and laughed with Ada 
 and myself, and amused us with tales of other days. 
 
 She was a simple-minded lady, fond of home 
 and home pursuits ; averse to the bustle of fashion-
 
 30 HEKBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 able life ; with deep religious instincts, yet of a 
 cheerful, happy temper. I suppose she married 
 Sir Hugh more in obedience to the commands of 
 others than out of true affection. If she loved 
 him, it was certain she feared him a great deal 
 more. The daughter was a curious link between 
 them : with all her awe for Sir Hugh she evi- 
 dently clung to her father affectionately. 
 
 After dinner we took a long drive to see a 
 ruined abbey. We climbed up the shattered stairs 
 and groped along mouldering, grass-grown cor- 
 ridors and galleries, until we were thoroughly tired. 
 In any other company I should have been dull, 
 but as it was, I had seldom felt so happy. Home 
 was a word scarcely known to me, except in books 
 of fiction ; I had lived chiefly amongst boys and 
 men. The gentle society of the mother and her 
 daughter seemed to wrap me in dreamy tranquil- 
 lity. Ada, gliding amongst those gaunt ruins, 
 looked like a fairy weaving a mystic spell. I 
 could almost fancy that with a wave of her little 
 hand she could restore to pristine beauty and per- 
 fection the roofless ruins piled around us. Then 
 my thoughts took a more prosaic turn. I wished 
 Ada were my sister, that I might be always her
 
 ADA UTTLECOT. 31 
 
 friend and companion as now. More than that I 
 neither imagined nor desired. 
 
 As soon as we reached home, tea was served in 
 the schoolroom. Afterwards Ada took me to see 
 her horse. As akeady intimated, Sir Hugh rarely 
 allowed her to ride Juliette ; for Juliette was con- 
 sidered too spirited. Ada rode her on stated occa- 
 sions, after the animal had been mulcted of half its 
 corn and exercised till it was in a dejected frame 
 of mind; when the coachman rode by her side with 
 a leading-rein. At other times she was restricted 
 to the little Welsh pony. 
 
 Rough and austere as Sir Hugh might be, it 
 was evident that he was painfully nerV'Ous about 
 his daughter. The family apothecary called once 
 a week as regularly as clockwork, merely to 
 ascertain whether Ada was in good health. Her 
 dress and dietary w^ere matters of most rigid regu- 
 lation : " What to eat, drink, and avoid," was 
 legibly written out in a memorandum book by 
 Sir Hugh himself, and committed to Lady Little- 
 cot's charge with as much solemnity as if the 
 contents were sacred. On most days, save during 
 settled summer weather, a little pencil note in 
 Sir Hugh's handwriting, was sent up to Lady
 
 32 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 Littlecot, by the hands of the French valet 
 Alphonse, containing such instructions as these : 
 " Wind N. E. Ada to wear her cloth jacket." 
 Or, " There will be rain. Cork boots." Or, 
 « Wind S. E. A black frost. MufF and fur 
 •cloak." Or, " Sky doubtful. Umbrella instead 
 of parasol." 
 
 But to return to Juliette, tlie bay mare. Ada 
 took me to the stable door, iDut no farther ; 
 she herself not being allowed to enter. The 
 groom was inside, and I was duly introduced to 
 Juliette. She was a pretty creature, and the 
 ^room seeing my admiration, and stimulated by 
 a tip of half-a-crown which I very unnecessarily 
 presented to him, proposed that I should mount her 
 and take her a canter round the park. I could 
 not assent without Ada's permission, but this was 
 soon obtained. Next to riding Juliette herself, 
 was the pleasure of seeing some one else do so. 
 So in a few minutes I was careering round the 
 park, showing off my horsemanship and Ju- 
 liette's fine qualities to my heart's content, and 
 also Ada's. She sat under one of the trees for 
 a few minutes watching me ; her mother joined 
 iier. Presently, a third figure made its apj^ear-
 
 ADA LITTLECOT. 33 
 
 ance. A sudden alarm seized me. Was it Sir 
 Hugh? 
 
 Reining in the mare with difficulty, she gradu- 
 ally subsided into a walk, and thus in rather un- 
 dignified plight I turned her head homewards, and 
 approached the ladies at a foot's pace. When 
 I came near, the third figure slowly withdrew, 
 and I recoornized it was not Sir HuMi, but Sir 
 Hugh's valet, the Frenchman Alphonse. I felt 
 mortified and annoyed at having experienced so 
 unnecessary a panic, and was about to resume 
 my equestrian performances, w^hen Lady Littlecot 
 made a sign to me to approach. I found she was 
 flurried and disturbed; Ada also looked uncom- 
 fortable, and they both suggested that it was time 
 to go indoors. 
 
 In the course of the evening, I ascertained that 
 this valet — a great favourite of Sir Hugh's, and, 
 like most favourites, exceedingly pert and domi- 
 neering — had actually ventured to protest against 
 the permission given me to ride Juliette, remind- 
 ing Lady Littlecot that Sir Hugh w^as Kkely to 
 be much displeased if it came to his ears. 
 
 I had taken a dislike to Alphonse from the first. 
 He was a little wiry, swarthy, handsome Frencli- 
 
 YOL. I. 3
 
 34 HEEBERT CHAUKCEY. 
 
 man, who gave himself airs beyond endurance. 
 Indeed I had once detected him in the act of shrug- 
 ging his shoulders contemptuously when I was 
 trpng to help a dish that was new to me. Of 
 course I dismounted and put up the mare; but the 
 scene with Alphonse cast a damp over the party 
 for most of the evening. 
 
 At ten, Lady Littlecot made an effort to rally 
 the spirits of the party, and ringing the bell, said 
 to the butler, " And now, Thompson, bring the 
 raspberry wine, with hot water and sugar, and 
 don't forget the almond cakes." 
 
 After supper Lady Littlecot read prayers to 
 the servants, a practice she seldom omitted ; 
 though neither the guests nor Sir Hugh were 
 aware of it, since she retired to the unfrequented 
 school-room for the purpose. 
 
 Sir Hugh was home early next day. I heard 
 his library bell ring, and met Alphonse hasten- 
 ing along the passage with an air of unusual 
 importance. Then the bell rang again. I 
 retired to the billiard-room, but had not been 
 there long before there came another ring of the 
 library bell. It was becoming disagreeable ; was 
 anything the matter? 
 
 As I passed down the broad passage with which
 
 ADA LITTLECOT. 35 
 
 the library communicated, Ada Littlecot issued 
 from the library, and darted past me with raised 
 colour and streaming eyes. I became more and 
 more uncomfortable; but my discomfort reached 
 its climax, when the awful library bell rang once 
 more, and the butler soon after informed me that 
 I was wanted by Sir Hugh. 
 
 Mustering courage, I stepped into the room : 
 he was seated in his arm-chair, dressed m his high 
 Hessian boots, holding himself very upright. 
 
 I sat down on a chair to which he pointed. 
 
 " Mr. Herbert Chauncey, I have a question to 
 ask you." 
 
 I bowed my reddening face in silence. 
 
 " You rode the bay mare, Juliette, yesterday 
 evening ? " 
 
 " Only a gallop in the park, sir," I repHed. " I 
 did not know there was any harm." 
 
 " Did I say there was ? " rejoined Sir Hugh 
 grimly. 
 
 There was a pause : then he resumed, — 
 
 " Who gave you leave to do so ? " 
 
 This was an awkward question. I replied, after 
 some minutes' hesitation, that it was all my fault ; 
 nobody but myself was to blame, &c. 
 
 3—2
 
 36 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 ^' Ada lias informed me that she gave you per- 
 mission. Is that true ? " 
 
 I was obliged to assent. There was another 
 pause. 
 
 Then Sir Hugh, waving his hand with cere- 
 monious courtesy towards the door, dismissed me 
 with a sort of verdict of acquittal, as follows : — 
 
 " Mr. Herbert Chauncey, having carefully 
 investigated this unpleasant business, I do not 
 find that you have been guilty of any worse delin- 
 quency than schoolboy thoughtlessness. You may 
 retire." 
 
 I longed to say something in behalf of Ada, but 
 the words stuck in my throat, and I found myself 
 outside the door before I could collect my thoughts. 
 
 That day Lady Littlecot did not make her 
 appearance at dinner, although two or three 
 neighoburing gentry with their wives and daugh- 
 ters were Sir Hugh's guests. As for Ada, I be- 
 lieve she was imprisoned in her bedroom. It 
 was by no means an agreeable party. Everybody 
 seemed aware that something mipleasant had oc- 
 curred, and avoided looking in each other's faces, 
 lest Sir Hugh should read their thoughts. After 
 dinner the men drank enough port wine to have
 
 ADA LITTLECOT. 37 
 
 laid a dozen country squires of the present genera- 
 tion under the table; and their jollity at length 
 succeeded in dispelling the general gloom. Sir 
 Hugh, however, preserved his gravity, gazing 
 stern and stolid as a weather-beaten statue on the 
 uncouth merriment of his guests. I felt his eye 
 was on me, and drank my wine by stealth, adding 
 water ostentatiously when I found I was observed. 
 The sitting seemed interminable. At last I made 
 an effort, and, quietly escaped through the ad- 
 jacent door. 
 
 I ran into the garden, glad to be rid of the 
 noise and heat of the dining-room. It was a fine, 
 soft evening; and, wandering on, I reached the 
 di'ive leading from the stable. Presently I heard 
 voices. Pursuing my w^ay I came upon a group 
 that excited my interest — a mx)unted groom lead- 
 ing the bay mare Juliette, and by the side of 
 Juliette poor Ada, without her hat, fondly em- 
 bracing the animal's neck, with sobs and tears. 
 The groom, in a rough but kindly voice, was 
 begging his young mistress not to " take on so ; " 
 that " she would have a much finer horse very 
 soon, trust him for that," &c. 
 
 The fact was, as, soon as Sir Hugh learned
 
 38 HERBEET CHAUNCEY. 
 
 that Ada had taken the unpardonable liberty of 
 permitting me to ride the horse specially provided 
 for her use by Sir Hugh, he had given orders 
 there and then that Juliette should be taken to 
 the nearest town and sold by auction for what 
 she would fetch. 
 
 It was a harsh measure, and tears of indignation 
 sprang to my eyes ; but what could I do ? Sir 
 Hugh was omnipotent in his little sphere of Severn 
 Banks, and I was helpless. I caressed Juliette and 
 denounced Sir Hugh's tyranny. But the groom 
 was pressed for time ; and, grunting inarticu- 
 late sympathy, he touched his hat and rode slowly 
 away with Juliette by his side. We watched him 
 till he disappeared with his horses amongst the 
 wooded undulations of the park, Ada weeping 
 bitterly all the time. 
 
 I had not had much experience in administering 
 comfort. At school the only consolation I had 
 imparted was to young Lord Folliott — " Folly," 
 we used to call him — after he had been thrashed 
 in a stand-up fight. The consolation consisted in 
 telling him that he would thrash his adversary in 
 another month, and teaching him how to do it. The 
 case of Ada was new to me ; she was too old
 
 ADA LITTLECOT. 39 
 
 to be soothed by sweetmeats or pacified by a doll. 
 Nevertheless she continued crying. What was to 
 be done ? 
 
 My heart bled for her, and everybody says, pity 
 is akin to love. I found it so then. The drive 
 where we were standing was quiet and retired. 
 No one was near us ; I longed to throw myself on 
 my knees at Ada's feet, and declare myself passion- 
 ately attached to her. 
 
 But youths hovering on the verge of manhood 
 are apt to be shy on such emergencies, and I could 
 not muster up courage to do anything so decisive. 
 At length, however, with my eyes full of tears, I 
 exclaimed, — 
 
 ^^ Dear Miss Ada, pray don't cry so. You will 
 break my heart : you will indeed ! " The sound of 
 my own voice emboldened me. The young girl's 
 face was hid in her hands. I leaned forward, 
 uttered a few incoherent words of which " love " 
 was one, and seizing her hand, was about to cover 
 it with kisses ; but my courage failed. 
 
 I doubt whether this abrupt expression of feel- 
 ing was perfectly appreciated ; but it had one 
 salutary effect — it stopped Ada's tears. Half 
 frightened, and a good deal astonished, she stood
 
 40 HERBEKT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 motionless for a few seconds, then, blushing crim- 
 son, snatcliecl away lier hand, and ran full speed- 
 up the drive, and into the house. 
 
 When I joined the company in the drawing- 
 room, I felt much more at my ease than I had 
 done heretofore. I had entered into the serious 
 business of life ; I had made something very like 
 a formal declaration of love. True, it was rather 
 a premature, not to say audacious, proceeding in a 
 young gentleman not seventeen, of very moderate 
 expectations ; but I did not look at the matter 
 from that point of view. I fancied myself sud- 
 denly raised in the scale of creation, and lounged 
 about the room with an air of a man of the w^orld, 
 occasionally making remarks in an easy tone of 
 voice more or less to the purpose. 
 
 I believe the change in my manner from my 
 previous reserve and shyness was so conspicuous 
 that some of the country squires fancied I was 
 elated by wine, and nudged each other, chuckling 
 audibly every time I spoke or moved. 
 
 I did not care ; even Sir Hugh's awful presence 
 was less overpowering than heretofore. I returned 
 his stately pressure of the hand on parting for the 
 niglit, with a warmth which rather surprised him.
 
 / 
 
 ADA LITTLECOT. 41 
 
 I begaii to regard him as my possible father-in- 
 law, and felt it my duty to treat him with some 
 show of affection. All this was very absurd; but 
 I was young : and even grave, middle-aged men 
 are foolish enough sometunes under the influence 
 of the tender passion. 
 
 Next morning greatly cooled my enthusiasm, 
 but it did not extinguish it ; on the contrary, my 
 thoughts began to assume shape. I pictured my- 
 self, as a high-spirited youth, poor in worldly 
 wealth, but rich in intellectual gifts, devoting 
 myself to succour and console the lovely daughter 
 of an unnatural — nay, slightly demoniacal father. 
 Her mother, I felt assured, secretly approved my 
 suit, that is to say, if she was aware of it, whicii 
 was certainly doubtful. 
 
 It is not difficult to understand how Ada and 
 myself, in this half-real half-ideal sort of way, 
 enacted an innocent, romantic love-story. How 
 we made solemn assignations to meet at moon- 
 light, half a mile off, which neither of us ever 
 kept nor meant to keep. How we took stealthy 
 walks in the kitchen-garden, talkino- sentiment at 
 first, but speedily diverging to the practical busi- 
 ness of common life by making an onslaught on 
 the gooseberry and currant bushes. How we sat
 
 42 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 hand in hand in tlie breakfast-room or scliool- 
 room, talking over future plans with the 
 greatest gravity, until, having exhausted the 
 subject, we took to playing with Lady Littlecot's 
 lapdog, or fell back upon battledore and shuttle- 
 cock. The thrill of mingled anguish and pleasure 
 was great when an approaching step, or a voice 
 €oming nearer and nearer, drove us in wild 
 precipitation from the room ; I going one way, 
 Ada another, to meet again a few hours after witli 
 looks of smilino; self-consciousness. 
 
 One day, however, a circumstance occurred that 
 brought our pleasant little drama to a dismal ter- 
 mination. I have alluded once or twice to Al- 
 phonse. Sir Hugh's French valet. The small, 
 wiry, dark-eyed foreigner did not like me, and 
 I did not like him. He had been taken up by 
 Sir Hugh a few years since, for what reason 
 matters not much, but it had some connection 
 with Sir Hugh's deceased son. I believe Alphonse 
 had been his servant; at all events, I surprised 
 the man one day standing before the lad's picture 
 in the schoolroom, gazing at it stedfastly with an 
 expression of so much sorrow in his countenance, 
 that for the moment my heart rather softened to- 
 wards him.
 
 ADA LITTLECOT. 43 
 
 Sir Hugli patronized tlie man in a dignified 
 way, and perhaps imagined that by so doing he 
 evinced a forgiving spirit towards the poor lad 
 who had died so miserably in a debtor's prison. 
 The occasional kindness of stiff, hard-headed, dis- 
 agreeable people, say what we will, goes farther 
 than that of the uniformly good and gracious, and 
 it is probable that Alphonse really loved the stern 
 old man : he, at least, took upon himself the airs 
 of a devoted servitor, and the privileges of a 
 favourite dependant. 
 
 Both Ada and myself entertained a disagreeable 
 suspicion that the man's eye was always upon 
 us, as if he read our secret thoughts, and was 
 plotting our discomfiture. 
 
 My dismay may, therefore, be readily conceived 
 when one afternoon, sallying forth for a walk, 
 I was intercepted in the ante-room opening into 
 the entrance-hall by Ada Littlecot, pale as marble, 
 and seemingly too much agitated even to shed 
 tears. 
 
 " Herbert, he has got the letter — the letter with 
 the lock of hair ! he will show it to papa — papa 
 will never forgive me ! " 
 
 To explain this, I must admit that I liad been
 
 V 
 
 44 HEKBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 guilty of a little indiscretion. I had persuaded 
 Ada witli much difficulty to give me a lock of 
 her hair. Now, instead of simply presenting it 
 to me on a favourable occasion, it was arranged 
 — inexperienced lovers as we were — that she 
 should place it in a letter, carefully seal it up, 
 and convey it to me through the medium of a 
 maid-servant. To hand it to me herself would 
 have been too obvious and commonplace a pro- 
 ceeding. What was love without a little mystery 
 and abundance of stratagem ? 
 
 But the result was this : Alphonse, the hateful 
 Alphonse, had contrived to get hold of the letter, 
 and would not give it up, though the maid de- 
 clared she had implored him to do so, kneeling 
 on her knees in the butler's pantry for fall twenty 
 minutes ; which, of course, was a lie, my convic- 
 tion being that Alphonse and the woman were 
 sworn friends and accomplices. 
 
 What was to be done ? Ada, to do her justice, 
 thought more of me than of herself, and in tones 
 of agonizing entreaty begged me to fly from the 
 house before her father returned. Of course my 
 boyish chivalry recoiled from the idea. After all, 
 I had not committed burglary or homicide. No :
 
 ADA LITTLECOT. 45 
 
 I liacl no idea of taking flight. Another course of 
 policy suggested itself; I would waylay Alphonse, 
 and coax or terrify him into giving up the letter. 
 Ada, at my instigation, fled to her mother for 
 comfort and protection. 
 
 But Alphonse was not to be cajoled or intimi- 
 dated by a young gentleman of sixteen. He 
 met all my solicitations, all my remonstrances, 
 with contemptuous shrugs of the shoulder and 
 aggravating little outbursts of sneering laughter. 
 I had managed to decoy him into the billiard- 
 room, opening by glass doors into the garden, 
 where I thought we should not be liable to inter- 
 ruption ; and the provoking thing was that, to the 
 best of my belief, I could actually see the identical 
 letter protruding from the breast pocket of his coat. 
 An English lad of my age could probably thrash 
 most Frenchmen in a pugilistic encounter, and I 
 determined to make a bold push for the letter. 
 Aided in my resolution by his insulting looks and 
 gestures, I made a sudden rush, and pounced at 
 the breast pocket; but Alphonse was quick and 
 active as a Red Indian ; he sprang back, and eluded 
 my grasp: I missed the letter, however, only 
 hj the fraction of an inch. The man's swarthy
 
 46 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 face was distorted with rage ; his black eyes 
 glared ; he foamed ; he sputtered ; he vociferated ; 
 he 2:esticnlated like a maniac ; then seizina^ 
 a billiard cue, swore, if I dared to approach, 
 " qu^il ferait sauter mes yeux de ma tete.^^ The 
 rage of a Frenchman is rather startling to an 
 English schoolboy. I was a little taken aback, 
 and attempted to parley ; but at that juncture, a 
 face and form appeared at the glass door com- 
 municating with the garden, which brought matters 
 speedily to a crisis. It was Sir Hugh Littlecot. 
 Apparently he had been gazing at the scene for 
 some minutes ; more amazed than angry, the old 
 man shook the door to signify he wished it to be 
 opened. I had locked it previous to meeting 
 Alphonse. 
 
 As soon as he was in the room, Alphonse, 
 throwing aside the billiard cue, commenced an 
 impassioned harangue in French, a language I 
 understood no better than most school-boys of 
 the period, and finally with an air of high-minded 
 fidelity presented Sir Hugh with my poor little 
 Ada's letter. I was aware that nothing could 
 be done, and stood by in sullen silence. Sir 
 Ilugh's countenance grew black as night; he
 
 ADA LITTLECOT. 47 
 
 took the letter and tore it open : out dropped a 
 long silken, flaxen curl upon the green surface 
 of the billiard-table. I now attempted to say 
 something by which I might monopohze the blame 
 of the transaction ; but Sir Hugh bade me hold 
 my peace, and retire to my bedroom. 
 
 I waited there a full hour, listenino; to the 
 library bell, which, as on a previous occasion, 
 rang with chilling solemnity at intervals of about 
 ten minutes, five or six successive times : then 
 came a pause. It was near dimier-time, and I 
 began to feel hungry. There was a rap at my 
 bedroom door. Was it the footman with hot 
 water for dressing ? No ; it was the butler, a 
 grave-looking personage, and at that moment 
 graver than ever. Without even casting his eyes 
 upon me, he went straight to my wardrobe, and 
 taking out all my clothes, placed them on the 
 bed, drew out my portmanteau and bag, and 
 quietly commenced packing up my things. 
 
 Annoyed at my presence being entirely ignored, 
 I loudly demanded what the man meant. I 
 obtained no other answer than that it was " Sir 
 Hugh's pleasure." It was useless to make a 
 disturbance ; so I succumbed. By-and-by a light
 
 48 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 dogcart^ driven by the under groom, came round 
 to the front door. It was " Sir Hugh's pleasure " 
 that I should leave the house M^ithout seeing 
 any of the family. I obeyed with indignant 
 promptitude, and as I sprang into the dogcart 
 heard a voice— « I need not say whose — exclaim in 
 accents of mock politeness, " Bon voyage, monsieur, 
 hon voyage I " 
 
 One little circumstance had somewhat com- 
 forted me. I caught a glimpse, as I passed the 
 schoolroom, of Ada sitting on a low stool, with 
 her head on Lady Littlecot's lap ; the latter was 
 soothing and caressing her. 
 
 I slept at an inn at Stoke-on- Avon that night, 
 and reached the school next day. Dr. Drax had 
 been already enlightened by a letter from Sir 
 Hugh on the subject of my sudden expulsion from 
 Severn Banks. He received me ungraciously 
 enough : did not offer me a comfortable arm-chair, 
 as on the previous occasion; did not give his 
 blessing. I had subsided in his estimation to my 
 former commonplace level.
 
 49 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 GROSVENOR SQUARE. 
 
 We talk of half a dozen years making more 
 difference in the inner life of the young, than of 
 the middle-aged. For myself I have scarcely 
 fomid this so. From sixteen to sixty I have 
 known chancres of thoucrht and feelins; ; but not 
 more so in my earlier years than now. The 
 vicissitudes of youth strike their roots more 
 deeply into the memory than those of later life. 
 Thus, though my inclinations, wishes, hopes, have 
 undergone during middle age far greater change 
 than at any other period of my life, I am less 
 conscious of change now, than when T compared 
 myself on leavincr college, with what I was before 
 I went thither. 
 
 Had I forgotten Ada Littlecot ? By no means. 
 During the remainder of my brief stay at school, 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 I cherisliecl my recollection of her in solitary 
 musings and waking dreams. My imagination 
 invested her with ideal interest^ and at leisure 
 moments was ever busy in weaving a romantic 
 tale, in which she and myself were the principal 
 characters. 
 
 But on removing from school to college, leisure 
 moments became more scarce. Life grew more 
 earnest. My career as a man was beginning. 
 Prizes and honours were to be striven for in 
 tough competition with my equals. Ada was 
 not forgotten ; but she was fast fading into a 
 thing of the past, a pleasing reminiscence, like 
 that of a poem, picture, or tune we once loved, 
 but do not expect to derive any enjoyment from 
 again. 
 
 For to Severn Banks I received no second in- 
 vitation. Sir Hugh sent no message of inquiry 
 after me, no faintest token of forgiveness, no 
 expression of formal goodwill. His solicitors. 
 Quickset and Harp, paid me my allowance and 
 managed my affairs till I came of age. Then 
 even that slight link between myself and the 
 Littleco^s was severed. It seemed unlikely we 
 should ever meet again.
 
 GROSVENOR SQUARE. 51 
 
 Great, therefore, was my surprise, soon after I 
 Lad left college, having acquitted myself there 
 with some distinction, to receive a letter in Sir 
 Hugh's own handwriting, inviting me to spend a 
 couple of weeks at his house in town. The in- 
 "V'itation was stiff and ceremonious ; but it was 
 clear and decisive. What made the circumstance 
 more strange was, that Lady Littlecot — the gentle, 
 kind-hearted Lady Littlecot — had recently died, 
 aft€r a lincrerino; illness of some months, and 
 the family were still in deep mourning. The 
 letter of imitation was written on paper with the 
 broadest of black edo-es. 
 
 It must be confessed, that I did not anticipate 
 much enjoyment from the visit. Even the pro- 
 spect of renewing my acquaintance with Ada 
 scarcely reconciled me to the ordeal of meet- 
 ing Sir Hugh face to face daily, making myself 
 agreeable by consulting his wishes and re- 
 specting his prejudices, and this, not in a 
 country house where there is plenty of elbow- 
 room, but at No. 90, Grosvenor Square, where 
 it would be difficult to escape close contact 
 vrith. him, morning, noon, and night. However, 
 it was clearly incumbent on me to go thither 
 
 4—2 
 
 UBRARY 
 
 ^tiiVERSlTY Of iUtMCUS
 
 52 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 at once, and I did so, though with rather a heavy 
 heart. 
 
 Sir Hugh received me in his private room ; it 
 was scarcely a hbrary, for he brought few books 
 with him from Severn Banks ; but it was a spa- 
 cious, comfortable apartment. A glance round it 
 showed me that his daughter sometimes frequented 
 it. There was her work-table and other indica- 
 tions of her occasional presence. Sir Hugh 
 received me wdth a face almost as dark and 
 menacing as when I last had the pleasure of 
 seeing him through the glass door at Severn 
 Banks. This was not encouraging. But to do 
 him justice, the cloud passed away in a second 
 or two, and the tone of voice in which he ad- 
 dressed me was less austere than in old times. 
 
 Perhaps the loss of his amiable wife had 
 softened his temper ; perhaps he was conscious of 
 having acted towards me with very unnecessary 
 severity. Ada was sent for, and I awaited her 
 arrival with much interest. The instant she 
 entered the room, and recognized who I was, the 
 colour rushed to her cheeks, her eyes were veiled 
 in tears, and the little hand she placed in mine 
 trembled perceptibly.
 
 GROSVENOR SQUARE. 53 
 
 To tell the undisguised truth, I was rather 
 disconcerted by this strong manifestation of feel- 
 ing. Ashamed not to feel equally moved myself, 
 and not unreasonably alarmed lest Sir Hugh 
 should take offence at his daughter's emotion, I 
 greeted her in an awkward, embarrassed manner, 
 and in my anxiety to converse, had the excellent 
 tact to ask after her horse, Juliette, a topic that 
 increased our mutual confusion ! 
 
 Meantime, Sir Hugh, statuelike, surveyed the 
 scene without exhibiting either displeasure or 
 approval. 
 
 Ada was of course altered. The sweet little 
 fairy-like creature of fourteen had become a 
 woman, graceful and comely, full of gentleness, 
 but pensive almost to sadness, except under the 
 influence of some agreeable excitement. After a 
 pause, oppressively awkward, we all sat down ; I 
 took up a book that lay on Ada's table, thinking 
 it might suggest a topic of conversation. It was 
 a volume of sermons, and I was again brought to 
 a standstill. Ada, now however more composed, 
 began to ask questions about Oxford, and by 
 degrees, we struggled into a quiet vein of con- 
 versation. Sir Hugh joining. Visitors called, and
 
 54 HEEBEKT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 » 
 
 interrupted us, mucli to my secret satisfaction. I 
 escaped to my room. One satisfactory change 
 had taken place in Sir Hugh's household : the 
 JFrench valet, Alphonse, had disappeared : the 
 cause of this it will be necessary to explain pre- 
 sently. 
 
 Though Lady Littlecot had not been dead three 
 months. Sir Hugh kept a good deal of company. 
 He had always taken great interest in politics, and 
 was intimate with most leading men of Tory 
 politics, and with others, not ostensibly lead- 
 ing men, who moved the springs of party be- 
 hind the scenes. Sir Hugh, in early life, had 
 been in parliament, and many thought he would 
 have risen to eminence, had it not been for his 
 impracticable temper. As it was, he broke with 
 his party, and abstained from mixing in political 
 affairs for many years. 
 
 The reform question roused him into activity 
 once more. To save his country from destruction, 
 or to speak the exact truth, to preserve the power 
 of the aristocracy. Sir Hugh came forth from his 
 lair at Severn Banks, like a giant refreshed. He 
 threw all his energies into the contest, and served 
 his party well. But the wave of liberalism was
 
 GROSVEXOR SQUARE. 55 
 
 advancing witli irresistible force, and for the time 
 swept all before it. The Tories, routed and dis- 
 comfited, had at first succumbed in silent despair. 
 They were now, however, beginning to take 
 courage ; and emboldened by the blunders of their 
 antagonists secretly gathered their forces for an- 
 other efibrt. 
 
 Sir Hugh engaged in this scheme with austere 
 enthusiasm. His reserved natiu'e revelled in 
 plots and counterplots ; his hatred for liberalism 
 stimulated his ingenuity, and roused him once 
 more to youthful activity. At his house, then, 
 men met to plan measures of attack or defence; 
 whilst a rapid interchange of notes and messages 
 went on between Sir Hugh and the Opposition 
 leaders, from day to day, during any debate of 
 importance. He was often seen in the House of 
 Commons, seated in the Speaker's Gallery, bend- 
 ing his head downwards in motionless attention to 
 what was passing ; much like a Gothic corbel of 
 stem aspect supporting a projecting cornice. 
 
 Although the society at Sir Hugh's house was 
 therefore to a great extent political, I was struck 
 with the large infusion of the purely fashionable 
 element. At that time, I concluded that the
 
 56 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 object was to mask and veil the more serious 
 operations of party intrigue. Otherwise it would 
 have appeared inexplicable. 
 
 Sir Hugh was not a social man; he disliked 
 gaiety; his daughter Ada disliked it still more 
 — especially at this moment when the wound 
 inflicted by the loss of her beloved mother was 
 fresh and bleeding. The bustle, excitement, and 
 publicity of frequent entertainments were to Sir 
 Hugh a worry and an annoyance. But to Ada 
 they were torture. 
 
 I was impressed by the admirable patience 
 and rare sweetness of temper with which Ada 
 performed her part as mistress of the house, under 
 these trying circumstances. 
 
 Quietly, but assiduously, I lent her all the 
 assistance in my power. When I perceived her 
 entangled in conversation with persons I knew to 
 be distasteful to her, I would come to her aid, and 
 either draw them away, on one pretence or another, 
 or bear the brunt of their frivolous, fatiguing chat 
 by talking with them myself. Often would Ada's 
 soft blue eyes beam upon me gratefully, as in this 
 way, from time to time, at morning concerts or at 
 evening entertainments, I interposed on her behalf.
 
 GEOSVEXOR SQUARE. 57 
 
 There were a good many people from Mead- 
 shire at the house : — Sir Claude Cockayne, a man 
 of fashion, struo-o-lino; with the encroachments 
 of wrinkles and grey hairs, but tall, well-built, 
 stately ; Hartley of Mount Maurice, young, and 
 rather handsome, supposed to be rich, but of rest- 
 less, unsettled disposition. He had never spent a 
 season in town before, and I set him dow^n as a 
 political protege of Sir Hugh's. He had been 
 notorious at college as an advanced Liberal, and 
 seeing him so much at Grosvenor Square, I con- 
 cluded he was undergoing the process of conver- 
 sion at the hands of Sir Hugh Littlecot. Then 
 there was Colonel Trump, a country squu'e of 
 a good type, warm-hearted, honest, and a capital 
 man of business. He had succeeded to the post 
 of chairman of quarter sessions on Sir Hugh's 
 resignation. My old friend. Captain, now Major 
 Blandy, came a good deal to the house. 
 
 Major Blandy reminds me of Clara Lamplugh. 
 Sooth to say, Clara had not treated him well. 
 After leading the good-natured hussar in her 
 train for two or three seasons, she commenced a 
 desperate flirtation with a German prince, whose 
 name I have forgotten how to spell. Clara was
 
 58 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 occasionally seen at Sir Hugh's in company with 
 her mother^ a stout lady with bright eyes and a 
 strongly-pronounced aquiline nose. The likeness 
 between mother and daughter was sufficiently 
 apparent to induce one to moralize on the eva- 
 nescent character of female beauty. As Mrs. 
 Lamplugh was now, so would Clara be a very 
 few seasons hence ! Mrs. Lamplugh was one of 
 the few ladies patronized by Sir Hugh. They 
 were often seen in close converse. Sir Hugh 
 leaning his head a little forward, with eyes fixed 
 on the ground straight before him, and only 
 speaking at long intervals, and then not more 
 than half-a-dozen words ; Mrs. Lamplugh talk- 
 ing rapidly and eagerly, in a voice not audible to 
 any one but the gaunt old baronet. Understanding 
 she had the entree to the great Whig houses, I 
 concluded that their conversation chiefly ran upon 
 the plans and prospects of the Whig party. 
 
 Of the persons who most troubled Ada, I think 
 Sir Claude Cockayne and Colonel Praunce were 
 especially conspicuous. Colonel Praunce was a 
 heavy man with plenty of money. He wore a 
 huge beard to give himself an air of importance. 
 He followed Ada about with stolid, unreasoning
 
 GEOSVEXOE SQUARE. 59 
 
 affection, tliat reminded one of Una and the Lion. 
 As for Sir Claude, there was a Lady Cocka3aie 
 down in Meadshire ; but he was one of that ob- 
 noxious class of married men who haunt vouno; 
 ladies' society for no particular object, and affect to 
 be greatly in request amongst them. 
 
 As for Hartley of Mount Maurice, he went 
 with the stream, and paid almost as much atten- 
 tion to Miss Littlecot as the others. But his chief 
 attraction at the house. Sir Hugh said, was the 
 political society. He would come forward for the 
 county some day. 
 
 One night, however. Hartley appeared to haunt 
 Miss Littlecot with imusual pertinacity. He 
 followed her fi'om room to room. Sir Hus^h told 
 me, in a casual way, that he was talking politics. 
 I thought this a curious subject of conversation to 
 force upon a young lady, but there is no account- 
 ing for idiospicracies, and political converts are 
 zealous. It seemed clear, that, whether Sir Hugh 
 was correct or not, his daughter was wearied and 
 distressed. "With Clara Lamplugh's assistance, I 
 came successfully to the rescue. Hartley was 
 seated by Ada, tete-a-tete, on a remote sofa. We 
 inveigled Sir Claude Cockayne into the belief that
 
 60 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 Ada had several times looked anxiously towards 
 the corner of the room where he was holding forth 
 to three young ladies on the virtues of Macassar 
 oil. Sir Claude crossed the room in his best 
 manner, and subsided into the sofa by Ada's 
 side, interrupting Hartley by a remark upon the 
 weather, in a highly confidential whisper, and with 
 a look of the deepest devotion. Colonel Praunce, 
 seated on a far-off ottoman, with his beard every 
 now and then descending abruptly on his waist- 
 coat, under the potent influence of after-dinner 
 somnolence, was roused to exertion by a whisper 
 from Clara, and followed Sir Claude with heavy 
 strides ; but, not knowing exactly what to say, 
 stood opposite Ada in an attitude of hopeless em- 
 barrassment. Hartley was much more put out 
 than we had anticipated. He flushed up to the 
 eyes, and, rising hastily, disappeared through the 
 nearest door at the moment that I also had joined 
 the party, and was offering my arm to Ada to 
 escort her into the tea-room. 
 
 Ada, however, seemed much relieved, and we 
 had some quiet talk together, unmolested by any 
 of her tormentors. 
 
 Severn Banks was of course one of her favour-
 
 GROSVENOR SQUARE. 61 
 
 ite topics. She never even remotely alluded to 
 our juvenile adventures in past times, but was fond 
 of describing the improvements in tbe gardens 
 and grounds, and more particularly her employ- 
 ments and amusements when residin cp there. As 
 for her amusements, they appeared to be what 
 most young ladies regard as highly proper but 
 rather trying duties, visiting the sick, taldng a 
 class at the village-school, maldng clothes for 
 the poor, &c. Her trying duties were to en- 
 tertain Sir Hugh's guests, or share the gay fes- 
 tivities given by Sir Hugh's friends and neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 I was puzzled by tastes and predilections quite 
 outside the sphere of my experience. Yet the 
 novelty of the thing amused me, and I encouraged 
 her to talk freely. It seemed to do her good. 
 Her eyes brightened, her cheeks and lips recovered 
 their colour, as she told me the history of her 
 daily life in Meadshire. From any other person 
 details of school-teaching and cottage-visiting, 
 stories of naughty children and good children, rheu- 
 matic paupers and repentant poachers, old women 
 who could read their bibles without spectacles 
 at eighty, a child of three who had composed a
 
 62 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 hymn equal to any of Dr. Watts's, a consumptive 
 groom who intended to take to field preaching if 
 he ever recovered, would have been tedious 
 enough. But Ada looked so sweet, and good, 
 and gentle, and her countenance so lighted up 
 with the loveliness of her early girlhood, that I 
 listened in calm contentment. 
 
 Unfortunately a little remark escaped me, 
 scarcely consistent with deep religious convictions. 
 I hinted that if after all there was no such thing 
 as another world, all her work would be wasted. 
 It was a silly observation, and I regretted having 
 made it when I noticed its eftect on Ada. Her 
 colour changed, and carried away by her feelings 
 she put her hand upon my arm, and fixing her 
 blue eyes upon me, exclaimed, in a voice of 
 sorrow and alarm: "Another world? Oh, 
 Mr. Chauncey ! surely you have no doubt of 
 it ? " 
 
 I was a little conftised, but answered in a cheer- 
 ful voice, that there were many remarkable symp- 
 toms of the existence of a future state : that it 
 was safer to believe in it, &c. 
 
 She was not satisfied, and pressed me with other 
 questions. I was glad to be interrupted by Clara
 
 GROSVEXOR SQUARE. 63 
 
 Lamplugli who was going to sing, and wanted 
 Ada to accompany her on the piano. 
 
 Nevertheless Ada would not part from me until 
 I had promised to look over a row of theological 
 books on a certain shelf in Sir Hugh's library. 
 She would put marks in those most appropriate to 
 my case. I did not see Hartley again that night, 
 but at breakfast we met as usual. He was a 
 little stiff at first, but his nature was rather pas- 
 sionate than sullen, and he soon yiekled to a 
 few good-tempered courtesies I took care to show 
 him. 
 
 • I did not forget my promise to Ada, and as 
 soon as Sir Hugh was clear out of the house, 
 bound as usual for White's Club, I stepped into 
 the library. Truth compels me to own I did not 
 dive deeply into the theological works ; some 
 lighter publication caught my eye, and engaged 
 my attention, but I was interrupted by a light 
 footstep, and looking up beheld Ada Littlecot. 
 I blushed to be detected exammino; an illus- 
 trated French edition of Don Quixote, instead of 
 Law's Serious Call; but Ada was very good : 
 she gently directed me to the shelf where the 
 theolocrical works stretched their Ions; array, and
 
 '64 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 i-aking down one or two of them, showed the 
 passages she wished me to study. 
 
 I was a patient and docile student, she was an 
 ■earnest and industrious teacher — time passed — a 
 cabriolet drove up to the door : it was Hartley's, 
 and we did not take much notice of the persons 
 who alighted. But the next moment we heard 
 Sir Hugh's deep-toned voice and measured foot- 
 step in the passage. I prepared to withdraw, not 
 caring to encounter the baronet, but was startled 
 by Ada's expression of countenance; she was 
 evidently in great distress. Was she afraid 
 ■of Sir Hugh finding us together alone ? I could 
 draw no other conclusion from her manifest emo- 
 tion. There was a door leading from the library 
 into a breakfast-room beyond. By making my 
 retreat through it, I should avoid Sir Hugh, whose 
 hand was already on the other door opening into 
 the passage. Without a word I hastened to it, 
 and as I thought, escaped. 
 
 But before I could enter the breakfast -room, 
 another door had to be opened, and my confusion 
 may be imagined, when, on turning the handle 
 I found this door was bolted on the other side. I 
 was imprisoned between two doors, the one
 
 GROSVEXOR SQUARE. 65 
 
 locked, the other opening into the library. In 
 the latter I now heard Sir Hugh's voice austerely 
 remonstrating, for some reason unknown, with 
 his daughter. What he was saying I did not 
 hear — did not wish to hear — mj only anxiety was 
 to make my escape. I dreaded lest Sir Hugh 
 should take it into his head to open the. door, and 
 find me cooped up in a confined space, the very 
 picture of a detected spy. The voice continued 
 stern and sonorous. Carefully, but with all my 
 strength, I pressed against the door into the break- 
 fast-room, in the vague hope of the bolt or lock 
 gi\dng way. 
 
 A friendly hand suddenly opened it, and I 
 stumbled forwards mto the breakfast-room, with 
 more precipitation than was quite agreeable. 
 
 " Mr. Herbert Chauncey ! " exclaimed a voice, 
 in which merriment and mischief were blended ; 
 and before me appeared the pleasant countenance 
 of Clara Lamplugh. I was rather confused, and, 
 as Clara afterguards told me, pale as a ghost. 
 
 " Don't be cast down ! " she continued : " Sir 
 Hugh is sure to come round in the end. Never 
 mind his scolding. The storm will blow over. 
 And as for Ada, she is true as the dial to the 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 HEEBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 sun. Come rain or shine, lier heart will never 
 change." 
 
 I stopped her as soon as I could. But the idea 
 was fixed in her mind. I had been soliciting Ada's 
 hand ; Sir Hugh had scouted my proposal, and 
 driven me out of the room, baffled and humi- 
 liated. 
 
 Clara knew all about it. Did I think she had 
 no eyes ? Her mother had told her lots of things. 
 I had better confess the truth. I might find 
 her useful. Half in jest, half from curiosity, I 
 humoured her, and no longer contradicted her 
 assertions or parried her insinuations. 
 
 Great reason have I to remember that unpre- 
 meditated interview with Miss Clara Lamplugh. 
 
 " You think," I said, '^ Sir Hugh hates me ; 
 but if so, why does he ask me to his house ? " 
 
 " I can tell you all about it if I choose ; but I 
 don't intend. It would make you more conceited 
 than ever." 
 
 " Nonsense ; I am the most humble-minded of 
 men. A little encouragement is wholesome for 
 me." 
 
 She laughed, and for a while amused herself 
 with teasing me. At length I exti'acted from
 
 GKOSVENOR SQUARE. 67 
 
 her, in piecemeal fashion, what her mother had 
 told her. 
 
 " Mind, you are not to tell Ada ; if you do, 
 I will entertain all my friends with a minute and 
 particular description of the absurd appearance 
 you presented, when you rushed headlong into 
 the room just now. Now promise — promise as 
 you value my good-will, and dread the ridicule 
 of Grosvenor Square. Well, to proceed, I must 
 tell you Sir Hugh was anything but a kind hus- 
 band to Lady Littlecot. You nod your head 
 sagaciously, but I don't think you understand 
 much about it. She was very unhappy. This 
 went on for years ; but I must not make my 
 story too long ; suffice to say, that at last Lady 
 Littlecot fell ill. It was a lingering illness. Sir 
 Hugh was touched by her patience under suffer- 
 ing, and sweet, forgiving temper towards himself. 
 He was ready to do whatever his poor dying wife 
 asked him, and solemnly bound himself to carry 
 out a good many instructions she gave him about 
 the poor of the village, and the servants, but 
 more especially about his only child Ada. As 
 soon as the poor thing was in her grave, I tliiuk 
 Sir Hugh was sore vexed at having hampered 
 
 5—2
 
 68 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 himself with these promises, for his temper be- 
 came as bad as ever. But I believe he has 
 hitherto kept his word." 
 
 " Well," I interrupted, " and how does this long 
 story concern me?" 
 
 "I am going to tell you, sir. One thing 
 Sir Hugh promised was this ; to forgive a 
 certain Mr. Herbert Chauncey his many and 
 glaring offences, take him once more into fa- 
 vour, put up with his innumerable disagreeable 
 qualities, and help him on in life to the best of his 
 power." 
 
 She fled from the room, laughing at my look 
 of perplexity, and it w^as a day or two before I 
 had an opportunity of resuming the conversation ; 
 but Clara either would' not, or could not, tell me 
 much more. All I could elicit was this. I might 
 rely upon Ada's fidelity ; she would never give 
 me up ; Sir Hugh would not persist in thwarting 
 the wishes of his only child. I must persevere, 
 and ultimately Ada would be mine. 
 
 It is rather a startling circumstance, to wake 
 up one fine morning, and find that, without the 
 least intimation on your part, without having 
 given authority, or received warning, you are as
 
 GROSVEXOR SQUARE. 69 
 
 good as engaged to a young lady, wliom tlie 
 day before you only regarded as a pleasant ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 As for my bo^asli love affair with Ada, that 
 was nothing. The busy life of manhood had 
 brushed it from my memory. We two were 
 changed. Love to be real must be built up 
 anew, just as if we had never met before. 
 
 These thoughts occurred to me, and made me 
 very serious. But one thing could not be denied ; 
 Ada was a sweet and lovely girl ; I liked her 
 more and more : in fact, I loved her almost as 
 a sister — she was goodness itself. 
 
 Granted, that the sentence to marry her was 
 somewhat sudden and unexpected, it was one to 
 which I ought very speedily to feel reconciled. 
 
 A few days afterwards. Hartley took his de- 
 partm^e. We shook hands at parting, and Hartley 
 said, in a low voice, for it was in the entrance- 
 hall, and servants stood near, — 
 
 " Well, Chauncey, I wish you joy." 
 
 " Thanks ; but I really do not know for what.'* 
 
 Hartley made no fni'ther remark ; but, wrapping 
 his overcoat round him, passed into the street, 
 and sprang into his carriage. As the light fell
 
 70 HERBEKT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 on his face, I noticed that lie looked anxious and 
 unhappy. 
 
 At dinner that day, Sir Claud Cockayne, Colonel 
 Trump, and other Meadshire friends, with myself, 
 were at Ada's end of the table. Sir Hugh was 
 encircled by political notabilities. There was 
 Beckington, a foremost man on the Opposition 
 benches, and one or two other M.P.'s. There 
 was Lord Annandale, a Whig, but as a near rela- 
 tion of Sir Hugh, sometimes invited to Grosvenor 
 Square. There were a couple of well-known 
 writers for the Tory press. Notwithstanding 
 Annandale's Whiggism, the conversation at that 
 end of the table was most amicable. As is not 
 unusual, the Whig lord laughed at the peccadilloes 
 of the Whigs, and the Tory M.P. exposed the 
 blunders of the Tories. Lady Annandale and 
 Mrs. Trump, on either side of Sir Hugh, engaged 
 his attention, or otherwise he might not have 
 permitted such levity on the sacred subject of 
 politics. 
 
 At our end, the theme of conversation was 
 Hartley of Mount Maurice. 
 
 **I am glad he is gone," said Blandy, in a 
 confidential whisper, audible to half the table ;
 
 GKOSVENOR SQUARE. 71 
 
 " the man was too much in earnest. I hate earnest 
 people ; they are bores." 
 
 " Earnest about what ? " 
 
 " Oh ! poHtics. Don't you know he professes 
 to be a convert from Whiggery ? As if a Whig 
 could ever be thoroughly converted! 'Tis like 
 dying red hair black. The result is only a dirty 
 purple — neither one thing nor the other." 
 
 Colonel Pramice, with a guilty look, mechani- 
 cally placed his hand upon his beard. Clara 
 Lamplugh good-naturedly took up the cudgels 
 for Hartley. 
 
 " I like Mr. Hartley. In fact, if there were not 
 so many Meadshire people in the room, I should 
 say he was the cleverest and handsomest man in 
 the comity." 
 
 There was a general outburst of expostulation. 
 Blandy became rather warm, and declared his 
 private opinion that Hartley was insane, and his 
 valet a keeper in disguise. Sir Claude Cockayne 
 said he had too much colour to be handsome. 
 A ruddy cheek turned Sir Claude's stomach. It 
 was utterly plebeian and butcherlike. 
 
 But at this point of the discussion. Sir Hugh, 
 who had begun to catch the subject of our dis-
 
 72 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 course, interposed in a voice audible all down the 
 table like a far-off muttering peal of thunder : — 
 
 " Mr. Hartley is a man of high character, and 
 my very good friend. Pray be merciful, gentle- 
 men, for my sake, if not for his." 
 
 Ada blushed crimson. Sir Claude exclaimed, 
 in a loud voice, aside, — 
 
 ^^ How like your worthy father, to take the part 
 of the absent ! " 
 
 " Very true. Sir Hugh," cried Colonel Trump, 
 who was a keen foxhunter ; *^ very true. Hartley's 
 a thorough gentleman, and no mistake ! He rides 
 ' straight.' " 
 
 After dinner Sir Hugh took me aside, and in- 
 troduced me to Lord Annandale. I was, of course, 
 much honoured. We had a good deal of con- 
 versation. Partly out of regard for Sir Hugh, 
 and partly from a clear appreciation of my many 
 good qualities — so Annandale expressed himself 
 — he made me an offer of a subordinate diplo- 
 matic appointment at Turin, in itself insignifi- 
 cant and unremunerative, but valuable as a step- 
 ping-stone to something better. 
 
 I asked a day or two to consider. Annandale 
 gave me until to-morrow morning, at twelve o'clock.
 
 GROSVENOR SQUARE. 73 
 
 There was one difficulty ; I had little acquain- 
 tance with modern lans-uages. Even of French 
 I only possessed the merest smattering. 
 
 " Well," rejoined Annandale, " in the good old 
 times, that would have been wholly immaterial. 
 But, in these days of pedantry and pedagoguism, 
 you may as well take a run over to Paris, board in 
 a French family for a fortnight, and brush up your 
 French. It will keep you more independent of 
 your clerk, and prevent his making fun of you 
 among the natives." 
 
 I pondered much over Lord Annandale's offer, 
 and formed my own conclusion thereon. It seemed 
 in truth an ingenious device of Sir Hugh's, for 
 pushing me forward in life, agreeably to his pro- 
 mise to Lady Littlecot ; and, at the same time, 
 getting me out of the country, and out of Ada's 
 sight, in accordance with his own secret inclina- 
 tion. 
 
 The device was well-planned, and ought to have 
 succeeded. But human arrano-ements often break 
 down. I accepted Annandale's offer, and in due 
 time went abroad to my diplomatic post. But I 
 went thither the accepted suitor of Ada Littlecot. 
 The reader will not be much surprised at the an-
 
 74 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 nouncement. Our marriage was to take place in 
 a year, or a year and a half, or it might be even 
 later. I must first secure some definite standing in 
 the diplomatic service ; on my marriage I might, 
 and should, abandon it for ever. The husband of 
 Ada Littlecot would inherit — not Severn Banks, 
 for that went to Lord Annandale — but property 
 in more than one county, and a large sum in 
 the funds. • 
 
 Clara Lamplugh was right. Sir Hugh did not 
 forbid the marriage ; his only child must have her 
 way ; the only condition was that just named. 
 
 My good, sweet, lovely Ada leaned her head 
 upon my shoulder, and with tears of joy confessed 
 she was, for the first time in her life, perfectly 
 happy ; so happy that she must pray for help from 
 above, lest the happiness draw her affections from 
 heavenly things.
 
 to 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 A TUEN OF THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE. 
 
 In due course, I repaired to Turin, presented 
 myself to the ambassador, and entered on my 
 duties. But many months had not elapsed, before 
 I was summoned back to England. The cause I 
 am now about to relate. 
 
 My apartment looked into the street. I was 
 seated at the window, watching the stream of car- 
 riages, passing and repassing, in the gray twilight 
 of a cool Italian evening — the only time when 
 exercise is enjoyable during the heat of summer 
 even so far north as Turin ; when I noticed a fiacre 
 approaching, at a rapid pace, along the street lead- 
 ing from the Messageries. It stopped in front of the 
 house and some person sprang out, wrapped in a 
 hea^y great-coat — a species of attire provincial 
 Englishmen patronize, even in summer travelling.
 
 76 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 The man, whoever he was, disappeared under the 
 massive colonnade that flanks the principal streets 
 in Turin. Presently, however, came a rap at my 
 door. A gentleman from Meadshire wished to see 
 me, on business of importance. He was announced 
 as Mr. Malpus. 
 
 There entered a grey-haired old man, rather 
 countrified in manner; but of grave and vener- 
 able aspect. If it had not been for a slightly 
 nasal drawl in his voice, I should have been quite 
 charmed with him ; as it was, I received him 
 with marked respect, and pressed him to be seated. 
 But Mr. Malpus would not advance more than 
 a couple of paces into the room, and placing his 
 respectable white hat, which I noticed had a wide 
 band of crape round it, on the ground by his side, 
 lifted his hands in the air, and exclaimed — 
 
 "Now, bless you, Mr. Herbert, if you are 
 
 not the picture of your poor dear mother ! " 
 I was glad to hear it, but anxious to know his 
 
 business. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Herbert, you can't recollect me. 
 
 No, sure ; but I recollect you. Ay, that I do. 
 
 And you be grown too, Mr. Herbert. Well, it's 
 
 a privilege for my old eyes to look on you once
 
 A TUHN OF THE WHEEL OP FORTUNE. 77 
 
 again — a privilege I'm humblj thankful for." 
 And lie bowed his head, as if the thought quite 
 overcame him. Presently I got him into a chair, 
 and, after unbuttoning his great-coat, he produced 
 letters of which he had been the bearer. 
 
 My cousin Jeffry was dead, and had left me 
 the whole of his landed property, and most of his 
 money in the funds. Malpus had been my 
 cousin's steward for many years, and during his 
 long illness and incapacity for business, much had 
 been necessarily committed to his trust. He would 
 be a useful man in many ways, and it was as well 
 to be civil to him. But I could not quite forget 
 that, until that particular moment, Mr. Malpus 
 had never expressed any interest in my resem- 
 blance to my late mother, nor done me one smgle 
 act of kindness, though opportunities had often 
 occurred when I Avas at school in Meadshire. 
 
 I procured rooms for the venerable man, and 
 made him comfortable after his journey ; he, all 
 the while, murmuring his deep sense of the con- 
 descending kindness shown him. 
 
 As soon as it was practicable, I started for 
 England. The intelligence of my good fortune 
 had at first almost stunned me. I could scarcely
 
 78 HEKBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 believe I was really lifted from a state of social 
 insignificance, to a position of wealth and influ- 
 ence. By degrees I began to measure and appre- 
 ciate the great alteration in my circumstances, and 
 to meditate ujoon schemes for the future. 
 
 Yet, one fact confronted me, and would not 
 be dismissed. I should have been made far 
 happier by this influx of good fortune a year ago. 
 I was then free — entirely my own master — at 
 liberty to go where I would, and do what I would. 
 I was now engaged to be married. Not that I 
 regretted this ; I was attached to Ada. Our oc- 
 casional meetings, and frequent interchange of 
 letters, had increased my regard for her, and 
 deepened her affection for me. Still, a few months' 
 freedom would have been pleasant. It seemed 
 rather prosaic to settle down at five-and-twenty, 
 into the steady married man, of the country-gen- 
 tleman type. 
 
 I do not know that Ada was really happier 
 for the news. I rather think it had been a secret 
 comfort to her, to feel that her great expectations, 
 in some faint degree, compensated for the lack 
 of those manifold good qualities she was so kind 
 as to attribute to me. My poverty was, in her
 
 A TUEN or THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE. 7^ 
 
 estimation, an agreeable set-off to my merits ; 
 and in some degree diminished the weight of the 
 obligation entailed upon her by my affection. 
 Now, our worldly circumstances were more 
 equal. Good and religious as she was, I think she 
 could not wholly repress a womanly feeling of 
 regret and dissatisfaction. 
 
 I was not, however, long in London. My cousin 
 died at Paris, and thither I was obliged to repair. 
 
 Sir Hugh was very gracious at parting. It 
 could not be denied that matters had turned out 
 better than he had expected. The owner of 
 Glenarvon Court was no very unworthy aspirant 
 to his daughter's hand. The match was not so 
 very unequal. Her happiness would be promoted, 
 and liis honour and dignity secured. The austere 
 baronet looked younger by ten years. A kind 
 of wintry sunshine hghted up his countenance, 
 and softened the wrinkles that seamed his brow. 
 
 After transacting business at Paris, I found it 
 
 necessary to make a short stay at B , a French 
 
 seaport, on my way homewards. Captain Esher, 
 my late cousin's executor, was vice-consul there, 
 and many matters needed to be jointly discussed 
 and decided by us.
 
 80 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 On quitting Paris, a little incident occurred which 
 it may be as Avell to notice. In the large porte- 
 cochere of Meurice's hotel, whom should I stumble 
 upon but Alphonse, Sir Hugh's former valet. 
 
 I have said that there was no love lost between 
 us : but, after the lapse of so many years, there 
 was not a spark of ill-feeling in my breast; on 
 the contrary, I was inclined to be friendly. My 
 late accession of fortune aided me, perhaps, in 
 arriving* at this amiable frame of mind. I was 
 disposed to be friends with everybody : so, accost- 
 ino: him in a cheerful tone of voice, I asked how 
 he did, who was his present master, and whether 
 he was stopping long in Paris ? At the same time, 
 I tried to slip a guinea into his hand. 
 
 To my exceeding surprise, the man drew back 
 his hand with an absurd assumj^tion of indignant 
 scorn, and replied, " Monsieur Herbert Chauncey, 
 I remember you very well. You have been much 
 my enemy ; you did poison Miladi Littlecot's mind 
 -against me, you did poison Mademoiselle's mind ; 
 I have not forgotten these things." 
 
 I bore with the man good-temperedly, denied 
 his charges, remonstrated with him on his im- 
 pertinent conduct, and again proffered the guinea.
 
 A TUKN OF THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE. 81 
 
 " Monsieur, you tried to take away my bread ; 
 that is nothing. You did wound my honour; that 
 is very much. I will not have neither your money 
 nor your friendship ! " He slapped his breast 
 and indignantly strutted away. I did not attempt 
 to stop him. 
 
 He was now confidential servant to Lord and 
 Lady Annandale, and in receipt of a good salary. 
 Even if I had strengthened Lady Littlecot's dis- 
 like to him by making known my own, it was 
 done without malice ; and the man's present position 
 was as good as it ever was, in a pecuniary point of 
 view. He was clearly an ill-conditioned, worth- 
 less little fellow. 
 
 Arrived at B , my servant was despatched 
 
 to ascertain Captain Esher's address, and, this 
 being done, I sallied forth thither in the cool 
 of the evening. During the day, business obhged 
 Esher to be at liis office, adjacent to the quay ; 
 but the house in which he resided was in the 
 upper town. I found it without much difficulty, 
 close by the principal gate — a long low building, 
 painted a dazzling white, with Venetian bUnds of 
 the brightest green. A couple of poplars tln-ew 
 a thin straggling shadow athwart the high-pitched 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 roof. It was necessary to descend a few steps 
 to enter the narrow strip of garden^ or, strictly 
 speaking, courtyard, in front of it. As I did so, 
 I perceived at the open window of a room on the 
 ground floor, a fine-looking man, advanced in 
 years, but still hale and hearty, seated in an arm- 
 chair, with a large meerschaum pipe in his mouth, 
 whence slowly issued occasional wreaths of fragrant 
 tobacco-smoke. 
 
 My travelling cloak was thrown over my arm, 
 and the captain at first took for granted I was 
 some troublesome stranger come to discuss busi- 
 ness, after business hours were over. He surveyed 
 me with an eye of suspicion, removed his pipe 
 from his mouth, and uttered a groan of mingled 
 alarm and disapprobation. No sooner, however, 
 had I introduced myself, than his manner changed. 
 A joyous smile lit up his countenance, and, lean- 
 ing out of the window, he seized both my hands 
 in his, and shook them with such vigorous good- 
 will that I thought he would have lifted me off 
 the ground, and over the window-sill. I preferred, 
 however, the usual mode of entrance, and entering 
 by the front door soon found myself seated by 
 the captain's side in his private room. There
 
 A TURN OF THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE. 83 
 
 were few tokens of tlie captain's official duties or 
 commercial en^ao-ements discernible. Business 
 was banished from this quiet sanctum in the quaint 
 
 old upper to^n of B . On the cliimnej- 
 
 piece, a model of a man-of-war, the rigging con- 
 siderably dilapidated, and some loose tobacco 
 sprinkled over the main deck, quite contrary to 
 the rules of naval discipline; a portrait of a 
 thin hard-featured naval officer with one arm, 
 superfluous to name ; two or three old-fashioned, 
 rusty cutlasses, hanging against the wall, which 
 the maid declined to clean, under j)retence of 
 being afraid of them; various horrid reptiles, care- 
 fully preserved in spirits; certain strange fruits 
 done in wax, that engaged the attention, and dis- 
 appointed the hopes of a constant succession of 
 deluded flies ; a bookcase, crammed with all 
 manner of heterogeneous books, mostly in the 
 flimsy covers of foreign editions : — such were the 
 objects round the room that I first noticed on 
 my entrance. 
 
 After a few commonplace remarks, I touched 
 on the immediate occasion of my visit — the affairs 
 of my late cousin Jeffry. But the captain in- 
 terrupted me. He never discussed business after 
 
 6—2
 
 84 HEKBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 dinner, it was wholly irregular. " A place for 
 everything, and everything in its place/' that was 
 his motto. And by way of illustration, the cap- 
 tain, having finished smoking, knocked the ashes 
 of his pipe into the saucer of a coffee-cup on the 
 table near him, and threw the pipe itself upon a 
 heap of worsted work, left on the sofa by some 
 lady inmate of the house. 
 
 " No ; this is my only time for recreation," he 
 continued ; " that's to say, from four in the after- 
 noon till eleven o'clock next morning. How can 
 a respectable Christian do with less ? It's a trying 
 life as it is, I can tell you, Mr. Chauncey ; a 
 trying life for a man who has served his king and 
 country as I have. But I was always unlucky. 
 Ill luck stuck to me always. Why, what d'ye 
 think, Mr. Chauncey? Crusty and I — ^you know 
 Crusty ? — he's Admiral Crusty now — Crusty and 
 I were in that cutting-out affair at Guadaloupe ; 
 we were in the same boat, sir, — ay, his hand 
 touched mine ! And what d'ye think ? — a round 
 shot carried off his arm, and the luckv do2: was 
 posted in a month ! As for me, of course I hadn't 
 a scratch, and here I am, a poor quill-driving non- 
 descript, rotting in this vile old town, with no
 
 A TURN OF THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE. 85 
 
 • 
 
 more chance of hoisting an admiral's pennant than 
 of wearing a bishop's apron ! That's my luck, 
 Mr. Chauncey. But talking of dinner, I'll be bound 
 you haven't dined yet ; now have you ? I thought 
 not. My cook shall toss you up something in a 
 trice." And the captain rang the bell vigorously. 
 
 After a considerable pause, a smart little 
 French maid came to the door. 
 
 '^Tell La Motte," exclaimed the captain, in 
 French — " tell La Motte to prepare dinner for this 
 gentleman instantly — a little soup, some fish, and an 
 entree or two. You will not be particular once in a 
 way," he added, apologetically to me. " One thing 
 I can promise you, whatever La Motte does, he 
 does well." 
 
 The French maid meantime went through a 
 series of rapid pantomimic gestures, consisting 
 chiefly of elevating and depressing her black eye- 
 brows, shaking her head from side to side, and 
 lifting her hands in the air. Finally she disap- 
 peared, announcing her intention of speaking to 
 madame. Esher was a widower, and I did not 
 know who madame w^as, but she was evidently 
 a person of some importance in the establishment. 
 A sharp tap was heard at the door, and there en-
 
 86 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 tered a neat little lady, in a ratlier stiff silk gown, 
 a very clean cap, and open -worked black silk 
 mittens on her hands. 
 
 " Ha, my dear," cried the captain, " a la bonne 
 heure I Here is my good friend, Mr. Chauncey, 
 of Glenarvon Court, just arrived ; and I want La 
 Motte to exe^'t his skill, and send up a bit of 
 dimier forthwith. But I must introduce you — 
 Mr. Chauncey, allow me to introduce you to my 
 good sister. Miss Cossett." 
 
 The captain, in a very gentlemanly, courteous 
 way, introduced us. IMiss Cossett curtseyed low, 
 and begged me to be seated again. She was a 
 half-sister only of the captain, and seemingly very 
 unlike him in most points. 
 
 Instead of warmly responding to the captain's 
 hospitable allusions to La Motte, Miss Cossett 
 made a sudden pounce upon the worsted-work on 
 the sofa, and, with a little cry of dismay, drew 
 forth the meerschaum pipe, and carefully hung 
 it on its peculiar nail under the rusty cutlasses. 
 Then she glanced significantly at the captain, 
 hemmed once or twice, and tripped out of the 
 room, he marching after her. There was a good 
 deal of animated talk in the passage. Presently
 
 A TURN OF THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE. 87 
 
 the captain returned with a rather crestfallen 
 countenance. He was exceedingly sorry, but 
 through an unforeseen contingency La Motte was 
 from home. There was, however, an excellent 
 cafe round the corner. Would I allow the captain 
 to escort me thither ? I put myself in the captain's 
 hands, and dinner was soon procured for me. 
 The captam had dined, but consented, after a little 
 pressing, to drink a bottle of Lafitte, for which, 
 without any pressing, he allowed me to pay. 
 
 We took a walk romid the old walls, and then 
 back to the captain's house. At the door was a 
 tumble-down, queer-looking little chaise, with a 
 rough, strong-made pony harnessed to it. The 
 driver was assisting a young lady to descend from 
 the chaise. 
 
 " Ha ! " exclaimed the captain, " here's Rosie ! 
 I must introduce you." Then shouted to the 
 driver, " Take care, La Motte, take care : that's 
 not the way to help a lady out of a carriage ! '* 
 And seizing " Rosie " by the arm, he lifted her 
 out with an exertion of strength that wafted her 
 some distance through the air, landing her on 
 the door-step, half laughmg, half crying, and alto- 
 gether disconcerted.
 
 88 HERBEBT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 It was not a favourable occasion for an intro- 
 duction ; but raising a pair of dark-blue eyes 
 for a moment to mine^ slie bowed hastily, and ran 
 upstairs. It often happens that we look best when 
 we imagine our appearance is least prepossessing. 
 I thought I had rarely seen a more beautiful face ; 
 or grace of manner so perfect, yet so unstudied. 
 
 Meanwhile, La Motte, the captain's chef de 
 cuisine, whose duties seemed singularly multi- 
 farious, climbed up to the box of the little chaise, 
 and drove off. 
 
 Tea had been prepared by Miss Cossett in the 
 small drawing-room, opposite the captain's sanc- 
 tum, and in a few minutes we were assembled 
 round the table — Captain Eslier, Rosamund his 
 daughter. Miss Cossett, and myself. 
 
 "My dear," exclaimed Esher, to his sister, 
 " we can give Mr. Chauncey a bed, cannot we ? " 
 
 " Brother, brother ! " cried Miss Cossett, " you 
 always forget that the spare room is crammed 
 full of lumber, not to mention cockroaches." 
 
 Rosamund, in a clear, musical voice, with the 
 very faintest touch of a foreign accent, now struck 
 in,— 
 
 '^ And as it is only six feet square, and has no
 
 A TUKN OF THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE. 89 
 
 bed in it, it is not a comfortable bedroom at the 
 best!" 
 
 Miss Cossett pursed her prettj little mouth, 
 and glanced at her niece, as if she thought the 
 observation officious. 
 
 The captain, at first somewhat disconcerted, 
 honestly burst out laughing ; admitted that Rosie 
 was right, but deserved to have her ear pinched 
 for being so tremendously truthful, and promised 
 to get me a lodging a few doors off. Meanwhile 
 he despatched an individual, whom he styled the 
 gardener, but who I found out afterwards was 
 no other than the versatile La Motte, to fetch 
 my servant and carry my luggage from the hotel 
 in the lower town.
 
 ••90 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 THE BRINK OE THE PRECIPICE. 
 
 Some temptations assail us sharply and suddenly. 
 If tliey conquer, it is by a coup de main. Others 
 envelop us by slow degrees, creep on from day 
 to day, from point to point, until we cannot tell 
 tlie exact moment when the will is vanquished, 
 and the struggling conscience silenced. Yet, in 
 truth, even here the real conflict is fought, the 
 decisive advantage often gained, when the temp- 
 tation first presents itself, a faint and shadowy 
 form, and instead of at once cleaving it asunder 
 and dispersing it, we sit still and gaze. . 
 
 A day or two had not elapsed before some- 
 thing whispered to me, it were better not to pro- 
 long my stay at that old upper town of B , 
 
 nor daily visit that long low house, painted 
 'dazzling white, with shutters of brightest green.
 
 THE BEDsK OF THE PRECIPICE. 91 
 
 and the shadows of the poplars flickering over 
 the high-pitched roof. 
 
 I asked myself why ? but took care not to 
 repeat the question too searchingly^, nor tarry 
 long for a reply. Had I not business of impor- 
 tance to transact with Captain Esher, my late 
 cousin's sole surviving executor ? I had ; and 
 it must be owned, it was not entirely my fault 
 that the business hung on hand. Captain Esher 
 flatly refused to talk on business before eleven 
 o'clock, A.'SL.f and after four o'clock, p.m. Tliis 
 much impeded the progress of affairs, for even 
 during the business houi's I could by no means 
 make sure that my business should have prece- 
 dence of that of others. Perhaps, by tirmness and 
 decision, I mi^ht have brouo-ht matters to an issue. 
 But the captain was so good-humouredly obstinate, 
 so innocently wayward and shifty, so amusingly 
 perverse, that he managed to have his own way 
 a great deal too much. Then the weather was 
 so fine, the drives and rides so agreeable, and the 
 boating excursions so enjoyable ; aunt Cossett so 
 attentive and so winning, making me feel so en- 
 tirely at home ; that, altogether, a few days' sojourn 
 was a pleasant change from the bustling, restless
 
 92 HE2BERT CHAUXCXT. 
 
 }r^ I had Istiely kd. I did dot, in smmning 
 np i3ie causes why I found the time pass plea- 
 santly, name Rosamund £sher. An engaged man 
 * jiMwe die exislenoe of all young women 
 ssve cae. I pot her aade as a mae ornamental 
 Tfcpm <^ the hoasdiald fmuiUire , I wonld not 
 admit to mysdf tint she in any way contrihirted 
 to the attractions that made mr sojoom at 
 Boakgne an inoonreDienoe so easy to he en- 
 dared. 
 
 One monungy however. I receired a letter firom 
 Ada, gently rematttzmtzng with me on my pro- 
 tracted afasencey and short and hasty letters. It 
 wanoqnisite to answer it hy return of post. The 
 tadc id writing to Ada had never heen irksome 
 to me, ofien an amnsenent, oflen a source of 
 eoasalaliai when tioahled or careworn. But now 
 I coold noi dasgaaae firom n^self that the dntj 
 siiangefy disfcastefuL It was a hurden rather 
 L pleasore. The fact was undeniable, and at 
 gave me mandk imeaaineas. Surdy this mnst 
 1 positiTe decay of affiaction. NeverthdeiSy 
 on, and perBereringwith my letter, the 
 radnalfy Bihriikd — my heart warmed 
 mv sweet and gende Ada. Words
 
 THE BEINK OF THE PRECIPICE. 93 
 
 and plirases of playful tenderness and steadfast 
 devotion, flowed freely from my pen. I folded 
 tlie letter ^Yitll a cheerful smile, and walked to 
 tlie post, on good terms witli myself and every- 
 body else. 
 
 That afternoon, Miss Cossett waylaid me in 
 the passage as I was about to enter the captain's 
 sanctum; she wanted to have a little chat with me. 
 
 She being a kind little soul, and myself in an 
 unusually good-tempered mood, I followed her 
 into the drawing-room, and left the captain to 
 smoke liis pipe in solitude. 
 
 There was no one else in the drawino*-room. 
 Miss Cossett, rubbing her little mittened hands 
 nervously together, began : — 
 
 " Mr. Chauncey, I trust you will excuse my 
 acting a mother's part, which is a thing I am of 
 course not used to ; but brother Esher was never 
 a practical man, and his poor wife, though as 
 handsome a creature as you ever set eyes on, was 
 a thorough Frenchwoman, not to say Papist ; but 
 she's in her cold grave, so it don't particularly 
 signify what she was, and, altogether, I feel in a 
 highly responsible condition." 
 
 Miss Cossett paused to take breath. I could not
 
 94 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 conceive what was coming, but, in a good-humoured 
 way, begged her to be quite open with me. 
 
 "You are very good, Mr. Herbert, you are 
 very good — Chauncey, I should say ; but Herbert's 
 the prettier name, and I trust no offence is given. 
 Now, what I want to ask you, Mr. Herbert, if you 
 will forgive the liberty, concerns my niece Rosie." 
 Colouring, though I scarce knew why, I bowed 
 my head courteously. She continued : — 
 
 " As a practical woman, I may say, the only 
 practical woman of the family, I come to you, Mr. 
 Herbert, for advice ; which I trust you will not 
 refuse to give, seeing brother Esher's mixed up so 
 much in your affairs, and was a personal friend of 
 your cousin Jeffry — as good a creature as ever 
 breathed, but Aveak in his morals, decidedly weak 
 in his morals — though I ought not to say it, for 
 he left brother Esher one thousand pounds in a 
 codicil. To be sure the money is all gone now, 
 for every penny was owing for furniture, but that 
 was providential, since if it hadn't gone to pay for 
 furniture, it might have been fooled away pro- 
 miscuously." 
 
 I gently recalled her to the point. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Herbert, what I want to ask is
 
 THE BEIXK OF THE PRECIPICE. 95 
 
 just this. Taking my niece's pleasing appearance, 
 and rather sensitive, but singularly sweet temper 
 into account, is it your opinion she is best suited 
 for an organist or a daily governess ? " 
 
 I was so much surprised, that I could not make 
 any reply. The practical woman of the family 
 continued, in a reflective tone of voice : — 
 
 " An organist's line of life seems the most 
 favourable to piety. Piety must come naturally 
 to an organist." 
 
 I expressed regret to learn that it was needful 
 for Miss Esher to be either one or the other. 
 
 " i\Ir. Herbert, you being a man of the world, 
 with a college education, quite at home in the four 
 first rules of arithmetic, can readily comprehend 
 the importance of augmenting the family income 
 when it falls short of the family expenditure by 
 at least a thousand francs annually, though what 
 that is in pounds I cannot tell, without pen, ink, 
 and paper." 
 
 I asked if Captain Esher was aware of the 
 proposed plan. 
 
 " Captain Esher ? Oh, dear no. Certainly 
 not ; a father is the last person to be consulted on 
 such a trying subject. His feehngs would disturb
 
 96 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 Ms judgment; mine are under command, quite 
 under command. I consider myself, Mr. Herbert, 
 the most strong-minded woman on this side of 
 the channel, barring a slight tendency to hysterics 
 when the occasion calls for it." 
 
 At this juncture, Rosamund entered the room. 
 Whether she overheard the last few words uttered 
 by her aunt, or had any other cause to suspect the 
 subject of our conversation, I know not ; but it 
 w^as plain by her countenance that she was a good 
 deal disturbed. 
 
 There was an awkward silence. Miss Cossett — 
 the strong-minded Miss Cossett — exhibited marked 
 symptoms of nervous apprehension, and, apropos 
 of nothing particular, remarked " that bluebottle 
 flies were more ornamental than useful, especially 
 on window-panes." 
 
 Rosamund, glancing first at her aunt, and then 
 at me, exclaimed, indignantly, with brightened 
 colour and kindling eyes ; — 
 
 " Aunt, you. have done what I begged you 
 would not do. You have been discussing my 
 father's affairs and mine. Oh, I am so sorry — so 
 ashamed I " 
 
 The young girl sat down near a table at the
 
 THE BRIXK OF THE PRECIPICE. 97 
 
 further end of the room, and buried her face In. 
 her hands. 
 
 Miss Cossettj in whimpering, apologetic accents 
 rejoined : — 
 
 '• Xow, Rosie, Rosie, why can't you trust your 
 poor old aunt? ^hy mayn't I act a mother's 
 part, and take counsel with a friend of the family, 
 when the family income falls short of the family 
 expenditure, and I dream every night of creditors 
 and dungeons. Be practical, Rosie — be prac- 
 tical for once. Mr. Herbert's very kind — very 
 amiable, and will give you introductions to gen- 
 teel families." 
 
 Rosamund lifted her face from her hand?, and, 
 with a decision of tone that made her aunt give a 
 little jump in her chair, exclaimed ! — 
 
 ^' My mother would have rather died than take 
 such a Kberty. It is very wrong, very indehcate, 
 very wicked! "' She checked herself, and once 
 more hid her face in her hands. 
 
 Tears fell throuo-h her lone? slender finp;ers on 
 the table before her. Family disputes are always 
 unpleasant. Rising from my chair, I said a few 
 words expressive of the interest I already felt 
 in ail that concerned Captain Esher and his 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 daughter, and of my willingness to be of service 
 to them ; then quietly, but hastily, made my retreat 
 — -leaving Rosamund still in the same attitude, 
 and Miss Cossett on the brink of an hysterical 
 explosion. I dined that day at the tahle-cVhote of 
 an hotel in the lower town, but looked in at 
 Captain Esher's in the course of the evening. 
 Rosamund did not appear ; she was gone to visit a 
 friend, who boarded at a convent near the old 
 town ; she would not return till next day. 
 
 It was the first evening Rosamund had been 
 absent. Esher, however, was in very good spirits ; 
 Miss Cossett had recovered her equanimity; a 
 couple of friends dropped in ; they were fresh 
 from Paris, and entertained us with rumours of 
 wars and insurrections. Why did a feeling of 
 inexpressible dreariness weigh down my heart, 
 making me restless, distracted, silent? Was it 
 because of Rosamund's absence? 
 
 I was vexed with myself for asking the question. 
 I chided my morbidly-sensitive conscience ; it was 
 unmanly — it was silly. I took my leave early, 
 and wandered about the silent streets in a dis- 
 contented mood. I had no particular notion 
 whither I was going ; but, after half-an-hour or
 
 THE BEIXK OF THE PRECIPICE. 99 
 
 SO, I found myself standing outside the garden- 
 wall of the convent where Kosamund was staying, 
 with my eyes fixed upon the distant lights, 
 glimmering faintly through the barred and narrow 
 windows. 
 
 Starting back almost in alarm, I turned and 
 hastened homewards. My conscience smote me 
 sore ; I slept that night but little. 
 
 Next morning I rose early, and lying in wait for 
 Esher, seized liim as he was sallj-ing forth, bound 
 for the lower town. I good-humouredly, but 
 firmly, insisted on his giving me a few hours all 
 to myself; it was my intention to sail for England 
 that night. Esher was at first very rebellious, 
 but at length yielded. He must go down to his 
 office, but we could take our papers with us. He 
 returned to fetch them. Miss Cossett's strong 
 mind was nearly upset by the intelligence of my 
 intended departure, and, as I left the house with 
 Esher, I caught sight of her, in the act of wiping 
 the tears from her eyes, at an upper window. 
 
 We were closeted all day, and, after all, with no 
 immediate result. The business could not be 
 finished for some days, and my departure must be 
 postponed. Messrs. Quickset and Harp, acting 
 
 7—2
 
 100 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 for some parties who owed my late cousin a con- 
 siderable sum, secured by a mortgage, asked for 
 further time. Knowing the firm well, I was 
 inclined to grant the request, but my own solici- 
 tors must be consulted, and Esher's consent and 
 signature in this, and other matters, would be re- 
 quisite. It would be advisable to remain at B 
 
 for a week longer at least. It would really have 
 an absurd appearance if I left, merely to run back 
 again a few days hence. I must stay where I 
 was. This was a matter of honest regret with 
 me, for I had summoned up all my energies, and 
 was determined to go at once. But the delay could 
 not be helped ; and Esher shook me by the 
 hand, with a laugh of friendly exultation. 
 
 That evening, entering Captain Esher's house 
 through the door that stood open to admit the 
 refreshing evening breeze, I passed into the 
 drawino;-room. Rosamund was there alone ; seated 
 on a low chair, her hands crossed on her lap, her 
 eyes looking straight before her. She was deep 
 in thought, and did not hear me enter. 
 
 For a moment I gazed unobserved upon her 
 countenance. The features were not what would 
 be called regular. To allude to an art then un-
 
 THE BRINK OF THE PRECIPICE. 101 
 
 dreamed of, the face was not suited for a photo- 
 graph. The expression that played round the 
 delicately-curved lip, the peculiar lustre of those 
 violet-tinted eyes, would have been lost. The 
 pencilled eyebrows would have seemed too strongly 
 marked, and the nose, though to my fancy ex- 
 quisitely chiselled, would have seemed too dis- 
 tinctly retrousse to be beautiful; the grace, 
 the piquancy, the fire, could not be reproduced, 
 save by the hand of an artist, skilful in touch, 
 and keen in the appreciation of beauty of mind 
 and form. But I ask pardon for detaining the 
 reader. 
 
 When she saw me, the rich colour rushed into 
 her cheeks, and, rising from her chair, she grasped 
 my hand, with the quick, light pressure of modest 
 confidence and fi-ank good-will. 
 
 "I am so glad to see you," she said, in the 
 accent now so familiar to my ear. " I feared you 
 were going to leave us without saying farewell." 
 
 " Well, 'tis a painful word, and perhaps better 
 omitted." 
 
 " Ah, those who care for each other truly, do 
 not think so. But tell me : Are you come to say 
 it now ? "
 
 102 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 " No ; I remain at B a week longer." 
 
 She turned hastily, and went to the window. 
 A voice from the outside, which I recognized as 
 Esher's, exclaimed, — 
 
 " Why, my little Rosie, what's the matter ? 
 Who has been scolding you ? What has troubled 
 you? It's very trying when I come home from 
 a hard day's work to find you thus." 
 
 *' All right, darling papa ; there's nothing the 
 matter. How late you are ! La Motte is in agony 
 about the dinner. Oh, before you come in, please 
 shut the jalousies ; the sun is so strong ! " 
 
 " Well, I will if you wish it, Rosie. But the 
 sun will soon be set, and the room seems dark 
 enough already — dark as a tomb, and I always 
 had an aversion to tombs." 
 
 He closed the jalousies, and entered the house. 
 Was Rosamund vexed at my staying ? My heart 
 and conscience told me plainly. No. 
 
 A thrill of irrepressible pleasure ran through 
 my veins. My resolution melted away, my 
 strength of will broke like a feeble reed ; in an 
 anguish of guilty joy I was about to clasp her 
 to my heart, and declare my passion ; but, at 
 that instant, as I stepped towards her, pale, breath-
 
 THE BEINK OF THE PRECIPICE. 103 
 
 less, trembling, slie, ignorant of what was passing 
 througli my mind, snatclied up her book, and 
 hastened from the room. 
 
 Round and round mj weak and vainly-strug- 
 gling heart the meshes of the net were woven. 
 Vehemently, fiercely, I reproached myself in the 
 solitude of my chamber that night. '' Dead to 
 all sense of honour, of duty, of humanity; do 
 what you will, go where you will, you are guilty 
 — cruelly, selfishly guilty ; a culprit beyond par- 
 don — unworthy pity. But you are yet free to hide 
 your guilt, and save from misery one who, in the 
 innocence of her young heart, loves you tenderly. 
 You are free. Go hence, then, at once — go, and 
 never return." 
 
 I groaned in agony of mind. I flung myself 
 on the floor; I tried to pray. Fool! how could 
 I pray, when I desired not what I prayed for ?
 
 104 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 CHAPTER YL 
 
 BROKEN VOWS. 
 
 A WEEK has elapsed. I am once more in London. 
 I am free; I have broken loose from the spell 
 that bomid me. I have not declared my passion. 
 My honour is yet safe ; my good name unblem- 
 ished ; Ada Littlecot unharmed, unwrono-ed. 
 
 When I presented myself at Sir Hugh's house, 
 Ada received me with tearful, but affectionate 
 eludings for my long absence. With what dif- 
 ferent thoughts and emotions did I now fold her 
 in my arms ! Yet I tried to comfort her, and 
 talked, with feigned cheerfulness, of future plans. 
 She was strangely disturbed, but seemed scarcely 
 to know why. There was a beseeching tender- 
 ness in her eyes that wrung my heart. 
 
 What could I do? I was chaup-ed. I once 
 believed I loved her: I had never loved until
 
 BROKEX YOTTS. 105 
 
 now; I had only dreamed — foolishly dreamed — 
 like a school-boy or a babbling poet. I had never 
 loved until now, and now it was not Ada Littlecot 
 whom I loved. 
 
 People laugh at love at first sight. Very likely 
 they are right; all I know is that I went to 
 
 B , thinking only of business, of future plans, 
 
 of ftiture enjo\Tnents. My path was smooth 
 enough, I was prosperous and happy ; w^ealth, 
 prosperity, influence, were mine. My engage- 
 ment with Ada was shortly to terminate in mar- 
 riage. Meantime we associated as freely as is 
 usual. Romance no doubt had vanished; but 
 quiet satisfaction and calm hopefulness remained. 
 My affection for Ada was true and brotherly: I 
 felt grateful for the love she bore me. 
 
 Thus was I situated when I went to B ;. 
 
 there I met one who, if not at first sight, yet 
 very rapidly, mastered my whole heart, subdued 
 my spirit, reduced me to a state of trembling, 
 helpless devotion. 
 
 I shall be told that this is an old story — quite 
 a commonplace one. Here are two women, one 
 of whom I love better than the other, and more 
 shame for me. It is so ; but it is the hinge on
 
 106 HEKBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 which my life has turned. I saw Ada, as I have 
 said; I saw her — ay, and I comforted her; I 
 gently soothed her, and, not without a taint of 
 hypocrisy, assured her of my tender interest and 
 regard. 
 
 All the while my course lay plain before me. 
 I had no intention of marrying Ada Littlecot; 
 no, not the least. My purpose was simply to 
 break the shock in store for her by slow degrees. 
 Humanity demanded that the veil should not be 
 suddenly torn from her eyes. I saw her two 
 or three times. I called whenever I knew she 
 was not at home ; I left kind messages ; I sent 
 her some slight tokens of regard — a new book, 
 a small article of jewellery, a bouquet of rare 
 flowers. I eluded invitations on the score of 
 business. 
 
 But the crisis came at last. One evening 
 I had been a long ride into the country, for I 
 eschewed all places of public resort, and, going 
 into my sitting-room, threw myself on the sofa 
 to rest. On the writing-table was a note. Fearing 
 it was from Ada, I did not even read the address, 
 but let it lie unopened. My servant shortly after- 
 wards mentioned that the bearer of the note
 
 BEOKEX VOWS. 107 
 
 would call again for an answer. It was useless 
 to delay reading it. Rising, I languidly walked 
 to the table, but the instant I recognized the 
 hand-writing, I seized the note, with trembling 
 hands, and tore it open. It was the quaint, little 
 handwritinsj of Miss Cossett. 
 
 Rosamund was in town. She had accompanied 
 her aunt, for the purpose of making inquiries 
 respecting a situation, or emplojTnent, at home 
 or abroad. 
 
 I sank back on the sofa, unnerved as a child, 
 and for some minutes did not attempt to move. 
 Then, recovering myself, I rang for my servant, 
 and instantly drove to Duke Street, where Rosa- 
 mund and her aunt were stapng. Having 
 alighted, I dismissed my cab, and paced up and 
 down the street in the gathering twilight. It was 
 too late to call, but for hours I lino-ered in the 
 neighbourhood of the house, watching the windows, 
 and imagining that every shadow flitting across 
 the bHnds was that of my dearest Rosamund. 
 
 I returned to rest that niojht in a feverish state, 
 and did not sleep till the sun was up. My 
 resolution was taken as soon as I awoke. I must 
 see the woman whom I loved, not necessarily
 
 108 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 to commit myself to any particular course, but 
 to test the depth and reality of my feelings. If 
 I loved her with my whole heart — so earnestly, so 
 devotedly — it were madness, nay, it were sin, to 
 unite myself to another. 
 
 I called in Duke Street once. I called a second 
 time. I was there frequently. Meantime my mind 
 was tossed to and fro by conflicting thoughts. 
 
 Misery must be in store for Ada Littlecot, 
 whether I married her, or whether I parted from 
 her for ever. It was sad, it was very sad; but 
 it was inevitable. 
 
 Yet the anguish of separation — of shattered hopes 
 — was transient. This, Ada would soon learn. The 
 anguish of life-long union with a man whose heart 
 is estranged, this is permanent, this is incurable, 
 this is intolerable. I must rescue Ada from so 
 deep a shame — so bitter a calamity. 
 
 It was a bright August morning. I had 
 prepared a long letter to Ada, and trusted it would 
 have a salutary effect. But it seemed requisite 
 that I should see her father. Sir Hugh Littlecot. 
 
 I thought that a candid exposition of my senti- 
 ments would enlist him on my side, and induce 
 him to co-operate with me in persuading Ada to
 
 BROKEN VOWS. 109 
 
 avert lier thou2;lits from one whose heart could 
 never more be hers. 
 
 I purposed placing my letter to Ada in Sir 
 Hugh's hands, after explaining my situation to 
 him in frank, truthful words, with ample expres- 
 sions of sincere regret and kindly sympathy. 
 
 When, however, my carriage fairly stopped be- 
 fore Sir Hugh's residence, a chancre came over 
 my spirit. jNIy former boyish awe for Sir Hugh 
 Littlecot seemed to revive. His countenance, his 
 manner, his voice, came back to my recollection 
 with disagreeable distinctness. But tliis was not 
 all. By dint of reasoning and reflection, I had 
 acquired somethmg of that sober serenity of mind, 
 accompanying the performance of a painful but 
 necessary duty. The moment the time for action 
 had arrived that serenity vanished. A suspicion 
 seized my mmd that my conduct was not merely 
 dishonourable, but inhuman. Rebuking my want 
 of nerve and vacillation of purpose, I hastily de- 
 scended from the carriage, and entered the house. 
 But it was with downcast looks and fluttering 
 heart. The door of the library was flung open 
 by the servant with obsequious alacrity. My en- 
 saffemeilt with Miss Littlecot was notorious.
 
 110 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 and tlie man, as he placed a chair for me, 
 said : — 
 
 " Miss Littlecot is upstairs, sir ; I will imme- 
 diately let her know you are here." 
 
 With precipitation I stopped him, stating that 
 my business was with Sir Hugh, and that I must 
 speak to him alone. 
 
 It was uncertain whether he was within. My 
 secret prayer was that some excuse might offer for 
 taking my departure without seeing him. The 
 letter to Ada would suffice to explain and justify 
 my intended course. 
 
 I found myself seated on the sofa where, side 
 by side w^ith Ada, I had been led into a warm 
 avowal of feelings that I well knew were more 
 than moderately shared by herself. 
 
 Presently, I heard her father's footsteps ap- 
 proaching the door, with the misteady haste of an 
 old man. 
 
 Shaking me by the hand with a cordiality less 
 measured than usual, and with a countenance that 
 for him was cheerful. Sir Hugh, not noticing my 
 embarrassment, exclaimed, in a voice of dignified 
 affability: — 
 
 " So, Mr. Herbert Chauncey, you have once
 
 BROKEN VOWS. Ill 
 
 more condescended to honour my poor mansion 
 with your presence. We have missed you not a 
 little, but I don't intend to scold you. You have 
 had cares, duties, a press of business. Of course, 
 of course. We men understand all this, but 
 women are apt to be puzzled. However, Ada will 
 be doTNTi directly, and you shall plead your own 
 
 cause; no one can do it better. But " added 
 
 he, looking at me more narrowly, "my good 
 friend, you are looking ill. Nay, nay, you must 
 not take the matter seriously ; it was an old man's 
 pleasantry. Ada is easily pleased. You must take 
 courage — you must pluck up spirit ; she will not 
 be very severe ! " 
 
 The old man exhibited a liveliness of tone which, 
 in my then state of mind, was really horrible. His 
 words tortured me. With a violent effort I nerved 
 m^'self for the work before me, and, in confused, 
 faltering accents, began : — 
 
 " Sir Hugh, I have thought it more manly to 
 meet you face to face, than to take shelter in a 
 written communication ; I want you to listen to 
 me patiently, and not to judge me too harshly. 
 I want you to hear all I have to say, for the sake 
 of Miss Littlecot more than for mv own."
 
 112 HEKBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 He was amused ; and, tapping me on the slioul- 
 der, made me seat myself by his side on the sofa, 
 from which I had risen, and went on thus : — 
 
 " Chauncey, my good fellow, we are taking 
 matters far too much au serieux. I am glad, very 
 glad, to see you here, and some one else will be 
 very glad also. You have been a little remiss, 
 that is all — a little remiss, but with abundance 
 of honest reasons, no doubt. There, there, say 
 no more ; I am quite content — quite content." 
 
 He attempted to take my hand in a patronizing, 
 almost affectionate manner, but I withdrew it, 
 saying:— 
 
 ^^ You will not be so long, I fear. Believe me, 
 when I assure you, that I have something most 
 serious and important to say to you. A great 
 change has passed over my mind during the last 
 few weeks. I almost regret it, whilst I yield /o 
 it. Not long ago, I meditated, with quiet joy, upon 
 my approaching union with your daughter. That 
 joy is at an end. I once loved and esteemed her. 
 I esteem her still ; but I no longer love her as my 
 conscience tells me I ought to love my companion 
 for life." 
 
 Sir Hugh was utterly bewildered. He gazed
 
 BROKEN VOWS. 113 
 
 at me with sudden anxiety and alarm, in the 
 .elief that my mind was unsettled. I proceeded, 
 rousing myself to increased energy as I did so. 
 
 " It is needless to explain at length what has 
 caused this revolution in mv feelinrjs. Suffice to 
 say, that it is complete, that it cannot be remedied, 
 that it must for all our sakes be obeved. Do not 
 think that Ada is to blame. No ; that good and 
 gentle girl deserves a far worthier husband than 
 I should ever prove. The fault, if fault there be, 
 rests with me alone ; with my precipitation, my 
 self-deception, my softness of heart. But the mis- 
 chief is done. To marry your daughter now 
 would entail upon both of us hopeless, irremedi- 
 able misery ; our eternal happiness would be 
 imperilled. I must snatch your child from the 
 abyss over wliich she is suspended ; I must save 
 her from a life of slow torture, and a future of 
 despair. It is a duty I owe to a fellow-creature — 
 a deed of gratitude to an affectionate girl — an act 
 of mercy to a father who adores her." 
 
 " Mad, mad, mad ! " muttered the old man to 
 himself, his dark eyes fixed upon me in mingled 
 astonishment and dismay. Truth to say, the 
 excitement into which I had wrought myself, my 
 
 VOL, I. 8
 
 114 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 animated gestures^ tlie strangeness of my avowal, 
 might have led even an nnconcerned spectator to 
 a similar conclusion. 
 
 " No;, not mad ! Heaven forgive me, but I 
 almost wish I were ! Attend to me. Sir Hugh. 
 Let me explain myself clearly. I am come to 
 break off my engagement with Ada ; I say it in 
 great sorrow, but with no thought of swerving 
 from my purpose. It is for her good, even more 
 than for mine. The wicked may slander, fools 
 may misinterpret; but I leave my case in the 
 hands of the wise and good. I do not ask you to 
 foro'ive me; I cannot hope for forgiveness yet. 
 Nay, Sir Hugh, restrain yourself. Reflect on 
 wdiat I have urged. Think on the dreary horror 
 of an unwilling union ! — the anguish and the 
 strife — the children, witnesses of their parents 
 cold estrangement, or malignant enmity — think 
 on the desecration of the altar ! " 
 
 As Sir Hugh began to apprehend the drift of 
 wdiat I was hastily, and incoherently uttering, 
 and realized the fact that I was thoroughly in 
 earnest, a great change passed over his counten- 
 ance. 
 
 His complexion darkened, his looks expressed
 
 BROKEN VOWS. llo 
 
 unutterable anger and contempt. Gathering him- 
 self up, he fixed his dark eyes sternly upon me. 
 
 Few will deny me the possession of very firm 
 and unyielding coui'age. But I confess, that at 
 this moment, in the presence of an infirm old 
 man, glaring at me with fierce, but impotent 
 wrath, my nerve was greatly shaken. I quailed 
 beneath his glance, and felt anxious to withdraw 
 from the house. 
 
 He broke out in a hoarse, hurried whisper — 
 
 "I understand sir, I understand. All is as 
 clear as day, as clear as day. A very simple 
 matter. It shall be arranged immediately ; with- 
 out the delay of a minute." 
 
 Then starting to his feet, he added — 
 
 " But allow me to tell you, sir, Avhat I think of 
 you — what every man of honour will think of you. 
 That you are the blackest scoundi'el on the face 
 of the earth." 
 
 '' Sh', sir," I replied, also rising ; " I can bear 
 the unjust abuse of an old man, and that man a 
 father. Reflect on all I have uro-ed — do not con- 
 demn me rashly." 
 
 " Peace : you have talked enough ; I am sick 
 of your hypocrisy. Let us come to the point. 
 
 8—2
 
 116 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 You wish your engagement with my daughter 
 broken off — certainly : it shall be done instantly ; 
 nay, it is done alread}^ Fear not for my daughter. 
 Were I a religious man, I would kneel down here, 
 in this very room, and offer up thanks for her de- 
 liverance from so consummate a villain I Man, if 
 I had dreamed that you were not only too thank- 
 ful for the chance of marrying a creature so much 
 your superior, I would have spurned you from 
 my doorsteps like a dog ! Her mother, on her 
 death-bed, bade me be tender-hearted to the 
 poor child, or I would have never tolerated you 
 under my roof — never — never. But do not fear 
 for my daughter ; she shall thank you herself for 
 setting her free. Wait an instant — be seated, sir; 
 she shall thank you herself. An instant, sir, an 
 instant." 
 
 He strode out of the apartment with an energy 
 beyond his years. I was for the moment almost 
 paralyzed. Shame, and confusion of face, over- 
 powered me ; yet I did not dare depart. I must 
 carry out what I had begun. It would soon be 
 over. I placed the letter for Ada on the table, 
 and walked hastily up and down the room. Sir 
 Hugh, however, was absent a considerable time.
 
 " BROKEN VOWS. 117 
 
 It might have been a quarter of an hour, though 
 it seemed far longer, and my impatience began 
 to be unbeai'able, when I heard a stir in some 
 distant apartment. Sir Hugh's voice was raised 
 in violent remonstrance, and then came a sudden 
 silence. Doors were opened and shut, a bell rang 
 loudly, there were sounds of earnest whisperings, 
 and a hun*ying to and fro of feet. 
 
 Then, in a fierce, peremptory manner. Sir Hugh 
 entered the room, his face pale as ashes, and his 
 whole frame quivering with emotion. It would 
 be difficult to describe the profound, vindictive 
 hatred of the look he cast upon me. 
 
 He waved his hand towards the door, exclaim- 
 
 " Enough, sir, enough for the present. Leave 
 us in peace ; you will hear from us again." 
 
 He paused, and placed his hand hastily on his 
 heart ; then seemg that I hesitated, he added, in 
 a voice chokino; from emotion — 
 
 *""' Fellow, becjone I I have done with vou — be- 
 gone ! but take with you a father's hati*ed, and 
 a father's curse ! " 
 
 It is not in the nature of men of strong and 
 vigorous character to endure, with perfect calm-
 
 118 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 ness, reiterated expressions of loathing and con- 
 tempt. Fortitude and resignation liave their limits, 
 and the outraged spirit will at length rise up in 
 arms. This was partly the case with me, and 
 as I passed through the door that Sir Hugh flung 
 open for me, I gave vent to my feelings by a 
 gesture of proud defiance. This transient emotion, 
 however, instantly subsided. For, at the further 
 end of the passage, a door was unwarily opened, 
 through which issued stifled screams and lamen- 
 tations — sounds of hysterical anguish and de- 
 spair. Too well I understood the meaning of those 
 sounds ! I became faint, dizzy, sick. My ser- 
 vant, who was in waiting in the hall, supported 
 me to the carriage. Even then I almost resolved 
 to retrace m}^ steps, throw myself at Ada's feet, 
 implore for pardon, and undo the mischief I had 
 caused. But it was otherwise ordained. The 
 carriage bore me swiftly aw^ay. I breathed more 
 freely, and felt my mental as well as bodily powers 
 revive. 
 
 What I had done was done for the best. Time, 
 the great healer of our griefs, would bring conso- 
 lation to the enraged old man, as well as to the 
 afflicted c;irl.
 
 BROKEN VOWS. 119 
 
 Ada Littlecot inlierited none of lier father's 
 energy. He liad in vain striven to rouse her in- 
 dignation, and strengthen her pride. Uncontrol- 
 lable anguish and amazement of spirit bowed her 
 to the earth. She had neither the power nor will 
 to address me, save in accents of outraged affection, 
 and loving remonstrance. She loved me, and, 
 wounded to the quick by the tidings her father 
 brought to her, thought only of appealing to my 
 honour and conscience, and compelling me to re- 
 spond once more to her love. Her father was con- 
 strained to resign her, in a dangerous state of 
 excitement, to female offices of kindness. 
 
 I have related this incident precisely as it 
 occurred. If I erred, certainly my punishment 
 was not slow to follow, and even my enemies will 
 confess that it was wholly disproportioned to my 
 2;uilt. 
 
 That day, partly from feelings of self-reproach, 
 partly from a wish for quiet repose after so much 
 excitement, I did not go near the house where 
 Rosamund and her aunt were lodging. 
 
 I lay down on my bed as soon as I reached 
 home, and immediately sank into a refreshing 
 sleep, from which I did not wake for many hours.
 
 120 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 After so many nights of restlessness, and after 
 such a scene as I had passed through that morn- 
 ing, this was but natural. 
 
 Late in the evening, just as my mind was 
 beginning to recover its wonted tone, a parcel was 
 brought to me; it was directed in Miss Littlecot's 
 handwriting. I anticipated its contents — a mmia- 
 ture of myself, a few books, some jewellery. A 
 short note, couched in cold and formal terms, 
 accompanied these melancholy relics of a bygone 
 attachment. The handwriting was unsteady, but 
 clear and distinct. Strange to say, it afforded me 
 vague comfort to detect, or fancy that I detected, 
 in the tone of the note, indications that the sorrow 
 of this ill-used girl was passing into a feeling of 
 calm displeasure and aversion. I flung every- 
 thing into the fire, except the miniature.
 
 121 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 GLENARVON COURT. 
 
 Glenaeyon Court, the country seat left me by my 
 cousin JefFry, was an ancient mansion, with pointed 
 gables, broad windows with heavy mullions, orna- 
 mented chimney shafts of the Elizabethan period,, 
 and here and there a massive buttress, with bold 
 mouldings, or deeply recessed arch, or solid para- 
 pet of an earlier date. The grounds round the 
 house were extensive; the lawn sloped down to 
 a trout stream that flowed through the valley, 
 murmuring over its pebbly bed. Beyond the 
 stream was a grove of stately elms, resonant with 
 rooks. The village road was, in the winter time, 
 visible through the leafless branches of the trees. 
 Horse chesnuts, and other flowering trees of large 
 growth, overshadowed the lawn, too gloomily
 
 122 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 for mj taste, but I feared to cut any of them 
 down till I had seen then' appearance in sum- 
 mer. 
 
 The general scenery of the neighbourhood was 
 rich and varied. Hills, well wooded, of every 
 variety of outline, closed us in on all sides, 
 except towards the south-west. Here the country 
 lay more level, but in the horizon rose the blue 
 mountains of Wales, each undulation of which 
 became familiar to us, as the face or handwritinof 
 of a friend well known. 
 
 It was here that I passed some of the happiest 
 moments of my life. The scene was soon to 
 change, but for the time all was light and glad- 
 ness. Yet it might have seemed strange that this 
 should be so, to those who looked only at the 
 aspect of the world without. The winter had set 
 in with uncommon severity ; the brook, that usually 
 gurgled noisily along its pebbly bed, was frozen 
 into ghostly silence ; the snow drifted so deep 
 into the hollows of the roads, that intercourse 
 between friends and neighbours was often wholly 
 €ut off; the birds lay dead from cold outside our 
 windows ; many flowers in our conservatory 
 perished; shrubs in the garden, usuall}^ hardy.
 
 GLENAKVON COURT. 123 
 
 were smitten, as if by a furnace-blast, to tbe 
 ground. 
 
 Yet here, surrounded by a dreary desert of snow 
 — the monotony of wliich was broken by gaunt, 
 leafless trees, rising like skeletons, now solitary, 
 now grouped confusedly together, over the white 
 pathless waste — almost isolated from the world, 
 living in an ancient mansion, with one large, lofty 
 hall, and a succession of low, queer-shaped rooms, 
 and rambling passages — lined with dark oak, 
 haunted by strange echoes, and pervaded by the 
 musty smell, peculiar to old houses, so grateful 
 to the antiquarian — here, my yomig wife and 
 myself were happy in each other's society, and 
 almost without a care. 
 
 In Rosamund's deep heartfelt affection my 
 recent sorrows faded away, as a stream lost in the 
 waters of ocean; my wounded spirit was com- 
 forted and soothed. As for her, my dear and 
 true-hearted companion, I withheld from her 
 knowledge, with the most anxious care, the fact 
 of my engagement with Miss Littlecot, my rup- 
 ture with Su* Hugh, and the painful circum- 
 stances that followed. 
 
 Let the dead past bury its dead. Not mine
 
 124 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 was the duty, nor mine the task, to involve in a 
 common agony one so tenderly beloved, so sacredly 
 cherished. We gave ourselves up to each other 
 with sweet and hearty devotion ; certainly there 
 was something touching in our love, it was of a 
 kind that is rare enough now-a-days. 
 
 Nature out of doors, as I have said, seemed 
 unpropitious, but we treated her austerity lightly. 
 Screens, and matting, and heavy curtains, kept 
 out the biting winter air; fires blazed in the 
 servants' rooms as cheerfully as in our own. 
 Coal was of course cheap, and had it been other- 
 wise, would not have been spared. Glenarvon 
 Court was rendered as impervious to cold, as 
 was possible in such a season. 
 
 There was an excellent librarv, thanks to the 
 labours of my bookseller, who, confiscating most 
 of the rubbish my poor cousin had bequeathed 
 to me, substituted a judicious selection of ancient 
 and modern literature. In the great hall was a 
 fine piano; in the gallery an organ, somewhat 
 antiquated, but of magnificent tone. Here, whilst 
 the flames leaped roaring up the huge chimney, 
 Rosamund would often waken the organ with elastic 
 touch, until its deep, passionate music reverberated
 
 GLENARVON COURT. 125 
 
 alono; the massive walls, and shook the faded 
 pictures of mv ancestors in their newly-gilded 
 frames. At such times we suffered our servants 
 to stand listening in the gallery. Many of them 
 were Welsh, and could scarcely restrain an out- 
 burst of noisy applause. At times, especially 
 when the weather was more piercincjlv cold than 
 usual, we retired to the warmer and quieter pre- 
 cincts of the long, low library, Avhose well-lined 
 walls afforded so many suggestions for silent 
 reverie or pleasant converse. But the hall was 
 our favourite resort. 
 
 I love to close my eyes and summon before 
 my mind that dusky hall, those old pictures, that 
 grotesque furniture; myself lymg on the huge 
 damask-covered sofa, reading aloud some piece 
 of ancient or modern poetry ; Rosamund on a low 
 ottoman beside me, listening with breathless in- 
 terest, her slender hand shadino; from the red o-lare 
 of the fn'e those lustrous, violet-tinted eyes, and 
 her comitenance varying with the varying scenes 
 and passions reflected on her impressionable soul. 
 
 I took pains, especially during the first months 
 of our wedded hfe, to instruct her mind, and 
 cultivate her tastes. Her education had been
 
 126 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 desultory. She was at home in works of poetry 
 or fiction ; she was astray in the sphere of use- 
 ful knowledge. English history she knew chiefly 
 through the medium of Shakspere, and, though 
 familiar with Dante, would have been puzzled to 
 point out the boundaries of Italy on a map of 
 Europe. Disheartened by the matter of fact, she 
 was guilty of a gracefully-concealed yawn at the 
 very mention of logic or moral philosophy, whilst 
 a sum in arithmetic made her head ache all the 
 afternoon. 
 
 I briefly hint at the nature and disposition of 
 my dearest wife, because it may afford a cine 
 to much that is to follow. My hand traces the 
 lineaments feebly and uncertainly, but I can do 
 no more. A rush of many recollections carries 
 me away. 
 
 The winter drew to an end at length. The 
 snow vanished ; woods and shrubberies burst into 
 leaf and blossom at the breath of the warm west 
 wind. 
 
 In common with most of us I had ever hailed this 
 season with delight ; now, however, my mind was 
 strangely impervious to its exhilarating influence. 
 It was not wholly superstition. We seemed, by
 
 GLENAEVON COUKT. 127 
 
 the breaking up of this rough and churlish winter^ 
 to be once more brought in contact with the 
 world without. I slnrank from that world, partly 
 from the recollection of the recent painful pas-^ 
 sage in my life, partly from an almost morbid 
 devotion to my wife. 
 
 When severed from the world Rosamund 
 seemed wholly mme, from week's end to week's 
 end — day by day. Soon we should have to part — 
 for a brief space, no doubt — but still to part, from 
 time to time. We should be exposed to public 
 gaze; we "should be drawn into society; there 
 would be an end of our sweet, never-to-be-for- 
 gotten seclusion. 
 
 With Rosamund the case Avas wholly different. 
 As for the past, she held it of little accomit. She 
 knew nothing of my former engagement with Miss 
 Littlecot. She would have started with vexation, 
 and astonishment, had any one ventured so much 
 as to hint that I had loved at any time in my 
 life any woman beside herself. She did not then 
 dwell on the past ; she rejoiced like a child in 
 the glad change breaking forth in the outward 
 world. Her lithe and active frame sympathized 
 with the renewed freslmess and bloom of nature^
 
 128 HERBEET CHAUNCEY, 
 
 Her clieek was warmed to a deeper crimson, her 
 eyes sparkled witli a more joyous lustre, and her 
 musical voice, as she wandered singing through 
 the shrubberies, woke up the nightingales from 
 their morning slumber. 
 
 As the roads became more passable, and the 
 days lengthened, visits from neighbours — some 
 near, some more remote — became frequent. There 
 was curiosity to see the young and handsome 
 bride, and anxiety to know what sort of man 
 might be the successor of old Jeffry Ferris. 
 
 Glenarvon, for some years past, had been 
 deserted ; and, that part of the county not being 
 well off for neighbours, the gentry were anxious 
 to show us civility. 
 
 Before I left town in the autumn, it was dis- 
 agreeably evident that several of Sir Hugh Little- 
 cot's immediate friends looked at me askance, and 
 marked their disapproval of my conduct towards 
 Miss Littlecot, by studied coldness of manner. 
 Generally, however, our common acquaintances 
 treated the matter lightly, or ignored it altogether. 
 The world wisely concludes that there are two 
 sides to every question, and, except when political, 
 or religious, or fashionable jealousies stir up its
 
 GLEXAKVOX COURT. 129 
 
 sympathy, and inflame its animosity, regards even 
 grave scandals as a nine days' wonder, and nothing 
 more ; content to believe that black is not so very 
 black, nor wliite so very white. 
 
 Some of my friends seemed to think I had 
 done an exceedingly humorous thing, and in con- 
 gratulating me on my marriage, pressed my hand 
 with more than common fervour, and favoured 
 me with their archest and most expressive smiles. 
 This was in London. Down in !Meadshire, as 
 well as over the Welsh border, the particulars of 
 my engagement with Ada, and of my present 
 marriage, were very imperfectly understood, and 
 attracted Httle notice. Sir Hugh Littlecot's seat — 
 Severn Banks — though in the same county, was 
 beyond the range of ordinary visiting, and this 
 was matter of gratification to me. It enabled me 
 to guard the more effectually against meeting 
 either Sir Hugh or Miss Littlecot in times to 
 come. Of this there was no immediate pro- 
 spect. There were rumoui's that Sir Hugh was 
 going abroad, many said for Miss Littlecot's 
 health, others for his own ; whilst some alleged 
 that it had long, been his intention to renew his 
 acquaintance with the objects of interest and the 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 HEEBEET CHAUNCEY. 
 
 works of art of Italy, and that tliis was the w^hole 
 explanation of the matter. One thing was certain 
 — Sir Hugh was not expected at Severn Banks 
 during the present summer. We, therefore, as in 
 duty bound, but, so far as I was concerned, 
 with a certain degree of reluctance, accepted the 
 civilities offered, and began to mix in the society 
 of Meadshire. 
 
 There was plenty of occupation for us at home. 
 Rosamund threw herself into horticulture, and, with 
 the aid of a skilful gardener, effected a wonder- 
 ful transformation in the flower-garden. For my- 
 self, there were more serious labours. The estate 
 of Glenarvon had been for some years managed by 
 Mr. Malj)us, the venerable-looking worthy — half 
 farmer, half steward — who has been already intro- 
 duced to the reader. I could not say that Malpus 
 was decidedly dishonest; but he certainly took 
 rather more care of "number one" than of his 
 employer ; and, notwithstanding his grey hair 
 and serious expression of countenance, stooped to 
 acts of meanness, w^hich greatly annoyed me. 
 He took presents from my tenants, and winked at 
 petty infringements of the conditions on which I 
 let my farms. This I disccvered, soon after the
 
 GLENAKVON COURT. 131 
 
 break up of winter enabled me to traverse my 
 estate, and brought me in contact with my neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 Accordingly, I determined to part with him, and 
 fill his place with a competent and trustworthy 
 agent. There was an unpleasant scene with old 
 Malpus. He first cried like a child; then fell 
 into a rage, and cursed and swore ; finally, with- 
 drew with an air of injured innocence, after calmly 
 assuring me of his forgiveness. So far so good. 
 My next care was to introduce my new agent, 
 Mr. Maxwell, to the tenantry. He was received 
 by one and all with looks of suspicion and 
 dislike. Of coui'se this might have been ex- 
 pected, for his appointment signified the commence- 
 ment of a new and more strict regime. Yet by 
 liberal covenants, a large outlay of capital in im- 
 provements, strict attention to repairs, and only a 
 moderate and discriminating rise of the rents of 
 my farms, I hoped to reassure my tenants, and 
 render jMaxwell popular. 
 
 It did not answer. The tenants were old- 
 fashioned and obstinate — preferred the slovenly 
 indulgence of the ignorant old Malpus, to the 
 enlightened system introduced under the auspices 
 
 9—2
 
 132 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 of a first-rate land-agent. There was always 
 something amiss. Many of the tenants refused to 
 attend the rent dinner, and rode off home, with an 
 air of martyrdom, as soon as they had deposited 
 their greasy bank-notes in Maxwell's hands, and 
 taken their receipts. Others were perpetually 
 making complaints, which on investigation proved 
 "Utterly frivolous. Poor Maxwell was worried 
 and annoyed in a variety of ways, and an evi- 
 dent conspiracy formed to disgust him with his 
 situation, and drive him to throw it up. The 
 tenants of other proprietors, and the small yeo- 
 men of the district, made common cause against 
 him. Shunned at market and at agricultural 
 gatherings, refused ordinary civilities by his 
 neighbours, worried by the very lads of the village 
 who robbed his hen-roosts, smashed his cucumber 
 frames, and sent him ferocious letters, in a scrawl- 
 ing hand, with the alarming signature of "Swing," 
 Maxwell passed his time very uncomfortably, and 
 had it not been a matter of principle, I should 
 have begged him to give way, and obtain a situa- 
 tion elsewhere. 
 
 It did not occur to me that any secret agency 
 was at work in stimulating the rustic multitude
 
 GLENARVON COURT. 133 
 
 to combine against liim. I did not know the 
 character of the '•' natives," and the set made 
 against Maxwell, though absurdly vicious and 
 violent, was capable of explanation. He w^as 
 a man in advance of the common run of agents 
 and farmers in Meadsliire. He was introducino; 
 new customs — new ideas. He was likely to be 
 dangerous, and must be put down. 
 
 The spring, however, had scarcely passed away, 
 when deeper anxieties began to dawn upon me, and 
 test the fortitude both of Rosamund and myself. 
 
 I think it was in May that I received the follow- 
 ing letter from my old friend. Lord FoUiott. He 
 had recently returned from the Continent, and 
 was staying, as was his wont for a portion of the 
 year, with his grandfather, the Earl of Abermaur, 
 who was Lord Lieutenant of the county. 
 
 « DeaE HeRBEKT ChAU>'CET, " Castle Abermaur. 
 
 " How are you, and how is the fair Rosa- 
 mund? Flourishing I hope, notwithstanding the 
 bitter weather we have enjoyed all the winter. 
 I have induced the earl — '^ Abermaur ' I used to 
 call him, only it sounds irreverent under his 
 own roof — to wind up that matter of the Com-
 
 134 HERBEET CHAUNCEY. 
 
 mission of the Peace. Five minutes' conver- 
 sation accomplished what five lucidly-expressed 
 letters failed to do. To tell the truth, the 
 humiliating suspicion seized me that he had 
 never read them — but let that pass. The deed 
 is done, and you have the honour and glory of 
 being placed on the commission. Come to next 
 quarter sessions at Stoke-upon-Avon, and take 
 your oaths and pay your fees like a man. We 
 want you ; the times are busy ; there will be 
 much to talk about when you have finished your 
 little farce in the paying and swearing line with 
 the Clerk of the Peace. There are lots of men 
 who want to know you ; so mount your horse 
 and come. I kiss your fair lady's hand, and am, 
 
 ^' Yours ever, 
 
 " FOLLIOTT." 
 
 " By the by, I find it is quite true Sir Hugh 
 is off for Italy. Reasons various are given ; but 
 'tis no business of ours. I trust the old gentle- 
 man will improve, like a pipe of Madeira, by 
 change of air." 
 
 Accordingly, when the day of quarter sessions 
 arrived, I prepared to start for Stoke-upon-Avon.
 
 GLENARVON COUET. 135 
 
 It \Yas a rough and stormy morning. Vast 
 masses of cloud rushed continuously over the sky, 
 from south to north. The Welsh mountains were 
 no longer visible, and the outhnes of the nearer 
 hills loomed dimly through the thickening at- 
 mosphere. The gale shook the great elms and 
 chesnuts to and fro, and the lawn was covered 
 with vouncr leaves and blossoms torn from the 
 trees, eddying in almost ceaseless circles round 
 and round. The birds skimmed the oround in 
 search of shelter, and the lowing of frightened 
 cattle was heard in the pauses of the blast. It 
 was certainly an unpropitious day for a twenty 
 miles' ride, and I sent out word that I should go 
 in my carriage. No sooner, however, was it come 
 round, than Rosamund, who had hitherto taken 
 all my arrangements as a matter of course, sprang 
 from her seat, and, to my great pain and surprise, 
 flung her arms round my neck, and, with tears 
 in her eyes, begged me not to leave home. 
 
 I remonstrated with her, but could elicit little, 
 save scarcely articulate confessions of her weak- 
 ness and folly, and appeals to my good nature 
 not to be vexed. She could not account for her 
 dread of my leaving her. Perhaps it was because
 
 136 HERBEKT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 this was the first time I was going from home for 
 more than a day ; perhaps it was superstition ; 
 but she could not help it, it was a misgiving — 
 a presentiment of evil. She begged me to give up 
 my intention — the storm was ample excuse for 
 it. I was rather put out by this strange way- 
 wardness of my dearest Rosamund. It was, how- 
 ever, essential to make a stand at once, for her 
 sake as well as mine, and I laughingly, but abso- 
 lutely, refused to yield. I was expected, and must 
 go. She became even more urgent in her en- 
 treaties, and I felt annoyed and perplexed. At 
 that moment, however, a loud ring at the main 
 entrance was heard above the storm, and inter- 
 rupted our conversation. 
 
 The front door was presently opened, and a 
 visitor admitted. 
 
 It was Mr. Apwood, of Brookvale cottage, a 
 gentleman known to us by name, but with whom 
 we had not yet become personally acquainted. 
 Indeed his position, hovering between upper and 
 middle class, might make him hesitate to call upon 
 us uninvited. Originally a j)rovincial lawyer, he 
 had for two or three years joined a London firm, 
 but had lately come down to Meadshire. Here
 
 GLEXAEVOX COUET. 137 
 
 he indulged in scientific farming on a small scale,. 
 and took tlie lead in agricultural gatherings for 
 pleasure or business, Tvhenever none of the county 
 grandees were present. He was popular among 
 the farmers, and I myself was predisposed in his 
 favour by the courtesy he had shown to poor 
 Maxwell, giving him plenty of good advice and 
 encouragement, at the risk of offending the 
 tenantry round. 
 
 Apwood, however, did not come to pay a visit 
 of ceremony, but of business. He had a matter 
 on his mind, he said, which worried him ; and he 
 asked to speak to me in private. T\^e retired to 
 the hbrary. Apwood was a tall, fine-looking man, 
 with good features, marred by one defect — the 
 extreme closeness of his eyes. This gave a sinis- 
 ter expression to his face; but his manner was 
 offhand and frank ; his voice cheery and good- 
 tempered. He detained me longer than I liked, 
 though what he said had some interest for me. 
 
 The last life on the lease of a rather valuable 
 property, the fee of which was mine, had dropped 
 three months since, and neither myself nor Max- 
 well were aware of it. For aught that transpired 
 we might have remained in ignorance till dooms-
 
 138 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 day, had not Apwood volunteered to tell us. This 
 was not merely civil ; it was, as times go, pre- 
 eminently honest ; for he had a beneficial interest 
 in the property, and, on its reversion to me, 
 would be a poorer man by some 50^. or 601. per 
 annum. I expressed my sense of his integrity 
 and conscientiousness, but he made light of the 
 matter. He had no choice but to tell me the 
 news; there was no merit in it — not a particle. 
 He couldn't help being open and straightforward ; 
 'twas a habit he had. He was only sorry he had 
 not heard of the death before, but the party died 
 abroad. As for Maxwell, he assured me it 
 was no fault of his ; the tenants and yeomen 
 generally were banded against him — threw diffi- 
 culties in his Avay — treated him shamefully. I 
 shook him by the hand, and we parted in a 
 friendly manner.
 
 139 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 QUARTER SESSIONS. 
 
 The storm had abated by the time I reached 
 Stoke-upon-Avon, and in the streets few traces 
 were left, except the rivulets of muddy rain- 
 water pouring along the gutters, and the weU- 
 washed appearance of the pavements. At the 
 town-hall, where the sessions were held, w^as a 
 tolerable gathering of county gentlemen. 
 
 Colonel Trmnp was in the chair: he w^as a 
 magistrate eminently well qualified for the post ; 
 that is to say, he possessed good sense, good tem- 
 per, a strong voice, and a strong will. These 
 are the cardinal virtues of a good chairman of 
 quarter sessions. Colonel Trump was as much 
 liked as he was respected, and, if he made a mis- 
 take, which was very rarely, there were plenty of
 
 140 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 men to take his part. Magistrates of some stand- 
 ing shook their heads sagaciously, when any pro- 
 fane critic questioned Colonel Trump's decision on 
 some point of law, and replied that ^' Trump knew 
 what he was about." 
 
 Now and then some trifling difficulty might 
 arise ; but it was like an awkward fence, or an 
 ugly brook, out Imnthig. The colonel stuck his 
 spui's in, plied his whip and his reins, crammed 
 us right at it, and in the twinkling of an eye, we 
 were safely landed, nobody exactly knew how, on 
 the other side. 
 
 On the occasion referred to, when I entered the 
 court, the magistrates were discussing county 
 business. A new assize court had been recently 
 built at the expense of the county, and was nearly 
 ready for use ; but a few little shortcomings and 
 annoyances had come to light, and the question 
 was how to remedy or remove them. In the first 
 place, as to the internal arrangements of the court : 
 the witness-box, the jury-box, and the judge's seat 
 were so arranged, that it was next to impossible 
 for the judge to hear the witnesses, or for the jury 
 to hear the judge. Then, hardly was the building 
 finished, when an awkward discovery was made
 
 QUAETER SESSIONS. 141 
 
 by the high sheriffs chaplain, in the shape of an 
 open common sewer, running along one side of 
 the grounds surrounding the court. The chaplain 
 enjoyed the privilege of a nose more susceptible 
 than that possessed by most country gentlemen, 
 and declared that the effluvium from this com- 
 mon sewer was not only offensive to the sense, 
 but pernicious to the health. The medical 
 officer of the gaol evinced a weak inclination to 
 back up the allegations of the troublesome 
 chaplain. 
 
 Many other matters were pitched into the 
 midst of the court, like the contents of a ped- 
 ler's pack, for promiscuous examination and dis- 
 cussion. 
 
 When I entered, Lord Delaville, an elderly 
 nobleman, much respected, was on his legs ; he had 
 had something to do w^ith the selection of the site for 
 the new buildings ; and, wishing to divert attention 
 from the common-sewer question, began a warm 
 attack on the interior arrangements. Judge, jury, 
 witnesses, reporters, magistrates, everybody, were 
 all in the wrong place, and he was under the painful 
 necessity of expressing his opinion that the archi- 
 tect, Fopkins, had made a mess of it — in short.
 
 142 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 Fopkins was a failure. He regretted that Mac- 
 karel had not been selected as architect. He re- 
 membered that when he had " the honour of an 
 interview with his late majesty, George lY., the 
 first gentleman in Europe " Here the chair- 
 man. Colonel Trump, with a face beaming with 
 good- humour, but in an emphatic tone of voice, 
 interrupted his lordship with a suggestion that 
 the morning was wearing away, and that it might 
 be advisable to confine himself to the subject 
 under discussion. Applause followed this recom- 
 mendation, and before Lord Delaville could collect 
 the thread of his ideas, Mr. Martin Martin rose, 
 with some emotion, and protested against Mr» 
 Fopkins' character being aspersed behind his back. 
 Mr. Fopkins was a man of talent ; he, Mr. Martin 
 Martin, had introduced Fopkins to the notice of 
 the magistrates, and felt that his own charac- 
 ter was in jeopardy when Fopkins' suffered. As 
 for Mackarel, he took the liberty of saying, in 
 confidence, that he considered him a " muflP." 
 Lord Delaville rose indignantly, but Colonel 
 Trump would not see him, and called on Major 
 Blandy. 
 
 Major Blandy, having the reputation of being
 
 QUARTER SESSIONS. 143 
 
 a wag, was always expected to get up when there 
 was any approach to a quarrel, and pour oil on 
 the waters by eliciting a laugh. Major Blandy 
 observed it was quite true that the judge couldn't 
 hear the witnesses — nor the jury the judge. But he 
 dichi't see that it much mattered. Judges' charges 
 often misled the jury, and as for the judge hearing 
 the witnesses, why, give him an ear-trumpet. It 
 would have rather an imposing effect. But the 
 jury could not hear the judge. Well, let the judge 
 talk on his fingers. It was an art soon learned ; 
 and the Court would be all the quieter, if counsel 
 talked on their fingers too. 
 
 Mr. Worritt, a sharp old gentleman, said the 
 internal arrangements were a mere bagatelle. "But 
 what about the common sewer ? Was it not the 
 noble lord who had urged the adoption of the pre- 
 sent site, and rhapsodized about its picturesque 
 appearance, and the beauty of the tranquil little 
 stream that washed the western boundary ? Why, 
 the tranquil little stream was the common sewer \ 
 Has the noble lord no nose ? " 
 
 The noble lord rose to explain, but Colonel 
 Trump again would not see him, and called 
 Marsham Mallows. AV hereupon his lordship
 
 144 HEKBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 bustled out of court, witli an air of high disdain, 
 and drove home to Delaville Park. 
 
 Marsham Mallows was the working man amongst 
 the magistracy. He gave himself up, mind and 
 body, to county business. The gaol, the lunatic 
 asylum, thirteen bridges, and a variety of other 
 matters, enjoyed the advantage of his dis- 
 interested but anxious oversight. The finger of 
 Marsham Mallows was everywhere visible. He 
 had introduced an improvement in the machinery 
 by which the gaol treadmill was worked. Formerly, 
 the treadmill revolved without profit, save in its 
 moral action on the minds of the convicts. Now 
 its motive power was utilized. Each revolution 
 of the treadmill turned a wheel connected by wires 
 with a whirligig in the governor's kitchen-garden, 
 to scare the birds. 
 
 Marsham Mallows now rose to vindicate the 
 conduct of the building committee. He spoke 
 clearly, and emphatically : — 
 
 " The common sewer must be indicted. It is a 
 nuisance at common law. The judge's seat, wit- 
 ness-box, and jury-box must remain as they are. 
 The arrangement is perfect. All the judges have 
 been consulted, and all, except those who have
 
 QUAETER SESSIONS. 145 
 
 actually sat in the court, highly approve of the 
 principle. The judges must know best, because 
 they are judges; honourable gentlemen are not 
 jndcres." 
 
 The speech was long, and the court had thinned 
 considerably when ]\Iarsh Mallows sat down amidst 
 warm plaudits from the members of the building 
 committee. General Jones, however, who was 
 the practical man at quarter sessions, rallied the 
 scattered forces of the opposition. He never de- 
 livered himself of more than one sentence, but 
 it was always to the purpose. General Jones 
 begged to remind honourable gentlemen that " the 
 proof of the pudding was in the eating." 
 
 Having said which. General Jones sat down 
 amidst cheers. 
 
 Eustace Pole now sprang abruptly on his legs, 
 and uttered a few impassioned sentences in a rather 
 incoherent voice, and a face growing more crimson 
 every moment. He had prepared his speech, and 
 intended to be eloquent. Colonel Trump saw his 
 opportunity, and in a loud, good-humoured voice, 
 cried out — 
 
 " Mr. Eustace Pole — beg your pardon ; but are 
 you going to move an amendment to the Building 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 Committee's Report ? Because if not, I think we 
 are a little out of order." 
 
 Eustace Pole liad no amendment ready — never 
 had thought of proposing one. He lost his cue, 
 got confused, and as was his habit when this 
 contingency arrived, began to stutter. 
 
 So, after ejaculating one or two ambiguous 
 monosyllables, he paused, gasped for breath, stared 
 at the ventilator in the ceiling, and sat down with 
 sudden emphasis upon his new hat. 
 
 The chairman followed up the advantage. Re- 
 minded the Court that it was all very well to find 
 fault with the site of the new courts ; but the fact 
 was, there was no other site to be had. Suggested 
 that the clerk should write officially to the local 
 authorities respecting the common sewers. Put 
 to the vote with rapid energy, the resolution that 
 the Committee's Report be adopted, and— nobody 
 having quite made up his mind what to do — ex- 
 claimed in peremptory accents, " carried unani- 
 mously ! " blew his nose vigorously, sank back in 
 his chair, and made a sign to the clerk to pass on 
 to the next notice on the agenda paper, viz., 
 "Turnpike accounts. Parson's Acre Lane, and 
 Snobbington Trusts."
 
 QUAETER SESSIONS. 147 
 
 It was at this interesting crisis of the day's pro- 
 ceedings, that I felt a friendly gi'ipe upon my 
 arm, and, turning round, beheld Lord Folliott. 
 After a few words of greeting on both sides, he 
 carried me out of court, and hurried me with 
 impatient vehemence along the High Street to the 
 " Royal Oak," where there was luncheon for the 
 magistrates. 
 
 '' Don't suppose I asked you to come here to 
 listen to all that prosy palaver. Xo, certainly 
 not. The fact is, that Hazlebury, our present 
 M.P., is going to retire, and I have been discuss- 
 ing the prospects of an election for the county 
 with all our ^ bigwigs,' and find them very well 
 disposed to you. Quite warm, I assure you. 
 Claude Cockayne will stand by you. So wiU 
 Paul Muckleworth. You know Paul ? Oh, a 
 right good fellow and awfully fierce against Eadi- 
 cals." 
 
 I was rather taken aback by this communica- 
 tion, and said I was too little kno^vn, not expe- 
 rienced enough, not enough of a party man. 
 
 " Nonsense ; you are the right man. We want 
 something fresh and out of the common. Besides, 
 the point of the joke is, there is no one to oppose 
 
 10—2
 
 148 HERBERT CHAUIs'CEY. 
 
 you. To be sure. Hartley — he of Mount Maurice — 
 threatens to come forward ; but we are too strong 
 for him, and I tliink he is beginning to find it out, 
 for he looked prodigious sulky when he came into 
 court this morning." 
 
 The idea of entering Parliament, and even of 
 representing the county, had certainly crossed my 
 mind from time to time. But then it was a vision 
 of the future. It did not occur to me that until 
 I had been settled some time at Glenarvon, made 
 friends, and become known in the country, there 
 would be any probability of my coming forward 
 with success. Folliott's zeal somewhat stimulated 
 me, and I began to ask questions, partly to obtain 
 information, partly to gain time for reflection ; 
 and amongst other matters, I inquired about 
 Hartley. Why would not he do for our member ? 
 
 Folliott shrugged his shoulders, and said he was 
 a hybrid in politics; tainted with radicalism; 
 could not be trusted. 
 
 Was there any one else ? 
 
 " No," he repeated ; " there really is no eli- 
 gible candidate." One man was too poor. Another 
 too close-fisted. Another stuttered. Another 
 spoke clearly enough, but then he had nothing to
 
 QUARTER SESSIONS. 149 
 
 say. Marsham Mallows was too busy witli county 
 matters. 
 
 " Mind," FoUiott added, " I am only speaking 
 of Tories — good sound Tories. There are one or 
 two Whigs ready enough, I dare say ; but then 
 the county has not sunk so low as to swallow a 
 Whig, Oh, no, not yet." 
 
 By this time we had reached the entrance of 
 the *^ Royal Oak." The portico was crowded by 
 idlers and visitors to the town, including wit- 
 nesses in cases coming on next day, a barrister 
 or two, and some magistrates. The street itself 
 presented a more bustling scene than usual. A 
 line of carriao;es for which there was no room in 
 the inn coachhouse, flanked one side of the street, 
 and impeded the traffic. Folliott was parted from 
 me for a few moments, as we were pushing our 
 way into the portico. At the same instant there 
 came out from the inn the very man we were 
 talking about — Hartley of Mount Maurice. He 
 averted his face as he passed me. Now, as the 
 reader will remember, I had met Hartley in old 
 times at Sir Huo-h Littlecot's. We had never 
 got on very well together, but still had parted on 
 perfectly friendly terms. So, concluding he had
 
 150 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 not recognized me In the crusli, I called Mm by 
 name, loud enough to be heard, and held out 
 my hand. He tm^ned, looked me full in the face 
 with a glance which I could only characterize as 
 one of angry contempt, and hurried away. I was 
 puzzled, surprised, annoyed. A young man, an 
 attorney's clerk, standing by me, said to a friend 
 in a loud whisper, " By Jove ! that was cool, 
 wasn't it? Something like the cut direct. Eh, 
 Jack ? " 
 
 Folliott now rejoined me; he made light of 
 the matter. Either Hartley did not remember 
 me, or was indignant at my being preferred to 
 him as a candidate for the countv. " Wait till 
 to-morrow, and then speak to him ; he will be 
 cool then. With all his faults, he is a gentleman. 
 His radicalism is not more than skin-deep: pas- 
 sionate, very, but it is soon over. He will be 
 cool to-morrow. Give him line, Chauncey — give 
 him line." 
 
 Thus Folliott went on, as we tln-eaded our way 
 through the passage and up the staircase of the 
 inn. In a small sitting-room used by the magis- 
 trates there were assembled in imposing conclave 
 several of the leading gentry, or, as Folliott called
 
 QUARTER SESSIONS. 151 
 
 them, the " bigwigs," of Meadshire. Sir Claude 
 CockajTie, as a man of fashion, and au courant 
 with the poKtical news of the day, stood promi- 
 nent amongst them, with his hack to the empty 
 fireplace, in an attitude of bland authority, his 
 hands negligently placed behind his coat-tails, 
 his body bent somewhat forward, and his well- 
 whiskered face surmounted by a glossy head of 
 hair, recently arrived from town — one of Truefit's 
 best efforts — gently turning now to one speaker, 
 now to another, as the conversation circulated 
 round him. He was got up with care — unexcep- 
 tionable neck-tie, irreproachable frock-coat, linen 
 of the finest, a waistcoat of fawn colour, softly 
 illuminated by sky-blue flowers, and trousers not 
 too loose to hide the baronet's well-shaped legs. 
 Martin Martin stood by his side, sipping a glass 
 of sherry, and backing up assiduously everything 
 Sir Claude sufro-ested. 
 
 Worritt was there too, picking holes in every 
 proposal by whomsoever started. Major Blandy 
 was still in court : Trump always made him stay 
 to the last, as his services in the comic line might 
 be wanted. A few other gentlemen stood or sat 
 in different parts of the room. General Jones
 
 152 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 was refreshing himself at a side-table with pale 
 ale and bread and butter. Eustace Pole preferred 
 brandy and water. The excitement of making a 
 speech, he said, upset his system for the rest of 
 the day. 
 
 Paul Muckleworth was, however, the real mo- 
 tive power of the party, and did the hard work. 
 Sir Claude was ornamental rather than useful. 
 Paul Muckleworth was a broad-faced, broad- 
 chested squire, with a purple complexion, and a 
 voice like a bassoon. 
 
 It was a little awkward for me, as I was person- 
 ally known to but few of them, and, after various 
 introductions, had to undergo a sort of cate- 
 chetical examination as to my political creed. At 
 first Sir Claude took the lead, waving his hand 
 gracefully, and explaining that it was a matter 
 of the merest form. General Jones, who was 
 not only practical but good-natured, proposed I 
 should take a tumbler of bitter beer to clear my 
 throat, a proposition warmly seconded by Folliott, 
 who rather disconcerted Cockayne by handing 
 the bottle to him, exclaiming, — 
 
 " Come, Cockayne, it w^ill do you good, too ! 
 Politics are prosy, even at the best of times."
 
 QUAETEK SESSIONS. 153. 
 
 Sir Claude gently rejected the offer, and was- 
 proceeding in somewhat mincing language to 
 sound my views on the state and prospects of 
 the British constitution, when Muckleworth, rear- 
 ing himself upright in his chair, interrupted him, 
 exclaiming in a rich, bass voice, — 
 
 "The long and the short of it is, Chauncey, 
 — are you true blue ? " 
 
 '• To the back-bone I " responded Folliott, for 
 me. 
 
 *•' Allow Mr. Chauncey to answer for himself, 
 my lord," interposed Sir Claude, " if you please." 
 
 "Folliott, be quiet I" said Muckleworth, re- 
 provingly. 
 
 I felt now more at my ease, and in a few words 
 satisfied the company as to the orthodoxy of my 
 views. Then followed a lono; and desultory con- 
 versation on the line of tactics we were to adopt 
 to secure support. I heard Sir Hugh Littlecot's 
 name mentioned, and listened with interest. 
 
 '- How will he go ? " asked Worritt. 
 
 "'Right, sir, right!" rejoined Muckleworth.. 
 " I have a letter of his in my pocket now^ He 
 will not pledge himself to Chauncey, because he^ 
 has heard a rumour that Hartley may come for-
 
 154 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 ward ; and Hartley, you know, is, or was, a friend 
 of the family. But lie says Chamicey is a very 
 proper man to represent the county." 
 
 " He is off for Italy, so he cannot help us 
 except by putting the screw on his tenants," said 
 Worritt. 
 
 " Well, sir, and that's what we want. England 
 expects every landlord to do his duty. 'Tis an 
 awful crisis! Yes, sir, an awful crisis!" and 
 Muckleworth shook me by the hand, with an 
 energy that brought tears to my eyes. 
 
 I was pleased to hear that Sir Hugh had so 
 far conquered his wounded feelings as to write 
 •of me in calm and even complimentary terms. 
 My course appeared tolerably clear. An oppor- 
 tunity offered itself which it would be unwise to 
 neglect. True, I should have preferred to remain 
 quietly in the country many months longer, in the 
 enjoyment of Rosamund's sweet society, and the 
 freedom and ease of a country life. But then 
 this could not last for ever : I had looked forward 
 to entering on a parliamentary life some time or 
 other. The avenue was opened to me unex- 
 pectedly, it were folly to turn my back upon it. 
 " There is a tide in the affairs of men," &c. Such
 
 QUARTER SESSIONS. 155 
 
 reflections passed tlirougli my mind in an under- 
 current during all this interview, and by the time 
 we parted my resolution was fully taken. It was 
 decided that I should issue my address to the 
 electors of Meadshire the moment Hazlebury had 
 decided on retiring. 
 
 At dinner that evening Hartley was not \dsible, 
 and I felt rather relieved by his absence. It was 
 clear there was some mistake or misunderstanding, 
 and I was convinced that five minutes' private 
 conversation would set all straight. 
 
 The magistrates' dinner at the Royal Oak was 
 rather noisy, but pleasant and sociable withal. 
 Men met there who lived too far apart to meet 
 often anywhere else. There was a good-humoiu'ed 
 conflict of opinions, an interchange of gossip and 
 county news, rival anecdotes of hunting and shoot- 
 ing during the past season ; a good story or two 
 bottled up for months past by Blandy, or others 
 of a conversational turn, for the express gratifi- 
 cation of the company, and now poured forth 
 generally amidst hilarious applause. Country 
 gentlemen love a joke, and are not too critical as 
 to its intrinsic merits. Then a sprinkling of young 
 barristers, the chaplain of the gaol, and a cavalry
 
 156 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 officer or two from Highbury barracks, imparted 
 an heterogeneous flavour, and made every one feel 
 more at home. 
 
 People drank more wine then than they do now- 
 a-days ; but Colonel Trump's superintendence was 
 not wanting at the dinner table any more than in 
 the court of quarter sessions. He maintained 
 discipline amidst the drawing of champagne corks, 
 and the drinking of healths. This he chiefly ef- 
 fected by making every man feel, that wherever 
 he sat or w^hatever he said, Trump's eye was upon 
 him. If any youthful magistrate or smooth-faced 
 barrister was apparently getting a little elated and 
 noisy, Colonel Trump in a sonorous voice, but the 
 most gentlemanly suavity of manner, invited him 
 by name to take a glass of wine. The effect was 
 electrical. All eyes were turned upon the indivi- 
 dual named, and amidst a general hush of con- 
 versation the ceremony was gravely but cour- 
 teously performed. This little manoeuvre was 
 generally successful. But when, as happened 
 sometimes, though rarely, the whole company were 
 tending to a degree of excitement that Colonel 
 Trump deemed indecorous, his custom was in a 
 voice of ringing energy to call upon the vice-
 
 QUAKTER SESSIONS. 157 
 
 cliairman to perform a similar ceremony. The 
 solemn words, " Mr. Yice, a glass of wine ? " re- 
 verberated down the whole length of the table, and 
 tranquillitj was as a general rule instantly re- 
 stored. After dinner only one toast was allowed, 
 and one speech. The toast was " the Kino- ! " 
 the speech was " God bless him ! " Soon after- 
 wards, it was Colonel Trump's practice to re- 
 tire, for he was wont to say that unless he got his 
 quiet rubber of whist and his dish of tea, he never 
 felt his head clear on the bench next morning. 
 
 The great joke of the dinner was Major Blandy's. 
 It turned on a haunch of venison sent by Lord 
 Abermaur, expressly for the magistrates' con- 
 sumption. It was awfully high, and no one but 
 Trump, who eat it out of respect to the lord 
 lieutenant, Marsham Mallows, who, having a cold 
 in the] head, had lost his sense of smell, and a 
 couple of barristers, were able to touch it. The 
 venison had been buried a fortnight to keep it 
 fresh; and Blandy declared that the remains of 
 a valuable coachhorse of his lordship's, lately de- 
 ceased, had been accidentally dug up instead, and 
 distributed in joints all over the county. The 
 worst of it was, that Folliott, in order to vex
 
 158 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 Marsham Mallows, affected to believe it was quite 
 true. 
 
 ''By the by. Mallows," inquired Mr. Worritt, 
 "have they been making any more experiments 
 with the gaol prisoners lately ? I heard the visiting 
 committee and the governor were going to borrow 
 a cholera patient from the hospital, to test the 
 truth of the contagion theory." 
 
 The chaplain of the gaol, a worthy man, lately 
 appointed, sank back horrified in his chair. 
 
 " Mr. Chaplain, a glass of wine," cried Folliott. 
 '' You will think nothing of these things a year 
 hence." 
 
 "Allow me to join you," exclaimed Mallows, 
 " and permit me to set "Worritt right. The idea 
 was not to borrow a cholera patient, but merely 
 his bed and bedding ; — quite a different tiling, 
 my lord, you will allow " 
 
 " For the patient, yes." 
 
 '^ Permit me : the intention was to ascertain 
 whether cholera was contagious. Very well; how 
 was it be done ? why thus." And Mallows told 
 off his words on each of his fingers in a clear 
 and deliberate manner : — " Procure your cholera 
 bed "
 
 QUARTER SESSIONS. 169 
 
 " First catcli your hare/' interposed one of the 
 barristers. 
 
 " Procure your bed, from a hospital or any- 
 where else you like ; place it on the bedstead of 
 your condemned criminal, but tell him nothing 
 about it — let him go to bed in peace — watch the 
 result. This is experiment number one." 
 
 " Mr. Chaplain, allow me the pleasure of taking 
 champagne with you," exclaimed Major Blandy 
 to the poor chaplain, w^ho had again fallen back 
 in his chair. " Mallows is talking ' shop.' " 
 
 " Experiment number two is this," resumed 
 Mallows. ^' Take a condemned criminal, solemnly 
 inform him that he is about to occupy the bed 
 of a patient who died of cholera — place him in 
 his own bed as usual — watch the result." 
 
 " Barbarous ! " murmured the chaplain, to a 
 cavalry officer by his side. 
 
 " Humbug ! " interjected the other. 
 
 *' The experiments have been tried in St. Peters- 
 burg with the happiest results," continued Mallows. 
 " In experiment number one, where the man slept 
 in the bed of the cholera patient but did not 
 know it, he woke up lively and well next morning. 
 In experiment number two, the man died of
 
 160 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 cholera in six hours ! Mr. Chaplain, allow me the 
 pleasure of taking wine with you." 
 
 Presently the cloth was removed. Colonel 
 Trump summoned Mr. Chaplain to say grace ; 
 fifty or sixty heads bent forwards; the colonel 
 stood erect; then the port and sherry peram- 
 bulated the table. The King's health was drunk, 
 and shortly afterwards the company broke up. 
 Some adjourned to tea, tobacco, and whist ; but 
 the majority rode or drove off to their homes in 
 the vicinity, and among them my friend FoUiott.
 
 161 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A GROSS INSULT. 
 
 The next morning my groom rode over from 
 Glenarvon with letters and newspapers ; there 
 was a long one from Rosamund. 
 
 Tuesday morning, 
 " DeAEEST HeRBEET, 8 o'clock. 
 
 " I send letters, newspapers, and a new 
 Quarterly for you to read driving home. The 
 storm passed off after you left, so I hope you did not 
 take cold. It has been very dreary here, of course. 
 No one called all day after you and Mr. Apwood 
 went away. By the by, I have discovered a 
 great likeness between him and the lady in pea- 
 green velvet hanging in the corner of the north 
 gallery ; I will tell you presently how I noticed 
 it. Well, no one called all day. I took a walk to 
 see what mischief the storm had done ; the fiowers 
 are sadly ill-used, and the south terrace walk is 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 crimson with rose-leaves ; an elm has been blown 
 down in the park, to the consternation of the 
 rooks who have been talking about it ever since. 
 It was solitary and triste, but still worse in- 
 doors. However, I went in at last, and took tea 
 in the hall; then amused myself by wandering 
 about and imagining myself a heroine of romance 
 shut up in a gloomy chateau ; the furniture looked 
 grimmer and quainter than ever, and the strange 
 noises in the passages were all the louder now 
 I was alone. Only think ; I peeped into the 
 room where the German courier hung himself ! 
 Was not that bold? Well, I felt a little excited at 
 length, and running back to the hall, sat down to 
 read the Fortunes of Nigel to distract my thoughts. 
 All was still, scarcely a mouse stirring — rather 
 unusual for Glenarvon, was it not? — when a 
 tremendous crash burst on my ears, as if the 
 whole gallery was coming down. You may ima- 
 gine what a start I gave, and, I am ashamed ta 
 add, what a scream ! What was it ? Why, the 
 picture of the mysterious pea-green lady in the 
 north gallery. The nail on which it hung had 
 given way. ' Shocking, shocking ! ' cried David, 
 in his Welsh fashion, as soon as I had mustered
 
 A GROSS INSULT. 1G3 
 
 self-possession to ring the bell. ' How like/ I 
 exclaimed, * to that Mr. Apwood who called here 
 to-daj ! ' But David looked pretematurally grave, 
 and as soon as the picture had been raised up 
 and fixed in its old corner, away he went in his 
 creaking shoes, muttering to himself all the while. 
 This was mj first trouble that evening — there 
 was another coming. Now do not smile, for the 
 second calamity vexed me so that I could scarce 
 sleep all night. My maid Louise is going. That 
 tiresome Lady Annandale wants her to go to Nice 
 with her, and Louise says she is under obligations 
 and must go. I suspect she is bribed by offers 
 of higher wages, though I am loath to think 
 so, for she was always a good girl. I was angry, 
 and set her off crying, for which I am sorry ; 
 but I cried myself too, which was a sort of amende 
 honorable. Now, you must be very good, and 
 find me another lady's-maid — a real treasure, 
 though how to get one in this barbarous part of 
 the world, is rather a puzzle ! However, do your 
 best for me ; I am sure I deserve it ; do not I, 
 dear Herbert? Instead of scolding you for run- 
 ning away without wishing me good-bye, here 
 have I written you rather an amusing letter than 
 
 11—2
 
 164 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 otherwise. I rose at seven to write it. But do 
 not treat me so cavalierly again. I was angry 
 at first, and mounting my horse set off in pursuit. 
 The rain, however, damped my displeasure, and 
 prudence resumed her sway, so I rode home again 
 before I had gone a mile. However, mind that you 
 come home this evening ; that is, if you love me, 
 which perhaps you do infiniment pen. 
 
 " Ever yours, 
 
 " Rosamund." 
 
 I had intended to stop at Stoke-upon-Avon an- 
 other day, but this letter decided me to return. 
 It was true that, in leaving Rosamund so abruptly, 
 I had acted apparently with harshness — but only 
 apparently. It was essential to convince her that 
 at no time would I permit weak impulses of 
 affection to turn me aside from the path of duty. 
 Still her loving nature must have been tried and 
 wounded, and it was now desirable, as I had 
 carried my point by firmness, to show her all the 
 kindness and indulgence in my power. 
 
 I ordered my carriage, and was preparing to 
 start, when the recollection of Hartley's strange 
 conduct unpleasantly crossed my mind, and made
 
 A GROSS 12^SULT. 165 
 
 me pause. It was necessary I sliould see liim 
 without further delay. I have always had great 
 faith, when misunderstandings of this kind occur, 
 in the effect of a frank, open, and friendly remon- 
 strance, not bv letter — for a letter often acrcrravates 
 the evil — but in a personal interview. The tone 
 of the voice, the glance of the eye, the whole 
 aspect anfl. bearing of a man whose intentions are 
 thorouiihly honest and well-meanincr, crive more 
 w^eight to half a dozen words, than the highest 
 eloquence and ingenuity can impart to a letter of 
 as many pages. 
 
 Besides, in this case, there was a possibility that 
 Hartley, in the crowd and confusion, did not re- 
 cognize me. I must see him, and that before I 
 returned home. 
 
 On inquiring, however, at his lodgings, it ap- 
 peared that he had started for Mount Maurice 
 the evening before, and thither I must follow him^ 
 My groom was despatched homewards with a 
 message that I should be at Glenarvon in the 
 course of the afternoon, and I directed my coach- 
 man to drive me to Mount Mam-ice, about ten 
 miles distant from Stoke-upon-Avon, and the 
 same from Glenarvon. The weather was very
 
 166 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 calm and balmy after the storm, and the air was 
 full of the sweet perfume of an English spring. 
 The roads, though hilly, were in excellent order, 
 and the drive to Mount Maurice very enjoy- 
 able. From the lodo-e-c^ate to the house the 
 approach through the park was long, winding, 
 and rather steep. The horses fell into a walk, 
 and leaning back in my carriage I dreamily en- 
 joyed the beautiful landscape spread out before 
 me, that at every turn of the road assumed a 
 fresh and more beautiful aspect. As we reached 
 a higher level, the view expanded, and the distant 
 mountains of Wales lifted their purple ridges 
 over the nearer hills. 
 
 The valley below from which we had just 
 emerged looked like a broad, magnificent forest. 
 The elms thickly crowding the hedgerows, the 
 hazel copses, interspersed with wide-spreading 
 • oak, that clothed the slopes of the hills, were 
 blended confiisedlv tos^ether in one broad sea of 
 many-shadowed verdure, broken now and then 
 by the thatched roofs of cottages and farm-build- 
 ings, the shining slate of some more pretentious 
 edifice, and the gray old tower of the village 
 church. The park itself, through which we were
 
 A GROSS IXSULT. 167 
 
 ascending, was well and tastefully planted. Each 
 bend of the road was enveloped in clumps of 
 Portugal laurel and other evergreens, feathering 
 to the ground, and reheved by lilacs, laburnum, 
 and broom. 
 
 Here and there a huge mass of double-blos- 
 somed gorse scented the air, or stately specimens 
 of pine and cedar rose up from the greensward, 
 and intercepted the rich landscape beyond. 
 
 A slight breeze tempered the warmth of the 
 noonday sun, and as we slowly neared the house, 
 and beheld the windows reaching to the ground, 
 shaded by a long verandah covered with passion- 
 flower and clematis, and roses in full flower, 
 I could not but feel that Hartley, whatever 
 might be his disposition, possessed in this beau- 
 tiful place a perpetual resource from the vexing 
 cares of life, and tranquil consolation for the 
 pressure of remembered sorrows. 
 
 A groom was riding slowly up and down the 
 gravel sweep in front of the house, leading Hart- 
 ley's horse. I was pleased to find I had arrived 
 just in time to see Hartley and have out my say. 
 One of the men-servants was standing at the 
 entrance door as my carriage stopped, and at that
 
 168 HERBERT CIIAUNCEY. 
 
 moment Hartley himself appeared in the hall, 
 dressed as if for riding. He drew back the in- 
 stant he cauoht sio-ht of me, hut the servant fol- 
 lowed him, mentioning my name, and I prepared 
 to alio;ht. 
 
 To my annoyance, however, the servant speedily 
 returned, and with some embarrassment of manner 
 said that " Master " sent his compliments, and was 
 too much enojarred to see me. This sounded like 
 a polite attempt to soften a rude message. I kept 
 my temper, and desired the man to inquire when 
 it would be convenient for Mr. Hartley to havo 
 a few minutes' conversation with me. 
 
 Several minutes elapsed before the man re- 
 turned. He was red and confused. 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir, but master says there is no 
 answer." 
 
 My anger now almost got the better of me. The 
 man murmured a well-meant suggestion that I 
 had better write a letter to " Master." No doubt, 
 I had better have taken his advice; but at the 
 moment I perceived Hartley at the open draw- 
 ing-room window, waiting to see me depart. He 
 was not ten yards from me, though probably he 
 thought the verandah and flowering creepers hid
 
 A GROSS INSULT. 16{> 
 
 him from my sight. I became more and more 
 provoked, and, springing from my carriage, re- 
 solved to come to an explanation, and set the 
 matter to rights at once. The instant I ap- 
 proached the window he drew back to the farther 
 end of the room, sat down, and took up a book. 
 
 " ]\lr. Hartley," I said, in a firm, but cautious 
 tone of voice, '* I am sure there is some misun- 
 derstanding between us, which a few moments' 
 conversation will clear up. You are too much 
 of a gentleman to wish to insult any man, more 
 especially one who has never done or said any- 
 thing that you could justly find fault with. Deal 
 with me, at all events, in a fair and candid spirit, 
 and tell me what has induced you to treat me- 
 thus." 
 
 As I stepped forward a pace or two into the 
 room. Hartley rose hastily, and I had a full ^^iew 
 of his countenance as he turned towards the light.. 
 I now noticed, what in the hurry of yesterday 
 had escaped mc, that he was greatly altered since 
 I used to meet him in old times at the LittlecotsV 
 He had always been rather thin and spare in 
 form, but his complexion used to be clear and florid, 
 and his eye bright and lively. Now his face wa&
 
 170 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 almost sallow, and liis features drawn. There 
 was an excitement in his manner that surprised 
 me. 
 
 *' Is it possible ? " he exclaimed, as if speaking 
 to himself. " What, actually under my roof ! — 
 This is not to be borne ! " 
 
 I was again about to speak, when, with height- 
 ened colour and kindling eyes he waved his hand, 
 saying hurriedly, and in a low voice, — 
 
 " Sir, I call Heaven to witness that I have 
 shunned a meeting for both our sakes. Why 
 force yourself upon me ? Why goad me on to do 
 what I may regret hereafter? — pray, sir, leave 
 me. Let us part and never meet again — for both 
 our sakes, sir — for both our sakes." 
 
 He still drew back- towards the farther end of 
 the room, and motioned me away. 
 
 " Explain yourself, Mr. Hartley. In what have 
 I given offence? If you refer to the coming 
 election, I can speedily set your mind at rest." 
 
 " Set my mind at rest ! You set my mind at 
 rest ! — You ! — I can no longer endure this in- 
 solence ! " He uttered these words in the same 
 hurried tone ; then suddenly raising his voice to 
 a loud and angry key, advanced towards me.
 
 A GROSS INSULT. 171 
 
 and exclaimed with an oath — "Leave the house 
 instantly, sir, and enter it again at your peril ! " 
 
 I was astonished at his conduct. It was not 
 merely violent and insulting, it was savage. 
 
 I drew myself up to my full height, and 
 warned him that I should call him to strict 
 account for his conduct ; when, apparently carried 
 away by the violence of his passion, he struck 
 suddenly and fiercely at my face with the heavy 
 horsewhip he had in his hand. Taken by sur- 
 prise as I was, I contrived, by hastily raising 
 my arm, to ward off the full force of the blow ; 
 but the point of the whip caught the side of my 
 neck, and instantly drew blood. Stung by the 
 sharp pain and the grossness of the insult, I 
 rushed at my assailant with rage in my heart. 
 
 No sooner had Hartley struck me than I believe 
 he repented of it. An expression of regret escaped 
 him ; but too incensed to listen, I clutched him 
 by the throat with all my force, and drove him 
 backwards almost to the ground. His passion re- 
 vived, and with a sudden effort he broke from 
 my grasp, and raised his whip once more. I 
 seized it, and for a few seconds we struggled for 
 possession of it. Through pure accident his head
 
 172 HERBERT CHAUXCEY. 
 
 came in contact with the angle of the open sash 
 door. I can truthfully aver that the blow was 
 in no ways a severe one, neither was I the cause 
 of it. However, it seemed somewhat to stun him, 
 his hold on the whip relaxed, and twisting it from 
 his hands, I flung it out of the window, exclaim- 
 ing.— 
 
 " Sir I will not disgrace myself by inflicting 
 on you the chastisement you richly deserve. I 
 shall expect satisfaction of another kind. You 
 shall hear from me this evenino-." 
 
 The pallor of his face, the blueish tinge on his 
 lips, showed the violence of his excitement, as 
 Hartley replied : — 
 
 " Leave me, miserable man that you are ! leave 
 me ! You have brought this on yourself. Your 
 hateful presence roused me to fury. Yes, you 
 shall have your satisfaction, and that shortly. 
 Leave me, or I must send for those who will 
 make you ! " 
 
 He raised his voice, and gesticulated angrily 
 as he spoke. 
 
 I know not what unhappy, discreditable scene 
 might have occurred, had not the entrance of some 
 of the servants interrupted the interview, and
 
 A GROSS INSULT. 173 
 
 restored both of us to some degree of self-posses- 
 sion. I repeated — " You shall hear from me tliis 
 evening," and immediately left the house. The 
 carriage had been drawn to a short distance off, 
 imder the shadow of a large cedar, and as I 
 hastened towards it, a little dog ran after me 
 with an affectionate wdiine of delight, and licked 
 my hand. Heated, confused as I wa«, my heart 
 palpitating with indignation, this little incident 
 touched me, and moistened my eyes with tears. 
 I stooped down for a moment to caress the animal, 
 and recognized, with mingled pain and pleasure, 
 but with no slight surprise, that it was an old 
 friend — a beautiful little silken-haired spaniel 
 belonging to Ada Littlecot, always a favourite 
 of mine, and whose recollection of my kindness 
 was evidently still vivid. Leaping round me and 
 upon me in agonies of pleasure, it paid no heed 
 to the summons of Hartley's butler, who stood 
 at the front door calling it by name, and whistling 
 vehemently. I took the little creature in my 
 arms, fondled and caressed it for a few moments, 
 and then gave it, much against its own inclination, 
 in charge to the servant. How came the dog 
 at Mount Maurice ? At first I was perplexed, but
 
 174 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 on reflection accounted for it by concluding that 
 the Littlecots on going abroad had left their little 
 favourite to the care of Hartley, a friend and 
 neighbour. 
 
 How changed were now my feelings as the 
 carriage rapidly descended the hill ! I gazed upon 
 the glorious landscape with indifference — almost 
 with impatience: the sunshine was oppressive to 
 me : the song of a lark high overhead in the blue 
 sky irritated and vexed me : the perfume of the 
 lilac and the gorse sickened me. Shaken in 
 mind and body, deeply humiliated but thirsting 
 for revenge, my dress torn and disordered, my 
 face hot with anger, and smeared with the blood 
 drawn by that cruel blow, I sat back in my 
 carriage, and with my hat pushed over my eyes 
 endeavoured to collect my thoughts. 
 
 Why had Hartley treated me so savagely, so 
 brutally ? Was it jealousy at my having been 
 selected as a candidate to stand for the county? 
 Impossible. Was it his friendship with the Little- 
 cots, and sympathy with them under the wrong 
 they had suffered at my hands ? It seemed im- 
 probable. For though on friendly terms, there 
 never seemed any close intimacy between him
 
 A GROSS INSULT. 175 
 
 and them. Was he in his right senses ? I almost 
 doubted it. These thoughts passed rapidly through 
 my mind as the carriage bore me homewards. 
 But what was to come next ? Of course I must 
 ficrht him. I must send a friend to arrange a 
 meeting as soon as possible. 
 
 Yet as the familiar landscape of Glenarvon 
 gradually unfolded before me, I confess that the 
 prospect of a duel greatly troubled me. 1 thought of 
 Rosamund, and my soul was filled with bitterness. 
 and remorse. Fool that I was to see that man I 
 Why did I go near him ? Hartley was right. I 
 should have kept away for both our sakes. Why 
 not have written ? — why not have passed him by 
 imnoticed ? 
 
 Yet how could I have foreseen such an 
 outbreak of insane hostility ? I, who had never 
 wilfully injured him — I, who had ever prided 
 myself on adhering strictly to the path of frank, 
 manly, and straightforward integrity, showing 
 due respect to the just claims of others, as I 
 required them to show respect to mine ? How 
 could I have anticipated so frantic, so malignant 
 a reception ? 
 
 Well, I must fight him. Yet my anger had
 
 176 HERBERT CIIAUNCEY. 
 
 •somewhat cooled, my yearning for vengeance 
 somewhat subsided. 
 
 I had been wont philosophically to sneer at 
 duelling. What was the good of duelling ? It 
 'was a relique of barbarous times. The ordeal of 
 combat, without the faith that partly justified it, 
 and certainly gave it dignity. The result was no 
 test of the merits of the dispute. Skill and nerve 
 might give victory to the guilty. More so now 
 than in the olden times, for then all were familiar 
 with arms; to-day few are. I had scoffed at 
 duelling, and avowed my resolution to set the 
 custom at defiance. But when the trial came I 
 was found wantino;. Two or three circumstances 
 gave it peculiar aggravation. The great insult 
 anflicted on me. The probability of its being 
 known all over the county in a week's time. A 
 pleasant introduction to a new^ neighbourhood and 
 a new circle of friends! A favourable augury for 
 my success at the coming election ! The story 
 would be that I had been severely horsewhipped 
 by Hartley, and kicked out of the house; and 
 that I had meekly submitted to the insult. Then 
 came the remembrance of the Litt!ecots, and the 
 c6\({ looks and ill-disguised hostility of their
 
 A GEOSS INSULT. 177 
 
 fi*iends towards me. Of course, the story of mj 
 ■conduct to Ada would be spread abroad with re- 
 doubled industry, and improved and embroidered, 
 to prejudice the world against me. There was no 
 course but to fight. 
 
 By this time we had almost reached the lodge ; 
 but I hastily ordered the coachman to drive me to 
 Abermaur Castle. It was distant some miles, 
 •and my horses were rather fagged ; but there was 
 no alternative. I must see Folliott and ask him 
 to be my friend. 
 
 FoUiott was well adapted for such an office, 
 
 liavinsrbeen out twice himself. On the second oc- 
 
 casion he received a bullet wound, extending from 
 
 the wrist to the elbow of the right arm, and returned 
 
 the compliment, by shooting away the lobe of his 
 
 adversary's right ear. Not that Folliott was at 
 
 all quarrelsome. On the contrar}^, he was the 
 
 kindest and pleasantest of men, but unluckily 
 
 could not always hold his tongue. The duel 
 
 which had almost cost him his life arose from his 
 
 looking over the shoulder of a brother officer — it 
 
 was when he was in the 12th Lancers — whilst 
 
 shaving before a glass. Folliott, in perfect 
 
 ^ood-humour, exclaimed — " Well, I declare I 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 never saw two such ugly faces in my life ! " 
 and, although Folliott had placed his own face 
 in the same category with the shaver's, somehow 
 or other it was not taken in good part. Anger 
 and high words ensued, no apology of Folliott's 
 could satisfy the other's wounded feelings, and a 
 duel ensued, with the satisfactory consequences- 
 named. I may add too, that in those days duel- 
 ling was much more in vogue than now, when it is. 
 happily almost unheard of in this country.
 
 I7r> 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 HONOUKABLE SATISFACTION. 
 
 *' Ha, Herbert ! delighted to see you so soon 
 again ! Yery good of you to tear yourself away 
 from the fascinations of quarter sessions. Does 
 not Trump charge the jury like a gentleman ? A 
 right, genial, cheerful, knock -me -down fashion, 
 which no twelve country bumpkins living betwixt 
 Severn and Wye can stand up against I Here, 
 sit down — no, not on that sofa, my fishing-tackle 
 is there, and you may find the hooks unpleasant ; 
 but take that arm-chair." 
 
 Thus FoUiott welcomed me, half rising from 
 the rack of a too easy chair, where he reclined, 
 clad in a seedy shooting-coat, dusty overalls, and 
 a hat of battered and ill-used aspect. It was in a 
 room in Abermaur Castle specially appropriated 
 
 12 2
 
 180 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 to Folliott's use, being adjacent to the billiard- 
 room, and far enough from the ladies to admit of 
 a cigar. 
 
 " You see," he volubly proceeded, " I have 
 been riding incognito. It saves me from the bore 
 of being waylaid by personal friends, or trouble- 
 some tenants of ' my lord's.' Well, you are going 
 to begin canvassing ? No, not yet ? Depend 
 upon my assistance at the proper time ; only give 
 me a few days' notice, because I must rub up my 
 politics. At present, I declare I could not explain 
 the meaning of the corn-laws to save my life ! A 
 bulwark of the constitution, no doubt ; but that is 
 all I know ; and we must not be always ringing the 
 changes on bulwarks, must we? I am glad 
 Hartley's thrown overboard, for I believe he was 
 deuced unsound on the corn-law^s." 
 
 The mention of that name enabled me to inter- 
 rupt him. I unbared my neck, and showed the 
 livid weal that Hartley's whip had left there. 
 I coloured with renewed anger mixed with shame 
 as I did so, and hastily described the encounter of 
 that morning. 
 
 My companion's languid frame was roused by 
 the recital. He sprang from his chair, and with
 
 HONOUEABLE SATISFACTIOX. 181 
 
 eyes full of fire and animation shook me warmly 
 by the hand. 
 
 '"This is monstrous!" he cried. "I thought 
 him hot-tempered, and quick to take offence, but 
 this is downright ungentlemanly ferocity. Why, 
 a mere navvy could not behave more like a 
 ruffian ! We must teach him better manners. 
 Here, you look tired and excited : step into my 
 dressing-room, there is hot water laid on ; you 
 must take a warm bath ; it will refresh you and 
 steady vour nerves. Meantime I will order 
 luncheon for you, and we will discuss the matter 
 quietly and comfortably over a bottle of claret." 
 
 It was arranged that I should return home, 
 and hold myself in readiness at an early hour 
 next morning to accompany Folliott to the place 
 appointed for the hostile meeting. The outskirts 
 of a common at no great distance from Mount 
 Maurice appeared a favourable spot, and half an 
 hour would take us there. If all went well I 
 might be home to breakfast at the usual hour. 
 
 On reaching home two letters were put into 
 my hand as I entered the great hall. One was 
 from Apwood, my recent visitor ; it was marked 
 '' confidential," and the purport was to give me
 
 182 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 friendly warning of a circumstance that had come 
 to his knowledge. Hartley had the day before 
 declared his intention of contesting the seat for 
 the county, and Apwood, knowing the feeling 
 of the magistrates down at quarter sessions, and 
 that I had accepted their invitation to come for- 
 ward, thought he was only acting the part of a 
 neighbour, who admired my political principles, 
 and was prepared to exert all his humble in- 
 fluence on my behalf, to put me on my guard, 
 and enable me to take the field in good time. 
 
 I flung the letter aside : the election for the 
 present had ceased to be a subject of any 
 interest. Thoughts of deeper import possessed 
 me. It was a thing of the past ; yet I could not 
 but be struck by this new proof of Hartley's 
 strange and unwearied hostility. 
 
 The other letter was from Colonel Dinder, a 
 gentleman whom Hartley, in anticipation of a 
 hostile message, had empowered to act as his 
 second. I went to my library, and scribbled 
 a few lines to Colonel Dinder, and also to 
 Folliott. 
 
 Rosamund was out when I first arrived, but 
 I had hardly finished and despatched my notes
 
 HONOURABLE SATISFACTION. 183 
 
 "when I heard her musical voice outside my win- 
 do\Y, on the lawn, in conversation with the gar- 
 dener. I rose with eagerness to greet her. Short 
 as our separation had been, we had not been so 
 long apart since our marriage. I hastened to- 
 wards the window, but at the moment of opening 
 it, paused and shuddered. 
 
 The recollection of the duel flashed across my 
 mind. How should I meet her ? — ^how conceal my 
 agitation of mind, and the weight upon my spirits ? 
 
 I turned hastily, and, leaving the room, passed 
 hy the servants' passages into the back part of the 
 liouse, and from thence into the wood that flanked 
 the garden, and extended some distance up the 
 hill behind. 
 
 I own it, I candidly own it, that the thought 
 of Rosamund unmanned me, and I shrank for 
 the moment into an abject, shuddering coward. 
 
 I wandered to and fro in the shady paths, some- 
 times diverging heedlessly into the bushes and 
 low shrubs, sometimes stumbling against the 
 branches of the larijer trees, ulimindful of bruises 
 and scratches, but never standino- still for a mo- 
 ment. It Avould have been intolerable to have 
 ceased moving.
 
 184 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 I pictured to my mind tlie whole scene of the 
 duel. I beheld the leisurely preparations at the 
 place of meeting : pacing the ground ; whispered 
 conversation between the seconds ; unlocking 
 the pistol -case ; loading of the deadly weapons. 
 I saw myself stand to receive Hartley's fire ; 
 I heard the click of the lock as the pistol was 
 cocked ; then the word given, and the sharp re- 
 ports. I saw one of the combatants fall ; he 
 writhes for a moment, then is still; all present 
 hasten to his aid. I see the efforts made to staunch 
 that crimson stream issuing from the heart of one 
 already a senseless corpse. 
 
 Then the slow procession homewards. The 
 trampling of many footsteps on the gravel drive 
 in front of the house — the bell gently rung — the 
 low earnest voices — the smothered exclamations 
 . of grief and sympathy — the sound as of a heavy 
 weight borne along the entrance passage into the 
 great hall — then the sudden piercing scream of 
 the agonized wife — the horror — the unutterable 
 woe — the deathlike despair. 
 
 How long I hurried to and fro — muttering to 
 myself with clenched teeth, and arms folded over 
 my breast, and eyes bent on the .ground, at one-
 
 HONOURABLE SATISFACTION. 185= 
 
 time picturing the future, at another time cursing 
 the folly and rashness of which I had been guilty 
 in seeking an interview with Hartley — I know- 
 not. But the sun had set, and all was dim and 
 shadowy under the interlacing branches of the 
 elms, when, at a sharp turning of one of the 
 walks, I felt myself on a sudden clasped in a fond 
 and passionate embrace ; and knew, ere I raised 
 my eyes, that I was in the arms of my beloved 
 Kosamund. 
 
 For some moments I could not speak. The 
 revulsion of feeling was strong, and I leaned my 
 head upon her shoulder, struggling to maintain 
 my self-possession. 
 
 To many, no doubt, what I am now writing may 
 seem forced and unnatural, and my conduct weak 
 and inconsistent. But if so, one thlncr will be 
 clear — that they have never loved as I loved. My 
 trepidation and misery of mind were not on my 
 own account. I lacked neither vigour of will nor 
 streno-th of nerve. It was the thoufcht of mv 
 wife, my young and beautiful wife, for whom I 
 had sacrificed so much and suffered so much, 
 and whom in the peace of married life I loved, 
 more truly and devotedly than even in the first.
 
 186 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 strength and ardour of my passion ; it was this 
 thought that for a time, but only for a time, 
 chilled my blood and prostrated my courage. 
 
 Rosamund had sought for me all over the house ; 
 and at length, hearing I was somewhere in the 
 wood, grew anxious at my continued absence, 
 and, throwing a shawl over her head, hastened 
 in quest of me. It was dark, as I have said, 
 beneath that canopy of leaves and branches, but 
 she had discerned a figure hurrying with uncer- 
 tain footsteps hither and thither, and on approach- 
 ing recognized her husband, and clasped me to 
 her heart. My agitated manner and hasty ges- 
 tures had already alarmed her. Throwing back 
 the shawl over her shoulders, she gazed at me 
 with alarm, and in my look of mingled pity, love, 
 and misery, read the announcement of some' great 
 calamity past or to come. 
 
 " Herbert," she exclaimed, drawing me closer 
 towards her, '^ you cannot deceive me : some 
 great misfortune has befallen us. You are in 
 trouble of mind. Give me your confidence; let 
 me share your bitter grief. Speak to me, dear 
 friend, speak to me ! " 
 
 These and other hurried words escaped her.
 
 HONOURABLE SATISFACTION. 187 
 
 I remained silent : there was a prolono-ed struo-frle 
 within me. Could I, dared I, tell her the dread- 
 ful truth, that to-morrow her husband might re- 
 turn home stained with the blood of a fellow- 
 -creature, or be laid at her feet a corpse ? Well, 
 my faith in her love was strong, my trust in the 
 enercrv of her character was unswervincr. With 
 all her tendency to the marvellous and romantic, 
 she possessed a high, courageous spirit that no 
 danger could easily daunt, when she felt she was 
 in the path of duty. 
 
 Yet how could I deliberately condemn her to 
 a night of horrible anticipation, almost as bad as 
 the reality? How could I know whether the 
 stron^ and faithful heart micrht not fail in sus- 
 taining the bodily frame ; and the powers of na- 
 ture give way at the very moment when I should 
 need all my calmness and composure. 
 
 But there was another difficulty. 
 
 I dreaded lest in discussing the painful and 
 humiliating encounter with Hartley, I should be 
 entangled in a subject I wished of all others to 
 avoid — I mean my former engagement with Ada 
 Littlecot 
 
 Rosamund's eager questionings would certainly
 
 188 HERBEKT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 lead me into painful embarrassment. Already 
 the fact that Hartley alone, of all our neighbours, 
 had not visited us, had caused Rosamund uneasi- 
 ness. I could not disguise from myself that Hart- 
 ley's sympathy ^vith the Littlecots, acting on a 
 mind morbidly susceptible, might have caused 
 that exj^losion of resentment of ^vhich I had been 
 so latelv a victim. 
 
 I felt if I divulo'cd the duel, evervthino; else 
 must follow. I should have to rip up the 
 past — shake Rosamund's faith in my stability of 
 character ; expose myself to rebuke for my long 
 secrecy respecting Miss Littlecot ; render neces- 
 sary a multitude of explanations, always pamful, 
 but especially so now. And all for what ? Per- 
 haps, after all, and indeed not improbably, I 
 should come out of the duel unharmed; and in 
 that case, what needless misery should I have 
 inflicted on my darling ! A misery that 'many, 
 many years would not avail to blot out from her 
 memory. 
 
 These thoughts rushed through my mind very 
 swiftly : I was not long silent. With a great effort, 
 and summoning all my energy, I answered Rosa- 
 mund in a light, careless, and even joyous tone.
 
 HOXOUKABLE SATISFACTION. 189 
 
 What it cost me none can imagine. I yearned 
 to pour forth all my sorrows, all my anguish, 
 all my terror, and open my heart to receive the 
 comfort and strength that would flow from her 
 deep sympathy. But I crushed every weak, 
 unmanly instinct, and sternly determined to 
 keep my own counsel, and bear my burden 
 alone. To some extent I succeeded in quieting 
 her anxiety, and disarming her suspicion. Yet 
 I could see that she was far from satisfied ; I could 
 see too that she was hurt and disappointed. She 
 had prayed me to trust her, and I had evidently 
 withheld my confidence. Drawing her arm in 
 mine we returned to the house. 
 
 Dinner was waiting for us. I could not eat, 
 but found some wine refresh and invigorate me. 
 Talking with an effort on many indifferent sub- 
 jects, and striving to appear gay and at my ease, 
 the evening passed slowly away. Ever and anon 
 Rosamund's eyes were fixed upon me with an ex- 
 pression of imploring anxiety. Once more ere we 
 retired to rest, did she beseech me to tell her all 
 that was in my mind. So closely did she question 
 me, that I was compelled to admit that I was 
 harassed by painful intelligence received that day.
 
 190 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 and made a promise that all should be told 
 her to-morrow. This somewhat reassured and 
 pacified her. 
 
 At ten o'clock came a mounted messenger from 
 Abermaur Castle with a note from Folliott, ex- 
 plaining to me the arrangements for next day. I 
 desired the man to wait, and after Rosamund had 
 retired to rest, I went into the library, and wrote 
 a few lines in reply. 
 
 The long agony of that night must not be dwelt 
 upon. Wearied with agitation of mind and the 
 exertions of the day past, I slept at times, but 
 only by fits and snatches, waking up suddenly 
 with a painful start. Sometimes it was a ghastly 
 dream, sometimes an imaginary noise that roused 
 me. The sound of a carriage driving up to the 
 front door — the ringing of a bell — the slamming 
 of doors — something moving in the room — cries 
 of distress far off in the public road. These and 
 such like fancies haunted me all night, whilst 
 never for a moment was the thought of the coming 
 duel absent from my mind, but mingled with my 
 dreams, and with the illusions of my waking 
 brain. To increase my trouble of mind, I heard 
 more than once during that miserable night the
 
 HONOUEABLE SATISFACTION. 191 
 
 dear companion by my side sobbing as if her 
 heart would break, in ignorance that I was awake 
 and listening. 
 
 My journey on the previous day had indeed 
 been unpropitious, and her misgivings seemed 
 likely to be realized. At all events, conscious that 
 something was amiss, Rosamund remembered her 
 fears at parting from me, and felt her anxiety 
 and alarm grow hourly more intense. 
 
 ^Morning came at last, and with it thoughts like 
 those of Tennyson : — 
 
 " Ah, sad and strange, as in dark summer dawns 
 The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds 
 To djing ears, when unto dying eyes 
 The casement slowly grows a glimmering square." 
 
 Rosamund, exhausted, had fallen into a deep 
 slumber. I left the room at an early hour with- 
 out awaking her, and prepared myself for the 
 work before me. 
 
 The sun was rising bright and cloudless over 
 the long bank of mist that enveloped the moun- 
 tains of Wales ; there was a busy motion in the 
 woods and shrubberies as the fresh morning breeze 
 passed through them. I listened to the song of 
 birds, the distant lowing of cattle, the mowers
 
 192 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 ^*lietting their scythes on the lawn below my 
 ■dressing-room windows, and resigned myself for 
 a few moments to the soothing influence of the 
 scene. 
 
 Now that the meeting with Hartley was close 
 at hand, I was calmer and more collected. It is 
 so with many men in wdiom vigour of mind con- 
 tends for mastery with a certain warmth and 
 quickness of imagination. As the time for action 
 •approaches they brace themselves for the struggle, 
 and put down with a firm hand all emotions that 
 would weaken or distract them. So tranquil did 
 my mind become by the time I was ready to 
 set forth from Glenarvon, that it almost surprised 
 me. 
 
 It was not the peace of apathy, nor yet of 
 Telimous trust, thouo^h the latter feelins: was not 
 wholly absent. I could not think the course I 
 was taking acceptable to the Great Being who 
 had placed me in this sphere of probation, yet I 
 felt an earnest wish to place my case in His hands, 
 and to submit with the docility of a child to His 
 decision. Religion had hitherto occupied my 
 tliouorhts but little, and could not have been 
 «aid to have had any direct influence on my
 
 HONOURABLE SATISFACTION. 193 
 
 conduct. At that moment, however, I was so far 
 religious as to desire in a dim, uncertain way to 
 be so. 
 
 The prevailing thought was a wish that the 
 moment of danger were come. I no longer shrank 
 from it ; I longed for it every instant, and felt 
 ■a kind of solemn joy when, on reaching the lodge 
 gate, I perceived a carriage waiting for me, and 
 Folliott himself advancin^x to o;reet me. He 
 seized both my hands, and pressed them affection- 
 ately. Although he endeavoured to talk in his 
 usual offhand manner, I could see that he was 
 secretly anxious and uneasy. We sprang into 
 the carriage, and drove at a rapid pace in the 
 -direction of Mount Maurice. After a pause, 
 Folliott exclaimed, — 
 
 " He will make no apology." 
 
 " I hardly expected it," was my reply. 
 
 " Well, I hate riddles and conundrums — always 
 <lid — never was a good hand at them — hate all 
 mysterious persons, including that individual we 
 used to know at school — who was it ? — oh, the 
 Sphinx ! Binder is as bad I assure you ; I can 
 make nothing of him. It is clear Hartley does 
 not take the election much to heart ; there is 
 
 YOL. I. 13
 
 194 HEEBERT CHAU2>^CEY. 
 
 sometliing else behind. Do you mind my smoking 
 a cigar ? I don't offer you one, as your hand will 
 he steadier without it. Well, to return. Dinder 
 makes dark allusions to the Littlecots. I press 
 him for an explanation ; pointing out that as a 
 man of the world he must see that Hartley was in 
 the wrong — entirely in the wrong. A horsewhip 
 is much too j^ersonal for the nineteenth century 
 — altogether low and ungentlemanly. Dinder 
 does nothing but shake his head, and shrug his 
 shoulders. The thing is done he says — Hartley 
 w^ill not give way an inch — the men must fight. 
 This cifjar is infamous ! I must take to a clav 
 pipe before long, I do belicA'e ! " 
 
 He flung away his cigar, impatiently, and then^ 
 looking me full in the face, said : — 
 
 '^ Herbert, my dear fellow, of course you will 
 understand I don't wish to hurt your feelings,, 
 but my conviction is, that some woman is at the 
 bottom of the mischief. There's a woman in the 
 case, depend upon it ! I see you are not pleased 
 at my saying so, but I like to be open. I suspect 
 vour affair wdth Ada Littlecot has to do with 
 
 ft/ 
 
 it. Was Hartley ever smitten with her ? Never 
 mind ; I will not press the point — I know it is
 
 HONOURABLE SATISFACTION. 195 
 
 not a pleasant subject ; not that I tliouglit you 
 much to blame ; I am no Puritan." 
 
 He lit another cigar, and for a few minutes we 
 drove on in silence. It was useless to canvass the 
 matter further : as for the Littlecots, it mifjht be 
 that some exaggerated version of my conduct had 
 reached Hartley, but that he was attached to Ada 
 I had never heard. 
 
 As we approached the lane leading to the com- 
 mon fixed for the place of meeting, I thought I 
 heard the sound of horses' hoofs behind the carriage. 
 
 Hastily leanmg out of the window I noticed a 
 horseman about a hmidi-ed yards off, apparently 
 following us at a steady trot. Xo sooner, how- 
 ever, did he see my head, than he reined in his 
 horse, and falling into a walk, allowed us to leave 
 liim behind. A few minutes afterwards I again 
 looked out, and perceived him still following, 
 though at a considerable distance. 
 
 " Who is that fellow ? " asked Folliott, who had 
 looked out at the same moment as myself. 
 
 " It seems to me to be Apwood, a man formerly 
 a lawyer, living in my parish," I answered ; ^' but 
 it is strange that he should seem to be on our 
 track." 
 
 13- 2
 
 196 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 " Oh, I know liim ; a clever sort of fellow, and 
 a good friend of yours, I assure you." 
 
 *^ A ofood friend ? — liow so ? " 
 
 '' I mean in the political line. There were a 
 lot of us at the agricultural dinner over at High- 
 bury Down — squires, farmers, and a parson or 
 two. Apwood spoke up bravely for you as a 
 proper man for the county. He will do you good 
 service you may depend upon it : he knows a 
 ' parcel of folk ' hereabouts, as the farmers say, 
 and will work for you at market-dinners, plough- 
 ing-matches, and such like gatherings. He sat 
 by me at the dinner, and, to tell the truth, I am 
 not sure he did not spur me on to propose you 
 to Paul Muckleworth, and the rest of them, at 
 quarter sessions. I don't see him now," added 
 Folliott, as he again looked back. " Yes, I do 
 though ; he has turned into the arable piece, and 
 is cantering along close to the hedge. Now I 
 have lost him. No, there he is again: he has 
 dismounted, and led his horse over the fence. 
 Now he is crossing the meadow. Warm work 
 for a May morning, friend Apwood." 
 
 Presently he disappeared from sight altogether.
 
 HONOURABLE SATISFACTION. 197 
 
 and as we were now near the common, Folliott's 
 manner became more serious. 
 
 " Herbert, I believe yon have a quick eye, and I 
 know you have good nerve. The latter is of the 
 most importance — nay, it is all important. By-the- 
 by, have you handled your pistols of lato years ? " 
 
 '^ Never, since our amicable trials of skill at 
 collecre, when I was considered rather a decent 
 shot. But it is of no earthly consequence. I 
 shall not try to touch him ; I shall fire my pistol 
 in the air." 
 
 « Absurd ! " cried Folliott. *•' This will not do 
 at all. Do not you know you are wholly in my 
 hands, and must act as I bid you ? Regard your- 
 self simply as a machine, and be guided by me. On 
 no other condition would I be second, even to my 
 dearest fiiend. Hartley is not to be despised — so 
 be upon your guard. Now listen ; you must fire 
 with the speed of lightning, the instant I give the 
 word. Depend upon it you will m that way 
 anticipate his shot. The pistols have, of course, 
 hair triggers. In the hands of a cool-headed man 
 they would hit a pin's head off at twenty paces — 
 they could not help it. But Hartley's head is not 
 cool. If he fires quickly, you will be as safe as
 
 158 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 any one else on the ground ; if lie hesitates, your 
 shot will knock him over." 
 
 I listened in silence, but resolved to keep to my 
 resolution of firing in the air. 
 
 Our carriao-e set us down at the entrance of the 
 lane, and a few minutes' walk brought us to the 
 common. No one had yet arrived, and we sat 
 down on a bank of heather, under the shadow of 
 some tall elms growing in the hedgerow of the 
 field adjoining. The morning was calm, and there 
 was no sound but the twittering of birds, the 
 rustling of the wind through the trees, and the 
 humming of bees amongst the heather. Now and 
 then, however, we heard the tolling of a distant 
 church bell, on the other side of the common ; 
 faint thoucjh it was, it struck the ear with melan- 
 choly emphasis, and gave a serious direction to 
 our thoughts. 
 
 We waited a quarter of an hour beyond the 
 appointed time, but no one came. The conmwn 
 stretched away, silent and solitary, into the misty 
 distance; patches ofgorse and purple heather broke 
 its level monotony. A road — narrow, straight, 
 and overrun with grass — traversed it in a slanting 
 direction. It was along this road that Hartley,
 
 HONOURABLE SATISFACTIOX. 199 
 
 his friend, and the suro-eon enfraired to attend us, 
 would pass. We %Yere becoming impatient, when 
 a stir amongst the sheep, feeding in the distance 
 where the road first became visible over a small 
 rise of the ground, told us that some one was 
 approaching. We rose hastily — my heart beat 
 somewhat faster, and my throat was dr}' ; but I 
 rejoiced that the suspense would soon be at an 
 end. A light carriage rolled silently and rapidly 
 towards us over the grassy road. The driver, on 
 perceiving us, urged his horses to a gallop. Three 
 men were inside ; in another second the carriage 
 reached the spot where wo stood. The door was 
 hastily flung open; the men sprang out, and 
 hurried towards us. 
 
 Somethini]: like a sneer stole over Folliott's face 
 as he exclaimed, — 
 
 " Why, Hartley's not with them \ " 
 
 I stepped forward to meet them. The men 
 approached with uplifted hands, and faces pale 
 with emotion. 
 
 "Where, gentlemen, is your friend?" asked 
 Folliott. 
 
 They stopped, and simultaneously exclaimed, 
 in a low, fearful whisper, —
 
 200 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 "Dead!" 
 
 Folliott and myself exchanged glances of liorror 
 and remorse. For a moment I leant upon lii& 
 arm, tlien, recovering myself, asked eagerly — 
 almost incoherently — for particulars. 
 
 There were, as already stated, three men wha 
 descended from the carriaoe. One of these was 
 the surgeon, Mr. Moss, with whom I was well 
 acquainted — the other two were strangers to me ; 
 but one, from his stiff, military carriage, and hioh- 
 dried complexion, I presumed was Colonel Dinder, 
 Hartley's second, late of the E. I. C. Artillery, 
 and now residino^ in the neighbourhood. The other 
 was a man of middle age — in fact, his dark hair 
 was already tinged with grey — of a cold, stern, 
 unimpassioned demeanour. His face was partly 
 averted from me, and in that moment of excite- 
 ment and distress, I only noticed that his features 
 were handsome, but the expression of his counte- 
 nance gloomy and morose. 
 
 Mr. Moss, after shaking me by the hand, shortly 
 stated the case. It was an attack of heart-com- 
 plaint, so Mr. Moss believed, from his knowledge 
 of Mr. Hartley's constitution, and from the ex- 
 ternal symptom.s. He had suspected something
 
 HOXOUllABLE SATISFACTIOX. 201 
 
 amiss about the heart for some months past^ 
 There was no occasion fur a i^ost mortem. That 
 was his private conviction ; but he did not mean 
 to dictate to others. 
 
 Here the surgeon ghmced at the gentleman 
 standing beside him. The latter made no sign^ 
 and Mr. Moss proceeded. 
 
 " Mr. Hartley rose this morning earlier than 
 usual, but on Colonel Binder's arrival — the colonel 
 will correct me if I make any mistake — on 
 Colonel Binder's arrival, by appomtment, it was- 
 found that Mr. Hartley had not yet left his 
 dressing-room. On knocking at the door no 
 answer was returned ; the colonel and the servants 
 tried the door, and found it locked. After a 
 further delay, it was thought right to force it open, 
 and the room was entered. The first tiling that 
 met their eyes, was Mr. Hartley kneeling, as if in 
 prayer, with a book of devotions open on the 
 chair before him. His head had fallen forwards, 
 and lay upon the book ; at first they thought he 
 was sleeping, but on touching him he did not 
 move ; it was not sleep — but death. The body 
 was lifted to a sofa, and a messenger sent down to 
 the lodge, where I was waiting for Colonel Binder*
 
 •202 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 On examining the body, I found it still warm, 
 but life wholly extinct." 
 
 He was proceeding to expatiate on the appear- 
 ance presented by the corpse, but was interrupted 
 by Colonel Dinder, w^ho, in rather a peremptory 
 tone of voice, exclaimed to Folliott, — 
 
 " My lord, you will excuse me, but I have not 
 been introduced to your friend; it's the correct 
 thing, my lord, in my humble judgment." 
 
 The ceremony was quickly performed : but not 
 content with that. Colonel Dinder, his hat still in 
 his hand, turned to the gentleman by his side, and 
 ^said : — 
 
 " And now, Vaughan, I will introduce you. 
 Mr. Herbert Chauncey — Mr. William Vaughan. 
 Why, Yaughan, what's the matter ? — it's the 
 •correct thino:." 
 
 Vaughan's countenance, before so rigidly calm, 
 -was now strangely moved. With knit brows, and 
 kindling eyes, he placed his hand on the colonel's 
 :arm, and said, in a firm, strong voice — 
 
 " Colonel Dinder, I am in no mood for empty 
 -ceremonies. Late last night I heard of my poor 
 friend's rash, aye I will add, sinful intention. The 
 I-etter was brought to me by a special messenger.
 
 HONOURABLE SATISFACTION. 203 
 
 for I was fifty miles distant; I started hither 
 instantly, and have travelled post all night. My 
 purpose was to stop the duel, come what might — 
 I arrive, and find my friend a corpse. Inquiry 
 must be instituted — inquiry into the circumstances 
 of the quarrel — inquiry into Mr. Herbert Chaun- 
 cey's conduct — inquiry into the cause of death. I 
 add nothing more at present : suffice it to say, there 
 must and shall be a strict and rigorous investi- 
 gation into the wliole affair, from beginning to 
 end ; and, meantime, I distinctly decline the honour 
 of an introduction to Mr. Herbert Chauncey." 
 
 His countenance resumed its natural calmness, 
 and quietly lifting his hat to Lord FolHott and the 
 colonel, Mr. Yaughan retraced his steps to the 
 carriage. 
 
 There was an awkward pause: the colonel 
 coughed drily ; FoUiott coloured with anger ; 
 !Mr. ^loss took a pinch of snuff, and handed his 
 box about. As for myself, after the first t\vinge 
 of sm'prise and annoyance, I submitted silently — 
 I might almost say deferentially — to Vaughan's 
 words. For the time, my spirit was crushed and 
 humbled by the awful intelligence of Hartley's 
 decease. The blow had fallen as a warning from
 
 204 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 Providence, rebuking the impious presumption of 
 his creatures in wilfully seeking that death, the 
 sentence of which has already gone forth. We 
 walked back, slowly and thoughtfully, to our 
 carriage at the end of the lane. 
 
 On parting, something that fell from the sur- 
 geon, whilst exchanging a few words with Folliott 
 after I seated myself in the carriage, struck upon 
 my ear, and caused me a pang of anxiety. 
 
 I heard him speak of a " heavy fall or blow,"' 
 and add ; " but, my lord, the question is this : 
 — what was the normal condition of the heart ? " 
 
 My troubles that day were not over, Rosa- 
 mund received me with a countenance, blanched. 
 from anxiety and watching, and eyes red with 
 weeping. 
 
 Notwithstanding the shock of Hartley's death,, 
 my heart overflowed with thankful joy as I seated 
 myself beside her, and divulged the cause of my 
 agitation on the preceding day, and the danger 
 from which I had been preserved. The moment, 
 however, I mentioned the word " duel," a shudder 
 ran through Rosamund's whole frame, and she 
 sank back upon the sofa almost in a fainting 
 state.
 
 HONOURABLE SATISFACTION. 205 
 
 Restoratives revived lier, but I did not venture 
 i:o resume tlie subject of our conversation. 
 
 For a long time she lay motionless, holding my 
 hand in hers. At length, she partly rose, and 
 whispered, faintly: — 
 
 " Herbert is it over ? — is all well ? — is the 
 danger past ? " 
 
 I assured her that all was well, and begged her 
 to be comforted and to be happy. She turned 
 her eyes languidly upon me, saying, — 
 
 "Herbert, I will try to be happy, but I shall 
 never be so happy as I was. You do not love me 
 as I thought you did — nay, be patient : you love 
 me, but not as I love you ; you doubt my powers 
 of doing and enduring for your sake. I will try 
 to be happy, but my mind misgives me : the storm 
 may be past, but what if the clouds retmni after 
 the rain? "
 
 206 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "crowner's quest law." 
 
 The next morning, I had finislied dressing, and 
 was gazing out of window, in that dreamy state 
 of enjoyment which so often succeeds a period 
 of painful excitement, comparing my feelings with 
 those experienced only twenty-four hours since,, 
 when I perceived an individual walking slowly 
 up the drive towards the front entrance. 
 
 He was a stout, little man, shabbily attired in 
 an ancient blue coat with brass buttons, wrinkled 
 gaiters, and a greasy white hat, cocked a little 
 on one side. He stepped along with an air of 
 pert importance, ludicrous to behold, and visibly 
 increasing as he disappeared within the porch 
 below my window, and gave a loud peal to the 
 bell. I could not forbear smiling at the comic 
 o;randeur of this unknown visitor, but laughed
 
 CKOWIS-ER'S QUEST LAW. 207 
 
 outriglit, when, after a few minutes' delay and 
 a confused sound of angry voices, my conceited 
 friend abruptly emerged from the door ^Yith quick, 
 convulsive bound, and agitated coat-tails, implying, 
 the application of a strenuous kick to his person 
 from some one behind. 
 
 With rueful countenance, and ungraceful speed, 
 he trotted down the drive about tliirty or forty 
 yards, and then, wheeling round, paused to take 
 breath. Presently he drew from one pocket a 
 paper, and from the other a constable's staff, and 
 then returned slowly to the attack, waving now 
 the paper, and now the staff, with looks of severe 
 and dignified expostulation, tempered by occa- 
 sional qualms of apprehension. 
 
 I hastened downstairs, and found a group of 
 servants in the porch, loquaciously angry, watch- 
 ing with menacing glances the second approach 
 of my friend. David, usually so serene, appeared 
 to sound the key-note of the chorus of invective 
 that filled the air. I could scarcely obtain an 
 intelligible explanation of what had occurred. 
 At last, Da-vdd addressed me with suppressed 
 emotion — 
 
 '• The poor body yonder, sir, makes believe
 
 ^208 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 to be a constable. Yes, sir ; surely. Makes be- 
 lieve to be a constable, and sauced jou shocking, 
 sir ; yes, shockino; — said he had a summons to 
 the Crowner's Quest for you, sir, and I don't 
 know what besides." 
 
 Here the other servants broke into full cry 
 again, and threw out dark proposals to " heave 
 the rampagious little varmint into the river ! " 
 
 I once more restored order and tranquillity. 
 Then summonino; the ruffled and indin;nant func- 
 lionary of the law to the front, endeavoured to 
 ^ascertain his business. Cautiously eyeing his 
 late aiXJiressors, the constable advanced a few 
 paces, thrust into my hand the paper he had be- 
 fore produced, and then retreated backwards, wdth 
 the greatest promptitude, to a safe distance. There 
 lie stood, staff in hand, watching the effect upon 
 my mind. 
 
 The paper ran as follows : — 
 Meadsldre \ " Whereas, I am credibly informed that 
 
 to wit. ) ^^^ ^^^ gj^.g evidence touching the 
 
 death of James Hartley, now lying dead in the 
 parish of Downend in the said county ; these are, 
 therefore, in his Majesty's name, to charge and 
 command you personally to be and appear at the
 
 CEOWNER'S QUEST LAW. 209 
 
 puLlic-liouse, known by the name of the * Druid's 
 Head,' in the said parish, at eleven o'clock in the 
 forenoon, then and there to give evidence, and 
 Reexamined on his Majesty's behalf," &c. &c. &c. 
 
 In short, it was a summons, duly signed 
 " Ralph Crawdle, Coroner," directing me to ap- 
 pear and give evidence at the inquest to be held 
 on poor Hartley. 
 
 ]\ Taking light of the matter, was of course the 
 right line to take ; and, after glancing at the 
 document again, I tore it up with a careless smile, 
 and giving the constable some loose silver, by way 
 of compensation for the rough reception he had 
 met with, dismissed him, as I thought, happy and 
 contented. 
 
 That there should be any inquest at all was 
 bad enough, but that I should be summoned to 
 it seemed perfectly monstrous. Some mischievous 
 person must be egging the coroner on. I found, 
 too, that the foolish little constable had made 
 impudent allusions to homicide and manslaughter 
 in his interview with my servants. 
 
 Laughably absurd, no doubt — but still unplea- 
 sant. I was as yet little known in the neigh- 
 bourhood. Even my own tenants, througli an 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 unfortunate conjuncture, were not, as before 
 explained, on the best of terms witli me. The 
 inquest was to be held the next day. FoUiott, my 
 only intimate friend in the neighbourhood, had 
 that very morning run up to town for a few 
 days. Rosamund was still far from well, and 
 needed perfect rest and quiet. There was, how- 
 ever, no help for it ; I must obey the summons. 
 
 I mounted my horse next morning, and, followed 
 by my groom, rode to the " Druid's Head," — the 
 village inn — where the inquest w^as to be held. 
 It was about an hour's ride from Glenarvon, near 
 the lodge gate of the park of Mount Maurice. 
 The " Druid's Head " was a dilapidated old build- 
 ing, that seemed to have been flung carelessly 
 from a distance, and to have been crushed and 
 huddled together by the violence of the fall. The 
 gables stood awry ; the dormer-windows cropped 
 up from the misshapen, weather-beaten roof, at 
 unexpected places ; the chimney-stack appeared 
 nodding to its fall — an illusion favoured by the 
 wall-flowers in the joints of the stone-work waving 
 to and fro in the wind ; here a bow-window was 
 thrust into the road, as if particularly solicitous 
 of attention ; there a quaint, narrow lattice was
 
 CROWNES'S QUEST LAW. 211 
 
 squeezed into a recess ; and the cracks in the wall, 
 on either side, seemed to imply that the effort had 
 nearly squeezed out the window altogether. 
 
 To this building the coroner's jury, having 
 viewed the body of Hartley, had repaired to hear 
 evidence and decide on a verdict. 
 
 A group of villagers — men, women, and chil- 
 dren — were gathered round the tumble-down porch 
 of the inn, talking, or I might say jabbering, 
 in their provincial dialect with unusual anima- 
 tion. Most of them lived on the estate, which 
 accounted for the interest they took in the pro- 
 ceedings. 
 
 On dismounting, I approached the porch and 
 attempted to enter. The country people of the 
 neighbourhood were mostly civil, though uncouth. 
 I was, therefore, surprised at the surly careless- 
 ness with which some of the men met my quiet 
 efforts to pass. My groom ran forward to assist 
 me. Perhaps he was over-zealous in his exer- 
 tions, but there was a murmur of indignation 
 all round, and exclamations of — "Aye, aye, let 
 un pass — let un pass. He be anxious to get his 
 vardict ! " 
 
 ** Have a care, lads ; he be a comical chap, 
 
 14—2
 
 212 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 he be. Blessed if he mayn't lay some on us 
 alongside of the poor squire yonder!" 
 
 I had ridden hard, and entered flushed with 
 the exercise, as well as with the annoyance caused 
 by these remarks. 
 
 There was a slight stir in the room, and all 
 eyes were turned upon me, as I sat down on 
 a chair handed to me by one of the more civil 
 of the bystanders. 
 
 The scene was depressing. A row of dull- 
 witted rustics, with two or three of the better 
 class, were seated on a couple of rickety benches, 
 in a long, low-roofed, dimly-lighted room, with 
 sanded floor, and worm-eaten deal table. The 
 walls were adorned with a series of hunting 
 sketches, interspersed with a few hideous reli- 
 gious prints. The chimney-piece bristled with 
 long, white, clay tobacco-pipes ; whilst, on a side- 
 board at the end of the room, stood the everlasting 
 punch-bowl, with rows of many shaped wine- 
 o-lasses in close column. The air was heavy with 
 the smell of stale tobacco, beer, and cider. The 
 nio-ht before, no doubt, the same men were sitting 
 here boozing over their liquor, and bawling 
 vulo-ar songs. To-day they were discussing the
 
 crowner's quest law. 213 
 
 solemn question liow their landlord came by his 
 untimely end. 
 
 To add to my discomfort, I noticed amongst 
 the jurymen my former steward, Malpus. He 
 sat apparently absorbed in a train of pious reflec- 
 tions, with the whites of his eyes turned up, and 
 his wrinkled hands placed in patriarchal fashion 
 on the head of his oaken staff. His presence was 
 a feature in the scene especially offensive to me. 
 
 I felt the delicacy of my position, and was 
 aware that my examination, however uncalled 
 for, could scarcely be other than trying to my 
 feelings. But I was totally unprepared for the 
 extraordinary treatment in store for me. 
 
 The coroner, Mr. Ralph Crawdle, was a large, 
 fat man. He had once been a druggist, but 
 having, by a stroke of good luck in a mining 
 speculation, obtained an accession of fortune, he 
 abandoned business, contrived to pass an examina- 
 tion, and obtained a surgeon's diploma. He had 
 not long practised, when a second speculation in 
 coal mines, in which he was fond of dabbling, 
 shipwrecked his newly-made fortune, and left him 
 poorer than ever. **Poor Crawdle's case" was 
 taken up warmly by a few busy friends, and a
 
 214 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 vacancy in tlie office of coroner for that part of 
 the county occurring, a push was made in his 
 favour, which resulted in his being elected. 
 
 No sooner, however, was he safely installed, 
 than some of the better class of gentry regretted 
 it. Crawdle not only continued to speculate in 
 mining and other shares, but courted the applause 
 of the vulgar, by affecting heartfelt sympathy 
 with the wrongs of the lower classes, and a lofty 
 indignation against the wealthy and powerful, 
 only held in check by a wholesome fear lest his 
 fees should be disallowed by the magistrates at 
 quarter sessions. 
 
 Mr. Crawdle sat at the end of the table, with 
 pen and ink before him ; near him was William 
 Vaughan, stolid and calm, but deeply interested 
 in the progress of the inquiry, and occasionally 
 obtruding officious suggestions to the coroner. A 
 few gentlemen from the neighbourhood — mostly 
 magistrates — occupied chairs behind. Round the 
 door thronged a considerable number of farmers, 
 and other country folk, some of whom appeared, 
 even at that early hour of the day, a little the 
 worse for liquor. 
 
 It seemed that the suro:eon had mven his
 
 crowner's quest law. 215 
 
 opinion to Hartley's friends, that disease of the 
 heart was the cause of death, but dissatisfied with 
 that opinion, and drawing unwarranted conclu- 
 sions from a slight wound or bruise on Hartley's 
 temples, they had exerted themselves with absurd 
 and mischievous zeal to obtain an inquest on the 
 body, and had unfortunately succeeded. Crawdle 
 liked popularity, and loved his fees. 
 
 The surgeon, Mr. Moss, at the moment I entered, 
 was undergoing a rigid examination. He firmly 
 adhered to his opinion that extraneous causes 
 might possibly have accelerated, but could in no 
 case have directly produced, the attack of which 
 Hartley died. 
 
 Crawdle interrupted him with lofty impatience. 
 
 " Mr. ]Moss, have the goodness to recollect 
 yourself. Do you venture to stake your pro- 
 fessional reputation upon that opinion? Do you 
 w^ish it to go forth to the county that, in your judg- 
 ment, it was impossible — physically impossible — 
 for the deceased to have escaped a fatal heart 
 attack — I avoid technical terms in order that 
 the gentlemen of the jury may thoroughly under- 
 stand me — if Mr. Herbert Chauncey had not laid 
 violent hands on him? Sir, if that's your
 
 216 . HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 opinion, I must, with all due respect, inform youy 
 I wouldn't call you in even to dose a pauper ! " 
 
 Mr, Moss, exceedingly indignant, proceeded to 
 re-argue the case, and drew the coroner's attention 
 to the post-mortem examination of the body. 
 There had been disease of the heart of some 
 standing. 
 
 " Very well, sir," — rejoined Crawdle, tapping 
 a fat fore-fino-er on the edii'e of the table at each 
 word he uttered, — " very well, sir ; your position, 
 if I understand it, is this. That you, or any one 
 else, may evoke a disorder latent in my body, 
 by any means you or any one else may think 
 proper, and bring me to an untimely grave, with 
 impunity — with perfect impunity — for your own 
 pleasure or convenience ? John Noakes is 
 threatened with blindness in the right eye. Says 
 William Stokes, ' Noakes,' says he, * j'ou've a 
 predisposition to blindness; hold a moment — I'll 
 put you out of suspense ! ' Whereupon Stokes 
 knocks out Noakes's eye with a poker. Now do 
 you pretend to say, that Noakes would have 
 no remedy in a civil court for the damage, as well 
 as in a criminal court for the assault ? Sir, tlie 
 gentlemen of the jury — ai:d a more intelligent set
 
 ceownek's quest law. 217 
 
 of men never sat on that bench — know a great 
 deal better ! " 
 
 The intelligent gentlemen of the jmy grinned 
 broadly in approbation of their coroner. Mr; 
 Moss, put out of countenance, and out of temper, 
 diverged from the medical to the legal aspect 
 of the question ; whereupon Crawdle abruptly 
 dismissed him with, — 
 
 " Thank you, sir — tliank you. Your physic's 
 bad enousjh, we don't want vour law into the- 
 bargain I You may go, sir." 
 
 My turn came next. The coroner, although 
 he knew me by sight, shouted my name at the 
 pitch of his voice, and affected to be surprised 
 when he found I was sitting within a few feet of 
 his table. Then, clearing his throat, he addressed 
 me much in the same strain as a magistrate 
 cautions an accused prisoner not to say anything 
 to criminate himself. He remarked that he was 
 only doing his duty in informing me that I was 
 not bomid to give evidence, if that evidence ap- 
 peared in my judgment calculated to expose me 
 to criminal proceedings. He was sorry I had 
 not brought my legal adviser with me. From 
 information he had received, he had felt it incum-
 
 218 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 bent on liim to summon me, but he should on no 
 account examine me until after all the other 
 witnesses. It was very possible it would be his 
 duty not to take my evidence at all. 
 
 Eager to make a plain statement, I insisted on 
 tendering my evidence. The coroner, after some 
 hesitation, assented. It soon, however, became 
 manifest that Vaughan, or some other malicious 
 enemy, had set both coroner and jury against me. 
 I was frequently interrupted ; I was cautioned by 
 one of the juiy that I was on my oath ; I was asked 
 by the coroner whether, when I had hold of the 
 deceased by the thi'oat, he did not turn black in 
 the face. Then Malpus, affecting to speak in a 
 voice husky with emotion, respectfully put a 
 question : — 
 
 '•May I be permitted to ask you. Squire 
 Chauncey, if you kicked the deceased as he lay 
 on the ground? — accidentally, I mean — acciden- 
 tally, of course. I know Squire Chauncey comes 
 of too good a stock to act amiss of purpose. Aye, 
 aye, and his mother was a pious woman, too — 
 aye, she was. May I be permitted to ask you 
 that question, Squire Chauncey ? " 
 
 Here another juror — with a face red and shining.
 
 ckowner's quest law. 219 
 
 tis if it liad been partially roasted, and tlien basted 
 with oil — leant forwards, and, pointing with his 
 elbow at me, said to the coroner, — 
 
 " Mr. Cor'ner, by'r leave, I'll chastise thic 
 Squire Chauncey a bit, I wuU." 
 
 I could not stand this, and rose, in a great 
 rage, to remonstrate ; but a gentleman near me 
 good-naturedly explained that, in the dialect of 
 the neighbourhood, " chastise " only meant to 
 *' question" sharply. I was not much pacified 
 by this explanation, especially as I found the 
 man wished to ask me whether " it warn't a fact 
 that I'd hindered the sarvants from picking up 
 their maister arter I'd knocked un down?" 
 
 A dozen other impertinent questions were 
 launched at me — now by the coroner, now by one 
 or other of the jury — of a suggestive character, 
 likely, even when satisfactorily answered, to leave 
 a sting behind, and imbue those present with a 
 strong suspicion that, whatever might be the law 
 of the case, I was nothing more nor less than a 
 heartless, blood-stained bully ! Ever and anon 
 the coroner would officiously caution me, as if 
 from a kind motive, that ray words would be 
 taken down in writing; whilst Malpus would
 
 220 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 shake his head, and move his lips with a solemn 
 expression of countenance, as if giving vent to 
 some pious ejaculation. On the Avhole I kept 
 my temper well : I gave the poor people " rope " 
 enough, and allowed them to pester me as much 
 as they would, hoping that the more fully the 
 matter was can^^assed, the more completely would 
 these ridiculous slanders he disproved. 
 
 The next witnesses w^ere some of Hartle3-'3 
 servants. They knew little or nothing of the 
 encounter between their master and myself. They 
 had heard what they termed "a hustle." The 
 coroner encourao^ed them to be communicative. 
 Putting down his pen, he adopted a familiar, 
 homely manner, exclaiming, — 
 
 " Now here I am ; quite a stranger I may 
 say — quite a stranger. I want help — I want in- 
 formation. Can any one throw a little light on 
 this most painful subject? This is one of those 
 occasions when every Englishman should speak 
 out ! Come now." 
 
 Thus urged, the witnesses began to be more 
 loquacious. One dwelt with pathos upon the 
 bruise on their master's forehead. Another had 
 noticed that " master " was much excited after
 
 CROWXERS QUEST LAW. 221 
 
 I had left. Another said that " master's " counte- 
 nance and manner were greatly changed, and that 
 " his own bom mother wouldn't ha' known 'im." 
 
 I now asked that the surgeon should be re- 
 called, and elicited from him, bj a few questions, 
 the fact that he had attended Hartley more than 
 once in attacks of illness, which he was satisfied 
 arose from the same cause as that last and fatal 
 seizure, and might if neglected have carried him 
 off. The servants themselves admitted that their 
 master had occasionally complained of sensa- 
 tions more or less symptomatic of the same com- 
 plaint. 
 
 The coroner conversed with Yauo-han, in a loud 
 whisper, whilst I was questioning the witnesses ; 
 and showed by his mamier that he held very 
 cheap every word I uttered, and every word said 
 in reply. 
 
 He now, after blowing his nose loudly, com- 
 menced charging the gentlemen of the jury. 
 Very prosy and elaborate he was, both on legal 
 and medical pomts, and dark were the insinua- 
 tions thrown out against myself, as well as against 
 the surgeon. The majority of the jury sat with 
 mouths and eyes expanded, completely bewildered.
 
 222 HEEBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 and utterly at a loss what sort of verdict to re- 
 turn. 
 
 Before the coroner sat down, he artfully made 
 an ostentatious apolog}^ to me for the rigour with 
 which he had felt it his duty to examine me : as 
 an honest man he had no alternative. True, I 
 w^as a gentleman of rank and fortune, but whether 
 a wealthy gentleman or a humble peasant, Mr. 
 Craw^dle would deal out the same measure of 
 severity to both. He clinched this fine senti- 
 ment by a homely proverb, — " What was sauce 
 for the goose, was sauce for the gander." He 
 affected to thank me for my candid admissions 
 that mornino;; but I must bear in mind that 
 candour could have nothing to do with the ques- 
 tion of guilty or not guilty. It only affected the 
 question of how much or how little punishment. 
 He was certainly pleased to see that I was in a 
 better frame of mind than when the summons 
 was left by the constable at my house. 
 
 I fell into the trap, and, with some sternness 
 of manner, asked him what he meant. Crawdle 
 gave me a wink, intended for all the room to see, 
 as if cautioning me to be silent. I angrily per- 
 sisted in questioning him, and he then, with an
 
 crownek's quest law. 223 
 
 air of reluctance, gave a most exaggerated picture 
 of the treatment of the constable by my servants 
 the day before ; how he had been kicked down 
 the drive whilst I stood smiling at a window, and 
 I know not what besides. 
 
 I explained at once, and remonstrated with 
 the coroner that he should have noticed so 
 trumpery a matter at such a moment. He 
 shrugged his ample shoulders, exclaiming, — 
 
 " Sir, you forced it upon me. As for the 
 officer, he is a man of trust ; his story you admit 
 to be founded in fact. He complained of in- 
 ability to sit down in consequence of the kicks 
 inflicted on him. Call the officer in." 
 
 He was nowhere to be found, and I concluded 
 that Yaughan had smuggled him away, lest the 
 jury should hear the real truth. I offered to 
 bring forward my groom as a witness of the whole 
 occurrence. But Crawdle hastily growled, — 
 
 " We believe you, sir, we believe you. You 
 are not accused of any offence here, sir. All you 
 have said may have to be repeated in another 
 court ; we do not take cognizance of assaults 
 here, sir. This is only a court of inquiry, sir." 
 
 Then, turning to the jury, he wound up his
 
 224 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 observations by Instructing them what conclu- 
 sion to come to. Since, however, he pointed out 
 three different verdicts that a juiy, similarly situ- 
 ated, might feel it their duty to return, and ap- 
 peared to give them their choice of any one of 
 them ; it was not surprising that, for a considerable 
 time, they could not agree upon a verdict at all. 
 
 Absurd as it may seem, the jury at first found 
 a verdict of manslaufvhter. 
 
 Now, although the grand jury would have 
 lacked out a bill of indictment, the fact of such 
 a verdict havino- been found would have been a 
 serious misfortune. 
 
 The foreman disclaimed having any hand in 
 the verdict. It was written with no little diffi- 
 culty by one of the jury, who professed to be 
 a " scholard." Two-thirds of them could not 
 sign their names — a proportion that tallies with 
 a parliamentary return I have seen on this sub- 
 ject — and, considering all things, the verdict of 
 manslaughter was by no means astonishing. 
 
 Crawdle, however, did not quite like it. He 
 held the paper on which it was written up to the 
 light, wiped his forehead lazily, looked hard in 
 everybody's face, expectorated on his handkerchief.
 
 crowxer's quest law. 225 
 
 and then suggested a modification, simply reducing 
 the verdict to this, that Hartley died of " disease 
 of the heart." 
 
 The moment the terms of the verdict were 
 settled by the coroner and the jur}-, I hastily 
 advanced to the table, and commented, with 
 some warmth, on the childishness of the pro- 
 ceedings, and the wanton annoyance inflicted on 
 me for no useful purpose whatever. The farmers 
 and common people present heard what I said 
 with sulky impatience. The few of the better 
 class looked confused and uncomfortable, but did 
 not give me any support. Vaughan put on his 
 hat, and walked out. Colonel Binder, indeed — 
 who had been calml}- dozing during most of the 
 inquest in a large arm-chair by the fireside, under 
 the impression, I believe, that his chilly limbs 
 derived some faint warmth from the coloured 
 shavings piled in the grate — Colonel Binder woke 
 up, as he heard my voice raised to a louder pitch 
 than usual, and got on his legs — when I paused — 
 exclaiming, that ^Ir. Herbert Chauncey had acted 
 throughout with '^ perfect propriety." Mr. Her- 
 bert Chauncey was a "man of honom*." Mr. 
 Herbert Chauncey was on the ground "to the 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 minute." As an ofncer, who had seen some little 
 service against the Pindarrees, and in the Burmese 
 war, he felt it his duty to say " my conduct had 
 been correct — perfectly correct from first to last.*' 
 
 This mode of coming to my aid did not alto- 
 gether suit my purpose, and therefore, with a 
 slight bow to the colonel, and the other gentry 
 present, I pushed out of the room, and groping 
 my way along the narrow passage to the entrance 
 of the inn, found my groom and horses waiting 
 for me. 
 
 The crowd outside had increased, and I was 
 no sooner mounted than a discordant yell greeted 
 my ears from all sides. My groom spurred his 
 horse forward to clear the road, but received a 
 blow from a hay-rake, which made him reel in 
 his saddle. His horse, however, broke through 
 the crowd, and I followed, pelted as I went by 
 mud and stones. As soon as we w^ere clear of 
 the mob w^e put spurs to our horses, and galloped 
 homew^ard wdthout further ceremony. 
 
 On reaching Glenarvon, I was glad to hear that. 
 Rosamund had felt well enough to take a drive 
 in the carriage. In the hall, two gentlemen w^ere 
 waiting to see me, and, after changing my clothes.
 
 crowner's quest law. 227 
 
 and taking a little refresliment, I went to meet tliem, 
 and found Apwood and my steward. Maxwell. 
 
 It appeared that Apwood, whilst riding by 
 that morning, had detected a countryman con- 
 cealed in my rickyard. The rickyard was fiiU 
 of wheat and barley, with a mow or two of 
 hay. jMaxwell, as before stated, amongst other 
 annoyances, had been troubled by threatening 
 letters, signed " Swing," ^\Titten in a scrawling, 
 illiterate hand. There was every reason to sus- 
 pect that the countryman, who was a stranger 
 in these parts, intended to fire the w^heat-mows. 
 However, no lucifer-matches nor tinder-box were 
 in his pocket, and the Glenarvon constable, who, 
 after the manner of village constables, had been 
 coaxing him to confess he was guilty ever since 
 he was given in charge, had failed to elicit any- 
 thing decisive. It appeared, therefore, to be a 
 case of simple vagrancy, and, anxious to get rid 
 of the man, I remanded Mm to next petty ses- 
 sions. 
 
 Maxwell was in some distress of mind : he took 
 me aside, whilst Apwood was drinking home- 
 brewed ale at the luncheon-table, and confessed 
 that the constant strain and anxiety of mind he 
 
 15 — 2
 
 228 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 had suffered ever since he had acted as my 
 steward, was becoming too much for him ; his 
 wife's health, too, was failing. He had striven to 
 promote my interests, but, to speak candidly, he 
 would not pass such another six months as he had 
 passed since Christmas for double the salary I 
 allowed him, liberal as it was. He was a Scotch- 
 man, he added, and knew the value of money, 
 but must reluctantly ask me to look out for 
 another steward. 
 
 I could scarcely blame him ; he had had a 
 troublesome time of it. So, after some more con- 
 versation, he took his leave, with the under- 
 standing that we were to part. Apwood remained 
 behind, having some private business to discuss 
 with me. 
 
 We retired into the library, where, taking from 
 his breast-pocket a thin folio volume, rolled up 
 and tied with a string, he placed it on the table, 
 and said : — 
 
 " I fear you will think me a little bold, sir, 
 after so short an acquaintance, but politics draw 
 men of all ranks together, and I have ventured 
 to call on you to ofiPer my services at the forth- 
 coming election. I have here," he added, hastily
 
 ckowner's quest law. 229 
 
 unfastening the book, and spreading it open before 
 me, "a printed copy of the poll-book of the 
 last election, and a very valuable document it is 
 I assure you. Now I have been carefully running 
 over the names, and am as confident as I am 
 that I stand here, that, if you make a bold push 
 at once, and issue an address in anticipation of a 
 contest, you will carry two-thirds of the con- 
 stituency with you, and win in a canter ; in fact, 
 there's nobody to oppose you ; the Whigs are ' all 
 in the downs.' There's not the ghost of a chance 
 for any colour but true blue ! " 
 
 My first impulse was simply to thank him for 
 his good wishes and change the subject ; but the 
 man had been civil to me. He had behaved well 
 in the matter of the lifehold property. He had 
 been friendly and civil to poor Maxwell. That 
 very morning he had given a new proof of his 
 vigilance and good-will, by promptly apprehending 
 the fellow hiding in the rickyard, and bringing 
 him before me on his own responsibility. Folliott 
 said he was a warm political supporter of mine 
 amongst the farmers ; I might as well open a little 
 of my mind to him. 
 
 " Mr. Apwood," I said, *• circumstances have.
 
 230 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 I fear, placed it entirely out of my power to stand 
 for the county, at all events on the present 
 occasion. You have perhaps heard only a garbled 
 story of what has lately occurred, and as you 
 have some claim upon my confidence, and may 
 be able to counteract any false reports current 
 amongst gentry and farmers, I will give you the 
 true version." 
 
 Apwood listened with respectful attention. I 
 then briefly described the unfortunate rencontre 
 with Hartley, his violent conduct, arising from 
 causes on which it was unnecessary to touch, the 
 intended duel. Hartley's awfully sudden death, and 
 finally, the preposterous inquest- at the " Druid's 
 Head " that day. 
 
 His astonishment was extreme: bending over 
 the library table, with his head in his hands, he 
 appeared plunged in perplexity. After a time he 
 sprang up, and exclaimed — 
 
 "Here's some vile plot afoot, Mr. Chauncey, 
 you may depend ! I mistrust that fellow with the 
 iron-grey complexion, William Vaughan ; he's a 
 double-dyed Radical, and no mistake. 'Tis an 
 awkward affair no doubt, yet, by drawing back 
 from the contest, you seem, excuse me for saying
 
 crowxer's quest law. 231 
 
 sOj to show the white feather, and knock under to 
 your opponents. Seems to me, you ought to show 
 a bold front, and hold your own. Crush scandal 
 fearlessly, as you would a nettle, and it don't 
 stincr. Of course, sir, vou know best : but for mv 
 part, I wouldn't care a button for what the folk 
 say. Hoist the blue flag — issue your address ; 
 ^vho'll care for a trumpery quarrel like tliis ? At 
 all events, let me implore you, my dear sir, not to 
 decide in a hurry. Wait a bit, and meantime I'll 
 be quietly working among the freeholders in your 
 favour." 
 
 " Well, I am resolved on one thing; I shall call 
 ]Mr. Coroner to a strict account for his conduct 
 towards me, and for the gross irregularity of the 
 inquest." 
 
 Apwood, however, loudly advocated my leaving 
 liim alone. "The inquest will be only a nine 
 days' wonder — let it blow over. Then clear decks 
 for action, and go ahead, with three cheers for 
 true blue ! " 
 
 At the moment, liis enthusiasm fell rather flat ; 
 I was tired, jaded, and ill at ease. However, I 
 thanked liim for his good wishes, promising to 
 give the matter consideration, and so we parted.
 
 232 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A ZEALOUS STEWARD. 
 
 Some weeks glided away, and, as Apwood had 
 foretold, the affair of the inquest appeared to 
 prove but a " nine days' wonder." Of course 
 people talked, but by and by were tired of it. 
 The majority, as is often the case, contented 
 themselves by taking for granted that probably 
 Hartley and myself were both in the wrong. 
 Meantime I was beginning once more to enjoy 
 Glenarvon. Rosamund had quite recovered from 
 her agitation and anxiety of mind. I could not, 
 however, fail to notice that her spirits were not 
 so thoroughly joyous as before my quarrel witli 
 Hartley. She was tenderly affectionate — she was 
 apparently happy — but her happiness was more 
 subdued. As for myself I was beginning to take 
 increasing interest in a country life. Apwood
 
 A ZEALOUS STEVrARD. 233. 
 
 was tlie cause of this. As soon as Maxwell had 
 taken his departure I sounded him whether he 
 would undertake the management of my property^ 
 Apwood asked for a week's time to consider the 
 matter, but finally consented. I had every rea- 
 son to congratulate myself on the choice I had 
 made. 
 
 My new steward was indefatigable in his en- 
 deavours to serve me. He contrived, in the first 
 place, to make peace between me and my tenants. 
 At his suggestion I invited them to a dinner in 
 a large tent on the lawn. The beef and plum- 
 pudding, the beer, cider, and punch, effaced every 
 shade of annoyance in their minds. My health 
 was drunk with deafening shouts of applause, and 
 the band from Stoke-upon-Avon played "The^ 
 fine old English gentleman " Avith energetic- 
 pathos. I was under thirty, but that did not 
 signify. 
 
 In the course of the evening Rosamund ventured 
 on the scene for a few minutes, and amidst the 
 uncouth clamour and rounh faces of the farmers^ 
 appeared like a beautiful being from some 
 other world. Her appearance drove them almost 
 wild. They yelled, they shouted, they clapped
 
 •234 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 their hands. Three cheers for Madam Chauncey, 
 ^vith three times three, reverberated through the 
 tent. Then came half-a-dozen cheers, instigated 
 by sentiments from various adventurous indi- 
 viduals, such as — " The squire's lady, — God bless 
 her ! " " Madam Chauncey, and long life to her ! " 
 "As you like her, gentlemen ! as you like her!" 
 The band outside played the appropriate tune of 
 ■" The girls we left behind us," and, amidst the 
 hubbub, Rosamund retired, waving her handker- 
 chief with all due emphasis. 
 
 There was some speechifying. I returned 
 thanks for the honour done to my wife and my- 
 self, and, touching lightly upon past misunder- 
 standings, spoke hopefully of the future, praised 
 my new steward, and promised to do all that a 
 good landlord ought to do ; then sat down amidst 
 a whirlwind of applause. 
 
 Apwood also spoke, and every w^ord he said 
 went home to the farmers, for he understood them 
 welh " Live and let live," was a phrase he used 
 more than once, but each time with more decisive 
 effect. The cheers were deafening. Finally, the 
 company subsided into tobacco-smoke and comic 
 sonss, and I then bade them £!;ood-nio;ht, leavino;
 
 A ZEALOUS STEWARD. 235 
 
 Apwood to take my place at the head of the 
 table. 
 
 It was late before we got to sleep that night. 
 The band collapsed pretty soon, and changed 
 their instruments for knives and forks and mugs 
 of ale ; but the comic songs went on till midnight. 
 I think I heard " The twopenny postman^, Walker," 
 seven times, muffled and faint by distance, but 
 still distinct enough. The owls answered from 
 the neifrhbourino; wood, " makino; nio-ht hideous." 
 However, towards morning the singing became 
 sentimental, and after that, the guests began to 
 take their departure, some on horseback, some 
 on foot, roaring snatches of incoherent songs more 
 and more faintly until lost in the distance, and 
 leaving Glenarvon and its weary inmates once 
 more in peace. 
 
 But Apwood's services, as manager of my pro- 
 perty, did not consist in merely making things 
 pleasant between the tenantry and myself. He 
 looked after my interests with a keen eye. The 
 farmers had fair play, but Apwood took care that 
 I should have fair play, too ; and the farmers 
 seemed to like him the better for it. Thev nudcred 
 each other in the ribs at market, and winked
 
 236 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 over tlieir mornino- draui^hts of cider, exclaimins^ 
 witli a chuckle — "Thic Maister Apwood be up 
 to a thing or two, he be ! " 
 
 He entered warmly into my plans for improving 
 the estate. I had inherited a share in an iron- 
 mine in an adjoining county, and here his assist- 
 ance was invaluable. He found the other pro- 
 prietors were little better than sleeping partners, 
 and had left everything in the hands of an agent, 
 — honest enougli, but slow and timid. Apwood 
 roused up the agent, threw on more hands, in-- 
 troduced a simple piece of machinery for running 
 the ore up a steep incline to the tram-road above, 
 and increased our profits ten per cent. 
 
 Rosamund, apt to let first impressions affect her 
 mind too seriously, was a long time getting over 
 her dislike to him. However, he made himself 
 so useful in the gardens that she was at last won 
 over. 
 
 It was mentioned in a former chapter, that 
 Hosamund's maid, Louise, was going to leave us, 
 I inquired everywhere for a lady's-maid to fill her 
 place. We were so fortunate as to find one before 
 Louise quitted us. Winifred Jones came to us 
 with first-rate recommendations, having left an
 
 A ZEALOUS STEWARD. 237 
 
 excellent place from a wish to live in the country, 
 an unusual penchant for women in her sphere of 
 life : but one we were not disposed to criticise. 
 Louise knew her, and seemed confident she 
 would exactly suit her young mistress. Wini- 
 fred was a handsome girl, rather like a gipsy, 
 but singularly attentive and zealous. Rosamund 
 was in a short time almost reconciled to the loss 
 of Louise. 
 
 To return now to matters of more interest. I 
 had ceased to think of Parliament. Friends 
 might mention the subject, but I did not en- 
 courage them. An election, however, was now 
 imminent, for Hazlebury had finally determmed 
 to retire. 
 
 One morning, the servant summoned me from 
 one of the flower-terraces where I was saunterino* 
 book in hand, to receive some visitors who had 
 just arrived — Mr. Ferris and the Miss Ferrises. 
 Rosamund was somewhere in the garden, but 
 could not at the moment be found. With some- 
 thing like a groan I obeyed the summons. Mr. 
 Ferris was a cousin of mine ; he was more nearly 
 related, so the learned said, to Jefiry Ferris than 
 I was myself — now, as Jeffry had selected me for
 
 238 ' HERBERT CIIAUNCEY. 
 
 his lieir, the Ferrises at first felt it their painful 
 duty to regard me as a malignant enemy, and 
 carefully avoid coming near me. It seemed, 
 however, that they had begun to think better of 
 this. I am afraid we were rather sorry for their 
 change of politics. Mr. Ferris was a chattering 
 busybody. One comfort was, that he was rather 
 ill-natured. Your real bores are amiable; you 
 feel compunctions of conscience in treating them 
 as bores. Now I felt justified in calling my cousin 
 a bore behind his back, and politely treating him 
 as such to his face. His daughters were very 
 dissimilar one to another. The eldest was rather 
 like her father — mind and person. The youngest, 
 though gaunt and pale, was not ill-looking, and 
 had a turn for the romantic. The family lived 
 about ten miles off, in a spot that some would 
 term gloomy — some picturesque. It was on the 
 north side of a steep hill, clothed with fir j)lanta- 
 tions. At the foot of the hill was a lake, shallow 
 and rushy — a weeping willow or two ornamented 
 the shore, and occasionally a couple of sickly 
 swans, who evidently did not find the climate agree 
 with them, floated on the inky water, with a de- 
 jected expression of countenance. The country
 
 A ZEALOUS STEWARD. 23^ 
 
 round for Lalf a mile was swampy ; the fir plan- 
 tation had been suspected of harbouring two 
 notorious burglars, and was said to be haunted by 
 the ghost of an old man in a white great-coat^ 
 carrying a pitchfork on his shoulder. 
 
 Here, in a square, compact house, built, by way 
 of orh-incp cheerfulness to the scene, in the style of 
 a cockney villa near London, resided my cousia 
 Perris, a widower, with his two daughters. He 
 was a banker, and had had a life and death 
 struo-fjle in the recent crash, when half the west- 
 country banks went to the wall, but had weathered 
 the storm somehow or other, and was supposed 
 to be doing well. Every day but Smiday, with 
 few exceptions, Mr. Ferris drove into Stoke-upon- 
 Avon, in his yellow gig, with a yellow silk hand- 
 kerchief tied round the lower part of his yellow- 
 ish-brown face, and a groom, in drab and yellow 
 livery, by his side ; looking, as he di'ove along the 
 road, like the very genius of jaundice going its 
 rounds in search of victims. 
 
 To-day he had taken a holiday, to give " the 
 girls," — one would never see thirty again, the other 
 was only three years short of it, — " a bit of a lark." 
 As I entered at one door of the hall, Rosamund
 
 •240 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 entered at the other, and the moment we had 
 gone through the ceremony of greeting, Ferris, 
 with an extraordinary air of mystery, and an 
 •elaborate contortion of the face, drew me by 
 the sleeve into the recess of the oriel window. 
 He had a busy, restless countenance, a yellowish 
 complexion, as before observed, and a pair of 
 flexible eyebrows. No sooner was I safe in 
 the recess, than he began, in a hoarse whisper, 
 tiudible at the other end of the room, to con- 
 gratulate me on "my triumphant escape from 
 the clutches of the law at the late abominable 
 inquest." 
 
 Now, as I knew that the inquest at the " Druid's 
 Head" was a subject very painful to my dear 
 Kosamund, I was alarmed lest she sliould over- 
 liear him. 
 
 Fortunately, however, the two Miss Ferrises 
 -were both talking to her at once, and her attention 
 was fully occupied. 
 
 Ferris went on, with an improved grimace, and 
 a jerk of the whole body. 
 
 " Cousin Herbert, I should have made it a 
 point — made it a point to have run over to con- 
 dole with you, but have been suffering from a
 
 A ZEALOUS STEWARD. 241 
 
 cold — a nasty cold ; caught by fishing in our lake, 
 after a warm day's work in the ' Stoke-upon-Aron 
 and National and Provincial Bank.' Isabella, 
 my youngest, declares 'twas from sleeping with 
 my bedroom windows closed, thereby producing 
 a morbid susceptibility of the pores of the skin. 
 But then, vou know, she cannot abide anvthino; 
 to be said against her lake — her beloved lake. 
 I call her 'the ladv of the lake,' ha! ha! But 
 really, I beg to assure you of my full sympathy 
 in your late unhappy disaster." 
 
 " Really, ^Ir. Ferris, I am not aware of having 
 met with any disaster at all." 
 
 " True, true ; it would have been worse if you 
 had been shot yourself ! True, true ! " 
 
 '•I do not understand you. There was no 
 duel, and no one was shot. Shall we join the 
 ladies ? " 
 
 "No duel? No one shot?" And he 2:ave a 
 little jump in the air with amazement. '•' I was 
 told the ball passed through his brain ! Very 
 uncomfortable for both parties — very ! " 
 
 I doubt not he was quite aware of the real 
 facts, but I thought it right to tell him what had 
 really happened. 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 HEKBEKT CHAUJ^CEY. 
 
 " Aje, aye ; this is ^yell — very well," lie re- 
 joined ; " I am glad it was only a scuffle, and 
 not a duel. You see parties had begun to whisper 
 strange tales about. Some said Hartley wanted 
 to get you out of the way to make sure of his 
 election. Some said 'twas vice versa. Monstrous, 
 monstrous ; nay, quite unchristian to spread sucli 
 tales." 
 
 " I am glad you think so, sir. Will you 
 oblige me by giving up the name of jour infor- 
 mant?" 
 
 " I ! cousin Chauncey — I ! I know nothing I 
 My memory, sir, my memory, sir, is not what 
 it was ! " and he gave a shrill and querulous sigh,, 
 like the mew of a cat. " However," he added,. 
 " I'm rejoiced that you weathered the inquest so 
 well." 
 
 I could not endure this any longer, and begging 
 him not to allude any further to a stupid affair 
 that I wished to be forgotten, I led him away 
 to where the ladies were seated. 
 
 " My dear," Miss Isabella was saying, " a person 
 with imagination may take more liberties than 
 others. We are a privileged race; are we not,, 
 Mrs. Chauncey?"
 
 A ZEALOUS STEWARD. 243 
 
 "I do not pretend to be one of tlie race, I 
 assure you." 
 
 '• Oh, Mrs. Chauncey, you cannot deceive me ! 
 It is written in every line of your countenance. 
 Oh, yes, you are one of us — you are one of us." 
 
 '• Take care," interposed the elder sister ; " take 
 care, or Isabella will inveigle you into a mid- 
 night walk, on the shores of our lake, to listen 
 to the frogs. She was there last nio-ht, and if 
 she does not take care will meet with a watery 
 grave." 
 
 " A delicious death ! " sighed Isabella. 
 
 " Delicious — what, drowning ? Have you ever 
 made the experiment ? " 
 
 *• A sweet, dreamy sensation ; a heavy throng 
 of fancies gushing over the brain; all one's 
 past life clustered before the mind's eye in 
 kaleidoscope distinctness : then a vague delirium, 
 a poetic bewilderment, and all is over." 
 
 " Herbert," said Rosamund, " you were once 
 nearly drowned. What were your feelings ? " 
 
 "Excessive fright, and a sense of suffoca- 
 tion." 
 
 '• Isabel thinks the Humane Society's men on 
 the banks of the Serpentine should be pro- 
 
 10—2
 
 244 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 secuted for cruelty to animals," remarked Miss 
 Ferris. 
 
 " Oh, 'tis the imagination ! " murmured Isabella, 
 burying her nose in a bouquet of flowers Rosa- 
 mund had just given her. 
 
 " Really," exclaimed her sister, ^" you are as 
 mad as poor Mr. Hartley was said to be." 
 
 " Hush ! " interposed their father, in a loud 
 whisper, and with a considerate glance at Rosa- 
 mund and myself. Then, with an air of great 
 tact, he changed the subject. " Talking of mad- 
 ness, they say Sir Hugh Littlecot, of Severn Banks, 
 is very queer in his head ; he lias been about 
 this neio'hbourhood two or three times of late, 
 so the turnpike-men have told me, but always 
 driving at a furious pace, as if — saving your 
 presence, Mrs. Chauncey — some one unpleasant 
 were close at his heels. The last time I saw him 
 was on the 15th April. He Avas looking ill — very 
 ill. Ah, he Avas always morose. Now, Miss 
 Littlecot, she's quite another thing — soft and 
 gentle. Ah, well, d'3^e think it will rain to- 
 
 morrow r 
 
 9" 
 
 This abrupt change of the subject arose from 
 his at length perceiving that I was exceedingly
 
 •A ZEALOUS STEWARD. 245 
 
 annoved bv the remarks he was makinc^. Rosa- 
 mund did not see mv face. I therefore took no 
 pains to look otherwise than worried and vexed 
 at my cousin's mischievous chat. 
 
 There was an awkward pause, when a brilliant 
 thought stiTick me that I would put them do\vn 
 to the piano. Thej were all musical. The father 
 was great on the flute — the daughters on the 
 piano. Soon the two ladies were absorbed in an 
 overture to a new German opera, that shook my 
 ancestors on the wall, and bewildered the bass 
 pedal. Ferris stood by, now holding his hands 
 as if he was fingering his flute, now folding his 
 arms and rockincr to and fro, like a landsman on 
 board ship in a gale of wind, and now uttering 
 a nasal snort of, approbation. Rosamund stood 
 near, with a slight smile trembling on her 
 lips. 
 
 At that moment the hall door was flung open, 
 and in walked, first, a huge Newfoundland dog, 
 who marched up to Rosamund, with whom he 
 was a great favourite; secondly, Folliott, his 
 master, with a look of profound discomfort 
 at this tumult of sweet sounds ; and lastly, 
 Apwood.
 
 246 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 Folliott bowed expressively to Rosamund, and 
 sank into an Elizabethan arm-chair, at the farthest 
 end of the room. 
 
 Apwood said — "Hush, we will not disturb 
 the music," and beckoned me aside. 
 
 The German overture meantime eddied noisily 
 round the room, and Ferris, and his fair offspring, 
 continued abstracted from the visible world. 
 
 Apwood's countenance wore an expression of 
 triumph, and, looking straight at me, as if he 
 expected to communicate his own sensations to 
 myself, he exclaimed : — 
 
 " Hazlebury has applied for the Chiltern 
 Hundreds. There will be an election for the 
 county in six weeks ! " 
 
 A very slight thrill of excitement passed 
 through me. But no. It was nothing to me 
 now. I had resolved not to stand. Smiling, care- 
 lessly, I answered : — 
 
 '' With all my heart." 
 
 '^ Aye, but look here," persisted Apwood, draw- 
 ing from his pocket a large sheet of paper, damp 
 from the press, covered with thick, staring letters, 
 and a profusion of capitals. '^ Read ! " he said, 
 "Read!"
 
 A ZEALOUS STEWARD. 247 
 
 It was an address to tlie honest, free, and 
 independent electors of the Connty of Meadshire, 
 by William Vaughan, offering himself as a 
 candidate for their suffrages at the approaching 
 election. He affected to be influenced by two 
 reasons — first, that he was solicited to come for- 
 wards by a large number of freeholders ; secondly, 
 that no other eligible landowner, or man of 
 character, was likely to offer himself. A great 
 rjart of Vau^han's address was an enerijetic 
 funeral oration on his deceased friend, James 
 Hartley, Esq., who had fully intended to solicit 
 their suffrages, and wliose sudden and mysterious 
 death, at so critical at moment, had filled every 
 Iionest man's bosom with regret and consterna- 
 tion. He would not dwell at any length on that 
 painful circumstance ; it must still be fresh in 
 their recollection. He respectfully suggested that 
 the best mode of expressing their high opinion of 
 the deceased, and giving vent to their feelings, 
 would be to f^ive a favourable hearino: to his dear 
 and intimate friend, unworthy though he was 
 to be selected as a substitute. He professed him- 
 self an advocate of the rights of the people, an 
 enemy of aristocratic corruption and one-sided
 
 248 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 legislation, and a friend of the working classes — 
 in short, a benevolent democrat. 
 
 The address had been evidently drawn np in 
 full expectation of my starting as a candidate- 
 I saw the artfulness of alluding to Hartley's death, 
 and could not now doubt but that my summons 
 to the inquest, that irrational and inexcusable 
 step, was a stroke of policy intended to damage 
 my character amongst the electors, and weaken 
 my position in the count}'. I had been the victim 
 of a base conspiracy, concocted with low cunning, 
 and carried out with unblushing audacity. Angry 
 disgust seized me. I turned to Apwood, who 
 stood waiting to see the effect of the address, and 
 exclaimed, — 
 
 " Apwood, I shall oppose this fellow ! " 
 
 " I thought you would not hesitate after such 
 an insult as that ! " he rejoined. 
 
 "I will not be either tricked or bullied into 
 tame submission. I will show these scoundrels 
 what I am made of. Make all necessary pre- 
 parations — retain lawyers, appoint canvassers, 
 scour the county, fling money about freely, strain 
 every nerve, print addresses, circulate hand-bills, 
 post up placards — mortgage my estates, if neces-
 
 A ZEALOUS STEWAED. 240 
 
 sary — raise funds by every means in your power.. 
 I give you carte blanche ; Yauglian lias thoroughly 
 roused me, and he shall find I am no weak, no 
 idle opponent ! " 
 
 '• Well said, Herbert ! " exclaimed FoUiott, wiia 
 had joined us. " I am glad you have got the 
 steam up. We shall have some fun now ; let 
 us go to work at once I There's cousin Ferris 
 yonder; he has a good batch of votes." And 
 Folliott w'as moving towards him, when Apwood 
 stopped him with, — 
 
 " Gently, gently, my lord ; we must get our 
 party together first. That old gentleman is as 
 treacherous as he is talkative. Ten to one he 
 would either join the enemy at once, wdiich would 
 be bad enouiih, or affect to be one of Mr. 
 Chauncey's chief supporters, which would be still 
 worse ! " 
 
 Folliott at once acquiesced, and retreated pre- 
 cipitately to his arm-chair, until the music was 
 over, and our friends fairly out of the house. 
 
 We then took comisel together. There must 
 be a meeting of the Tory gentry, and a resolution 
 proposed and carried in my favour ; that w^as 
 the first step. Apwood and Folliott rode off in
 
 ■250 HERBERT CHAUXCEY. 
 
 different directions to make arrangements, and 
 Rosamund and myself sat down to study tlie poll- 
 took of the last election, lent us by Apwood. 
 
 In a week, we were plunged headforemost 
 into the bustle and excitement of a county elec- 
 tion.
 
 251 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 CANVASSING THE COUNTY. ' 
 
 My unfortunate fracas with Hartley, the challenge, 
 the sudden death, the inquest, were certainly 
 matters injurious to my prospects as a candi- 
 date. In the towns, and even in the agricul- 
 tural district immediately surrounding Mount 
 Maurice, the poorer class of voters opposed me 
 as one man. My friends and supporters were 
 hooted, hustled, and pelted, whenever they showed 
 themselves in Downend, and, indeed, in adjoining 
 parishes. A swarm of libellous squibs, placards, 
 and pamphlets, issued from the Radical press. 
 
 But I was the only Tory candidate in the field, 
 and this was in my favour. Again, Vaughan was 
 an iron manufacturer ; he had made, and was 
 making, money by trade, and therefore was re- 
 garded in those days as an objectionable person.
 
 252 HEEBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 My politics were of the right sort — his were 
 sternly Radical. Whatever my personal ante- 
 cedents, it was, in the judgment of the county 
 gentlemen, a matter of duty to suj)port me ; but 
 they were not in the first instance zealous on 
 my behalf; on the contrary, with few excep- 
 tions, lano;uid and mechanical. Paul Muckle- 
 worth, indeed, was vigorous enough ; he would 
 have voted for a Tory burglar, in preference to 
 a canonized saint whose politics were Liberal. 
 
 Apwood worked hard, and did me good service. 
 Folliott worked, if possible, harder, but I am 
 afraid did me as much harm as good by his 
 vehement advocacy. His devotion was, however^ 
 praiseworthy. Throwing off his usual listless- 
 ness and effeminacy, he scoured the county^ 
 knocked up torpid old squires, terrified the clergy 
 by passionate assurances that the Church was m 
 danger, drank cider with the fiirmers till he wa& 
 exceedingly poorly, and kissed their wives as often 
 as Apwood told him to do so. 
 
 My first essay at speaking to a mob in the 
 open air I shall not easily forget. I had never 
 done such a thing before, but, like the Irishman 
 and his violin, I did not anticipate much diffi-
 
 CANYASSIXG THE COUNTY. '253 
 
 culty. It was at Stoke-upon-Avou, and, being 
 market-day, the streets were filled witli bleating 
 sheep, and impatient oxen, that ever and anon 
 made short rushes at the bystanders. There was 
 no regular market-place; cattle, corn, and sheep, 
 were ofiPered indiscriminately for sale in the High 
 Street. The " Crown and Anchor " inn, from the 
 balcony of which we were to address the mob, 
 was about half way up the street, and looked out 
 upon the thick of the bustle. 
 
 There was a preliminary meeting of my friends 
 in a back parlour of the inn. ^Ye mustered about 
 tliirty, and had hardly seated ourselves, as best 
 we could — some on chairs, some on the sofa, 
 some on the sideboard, and one on a plate-warmer 
 — when the door of the room was flung open, 
 and the landlord and head-waiter entered with 
 two large trap's, containing thirty tumblers of stiff 
 brandy-and-water, reeking hot. 
 
 It was a sultry day in July, about eleven o'clock 
 in the forenoon, and hot brandy-and-water was 
 the last thing anybody wanted. But nobody 
 seemed surprised. The trays were placed on the 
 ground, in a corner of the room, and nobody 
 .touched them, except FoUiott, who accidentally
 
 254 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 broke three tumblers by treading on them. How- 
 ever, when I came to pay my election bills, brandy- 
 and-water formed a conspicuous item in the ac- 
 count delivered by the landlord of the "Crown 
 and Anchor," the charge being at the moderate 
 rate of one guinea per glass, or thirty guineas in 
 all. There was also a small charge of two pounds 
 two for cigars. This was Folliott's fault ; he tried 
 one cheroot, and flung it away half smoked. Paul 
 Muckleworth sat on the table, and in his rich,, 
 bass voice, laid down the law and sketched the 
 programme of the meeting. It was very im- 
 portant that some one of authority should take 
 the lead, for greater confusion at first, cannot 
 be imagined. Most of the thirty gentlemen be- 
 longed to Stoke-upon-Avon or the immediate 
 neighbourhood ; and, as is the invariable rule, 
 their whole soul was filled with the notion that 
 tlie battle of Meadshire w^as to be fought in Stoke- 
 upon-Avon, a place containing at most about 
 one-twentieth part of the constituency. 
 
 "My dear sir," exclaimed a little man, with 
 prominent eyes and a pointed nose ; " my dear 
 sir, have you called on Popkins ? Popkins voted, 
 wrong last election, but is said to be wavering.
 
 CANVASSDsG THE COUNTY. 255 
 
 He lives only three miles off — an easy Avalk. Xow 
 do call on Popkins. It would be a splendid hit 
 to call on Popkins ! " 
 
 " Mr. Phleem, stand by a bit, will ye, please ? "^ 
 intei*posed ^Ir. Muggles — a short, burly yeoman — 
 pushing my friend with the pomted nose bodily 
 into the fireplace. "Now, sir, Mr. Chauncey, 
 I've a word to say to you. Look'ee here now. 
 What we want in Stoke is just this : A good, 
 thumping, double-extra tax on that nasty, stink- 
 ing Yankee cheese I You tell the folk outside 
 that vou'll briiio; m an Act of Parliament for 
 taxing Yankee cheese ; that's your game, sir." 
 
 And my stout friend gave me a nudge in the 
 ribs that almost sent me into the fireplace after 
 Mr. Phleem. A gaunt, dark-complexioned man, 
 w4th a chronic cough, now seized me by the 
 button. 
 
 " Sir, I'm proud to make your acquaintance. 
 We shall know each other better soon. You will 
 find me a glutton for work. Sir, it was I that 
 organized the great ' anti-public-pmnp ' agitation 
 in Stoke-upon-Avon, in the year '20. Yes, sir, 
 I am the man ; and I am proud of it. Pure 
 water is good^ sir, but parochial freedom is better.
 
 256 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 I am the man that trampled "under foot that base 
 plot for making my fellow-townsmen clean by 
 compnlsion, and healthy against their wills. Ah ! 
 you may trust me, Mr. Chauncey — you may 
 trust me ! " He paused to cough ; then added — 
 " And, by-the-by, Mr. Chauncey, if you could 
 bring in a little allusion in your speech to the ' anti- 
 public-pump ' agitation, it would not be amiss. 
 Now, do think of it, Mr. Chauncey ; I speak as 
 a friend." 
 
 Paul Muckleworth now thumped the table, 
 shouted '^ Order, order," and addressed the com- 
 pany in a tone of solemn exhortation, winding 
 up with the spirit-stirring phrase, that we were 
 " to go it like bricks." 
 
 "We marched two and two along the passage 
 to the front room, and emerged on the balcony. 
 
 I have said it was market-day, and the street 
 -was in a bustle. Farmers, graziers, drovers, 
 market-gardeners, were crowded together imme- 
 diately in front of the inn, interspersed with a 
 plentiful admixture of dirty-looking men, women, 
 and boys, belonging to the town. The agricultural 
 element predominated, and I had, therefore, a toler- 
 ably fair hearing.
 
 CAXVASSIXG THE COUXTY. 257 
 
 Just as Paul Mucklewortli was going so speak, 
 ■who slioukl arrive on the balcony but Sir Claude 
 Cockayne, whom Apwood, by dint of strenuous 
 exertion, had induced to come forward. Sir Claude 
 entered the inn by a back door, and seemed not 
 particularly to enjoy his position, for after com- 
 plimenting me on my address, which was " highly 
 spoken of at the Carlton," he chiefly occupied 
 himself in fanning his face with a scented pocket- 
 handkerchief. 
 
 ** Cut it short, Paul ! " was the cry that greeted 
 ]Muckleworth, before he had spoken ten words. 
 This to my unsophisticated ears seemed uncivil, 
 and rather disconcerted me. Paul Muckleworth, 
 however, took it with perfect indifference. Eveiy 
 interruption, jocose or savage, uttered by the mob, 
 he tossed from him as a massive rock flinors back 
 the foam of the advancincr waves. ]Mr. Phleem 
 followed, addressing the multitude in a prolonged 
 screech, which set the oxen off lowing louder than 
 ever. The Rev. Mr. Worritt seconded Phleem, 
 and did it well, m a set speech, learnt by rote, 
 the peroration of which was a little damaged by 
 a carrot, flung by a mischievous juvenile amongst 
 the Radicals, lighting exactly on the top of his 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 '258 HERBERT CHAUXCEY. 
 
 bald headj amidst roars of laughter from friend 
 and foe. 
 
 I was received when commencing my speeds 
 hy a deafening conglomeration of cheers, yells,, 
 and groans. 
 
 " Take it coolly," said Muckleworth, whose hot 
 breath I felt at the back of my neck. " Take it 
 coolly!" 
 
 I paused, and then commenced again, but 
 my voice was drowned in the clamour, and I 
 became hoarser and hoarser. 
 
 " Where's Hartley ? " shouted a smutty-faced 
 blacksmith, close beneath the balcony, in a sten- 
 torian voice. It was the sicpnal for a burst of 
 yelling, mingled with cheers. 
 
 An intelligent little man in black, the reporter 
 of the County Herald, who was squeezed into an 
 inconceivably small space in the corner of the 
 balcony, and had been endeavouring to catch my 
 eye for the last quarter of an hour, suggested 
 that I should " address myself to the press." At 
 the same time he brandished his note-book and 
 pencil invitingly in my face. I took his advice, 
 and directed my observations exclusively to him. 
 Presently the mob became curious to know what
 
 CANVASSING THE COUNTY. 259 
 
 I was saying ; there was a lull. Unluckily the in- 
 stant I heard my own voice, my ideas evaporated — 
 I lost my self-possession — the motley scene danced 
 before my eyes, and I thonght I was going to 
 break down. With a desperate effort I recovered 
 myself by talldng nonsense for a few minutes, 
 and meantime thinking what to say next. The 
 thirty gentlemen on the balcony cheered my non- 
 sense vriih frantic ecstacy. The farmers below- 
 responded. In a voice of thimder Muckleworth 
 roared '• Bravo I " I rallied, and delivered my- 
 self of a few sentences very creditably. Then 
 a drove of oxen burst through the mob, followed 
 by a litter of pigs, and the uproar swamped my 
 voice once more. 
 
 '• Chauncey, Chamicey, if you love me," cried 
 Sir Claude, " bring them to the poll and make 
 an end of it, or I shall faint." 
 
 I took the hint, and wound uij bv uro-inf;- 
 '•' every man, woman and child to be early at the 
 poll I " I unluckily forgot that women and chil- 
 dren had no votes. Tlie mob did not forcjet, 
 
 CD ^ 
 
 and greeted the appeal with a scream of trium- 
 phant laughter. 
 
 As soon as we had retreated from the balcony I 
 
 17—2
 
 260 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 was congratulated on my successful speech. It 
 was by no means bad for a beginning, and one 
 passage pronounced worthy of being printed in 
 letters of gold. I was pleased to hear it, but a 
 little disappointed when I found the particular 
 passage referred to was where I had spoken non- 
 sense in order to recover my self-possession. 
 
 Muckleworth then hurried me off on a can- 
 vassing expedition. We were to call on Mr. 
 Juice, the dissenting minister. It was rather a 
 forlorn hope; but Apwood declared that a little 
 stroking down and caressing would do wonders. 
 Mr. Saltmarsh, my good vicar, protested against 
 canvassing a dissenter, and remained in the 
 carriage outside. Mr. Juice's maid stared Avildly 
 at the spectacle of a carriage and four, with no 
 end of blue ribbons in the horse's heads, drawn 
 up in front of her master's quiet suburban villa. 
 After some delay we were admitted. Mr. Juice 
 had put on his best Sunday coat, and largest 
 white neck-tie. He sat in an arm-chair, with 
 the light falling very effectively upon the bump 
 of veneration at the top of his bald head, one 
 leg crossed over the other, and his countenance 
 serious, but placid — -just as our bishops sit when
 
 CA2s'YASSlXG THE COUNTY. 261 
 
 expecting a Tisitor who requires to be gently 
 snubbed. 
 
 We made our approaches' cautiously ; first 
 praising his garden, then his house, then his 
 study. Folliott went so far as to hazard a com- 
 pliment to the good looks of the maid-servant, 
 biit we kicked him under the table, and he paused. 
 The state of religion in Stoke was next touched 
 upon, and finally the success of Mr. Juice's minis- 
 terial labours. 
 
 His countenance lost its stenniess at the end 
 of the first three minutes, and became mildly 
 compassionate ; then passed into the blandly- 
 cordial; and finally into the soberly-jocose and 
 familiar. Rising from his arm-chair, Mr. Juice 
 showed us the theological works in his bookcase, 
 particularly a handsome edition of Hooker; the 
 prints in his portfolio, especially a striking like- 
 ness of Bishop Horsley ; a collection of dried cater- 
 pillars in various attitudes of torture ; and a bed 
 of pinks in the little flower-garden in fi.'ont of 
 his house. As we were going — not a word had 
 been said on the real object of our visit — Mr. 
 Juice drew me back into the study, and softly 
 rubbing his hands together, said, —
 
 262 HERBERT CIIAUNCEY, 
 
 " I presume^, Mr. Chamicey, you will vote for 
 tlie total abolition of cliiircli-rates ? " 
 
 I reddened, and stammered a confession, that 
 as a genuine Tory, I must stand up in defence 
 of the Church. 
 
 " Ah, well ; you will give the subject your 
 attention at all events, and perhaps you will read 
 this little work, issued by the ' Church Annihilator 
 Society.' You will find it very good. And how 
 about ejecting the bishops from the House of 
 Lords, Mr. Chauncey ? Many of my dear brethren 
 are warm on that point.'* 
 
 I again reddened, and was afraid I could not 
 support a bill for that purpose. 
 
 " Ah, well ! You will think of it, I hope. 
 I am pleased to have had the honour of being 
 introduced to you, and I think if I vote at all I 
 shall give you a plumper." 
 
 We shook hands warmly, and drove off in 
 triumph. But a few days after, I discovered a 
 fact that considerably damped my gratification. 
 My friend, Mr. Juice, did not happen to have a 
 vote for the county. 
 
 Then we visited a small yeoman living in a 
 small farmhouse with a small field attached to
 
 C.^JS'VASSEN'G THE COUNTY. 263 
 
 it. This man kept us two hours before he would 
 promise his vote, and, after all, we were not sure 
 of him. 
 
 " Dwon't ye knaw, Squire Chauncey, I be a free- 
 holder, and fiither afore me ? Aye, aye, and I'll 
 aiiver gee my vote wi' my eyes shut I Begummers, 
 I oodn't if the finest orennelman in England axed 
 me. Na, I oodn't, ^Ir. Apwood. It's nonsical 
 to 'spect it. I tell thee I oodn't. Xow do ye. 
 Squire Chauncey, come nist the fire, and tell I 
 summut more. Dwon't be 'frunted. Squire Chami- 
 cey, dwon't be 'frunted. But I be a freeholder, 
 and father war too, and gramfer afore us ; which 
 all dree on us voted blue, but we allo's knawed 
 why fust. Ees, all o's. Come, squire, I bag your 
 pardon, but oon't ye take drop cider ? Do ye now, 
 iind tell I summut more o' politics. Do ye now I " 
 
 The day was well nigh spent, but we paid one 
 more visit. It was to the rector of the next 
 parish; a tall, diy, austere-looking man, who, 
 the moment we were all safe in his library, took 
 <lown a voluminous work on the x\pocaljq3se, and 
 put us through a regular examination. 
 
 We should have got out of it very well, if it 
 had not been for my vicar; who, although we
 
 264 HERBERT CHxiUNCEY. 
 
 pinched him black and blue, would persist in con- 
 tradicting every other ^Yord the rector said, until 
 it ended in a violent altercation, and our abrupt 
 dismissal from the house, with the pleasant as- 
 surance from the rector that he would rather 
 cut off his right hand than promote the return 
 of so heterodox a candidate. 
 
 We dined with a retired wine-merchant near 
 Stoke. He was a hearty man, and, carried away 
 hy political enthusiasm, was perpetually slapping 
 me on the back, and exclaiming — "Cheer up, 
 Mr. Chamicey, you are all right, sir ! " a mode of 
 treatment I have always particularly disliked, and 
 which, at any other time, I should have resented in 
 a way that would have greatly surprised my friend. 
 We dined on the fat of the land. I think I never 
 saw so many dishes crowded together on one 
 table. Sir Claude Cockayne, who was of the 
 party, found the spectacle too much for him, and 
 retired bodily before the second course was re- 
 moved. 
 
 Paul Muckleworth, Folliott, the vicar, our host, 
 and myself, were merry enough over the day's 
 adventures. Apwood seemed absent at first, but 
 after some glasses of unexceptionable champagne,^
 
 CANVASSING TPIE COUNTY. 265 
 
 rallied and talked as usual in his good-humoured, 
 but rather provincial fashion. 
 
 After dinner, we all rose at the request of our 
 host, and withdrew to another apartment, he 
 leading the way. Here was spread a table with 
 dessert and wine, where we passed more time than 
 I liked. There were six kinds of jjort on the 
 table, of different shades of coloiu', from that of 
 Warren's jet blacking, to a pale yellow. I have 
 never liked port wine since. Then came tea,, 
 handed round by a maid, whose jaunty cap was 
 adorned with the everlasting " true blue " ribbons,. 
 and to bed early, with the prospect of another 
 day's speechifying and canvassmg twenty miles- 
 oflP. 
 
 Comparatively, this is a bright page out of the 
 history of that long and di*eary election contest. 
 Yery soon the animosity of my opponents became 
 more bitter ; personal insults more frequent ; 
 libellous newspaper attacks and impudent hand- 
 bills multiplied. I was mobbed in one or two of 
 the larger towns, and hooted whenever I drove 
 through the manufacturing or mining districts oi" 
 the county. The contest waxed more furious as 
 the day of nomination approached. There were-
 
 "266 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 apprehensions of some violent disturbance. The 
 cavaky at Highbury barracks were cautioned to 
 hold themselves in readiness, and the Mayor of 
 Smelterstown, where the hustings were erected, 
 began to swear in special constables.
 
 267 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 ON THE HUSTINGS. 
 
 It was with no orclinaiy anxiety that I started 
 on the clay of nomination, with Folliott, Paul 
 Muckleworth, and Apwood, at the head of as 
 many of my own and my neighbour's tenantry as 
 we could muster, for the hustings at Smelters- 
 town, some ten miles distant. It was agreed that 
 Hosamund should remain at home, for warm work 
 was expected. She behaved with admirable forti- 
 tude, though when the horses came to the door, 
 her sudden paleness showed the secret anxiety she 
 was sufferincp. 
 
 Our cavalcade being drawn up in some degree 
 of order, the enthusiastic Mr. Paul Muckleworth 
 gave the signal for a lusty cheer, and off we set 
 at a steady trot, Rosamund's handkerchief flutter- 
 incr from the drawino^-room window, all the dogs
 
 268 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 on the premises barking in chorus, and the gar- 
 deners in the lawn takino; off their hats and 
 waving them in the air, like young "Puffendorf" 
 in the Rovers, with an air of not exactly know- 
 ing why. 
 
 We picked up other detachments of mounted 
 supporters along the road, but were joined by few 
 of the gentry. Many of those who had talked 
 the loudest, and promised the most, now hung 
 back, either from lack of zeal, or from alarm at 
 the violence of the opposition offered to me. 
 At Smelterstown, Sir Claude Cockayne hovered 
 about the outskirts of the mob in an eleo^ant 
 green chariot, with footmen in brilliant livery, 
 now here and now there, like a butterfly of un- 
 certain habits, but at length gave it up, and drove 
 briskly homewards. Mr. Martin Martin was 
 waiting for us in the hustings, also Eustace Pole, 
 and a batch of squires, with a sprinkling of clergy,, 
 but not many. 
 
 The wide open square in the centre of the 
 town, where the hustings stood, was densely 
 crowded. The trees on each side of the square, 
 were black with men and boys clustered in the 
 branches. The windows and roofs of the houses
 
 ON THE HUSTINGS. 269 
 
 seemed perfectly alive. The confused roar of the 
 densely-wedged crowd, the braying of a couple 
 of brass bands parading up and down the adja- 
 cent streets, and ever and anon some tremendous 
 cheer from the "yellows," and counter-cheers 
 from the " blues ; " — all this tended rather to 
 excite the calmest of us. However, having put 
 up our horses at the " Blue " inn, Muckle worth, 
 Folliott, myself and the rest formed a compact 
 column, and made a rush for the hustings : it was 
 the signal for a reonilar fio;ht. 
 
 Fortunately for myself, I was surrounded by 
 my own people, and heard only yells of fury, and 
 rattling of bludgeons and heavy-handled horse- 
 whips on all sides. The twelve special constables 
 •were bonneted early in the day, and disappeared 
 from the scene. Fighting, shoving, shouting, we 
 gained ground gradually, and at length were 
 safely landed on the hustings amidst cheers and 
 counter-cheers which I thought would never end. 
 Looking about me I found Folliott by my side ; 
 he at least of my many professed friends was true 
 to me. Stones and dirt were occasionally flung 
 from the crowd, but Folliott stood by me without 
 flinching, his dress torn and disordered hj the
 
 270 HERBERT CHxVUNCEY. 
 
 recent scuffle, his liat broken, and his face smeared 
 ^vith the blood of a wound on the forehead from a 
 flagstaff. Muckleworth had disappeared, having 
 been stunned by a blow from a bludgeon. A few 
 of my side still clung to me, but the group at that 
 end of the hustings was thinning. 
 
 Far and wide beneath me stretched a wilder- 
 ness of human faces, upturned with looks of 
 hatred and fury, towards the spot where I stood, 
 yelliug defiance without intermission. Banners 
 with absurd inscriptions flaunted in the wind. 
 Moveable placards with words of insult printed 
 in gigantic characters, offensive devices, such as 
 a figure of Jack Ketch stranghng a culprit 
 labelled " Chauncey." I gathered such compli- 
 mentary expressions as " butcher," " gallowsbird," 
 " murderer," hurled at me from time to time, but 
 the clamour was for the most part like the roar 
 of a menagerie — wild senseless rage, and nothing 
 more. 
 
 The under-sheriff, in the absence of the " high,'^ 
 who was ill, hurried through the usual formalities, 
 and for a few seconds was heard imploring a 
 fair hearing for both parties ; then the waves of 
 sound closed over his voice, and the rest was
 
 ON THE HUSTINGS. 271 
 
 lost. Our committee of management liad pru- 
 dently occupied the ground early by a compact 
 body of farmers and other country folk, together 
 with a band of hired bludgeon men primed vriili 
 drink. This kept the mob of Yellows, who 
 greatly outnumbered the Blues, at some little 
 distance from the front of the hustino;s. On 
 our left the Yellows outflanked us. Their 
 clamour and abuse tried our patience not a little, 
 but when they began saluting us with volleys of 
 gi'avel and small stones, our position grew seriously 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 '' Why, it's a regular pillory ! " exclaimed Folllott. 
 "Pass the word down to our fellows, and let us 
 charge those blackguards on the left, and make a 
 clear space ! " 
 
 " Hold, for Heaven's sake ! " remonstrated Ap- 
 wood. " They are three to one ! " 
 
 Folllott, disregarding him, continued to shout to- 
 my supporters nearest the hustings, — 
 
 "Now, my lads, look to your bludgeons, and 
 let us have a slap at the Yellows." 
 
 Nothing loath were " the lads." But I inter- 
 posed with energy, — 
 
 *• Folliott, this is a schoolboy folly. Whatever
 
 272 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 you do^ don't turn my tenants into policemen ; 
 ■better send for the dragoons than that ! " 
 
 ^^ Right ! " cried Apwood, in an excited voice. 
 " Right ! Hold your own ; but don't strike a 
 blow. I will be back in half an hour." 
 
 He squeezed my hand, but before I could speak, 
 had disappeared. 
 
 " The man's a coward ! " exclaimed Folliott. 
 " Let him go ; we are better without him." 
 
 At this moment, however, the uproar and vio- 
 lence of the mob subsided for a brief space. 
 Vaughan's voice was heard seconding the sheriff 
 in his endeavour to procure a hearing for the 
 speakers on both sides. Then two gentlemen from 
 the neighbourhood, one of them in business, pro- 
 posed and seconded Yaughan, but chiefly in dumb 
 show, for the clamour soon burst forth again. 
 
 Folliott proposed me. His face, as I have said, 
 was smeared with blood, and his dress in disorder. 
 The mob received him with shouts of laughter 
 and a volley of jokes ; he was recommended to 
 run home to his mother to have his face washed : 
 a halfpenny was flung at him to buy a " ha'porth 
 of plaister." 
 
 But Folliott had recovered his good-humour ;
 
 ON THE HUSTINGS. 273 
 
 lie did not care for laufrhter. and laucjlied as loud 
 as any .one. He caugiit tlie hal^enny, and veiy 
 deliberately put it in liis purse ; lie took out his 
 pocket-handkerchief, and in a leisurely way tied 
 it round his wounded head. Then, waving his 
 battered hat politely to the crowd, exclaimed, — 
 
 "Xow, gentlemen, I am ready for you," and 
 talked away, for twenty minutes, with tolerable 
 success. 
 
 Eustace Pole followed, and o-ot on verv well 
 until interrupted by a small boy of six, perched 
 on an adjacent tree, who requested him to " spit 
 it out faster." Whereupon, Eustace Pole lost his 
 presence of mind instantly, and, as usual, began to 
 stutter. '^ Shout, ^ Chauncey for ever,' and shut 
 up ! " cried Folliott, in his ear, and Eustace Pole 
 gratefully comphed with the suggestion. 
 
 Yaughan now stood forwards. For some mo- 
 ments his voice was inaudible ; but on a sudden 
 there was silence in the whole square — he had 
 uttered the name of Hartley. He enumerated his 
 good qualities, his contempt for meanness and 
 trickery, his hatred of injustice, his fierce but 
 excusable passion when successful villany crossed 
 his path. 
 
 YOL. I. 18
 
 274 HERBEKT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 Vauglian spoke in measured accents, slowly and! 
 forcibly. I gazed on liis countenance. .It was^ 
 as I have said, handsome, but austere and harsh. 
 A regular flow of emotion varied the expression 
 of his features as he proceeded. It was an honest 
 mind of no small power, ordinarily stern and 
 tranquil, now disturbed, but not mastered, by the 
 energy of a strong passion. 
 
 He said that Hartley was his relative. He was- 
 more, he was his fi'iend. 
 
 " I don't ask you," continued Vaughan, '^ to 
 send me to Parliament for my own sake, but out 
 of respect to the memory of James Hartley.. 
 Personally, I have but one claim on your good 
 will, and it is this, I am an honest man. But 
 Hartley's claims were many and strong. You 
 loved him. You were horrified at his sudden and 
 mysterious death — you will not treat his memory 
 lightly — you will not desert his friend — you will 
 stand by me, and place me at the top of the poll. 
 Because, if Hartley could speak, I am the man he 
 would name to take his place," 
 
 The energy with which Vaughan spoke, deeply 
 affected that large assembly. Even my own 
 supporters applauded him. Cheers rose in succes-
 
 ox THE HUSTINGS. 275 
 
 sive volumes of sound from all parts. My heart 
 sank, and it was Avitli an effort that I roused my- 
 self to address the multitude. There was silence 
 for a few seconds : but my voice was like a spark 
 falling into a heap of gunpowder. One shriek of 
 hatred filled the air. The great body of the mob 
 furiously pressed upon our people in front of the 
 hustings. The only man who had any influence, 
 was Yaughan ; he shouted, gesticulated, kept the 
 " vellows " on his side of the hustino^s in check. In 
 front, the struggle came to an end for lack of space 
 — all were so locked and jammed together that 
 there was no room to use a weapon. 
 
 But on our left the case was different : here 
 was a regular hand-to-hand fight between " yel- 
 lows" and "blues." Now the "blues" consisted of 
 many of my own tenantry, with a picked band 
 of bludgeon-men. The " yellows " were beaten 
 back, and fled in disorder, unable to stand against 
 the heavy weapons of our people. But the com- 
 bat was only suspended for a moment ; the dis- 
 comfited " yellows " rallied, and, reinforced by 
 a body of miners, advanced once more to the 
 attack. A bloody and desperate struggle seemed 
 imminent, when a thought seized me. I would 
 
 18—2
 
 276 HERBEKT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 withdraw my people, and throw myself on the 
 generosity of the mob. Folliott, and those about 
 me, reluctantly acquiesced. I made our men fall 
 back, and draw off towards the rear of the hust- 
 ings ; then, partly by my voice, partly by signs, 
 I made the mob understand that I placed myself 
 in their hands, and only asked for a fair hearing. 
 Vaughan himself seconded my endeavours; and 
 when, by the entire withdrawal of my supporters 
 from that end of the hustings, the mob saw the 
 space left open for them to occupy, and myself 
 standing almost alone patiently waiting to ad- 
 dress them, their feelings towards me manifestly 
 changed. With a cheer they pushed forwards, 
 took possession of the ground abandoned by 
 my partisans, and surged up against the hust- 
 ings a dense mass, rude and disorderly enough, 
 but well disposed to hear me. The better feel- 
 ing spread through the body of the multitude 
 in front. My frank confidence and courage told 
 upon them, as it ever will on the hearts of 
 Englishmen. 
 
 I was now almost entirely surrounded by a 
 vast assemblage of men, who a few moments be- 
 fore were uttering the fiercest imprecations against
 
 ON THE HUSTINGS. 277 
 
 me, and vreve bent upon violent outrage. A 
 narrow line of my supporters still indeed occupied 
 the ground in front of the hustings, but in case 
 of an onslaught could only serve the purpose 
 of a sort of temporary breakwater to the mob. 
 But the mob had become singularly quiet and 
 orderly. It was hke a huge animal holding 
 its breath. There was a general hush. I felt 
 that now or never was the moment to disabuse 
 the minds of these misguided men, and clear 
 my character before the world. 
 
 The intensity of my emotion, and the great 
 interests at stake, gave me on that occasion a 
 boldness and freedom of utterance that I have sel- 
 dom since attained. Conscious of the scene around 
 me, I saw the great assemblage, noticed the vary- 
 ing coimtenances upraised towards me, gleaming 
 white in the sunshine, heard the shouts, now of 
 applause, now of reprobation. But the conscious- 
 ness of external thincrs was subordinate to the 
 flow of my thoughts, and the ringing words in 
 which I gave them utterance. My manly re- 
 monstrance against the base injustice with which 
 I had been treated — the indio-nant scorn with 
 which I flunix from me the foul calumnies cast
 
 278 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 upon my character — the temperate, but earnest 
 vindication of my conduct to Hartley, as I pointed 
 out to the attentive multitude the mark of his 
 horse-whip on my neck, visible to those near 
 me — had a favourable effect upon the majority. 
 They wavered, and at times applauded. 
 
 I protested my sorrow for the death of Hartley, 
 denomiced the inquest as a cowardly pohtical 
 dodge, threw myself upon their sense of justice, 
 and asked them to give a verdict in my favour 
 by electing me their member. 
 
 Carried away by my feelings, I raised my face 
 upwards, as if calling Heaven to witness my sin- 
 cerity ; I stretched out my hands, as if adjuring 
 the multitude to believe me. My heart swelled 
 with pardonable gratification as the air rang with 
 cheers that seemed the pledge of my approaching 
 triumph. 
 
 The applause had scarcely subsided, when, in 
 the lull that ensued, a distant clamour struck 
 upon my ear, each moment becoming louder. 
 The quarter whence it issued, was the long, ir- 
 regular street, forming the principal approach 
 to the square in Avhich we were assembled. The 
 noise was sharp and metallic — the rattle of wheels.
 
 ON THE HUSTINGS. 279 
 
 and clasli of horses' hoofs, along the rough pavmg 
 of the street. 
 
 My first glance lighted upon the figure of 
 Rosamund, in an open carriage, leaning forwards 
 with a countenance of keen anxietj. Strangely 
 at variance was that beautiful face, full of the 
 terror of love, with the coarse and reckless multi- 
 tude spread over the square. 
 
 But what did I behold, that sent a thrill of 
 bitter grief and vexation through my heart? 
 There, advancing at a rapid trot, on one side of 
 the carriage, the front files of a troop of dra- 
 goons, with drawn sabres flashing in the sun! 
 The carriage drew up, and the dragoons formed 
 line in front of it, on, the outskirts of the mob. 
 
 All this passed in a few seconds of time. A 
 low, deep murmur ran through the multitude, 
 wdth the rapidity of an electric shock. Then 
 burst from all sides a shout, or rather roar, of 
 rage and imprecation. 
 
 There are times when the mind, in presence of 
 sudden and unforeseen disaster, grasps, in one 
 instant, all the results that must spring from it. 
 So it w^as w^ith me. 
 
 I saw my newly-awakened hopes scattered to
 
 280 HEKBEET CHAUNCEY. 
 
 the winds, and tlie good-will and sympathy of the 
 multitude again turned to gall and bitterness — 
 contem^^t and hatred. 
 
 All that I had done, all that I had said that 
 morning, was instantly set down as base hypocrisy 
 — a trick merely to gain time, and keep the people 
 quiet until the soldiers could be brought up. My 
 carriage and liveries were well known; Rosamund, 
 herself, was no stranger to many present. More- 
 over, from the inn, at the corner of the street, my 
 friend and supporter, Paul Muckleworth, recovered 
 from the effects of the injury he had received that 
 morning, issued, with several of the gentry whom 
 the violence of the mob had frightened from the^ 
 hustings, and greeted the cavalry officers with 
 triumphant hilarity. 
 
 "Chauncey," cried FolKott, "I wish those 
 ridiculous dragoons weije at the bottom of the Red 
 Sea ! Who on earth could have sent 'em here ? " 
 
 Meantime the multitude were swayed to and 
 fro with a violent convulsion of rage ; stones flew 
 at the soldiers on the one side, and towards the 
 hustings on the other. I heard Yaughan's voice 
 imploring the people to hold their hands, and keep 
 the peace. Many even of my opponents urged.
 
 ON THE HUSTINGS. 281 
 
 me to make my escape down the steps at tlie back 
 of the hustings. Suddenly the whole weight of the 
 mob w^as swung, as if by one common instinct, 
 upon the band of my supporters in front, drove- 
 them to the right and left, or trampled them under 
 foot, and surged up, hke raging waves of the sea, 
 acrainst the wooden structure on which we stood. 
 Amidst the deafenino; clamour, it was almost im- 
 possible to make each other heard, but with one 
 consent we rushed to the rude plank door at the- 
 top of the steps behind us. It was locked on the 
 outside ! Stones, sticks, fragments of coal and 
 rubbish, fell thickly amongst friends and foes.. 
 The mob swarmed over the railino; in front of us. 
 and up the stairs on either side. Hideous faces,, 
 swollen with rage, glared at us open-mouthed ; and 
 bludgeons, iron bars, tools of husbandry, or from, 
 the mines, were brandished over our heads. In 
 sheer despair we closed with our assailants, and 
 grappled for our lives ; but there was no space to 
 use either fist or bludgeon — jammed into a 
 struggling mass, it was not so much a fight, as a 
 convulsive effort for self-presers'ation — the man 
 who fell would never rise from the ground alive.. 
 Vaughan, and his supporters on the hustings, were
 
 ■282 HEKBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 enveloped in the same wild tide, sparing neither 
 friend nor foe, and all swept with a great shock 
 atjainst the wooden barrier at the back. It bent, 
 cracked, split into fifty fragments. Over we went, 
 shouting and screaming, and fell to the ground 
 beneath — a struggling heap of terrified human 
 beings. Fortunately the height from w^hich we 
 ■fell was not much, and beyond kicks and 
 bruises, and in one instance a broken collar-bone, 
 the mjuries sustained were not serious. As for 
 myself, young and active, I quickly extricated 
 myself from the chaos of legs and arms, in which 
 for a moment I seemed to be entangled, and, gain- 
 ing my feet, pushed my way out of the thick of 
 the throng, and then paused to take breath. 
 
 Casting my eyes over the square, I perceived 
 i:he dragoons were quietly, but effectually, clearing 
 the space in front of the hustings. No unnecessary 
 violence was used, and beyond a great deal of 
 yelling and hooting, and an occasional shower of 
 dirt or gravel, no resistance offered. 
 
 The bulk of the mob being driven down the 
 adjacent streets, the dilapidated hustings began 
 to be reoccupied by the supporters of the two 
 candidates.
 
 ON THE HUSTINGS. 283 
 
 Vaughan, addressing himself to tlie officer in 
 command of the dragoons, midertook, that if he 
 withdrew his men, the mob should keep the peace. 
 The officer behaved very well, and drew oft the dra- 
 goons to a convenient distance. The scattered mul- 
 titude speedily reassembled. Yaughan addressed 
 them with energy, and so far succeeded in paci- 
 fying them, that they promised not to interrupt 
 the business of the meeting, provided I did not 
 continue my speech. Gentlemen of both sides 
 gathered round me, and begged me for my own 
 sake, and for the sake of the public peace, to 
 withcbaw. With a heavy heart I yielded to their 
 importunities, and quietly descended from the 
 hustings. Fortunately, a crowd of my own sup- 
 porters filled the space between the hustings and 
 the street where my carriage was posted, and I 
 threaded my way without much difficulty. I 
 found, however, that the carriage was removed 
 to the farther end of the street. I hastened for- 
 wards, but had not proceeded far, when, fi:om a 
 lane that crossed it at right angles, emerged a 
 sallow-faced little gentleman, mounted on a stout 
 pony. It was Ferris, who was either too late for 
 the meeting, or had prudently taken refuge in a
 
 284 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 place of safety, until tlie storm had blown over. 
 He craned his head over the pony's neck to get a 
 good view of me, wheeled round abruptly, and 
 wrenching off the blue cockade that adorned his 
 button-hole, stuffed it into his pocket, and, sticking 
 his heels into his pony's sides, cantered away up 
 the lane with looks of profound apprehension. 
 
 I called to mind the state of my dress, and my 
 general appearance. My hat gone, my hair 
 dishevelled, my face scratched and bleeding, my 
 clothes torn and covered with dust, it was no 
 wonder that the busthncj little banker had taken 
 me for one of the most riotous of the mob, and 
 had fled in alarm. 
 
 I walked as fast as my bruised and weary limbs 
 permitted to the end of the street, and came sud- 
 denly upon the carriage. It had been drawn 
 round the corner to be out of sight. Rosamund 
 had descended, and, her quick eye detecting me, 
 despite my forlorn and disordered appearance, she 
 instantly clasped me in her arms, greatly to the 
 astonishment of David, who, like Ferris, mis- 
 taking me for one of the " rebels," as he termed 
 the "yellows," had cocked a huge horse-pistol, 
 with the intention of summarily disposing of me.
 
 ON THE HUSTINGS. 285 
 
 We waited a few minutes to hear tlie result of 
 the show of hands, and then drove home. As 
 might have been anticipated, the show of hands 
 was greatly in Vaughan's favour, but a poll was 
 of course demanded.
 
 286 HERBERT CHAUNCEr. 
 
 CHAPTER Xy. 
 
 A SORRY TRIUMPH. 
 
 How came the dragoons to the place of nomina- 
 tion ? My bitterest and most artful enemy could 
 not have done me a greater injury. 
 
 It was Apwood. Mistaken zeal, and, I was 
 compelled to admit, a sudden access of unworthy 
 terror, had driven him to commit this sad, this 
 irretrievable blunder ; such, at least, was my im- 
 pression at the time. 
 
 It appeared that the sheriff, in a state of much 
 trepidation, left those magistrates who chanced 
 to be present, to take measures for maintaining 
 the peace. Apwood, on leaving the hustings, re- 
 paired to the hotel where certain magistrates in 
 the "blue" interest had taken refage, and from 
 them, thus vested with discretionary power by 
 the sheriff, he obtained authority, in writing.
 
 A SOEEY TRIUMPH. 28T 
 
 to summon the dragoons. Off he galloped to 
 Hic^hbiu'v barracks ; but not content with this 
 display of officious zeal, had the imprudence to 
 call at Glenarvon, and startle the inmates by the 
 intelligence that there was a bloody riot at Smel- 
 terstown, that I was in peril of my life, and that 
 the military had been called out. 
 
 Having told his story in an incoherent manner, 
 Apwood sank into a chair, and declared he was 
 too ill to return to Smelterstown. He had had a 
 fall, so he informed Rosamund, in leaping a fence, 
 and was much shaken. All he could do was to 
 advise the caiTiasfe to be sent for me. Nor did 
 he dissuade Rosamund from her resolution of 
 going herself to the scene of the riot, and bringing 
 me home, either alive or dead. The shock of his 
 fall, and the excitement of the day, had utterly 
 deprived him of sense and judgment. 
 
 I had not the heart to reveal to my wife the 
 irreparable damage sustained by the sudden ap- 
 pearance of the dragoons, simultaneously with 
 herself, at the very moment when I had at length 
 made an impression on the multitude, and was 
 carrj-ing their sympathies with me. 
 
 The dinner party at Glenarvon that day was
 
 288 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 large. Friends dropped in uninvited; political 
 supporters called to report progress, or obtain 
 instructions ; the old mansion was pervaded by 
 the buzz of many voices and the trampling of 
 many feet. 
 
 From the walls of the great hall the faces of 
 my ancestors seemed to look down with an air 
 of calm inquiry and mild surprise. All the 
 evening Rosamund was hemmed in by enthu- 
 siastic lady friends, amongst whom the vicar's 
 lady, who deemed Toryism a scriptural virtue, 
 and Mrs. Paul Muckleworth, a fiercer politician 
 than her husband, shone forth conspicuous. Up 
 to their knees in blue cockades, the ladies worked 
 away at banners and streamers, inscribing in 
 characters of dazzling hue, such battle-cries as 
 " Chauncey and Chivalry ! " " Chauncey and 
 Cluuch and State ! " &c. The men were quite as 
 busy. Apwood had gone home, but Folliott took 
 his place, and worked with a will. Eustace Pole, 
 clever with his pen, wrote spicy articles for the 
 Meadshire Mercury. Paul Muckleworth, wdiose 
 head ached from the rough usage of the morning, 
 lay on the sofa, and growled out reluctant appro- 
 bation, or surly contradiction, as the case required.
 
 A SORRY TRIUMPH. 289 
 
 Lono; after tlie last of our visitors had either 
 departed or turned in, we were not allowed to 
 rest. From time to time, as scattered parties 
 returning from the nomination passed along the 
 liio-h road at the foot of our o-rounds, hoarse shouts 
 of defiance and hatred reached our ears, borne 
 upon the breezes of the night, and sent a tlii^ill of 
 alarm through Rosamund's breast. 
 
 Next night there was a great gathering of the 
 Radicals at Downend Common by torchlight. 
 Alarm was caused to the whole neighbom-hood 
 when it was first announced, and two companies 
 of infantry, at the instigation of the lord-heutenant, 
 were posted within a convenient distance of the 
 spot. 
 
 But the meeting was summoned, not to incite, 
 but to prevent, disorder and disturbance. Per- 
 sonally, and by means of printed circulars, 
 Vanghan urged his friends and supporters to 
 pursue a course of tactics, which should frustrate 
 the evil hopes of their enemies, and secure his 
 triumph. 
 
 What that course was the first day's polhng 
 speedil}'' revealed. Perfect order and tranquillity 
 reigned throughout the county, so far as the 
 VOL. I. 19
 
 290 HEEBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 Kadical party were concerned.. It seemed as if 
 Vaugban had imparted to every one his own bu- 
 siness-like determination and cahn energy. Even, 
 banners and placards were abandoned. There 
 was no music — there was no cheering — the Kadi- 
 cal voters marched to the poll in stern silence: 
 wrath smouldered beneath, but outwardly all was 
 peace. 
 
 After the first fevv^ hours even ladies ventured 
 to the neighbourhood of the polling-booths. Our 
 own people caught the infection, and the common 
 sort would, I verily believe, have lost all interest 
 in the election, from the total absence of excite- 
 ment, had it not been for the drink which flowed 
 freely at every pnblic-house and beer-house 
 " chartered " by the Blues. 
 
 What with bad roads and a hilly country, it was 
 not till the afternoon that the committees of either 
 Vaughan or myself could collect the returns from, 
 the different polling-booths, and make public the 
 state of the poll. As I had fully expected, Vaughan. 
 was far ahead, the numbers being : — 
 
 Vaughan 1,711 
 
 Herbert Chauncey . . .1,429 
 
 Majority for Vaughan . 282
 
 A SOERY TRIOEPH. 291 
 
 Nothing but unwonted vigour and perseverance 
 could, in a constituency of under 55OOO, pull down 
 such a majority as tliis. But on the whole, I was 
 inclined to believe, that the very probability of my 
 defeat, now evident to all the Tory party, might 
 prove the means of securing success. From all 
 quai'ters, information reached our central com- 
 mittee rooms, that the tenant farmers were holding 
 back, and in some instances positively voting 
 against me. 
 
 The country gentlemen were exceedingly in- 
 dignant. It became not merely a question 
 between Yaughan and myself — an iron manu- 
 facturer or a squire ; it was a struggle between 
 landlord and tenant. The squirearchy, as I had 
 foreseen, woke up at last to a true appreciation 
 of its position. It shook itself like an unwieldy 
 animal suddenly roused, stared wildly, and then 
 set to work with energy to secure my seat, and 
 vindicate its own authority. That night there 
 was great galloping to and fro — eager conferences 
 — violent canvassing — a vast deal of money spent 
 and liquor drunk. Meantime the screw was 
 applied to doubtful or refractory tenants with an 
 unflinching hand. The polling next day began 
 
 19—2
 
 292 HERBERT CHAUXCEY. 
 
 witli great vigour. Our people showed in greater 
 force, and, thanks to the public-houses, in better 
 spirits. Bands of music stunned the ear with 
 brazen uproar ; flags and banners, gaudy with gilt 
 inscriptions, dazzled the eye ; dashing equipages, 
 filled with elegantly dressed ladies, added to the 
 gaiety and animation of the scene; the landed 
 gentry and their agents rode to the poll, followed 
 by troops of mounted tenantry, who were expected 
 to '' do their duty." 
 
 Rosamund insisted on accompanying me to 
 several of the polling-booths. Her carriage was 
 surrounded by youthful squires, vying to do her 
 service ; the wives of the leading gentry paid 
 homage to her; it was esteemed an honour to 
 obtain from her a word, or even a glance. 
 Wherever she went, the Blue mob cheered 
 madly, and more than once attempted to 
 unharness the horses, and draw the carriage 
 themselves. 
 
 Strange, indeed, was the contrast between that 
 scene, and many it has been my misfortune to 
 witness since ! But, for the time, all was shallow 
 enthusiasm, giddy excitement, and fictitious popu- 
 larity. It was in vain.
 
 A SORRY TRIUMPH. 293 
 
 True, by twelve o'clock that day the numbers 
 stood thus ; — 
 
 Vaughan 2,032 
 
 Herbert Chauncey . . . 1,989 
 
 Majority for Vaughan . 43 
 
 True, that by one o'clock we were neck and 
 neck. But the strength of the Tory party was 
 almost exhausted. 
 
 At Stoke-upon-Avon, Folliott came galloping 
 up to Rosamund's carriage, exclaiming that the 
 day was ours. 
 
 I had just sprung in, w^eary and dejected, to 
 rest myself for a few minutes. 
 
 " My good fellow," I said, " we have not eighty 
 voters left, and there are four hundred Radicals , 
 unpolled ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Folliott, " the four hundred are 
 sick — in prison — in Bedlam — dead and buried, 
 depend upon it." 
 
 *^ Then these are their ghosts, I presume," I 
 answered, pointing to a strong body of voters 
 approaching the polling-booth in perfect silence, 
 but with looks of steady determination. No band 
 preceded them. Each man w^ore the yellow ro-
 
 294 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 sette distinguishing Vaughan's supporters, whilst, 
 in the van, waved a banner of the same colour, 
 with " Yaughan, the friend of Hartley ! " inscribed 
 on it. I noticed also that the men had crape 
 round their hats, in mourning, as I presumed, for 
 Hartley. 
 
 '' Ghosts ! " cried Folliott ; " I wish I could 
 exorcise them. At all events, I'll make the rascals 
 take the bribery oath. It will gain time," and 
 he galloped off towards the polling-booth. 
 
 " Herbert," said Rosamund, " speak to those 
 men. They seem honest and intelligent. I am 
 sure they would vote for you if you asked them. 
 Never mind me, I am not nervous. Speak to 
 them." 
 
 She laid her hand on my arm, and looked into 
 my face with mingled confidence and affection. 
 
 '^ My love," I answered, gravely, " do you know 
 who those men are? They are poor Hartley's 
 tenants." 
 
 She was silenced at once. For many reasons 
 that name affected her painfully. There was a 
 mystery hanging over it which she could not 
 solve. The fracas between him and myself, the 
 cause of which could never be explicitly divulged
 
 A SORRY TRIOIPH. 295 
 
 to lier ; the intended duel ; his sudden deatli ; 
 the inquest that followed and formed the climax 
 of these unfortunate events ; were subjects that 
 troubled her more deeply than I was then aware 
 of. We di'ove to another polling-booth. 
 
 Meantime Apwood did not make liis appear- 
 ance. He was too unwell to leave his house. 
 Very eai'ly, however, on the second day of the 
 polling, a note from liim was put into my hands, 
 written in trembling characters. He earnestly 
 recommended me to fio-ht out the election to the 
 last. From information he had received, he felt 
 Justified in assuring me that Yaughan, even if 
 successful, would be unseated on petition. 
 
 I persuaded Rosamund to drive home, being 
 anxious to ride over to Brookvale Cottage, and 
 ascertain how far ihe statement in Apwood's note 
 <:ould be relied upon. Our friends were looking 
 exceedingly downcast, and not a few of them 
 were stealthily di'opping off, and making for home. 
 Hired ragamuffins still, however, paraded the 
 streets, shouting ^- True Blue for ever ! " till they 
 were hoarse, and inebriated bands of music wan- 
 dered to and fro, playing perseveringly out of 
 lune.
 
 296 HERBEET CHAUNCEY. 
 
 Just as I quitted Smelterstowii, I heard the 
 Yellows give three lusty cheers. It was the state 
 of the poll : — 
 
 Vaughan 2,381 
 
 Chauncey 2,377 
 
 Then all was once more tranquillitj, and a 
 fresh batch of Yellow voters advanced to poll^ 
 passing along a lane made for them through the 
 multitude; I sprang on my horse and rode off 
 with a feeling of keen, and, I fear, for the mo- 
 ment, savage disappointment and annoyance in 
 my heart. 
 
 On reaching Brookvale Cottage,. I dismounted 
 at the garden gate, and, throwing my horse's reiia 
 to the groom, walked up to the house. The 
 shutters were all closed save those of one win- 
 dow, through which T saw a mournful row of 
 medicine bottles, placed a little ostentatiously on 
 the dressing-table. I rang the bell, and the maid,, 
 wdio opened the door without undoing the chain,, 
 speaking in a whisper, informed me that Mr. 
 Apwood had been suffering greatly since noon 
 that day, and was allowed to see no one but the 
 doctor, who was at that moment upstairs. 
 
 Somewhat puzzled at this sudden aggravation of
 
 A SOERY TRIOIPH. 29T 
 
 Apwood's illness, I asked the doctor's name, pro- 
 posing to speak to him. 
 
 '^ Sure, your honour, 'tis Dr. Crawdle. He do 
 always attend master." 
 
 Annoyed at the name of Crawdle, of inquest 
 notoriety, I left the house hastily, and rode back 
 towards Smelter sto^yn. The sun was declininn; 
 towards the west, and the shadows of the hedge- 
 rows of the green lane along w^liich my horse 
 was cantering, made a quiet twilight round me^ 
 Harassed and weary, all I now wished for was 
 rest. The election firfit would soon be over, 
 and I could fling to the wind the reminiscences 
 of the last few weeks. The thouo-ht seemed to- 
 soothe and tranquillize my mind, still vibrating 
 with the shock of recent excitement, and I 
 gently lu'ged my horse forward with the deter- 
 mination of at once ridino; home, and takmo; no 
 further part in a struggle which I knew to be 
 hopeless. The horse, a favourite hunter, seemed 
 to feel the improvement in my spirits, and bounded 
 forward as if fresh from the stable. My groom 
 behind could not keep up with me, and on 
 diverging into the main road I pulled up to wait 
 for him.
 
 ^98 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 From the direction of Smelterstown, however, 
 another horseman was approaching at a gallop 
 amidst a cloud of dust. He reined in suddenly on 
 recognizing me, and thrust a note into my hand. 
 It was from Paul Muckleworth, hastily scribbled 
 in pencil. 
 
 " Central Committee-room, 
 "DeAK H. C. Smelterstown. 
 
 ^^ It is all rio'ht ! Yauffhan is arrested for 
 debt, and has resigned. There has been a bit of 
 a row ; but the soldiers have restored order. You 
 are M.P. for Meadshire, and True Blue is trium- 
 phant. God bless you. 
 
 " Ever yours, 
 
 " P. M." 
 
 Bewildered by this unexpected intelligence, I 
 turned my horse's head towards Smelterstown, and 
 galloped at full speed, followed at a more mode- 
 rate pace by the messenger and my groom. I 
 perceived as I entered the town all the shutters up 
 in the shop-w^indows. Women and children were 
 gazing out of upper windows, and there was an 
 expression of alarm and anxiety in the counte- 
 nances of the few persons I met in the main street.
 
 A SORRY TRIUMPH. 299 
 
 I slackened my horse's speed, and rode quietly into 
 tlie market-place. 
 
 A large crowd, consisting cliiefly of the Tory 
 party, filled the space immediately in front of the 
 polHng-booth. On the right hand, opposite the 
 Feathers Hotel, where our committee sat, I no- 
 ticed, to my regret, a long red line of infantry. 
 Sentries were thrown out to keep back the crowed 
 in front, and in the rear there appeared a group of 
 prisoners in charge of a subaltern's guard. The 
 windows of the inn were completely smashed. 
 Broken articles of furniture strewed the ground 
 in front, whilst a black stain of smoke extending 
 upwards from tw^o or three of the w^indows, inti- 
 mated that the house had been partially on fire. 
 There 'was an unusual stillness in the crowd, and 
 I could hear the loud wailing of some women, 
 probably friends or relatives of the prisoners, as 
 I approached. But as my eye glanced round, I 
 perceived a sight, wdiich, at that particular mo- 
 ment, chilled me through and through. On the 
 pavement was a small crimson pool of blood, lit 
 up by the rays of the setting sun. ^Moreover, the 
 air was heavy with the smell of gmipowder. It 
 was wdth the gravest apprehension that I pressed
 
 300 HERBERT CHAUNCEY. 
 
 into the crowd. A buzz passed through the square^ 
 and all faces were turned towards me. It was 
 not, hov/ever, a look of triumphant greeting that 
 met me ; it was rather that of distress and per- 
 plexity. 
 
 But at that instant the church hells set up a 
 merry peal, and a band of musicians came reel- 
 ing forth from a public-house in an adjoining street 
 playing " See the conquering Hero comes ! " 
 
 A few gentlemen and farmers on horseback 
 spurred to the front, and tried to get up a cheer.. 
 The cheer was feeble, but it was better than 
 nothing. I took off' my hat in silent acknow- 
 ledgment of the compliment, and hastened to the 
 hotel to learn particulars of what had occurred. 
 
 It was true that Yaughan had been arrested 
 for debt, and was now in the hands of the bailiff's- 
 at Stoke-upon-Avon. He had immediately com- 
 municated with the sheriff" and withdrawn from 
 the contest, though in another hour his majority 
 would have been a clear hundred. The dragoons 
 had been despatched to Stoke in anticipation of 
 an outbreak, but meantime a furious riot had 
 broken out at Smelterstown. The mob, mad with 
 rage and disappointment, ill informed as to the
 
 A SORRY TRIOIPH. 301 
 
 facts, and proclaiming that Yanglian had been 
 basely betrayed and entrapped, made a determined 
 onslaught on the Feathers Hotel. Resistance was 
 in vain. The Blue committee fled over roofs and 
 out of back windows. Every man with a vestis-e 
 of blue about him was beaten and maltreated. 
 The house was plundered, sacked, and finally set 
 on fire. 
 
 There were two companies of infantry a short dis- 
 tance from the town. Paul INIuckleworth brought 
 them up ; prisoners were made, but the mob 
 rallied to the rescue. Paul Muckleworth read 
 the Riot Act amidst a hun'icane of brickbats. 
 
 Every effort w^as made, but made in vain, to 
 induce the misguided multitude to disperse. They 
 pressed forwards with increasing fury. The sol- 
 diers were formed in sections : the leadino^ section 
 fired twice — first, blank cartridge, then ball. There 
 was no need to fire again. Panic-struck, the 
 rioters turned and fled, leaving upon the ground 
 one man dead, and six or seven more or less 
 wounded. 
 
 It was a sad, and to me a heart-rending, cala- 
 mity. Had I been present, possibly it might have 
 been averted. But the catastrophe w^as wholly
 
 302 HEKBEET CHAUNCEY. 
 
 unforeseen. The disturbance broke out, readied 
 its climax, was suppressed, within the space 
 of one short hour. Certainly I was in no ways 
 responsible for it ; I lament it to this day. Yet, 
 often has this unfortunate affair been thrown in 
 my teeth by political and personal foes, and pa~ 
 raded before the world as an outrao-e more savage 
 and ruthless than the massacre of Peterloo. 
 
 It was not wonderfid that the ^^opular party in 
 jMeadshire — electors and non-electors — firm, pa- 
 tient, and magnanimous, as they had proved them- 
 selves during the whole of the polling, should have 
 given way to uncontrollable fury when the man of 
 their choice, at the moment when success seemed 
 certain, was defeated and disgraced by a stroke 
 of what seemed to them the blackest treachery. 
 The blood spilt at Smelterstown gave a deeper 
 intensity to their passion, and nothing but the 
 strong force of military now poured into the 
 district by orders of Government, could have 
 preserved the peace of the county. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PBTNTED BT SMITH, EIDEE AND CO., 
 
 linXE GBEEN ABBOCS COUllT, OLD BAILET, E.C.
 
 65, CornhiU, London, 
 April, 1860. 
 
 CLASSIFIED CATALOGUE 
 
 OF 
 
 NEW AND STANDARD WORKS 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 SMITH, ELDEE AND CO. 
 
 Works in the Press 
 
 Vovages and Travels 
 
 Biography 
 
 Art (Works of Mr. Buskin) 
 
 Eeligious 
 
 Miscellaneous 
 
 India and the East 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 2,3 
 
 4-6 
 
 7,8 
 
 9, 10 
 
 11 
 
 12 
 
 13-15 
 
 Naval and ililitary 
 
 Lejcal 
 
 fiction . 
 
 Recent Publications 
 
 Cheap Series 
 
 Juvenile and Educational 
 
 Poetry 
 
 PAGE 
 
 16 
 
 17 
 
 18 
 
 19-27 
 
 28,29 
 
 30,31 
 
 31,32 
 
 THE CORNHILL MAGAZINE. 
 
 Edited hij W, M, Thackeray, 
 Price One ShiUing Monthly, with Illustrations. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 No. 1. — Jaxuaey, 1860. 
 
 Framley Parsonage. Chaps. 1, 2 and .3. 
 
 The Chinese and the " Outer Barbarians." 
 
 Lovel the Widower. Chap. 1. 
 
 Studies in Animal Life. Chap. 1. 
 
 Father Prouts Inau^urative Ode to the Author 
 
 of " Vanity Fair." 
 Our Voluni.eers. 
 
 A Man of Letters of the last Greneration. 
 The Search for Sir John Franklin. 
 The First Moinin'^ of \><iM. 
 Eoundahout Papers.— No. 1. 
 
 No. 2.— Febeuaet, 1860. 
 
 Nil Nisi Bonum. 
 Invasion Panics. 
 To Goidenhair (from Horace). 
 Framley Parsonage. Chaps. 4, 5 and 6. 
 Tithonua. 
 
 William Hozarth : Painter. Engraver, and Philo- 
 sopher. I. Little Boy Hogarth, 
 Unspoken Dialogue. 
 Studies iu Animal Life. Chap. 2. 
 Carious if True. 
 Life amoDET the Lighthouses. 
 Lovel the Widower. Chap, 3, 
 An Fssaj- without End, 
 
 No. 3.— Maech, 1860. 
 
 A Few Wrrds on Junius and Macaulay. 
 
 William Hogarth. II. Mr. Gamble's Apprentice. 
 
 Mabel. 
 
 Studies in Animal Life. Chap. 3. 
 
 Framley Parsonage. Chaps. 7, 8 and 9. 
 
 Sir Joshua and Holbein. 
 
 A Changeling. 
 
 Lovel the Widower. Chap. 3. 
 
 The National Gallery Difficulty solved. 
 
 A Winter Wedding-party in tbe Wilds. 
 
 Student Life in Scotland. 
 
 Roundabout Papers.— No. 2. 
 
 No. 4. — April, 1860. 
 
 Lovel the Widower. Chap. 4. 
 
 Colour Blindness. 
 
 Spring. 
 
 Inside Canton. 
 
 William Hogarth. III. A Long Ladder, and hard 
 
 to climb. 
 Studies in Animal Life. Chap. 4. 
 Strangers Yet. 
 
 Framley Parsonage. Chaps. 10, 11 and 12. 
 Ideal Houses. 
 D;inte. 
 
 The Last Sketch— Emma. 
 Under Chloroform. 
 The How and ^Vhy of Long Shots and Straight 
 
 Shots.
 
 WORKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
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 The Fifth Volume of 
 
 Modern Painters. 
 
 Concluding the Work ; with Thirty Steel Engravings and Eighty 
 
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 Bi/ John Ruskin, M.A. [in May. 
 
 The History of Venice. 
 
 By W. Carew Hazlitt, 
 
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 with two Maps, will be published shortly. 
 
 Vols. III. and IV. will be published in the course of this year. 
 
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 The Wild Sports of India. 
 
 By Capt, Henry Shakespear. 
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 The Life of Mahomet. 
 
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 A New Fiction. 
 
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 Author of '' Below the Surface." In 3 vols.
 
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 in 1858-59. 
 
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 Narrative of the Mission 
 
 From tlie Governor-General of India to the Court of Ava in 1855. 
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 art, and the most potent influence by the pen, of 
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 discusses at length the principles involved in the 
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 10 
 
 WORKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Jll[t — continued. 
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 14 WORKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
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 power of description, and quiet social satire, ex- 
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 " ' The Dennes of Daundelyonn ' is a very read- 
 able hook, and will be immensely popular. . . . 
 It has many beauties which deservedly recom- 
 mend it to the novel reader."— Cn7ic. 
 
 The Two Homes. 
 
 By the Author of " The Heir of 
 
 VaUis:' 
 
 Three volumes. 
 
 "There is a great deal that is very good in this 
 book — a great deal of good feeling and excellent 
 design. . . . Ti:ere are some good pictures of 
 Madeira, and of life and society there; aud there 
 are evidences of much painstaking and talent."— 
 At/ten(e2{m. 
 
 " ' Xhe Two Homes ' is a very clever novel. . . 
 iladeira lurnishes Mr. Mathews with a fertile 
 theme for his descriptive powers. The dialogue 
 is good: the characters all speak and act con- 
 sistently ■with their uatixres."— Leader. 
 
 The Moors and the Fens. 
 
 ^1/ 
 
 hj F. G. Tra;fford. 
 Three volumes, 
 
 "This novel stands out much in the same way 
 that 'Jane Eyre' did. . . . The characters are 
 drawn by a mind which can realize fictitious 
 characters with minute intensity."— .SaiMJ-dair 
 Review. 
 
 '• It is seldom that a first fiction is entitled to 
 such applause as is 'The Moors and the Fens,' 
 and we shall look anxiously for the writer's next 
 essay."— Cri^fc. 
 
 Lost and Won. 
 
 By Georfjiana M. Craih, 
 
 Author of " Riverston." 
 
 One volume. Second Edition. 
 
 " Nothing superior to this novel has appeared 
 dnrinic the present sea.90u."— Leader. 
 
 " Jtiss Craik's new story is a good one and in 
 point of ability above the average of ladies' novels." 
 —Daily Xews. 
 
 '• The language is good, the narrative spirited, 
 the characters are fairly delineated, and the 
 dialogue has considerable dramatic force."— 
 Huti'.rday Revieic. 
 
 " This is an improvement on Miss Craik's first 
 work. The story is more compact and more 
 inXeve3tms."—Athe)itEum. 
 
 An Old Debt. 
 
 By Florence Daivson. 
 Two volumes. 
 
 "A powerfully wi-itten novel; one of the best 
 which has recently proceeded from a female 
 hand. . . . The dialogue is vigorous and 
 spirited."— JlTorniHi' Post. 
 
 "There is an energy and vitality about this 
 work which distinguish it from the common 
 head of novels. Its terse vigour sometimes recals 
 Miss Bronte, but in some respects Miss Florence 
 Dawson is decidedly superior to the author of 
 • Jane Eyre.' "—Saturday Review,
 
 26 
 
 WORKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 "FICTION— continued. 
 
 My Lady. 
 
 A Tale of Modern Life. 
 Two volumes. 
 
 "'My Lady' is a fine specimen of an English 
 matron, exhibitina; that union of strength and 
 gentleness, of common sense and romance, of 
 energy and grace, which nearly approaches our 
 ideal of womanhood." — Press. 
 
 " ' My Lady' evinces charming feeling and deli- 
 cacy of touch. It. is a novel that will be read with 
 interest."— A^/i^KOSMM. 
 
 " Tlie story is told throughout -with great 
 strength of feeling, is well Vvritten, and has a 
 plot which is by no means common-place."— 
 JSxamiiisr. 
 
 " There is some force and a good deal of fresh- 
 ness in ' ily Lady.' The characters are distinctly 
 drawn^, and often wear an appearance of indi- 
 viduality, or almost personality. The execution 
 is fresh and powerful."— ^pecfa^or. 
 
 '* It is not in every novel we can light upon a 
 style so vigorously graceful- upon an intelligence 
 so refined without littleness, so tenderly truthful, 
 which has sensibility rather than poetry; hut 
 which is also most subtly and searchingly power- 
 I'ttl." — Dublin University Maoazine. 
 
 Gaston Bligh. 
 
 By L. S. Lavenu^ 
 
 Author of " Erlesmere." 
 
 Two volumes. 
 
 "The story is told with great power; the whole 
 nook sparkles with esprit; and the characters 
 talk like gentlemen and ladies. It is very enjoy- 
 able reading." — Press. 
 
 " ' Gaston Bligh ' is a good story, admirably 
 told, full of stirring incident, sustaining to the 
 clo»e the interest of a very ingenious plot, and 
 abounding in clever sketches of character. It 
 sparkles with wit, and will reward perusal."— 
 Critic. 
 
 Syl 
 
 By 
 
 van Holt's Daughter. 
 
 Holme Lee, 
 Author of '" Kathie Brande," &c. 
 Second Edition. 3 vols. 
 
 " The well-established reputation of Holme 
 liCe, as a novel v/riter, will receive an additional 
 glory from the publication of 'Sylvan Holt's 
 Daughter.' It is a charming tale of country life 
 and character."— G/o^e. 
 
 " There is much that is attractive in ' Sylvan 
 Holt's Daughter,' much that is graceful and re- 
 lined, much that is fresh, healthy, and natural," 
 — Press. 
 
 '/The conception of the story hns a good deal of 
 originality, and the characters avoid common- 
 place types, without being unnatural or improba- 
 ble. The heruine herself is charming. It is a 
 novel in which there is much to interest and 
 please."— iVcw QaarteHv Reviev). 
 
 "A novel that is well worth reading, and which 
 possesses the cardinal virtue of being extremely 
 interesting."- ^tte»05Km. 
 
 "A really sound, good book, higlily finished, 
 true to nature, vigorous, passionate, honest, and 
 sincere."— 2JM6ttre Unlversitj/ Magazine. 
 
 Eva Desmond ; 
 
 Or, Mutation. 
 Three volumes. 
 
 "A more beautiful creation than Eva it would 
 Tae difficult to imagine. The novel is undoubtedly 
 lull of vciicv^si."— Morning Post. 
 
 " There is power, pathos, and originality in con- 
 ception and catastrophe."— ieacJer. 
 
 The Professor. 
 
 By Carrer Bell. 
 
 Two volum.es. 
 
 ""We think the author's friends have shown 
 sound judgment in publishing the ' Professor,' 
 now that she is gone. ... It shows the first 
 germs of conception, which afterwards expanded 
 and ripened into the great creations of her imagi- 
 nation. At the same time her advisers were 
 ec[ually right when they counselled her not to 
 publish it In her lifetime. . . . Bitt it abounds 
 in \\\ex\%s.."—Sut>irda}i Review. 
 
 '* Anything which throvi's light upon the growth 
 and composition of such a mind cannot be other- 
 wise than interesting. In the 'Professor' we may 
 discover the germs of many trains of thinking, 
 which afterwards came to be enlarged and 
 illustrated in subsequent and more perfect 
 works."— Critic. 
 
 Below the Surface. 
 
 Three volumes. 
 
 "The hook is unquestionably clever and enter- 
 taining. The v.'riter develops from first to last 
 his double view of human life, as coloured by the 
 manners of our age. . . . It is a tale superior 
 to ordinary novels, in its pi-actical application to 
 the phases of actual Me."—JtfiC7icBUm. 
 
 " There is a great deal of cleverness in this story ; 
 a. much greater knowledge of country life and 
 character in its various aspects and conditions 
 than is possesses by nine-tenths of the novelists 
 who undertake to describe it."— Si>ectator. 
 
 The Three Chances. 
 
 By the Author of " The Fair 
 
 Carew.^^ 
 
 Three volumes. 
 
 " Some of the characters and romantic situa- 
 tions are strongly marked and pecuharly original. 
 ... It is the great merit of the authoress that 
 the personages of her tale aie human and I'eal." — 
 Leader. 
 
 " This novel is of a more solid texture than 
 most of its contemporartes. It is full of good 
 sense, good thought, and good ■writing."— ,S^aie«- 
 man. 
 
 The Cruellest Wrong of 
 All. 
 
 By the Author of " Margaret ; or. 
 
 Prejudice at Home.'''' 
 
 One volume. 
 
 " The author has a pathetic vein, and there is a 
 tender sweetucis in the tone of her narration."— 
 Leader. 
 
 "It has the first requisite of a work meant to 
 amuse : it is amusins."- G/o6e. 
 
 Kathie Brande. 
 
 A Fireside History of a Quiet Life. 
 
 By Holme Lee. 
 
 Two volumes. 
 
 " ' Kathie Brande ' is not merely a very interest- 
 ing novel — it is a ver.y wholesome one, for it 
 leaches virtue by example." — Critic. 
 
 "Throughout ' Kathie Brande ' there is much 
 sweetness, and considerable powerof description. 
 —Saticrduy Review. 
 
 " ' Kathie Brande ' is intended to illustrate the 
 paramount excellence of duty as a moving prin- 
 ciple. It is full of beauties."— i'ai^^/ News.
 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO. 
 
 27 
 
 FICTION — contin ued. 
 
 The 
 
 Noble Traytour : 
 
 A Chronicle. 
 
 Three vohmies. 
 
 " Tlie story is told with a graphic and graceful 
 pen, and the chronicler has produced a romance 
 not only of great value in a historical point ol 
 view, hut possessing many claims apoii the atten- 
 tion of the scholar, the antiquary, and the general 
 reader."— Po*^. 
 
 " An Elizabethan masquerade. Shakespeare, 
 the Qlueen. Essex, Kaleigli, and a hundred nobles, 
 ladies and knights of the land, appear on the 
 stage. The author has imbued himself with the 
 spirit of the times."— Leader. 
 
 % 
 
 Eiverstoii. 
 
 Georgiana M. Crailc, 
 
 Three volumes. 
 
 " Miss Craik is a very lively writer : she has wit, 
 and she has sense, and she has made in the 
 beautiful young governess, witli her stront: will, 
 saucy indepenaence, and promptness of repartee, 
 an interesting picture. "—Pr«»s. 
 
 Perversion ; 
 
 Or, the Causes and Consequences of 
 
 Infidelity. 
 
 By the late Rev. W. J. Conyheare, 
 
 Three volumes. 
 
 "This story has a touching interest, which 
 lingers with the reader after he has closed the 
 'book."— Athenmum. 
 
 Maud Skillicorne's 
 Penance. 
 
 Bij Mary C. Jaclcson., 
 
 Author of "The Story of my Wardship." 
 
 Two volumes. 
 
 " The style is natural, aud displays considerable 
 dramatic power."- C'riiie. 
 
 "It is a well concocted tale, and will be very 
 palatable to novel readers."— J-jorMi/t^poxi. 
 
 The Eoua Pass. 
 
 By Erick Mackenzie. 
 
 Three volumes. 
 " It is seldom that we have to notice so good a 
 novel as the 'Eoua Pass.' The story is well con- 
 trived .and well told ; the incidents are natural and 
 varied ; several of the characters are skilfully 
 drawn, and that of the heroine is Iresh, powerful, 
 and original. The Highland scenery, in which 
 the plot is laid, is described with truth and feeling 
 — with a command of lansuage which leaves a 
 vivid impression,"— Aa^wrdui^ Revietc. 
 
 The White House by the 
 Sea: 
 
 A Love Story. 
 
 By M. Betham-Edwards. 
 
 Two volumes. 
 
 "A tale of English domestic life. The writing is 
 
 very good, graceful, and unaftected ; it pleases 
 
 without startling. In the dialosue, people do not 
 
 harangue, but talk, and talk naturally."— Critic. 
 
 Extremes. 
 
 By Miss E. W. Atkinson, 
 
 Author of " Memoirs of the Queens of 
 
 Prussia." 
 
 T\ro volumes. 
 
 "A nervous and vigorous style, an elaborate 
 
 delineation of eharacter under many varieties, 
 
 spirited and well-sust lined dialogue, ani a care- 
 
 rully-con>iructed plot; if these liave any charms 
 
 for our readers, they will not forget the swiftly 
 
 trlidiiig hours passed in perusing • Extremes.' " — 
 
 Jlorniiiff jfost. 
 
 Farina : 
 
 A Legend of Cologne. 
 
 By George Meredith. 
 
 One volume. 
 
 "A masque of ravishers in steel, of robber 
 knights; of wati^r-women, more ravi^iiing than 
 lovelj'. It has also a brave and tender deliverer, 
 and a heroine proper for a romance of Cologne. 
 Those who love a real, lively, aurtacioas piece of 
 extravagance, by way of a change, will enjoy 
 ' Farina..' "—AtliencBum. 
 
 Friends of Bohemia ; 
 
 Or, Phases of Lon ion Life. 
 
 By E. M. Whitty, 
 
 Author of " The Governing Classes."^ 
 
 Two volumes. 
 
 "Mr. "Whitty is a genuine satirist, employing 
 satire for a genuine p rpose. You laugh with him 
 vei-y much ; out the laughter is fruity aud ripe in 
 thought. His style is serious, and his cast of 
 mind severe. The author has a merriment akin 
 to that of Jaques and that ofTimon."—AthencEum, 
 
 The Eve of St. Mark. 
 
 A Romance of Venice. 
 
 By Thomas Doubleday. 
 
 Two volumes, 
 " ' The Eve of St. Mark ' is not only well written, 
 but adroitly constructed, and interesting. Its 
 tone is perhaps too gorgeous ; its movement is too 
 much that of a masquerade ; but a mystery is 
 created, and a very loveabie heroine is pour- 
 tray ed."—.4^AeBffiMin. 
 
 Stories and Sketches. 
 
 By James Payn. 
 Post 8vo. Price 2s. ed. cloth. 
 
 "Mr. Payn is gay, spirited, observant, and shows 
 no little knowledge of men and books." — Leader. 
 •<>* 
 
 Undine. 
 
 From the German of " De La 
 
 Motte Fouque." 
 
 Price 1*. 6d. 
 
 The Rectory of Yalehead, 
 
 By the Rev. R. W. Evans. 
 Feap, cloth. Price 3s.
 
 28 
 
 WORKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 (^Iiea^T ^i\%^ 4 foplait Wo\K 
 
 Life of Charlotte Bronte 
 
 (Currer Bell), 
 Author of " Jane Eyre," &c. 
 
 Bi/ Mrs. GasMl. 
 Price 2s. 6d. 
 
 "We regard this record as a monument of 
 courage and endurance, of sufl'ering and triumph. 
 . . . . All the secrets of the literary workinau- 
 ship of the authoress of ' Jane Eyre' are unfolded 
 in the course of this extraordinary narrative."— 
 Times. 
 
 "Mrs. Gaskell has done her work well. Her 
 narrative is simple, direct, intelligible, unfitfected. 
 She dwells on her frif.nd's character with womanly 
 Tact, thorough understanding, and delicate sis- 
 terly tenderiiesa. Many parts of the book cannot 
 >ie read without deep, even painful emotion; still 
 it is a life always -woma,xily."—Fraser's Magazine. 
 
 Lectures on the English 
 Humourists 
 
 Of the Eighteenth Century. 
 
 Bi/ W. M. Thackeray, 
 
 Author of " Vanity Fair," " Esmond," 
 
 " The Virginians," &c. 
 
 Price 25. 6c?. cloth. 
 
 " What fine things these lectures contain ; what 
 eloquent and sui)tle sayings; what wise and 
 earnest writing ; hfiw delightful are their turns 
 of humour ; with what a tc^uching elfect in the 
 sraver passages the genuine feeling of the man 
 comes out, and how vividly the thoughts are 
 painted, as it were, in graphic and characteristic 
 vfovA%."— Examiner. 
 
 " This is to us by far the most acceptable of Mr. 
 Thackeray's writings. His graphic style, his 
 philosophical spirit, his analytical powers, his 
 large heartedness, his shrewdness, and his gentle- 
 ness, have all room to exhibit themselves."— 
 Economist. 
 
 British India. 
 
 By Harriet Martineau. 
 Price 2s. 6rf. cloth. 
 
 "Lucid, glowing, and instructive essays."— 
 Economist. 
 
 "A good compendium of a great subject.'— 
 National Jlevietv. 
 
 "As a handbook to the history of India it is 
 the best that has yet appeared. " — JUorwiwfir 
 Herald. 
 
 The Town. 
 
 By Leigh Hunt. 
 
 With Eorty-five Engravings. 
 
 Price 2s. 6c?. cloth. 
 
 "We will allow no higher enjoyment for a 
 rational Englishman than to stroll leisurely 
 through this marvellous town, arm in arm with 
 Mr. Leigh Hunt. The charm of Mr. Hunt's book 
 Is, that he gives us the outpourings of a mind 
 enriched with the most agreeable knowledge: 
 there is not one page which does not glow with 
 interest. It is a series of pictures from the life, 
 representing scenes in which evei-y inhabitant of 
 the metropolis has an interest."— Tmes, 
 
 Jane Eyre. 
 
 By Currer Bell. 
 
 Price 2s. 6c/. cloth. 
 
 " ' Jane Eyre ' is a remarkable production. 
 Freshness and originality, truth and passion, 
 singular felicity in the description of natural 
 scenery and in the analyzation of human thought, 
 enable this tale to stand boldly out from the mass, 
 and to assume its own plnce in the bright field of 
 roraiintic literature."— 2'/i«es. 
 
 " ' Jane Eyre ' is a book of decided power. The 
 thoughts are true, sound, and original; and the 
 style is j-esolute, straightforward, and to the 
 purpose. The object and moral of the work are 
 excellent."— isajamwier. 
 
 Shirley. 
 
 By Currer Bell. 
 
 Price 2s. 6c/. cloth. 
 
 " ' Shirley ' is the anatomy of the female heart. 
 It is a book which indicates exquisite feeling, and. 
 very gre.at power of mind in the writer. The 
 women are all divine."— Da-iiV.v Neirs. 
 
 " ' Shirley ' is very clever. It could not be other- 
 vnse. The faculty of graphic description, strong 
 imagination, fervid and masculine diction, ana- 
 Ivtic skill, all are visible. . . . Gems of I'are 
 thought and glorious passion shine here and 
 there."— r«?ies. 
 
 Yillette. 
 
 By Currer Bell. 
 Price 2s. 6c?. cloth. 
 
 " ' Villette ' is a most remarkable work- a pi'o- 
 duction altogether S2ii generis. Pulness and 
 vigour of thought mark almost every sentence, 
 and there is a sort of easy power pervading the 
 whole narrative such as wc have rarely met."— 
 Ediyihurah Eevietc. 
 
 " The tale is one of the affections, and remark- 
 able as a picture of manners. A burning heart 
 glows throughout it, and one brilliantly distinct 
 character keeps it alive."— Athenceum. 
 
 Political Economy of Art. 
 
 By John RusJcin, M.A. 
 Price 2s. 6c?. cloth. 
 
 " A most able, eloquent, and well-timed work. 
 We hail it with satisfaction, thinking it calculated 
 to do much practical good, an d we cordially recom- 
 mend it to our readers."— TK?'^;!ess. 
 
 " Mr. Kuskin's chief purpose is to treat the 
 artist's power, and the art itself, as items of the 
 world's wealth, and to show how these may be 
 best evolved, produced, accumulated, and dia- 
 tTC\\)\xXe(i."—Athenaium. 
 
 -•o*- 
 
 Italian Campaigns of 
 General Bonaparte. 
 
 By George Hooper. 
 With a Map. Price 2s. 6c?, cloth. 
 
 " The story of Bonaparte's campaigns in Italy 
 is told at once firmly, lightly, and pleasantly- 
 The latest and best authorities, the Bonaparte 
 correspondence in particular, appear to have 
 been carefully and intelligently consulted. The 
 result is a very readable and useful volume,"— 
 Athenceum.
 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO. 
 
 29 
 
 Cheag ^txm—cont'muecL 
 
 and 
 
 Wutheringf Heig^hts 
 Agnes Grey. 
 
 Bjj Ellis and Acton Bell. 
 
 With ]^Iemoir by Ccrree Bell. 
 
 Price 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 "There are passages in this hook of ' Wuthering 
 Heights' of which any novelist, past or present, 
 might be proud. It has been said of Shakespeare 
 that he drew cases which the physician might 
 study ; EUis Bell lias done no less."— Palladium. 
 
 " There is, at all events, keeping in the book: 
 the groups of figures and the scenery are in har- 
 mony v^ith each other. There is a touch of Sal- 
 Tator Eosa in nil."— Atlas. 
 
 A Lost Love. 
 
 £f/ Ashford Owen. 
 
 Price 2^. cloth. 
 
 '"A Lost Love' is a story full of grace and 
 genius. Xo outline of the story would give any 
 idea of its yyz&xxXyJ'—Athencmiyn. 
 
 "A tale at once moving and winning, natural 
 and romantic, and certain to raise all the finer 
 sympathies of the reader's nature,"— Pre**. 
 
 Deerbrook. 
 
 By 
 
 *>/ Harriet Jfartineau. 
 
 Price 25. ed. cloth. 
 "Tliis popular fiction presents a true and ani- 
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 middle classes of English residents, and is re- 
 markable for its interest, arising from the 
 influence of various characters upon each other, 
 and the effect of ordinary circumstances upon 
 them. The descriptions of rural scenery, and the 
 daUy pursuits in village hours, are among the 
 most charming of the author's writings; but the 
 way in which exciting incidents gradually arise 
 out of the most ordinary pliases of life, and the 
 skill with which naturp.l and every-clay characters 
 are brought out in dramatic situations, attest the 
 power of the author's senius." 
 
 Tales of the Colonies. 
 
 % 
 
 Charles Rowcroft. 
 Price 2*. 6(/. cloth. 
 
 "'Tales of the Colonies ' Isanableand interest- 
 
 ng book. The author has the first L'reat requisite 
 
 in fiction— a knowledge of the life he undertakes 
 
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 Spectator. 
 
 "It combines the fidelity of truth with the 
 spirit of a romance, and has altogether much of 
 De Foe in its character and composition."— 
 Literary Gazette. 
 
 Romantic Tales 
 
 (Including " Avillion ") 
 By the Author of '' John Halifao:, 
 
 Gentleman.^'' 
 A Xe^ Edition. Price 25. 6d. cloth. 
 
 "'A^-illion' is a beautiful and fanciful story, 
 and the rest make very agreeable reading. There 
 Is not one of them unquickened by true feeling, 
 exquisite taste, and a pure and vivid imagina- 
 tion. "—£xami?ier. 
 
 " In a nice knowledge of the refinements of the 
 female heart, and in a happy power of depicting 
 emotion, the authoress is excelled by very few 
 stoi7 tellers of the day."— Globe. 
 
 Domestic Stories. 
 
 Bi/ the Author of '• John Halifax y 
 Gentleman.''^ 
 
 Price 25. 6<:/. cloth. 
 "In a nice knowledge of the refinements of the 
 female heart and in a happy power of depicting 
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 story-teUers of the <lxs."— Globe. 
 ■'There is not one of them unquickened by truft 
 I feeliug, exquisite taste, and a pure and vi'acl 
 I imagination."— ^xawtwer. 
 
 After Dark. 
 
 B>i Wilhie Collins. 
 
 Price 25. ed cloth. 
 
 "ilr.WUkte Collins stands in the foremost ranis 
 of our younger writers of fiction. He tells a 
 story well and forcibly, his style is eloquent and 
 picturesque; he has consi'lera.ble powers of pa- 
 thos; understands the art of construction; is 
 never wearisome or wor<y, and has a keen insight 
 into character."— i>aJ'?/3'eMrs. 
 
 " 'After Dark' abounds with genuine touches 
 of nature."— Br JtwA Quarterly. 
 
 Paul Ferroll. 
 
 Fourth Edition. Price 25. cloth. 
 
 "We have seldom reiid so wonderful a romance. 
 We can find no fault in it as a work of art. It 
 leaves us in admiration, almost in awe, of the 
 prswers of its author." — Xew Quarterly. 
 
 "The art displayed in presenting Paul Ferroll 
 throughout the story is beyond aU praise."— 
 Examiner. 
 
 School for Fathers. 
 By Talbot Gwynne. 
 
 Price 25. cloth. 
 
 " 'The Schoolfor Fathers ' is one of the cleverest, 
 most brilliant, genial, and instructive stories that 
 we have read since the publication of ' Jane 
 Eyre.' "—Eclectic Review. 
 
 " The pleasantest taie we have read for many a 
 day. It is a story of the Tatler and Spectator 
 days, and is very fitly associated with that time 
 of good English literature by its manly feeling, 
 direct, unafl'ected manner of writing, and nicely- 
 managed, well-turned narrative. The descriptions 
 are excellent; some of the country painting is as 
 fresh as a landscape by Alfred Constable, or aa 
 idyl by Itnny ton."— Examiner. 
 
 The Tenli^tV Wildfell 
 Hall. 
 
 By Acton Bell. 
 — •<>* — 
 
 Just ready, 
 Kathie Brande : 
 
 The Eireside History of a Quiet Life. 
 
 By Holme Lee., 
 Author of " Sylvan Holt's Daughter." 
 
 to. 
 
 Below the Sm'face. 
 
 By Sir A. H. Elton, Bart.^ M.P.
 
 m 
 
 WORKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Juti^^nik ami ^iu^ationHl 
 
 NEW BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS. 
 
 The Parents' Cabinet 
 
 Of Amusement and Instruction for Young Persons. 
 Kew Edition, carefully revised, in Twelve Sliilling Volumes, each 
 complete in itself, and containing a full page Illustration in Oil 
 Colours, witli Wood Engravings, in ornamented boards. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 AMUSING STOUIES, all tenrtins; to the flevplopment ol' sfood qualities, and the avoidance of faults, 
 BIOGRAPIlICrVL AOOOUNTS OF REMARKABLE CHARACTERS, intei-esting to Young People. 
 SIJIPLK NARilATIVES OE HISTORICAL EVENTS, suited to the canacity of children. 
 ELUCIDATIONS OF NATURAL HISTORY, adautert to encourage hahits of observation. 
 FAMILIAR EXPLANATIONS OE NOTABLE SCIENTIFIC DISCOVERIES ANl> MECHANICAL 
 
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 LIVELY ACCOUNTS OF THE GEOGRAPnY. INHABITANTS, AND PRODUCTIONS OF 
 DIFFERENT COUNTRIES. 
 
 Miss Edgeworth's Opinion of the Parents' Cabinet :— 
 
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 totiiebad habit or frittering avvay the mind by requiring no exertion from the reader. . . . Whoever 
 your scientific associate is, he understands his business and children's cay)a,bilitics right wel 
 
 Without lecturing, or prosing, you keep the right and the wrong clearly marked, and hence all 
 the sympathy of the young people is always enlisted on the right side." 
 
 *^* The work is now complete in 4 vols, extra clotli, gilt edges, at 
 35. 6d. eacli ; or in 6 vols, extra clotli, gilt edges, 25. 6d. each. 
 
 By the Author of " Round the Fire," &;c. 
 
 Unica : 
 
 A Story for a Sunday Afternoon. 
 
 With Four Illustrations. 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
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 find favour in the nursery."— At/ien(Bum. 
 
 •' The character of Unica is chanmngly con- 
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 II. 
 
 Old Gino^erbread and the 
 Schoolboys. 
 
 With Four Coloured Plates, 2s. 6d. cl. 
 
 "'Old Gingerbread and the School-boys' is 
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 Willie's Birthday : 
 
 'Showing how a Little Boy did what he 
 
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 With Four Illustrations. 2s. cloth. 
 
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 Uncle Jack, the Fault 
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 VI. 
 
 Round the Fire : 
 
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 The King of the Golden 
 River ; 
 
 Or, the Black Brothers. 
 
 Bi/ John Buskin, M.A. 
 
 Third Edition, with 22 Illustrations by 
 
 Richard Doyle. Price 25. 6af. 
 
 " This littlp fancy tale is by a master-hand, 
 story has a charming xaoraX."- Examiner. 
 
 The 
 
 Investigation ; 
 
 Or, Travels in the Boudoir. 
 
 By Miss Halstecl. 
 Fcap cloth. Price 35. 6c?. 
 
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