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 /
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND, 
 
 AND 
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 LONDON : 
 P HINTED BV SAMUEL liENTL£Y> 
 
 Dorset Street, Fleet Street.
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND 
 
 AND 
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS, 
 
 Sec. 
 
 One of the amusements of idleness is reading without the fatigne 
 of close attention, and the world, therefore, swarms with writers whose 
 wish is not to be studied but to be read." 
 
 Dr. Johnson. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 SUCCESSOR TO HENRY COLBURN. 
 
 1836.
 
 
 \3 
 
 r 
 
 ^A3 
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 I really think there is no such good reason for living to 
 seventy as curiosity. 
 
 Dr. Arhuthnot to Dr. Swift. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A CLUB. 
 
 Contrary to the approved maxim of most 
 story-tellers, I beg to premise that I am not the 
 hero of mine. My very name itself would be 
 fatal to all interest, perhaps to all perusal, and 
 certainly to all profit. The private history of 
 Matthew Morland no one would care to penetrate : 
 the announcement of it even is sufficient to damp 
 the curiosity of others, though happily not that 
 of him who bears it, for it is that very curiosity 
 which gives rise to the following tale. 
 
 From whence I derived my origin, either as re- 
 gards parents or country, I tell not ; nor where I 
 was educated, if I received any education at all ; 
 nor even how it happened that, in the spring of 
 
 b2
 
 4 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 the year 18 — , I found myself (no very extra- 
 ordinary circumstance) in London. The only 
 wonder of my residence there was my being in 
 almost as complete solitude as if in the deserts of 
 Arabia ; yet I was no misanthrope, no second 
 Stranger : (alas ! Paul Pry, I fear, is much more 
 my prototype.) I had done nothing to forfeit my 
 place in society, which, I will so far inform my 
 readers, was that of a gentleman, — at least in 18 — 
 such was the case ; and I was not ignorant of, or 
 unused to communicate with men. Nevertheless, I 
 stood in London alone and unfriended. If obliged 
 to submit to the last, I determined not to endure 
 the first ; so I sought society. Whether from 
 taste or necessity I shall not say, but amongst 
 other haunts I frequented a club. Such haunts 
 being usually both fashionable and agreeable, this 
 circumstance would speak somewhat favourably of 
 my appearance, manner, and station in society ; 
 but, gentle reader, be not too hasty in your de- 
 cisions. I have already said that I had no ac- 
 quaintance in London ; the club therefore which I 
 frequented could not be the most recherche^ nor 
 the society in it the most select. Still it was so- 
 ciety ; and human nature (the only book I cared
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. , 5 
 
 to study) -was there to be read as well as at 
 White's or the Traveller'*s. 
 
 The club I frequented was not one of saints. 
 Cards and even dice were allowed ; bets were not 
 unfrequent; and large sums were lost, regained, 
 and lost again, ere the crowing of the cock had 
 dispersed the fair or foul assembly. Why I was 
 there, I shall not say ; but whatever my object, 
 it was not so ensrossino: but that I well mark- 
 ed every individual around me, — and, to do my 
 associates justice, a more ill-looking set I never 
 met with. Extreme good looks might have been 
 dispensed with ; but it was the total absence 
 of — dare I write it ? all that denoted open- 
 ness or honesty, benevolence or high-mindedness, 
 that made me pronounce my company as I have 
 done — an ill-looking set ; and, to own the truth, 
 I let them off easy in saying no more of their 
 personal appearance. 
 
 Whether I was a contrast to, or a fitting 
 
 companion for, the members of Club, my 
 
 reader may judge as seemeth him best. What- 
 ever / was, one person was an exception to the 
 common herd in Street ; and whether mo- 
 rally better or worse, Cleveland was so singu-
 
 6 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 larly handsome, that by mere good looks he 
 seemed to claim a superiority over those with 
 whom, in other respects, he was perhaps on a 
 par. Deeply as every one else was engrossed 
 by play, Cleveland seemed positively engulphed 
 by it. With an air of fashion and breeding 
 which it was next to impossible he could have 
 assmned without associating with those of a 
 similar stamp, he yet let no word of courtesy 
 pass his lips beyond what was absolutely neces- 
 sary. His deportment spoke gentility — not his 
 tongue. All that he did was in the way of busi- 
 ness : and a desperate business it appeared ! He 
 played and he lost ; he doubled his stake and lost 
 again ; still he played on, and it was ever — " Lost, 
 lost, lost !" 
 
 Every evening of his arrival, were a dozen 
 different palms extended towards him, not in the 
 way of friendly greeting, but as the greeting of 
 creditors. Rarely was the transfer on the oppo- 
 site account. It was with a reckless smile that 
 Cleveland resigned the contents of his pocket- 
 book and purse into the hands of his greedy 
 companions ; and with a look of contempt he
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 7 
 
 would turn from witnessing the migration of his 
 former property into the pockets of his compa- 
 nions. 
 
 Why did this man play ? I inquired of myself. 
 Was it for gain or pleasure ? I knew not ; but far 
 be it from me to say I cared not. No daughter 
 of Eve was ever infected with half the curiosity 
 of me, a son of Adam. I liked to know people's 
 histories, not, according to some tastes, so as to 
 ascertain the day, hour, and year of their birth, 
 the number of their children, and extent of their 
 income, but for the gratification which consisted in 
 the study of their character. I liked to read the 
 minds of men, women, and even children, and to 
 compare the different ills which flesh is heir to, 
 for we are all wretched ! The rich, the poor, the 
 wise, the foolish, the young and old, are all in 
 their heart of hearts unhappy, perhaps miserable I 
 How I like that expression, heart of hearts; for 
 there are secrets even to oneself. The heart dares 
 not confess to its otvti bitterness, its own wicked- 
 ness, its own tenderness or hardness ; it dares not 
 confess^ but it is not ignorant I 
 
 To return to Cleveland. He won monev of
 
 8 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 me — I offered to double our stake — he won 
 again — I wished to continue, — Cleveland told me 
 I was wrong. 
 
 " You are in a vein of bad luck,"" he said ; 
 '' you should relinquish play for a time ; another 
 day I will give you your revenge.'^ 
 
 " Why do you not stop then ? for I am well 
 aware your winning is a rare occurrence.'''' 
 
 " I am an old hand, and cannot exist without 
 play : I would rather lose than not play at all.'" 
 
 " You pay dearly for your amusement,"" I 
 answered. (Cleveland coloured.) 
 
 " I pay the price we all do." 
 
 " No, not all — I have won in my time."" 
 
 *' Ah !" said Cleveland, looking hard at me ; 
 " then you are accustomed to play ?" 
 
 " Certainly ; why should you imagine other- 
 wise .?" 
 
 Cleveland laughed, " From — from your infe- 
 riority I had the presumption to feel you were an 
 easy prey ; and," lowering his voice, " there are 
 enough of plunderers in the world, without my 
 lending a helping hand in the pillage." 
 
 " There are, are there .?" I replied, assuming a 
 vacant air. " I rejoice that you know your com-
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. >f 
 
 pany. It is a knoTvledge that I am always striv- 
 ing to attain. In play," I added with a con- 
 fidential look, " it is everything.""* 
 
 '• That is, as far as play goes," said Cleveland : 
 " in other respects, it matters not if your com- 
 pagnons dejeu are bad or good, moral or immoral, 
 high or low, — I had almost said, rich or poor ; I 
 care not even to know the names of those I play 
 with — I never heard yours." 
 
 " Nor I yours," I answered ; for a suspicion 
 had arisen in my mind during our conversation 
 that Cleveland was a nom de guerre. I looked 
 hard at my friend, who rather confirmed my opi- 
 nion by the heightened colour which mounted to 
 his cheeks. " Perhaps not," said he : " in this 
 place I am not anxious to hear it repeated." 
 
 " Then my suspicions are correct." 
 
 " Whom do you take me for ?" 
 
 " Not for what you seem." 
 
 " I thank you for the compliment ; for were I 
 what I here seem," and Cleveland shuddered, " I 
 should be the vilest reptile that ever crawled the 
 earth." 
 
 " Why do you frequent this place, then ?" 
 
 This was a more pointed question than I usually 
 
 b5
 
 10 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 put in the pursuit of my object— cMnosiYj/. It 
 did not answer ; which was generally the case. 
 Cleveland started, and rather shortly asked, 
 " Why do you .?" 
 
 " For gain," I replied evasively. Cleveland 
 understood me in the monied sense. 
 
 " Well, I hope you may not suffer as I have 
 done ; for I begin to think it is no joke. But,'^ 
 said Cleveland partly to himself; '*^luck will 
 turn some day ; I shall have every sous back again, 
 
 — the Jews all paid, and, and then I 
 
 will play no more." 
 
 " What will you do without your amuse- 
 ment ?" I demanded. Cleveland smiled, but 
 his lips quivered. " One must pay for one's 
 pleasure," I continued, " so let us have a little 
 ecarte:' 
 
 We sat down, and Cleveland won. He looked 
 a little hard at me, as I was, to use a familiar 
 phrase, booking up. 
 
 " You know so little of ecarte, that I feel we 
 should not play together, — or, at least, not play 
 even." 
 
 " That is my affair," I replied ; " and if I 
 choose to throw away my money, why are you to
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 11 
 
 prevent me ? And moreover, let me tell you, the 
 pity which proceeds from a feeling of superiority 
 is very difficult to be endured. You may condole 
 with me, if you please, upon my bad luck, but 
 not on my bad head."" 
 
 " Well, I shall be more discreet another time.'' 
 
 "And I will be equally so with regard to 
 you." 
 
 " Thank you," said Cleveland ; " I would not 
 for worlds it were known that I frequented this 
 
 inf — this place, this den of honest 
 
 men.'''' 
 
 In all my future visits to Street, my first 
 
 object was to observe Cleveland. Night after 
 night did his anxious handsome countenance pre- 
 sent itself to my view, distorted by the hateful 
 passions of a gamester ; for every expression in 
 that pursuit is equally odious, and I know not if 
 triumph be not the worst of all, 
 
 Cleveland continued to lose, and continued to 
 play, with all the old nursery adages in his mouth, 
 of " Luck will turn," — " Every dog has its day," 
 — " When things get to the worst, they mend." * 
 
 Between him and myself a tolerably good un- 
 derstanding seemed to have taken place. I in-
 
 IS MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 clulged his anxiety not to profit by my bad play, 
 in resigning myself to a certain Captain Jones, 
 with large whiskers and green spectacles, when- 
 ever I wished to win or lose a few pounds at 
 ecarte. The captain was dumb excepting as 
 regarded the game, and, I verily believe, knew no 
 words of his mother tongue but those which re- 
 lated to cards. 
 
 But I beg pardon of my readers for having de- 
 tained them so long in Street; a place, I 
 
 trust, they know nothing about. In my next 
 chapter, I will introduce them to a different 
 scene, though, after all, not a hundred miles 
 from that in which this has been laid.
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 13 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 A MASK 
 
 During my childhood I possessed the prettiest 
 playfellow, or rather plaything, for I was a few 
 years her senior, ever boy was blessed with : and 
 this playfellow or plaything grew up into a beau- 
 tiful woman, and became the truest friend ever 
 granted to man. The silence I practise as re- 
 gards my own history, must close my lips as to 
 any particulars of yours, my Kate ! But you 
 know the gratitude I feel, and ever shall feel 
 whilst life exists, towards her to whom I owe, in 
 some measure, fortune and fame! Thank God, 
 the storms of life have touched you with a gentle 
 hand, whilst the companion of your childhood has 
 been tossed to and fro amidst the shoals and rocks 
 of a troubled existence. You have dwelt secure 
 from the tempest's roar, have sailed but on
 
 14 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 tranquil seas, have anchored in security and 
 slept in peace, happy Kate — and good as 
 happy ! 
 
 It was about the time that my appetite was 
 somewhat palled by the study of human nature in 
 Street, when this beloved friend very con- 
 veniently arrived in London to draw me from 
 thence into her own society in Grosvenor Square. 
 Her arrival was a diversion very much in my fa- 
 vour. Amiable in herself, she was affectionate 
 and kind to me. Her house was agreeable, and as 
 much frequented as any house in London : she 
 had regular " at-homes," besides frequent dinner 
 parties, to all of which I had a general invitation. 
 As my cousin (for Kate bore that affinity to me) 
 was, though no longer young, a person of distinc- 
 tion even amongst the most distinguished, I had 
 a fertile field, in her house, as to objects of curio- 
 sity, of which I was most willing to avail myself. 
 I was very soon aufait as to the exterior of all the 
 fine gentlemen and fine ladies about town, and of a 
 portion also of an inferior grade, mixed up with a 
 sprinkling of heroes, politicians, authors, and ora- 
 tors, who formed my relative"'s society. 
 
 So quick was my eyesight, and so inquisitive
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 15 
 
 my observation, that in a few evenings I had the 
 wardrobes of most of my cousin's female friends by 
 heart. I had discovered Lady Arabella's predi- 
 lection for a doorway, in aid of her passion for 
 flirting ; and for the same reason, though by dif- 
 ferent means. Lady Scrayford's preference to a re- 
 tired sofa. I was quite aware of Mrs. T 's 
 
 determination to catch Lord C for her plain 
 
 daughter, and the probability of her success in his 
 
 anxiety to fly from Lady P 's handsome one, 
 
 whom all the world had given him for a wife. 
 Many more things I saw and heard, and under- 
 stood or misunderstood, which I need not be at 
 the trouble of repeating. 
 
 It so happened, tbat just before my cousin's 
 arrival in town, and my consequent debut in 
 fashionable society, a masked ball had taken 
 place, the fame of which was still the theme of 
 discourse. One evening, as I stood in my cou- 
 sin's well-filled and well-lighted drawing-rooms, I 
 heard all around me remarks concerning the fete 
 in question. " I was so amused." — "I was so 
 bored." — " Who was the Swiss on the friar's 
 
 arm ?" — " How divine Lady A was as 
 
 Nice !" — " Who was the jockey making such
 
 16 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 play with Petrarch's Laura ?" — " But who was 
 the Turk ?" Now the last inquiry, though ap- 
 parently as indifferent as any of the former, was 
 uttered in a perfectly different tone ; and more- 
 over, it was a question every one asked and no 
 one answered. My curiosity was all alive, but 
 so was that of all the world. " Who was the 
 Turk ?" exclaimed every one ; I joined in the 
 cry, and screamed as loud as the loudest, " Who 
 was the Turk ?'' — "I cannot bear to think of 
 that odious Turk," said a lady standing near me: 
 " but yet he is ever in my mind. He has ren- 
 dered me suspicious of all the world, and made 
 me positively shun all my dearest friends ; for who 
 but a trusted friend,*" continued the unfortunate 
 Lady Alicia, shuddering, " could have told me 
 all he uttered ?" 
 
 " Why do you say he ?" said the person she 
 addressed : " the Turk was a woman." 
 
 " A woman ! How do you know ? Is she 
 discovered ?" 
 
 "Not that I am aware of; but the hand, 
 though disguised in a man'^s glove, was that of a 
 woman." 
 
 '' It matters little of which sex, as regards her
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 17 
 
 discourse — it only adds somewhat to the difficulty 
 of discovery," sighed Lady Alicia. 
 
 ** My firm belief is, that she was a French 
 femme de chambre.^^ 
 
 '' Say not so, for the love of Heaven !" scream- 
 ed Lady Alicia. '' The idea is too horrid ! To 
 think that one''s secret feelings should be known 
 or penetrated by one who made a confidante of 
 her waiting- woman !" 
 
 " It might have been your own maid, well ac- 
 quainted with your secrets through the medium of 
 your letters." 
 
 " Oh, no. The Turk was well informed, 
 knew several languages, was acquainted with every 
 one, and, if it is an honour to have your misery 
 shared by a minister of state, tormented Lord 
 B quite as much as myself." 
 
 " It was precisely that conversation with Lord 
 
 B which decided in my mind the sex of 
 
 the Turk. No man, even in mask, could have 
 ventured on such bitter taunts as his lordship had 
 to endure at the Turk's hands. As a lover or 
 minister he was equally and unsparingly at- 
 tacked." 
 
 " The only person well off," said Lady Alicia,
 
 18 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 " was Mrs. Cleveland." (The name made me 
 start.) " She was obliged to give up the masquer- 
 ade on account of the illness of her aunt. I wish 
 that my aunt would have fallen ill, or died rather 
 than I should have gone to that odious masque- 
 rade." 
 
 " You excite my curiosity ; why not gratify it, 
 Lady Alicia.^ What did the Turk say to 
 you?" 
 
 "As if it were not bad enough to be in his 
 or her detested hands, without placing myself in 
 yours also ! No ; I will profit by the lesson the 
 masquerade has taught me, and become prudent. 
 Caution shall be my motto in future. I shall take 
 good care not to put another in possession of the 
 power of tormenting me, which this Turk has be- 
 come the master of," answered Lady Alicia. 
 
 " The Turk, I would lay my life, is the subject 
 of your conversation," said an elderly man, ap- 
 proaching the pair whose conversation I had over- 
 heard. 
 
 " Yes," said the lady ;" I am infatuated by the 
 subject." 
 
 " The Turk rather amused me ; he said some- 
 thing bitter of every friend I have in the world,
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 19 
 
 and prognosticated evil to them all — but lie did 
 not abuse me personally." 
 
 " You were far more fortunate than myself.'" 
 
 " Mrs. Cleveland is the only one who can be 
 called fortunate in that respect ; for she was not 
 at the ball, and is the only gay-looking person 
 here — for her mind has escaped being tormented." 
 
 Which is Mrs. Cleveland ? thought I. Follow- 
 ing, however, the direction of Lady Alicia's eye, 
 I decided that an extremely handsome woman, 
 very well dressed, talking and laughing gaily with 
 two or three other persons, was her. 
 
 " If she has any feeling, however," said Lady 
 Alicia, " she might s}Tnpathise with her friends, 
 and especially with one person, who, it is said, 
 writhed with agony under the infliction of the 
 Turk's discourse." 
 
 " Ah ! you mean Willoughby ; I heard some- 
 thing of the kind." 
 
 ''For a short time people suspected that the 
 Turk was Mrs. Cleveland herself; but that sur- 
 mise was soon set at rest by the attack on Wil- 
 loughby." 
 
 " It never could be Mrs. Cleveland, for she is 
 the best-natured creature that exists."
 
 ^0 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 " I verily believe that you say no more than 
 the truth ; nevertheless, if she were otherwise, if 
 her tongue were venomous as that of the asp, 
 Willoughby would be secure from its bitterness. 
 Odious as he may be to others, with her he bears 
 a charmed life."" 
 
 " To own the truth, the mystery of the Turk I 
 do not consider so great as the mystery of that 
 liaison. It is positive infatuation : a woman like 
 Mrs. Cleveland — fashionable, beautiful, high-born, 
 and rich, — to allow the attentions of such a man 
 as Willoughby, — to enlist him as her cavalier e ser- 
 vente, in preference to the first and finest of our 
 London men, is quite inexplicable," said the 
 elderly gentleman. 
 
 " Perhaps it is her husband''s choice." 
 
 " Oh ! poor Horace ! I do not believe that he 
 knows such a thing exists as a cavaliere, in any 
 form ; much less does he dream of one as an at- 
 tendant on his wife." 
 
 ''It is a very wicked world that allows such 
 things !" 
 
 '' My dear Lady Alicia, since when have you 
 become so moral ?" 
 
 " Since the masquerade. The Turk, as an an-
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 21 
 
 tidote to the severity of her language, ^vouncl up 
 by some advice ^vhich I mean to profit by; so 
 take care, Mr. Devon, how you behave next au- 
 tumn under my roof, when you come pheasant- 
 shooting." 
 
 Lady Alicia moved away, and shortly after- 
 wards I returned home, with my head full of the 
 Turk, Mrs. Cleveland, and Mr. Willoughby. 
 My curiosity was aroused, and I was determined 
 to solve the mystery which hung over those per- 
 sons : what their intimate friends could not dis- 
 cover, I resolved to elucidate. 
 
 I dined frequently at my cousin's. One dav, 
 I had the pleasure of hearing on my arrival that 
 Mrs. Cleveland, of whom I was dying to see 
 more, was expected. Like all other anxiously ex- 
 pected pleasures, it was slow in being realised, 
 and a good hour elapsed in waiting her appearance, 
 — an hour of ennui, hunger, and ill-humour, all 
 veiled beneath bland smiles, suppressed yawns, 
 eflPorts to amuse or appear amused ; and, what was 
 worse, though not uncommon in worldly matters, 
 the most \irtuous were the worst used ; for those 
 who had arrived the earliest, and were conse- 
 quently the best behaved, had the longer to wait,
 
 22 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 and the greater ennui to endure. Our dresses 
 too began to suffer. My well-starched neckcloth 
 I felt gradually give way ; ray French gloves 
 began to betray symptoms of what are called 
 London blacks, in turning and returning some 
 fifty times a set of prints scattered on the table, 
 and the corkscrew ringlets of two young ladies 
 were becoming each moment less deserving the 
 name. 
 
 At length, however, the Cleveland carriage 
 flew up to the door. Such is the weakness of 
 human nature, — I mean my nature, — that trifles 
 light as air have often made a greater impression 
 upon my mind than matters of importance. 
 The pages of Hume's History were read and 
 forgotten, whilst the Vicar of Wakefield is as 
 fresh in my mind as though I had only just 
 laid the book from my hand. The impression 
 of foreign scenes of grandeur, such as Vesuvius, 
 Niagara, and the Andes, have long vanished from 
 my mind ; but I still remember the most com- 
 mon and uninteresting scenes in my own country, 
 especially if connected with my youth. People 
 of no note will obtrude their insignificant features 
 into my day-dreams, (for I am a great dreamer,)
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 23 
 
 whilst it is in vain that I attempt to bring to 
 
 my recollection the forms of but I will not 
 
 mention names, for fear of betraying my age, 
 which I am as desirous of concealing as was ever 
 poor maiden of forty. In matters of less mo- 
 ment, this fault, or misfortune, was even more 
 evident. And to show to what this digression 
 tends, I have still in my mind every fold in the 
 scarlet cachemire which encircled Mrs. Cleveland's 
 head when she at length entered, and the exact 
 fall of her black velvet gown. 
 
 She looked beautiful, — positively transcendent. 
 She entered the room alone with a hasty step ; 
 which suddenly checking, she cast an imploring 
 look, as she viewed the assemblage of bored and 
 hungry people around, as if to beseech them to 
 judge leniently of her tardiness. 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, it is not my fault ^ she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " Cleveland'^s, I suppose, whom I am sorry not 
 to see with you," said my cousin's husband, ad- 
 vancing to meet her. 
 
 " Oh, no ! he is never in fault ; the House of 
 Commons is to blame." 
 
 " What do I hear.?" said a stately M.P.
 
 24 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 turning his full front towards Mrs. Cleveland; 
 " what business is there ? — / was not aware of 
 any." 
 
 "^ Nor I either," answered Mrs. Cleveland, 
 " till my lord and master sent me word there 
 was, after having kept me waiting half an hour 
 yawning over the embers of my dressing-room 
 fire." 
 
 " It must be private business," said the M.P. 
 
 " Very private, I suspect," muttered the cyni- 
 cal poet S , who stood beside me. 
 
 " Why so ?" I inquired, always desirous to 
 obtain information. 
 
 '' My words were for those who can best 
 understand them ;" was the reply in a sharp 
 accent. Then approaching Mrs. Cleveland, he 
 said — " Where may the fair Turk have dined ?" 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland gave a short quick start, and 
 the colour mounted to her cheeks as she cast a 
 glance of inquiry at him who had addressed her 
 — " Why the Turk .?" 
 
 " Why that turban ? But I again ask, where 
 have you dined ?" 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland smiled ; her complexion re- 
 sumed its natural hue. " Oh, spare me your rail-
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 25 
 
 lery ; I am as hungry as you arc, and as angry 
 too." 
 
 " I Avill spare ; but I will not pity. You 
 know you encourage Cleveland's absence in order 
 to go about alone. You know how you hate 
 dependance, even on a husband. You know "" 
 
 " I know that dinner is ready — that you in- 
 tend to take me down to it — that I intend you 
 should not ; all this I know ; so come, Mr. Devon, 
 give me your arm to the dining-room." 
 
 '' You will be lampooned for declining," said 
 Devon. 
 
 " I did not decline ; but I have no fear of 
 any one''s satire. — I am too innocent." 
 
 Mr. Devon and the poet exchanged glances. Why 
 did thev exchancre grlances ? thoucfht I, — whv did 
 Mrs. Cleveland start when accosted as a Turk ? — 
 why was there a look of incredulity on every one's 
 face when her husband's absence was mentioned 
 as the cause of her being late ? Mrs. Cleveland 
 was seated some way from me at the table ; but 
 I could well observe the animation of her coim- 
 tenance, though the brilliancy of her wit was lost 
 to me. And perhaps, after all, if I could vrrite 
 down what she uttered, it would lack her manner, 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 her silver-toned voice, and, moreover, that happy 
 tact which made her conversation so well suit 
 the time, persons, and place ; none of which could 
 be given with her repartees and lively anecdotes. 
 It is well, therefore, for my heroine and my 
 readers, that I am necessitated to be silent. 
 
 The dinner was long ; the after-dinner doubly 
 so : it was nearly twelve when we left the dining- 
 room. I seized my hat, and to breathe a purer 
 air than that combined atmosphere of the fumes 
 of meat, lamps, company, servants, and wine, I 
 sauntered down South Audley Street ; and not 
 having been there for some time, I resolved to 
 
 see what was going on at the club in Street. 
 
 The first object that I saw upon entering the 
 room was Cleveland. He appeared rather better 
 satisfied than usual, and on approaching him, I 
 observed (a very rare occurrence) a melancholy 
 countenance in his adversary. Cleveland had 
 been winning, and whilst I stood over him he 
 won considerably. The game being finished, 
 he moved from the table, and observing 
 me, said gaily, as he placed the notes in his 
 pocket : —
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 27 
 
 " Why, liow smart ve are to-night ! Whence 
 come you in that lovely waistcoat ?" 
 
 ** I have been dining with a large party." 
 " And had you any fair ladies to take note of 
 your attire ?" 
 
 " There were several very pretty women ; one 
 beautiful — a namesake of yours." 
 
 *' Ah ! Mrs. Cleveland ; she is beautiful." 
 " Was it to pass as her relation that you 
 assumed your present name ? 
 
 " No ; I believe she must have taken it out 
 of compliment to me ; at least, I had possession 
 of it long before her maniage, when she was 
 still the happy Miss Claiifield." 
 
 *' What sort of a man is her husband ?" 
 " Did you not see him at dinner ?" 
 " No ; he was detained at the House of Com- 
 mons." 
 
 " He is a foolish sort of a fellow, whom she 
 had the weakness to love and marry, and whom 
 people tolerate for her sake, and for no merit of 
 his own." 
 
 " She seems very popular. And this Wil- 
 
 loughby, whom people talk of with her " 
 
 c 2
 
 ^8 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 " Whom people what ?" inquired Cleveland 
 fiercely. 
 
 " Why, do not people call him her , lover 
 
 I suppose I must designate him. In Italy the 
 term is cavaliere servente.^'' 
 
 Cleveland seemed hardly to hear the last word 
 I uttered ; he had flown to a card-table to accept 
 a bet which had been offered ; he won — thrusting 
 his gains into his pocket, he hastily quitted the 
 room. 
 
 It was the only night I had ever seen him 
 retire before myself. I observed several of the 
 company exchange glances. 
 
 " This will never do, Clevy, to decamp with 
 our money," muttered one. 
 
 " I will make him refund to-morrow,'' said 
 another. 
 
 " He has still great credit with the Jews, 
 though his estate is entailed,"" observed a third.
 
 iMRS. CLEVELAND. 39 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A SERMON. 
 
 I DO not neglect the clmrch-service on the 
 Sabbath. On the following Sunday morning I 
 sallied forth at about five minutes before eleven, 
 with my prayer-book in my pocket, and a new 
 pair of French kid-gloves on my hands. Min- 
 gling with the throng, I entered a well-known 
 church in my neighbourhood. Certain printed 
 papers which there met my eye, distributed in 
 every pew, gave me no small inclination to retrace 
 my steps. 
 
 " A charity sermon again !" I gToaned ; " the 
 sixth I have heard out of nine Sundays that I 
 have been in London." This eternal tax during 
 the London season is a positive moral evil, both 
 upon preachers and their audience. I speak not as 
 regards gold, for I never give upon such occasions,
 
 so MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 and for fear I should be seduced into doing my 
 alms before men, I invariably lock up my purse on a 
 Sunday. If every one was as careful to conceal 
 that mammon of unrighteousness from profaning 
 with its guilty look the holiest day in the week, 
 much misery might be avoided ; and although cha- 
 rity sermons might suffer, yet publicans and sinners 
 would not raise their heads so high. We should 
 have fewer murders, thefts, and domestic feuds ; 
 those crimes gendered on the sabbath-day through 
 the medium of ardent spirits procured by a week's 
 earnings would be cut off from the list of atro- 
 cities, the description of which pollute the pages 
 of our daily press, and sicken the hearts of the 
 good to hear of. The evil of charity sermons is, 
 that though they do no harm, yet they fill up 
 time which might be much better employed. 
 They take possession of more than their share of 
 that trifling space which is devoted to the ex- 
 pounding the Scriptures to the ignorant, (and we 
 are all more or less ignorant), — to pouring balm 
 into the wounds of the unfortunate — to rousing 
 the wicked — to the humiliation of the proud, the 
 upholding of the meek and humble, and to the 
 general edification of all by a judicious reproba-
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 31 
 
 tion of the most crjdng sins or follies of the clay ; 
 whicli, in all probability, the great portion of the 
 congregation, good as they may be, are not good 
 enough to be exempt from, should their age and 
 opportunities prove convenient. 
 
 With such feelings as regards charity sermons, 
 it may be supposed that I heard with no small 
 degree of impatience the text — " How hardly 
 shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom 
 of God!" — I was determined to pay no attention; 
 and if by accident some of the discourse was 
 forced upon my hearing, I resolved to blame. 
 But, however, I was con^'inced that I knew the 
 sermon by heart, with all its thi-eatenings, hopes, 
 and promises of reward or punishment hereafter, 
 offered to us according to our behaviour as re- 
 garded this particular charity ; and I looked every- 
 where but at the preacher, and thought of every 
 virtue but alms-giving. 
 
 The sermon, notwithstanding my inattention, 
 made progress, and, spite of the preacher having no 
 book, flowed currently on. In the same manner 
 that I had often foimd myself absent in mind, I 
 suddenly discovered that I was very attentive, and 
 that many a better discourse than this I had
 
 32 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 listened to with a perfectly vacant understanding. 
 As the preacher inculcated not the act of giving, 
 but the giving wisely, it was to the use, and not 
 the abuse of riches, that he attempted to draw the 
 minds of his hearers. He combated the indolent 
 notion that spending money is cliarity ; that as 
 long as you do not hoard, as long as you support 
 large establishments of servants, are hospitable to 
 your friends in town, to your neighbours in the 
 country, and, through the hands of a dependant, 
 bestow annual donations to the poor of your 
 parish, you are heaping up for yourself treasures 
 in heaven. " That such good deeds," continued 
 the preacher, " may plead in mitigation of your 
 sins, we may readily hope and trust. So far a 
 part of your wealth has been well bestowed : 
 but I pronounce that it will be a trifling balance 
 in your favour, when, on the other hand, appears 
 the fearful catalogue of misused talents, power, 
 wealth, and time. Then will appear on the list, 
 establishment of servants, numerous beyond your 
 wants, living in idleness, luxury, and immo- 
 rality. Such, when they accompany you into 
 the country, are as a pestilential disease, spread- 
 ing their noxious taint over haunts which, com-
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 33 
 
 pared to towns, are innocent and pure. Xot 
 that I mean to say the country is the abode 
 of purity and innocence ; but, comparatively 
 speaking, they "who dwell therein are better 
 and happier, — better from ignorance of many 
 vices, happier from having fewer wants. Poor 
 as they may be, those around them are equally 
 so. It is for the child of prosperity, in his 
 annual visits to his castle, to rob them by his 
 luxury of their best riches — ignorance of wealth. 
 Under his roof they see the sleek spaniel of more 
 importance than themselves, and the pampered 
 menials, at first their envy from their manners 
 and dress, though born as lowly as themselves, 
 become at last their models, their tutors, and 
 guides in vice and profaneness ! Is not, I say, 
 wealth in this child of prosperity's hands mis- 
 used ? Will he not, good as his general cha- 
 racter may be, have to answer for it ? I could 
 continue the picture ; but I know the impatience 
 of many who hear me. Still I must obtrude a 
 few words more. 
 
 '' Who teach dishonesty to tradesmen ? — the 
 wealthy, for they care not to be imposed upon. 
 Who encourage vice on the stage, at the banquet, 
 
 c 5
 
 34 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 or, last and worst, the gaming-table ? — the wealthy, 
 I repeat, for they can afford to be amused ; they 
 like excitement, and can pay for their pleasures. 
 Who dares to say they are wrong ? — few people in 
 this world. But there is a world to come ; and, I 
 repeat, by the laws of that woild they will be 
 tried and convicted, — convicted of the abuse of 
 power, for wealth is power. Tremble, therefore, 
 ye rich ; 'for it is easier for a camel to go through 
 the eye of a needle, than for ye to enter the 
 kingdom of heaven.' " 
 
 The sermon continued much in the same strain ; 
 it was a singular one, though not particularly 
 judicious or instructive. The familiarity of the 
 preacher''s manner commanded more attention than 
 his matter. The rich were the principal objects 
 of his attack ; he followed them to their homes, 
 to their very chambers. He described the man of 
 fortune as practising economy in his nursery and 
 his wife''s dress, in the education of his children, 
 and in his charities, in order to allow him to have 
 great entertainments, represent a county, have a 
 large stud, or indulge his taste for play. 
 
 What more the preacher said, I know not ; for 
 at that moment I heard a sigh, almost amounting
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 35 
 
 to a groan, from a female at the other extremity 
 of the pew in which I was seated. It made 
 me start, and some other persons bend their 
 heads towards her with astonishment. She was 
 evidently crying bitterly ; but I could not dis- 
 cover her features, from the handkerchief which 
 she held to her face. A lady in the next pew 
 gave me a bottle of salts, and motioned me to 
 offer it to the afflicted or nervous female. I 
 therefore drew towards her ; the attention was not 
 declined; and as she withdrew her handkerchief to 
 thank me, I beheld Mrs. Cleveland ! 
 
 The service was at length over ; and Mrs. Cleve- 
 land, preparing to depart, drew a splendid cache- 
 mire around her. We left the pew together. 
 At the church door were the tax-gatherers, in the 
 persons of a marchioness and an earl. Mrs. 
 Cleveland will assuredly give, from the effect the 
 sermon had upon her, thought I ; so my want 
 of charity, if I wished to conceal it, will not be 
 observed. Mrs. Cleveland walked boldly for- 
 ward, and passed the marchioness"* plate without 
 bestowing alms. She approached the earl; — 
 "Mrs. Cleveland, how are you?" I heard him 
 say. " Very well, I am obliged to you,'"* was
 
 36 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 her reply, as she moved onwards without turning 
 her head towards the plate, on which was a goodly 
 store of gold and silver. Her carriage was at the 
 door ; I handed her into it ; I saw her throw her- 
 self back, and again give free course to her emo- 
 tion. " Very strange ! Mrs. Cleveland gave no- 
 thing !" said the marchioness. '' The sermon 
 has been vainly addressed to her indeed,*" re- 
 joined the earl opposite ; "an heiress, and mar- 
 ried into one of the richest families in England, 
 to have nothing to bestow !" " Very strange r 
 said one or two persons near. " Everything 
 about Mrs. Cleveland is strange," thought I ; 
 "but I will solve the mystery ."" 
 
 Pursuant to the system of espionage which I 
 adopted with regard to Mrs. Cleveland, I worked 
 my way from the salons of my cousin in Gros- 
 venor-square, gradually into those of almost every 
 person whom Mrs. Cleveland frequented. She Avent 
 
 everywhere ; to the opera, to Almack's, to 
 
 House ; to Lady A — 's, Mondays ; Lady B — *s, 
 Thursdays ; and to all those countless varieties of 
 suppers, dances, plays, breakfasts, dinners, and 
 small parties, which make the season in London 
 superior to the boasted carnivals of foreign lands.
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 37 
 
 Mr. "Willoughby was everywhere also ! The ex- 
 istence of that liaison was no secret to me, for I 
 had ocular demonstration thereof; but, like all 
 the world, was completely puzzled thereat. Of 
 all men in the world, Willoughby seemed the 
 least likely to be viewed with favourable eyes by a 
 fair and fashionable female. It was not that he 
 was precisely ill-favoured, but his countenance was 
 harsh, — its best expression was that of a bandit, 
 its worst that of the subtle lago, or the malignant 
 Shy lock. If his character was not indifferent, it 
 was unpopular ; his manners were cold and repul- 
 sive ; his conversation, though rising at times to 
 the heights of learning and cleverness, was far 
 from pleasing, and from such lips could not be 
 instructive. 
 
 No one listened to him beyond what the neces- 
 sary forms of civility required ; every one but 
 Mrs. Cleveland shrunk from the honour of being 
 addressed by him. Happily, however, for the 
 world at large, the talking mood was not often 
 prevalent with him, for he was generally taciturn, 
 gloomy, and unsocial : even at Mrs. Cleveland's 
 side the rigidity of his features were seldom re- 
 laxed ; and if removed from her, he would regard
 
 38 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 her with the sternness of a tyrannic father, rather 
 than with the tenderness of a lover. 
 
 Willoiighby was a man of fortune and family ; 
 but, by the latter, contrary to the respect which 
 in England is ever paid to wealth, he was re- 
 garded with something approaching to dislike or 
 fear. The fault might be with him, with them, 
 or with both ; but his relations cared not for him ; 
 the younger spoke of him with indifference, the 
 elder with dislike. Once I overheard a prudent 
 mother checking the feelings of her child, who 
 was his nephew, exclaim, " For heaven's sake, be 
 cautious ! I would rather infringe the laws of my 
 country and trust to their mercy, than sin against 
 Willoughby and trust to his."'' The boy laughed : 
 his mother continued, " It was not by such means 
 that his fortune was acquired." 
 
 Willoughby had not always been rich : he had 
 succeeded by right to the property of a relation ; 
 and a more remote cousin had subsequently made 
 him his heir, merely to disappoint a nephew whom 
 he had educated, and who therefore, as a thing 
 of course, expected to succeed to his uncle. 
 
 The old gentleman, that his power might be 
 felt even in the grave, cut oiF his nephew, in
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 39 
 
 the amis of Tvhom he died, with an annuity of two 
 hundred pounds, and bequeathed ten thousand a 
 year in the funds to George Willoughby, his cousin 
 in the fifteenth degree, and whom, it was said, 
 he had never seen. Oh ! man, man, dressed in a 
 little brief authority, no wonder angels are said 
 to weep at thy fantastic tricks ! 
 
 Willoughby was therefore rich ; he was for- 
 tunate also in various speculations, and had in- 
 creased his store, so that at the moment when I 
 first saw him handing Mrs. Cleveland to her car- 
 riage down the Opera-house stairs, he was proba- 
 bly one of the wealthiest commoners in the land. 
 Money made him powerful ; it made him also 
 selfish, haughty and presumptuous, and hated by all 
 save Mrs. Cleveland ! "That woman," I would 
 exclaim, "must be the most odious of her sex, to 
 bear with the society of such a man, — to suffer 
 her character to be lightly spoken of for the 
 sake of one who conmiands neither respect, ad- 
 miration, nor affection. In spite of her beauty, I 
 quite hate the woman ; her mind must be per- 
 verted, her intellects weak, and her taste posi- 
 tively vitiated." 
 
 1 have not concealed that I frequented what
 
 40 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 is termed bad company, as ^vcll as that which 
 is called good. The strict justice of the appli- 
 cation of these adjectives, I have my doubts 
 about ; but in the present instance I make use 
 of the terms according to their common accepta- 
 tion. Besides these two, I also frequented other 
 company — that of the unfortunate and poor. 
 One family of the latter class, with whom I was 
 acquainted, inhabited a small ill-furnished house 
 near the Edgew^are road. The family consisted 
 of a father, mother, and three daughters (the 
 eldest of whom was eighteen), besides two boys. 
 Their name was Williams ; their history briefly 
 as follows : — Mr. Williams was a thriving trades- 
 man ; his wife had been a nursery governess in 
 a nobleman^s family. For many years fortune 
 smiled on their business; they lived upon their 
 gains, were happy and content. Suddenly a re- 
 verse took place ; their customers fell off; they 
 were forced to retrench ; the girls' governess was 
 parted with ; — for, like too many in their station, 
 they were desirous of bringing up their children 
 to occupy a superior grade to themselves, which, 
 if it is an error, is an amiable one. Their gig 
 was given up, their footboy dismissed ; but all
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 41 
 
 was of no use ; for, on the death of his most 
 intimate friend, a surgeon by profession, a man 
 who had sat by his fire, drank of his cup, listened 
 to his jokes, and had been the companion of 
 twenty years, poor Williams receiyed from the 
 executors of the deceased a bill of two thousand 
 four hundred pounds for, briefly, medicine and at- 
 tendance.'^ The charge was unanswerable ; for 
 the kind-hearted surgeon had, in the way of 
 friendship, as poor Williams fairly imagined, phy- 
 sicked and prescribed for his family for twenty 
 years, had brought the fiye Williamses into the 
 world, and kept them in health when there. The 
 result was inevitable : Williams was ruined, and 
 became an inhabitant of the King's Bench pri- 
 son. From the last direfid place he was, however, 
 emancipated by one who heard of his misfortunes : 
 the voracious executors of the friendly surgeon 
 were paid the full amount of their exorbitant 
 demand ; Williams was restored to his family, but 
 his business was at an end ; he retired to a small 
 lodging in the neighbourhood of the Edgware-road, 
 where, by the sale of the embroidery his daughters 
 manufactured, he and his family contrived to exist 
 
 * Fact.
 
 42 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 His daughters were three well-looking, modest, 
 and industrious girls ; their pale and slender 
 fingers were never at rest, call at what hour 
 I might, morning or evening. The father was 
 often out with his younger children, and the 
 mother occupied with her domestic duties else- 
 where ; but the daughters were ever seated, for 
 the advantage of light, by the parlour windows, 
 too intent on their work to talk, and only ac- 
 knowledging my presence by a slight bend of the 
 head and a gentle smile. The eldest had a melan- 
 choly, absent air ; but the second was of a more 
 sprightly mood, and even at her work her thoughts 
 seemed more lively than sad. 
 
 I often brought a book or the newspapers in my 
 pocket, and read aloud to the poor girls to lighten 
 their toil. Even to the youngest this was a decided 
 source of gratification ; and their needles appeared 
 to fly with redoubled activity when listening to 
 some interesting work of fiction, or the public 
 news of the day. If, on my arrival, a book peeped 
 from my pocket, smiles were on every countenance. 
 
 " I had despaired of finishing this coronet before 
 dark,'*'' said the second girl one day on my entrance ; 
 " but now, as I am sure that you have * Mans-
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 48 
 
 field Park' in your hand, it will be done without 
 my thinking of it."*' As she spoke, she held up 
 the finest of fine cambric handkerchiefs, in the 
 comer of which she was embroidering the name 
 *' Amelia," surmounted by a coronet. 
 
 " That is delicate work indeed," said I, look- 
 ing towards the cobweb displayed ; " for whom 
 are you working ?" 
 
 " I suspect for Lady Amelia Tarleton ; for you 
 read in the paper to us that she was shortly to 
 be married to some Earl, and great preparations 
 were making for the important event." 
 
 " But why do you only suspect ? how come 
 you not to be certain ?" 
 
 " Because, when Mrs. Smith gave us the order 
 for embroidering three dozen pocket handkerchiefs, 
 she did not say whom they were for ; they were 
 to be finished this evening, when she would send 
 for them, and pay for them too ; so pray read 
 a little of that book, and my task will soon be 
 finished." 
 
 I opened the book ; but before I proceeded to 
 read, I ventured to make some inquiries as to 
 who was this Mrs. Smith. 
 
 " Oh ! she is the best creature that ever was ;
 
 44 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 I do not know how she heard of us, but she gives 
 us constant work, and pays us so well that my 
 father says he cannot make out what profit she 
 takes for herself. Till we knew her, our trade was 
 a sad disheartening business ; whatever we offered 
 for sale at the shops was called old-fashioned, 
 badly designed, indifferently executed ; and we 
 could obtain little more than the price of the 
 muslin for what they afterwards sold at five times 
 the sum. But, however, since Mrs. Smith found 
 us, the case is very different ; our labour is no 
 longer in vain. She gets us patterns direct from 
 Paris, gives us orders for everything, and pays 
 as she receives the things." 
 
 " Mrs. Smith's must be a lucrative trade,"' I 
 said, smiling. My little informer blushed. 
 
 " I do not know how she manages ; but it is not 
 for us to examine too deeply into what is of so 
 much advantage to oui'selves. But I must work, 
 and not talk.'"* 
 
 "And I must not talk, but read, I suppose,"' 
 said I. The pretty Caroline nodded her decidedly 
 well-shaped head as she turned to the embroider- 
 ed coronet, and I began the second volume of 
 " Mansfield Park." I read till dusk ; the youngest
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 45 
 
 girl then went for candles, and the other two lay- 
 ing down their work, the eldest observed, 
 
 " I wonder whether Mrs. Smith will come her- 
 self for the work ?'' 
 
 " I fear not,'' said the sister ; " it will be too 
 late ; she will send that horrid Miss Willes in- 
 stead, I am sure."" 
 
 " I cannot endure her, she is so fine." 
 
 " She must spend a fortune on her dress. Did 
 you observe, the last time she was here, her brace- 
 lets, rings, watch, and highly-scented pocket- 
 handkerchief ?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; but it is her manner that I can- 
 not endure ; so grand and supercilious — so unlike 
 Mrs. Smith, — I wonder they can be friends."" 
 
 " Where does !Mrs. Smith live ?^'' T inquired. 
 
 '* We do not know ; she never told us." 
 
 " She has a shop, I suppose .?" 
 
 " She never mentioned one. She is very kind 
 in all manner of ways ; and, when fii'st she be- 
 came acquainted with us, tried to persuade my 
 father to let us set up a school ; but he is grown 
 timid from misfortune, and dared not embark in 
 such a concern." 
 
 " Mrs. Smith may mean well," I replied
 
 46 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 gravely ; " but she had better attend to what 
 she understands the value of — embroidery, and 
 not give advice on other subjects. Your father 
 was quite right not to attend to the recommenda- 
 tion of a person who, in all probability, has re- 
 ceived no education herself." 
 
 " So one might suppose," answered the eldest ; 
 '' but Mrs. Smith is not like most other people in 
 her line. My mother says she is sure she has seen 
 better days, for her manners are quite like those 
 of some ladies she used to see when governess in 
 
 Lord A 's family. She has a soft melancholy 
 
 air, just like my mother's." 
 
 " Poor thing ! There is no state so pitiable as 
 that of those who have to endure fallen fortunes 
 in the decline of life." 
 
 " But why in the decline of life alone ?" in- 
 quired Caroline laughing. 
 
 " Why ? Did you not describe her as 
 elderly .?" 
 
 " Certainly not ; she is young, and very pretty 
 too." 
 
 I started, and casting an anxious glance at the 
 three girls before me, an odious suspicion darted 
 across my mind.
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 4 4 
 
 '^ Does Mrs. Smith often visit you ?" 
 
 '' Perhaps once a week." 
 
 " And makes herself agreeable ?" 
 
 " Oh, delightful ! She comes very often on a 
 Sunday, because then she does not interrupt our 
 work. She has been here besides on other days ; 
 but it has been to teach us some new stitches for 
 embroidery, which she said it would be advan- 
 tageous for us to know." 
 
 " She seems -ctry kind to you. And so, she 
 thinks you would do in a school ? Is your mo- 
 ther present when she calls ?" 
 
 " Sometimes. But last Sunday she was at 
 church with the boys when Mrs. Smith came." 
 
 " Umph !" said I, as, taking up my hat, I 
 walked towards the door. " I hope this Mrs. 
 Smith means well by you, poor children ; but I 
 own I would rather have heard of her as old and 
 ugly, and should like her still better without such 
 a friend as you describe Miss Willes." 
 
 The girls stared at each other with surprise. I 
 did not explain my meaning further, and deter- 
 mined to obtain, if possible, a sight of this Mrs. 
 Smith herself, in order to judge with my own eyes 
 as to her respectability.
 
 48 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 It was not till some weeks after this conversation 
 tliat an opportunity offered itself of so doing. I 
 was walking one Sunday afternoon towards the 
 Williams' house, when, within a few yards of their 
 door, I saw hastily descend their steps a female in 
 a plain Leghorn bonnet, and large plaid cloak of a 
 peculiar pattern. She approached me quickly, and 
 was past in a moment ; but, in that moment, I 
 caught a slight glimpse of a very pretty mouth, 
 a long curl of raven black hair, and the prettiest 
 foot imaginable, only to be rivalled by that of 
 one person in the world that I knew. 
 
 " Mrs. Smith has just left you,"' said I, seating 
 myself at Mrs. Williams' tea-table. " I regret 
 not having arrived sooner, as then I might have 
 had the pleasure of making her acquaintance.'"* 
 
 " She did not remain many minutes, and seemed 
 hurried and out of spirits — more so than usual." 
 " What is she sad about ?" I inquired. 
 '' I do not know," replied Mrs. Williams ; 
 "she hasher cares, I suppose, as we all have; 
 but she is a balm, I am sure, to the cares of 
 others ; without her, my poor girls might have 
 toiled in vain at their work. Mrs. Smith is, how- 
 ever, sometimes gay ; but even then a sigh will
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 49 
 
 escape her. If we observe upon it, slie laughs, 
 and says it is a habit she has, and then will try to 
 speak gaily ; but, with the smile on her lips, I 
 have often traced the tear in her eye." 
 
 " When are you likely to see Mrs. Smith 
 again ?^'' 
 
 *' Perhaps never V^ said the eldest girl sorrow- 
 fully. " We are all wretched upon the subject. 
 She has left us a vast deal of work to be executed, 
 in the shape of pocket-books, pincushions, and 
 sachets, which we are to make for a lady who is 
 one of the patronesses of the approaching Ha- 
 nover Square Bazaar, and who, being herself too 
 idle or too unskilful to be able to fit up her own 
 stall, is happy to employ others. Mrs. Smith has 
 left us the address where we are to take the 
 things when finished : here it is." 
 
 I took the paper, on which was written " The 
 Countess of Amo, Berkeley Square." A suspicion 
 entered my mind I had seen the hand-writing be- 
 fore, but I kept my thoughts to myself. 
 
 VOL. I
 
 50 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A WALK. 
 
 I CANNOT say my acquaintance with ^Irs. 
 Cleveland increased with a rapidity equal to my 
 desires. I was not precisely her sort of man ; — 
 mind, I do not say what sort of man I was, — but 
 the insects who basked in the sunshine of her fa- 
 vour were more gaudy than myself, more juvenile, 
 and possibly gayer and better suited to buzz round 
 so fair and blooming a flower. One important 
 day, however, the fickle goddess Fortune smiled 
 upon me, and at a late hour entering my cousin's 
 dining-room, where the company were already 
 seated at table, the vacant place left for me was, 
 by some strange accident in the arrangement of 
 the society, by Mrs. Cleveland ! 
 
 On her other side was seated Lord O , who 
 
 by fiivour of his rank, not manners or intellect,
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 51 
 
 had the honour of escorting her to dinner. By 
 one glance, as I seated myself, I saw a suppressed 
 yawn on Mrs. Cleveland's face ; which yawn was 
 more openly avowed before I had swallowed my 
 fish. With this tacit acknowledgment of her feel- 
 ings as regarded Lord O , and being invi- 
 gorated by my first glass of wine, I made bold to 
 address my fair neighbour on the subject of the 
 charity sermon at which we had both assisted. 
 
 " I rather liked the discourse," said I, " and 
 was half tempted by it to bestow, contrary to my 
 judgment and practice, something in charity.'"* 
 
 "Am I to understand then," replied Mrs. 
 Cleveland with an evident air of surprise, " that 
 you are uncharitable from principle ?"' 
 
 '' No ; I like charity at proper seasons, but I 
 hate charity sermons — I abominate exhortation to 
 favour extortion." 
 
 " It would certainly be better for the giver and 
 the receiver if charity was spontaneous," she an- 
 swered ; " but as, in this evil world we inhabit, so 
 many, even good people as they are called, and who 
 are far too numerous I fear amongst the rich, require 
 rousing to the performance of so positive a duty, 
 I should be sorry to see charity sermons dis- 
 
 d2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLinOlS
 
 52 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 couraged, or any other means, such as balls and 
 bazaars, which the invention of man has discovered 
 to cheat his fellow-mortals into kindness towards 
 each other." 
 
 "I like the system of bazaars," I observed; 
 " do you, Mrs. Cleveland ?" 
 
 " I do not like or dislike them : I am glad that 
 the hospitals and patriots should be so benefited. 
 But that people wishing to be charitable should 
 prefer the circuitous and ostentatious mode of 
 making useless purchases of indifferent articles, 
 sold by ladies playing at keeping-a-shop in a 
 crowded room, to the simple method of sending 
 a draft on their banker to the governors of the 
 hospital, or patrons of the charity, is to me inex- 
 plicable ; the fact, however, speaks for itself — 
 a sum is made in one day at a bazaar which would 
 not, without that stimulus, be collected perhaps 
 in years : long may therefore bazaars flourish !" 
 
 " I must say," said I, "a good word for the 
 articles sold. I saw this morning the prettiest as- 
 sortment of fancy goods, which are to pass for 
 proofs of Lady Arno''s industry ; a very harmless 
 imposition, for without her name they would not 
 sell, and without the aid of others they would not
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 53 
 
 be worth selling; and moreover, Lady Arno's 
 charity is two-fold by that means."' 
 
 " Where did you make the discovery of Lad} 
 Anio's subterfuge ?" 
 
 " At a family of the name of Williams, where 
 I also thought I had made other discoveries — I 
 thought I found traces of yourself." 
 
 " Of me ? I have worked, I beg to say, all 
 my contributions myself,"' answered Mrs. Cleve- 
 land coldly. 
 
 " Well, but a certain Mrs. Smith — " 
 
 " Oh, talk to me not of Mrs. Smith, I beg, or 
 of Mrs. any one. I am dying of hunger — put 
 some chicken on my plate if you would save me 
 from starvation, and let me eat in peace." 
 
 I was about obeying Mrs. Cleveland's orders, 
 when a servant placed before her a plate, on 
 which were some delicious-looking quails, with 
 Mr. Willoughby's compliments. Mrs. Cleveland 
 blushed, and darting a glance towards the donor, 
 the expression of which, I trust, was not observed 
 by Mr. Cleveland, who sat opposite, she com- 
 menced the discussion of the birds before her, 
 dispensing with my services as both carver and 
 talker. The remainder of the dinner she was
 
 54 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 either silent, or engaged in trifling discourse with 
 
 Lord O . 
 
 As is common on the ladies quitting the dining- 
 room, a pause ensued at the door-way on the sub- 
 ject of precedence. Mrs. Cleveland hung back, 
 a baron's wife and an earFs widow and daughter 
 being present. It was then that I took a very 
 full look at certain very pretty feet which peeped 
 from beneath her silk robe. Thinks T to myself 
 (pardon the plagiarism) those are very like Mrs. 
 Smith's feet. A few days after the above-men- 
 tioned dinner-party, my suspicions were further 
 awakened, and, I may as well say, fully confirmed. 
 One morning I was walking in the Park. A 
 lady and gentleman passed me : the lady was about 
 Mrs. Cleveland's height, and Jiad her air; the 
 gentleman on whose arm she leant, (I must say 
 rather familiarly,) was Mr. Willoughby. I have 
 before mentioned that I possessed a description 
 of intellect, which I can only designate by calling 
 it fesprit des riens, if such French or €S2)rit be 
 admissible ; I could therefore swear to the plain 
 cloak of a dark and rather peculiar plaid, and 
 the texture of the Leghorn bonnet worn by the 
 lady on Mr. Willoughby's arm, being the iden-
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 55 
 
 tical cloak and bonnet I had seen on the person 
 of Mrs. Smith when she descended the steps of 
 Mrs. Williams"' house. The pair walked fast, 
 but I kept close behind. They left Hyde Park by 
 Stanhope-street gate ; in Park-lane they sepa- 
 rated ; Mrs. Cleveland, for there was no doubt of 
 its being her, turning down Hertford-street, where 
 she lived. At the distance of perhaps three yards 
 from her own door, she, suddenly making a halt, 
 turned round, and her full dark eye fell directly 
 upon me with an expression which I shall not 
 readily forget — there was no mistaking the mean- 
 ing it conveyed, any more than that a peculiarly 
 high colour had risen to her cheeks. Albeit, 
 though not addicted to the blushing mood, I felt 
 in my sallow visage a slight tinge of red make 
 itself visible. My conscience smote me for the 
 system of espionage I had adopted towards her — a 
 female with whose actions I had no concern, and 
 with whom I was not even well acquainted. The 
 pangs of conscience were also the more severe 
 from the circumstance of being betrayed. As I 
 met Mrs. Cleveland's steadfast gaze, I felt that 
 my secret actions were better known to her than 
 hers to me ; she was annoyed, perhaps angry,
 
 56 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 viewing me with contempt as well as dislike, and, 
 alas ! deservedly so. 
 
 " Have you any commands with me, sir," she 
 demanded, *' that I have the honour of your 
 escort to my own door ?''^ 
 
 " None, madam," I replied : " I followed you 
 from a mistake which your dress led me into ; I 
 thought you were a certain Mrs. Smith." 
 
 '' Well, sir, I suppose there is nothing very 
 extraordinary in the resemblance of dress .^" 
 
 " To resemble Mrs. Smith even in the pat- 
 tern of a cloak cannot be injurious, madam, for 
 she has been the benefactress of a most excellent 
 but distressed family." 
 
 " If Mrs. Smith has been so, she is much to 
 be envied." 
 
 " //*," I replied : " who knows so well as Mrs. 
 Cleveland that I speak the truth ?" And I could 
 not resist a smile. 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland shook her head, but her gra- 
 vity slightly relaxed. " Am I then mistaken ?^^ 
 I said. 
 
 "You are mistaken in one essential point : 
 Mrs. Smith or Mrs. Cleveland, for it is useless to 
 keep up the mystery any longer with one who
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 57 
 
 appears so determined to solve it as yourself, has 
 been only the humble instrument of good in the 
 hands of others ; and the good would probably 
 have been done by a far more worthy character — 
 by that good Samaritan who opened their prison 
 doors, and gave them the roof they dwell under : 
 he would not have waxed feeble in the good work ; 
 and, if others had not befriended them, I am 
 convinced would have supported those whom his 
 bounty has sheltered." 
 
 It was now my turn to blush in good earnest ; 
 and I did so the more, from the completely 
 altered tone and manner of Mrs. Cleveland as she 
 concluded her speech, which convinced me that 
 all private rancour, as regarded myself, had given 
 way on her part, when speaking of my assistance 
 to others. 
 
 " Still," she continued, with a slight smile on 
 her face, " I do not see why my choosing to visit 
 the Williamses incognita could be any concern of 
 yours." 
 
 '' Pardon me there ; curiosity is the only pas- 
 sion which still exists in a frame hlase to every 
 other excitement. I am an idle prying old man, 
 the greatest of whose pleasures is the solving charac- 
 
 D
 
 58 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 ters. When I find in my way those who possess 
 any, I like to analyse their minds by their conduct 
 in private as well as public ; to trace their wisdom 
 or folly, and sometimes wickedness, in their pur- 
 suits and tastes, in their happiness and misery. 
 In following my self-imposed metier, I have 
 been — not for the first time, I fear — extremely 
 impertinent, and I have to ask your pardon for 
 my conduct of this morning." Mrs. Cleveland 
 could scarcely forbear smiling as I spoke. 
 
 " Well, well," she said, " I forgive you ; but 
 I hope in future you will not exercise your talents 
 as a police-oflftcer upon me." 
 
 " I do not know — you are rather a mysterious 
 personage in many respects," said I, recovering 
 spirit by the encouragement of Mrs. Cleveland's 
 smiles, and eager therefore to resume my old 
 trick of curiosity. 
 
 " How am I more mysterious than most 
 others ?" 
 
 I hesitated. " Well," she continued, " I see 
 you are not ready with your answer, and I have 
 no time to wait whilst the mountain is in labour. 
 But, before we part, let me explain one thing —
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 59 
 
 I am not charitable. Do you remember the cha- 
 rity sermon ?" 
 
 " Certainly ; you gave nothing, nor did I my- 
 self ; yet you can be charitable, — so can I, — the 
 Williamses prove the fact." 
 
 " As far as you are concerned, they prove it; 
 but not as regards myself. I have done nothing 
 for them, and the reason of my assuming a feigned 
 name and humble attire was to prevent their ex- 
 pecting any assistance from me ; assistance, "which 
 it is not in my power to afford, however I may 
 have the wish." 
 
 " Not in your power !" I exclaimed, darting a 
 look upwards to where a long balcony was filled 
 with the most costly exotics, breathing perfume 
 through the whole street. Mrs. Cleveland con- 
 tinued. 
 
 " / state a fact; and as I believe that, though 
 curious, you are not a gossip — that it is to occupy 
 your mind, and not your tongue, that you have 
 constituted yourself ' inquisitor-general,' — I care 
 not to tell you what, if you are any adept in 
 your profession, you ought to have already known 
 untold — I am poor !"
 
 60 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 " Poor !'"' I exclaimed. 
 
 " What ! is this news to you — the professed 
 curieux P" said Mrs. Cleveland, laughing archly. 
 " But there is the carriage : I must dofF Mrs. 
 Smith's attire, for that in which I must go to 
 Lady Arno ; so good morning ! Should you 
 pass this way at any time, I shall be happy to 
 gratify your curiosity by a sight of the contents 
 of my house, which I am now too much pressed 
 for time to ask you to enter."" 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland flew up the steps : the hall- 
 door was opened by a porter in rich livery ; two 
 footmen in similar attire stood in the hall as their 
 lady tripped lightly through it ; the door was 
 closed, and I turned my eye on the handsome 
 equipage which now approached. Elegant be- 
 yond comparison was the Cleveland carriage — un- 
 matched for beauty the greys which drew it, and 
 unmatched for importance the man who drove 
 them. 
 
 " I say, my man,"" casting from his elevated 
 station a look of contempt upon me, — "I say, 
 my man, make yourself useful, and touch that 
 there bell, for these here cattle won"t bear to be 
 left a moment."'
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 61 
 
 I humbly obeyed, and bent my steps again to- 
 wards the Park, meditating upon the conversation of 
 the morning, and upon Mrs. Cleveland's poverty ! 
 
 My curiosity, of course, soon impelled me to 
 profit by Mrs. Cleveland's permission to call upon 
 her. I found her at home ; which was better for- 
 tune than I expected from so fine a lady, at one 
 o'clock in the day, and to a person in a spencer ! 
 Her house was as elegant as herself, and displayed 
 at every turn equal proofs of taste as well as 
 wealth : costly china, odoriferous plants, rich 
 silks, mirrors, and pictures met my unwearied 
 gaze, beautifully arranged in most becoming dis- 
 order through the spacious drawing-rooms leading 
 to a small boudoir, fitted up as a Turkish tent, 
 where Mrs. Cleveland passed her mornings. She 
 was alone : her pretty foot rested upon a velvet 
 cushion, and a volume, evidently of French ma- 
 nufacture, was in her hand ; at her side was a 
 small table, on which everything was in pro- 
 portion small — inkstand, watch-seals, blotting- 
 book, miniatures, trinkets, &c. were all of the 
 diminutive race. Mrs. Cleveland smiled as I 
 entered. She probably thought of my curiosity
 
 62 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 — I thought of her poverty I " Poverty !" said 
 I to myself: " because she has only two drawing- 
 rooms, and Lady Finchley has five ; — because she 
 cannot afford to purchase such a mansion-house 
 as that of Northumberland, and because her stair- 
 case is inferior to that of Chesterfield House, she 
 dreams herself poor and a beggar ! — too lowly to 
 oflfer any of her wealth to the distressed Wil- 
 liamses — too just to give any thin'g but tears to a 
 charity sermon !" 
 
 My visit was not very long, for we were inter- 
 rupted by the entrance of a young man whose 
 hollow cheeks (my passion is to particularize) 
 were filled up by enormous whiskers — whose 
 narrow chest was exposed to every blast through 
 his cambric shirt — whose gilt spurs seemed to 
 weigh down his slender legs, as did costly rings 
 his slender fingers. This dandy entered with 
 that enviable unconcern which is common to all 
 the tribe : eyeing me and my spencer with inef- 
 fable contempt, he threw himself into an arm- 
 chair, which he coolly pushed forwards between 
 me and the fire. Mrs. Cleveland having vouch- 
 safed a nod, a smile and a finger to the new- 
 comer, seemed very well inclined to continue
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 6S 
 
 her conversation with me : but I have a juvenile 
 fault — I am shy ; the little disturbance caused 
 by the dandy's entrance gave me an opportunity 
 of getting quietly out of a room which I was de- 
 lighted to have entered, and from which the 
 gentleman, and not the lady, seemed to expect 
 my retreat.
 
 64 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A DISCOVERY. 
 
 I MUST in this place make a confession, and 
 acknowledge a fact, which perhaps may speak in 
 my favour, and perhaps may be to my disad- 
 vantage, as a person of consistency, even as regards 
 curiosity ; for curiosity, which had hitherto been 
 the cause of my prying, inquisitorial conduct to- 
 wards Mrs. Cleveland, had given way, in a great 
 measure, to honest and humble admiration. 
 
 My curiosity was not entirely removed, how- 
 ever, for there was still something about Mrs. 
 Cleveland which might be termed mysterious ; 
 but the grand motive which guided my steps so 
 often to her door, (and that was at the rate of 
 five times in the week,) was to talk to her, to 
 hear her gentle voice give utterance to the most 
 amiable sentiments, and to see her who, the
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 65 
 
 evening before, had shone the most lively, agree- 
 able coquette in the room, metamorphosed into 
 the bonne mere de famille, running up the seams 
 of her baby's frock, inspecting her accounts, or 
 poring over the pages of some historian who, 
 having had the misfortune of writing two hun- 
 dred years before the Bonapartean era, is of 
 course unreadable as regards the erudite of modern 
 days, unless by some such singular mortal as 
 Mrs. Cleveland or myself. 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland had a peculiar charm in my 
 eyes ; she could talk every sort of conversation ; 
 she was no more exclusive in her ideas than in 
 her society ; and I was very soon convinced that 
 the common gossip of the day, notwithstanding 
 the peculiar grace which she could throw over 
 such materials, was the style least to her taste, 
 and in which she shone to the least advantage, 
 however much she was admired in it. I have 
 known her, in the race of quizzing, beat all com- 
 petitors round a dinner-table ; I have seen her 
 pass a whole evening in the discussion of a fancy 
 costume, and yet the following morning I have 
 heard her declare that she rather liked than other- 
 wise the person whom she had probably annihi-
 
 66 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 lated by her ridicule, and of all subjects, to talk 
 of dress was the most boring to her. 
 
 " Then why quiz, or talk of dress, if you have 
 no amusement therefrom ?" I inquired. 
 
 " Mind," said Mrs. Cleveland, smiling, " I 
 did not say quizzing bored me — I hate my- 
 self for liking so odious a propensity ; — I 
 bear no malice to any one, but I love to quiz. 
 As to dress, that decidedly bores me to talk 
 about : but whatever is worth doing at all, is 
 worth doing well ; so in giving the best advice I 
 could to the Bennet girls about the Polish dresses 
 for Lady A 's ball, I sacrificed taste to good- 
 nature, and, as they happen to be plain, I fear to 
 very little purpose. As to my listening with the 
 patience of Job to poor dear Lady Arno's two 
 hours' discussion of her Anne Boleyn cap, I love 
 the woman so well that I would not thwart her 
 inclinations in anything. She is not wise, but 
 good ; her want of wisdom shows itself in having 
 no other more decided taste or greater pleasure 
 than dress, and her goodness of heart displays 
 itself by her purse being opened more readily to 
 the calls of charity than the temptations of the 
 milliner ; and if there was a question about
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 6T 
 
 assisting one of my poor protegees the Wil- 
 liames, or a fancy-dress, the last would be in- 
 stantly sacrificed : happily, however, for the world 
 and herself, she can manage both matters very 
 conveniently. Talking on such matters, I must 
 tell you she has taken the eldest Williams' girl 
 as governess — and when they leave London, her 
 little brother John, who is a puny child, is to ac- 
 company his sister. I think now you will not 
 consider my evening as ill employed when passed 
 in humouring the pardonable weakness of so good 
 a soul as Lady Amo." 
 
 Every hour my admiration of Mrs. Cleveland 
 increased ; but still, as I have before stated, my 
 curiosity was not satisfied as to certain mysterious 
 points in her character and conduct. She was 
 gay, but, I was convinced, unhappy ; she had 
 nothing to give in charity, though lining in luxury 
 and expense. She professed the strongest at- 
 tachment to her husband, talked constantly of 
 their early and continued affection for one an- 
 other; yet I never found him in her drawing- 
 room at home, and very rarely saw him with her 
 abroad ; whilst her liaison with Mr. Willoughby 
 was, to say the least of it, of rather an equivocal
 
 68 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 nature. Though good-natured, my suspicions 
 nevertheless were strongly confirmed that she 
 had acted the part of the Turk at the masked 
 ball : then, though always in the world, she 
 liked not dissipation ; and though a fine lady, 
 was not at all ill-informed as to that society 
 which extended itself beyond the exclusive cir- 
 cle within which some of her friends intrenched 
 themselves. Mrs. Cleveland really knew that 
 the Fauxbourg St. Germain is not Paris, — nor 
 Grosvenor Square, London ! This kno^vledge she 
 had contrived to pick up in her earlier years, with 
 some other matters of a similar nature. 
 
 " You were early left an orphan then ?" I said 
 one day to Mrs. Cleveland. 
 
 " I was not sixteen.'' 
 
 " And at that age gained your wealth at the 
 price of a parent's care ?" 
 
 " Alas ! my fortune came not to me from my 
 poor father; and his care, — cruel necessity had 
 obliged me to forego several years before his 
 death. — I wonder," continued Mrs. Cleveland, 
 " whether you ever saw my father." 
 
 '* It is not very probable ; he must have been
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 69 
 
 SO much my junior, and I have lived so much 
 abroad." 
 
 " But my father died in India, where, I have 
 heard you say, you have been." 
 
 " In India !" I exclaimed ; " that alters the 
 case considerably. But excuse me, !Mrs. Cleve- 
 land, — what was your father's name ? I am 
 ashamed to say that T am very ignorant on the 
 subject of parentage, and beyond the fact of 
 your being an heiress, never heard further of 
 your ante-matrimonial days." 
 
 It was in a low, melancholy voice, Mrs. Cleve- 
 land pronounced her father's name. — '* Colonel 
 Clairfield." 
 
 " Clairfield !" I exclaimed; " I do remember 
 now having heard so before, but it did not 
 strike me then. Gracious powers ! can you 
 be the daughter of poor Clairfield ; — he who 
 died in " 
 
 " Who died in want and wretchedness," inter- 
 rupted Mrs. Cleveland, with clasped hands and 
 streaming eyes. " I know what you would say — 
 whilst his daughter revels in wealth and luxury I 
 Oh ! if you could tell the tears I have shed on
 
 70 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 my bed of down, thinking of that whereon he 
 died, and the loathing, the hatred, with which 
 I first viewed myself as an heiress, possessed of 
 that wealth he would have so much enjoyed, and 
 for want of a small portion of which — he died ! — 
 for I have been told that distress of mind at the 
 ruinous state of his affairs preyed upon him, and 
 accelerated his end. And my poor mother too ! 
 she who had been brought up in luxury, of ten- 
 der habits and delicate health, the tenderest of 
 parents, was obliged to abandon her children and 
 follow the cruel fortunes of a much-loved hus- 
 band, and so fell an early victim to the climate 
 of the East, added to the fatigues and roughness 
 of a long passage.*" 
 
 " I have heard the sad tale from your father''s 
 lips ; some people thought that he never recover- 
 ed her loss. I knew him not before he came 
 out ; but from the period of our acquaintance, 
 which Avas shortly after he landed, no smile ever 
 passed his lips. 
 
 " My earliest impression was poverty connected 
 with virtue ; so that, as I grew older," observed 
 Mrs. Cleveland, " I began to consider them as 
 inseparable as vice from wealth. I quite hated
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 71 
 
 the rich, and told Lady Harlowe, my maternal 
 grandmother, as much, with whom I went to 
 reside when my parents left England. She was a 
 proud, cross, rich and unbending dame, who, with- 
 out wisdom, beauty, or amiability, gained so com- 
 plete an ascendency over her husband by the fears 
 which her temper excited, that he left her, besides 
 her jointure, a large landed property, which, added 
 to what she afterwards inherited from an uncle, 
 made her as wealthy as any widow in England. She 
 lived therefore in splendour, and on our arrival to 
 reside with her, sent her coach and four to meet 
 my brother and myself at the last stage of our 
 journey to her house. I shrank as I entered it, 
 and was disgusted with everything that presented 
 itself on my arrival, — the plate, the jewels, the 
 servants, &c. ; for well did I know, and most 
 resolute was I not to forget, that my poor mother 
 had repeatedly applied in vain to her own mother 
 for assistance. Often and often had I seen " let- 
 ters wet with the writer's tears'' despatched to her 
 callous parent; epistles which might have melt- 
 ed the hardest heart, and which I found after- 
 wards carefully preserved amongst my grandmo- 
 ther's papers, with copies of her cruel answers !
 
 72 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 All this did I know ; as also that the offer to take 
 charge of me and my brother was so arrogantly 
 worded — the good fortune of my mother in being 
 able to wash her hands of children whom she 
 had had the impertinence to bring into the world 
 so strongly insisted upon, that my indignant pa- 
 rents, forgetting their poverty and exile, were on 
 the point of spurning with contempt the dowager's 
 offer. But, alas ! they were too poor to be able 
 to indulge the dictates of virtuous indignation. 
 In poverty, everything is a fault or a misfortune ; 
 what is virtue and pleasure in the rich, is vice 
 and pain in their less wealthy brethren ; and 
 whilst generosity, taste, feeling, hospitality, edu- 
 cation, and gentility increase the enjoyments and 
 respectability of the rich, they add only to the 
 sorrows, and perhaps to the faults, of the poor. 
 
 " Happily, I was not doomed to live entirely 
 with my grandmother. My father's sister took 
 charge of me for half the year. Mrs. Somers 
 was not rich, but kind ; she loved me as her own 
 child, who was about my own age ; and with her 
 I was as happy as possible, though my aunt had 
 no carriage and wore no jewels. Thank God, she 
 is now in more prosperous circumstances ! my
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 73 
 
 hateful wealth has requited in some manner the 
 kindness she lavished upon me and my little 
 brother." 
 
 '' A brother ! — you have one then ?" 
 " In heaven," sighed Mrs. Cleveland ; ''he 
 died of the scarlet fever at school. It is said 
 that early death is a proof of Heaven''s fa- 
 vour : I have no reason to consider his being 
 snatched from this vale of tears otherwise than 
 in mercy. He has been spared the misfortune 
 of riches, which, by his death, and that of my 
 grandmother, who left all her fortune to him, I 
 became possessed of, and which have proved my 
 torment — my scourge !" (Mrs. Cleveland stopped ; 
 the tears stood in her dark eyes — her hands were 
 convulsively clasped ;) '' whilst the only satis- 
 faction which my prosperity could have given me 
 — the power of assisting my dear, dear father, 
 his early death prevented. Never can I de- 
 scribe the bitterness of my disappointment, when, 
 at the moment I was forming brilliant visions of 
 future happiness, by bestowing on him my grand- 
 mother''s wealth, of which I had then been a 
 few months possessed, I heard he had died ! 
 amongst strangers, in poverty and exile, without 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 having heard of Lady Harlowe'^s death, or of his 
 daughter'^s accession of fortune !" 
 
 " Your father's deathbed was not uncheered 
 by the voice of friendship ; and though in Europe 
 he might have had more tried and older friends, 
 yet I know not that they could either have done 
 more for him in his last moments, or have more 
 warmly lamented his untimely fate, than did those 
 who were comparatively strangers.'" 
 
 " One person most decidedly proved his kind- 
 ness and friendship to my father,'"* answered Mrs. 
 Cleveland ; " but who that generous being was, I 
 have in vain attempted to discover. My father 
 died in debt, as you may have heard, perhaps. I 
 "vvrote to the then Governor of Madras, to as- 
 certain the amount, and pay it for me. The an- 
 swer I received was, that, within one week of 
 my father's death, every debt had been settled by 
 some unknown friend : that he (the governor) 
 had endeavoured to discover to whom I was in- 
 debted, that the money might be repaid him ; 
 but his endeavours were totally fruitless. I have 
 not yet relinquished all hope of being some day 
 successful ; perhaps you yourself may aid me with 
 your opinion on the subject. Who was there in
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 75 
 
 India at the time of my father's death, with power 
 as well as inclination, to perform so generous a 
 deed ?'"* 
 
 " Could it be himself?" I inquired, nameingthe 
 Governor of Madras. 
 
 " Oh, no ! he has not the money, whatever 
 might be his inclination." 
 
 How long our conversation and speculations 
 might have continued, I know not ; but the en- 
 trance of Mr. Willoughby brought our discourse 
 and my visit to an abrupt conclusion. He seem- 
 ed surprised at seeing me ; and Mrs. Cleveland, 
 as I thought very unnecessarily, explained the 
 circumstance of my being a friend of her father's 
 as the reason of our acquaintance. Mr. Wil- 
 loughby was so obliging as to appear satisfied 
 with my credentials : I was well aware, however, 
 that he would be better satisfied the less I pre- 
 sumed upon them by lengthening my visit, so I 
 made my bow. As a reward, I suppose, for my 
 discretion, I received a few days afterwards an 
 in'S'itation from him to dinner : to which dinner 
 I went, and where I found, not, as I expected, 
 Mrs. Cleveland, but twelve dull men, into the 
 capacious bodies of whom Mr. Willoughby watch - 
 
 E 2 
 
 ^\
 
 76 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 ed tlic gradual progress of his fish, flesh, fowl, 
 champagne, claret, and ice, with a civil look of 
 contempt on his countenance, which, joined to 
 his colloquial powers being confined to the simple 
 part of pressing us to the food, which he seemed 
 to despise us for enjoying, effectually destroyed 
 both my appetite and spirits. The absence of 
 the last had no particular eflfect upon Mr. Wil- 
 loughby or his society ; but he evidently observed 
 my abstemiousness with surprise, and almost dis- 
 pleasure. I could read in his countenance that 
 he had invited us to eat ; and not to fulfil his 
 expectations, was, in his opinion, the height of 
 impertinence. 
 
 As the daughter of Clairfield, my interest 
 in Mrs. Cleveland had an additional impulse ; and 
 in paying her a now daily visit, I gratified myself, 
 and, as she honestly told me, herself also. I felt 
 as a father towards her, and determined to act 
 as such should occasion require my so doing; 
 and, in the mean time, to regard all around with 
 a jealous eye — especially Willoughby, who seem- 
 ed to have an influence over her, which I could 
 not pay her so bad a compliment as to lend 
 myself to the world*'s opinion by calling it love.
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 77 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland's aversion to wealth, and pity 
 towards those who were in arrears of fortune's 
 favours, was strongly marked in her marriage. 
 
 The instant she became an heiress, violent siege 
 was laid to her heart by the Earl of Iceland, and 
 his mother, the Dowager Countess. They car- 
 ried on the attack ^^'ith orreat vio^our, receivinir 
 the support of Mrs. Somers, with whom the 
 young heiress resided. 
 
 Lord Iceland was so steady, so quiet, so little 
 talked of, so prudent, and so unlike his six younger 
 brothers, that Mrs. Somers was quite sure her 
 niece would like, love, marry, and be happy with 
 him, the moment his august intentions of making 
 her his wife were announced in due form. Great, 
 therefore, was her surprise, when her lovely niece 
 declared opinions very different from those of 
 her aunt. She did not like, could not be happy 
 with, and never would marry the Earl of Iceland. 
 The fact is. Lord Iceland was selfish, narrow- 
 minded, dull, ignorant and ugly : for what is a 
 fine figure if it cannot relax from the positions 
 of the dancing-master ? what are fine eyes which 
 express nothing but superciliousness ? what is 
 a handsome mouth whose smiles are sneers, —
 
 78 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 whose wit, platitudes, which none would dare utter 
 but a fool or a man of wealth ? His lordship was 
 therefore refused. Mrs. Somers was astonished, 
 and rather sorry ; Lady Iceland, astonished and 
 very angry : both ladies, however, were totally 
 unprepared for what was to follow. 
 
 Lord Iceland, in the pursuit of Miss Clairfield, 
 had introduced to her acquaintance his third bro- 
 ther, Mr. Horace Cleveland. Perhaps his lord- 
 ship was not aware that those offshoots of the 
 human race are deemed of sufficient importance 
 in the creation as to have a name assigned to them, 
 to which honourable appellation his brother had 
 a most peculiar claim ; for of all the handsome, 
 agreeable, extravagant, beggarly detrimentals in 
 London, Horace Cleveland was the most extra- 
 vagant, the most agreeable, the handsomest, and 
 the poorest. 
 
 Mr. Cleveland being aware of the state of 
 things as regarded his brother on his first intro- 
 duction, did not harbour the dishonourable idea 
 of cutting him out ; on the contrary, he did every- 
 thing he could to further his cause, and give a 
 good impression of the family, by making himself, 
 in a brotherly way, as agreeable as he possibly
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 79 
 
 could to Miss Clairfield. His endeavours were 
 more successful than he expected ; and when the 
 result of the coiu'tship arrived, and the Earl of 
 Iceland was rejected, Mr. Horace Cleveland found 
 a saving clause as to his acquaintance had been put 
 in, by which he was given clearly to understand 
 that the brotherly attentions of the beggarly de- 
 trimental were far from disagreeable to the lovely 
 heiress, and not at all to be foregone with those 
 of his elder brother. 
 
 Mr. Horace Cleveland took the hint, con 
 tinned his attentions, proposed for himself, and 
 was accepted. Lord Iceland was surprised, but 
 not offended. Miss Clairfield had only ten thou- 
 sand a year, whilst Miss Golding, whom he had 
 begun to pay attention to, had fifteen thousand ; 
 and, moreover, Miss Golding's property joined 
 his own, and she was a quiet, plain, simple-mind- 
 ed girl, much more likely to insure a man's feli- 
 city in marriage. Lady Iceland was precisely of 
 the same opinion as her first-born, and expressed 
 her feelings as is shown in the following extract 
 from one of her ladyship's epistolary effusions, 
 which the occasion brought forth. 
 
 " To be sure I am the most fortunate mother
 
 80 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 in the world. I only presumed to think of Miss 
 Clairfield as Iceland's wife, little dreaming that 
 his younger brother, without title or fortune, was 
 to carry off the prize, leaving his elder brother to 
 bestow his hand and honours upon Miss Golding, 
 a much better match. She is much richer than 
 Miss Clairfield, not near so gay, and being less 
 handsome, is not so much talked of; and she has 
 hardly a relation in the world."' 
 
 Mrs. Somers did not partake of Lady Iceland's 
 joy. She had a small sigh to explain away, as 
 well she might, whenever the marriage was talked 
 of, and a very faint smile of acquiescence when 
 Miss Clairfield would talk to her of her favourite 
 Horace Cleveland. 
 
 The sigh could not be caused by his poverty, 
 for Miss Clairfield had wealth enough for both. 
 The sigh could not be caused by himself, for no 
 man was more popular ; his temper was perfect, 
 so were his manners, and he was more than sensi- 
 ble, for he was clever. Still Mrs. Somers heaved 
 a gentle sigh whenever the marriage was dis- 
 cussed, and shed a torrent of tears when it took 
 place. 
 
 " They must be happy," said her daughter
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 81 
 
 the evening it took place ; " they are so young, so 
 gay, so rich, so much in love, and so amiable : 
 why do you therefore sigh so much, mamma ? 
 why do you weep ?" 
 
 " God grant, my child, that I may never have 
 as much cause in witnessing your nuptials !" 
 
 EO
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Trusting to the wise man**s opinion, that there 
 is a season for all things, I expected that with the 
 close of that period which is called the London 
 season, Mr. Willoughby's favour in Mrs. Cleve- 
 land's eyes would be cooled, if not cold ; and that 
 he would gracefuly retire from her presence to that 
 of the grouse on the moors, or the yachters at 
 Cowes, or to the anglers wherever they may re- 
 sort, or to the Leamington or Cheltenham waters. 
 My hopes and expectations were vain. Mr. Wil- 
 loughby would adopt none of the diversions ; he 
 was fixed in London because Mrs. Cleveland was 
 there ; and, what was worse, as the stage was 
 cleared, his assiduities became more glaring, his 
 attentions from want of rivals more unceasing. 
 The tread of their horses' feet, as they cantered
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 83 
 
 side by side through the empty streets, was known 
 to my ears as familiarly as the postman's knochs 
 at the door. I was sadly fidgety ; the empty 
 world talked louder than the full one, and that 
 
 most worthy production the newspaper had 
 
 a very lengthy paragraph, concocted in the most 
 popular and moral manner, alluding to the liaison, 
 in which she fared but ill. " This ^^^11 never do," 
 thought I ; " I must speak to Mrs, Cleveland. I 
 am her friend, I was her father's friend, and she 
 shall be warned before it is too late ! " 
 
 Little as Mr. Cleveland appeared in his lady's 
 society, yet I could not fail to observe his total 
 absence, and, with my natural turn for inquiry, I 
 demanded of his wife '' where he might be ?" 
 
 " Which Mr. Cleveland do you mean .^" was 
 her answer to my inquiry after Mr. Cleveland. 
 
 " Your husband," said I ; "I know no other." 
 
 " I was not aware that you knew him : he is at 
 Paris." 
 
 " Paris ! and what may be his business or plea- 
 sure there ?''"' 
 
 " I forget what excuse he framed for the trip," 
 replied Mrs. Cleveland, putting on a peculiar air 
 of levity which was mortally offensive to me, spite
 
 84 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 of my admiration. *■' Let me see : he wanted to 
 visit his friend Beaumont ; and besides, there is 
 this new dancer ; and his waistcoats were beginning 
 to be old-fashioned, and I wanted a bonnet from 
 Herbault's for Doncaster, and " 
 
 " Fifty other equally cogent reasons,'^ I inter- 
 rupted Mrs. Cleveland, "which you need not 
 give yourself the trouble to invent or remember. 
 I am perfectly satisfied that the business must be 
 of the utmost importance which could transport 
 your husband from your side, and none but the 
 most satisfactory reasons could reconcile you to 
 his departure.'" 
 
 " I am very glad you have so just an idea of 
 our matrimonial felicity," answered Mrs. Cleve- 
 land coolly. 
 
 " Mrs. Cleveland ! Mrs. Cleveland !" I pro- 
 nounced warmly, " do not pretend to misunder- 
 stand me : you must have observed how I lament 
 the manner in which you and your husband 
 live, and which I must conclude to be the 
 secret cause of your grief, — a gi-ief which you may 
 attempt to veil with the mask of levity, but which, 
 however blinded others may be, I have ever ob- 
 served in silence and in sorrow."
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 85 
 
 " Am I unhappy ?"" and Mrs. Cleveland turned 
 her full and brilliant, though tearless eyes, upon 
 my face. 
 
 " Yes, when your feelings are not under the 
 subjection of your spirit and spirits." 
 
 "You are perfectly right;" and Mrs. Cleveland 
 turned her face towards the glass over the chimney, 
 and began to arrange her glossy curls ; — " you are 
 perfectly right, and have penetrated me exactly." 
 
 " To penetrate is nothing ; it is reformation I 
 aspire to." 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland laughed. '' No, no, pray do 
 no such thing. I cannot part with my feelings^ 
 for they make me like myself, and my spirits 
 others like me for ; and as to my poor spirit, 
 without it I should die — positively die ! So 
 pray let me escape the pruning-hook, or more 
 properly the scalping-knife of refomi. I am 
 much better, bad as I may be, than if I was 
 altered." 
 
 " Are you satisfied yourself in being what you 
 are .^" I inquired seriously ; "do you truly think 
 that you require no reform in your actions or your 
 words .^" 
 
 "As far as my powers will allow, I do my best
 
 86 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 to act as I should do," replied Mrs. Cleveland 
 earnestly, " God is my witness." 
 
 I shook my head — " My dear child ! -what are 
 you dreaming of ? Is the being estranged from 
 your husband, upright conduct? Is — is — for- 
 give me what I would say — is permitting the at- 
 tentions of another man, the acting as you should 
 do, as a woman, a wife, mother, and a Christian ?" 
 
 " Whose attentions do I allow ?" demanded 
 Mrs. Cleveland, regarding me with surprise. 
 
 " Mr. Willoughby's," I answered firmly. 
 
 " Who accuses me besides yourself .?" 
 
 " I do not accuse you, — it is the world. I be- 
 lieve no positive harm of you : you are only giddy 
 and indiscreet, and do not accommodate yourself 
 to your husband's tastes, by driving him from his 
 home to Paris, and making that home almost the 
 abode of Willoughby." 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland was silent; she did not seem 
 angry, and, it struck me, appeared half inclined to 
 laugh, could I have believed such levity in one so 
 handsome and amiable as herself. " If I can make 
 myself heard, I will," said I vehemently. " You 
 know not the precipice on which you stand : Wil- 
 loughby is clever, artful, and designing ; your hus-
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 87 
 
 band's eyes may be closed at this moment, his ears 
 may not yet have been assailed by the baneful breath 
 of slander, which would tarnish your fair fame ; but 
 the time will come, when he will both hear and 
 see ; and then, my dear Mrs. Cleveland, how will 
 your proud spirit brook his taunts, his accusations ? 
 — how will your feelings endure his ire, or, far 
 more bitter, his misery ? Before it is too late, 
 think well what you are about; drive Willoughby 
 from your presence, and dismiss him from your 
 house ; — let me entreat you for the sake of your 
 children as well as your own." 
 
 No shadow of a smile again appeared on Mrs. 
 Cleveland's face. Tears, honest genuine tears, 
 fell from her lovely eyes in torrents, as she turned 
 her face towards me. 
 
 " You will obey me, I see you will,'' I ex- 
 claimed, joyfully taking her hand between both of 
 mine. Mrs. Cleveland's sobs redoubled. " Thank 
 God !" I cried : " you will be happy yet ; the 
 thraldom which this Willoughby has thrown over 
 your better feelings shall be broken; your hus- 
 band will find his home such as it was when you 
 were first united ; your friends will no longer 
 have to mingle a sigh for your weakness, with
 
 88 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 their admiration of your virtues ; and Willoughby, 
 the odious Willoughby, will find his own level." 
 
 As I spoke, Mrs. Cleveland appeared to make 
 an effort to command her feelings ; which task, 
 for it evidently was one, she accomplished. At 
 length, and when I had ceased speaking, her tears 
 were no longer visible. 
 
 '' You are very kind to me, and I most sin- 
 cerely thank you for your good intentions and 
 your good wishes ; but you must excuse me if I 
 say / cannot act as you wish." 
 
 I started. 
 
 *' No," continued Mrs. Cleveland, " Mr. Wil- 
 loughby has been in some respects a friend to 
 me ; I cannot drive him from my presence with- 
 out reason." 
 
 " Without reason !" I exclaimed, — "without 
 reason ? Is not vour character a sufficient rea- 
 
 son r 
 
 " That might have held good a year ago ; but 
 having braved the world's opinion so long, what 
 excuse can I now make to Mr. Willoughby for 
 changing my conduct V 
 
 '' You acknowledge then, that you have been 
 aware for twelve months of your character being
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 89 
 
 endangered by your intimacy with Willoughby ?" 
 Mrs. Cleveland blushed. 
 
 " Character, then, is of no estimation with 
 you?'' I added. 
 
 " Pardon me," said Mrs. Cleveland, proudly ; 
 " it is almost too highly esteemed. I am, to a 
 fault, tenacious of the world's opinion, whatever my 
 actions may declare. Of all odious beings, those, 
 in my eyes, are the worst who, from weakness or 
 wickedness, bid defiance to the opinions of society, 
 and neglect every duty for the sake of attaching 
 to themselves one under the assumed, if not real, 
 character of a lover. I dislike such a woman, as 
 much as I admire, or I might almost say envy, 
 
 one like Lady , who, exalted in station, gay 
 
 in society, beautiful and clever, and admired 
 almost to adoration, has ever walked the waters 
 of life as if possessed of a talisman to secure her 
 from wreck or alarm. Once I hoped to have re- 
 sembled her ; but my dream is over, and the 
 hope is annihilated. Instead of being a model, I 
 am a beacon : instead of a friend to the poor, I 
 am their enemy ; instead of being to you an ob- 
 ject of pride, as my poor father's child, I am one 
 of pity — perhaps of scorn! Oh!" continued
 
 90 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland, covering her face with her 
 hands, " what have you not to answer for — Too 
 much trusted — too fondly loved — too truly be- 
 lieved ! That my most bitter lesson in the world's 
 deceit should come from you, whom I regarded as 
 perfection — to whom I gave my confidence, my 
 heart, and my faith — and that you should have 
 transformed me from the generous, open-hearted, 
 confiding wife, into the wretch I am now, is agony 
 indeed !" 
 
 I positively was thunderstruck, and looked at 
 Mrs. Cleveland with almost as much alarm as 
 pity. " She must be raving," I thought, "to be 
 so infatuated with such a being as Willoughby — 
 raving, absolutely raving mad." I could not an- 
 swer, but only gazed with astonishment as, with 
 her face buried in her handkerchief, she gave un- 
 bounded way to her tears. 
 
 It has been said that the hour of meals has 
 a great effect upon our actions. It was not, 
 however, the announcement of dinner, or even 
 luncheon, which brought Mrs. Cleveland''s and my 
 conference to an abrupt conclusion ; but the an- 
 nouncement of a visitor in the person of an elderly, 
 formal, stupid-looking woman, going her regular
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 91 
 
 rounds of visitation to all on her visiting list. This 
 old lady being seated, commenced a long oration 
 on the subject of her misdemeanours as to calling. 
 
 '' But, ma'am, I am sure you will excuse my 
 remissness ; I have had a terrible cold, the worst I 
 ever had — something of an influenza, with consi- 
 derable inflammation on the trachea. Doctor 
 
 thought it the worst case of any this very 
 
 unhealthy season. I was seized leaving Lady 
 Hanover's, and when I got home, could hardly 
 speak. The next morning my maid persuaded me 
 to send for the doctor : I am not fond of doctors ; 
 but, however, Mr. West is not like the generality, 
 
 and he insisted upon my sending for Doctor . 
 
 I was obliged, therefore, to put myself into his 
 hands, and for six weeks I have been following 
 his prescriptions ; and Mr. West says, if I had 
 been in the country, he thinks it would have 
 been a very serious case indeed." 
 
 As the good lady talked on, Mrs. Cleveland 
 composed her shattered nerves, and at length was 
 suflSciently herself to venture a smiling glance 
 towards me, at the expense of her prosing visitor. 
 She then very quietly drew towards her various 
 documents in the shape of letters, which lay un-
 
 92 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 opened on the table, and began the examination 
 of their directions. One seemed particularly to 
 attract her notice ; and, profiting by her visitor's 
 being short-sighted, she gently broke the seal, 
 and having glanced at the contents, turned to 
 me, and in a low voice said, 
 
 " There is the solution to an enigma. Take it 
 home with you, and give me credit for having 
 gratified, in one instance, your curious propen- 
 sities." 
 
 I eagerly seized the paper, which Mrs. Cleve- 
 land delivered to me with a half-cunning glance ; 
 and having got to the end of the old lady's influ- 
 enza, remedies, and airings, I hastened to take 
 my departure before she recovered her breath for 
 a second oration. 
 
 When I reached home, I opened the paper 
 Mrs. Cleveland had given me. It contained as 
 follows : 
 
 " The Honourable Mrs. Cleveland. 
 
 " To a splendid brocaded, rich, elegant Turk- 
 ish Costume, &c £\0. lOs^ ! ! ! 
 
 Having ceased for a long time to visit the club 
 in Street, the soi-disanl Mr. Cleveland, I had
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 93 
 
 entirely lost sight of. It was impossible for me to 
 regret the loss of his acquaintance, as there could 
 be no doubt of his being one of that numerous 
 tribe called mauvais sujets ; a tribe which, to my 
 shame as well as my misfortune, I had been too 
 often in contact with during my youth, to begin 
 a fresh score of friends on that account in my old 
 age. I had enough also to think about in my poor 
 Mrs. Cleveland, who, so far from profiting by my 
 discourse, was more than ever linked with Wil- 
 loughby : his cabriolet seemed to live at her 
 door ; his tall figure positively overshadowed her 
 at every public place ; he watched her smiles, her 
 frowns, her eyes, and her words, with the most 
 jealous scrutiny, only to be equalled by my own, 
 who, in my character of guardian, bade fair some- 
 times to drive the lover from the field. 
 
 The character of the Turk being confessed 
 by Mrs. Cleveland, I attempted to draw from 
 her the whole truth of the affair. Mrs. Cleve- 
 land acknowledged at length that she was the 
 Turk, and she trusted to my secrecy. As to 
 her reasons for assuming the character, and her 
 conduct in that character, she mentioned whims, 
 caprices, temper, and the pleasure of deception.
 
 94 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 Every time we met, I tried to ascertain the "honest 
 truth ; but her answers were evasive. One day, 
 however, we were sitting together : she was rather 
 grave ; I seized the opportunity to bring forward 
 the old theme, the Turk. She started, and look- 
 ing at me with a serious countenance, answered in 
 a manner I never can forget. 
 
 " No one,^** she exclaimed, " can know what 
 bitterness of spirit is, unless they have felt the 
 fiend-like desire, I must call it, to see others as 
 miserable as oneself. The momentary pangs I in- 
 flicted at that masquerade were so much extracted 
 gall from my own intolerable griefs ! I slept bet- 
 ter that night from the knowledge that I had 
 assisted in rendering others sleepless.'" 
 
 " Heavens ! Mrs. Cleveland, do I hear you 
 aright ? and one of those you tonnented was 
 Willoughby !" 
 
 " It was my attack upon him which completely 
 deceived the world as to my being the Turk. 
 The world is a world of wisdom, as every passing 
 hour proves. How should I have been able to 
 torment Willoughby had I not known him ?"" 
 
 '' You do know him ?" I inquired. 
 
 " Perfectly !"
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 95 
 
 " And admire him ?'"* 
 
 " I admire every one who gives me reason so to 
 do." 
 
 *' And yet you abused, tormented, and render- 
 ed "wretched and contemptible in the eyes of 
 others, him whom you profess to admire P'** 
 
 " I did so : you must not betray me." 
 
 " Betray you ! I only wish that you would 
 place your entire, and not youi half, confidence in 
 me : for though you would fain make me believe 
 so, yet I never will conceive the possibility of your 
 being actuated by wanton malice, even under all 
 the spleen the jaundice ever gendered, to act as 
 you appear to have done that night. Some far 
 better reason must exist: tell me, I entreat — it 
 could not be for sport that you made so many un- 
 happy beneath your cutting lash ?"* 
 
 " It was wretchedness, absolute and incurable 
 wretchedness, which drove me to that masquerade ; 
 it was the bitterness of my own heart which made 
 me try to embitter the pleasures of every one else. 
 I was afterwards sorry that I said what I did to 
 several people ; but I was obliged to veil the par- 
 ticular object of my attack by some general skir- 
 mishing, — to make a diversion with others, so that
 
 96 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 the worm beneath my foot should not be too well 
 observed." 
 
 " Was Willoughby that worm ?" 
 
 " Ask me no more questions : be content with 
 the confidence I have placed in you, and 'judge 
 not, that ye be not judged."* '' 
 
 A short time after this conversation, a fresh 
 scene opened upon me, and several weeks passed 
 away before I and Mrs. Cleveland again met.
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 97 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 INCONSISTENCY. 
 
 "So," I exclaimed, laying clown the morning 
 paper, and drawing towards me the smoking muf- 
 fin which the obsequious waiter of Hotel had 
 
 just placed on the table, — " so the Parliament is 
 dissolved ! Folly, vice, extravagance, and hum- 
 bug, rejoice ! upraise your drooping heads, your 
 reign is about to commence, whilst that of wis- 
 dom, honesty, and humble common sense is to 
 cease ! What waste, what extravagance, will not 
 the next few weeks present ! — what falsehoods will 
 be uttered, what ruin will ensue to many, — ruin 
 of fortune, of constitution, and eternal ruin ! for 
 a general election is the signal for the infringe- 
 ment of every commandment. Robbery, Sabbath- 
 breaking, swearing, and perjury, are the fruits 
 often brought forth in proving our independence, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 and proclaiming to the world, the glories of our 
 constitution. I hate absolute sovereignty of all 
 sorts ; I never was fond of gaping at kings and 
 queens in any country, and fortunately for me 
 there is no law to compel me so to do. Save and 
 deliver me, therefore, from that sovereignty which 
 would meet me at every turn — which would pester 
 me in groves as well as in courts, in fields as in 
 palaces — the sovereignty of the people V As I 
 mused thus, the waiter entered. 
 
 " Two gentlemen on particular business wait 
 upon you from Ashbridge." 
 
 " From where .?'"' 
 
 " Ashbridge, sir ; their names are White and 
 Williams ;-— Mr. White and Mr. William.s. They 
 came to the door in a hackney-coach."'' 
 
 " I do not know Mr. White or Mr. Williams, 
 and I know nothing of Ashbridge." 
 
 " Lord, sir, they say it is your native town." 
 
 " Town !" I exclaimed, " I belong to no 
 town, though I had better say to every one. If 
 they had said Pekin, Ispahan, or Calcutta, some 
 clue might have been afforded, some possible 
 means of recognition granted. It must be a mis- 
 take ; so go down and say I am not at home."
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 99 
 
 "" I beg your pardon, sir, I said you were at 
 home, and they are coming up stairs." 
 
 Two ponderous pair of shoes were now heard 
 creaking at a slow and deliberate pace up the 
 staircase approaching my room. They paused ; the 
 waiter, unauthorised by me, threw the door wide 
 open, and in entered Mr. White and Mr. Wil- 
 liams of Ashbridge ; the one in buckskins, top- 
 boots, and a grass-green riding-jacket ; the other 
 in blue coat, silk pantaloons, and what were once 
 termed Hessian boots. Never in my life had I 
 seen either of the two before. It is a mistake 
 assuredly, thought I, and they will soon beat a 
 retreat. Not so; they pushed boldly forward into 
 my very intrenchments, turning the exposed flank 
 of my breakfast-table. Happily, however, though 
 their movements were warlike, their countenances 
 were pacific ; and so prodigal were they of their 
 bows and smiles, that I felt constrained, in justice 
 to my own breeding, to subdue my frowns, and 
 return bow for bow ; but smile for smile was be- 
 yond my powers of charity or courtesy. 
 
 I hate to be interrupted in my morning meal. 
 My second cup of tea was not tasted ; which, with 
 my muffin and my appetite, would be quite spoiled 
 
 f2
 
 100 MRS. CLEVELAND, 
 
 in attending to the conversations of persons with 
 whom, at one glance, I was assured I had nothing 
 in common. My guests were, to all appearance 
 and to say the most of their gentility, half-bred 
 country ""squires, possessing perhaps some spice of 
 the farmer, attorney, or tradesman. Now with 
 such I could positively have nothing to do : the 
 country exists only in England, and I had been 
 in foreign lands the greater part of my life. 
 
 AVhilst I was thus considering, Messrs. White 
 and Williams advanced, and drawing their chairs 
 towards the fire, formed, with myself and breakfast- 
 table, a semicircle ; the magical influence of which 
 form I suppose it was which gave me a sudden 
 recollection that I first opened my eyes to the fair 
 light of heaven within two miles of a town called 
 Ashbridge ; which convenient remembrance brought 
 further insight into the probable business of my 
 intrusive guests. My suspicions were speedily 
 confirmed, and, in a very flowery and flattering 
 address, he of the Hessians and blue coat made 
 known to me the wish of a large majority of the 
 good people of Ashbridge, that I would confer 
 upon them an eternal obligation by representing 
 them in the Commons House of Parliament.
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 101 
 
 This address was seconded by him of the green 
 jacket, -who spoke much of himself, much of his 
 companion, much of the Ashbridge people, but 
 still more of a certain Mr. Lewis, who, he in- 
 formed me, was the most influential person in the 
 borough, — the very heart, the hand, the head of 
 the whole town, with whose support success was 
 undoubted, and from whom they, Messrs. White 
 and Williams, were specially deputed. Long did 
 Messrs. White and Williams talk, and accord- 
 ingly long time had I to prepare my answer : as 
 they spoke I sketched and filled up my reply, 
 and when they ceased it was delivered. 
 
 I hate talking of my own affairs, even when 
 consistent or explicable, as much as I like hearing 
 of other people's ; but when my concerns are nei- 
 ther explicable nor consistent, my distaste to laying 
 them before the public must naturally increase. 
 The less therefore that is said of them the better. 
 I have already recorded my true opinion as con- 
 cerns elections, electors, and elected. In the face, 
 however, of those opinions, and they having been 
 hitherto reckoned consistent even to obstinacy, I 
 absolutely found myself, within three hoiu's of my 
 knowledge that Parliament was dissolved, seated
 
 102 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 in my travelling-chaise, and proceeding, with all 
 the speed four horses could convey me, to the 
 town of Ashbridge, Mr. White by my side, and 
 Mr. Williams on the seat behind the carriage 
 with my valet, having made up my mind to offer 
 myself to the electors as a fitting representative. 
 Mr. White, full of delight at having made me 
 his captive, and of the consequence which is 
 generally attached to those who roll along with 
 four post-horses, talked immoderately for the first 
 few miles of our journey ; and was so tossed by 
 the rapidity of motion from my shoulder to the 
 window, and then towards the lamp, and then to 
 the back of the carriage, that if I was not sick 
 of looking at him, he became enough so him- 
 self as to require more air. Air in a carriage 
 was death to me ; but a sick companion was worse 
 than death ; so my only alternative was to submit, 
 and the windows were put down. 
 
 Though in the month of August, I shook from 
 head to foot, and, to Mr. White's unrestrained 
 surprise, drew my cloak around me. It would not 
 answer — every thread seemed to admit a volume 
 of the cold eastern blast to my chilly frame and 
 rheumatic shoulder. Mr. White's pale cheeks
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 103 
 
 became of a more rosy hue, whilst the colour had 
 entirely fled from mine. Time, however, which 
 cures most evils, brought a remedy for those I 
 suffered under : the air, combined with the mo- 
 tion of the carriage, acted at length as a soporific 
 upon Mr. White. He began to nod ; I dared not 
 stir for fear of disturbing the happy tendency. He 
 began to sleep ; I was quiet as the grave. He be- 
 gan to snore, and in one moment every window was 
 drawn up, and neither they nor Mr. White's eyes 
 opened again for the remainder of the journey. 
 
 I now had ample time to reflect, perhaps to 
 repent ; but, however, I resolved to see the im- 
 portant Mr. Lewis, and ascertain the exact state 
 of affairs in Ashbridge, ere I fairly embarked 
 or retreated. The most diflficult part of the task 
 I had to perform was the deciding upon and 
 announcing my political principles. I really had 
 none. In a moral country like this, such an 
 avowal, to be sure, is shocking; but for the life 
 of me I could not declare myself a whig or tory, 
 democrat or aristocrat, radical or conservative, 
 or anything in fact, unless it was that old-fashion- 
 ed thing, so completely out of date to modern 
 ears, a constitutionalist ! If I avowed myself any
 
 104 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 thing, it must be that ; if I was called upon for a 
 profession of faith, I had no other reply to make 
 but that I fought under the banners of the con- 
 stitution ; — a very tame avowal, I felt well aware 
 of, in these big-worded days, when revolution, 
 reformation, and emancipation are as familiar to 
 our ears as the commonest household terms. 
 
 We arrived at last at the Crown at Ash- 
 bridge. One glance from the window showed 
 that my calling was known, though not, alas ! 
 my election sure. The sound of the bell, the 
 bow of the landlord, the smile of the landlady, 
 and the step of the waiter, proclaimed that the 
 four foaming steeds, with Mr. White'*s and Mr. 
 Williams"* increased importance of air, had betrayed 
 my secret even before I descended. By that time 
 Mr. Williams had blazoned the fact to half a 
 dozen open-mouthed friends, who came forward 
 to meet him, and my servant to half a dozen 
 idlers, whom he intended to assist him. 
 
 Stiff, cold, tired, and hungry, I entered a 
 barn-like sitting-room, where a large cavern of a 
 chimney yawned before me. An ocean of floor 
 surrounded a small island of carpet, which lay 
 awaiting the arrival of a small claw-table turned
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 105 
 
 up in the corner of the room ; and a few horse- 
 liair chairs were posted at intervals against the 
 walls, in expectation also of the same honour. 
 No drapery warmed the naked windows, but all 
 was alike bare and comfortless, excepting, as 
 though in mockery of the surrounding poverty, 
 the well-laden, well-polished sideboard of glass 
 and plate, glittering with all the customary splen- 
 dour of even the humblest inn. 
 
 " Dinner directly !" I exclaimed, with a voice 
 of more authority than was quite becoming in a 
 humble suitor for the people's favour; — "and 
 light a fire, if fire can warm this well of an apart- 
 ment.'' 
 
 " Fool that I was to have come here !" I con- 
 tinued as the waiter retired, and I placed myself 
 on one of the high-backed, high-legged, slippery 
 chairs which stood against the wall. 
 
 Time, in its due course, moved on. The claw- 
 table having walked to the small carpet, was 
 covered with a clean cloth, and some of the side- 
 board's treasures, by the hands of a bustling 
 waiter ; and the grate, having received some of 
 the treasures of the deep at the hands of a dirty 
 maid, began to extend its warmth around ; and 
 
 F 5
 
 106 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 I, with increase of circulation, began to be in 
 better liumoiir with my vocation and the town of 
 Ashbridge ; which good humour was still further 
 increased by the arrival of the fat smiling land- 
 lord, with a dish of very palatable -looking cutlets, 
 followed by the waiter, bearing a tray on which 
 smoked, in addition to the customary potatoes 
 and greens, a fat fowl and bread sauce. 
 
 What had become in the mean time of White 
 and Williams, I neither knew nor cared. I was 
 aware that my well-lined purse was still safe in 
 my pocket ; so far I had no cause of complaint 
 against my travelling companion, and I only 
 hoped that my servant had no reason for con- 
 sidering himself less fortunate. With this reflec- 
 tion, I began the discussion of the cutlets and 
 fowl ; which I had pretty nearly demolished, in 
 addition to a glass of hot wine and water, when 
 Messrs. Williams and White again appeared on 
 the scene. These two gentlemen proved, how- 
 ever, only the humble precursors of Mr. Lewis the 
 lawyer, whose approaching visit they announced. 
 
 In due time Mr. Lewis appeared, and, after 
 some general conversation, my two original friends 
 departed, — not, however, without a glance from the
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 107 
 
 more influential person to that effect ; which glance 
 was occasioned by my calling for a bottle of port 
 wine ; and though the two gentlemen seemed very 
 willing to stay and discuss it, yet, in consequence 
 of the before-mentioned influential look, they 
 thought right to decline. 
 
 " I suppose, sir," said my companion, when 
 we were left tete-a-tete, drawing towards him- 
 self the bottle of black port wine, — "I suppose, 
 sir, you will not object to my giving you a few 
 hints as to the line of conduct best suited for 
 your adoption : that is to say, you will not, I 
 presume, object to follow the advice which I shall 
 think proper to oflPer for the attainment of the 
 end in view, — namely, your being returned as 
 representative for this ancient and independent 
 borough." My silence I imagine Mr. Lewis to 
 have construed into consent, for, after a pause, he 
 resumed : " Sir, there are many and various rea- 
 sons why you should be successful ; as likewise 
 there are many and various reasons why you may 
 be beat." 
 
 " Beat !" I exclaimed, — " how so, if there is 
 no contest .^" 
 
 " A contest is possible."
 
 108 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 " Mr. White and Mr. Williams gave me to 
 understand there was not the slightest chance of 
 one, the old members having relinquished the 
 borough, — one at least, if not both." 
 
 '' Why, sir, the borough has relinquished them. 
 But to continue what I was saying ; you may be 
 beat, or you may have no opposition ; you may 
 be popular, or you may not ; all will depend, 
 pardon my saying so, on your adhering, or not, to 
 the counsels which I shall take the liberty to 
 pour into your ears. As to whatever may be 
 your political opinions, I must inform you that 
 ours of the town of Ashbridge are liberal. We 
 are against king, lords, and church ; we do not 
 much fancy the House of Commons ; we abomi- 
 nate the army, are averse to the navy, the new 
 police, taxation, tithes, poor-rates, and unpaid 
 magistrates ; in short, sir, we of the town of Ash- 
 bridge are for the abolition of abuses ; for which 
 end, we are for universal suffrage and vote by 
 ballot — you understand me, sir; we are for ra- 
 dical reform in its most comprehensive and ex- 
 tended meaning, by which alone honest men may 
 obtain their rights, and get their own."
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 109 
 
 " I understand you perfectly — 
 
 * When those may take who have the power, 
 And they may keep who can.' " 
 
 " Ah, sir," said Mr. Lewis, filling for tlie fourth 
 time his glass, " I see you are one of us, quite one 
 of the right sort, — here is to your health, sir. Such 
 being the Ashbridge opinions, you have only to 
 deliver the same with a proper theatrical expres- 
 sion upon the hustings. You understand the 
 sort of thing. The. arm in movement, the leg 
 advanced, the voice raised with a bold air; but 
 you must address yourself only to the mob, and 
 treat them as the only enlightened, understand- 
 ing, instructed, and instructive portion of the com- 
 munity : the day will be then yours, I could 
 . swear. As to your foreign policy "" 
 
 " Foreign policy !" I ejaculated ; " what are the 
 people of Ashbridge to know^ about foreign policy.^" 
 
 " Know, sir ?'''' replied Mr. Lewis with an of- 
 fended air, — " why, sir, more than yourself, sir ; 
 or how, sir, are they to be capable of guiding you 
 in the right way, sir .?" 
 
 '* Very true," I replied meekly, as I rose to 
 stir the fire.
 
 110 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 " Ireland is also another question " 
 
 " Ireland I""* I exclaimed, again interrupting my 
 political tutor. 
 
 " Sir, we must emancipate tliat poor, enslaved, 
 ill-used country." 
 
 '' Ill-used indeed," muttered I to myself, 
 " when brother's hand is raised against brother, 
 and a man's worst enemies are those belonging to 
 his own house." 
 
 "As to the slave-trade,* we are indifferent. 
 You may vote as you like in that respect." 
 
 *' I am most happy to be so trusted," I replied 
 with the most humble of aspects. " But, pray, 
 may I inquire who were your former members, — 
 how they came to resign, and what might have 
 been their political opinions ?''"' 
 
 " To answer you categorically, sir, our former 
 members were Sir Stephen Buckskin and Lord 
 William Grandville. They have not so much 
 resigned the borough as the borough has resigned 
 them, as I before told you. Their political opinions 
 I almost forget ; but I believe Lord William pro- 
 fessed radicalism, and Sir Stephen toryism. At 
 first they were both popular ; but they have since 
 given grievous offence; so you must mind what
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. Ill 
 
 you are about, for we are devilish hard task-mas- 
 ters, I can assure you. Lord William brought 
 the whole town upon his back, by dancing with a 
 poor slip of a girl, a farmer's daughter, whilst ^Irs. 
 Lewis, Mrs. White, and the doctor''s three daugh- 
 ters were sitting by. All his conduct was of the 
 same kind ; he was quite indifferent as to rank ; 
 and when he received a hint on the subject from 
 no less a person than myself, he actually had the 
 audacity to tell me that he could not exactly see the 
 difference, as to station, between the daughter of a 
 soapboiler or the daughter of an ironmonger I Now, 
 sir, Mrs. L."'s father is an ii'onmonger ! Well, sir, as 
 he appeared to be such a radical reformer in private, 
 as well as in public, I resolved he should sit no 
 longer, and my opinion has influenced the chief 
 part of the town ; so that if his lordship stands, I 
 do not suppose he will get ten votes. As to poor 
 Sir Stephen, he completely ruined himself — I 
 started, and was all attention at the awful word 
 ruin! — "he completely ruined himself in the 
 good opinion of every one by bringing to trial, for 
 poaching, the first cousin of Mr. SmalFs 'prentice's 
 wife's brother-in-law. He never held his popu- 
 larity afterwards ; such an insult to the town who
 
 112 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 had been so kind to liim, not to let his voters' ap- 
 prentices connexions kill a brace of pheasants on 
 his manor ! Fie upon him for a niggardly fellow ! 
 So you see, sir, the field is open to you, — the day 
 is your own, if you will only follow my advice, 
 and take warning by the faults of others.""
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 113 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 AN ELECTION. 
 
 I DID not think it necessary to inform Mr. 
 Lewis, when he took his departure, that I was an 
 early riser. Long, therefore, before the hour 
 which he had appointed for visiting me the follow- 
 ing morning, I had risen, breakfasted, and peram- 
 bulated a good part of the town of Ashbridge ; 
 and what was more, had made equal progress in 
 my acquaintance with some of its inhabitants. 
 
 It was not my custom to walk the streets on 
 week-days with an empty purse. It may be, I 
 carried for convenience, ostentation, avarice, or ex- 
 travagance, a goodly store about with me, and on 
 this day I was not less well pronded than usual. 
 Into every decent-looking shop in the town I 
 sauntered ; and as I turned over the various goods 
 they contained, admiring and purchasing with all
 
 114 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 convenient despatch, I still found an opportunity 
 to talk a little nonsense to the women, a little 
 trade with the men, and to make friends with the 
 children by promises of playthings, — as an earnest 
 of which I let fall into their tiny hands certain 
 pieces of silver, which pieces of silver I gave the 
 mothers credit for helping them to dispose of to 
 advantage. Neither my purchases nor my gifts 
 were anonymous. I took good care that my name 
 should be well known, and what my object was at 
 Ashbridge I left to their own wits to discover. 
 As I bent my steps towards home, I sought a cer- 
 tain Mr. Cash, the banker, and deposited in his 
 hands the remains of my purse's contents, namely, 
 bank bills to the amount of ten thousand pounds. 
 Little did friend Lewis imagine, when at 
 twelve o'clock he appeared to inquire after my 
 night's rest, my morning's appetite, and to instruct 
 me in my duties of the day, that I had been so 
 bold, without leave asked or obtained, as to make 
 use of my legs, eyes, tongue, and other more 
 available resources, so as to have secured before I 
 broke my fast at eleven o'clock, the promise of 
 thirty good votes, and as many more doubtful 
 ones ; and all without professing any political
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 115 
 
 opinions, or having a guess, but from Lewis' own 
 representation, of those of any one in Ashbridge. 
 
 After some discourse about the weather, and 
 the news in a paper I held in my hand, Mr. 
 Lewis begged to know whether I could break 
 through the habits of a Londoner, and venture on 
 an early walk. 
 
 I looked doubtfully towards the atmosphere 
 without. Lewis by way of encouragement pro- 
 nounced the day to be much better than it ap- 
 peared. '* But even if it were not so,"' he said, 
 " pleasure must give way to business. If you are 
 to represent Ashbridge, you must begin your can- 
 vass ; you must make acquaintance, secure votes, 
 show yourself abroad, and proclaim your inten- 
 tions ; in fact, you have no time to lose : never 
 mind a few rain-drops, the streets are well paved, 
 so let us be going."" 
 
 Apparently con\dnced by Mr. Lewis'* arguments, 
 I arose, rang for my great coat and umbrella, and 
 gave directions about dinner, and, with some 
 delays, purposely invented to increase my com- 
 panion's fretful impatience, I equipped myself, 
 and we departed. 
 
 I am not going to drag my reader into all the
 
 116 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 haunts to which friend Lewis drew me ; suffice it, 
 that my morning's walk had answered entirely the 
 effect I intended. The fame of my purchases, 
 my civility, my knowledge of trade, and my fond- 
 ness for children, I found blazoned abroad into 
 every house where I entered ; but more particu- 
 larly the bank bills of 10,000/. in the hands of 
 Messrs. Cash, Smash, and Profit. Mr. Lewis 
 was completely mystified by the attention I every- 
 where received. No politics were discussed, no 
 opinions demanded, no professions made, but the 
 votes were obtained almost unsolicited, and my 
 success as good as secured. 
 
 Vanity, however, is a very comfortable foible; 
 and Mr. Lewis having his proper share, arranged 
 the matter of my popularity to his own satisfaction. 
 I was his friend, his candidate — in short, his pupil; 
 and I was really so far his friend as not to unde- 
 ceive him upon the real state of the case ; he there- 
 fore returned home to talk to his wife of the won- 
 ders he had performed. " Well, they may call me 
 influential,'"* he exclaimed, "but I am powerful. 
 My popularity is such that no other guarantee, than 
 my regarding him as fit for the situation, was re- 
 quired to declare Mr. Morland almost our repre-
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 117 
 
 sentative. Never did I witness so successful a 
 canvass. There was no demur, no wavering ; the 
 election is as good as concluded. Dr. Round has 
 asked me and him and White and Williams to 
 dinner to-morrow to meet Colonel Fly, and Sir 
 Ulysses Sigh — there 's for you, Martha ! and the 
 day after we are engaged to Cash." 
 
 " Am I asked ?" Mrs. Lewis inquired with a 
 doubtful air. 
 
 " I think not, love — a men party, I believe." 
 " Men ! not a bit of it — Mrs. Cash would 
 never dream of such a thing. No, I will be 
 bound to say that all the ladies are invited but 
 me. Mrs. Cash is as rude as a bear, and thinks 
 herself so grand ! but there will be a crash some 
 day, with their powdered footboy, and their coach- 
 man's silver-laced hat, and their newly-lined pew 
 at church, and their horses ! Yes, there will be 
 a crash, and then Mrs. Cash will be low enough; 
 she won't think herself above the lady of an attor- 
 ney when she is a bankrupt's wife. But I suppose 
 you will give this Mr. Morland a dinner yourself?" 
 " /give him a dinner, Martha ! // — I spend 
 my money on him, by whom I intend to gain 
 money ! the thing is absurd. At all events, there
 
 118 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 is no time ; on Saturday he leaves town for 
 
 B until the nomination day, so I could not 
 
 give him a dinner if I would.''' 
 
 " Well,*" said Mrs. Lewis, " I was in hopes 
 to have revenged myself upon that Mrs. Cash, by 
 not inviting her to our dinner.'*"' 
 
 "I am sorry to disappoint you, love, but I will 
 find some other means to revenge your cause, or 
 my name is not Giles Lewis.'*'' 
 
 The day on which I was to dine at Mr. Cash's, 
 there appeared in the public prints the following 
 letter ; — 
 
 " TO THE INDEPENDENT ELECTORS OF THE 
 BOROUGH OF ASHBRIDGE. 
 
 " Gentlemen, 
 
 " A requisition, signed by a numerous body 
 of the respectable and independent inhabitants of 
 Ashbridge, having been forwarded to me in Lon- 
 don by the hands of two of the requisitionists, 
 inviting me to come forward as a candidate for the 
 honour of representing the said town in Parliament, 
 I hereby present myself before you. Not, how- 
 ever, as it is usual to say, with confidence — 
 far from it. Though born amongst you, I am a 
 stranger ; and though once my family were landed
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 119 
 
 proprietors in your neiglibourliood, I cannot now 
 boast of an acre as my own. All that I can urge 
 in my favour is the willingness to serve your in- 
 terests and those of the country at large to tlie 
 best of my ability. 
 
 "As to my political creed, I have the welfare 
 of my country most strenuously at heart ; and if 
 honoured by being elected one of your represent- 
 atives in the Commons House of Parliament, I 
 can only say that I will give my vote upon all 
 subjects as shall to me seem best. Having had 
 the honour of serving my country in the field, I 
 trust that the same attachment which made me 
 willingly shed my blood in her cause will guaran- 
 tee the good faith of my political principles. 
 
 "Eloquent I am not ; as an orator, therefore, I 
 fear I shall do little credit to your choice ; but 
 if your local interests can be thereby advantaged, 
 I trust that I could command attention, though 
 not admiration. 
 
 " I have the honour to remain, 
 " Gentlemen, 
 " Your most obedient humble servant, 
 
 " Matthew Morland. 
 " Crown Tavern, Ashbridge."'
 
 120 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 Such was my letter, whicli was written, sent oiF, 
 and printed without consulting my Mentor, Lewis. 
 He, poor man, was horrified when first it met his 
 eyes, and with the paper in his hand rushed into my 
 presence to demand an explanation of my address, 
 to ascertain if I was really the author, or, being 
 the author, if I was of sane mind. 
 
 "Good God!" he exclaimed, pacing up and 
 down the room in tremendous agitation, " what have 
 you done, Mr. Morland ? Such a milk-and-water 
 address ! Your cause is at an end — you are ruined 
 and undone. Madness ! to say that you will vote 
 as seemeth you best ! Madness indeed ! And 
 then to bring in your profession ! a profession 
 which / had so zealously concealed from view ; a 
 profession abominable in the eyes of Englishmen 
 in general, and in those of the independent electors 
 of Ashbridge in particular. Why, sir, are you 
 not aware that a red coat is regarded by a Briton 
 as the veriest scorpion in existence ? Have you 
 lived so long out of England as not to know that 
 to be looked upon coldly, to be spurned and 
 despised, you have only to announce that you 
 have served ? Why, sir, the debates in the 
 House might have told you as much. Is not
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 121 
 
 their constant theme the proud stomachs of those 
 blood-suckers of our substance ? Does not that 
 patriot, Mr. Rapine, toil day and night to destroy 
 the nest they have made in this country ? And 
 now, sir, let me tell you once for all, that if you 
 wish to represent Ashbridge, you must work too, 
 sir; you must support Rapine upon all occasions: 
 and if you do not, — why, sir, you will never have 
 my support, or that of any of the independent 
 electors of Ashbridge, I can tell you.'"* 
 
 Mr. Lewis paused. I observed, that I was 
 sorry my production was likely to prove so in- 
 jurious to my cause. " Sorry ! sir, you may 
 well be sorry I your election is clean gone from 
 your hands. You have despised my counsels, re- 
 jected my advice, and followed the dictates of 
 your own self-willed ignorance. You must take 
 the consequences, sir, of talking of serdces, and 
 such follies, to men of influence, authority, and 
 understanding. Why, your address would not 
 gain a vote as a hospital surgeon. Services, in- 
 deed ! it would offend the most stupid being 
 that ever " 
 
 *' The carriage is at the door," announced the 
 waiter, interrupting friend Lewis. 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 122 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 " Are you ready, sir ?" I inquired : "it is six 
 o'clock, the hour Mr. Cash put upon his card for 
 dinner." 
 
 " No, sir, I am not ready,'' replied Lewis 
 rudely. 
 
 " Shall I send the carriage back for you ?" I 
 
 demanded calmly. 
 
 " No, sir, you shall not send the carriage 
 
 back ; I shall go on foot ; I shall sir, 
 
 I am independent of you ; you decline my 
 guidance — you may see how you can walk alone. 
 I am not going to sacrifice my life, or more 
 precious character, in your support ; I am not 
 going to have my head or windows broken in 
 your cause. I shall no longer profess myself your 
 friend. I am an influential man in Ashbridge, 
 as I need not tell you ; my influence you have 
 had good proof of ; that influence you shall 
 no longer profit by. You have scorned my ad- 
 yice — ^beware my enmity !" And the man of in- 
 fluence flounced out of the room with the air of 
 one demented, — nearly upset the waiter in the 
 passage, whom he met bearing a dish of mut- 
 ton-chops, and demolished a basket of eggs be- 
 longing to a girl whom he encountered on the
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 123 
 
 steps, — for all which destruction I had afterwards 
 to pay. 
 
 In about five minutes, with a more sober pace^ 
 I mounted into the Ashbridge fly, and was con- 
 veyed to Mr. Cash's, where I found the party 
 assembled, to each individual of which party I 
 was separately introduced. There were Mr., Mrs., 
 and two Miss Browns, Sir Ulysses Sigh, Colonel 
 Fly, Mr. White and his son. The last was the 
 greatest beau in Ashbridge, and who, as my cul- 
 tivated talent at observations made me perceive, 
 had an incipient flirtation with the second Miss 
 Cash ; a flirtation not so obvious to every eye, 
 especially to that of Mr. Cash sen., a decided 
 aristocrat of his caste, who would regard a trades- 
 man son-in-law with more horror than could be ex- 
 cusable in the blood of a Montmorenci. Besides 
 which, he evidently beheld with complacency the 
 attentions which his daughter also engrossed from 
 Sir Ulysses Sigh, a man in years, of broken health 
 and fortune. The Cash family were numerous ; 
 and two youths, towards whom the Miss Browns 
 cast many an anxious look when the dinner-hour 
 arrived, rivalled young White with their watch- 
 chains, seals, and chitterlings. 
 
 g2
 
 124 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 Wlien we were seated at table, Mr. Lewis ar- 
 rived, and sank into the vacant place between 
 the governess and the youngest male Cash. He 
 cast his eye around, probably to see how I fared. 
 I was seated between Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Cash,' 
 the portly persons of each lady well incased in 
 scarlet gowns, — scarlet was my election colour, — 
 and I was much more struck by the compliment 
 as the month was August ! 
 
 The dinner was good, and the attendance not 
 bad. There was nothing to mark that such hospi- 
 tality was of rare occurrence ; indeed, I should 
 rather imagine to the contrary, from overhearing 
 Miss Charlotte Brown, who was somewhat tinged 
 with ' blueism,' say to the young Cash, by whom 
 she was seated, 
 
 " To be sure, no one lives so well as your 
 father. At his table I am bewildered in a maze 
 of dishes ; and as I follow their meandering course, 
 know not, amongst the sweets around, where to 
 fix my perplexed mind !'** — To which the youth 
 replied :— '* There is only one way — eat of every- 
 thing, as I do""' 
 
 " Oh, fie ! Mr. William 1— how greedy !'' 
 
 " Why, the dinner was not sent up to look at.*"
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 125 
 
 '' Very true ; but yet it does go to my lieart 
 to beg of you to destroy, on my account, that 
 lovely cottage before you, which my imagination 
 tells me contains a trifle." 
 
 " Your imagination is right for once — so 
 here goes, and not for yourself alone, but for me 
 too ; and there is Sir Ulysses, besides, casting a 
 longing look this way." 
 
 Notwithstanding my letter, I was still an ob- 
 ject of attention ; spite of Lewis's frowns, all else 
 smiled on me. My health was drunk, with suc- 
 cess to my cause and principles. Then I return- 
 ed thanks, and begged to drink " the ladies," to 
 whose fair support I trusted so much ; and I 
 heard Miss Brown whisper to Colonel Fly, that 
 she thought me a very fine man of my years ! 
 About the hour of twelve I returned home, hav- 
 ing lost three rubbers of whist ; but, contrary to 
 Lewis"'s predictions, in no other respect the worse. 
 I slept soundly, and felt perfectly secure of my 
 money and my election ; both being in the hands 
 of Mr. Cash, the bojia Jlde influential man of 
 the place. Oh, magical power of ten thousand 
 pounds ! 
 
 Lewis, in deserting me, forgot his politics, and
 
 126 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 swore allegiance to Sir Stephen Buckskin, who was 
 already in the field with Lord William. He took 
 the oaths and his seat at the baronet'*s committee, 
 and there, for the first time, heard of my deposit 
 in Mr. Cash's bank. Poor Lewis ! even White 
 and Williams ridiculed his hasty decision against 
 me, and his wife did worse ; she scolded and she 
 stormed till the poor man was fain to take to his 
 bed, and sham sickness during the remainder of 
 the election, for the sake of peace and quiet. 
 Every future misfortune of the family — the sick- 
 ness of one child, the improvidence of another, 
 the shabby clothes of a third, or any other do- 
 mestic accidents, were each in their turn laid by 
 his wife at Mr. Lewis's door, for having slighted 
 such a friend as I should then have probably 
 proved to them all, blessed as I was with riches, 
 and unblessed as I was with relations. 
 
 The day of election at length arrived.* Four 
 candidates started. The two former members, a 
 Mr. Pique, whom no one knew, save a few vocifer- 
 ous ^isans, who had heard his sentiments deliver- 
 ed in a neighbouring field, and highly approving 
 
 * It is hardly necessary to observe, that the election here 
 described was previous to the Reformed Parliament.
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 127 
 
 the same, declared their approbation by loud 
 shouts whenever he appeared, and something like 
 groans or hisses at such times as the other candi- 
 dates ventured to walk the streets. 
 
 By good fortune, an old friend of my father's 
 rose up in my support. Old as he was, — for he 
 was fifteen years my senior, — he was still active 
 in mind and body, sensible, independent, and 
 popular. I was proposed by him, and the nomi- 
 nation was seconded by Mr. Cash, at whose house 
 I resided during the election. 
 
 " To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime 
 Of patriot's eloquence to flash down fire 
 Upon your foes, was never meant my task." 
 
 Still I did not acquit myself ill on the hustings. 
 The interest upon which I stood was independent, 
 the professions I had to make were few, and what 
 I had to utter I spoke honestly, concisely, and 
 coherently. I found it therefore but little trouble 
 to make a daily speech ; the great annoyance lay 
 in being obliged, out of common politeness, to 
 listen to the addresses of others. EvenrHo Sir 
 Stephen''s eloquence, though lost to the crowd by 
 the uproar which ever proceeded from thence 
 during his efforts to enlighten their understand-
 
 128 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 ings and captivate their senses, I could not be 
 deaf, standing as I did upon the same platform ; 
 and, alas for poor human nature ! it was a me- 
 lancholy spectacle, the nothingness to which those 
 powers of speech in which Burke and Chatham 
 shone and triumphed could be reduced, and the 
 utter contempt with which the worthy baronet 
 treated all such books as have been written for the 
 better understanding of our mother tongue, and 
 for the purpose of settling our faith on all knotty 
 points of grammar and pronunciation ! — Repeti- 
 tion followed upon repetition in the baronet's dis- 
 course, folly upon folly, and ignorance upon igno- 
 rance, till the compound of absurdity being com- 
 plete, he would smile, bow, and retire, generally 
 followed by a shower of rotten apples, or other 
 offensive tokens of popular dislike. 
 
 Lord William would then appear. He was 
 handsome, young, and had a manly, sportsmanlike 
 air, which told well before a country audience ; 
 but he had no great turn for oratory. The defect 
 lay not, however, in his voice, Avhich burst forth 
 from his ample chest with a power that in the 
 hunting-field must have proved invaluable, and on 
 the hustings was not to be despised ; only he
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 129 
 
 lacked matter : having got by heart a little of the 
 radical cant of the day, and a few bad jokes, more 
 sporting than political, he would gabble through 
 his lesson, make a kind of half nod, and retire 
 with some, though not general applause. 
 
 Pique was the powerful man of the party. 
 When he spoke, silence instantly ensued ; when 
 he joked, the mob were convulsed with laughter ; 
 and when he was pathetic, white handkerchiefs 
 were instantly displayed by every female of his 
 party. His tliree opponents were of course the 
 particular objects of his vituperation and wit. 
 The poaching-story was brought forward to vilify 
 in every possible way poor Sir Stephen. Lord 
 William was abused as a lord, and the son of a 
 man who had once consumed the substance of the 
 people by holding a place of honour at court. As 
 to myself, I had been a soldier, a cruel murderer, 
 a man of blood, knowing no law but the sword, 
 &c. &c. Then, with happy inconsistency, he 
 would fly off in praise of Bonaparte, extol his 
 merits, and lament his fall, and, winding up with 
 abuse of everything but his own particular party, 
 would retire amidst the plaudits of the throng. 
 
 The election was at length over ; Lord William 
 
 g5
 
 130 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 at the head of the poll, myself second, and the 
 other two nowhere in point of numbers. Then 
 ensued visits of thanks, dinners, a ball given 
 by the two newly-elected members, payment of 
 bills, and finally a bilious fever ! The doctor, 
 however, having his own reasons for being satis- 
 fied with the present members, had no desire for 
 a second election ; he therefore took pains to cure 
 me, succeeded, and sent me to recruit my strength 
 and breathe the air on the sea-coast.
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 131 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 " If I could but find my dear Mrs. Cleveland 
 here !" I exclaimed as I entered the town of 
 Brighton. " She must be in the country some- 
 where, and perhaps either a fashionable doctor, a 
 friend, or her own inclinations, may have induced 
 her to come here." In vain were my hopes, how- 
 ever; no Mrs. Cleveland was at Brighton. 
 
 Every fresh arrival which I eagerly followed 
 only ended in disappointment, as did every new 
 bonnet which I observed. September closed ; the 
 weather was cold, so I determined to return to 
 London, and accordingly started, and reached the 
 inn at . 
 
 For the space of about fifteen minutes I had 
 gazed quietly from my carriage window at such
 
 182 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 sights as an inn-door generally affords. I had 
 seen the arrival of a fast-flying coach, and its as 
 speedy departure, after tossing various parcels into 
 various hands extended to receive them, and de- 
 positing, with almost equal celerity, a couple of 
 passengers with their great coats, umbrellas, and 
 carpet-bags. The coach gone, the vacuity of 
 mind which ensued was happily filled, for a few 
 more minutes, by the appearance, at a parlour 
 window opposite, of a smart, pert-looking girl, 
 holding a laughing baby in her arms, which baby 
 or nurse excited sufficiently the notice of a recruit- 
 ing sergeant passing by as to make him stop. 
 Much jocose conversation ensued, till at the back 
 of the scene a door was thrown hastily open, and 
 a sour-looking elderly woman appeared : the girl 
 started backwards, the soldier vanished forwards, 
 the Avindow was closed, and the baby and girl, 
 with very piteous faces, both retreated under the 
 guidance of the sour-looking female. 
 
 Nothing further offering itself to amuse my 
 fancy, I began to wonder what had detained me 
 so long at the inn-door ; and casting a glance to 
 where the horses should be, saw nothing but the 
 bare pole, on which, to show the disregard with
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 133 
 
 which it was treated, as well as myself, a ragged 
 urchin was mounted, making as if he was driv- 
 ing post ; no other creature being in the way, 
 biped or quadruped, likely to give him disturb- 
 ance in his play by assuming the reality of the 
 part. 
 
 " Where are the horses ?" T exclaimed, put- 
 ting down the glass, and in a voice which I 
 meant to be of authority. " Where are the 
 horses .?"'' I called still louder. " Where the 
 devil are the horses ?'^ I screamed for the third 
 time, with my head and shoulders out of the 
 window. This had its due effect, for the waiter 
 rushed forth. 
 
 *' I am sorry to say, sir, there are no horses ; 
 but if you choose to alight, perhaps some may be 
 in presently. Your servant said you were in no 
 hurry." 
 
 " My servant ! how dare he presimie to know 
 if I am in a hm-ry or not ? an impudent fellow I — 
 where is he ?" 
 
 " In the bar, refreshing himself." 
 
 " And where are all your horses gone ?" 
 
 " Oh, sir, to-day is the great sale at ; 
 
 such a lot of carriages as are gone there : and.
 
 134 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 besides, Lord A and suite, to Brighton, 
 
 took four pair, and Mrs. C three pair go- 
 ing up." 
 
 " Well, well, open the door. I see no hann 
 in the outside of your inn ; and if your beds look 
 tolerable, I will dine and sleep here." Accord- 
 ingly I established myself in a wann parlour, look- 
 ing towards the street, and in truth was not sorry, 
 to explain my secret thoughts, to have an excuse 
 for stopping where I was. 
 
 Of course my curiosity drew me frequently 
 from the fire to the window; but the prospect was 
 ever barren of interest or incident, till about dusk 
 a heavily-laden chaise drew up to the door, and a 
 smart, active, foreign-looking servant sprang from 
 the seat behind, screaming, as I well knew, in 
 vain — 
 
 " Horses out directly !" 
 
 " What, no horses !" continued he ; " so you 
 pretend to keep an inn, and have no horses ?" 
 
 A long explanation followed, and the discon- 
 tented servant glancing at the jaded pair which 
 had brought them, approached the carriage win- 
 dow to inform those who were within of the un- 
 fortunate state of things without. I looked eagerly
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 135 
 
 for the master, but no master was there ; a Leg- 
 horn bonnet, deep veil, and small female hand, 
 were all that I could see. Though not vocifer- 
 ous, for I could not catch the sound of her voice, 
 yet the lady was evidently not inclined to submit 
 to her fate without murmuring, and risking an 
 effort to avert the e\il. The master of the inn 
 was called ; the post-boy who had driven her, and 
 even a passer-by, attracted, no doubt, by the voice 
 of female woe, assisted at the council. The 
 end, however, of the discussion was, the post- 
 boy mounting his wearied horses and departing, 
 the passenger proceeding on his way, and the 
 landlord, with a smiling air, offering his arm to 
 assist the disconsolate traveller as she unwillingly 
 descended from the can-iage. The lady's figure 
 was youthful, and a small foot appeared from 
 beneath her gown: her veil was down, but a gust 
 of wind — fortunate auxiliary in romance ! — was now 
 equally obliging to as anxious a pair of eyes as 
 ever looked out of the heads of any of Mrs. 
 Radcliffe's heroes, and, by blowing aside the en- 
 vious gauze, gave to my view the features of — 
 Mrs. Cleveland ! I actually screamed with de- 
 light, and was flying to the door to receive her.
 
 136 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 when the consideration that she was as fast bound 
 as myself to the spot we were then in checked 
 my impatience, and I sat down to consider where 
 she was going, why she was in such a huiTy, and 
 why she travelled in so humble a manner ; for her 
 carriage was plain, and its luggage so beyond pre- 
 cedent, that for a pair of horses to have drawn it 
 seemed next to miraculous. 
 
 When the waiter appeared, I inquired respect- 
 ing the last arrival. 
 
 " It is a lady, sir, who when she heard there 
 were no horses did not take the matter so quietly 
 as yourself, — I thought she would have cried, she 
 was so vexed. She is going across the sea."*** 
 
 " Across the sea !" I exclaimed, starting from 
 my chair. " Good heavens !" 
 
 " Why, sir, there is nothing strange in a lady 
 going to France now-a-days. Every one travels ; 
 though, maybe, I suppose you have not, sir, by 
 your being so surprised.*" 
 
 " How is this lady called .?" 
 
 " Cleveland, I think — but the servant is a 
 foreigner and rather close, and the maid is sitting 
 with her."' 
 
 " Sitting with her ! impossible !" I exclaimed.
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 187 
 
 " Lord, sir ! you seem surprised at every- 
 thing : why, I thought you might have seen 
 stranger sights than a lady, who maybe is no 
 lady, having her maid to eat with her." 
 
 I was thunderstruck at the waiter's informa- 
 tion. " It cannot be Mrs. Cleveland !" said I. 
 
 " Cleveland is the name, I am certain — the 
 currier told me.'"' 
 
 " The courier ! then she is going in fair ear- 
 nest, and I am tied to England by my yjar/zamewf- 
 ary duties I Well, I must see her. There, sir, 
 take Mr. Morland's compliments to Mrs. Cleve- 
 land, and, if she will allow me, I will wait upon 
 her." 
 
 The answer was soon brought. 
 
 " Mrs. Cleveland's compliments, and would be 
 happy to see Mr. Morland." 
 
 To her apartment I accordingly repaired. The 
 door was thrown open, and, with her writing-case 
 open before her, I found my dear Mrs. Cleveland. 
 Uttering an exclamation of delightful surprise, she 
 flew towards me with both her hands extended. 
 
 " This is charming ! I was so desirous of see- 
 ing you before I left England, and now my wish 
 is granted. It is an ill wind that blows nobody
 
 138 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 good ; so, thanks to the want of post-horses, we 
 shall spend the evening together — the last evening 
 I shall pass in England." 
 
 " Are you then really going abroad, and alone? 
 But where is your husband ?"" 
 
 " At Paris ; and I am going to join him. My 
 children are, for the present, with my aunt Somers, 
 till our plans are sufficiently arranged for them to 
 join us abroad." 
 
 '' Surely, you are not going to make a long 
 stay ?" and I gazed at Mrs. Cleveland earnestly. 
 She looked handsome as ever, but thin and pale. 
 
 " You have been unwell," I continued ; " sa 
 sit down and let us have a little comfortable chat 
 once more. Why does not yoiu' husband come 
 and fetch you ?" 
 
 "'Have you heard nothing, then ?" said Mrs. 
 Cleveland. " Do you not know what has hap- 
 pened .?" 
 
 " No; you alarm me — I have heard nothing 
 respecting you for an age." 
 
 " Well, I have been more fortunate respecting 
 yourself, for the newspapers have instructed me 
 as to all your procediftgs, and I feared through 
 the same medium mine would be equally public."
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 189 
 
 " Feared !" I demanded anxiously. Mrs. 
 Cleveland coloured, the tears stood in her eyes. 
 " What is this ?" I inquired. " Has any misfor- 
 tune occurred ?" 
 
 " Nothing new ; nothing but what I could 
 have predicted when first we met ; indeed, what I 
 did as good as tell you — what any one might 
 have told you then as well as now — that we are 
 ruined." 
 
 " Ruined !" I exclaimed. " Impossible ! — 
 Ruined ! when surrounded by the luxuries I wit- 
 nessed last spring in London ?" Mrs. Cleveland 
 covered her face with her hands. " Impossible !" 
 And at that moment I had before my eyes her 
 splendid equipage, her splendid apartments, and 
 the costly plants which, from her balcony, per- 
 fumed the air with their delicious odour. 
 
 " Concealment is useless now," said Mrs. 
 Cleveland, " as regards any one, for all that lux- 
 ury has made itself wings and is fled ; and as re- 
 gards yourself, I was always anxious to throw it 
 aside, even from our first acquaintance ; but now 
 you shall hear all — no, not exactly now, for we 
 must dine first, and I have a third in that party, 
 for I count upon our joining meals."
 
 140 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 God knows why, but when she named a third, 
 my thoughts instantly flew to Willoughby, and I 
 felt a sickening sensation across my mind. I was 
 relieved, however, by Mrs. Cleveland adding, 
 
 "It is one of the Williams' girls who is with 
 me. I have taken her as my maid or governess : 
 she was so earnest to accompany me, that I could 
 not refuse. I should have been scrupulous on the 
 subject, only abroad, if she does not like to re- 
 main with me, she will easily get a place as Eng- 
 lish governess. After dinner she will leave us, 
 and then I will tell you everything." 
 
 Dinner over. Miss Williams gone, and our 
 chairs drawn close to the fire, Mrs. Cleveland be- 
 gan as follows : — 
 
 " To fall in love is so common an occurrence 
 at one period or another of our lives, that I make 
 no apology for honestly confessing that at seven- 
 teen Horace Cleveland had made himself the 
 absolute master of my heart. Many a woman 
 has granted her affections to a far less worthy 
 object, — my taste no one could gainsay — my 
 prudence was another question ; but even for 
 what was apparently contrary to its dictates I had 
 an apology, for the only fault the being I posi-
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 141 
 
 tively worshipped possessed, I married him in 
 utter ignorance of — his love of play ! His po- 
 verty I gloried in, and repeated over and over 
 again the decided opinion which I had adopted as 
 my firm article of belief — that folly and wealth 
 were nearly allied, and that for a man to be bene- 
 volent, high-minded, generous, and agreeable, he 
 must have received his education to a degree in 
 the school of privation. His good looks, agree- 
 able manners, cultivated mind, and simple tastes, 
 were the constant theme of my letters, the first 
 year of our marriage, to my aunt Somers. This 
 period we spent entirely in the country ; and 
 though not always tete-a-tete^ yet of course we 
 were much more so than in society. 
 
 " We lived in great splendour, for my fortune 
 was large ; and though we were neither of us the 
 least ostentatious, yet Horace liked to indulge my 
 taste ; and I know, without having studied poli- 
 tical economy, that spending, and not hoarding, 
 is for the general benefit ; and I was bom a phi- 
 lanthropist, my husband not an egotist, so we 
 were perfectly agreed in the propriety of disburse- 
 ment. We did differ, however, as to the number 
 of hunter? I thought Horace required, and as to
 
 142 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 the furniture of his study, and as to the splendour 
 of a certain dressing-case I presented to him on 
 his birth-day ; however, on these points he yield- 
 ed to my wishes, and I felt secretly gratified that 
 his parsimony only showed itself as regarded his 
 own expenses — ^his extravagance, as regarded mine. 
 ' And this disinterested being,' I would exclaim, 
 'my family wished me not to marry — they 
 dreaded his extravagance !' Horace's friends 
 would smile as I spoke, and, as I wisely imagined, 
 in ridicule of the caution of my relations. You 
 never saw Horace " 
 
 " Never saw him, Mrs. Cleveland ! frequently." 
 
 " I am sure he left England about the time I 
 fifst made your acquaintance." 
 
 " Why, my dear Mrs. Cleveland, you intro- 
 duced me to him one night at Lady Brooke- 
 land's." 
 
 " Oh no ! not to him ; that was Francis Cleve- 
 land, my brother-in-law. So you imagined he was 
 my husband ! Poor Frank ! he is not ill-looking, 
 and a very nice person ; but he is not to be named 
 upon the same day as my husband. Horace is so 
 handsome — I wish you had seen him." 
 
 "I begin to think I have seen him. Before I
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 14S 
 
 knew you, I had a slight acquaintance with a sin- 
 gularly good-looking man, who bore your name ; 
 but—but—'' 
 
 " But," said Mrs. Cleveland, blushing, "from 
 the society you found him in, you did not dream 
 that we bore any affinity to each other." 
 
 " You have guessed rightly," I replied with a 
 sigh. Mrs. Cleveland sighed also, and after a 
 moment's pause resumed her narrative. 
 
 " The first annoyance I ever felt after my mar- 
 riage was at Horace's intimacy with a certain Mr. 
 Savill. There was nothing in his manners, ap- 
 pearance, or character, that could in the least 
 justify the evident pleasure my husband took iii 
 his society. He was a good deal with us in the 
 country, but in London he seemed to live in our 
 house. Though very much in the world, yet that 
 was no reason for Horace to be particularly at- 
 tracted towards him, — Horace was of a calibre in 
 society to lead, not follow. With his own good 
 sense and taste, to fix upon such an inferior being 
 as Savill for his associate was to me matter of 
 not only surprise, but annoyance ; — a man who 
 lived by play — who never opened his lips but 
 to speak of the odd trick, the odds on the Derby
 
 144 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 and St. Leger, or to make and accept a bet, which 
 in due form, however trifling, he always booked 
 most scientifically. However, the mystery of their 
 friendship was at length cleared up. 
 
 "A note was brought one morning, which, 
 without regarding the address, I opened. It was 
 from Mrs. Somers, and contained these words : — 
 
 " ' My dear Horace, 
 
 " ' I shall be at home all day. I must speak 
 with you — you know too well the subject. Do 
 not tell your wife ; and believe me yours, 
 
 '''E. SoMERS.' 
 
 " Astonished beyond measure at this note, and 
 imagining every possible misfortune as having 
 occurred to my aunt, her daughter, or ourselves, 
 I flew to my husband'^s room ; but he was out. 
 My impatience would not allow me -to wait his 
 return home : ordering the carriage, I hastily 
 threw myself into it, and was conveyed to my 
 aunt, whom I implored to impart to me her dis- 
 tress, and if it were in the power of myself or 
 husband to assist her in any way, she had only to 
 command our time, money, or influence, — in fact,
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 145 
 
 all we possessed. Poor Mrs. Somers was dread- 
 fully agitated at my appeal. She wept, trembled, 
 and thanked me over and over again ; but I could 
 not persuade her to impart her distresses to me. 
 In this state of things, Horace entered the room. 
 I flew towards him, saying, ' You will assist my 
 endeavours ; for my aunt will confide her troubles 
 to you." 
 
 " ^ Her troubles V exclaimed my aunt : ' would 
 to Heaven that they were my troubles ! poor, poor 
 child, you little know who is the real victim !"* 
 
 " I was completely bewildered ; Mrs. Somers 
 was in tears ; Horace looking the picture of de- 
 spair, evidently well aware of the state of things. 
 I gazed from the one to the other in speechless 
 astonishment. 
 
 " ' What, what is the matter ?' I exclaimed at 
 length ; ' speak, my dear Horace, speak !' 
 
 " ' I cannot speak,^ he said, ' for you will hate 
 me." 
 
 " ' Never ! never ! never !"* I screamed wildly. 
 
 Horace drew me towards him, and as he im- 
 printed a kiss upon my cheek, he said, ' Your aunt 
 can tell you everything ; but I dare not listen to 
 the tale." 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 " He then released me from his arms, and left 
 the room. It was some time before my aunt 
 could bring herself to speak ; at length by slow 
 degrees I drew from her as follows : — 
 
 " It appeared that Horace had always a decided 
 taste for play, which unfortunate tendency had 
 been too much encouraged by the society of Savill 
 and others of the same stamp ; and that, in fol- 
 lowing this pursuit, he had positively made away 
 with everything he possessed. The poverty, 
 therefore, under which he laboured when I mar- 
 ried him was not so much his misfortune, as I had 
 imagined, but his fault. Of this my aunt was 
 well aware ; but so much was I in love, so anxious 
 was his mother that his gaming propensities should 
 be concealed, and so partial was my aunt to him, 
 and so convinced from his promises that he would 
 never play again, that she consented not to in- 
 form me. For one year all was well ; out of 
 temptation Horace behaved admirably ; but, in 
 London, amongst his old associates, burning with 
 desire to touch a little, of my wealth, and exerting 
 all their powers of wit to disgust him with the safe 
 path of prudence unto which he seemed devoted, 
 he hesitated, yielded, and soon lost a large sum.
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 147 
 
 It was paid ; he Tron ; lie lost again ; and his 
 losings became public, and reached my aunt's 
 ears. The consequence was, she taxed him 
 with the breach of promise, but at the same time 
 offered to assist him, if possible, in order to pre- 
 vent the knowledge coming to my ears. 
 
 " This kindness, the accidental delivery of her 
 note to me prevented. I have since known so 
 many far, far more severe trials — so much engidf- 
 ing misery, from which to escape would seem im- 
 possible, that I now wonder at the bitter sorrow 
 I gave way to as I listened to my aunt's account. 
 It is not the last blow to one's misery, but it is 
 the first to one's felicity, which is the severest 
 felt : it is not the stroke which breaks the heart, 
 but that which breaks the spirit, which is the bit- 
 terest. So I felt. I had been so very happy in 
 my husband, so proud of his merits, so devotedly 
 attached to him, — so willing to believe, as youth 
 ever will believe, that vice and virtue are as 
 broadly distinct as light from darkness, and could 
 not be mixed together in the same person, in 
 the same heart, and the same mind ! Short 
 experience, alas ! will tell to the contrary ; and 
 all that can be hoped for poor human nature is, 
 
 H 2
 
 148 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 that the balance should be in favour of what is 
 right against what is wrong ! All this was a 
 lesson that I had yet to learn ; and as I shed a 
 torrent of tears at my aunt's story, they fell in no- 
 wise from the pecuniary loss that I must suffer, 
 but solely that my beloved Horace should have 
 been weak enough to forfeit his word, and have 
 had bad taste enough to live with such associates 
 as gamesters. The money, however, was paid : it 
 was a larger sum than I could command, but our 
 friends assisted us. In due time, I recovered my 
 spirits, and, never dreaming that Horace could 
 play again for the remainder of his days, I was 
 soon nearly as much in love with him as ever. 
 I should have been still happier if Savill had 
 been less his companion ; but he was supposed 
 to be an admirer of Lady Mary Cleveland ; 
 and as her admirers had ever been rare, and were 
 becomino: still more so, I did not like to dis- 
 courage his devotion to the family, for fear of 
 being considered by my six unmarried sisters- 
 in-law as a Marplot to their matrimonial specula- 
 tions. I was secretly, however, convinced that 
 Horace's purse, and not Lady Mary's heart, was
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 149 
 
 the object of his designs ; but I kept my thoughts 
 to myself. 
 
 " With years, my knowledge of the world be- 
 came more perfected, and I corrected, from other 
 sources than poor Horace's faults, my error as to 
 the perfectibility of human nature. Time passed 
 away, and with it came, first the suspicion and 
 then the conclusion, that neither Horace's taste 
 nor practice were at an end as regarded play. He 
 said that he had got into the habit of making 
 
 up 's party, and without incivility he could 
 
 not decline so doing, especially as he never lost. 
 I had sense enough to see the absurdity of his 
 argument ; but I had quite sense enough to appear 
 convinced by my husband's reasoning. 
 
 '' About this time I renewed my acquaintance 
 with Mr. Willoughby. I had known him formerly 
 at my grandmother's, where he was a constant 
 visitor as a neighbour, for his estate joined Lady 
 Harlowe's. Though a mere child, I excited his 
 admiration ; so much so, that at fifteen he made 
 me a proposal of marriage, — a proposal in declin- 
 ing which I evidently inflicted so much pain, that 
 I was for some time deeply grieved on the subject ;
 
 150 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 but though strongly urged by my lover to cure 
 his wounds by recalling my words, I had courage 
 enough to decline. I did not like Willoughby, 
 yet I felt grateful to him for the distinction of his 
 affection, when I otherwise met general neglect. 
 In Lady Harlowe"'s society, it was never imagined 
 that I could inherit her fortune : as she was a 
 querulous old woman, the disgrace I was con- 
 stantly in gave no grounds for the suspicion, but, 
 on the other hand, afforded a sufficient excuse 
 for regarding me with invariable coldness ; the 
 compliment, therefore, of Willoughby's opposite 
 conduct could not be otherwise than strongly felt 
 by any girl of commonly good feeling. 
 
 " If I did not like Willoughby much in those 
 days, I disliked him still more in our renewed in- 
 tercourse : I introduced him however to Horace, 
 who invited him occasionally to dinner, and we 
 met a good deal in society. It seems vanity to 
 say so, but I could not prevent a suspicion shortly 
 crossing my mind that Willoughby's love was un- 
 abated. He evidently lived in the world only as 
 a means to see me, and it was also pretty evident 
 that he was jealous of my husband. The colour 
 would fly to his cheeks whenever I praised him ;
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 151 
 
 and if he espied a tender glance between us, his 
 eyes sparkled with anger ; whilst, on the contrary, 
 they shone with a peculiar and malicious air of 
 satisfaction at such times as I was unattended 
 by him, most particularly in the Newmarket 
 weeks, — for Horace had embarked on the turf. 
 He then would meet me in the highest spirits, 
 only to be increased if the morning papers had 
 announced, as was common, Mr. H. Cleveland's 
 horse as beaten. 
 
 '' Five years had I now been a wife ; for many 
 and various reasons I desired to travel : of course 
 my wishes were laws in that respect. So with my 
 professed anxiety to rub off my English preju- 
 dices, and to perfect my knowledge of foreign 
 countries and languages, and my secret delight at 
 removing Horace from his darling clubs, and my- 
 self from the society of Mr. Willoughby, we em- 
 barked for the Continent. In arranging our affairs 
 before our departure, I was exceedingly surprised 
 at the sums we had expended. The same spirit 
 of justice which made me abominate the hoarding 
 system, made me view with equal horror the idea 
 of being in debt ; but, alas ! I found myself with 
 bills twice the amount of what I had expected.
 
 16^ MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 and Horace, unable to account for where his 
 large allowance had flown, never having paid a 
 bill for two years at least. I managed to arrange 
 our money matters, however, and we left England 
 for dear, beautiful, enchanting Italy ! 
 
 " At the end of two years we returned home by 
 way of Paris. Paris was extremely dissipated ; it 
 was not the gaiety of Italy, but a reckless gaiety 
 which can be only called dissipation. 
 
 " I lived at fetes, and in public, till I fell sick, 
 and was confined to my hotel. Horace went 
 everywhere — returned home at all hours, and 
 his haggard countenance betrayed the life he was 
 leading. Well, thought I, the carnival will soon 
 be over, and Lent, even in Paris, will bring re- 
 pose. I had heard that Mr. Willoughby was in 
 Paris, but imagined that he had not found me 
 out : what was my annoyance, therefore, when, 
 one day that I was sufficiently recovered to dine 
 with my husband, he told me that he had 
 invited Willoughby to join us. I expressed 
 my surprise, that as he did not particularly 
 fancy his company in England, he should have 
 gone out of his way to invite him to dinner 
 now.
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 153 
 
 *' ' I thought you would like it."* said Horace. 
 
 '' ' Thank you for the attention ; but, njy dear 
 love, as we do not live upon such formal terms, 
 that I dare not order my own plat^ or invite my 
 own guest, pray in future do not give yourself 
 any trouble to provide my society."* 
 
 " Willoughby arrived. I had no reason to think 
 his admiration was in the least abated ; the only 
 difference that struck me was, that Horace and 
 himself appeared to be on much more familiar 
 terms than formerly. We told our Italian news, 
 and he returned the compliment by a vast mass 
 of what he professed to be English, very little 
 of which I comprehended, and still less of which 
 I believed ; but, however, it was delivered as 
 gospel by Willoughby in his most sneering 
 manner. 
 
 " From that hour Willoughby was my sha- 
 dow : alas ! there was a reason for it which I 
 blush to confess, but it must be told, for that 
 reason compelled me to undergo his attentions. 
 You have, of course, heard of the salon at Paris ; 
 its fame at one period was blazoned throughout 
 Europe. The folly of those idiots who lose there, 
 
 H 5
 
 154 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 and the iniquity of those rogues who win, need 
 not be described. Horace went there, unknown 
 to me, and lost ; — he played to regain, and lost 
 more. Payment was necessary ; he had nothing, 
 and at Paris his credit was not equal to that of 
 London. He was in the greatest distress, hating 
 to apply to me for the money even if I could 
 command it, and yet necessitated to raise it 
 somehow. How Willoughby got into his con- 
 fidence I know not ; he did so, however, 
 and lent Horace the money — fifteen thousand 
 pounds ! 
 
 " I have said the first blow of misfortune is the 
 severest, but I know not if the acknowledgment 
 which Horace made me before I left Paris was 
 not as severely felt as the first discovery of his 
 ruinous propensity. From that first blow of 
 wretchedness I arose nearly as gay and confiding 
 as ever ; but now that I felt my own respectabi- 
 lity, and that of my children were entirely at the 
 mercy of a gambler, and he himself at the mercy 
 of such a man as Willoughby, my spirit fled. 
 From that hour a weight, as if of lead, seemed 
 to oppress my drooping heart, which nothing 
 could remove — no amusement, no excitement,
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 155 
 
 not even the caresses of my children, the ten- 
 derness of my husband, or the adulation of the 
 world. Heaviness lay upon my spirit even when 
 smiles decked my countenance and gaiety seemed 
 tlie business of life. 
 
 '' Willoughby was now, of course, completely 
 in our confidence. I wished to return to Italy : 
 he would not hear of it; and told me, that deci- 
 dedly, as matters stood, nothing could be more 
 absurd than to force my husband to relinquish 
 play ; the deed was done — the worst was over. 
 To be sure, Paris was not the place to play in ; 
 the London clubs were fair, and to them he ought 
 to return — and to them we did return. 
 
 " Alas ! the lucky day arrived not : Horace no 
 longer concealed from me his constant losses : and 
 the money which should have paid our trades- 
 men's bills went, instead, to answer the demands 
 of Savill, and such as him. I now attempted to 
 make myself heard, by imploring that our esta- 
 blishment might be reduced, and that economy 
 should be adopted in every possible way. But, 
 alas ! such propositions were only received by 
 Horace in heaping imprecations on his own head 
 for his wicked folly in obliging me to entertain
 
 156 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 such ideas, and by entreating me, if I would not 
 drive him to madness, never to speak of altering 
 my mode of life ; — that to see me, even to the 
 smallest degree less well dressed, or less a grande 
 dame, would be to drive him with more persever- 
 ance to the gaming-table, in the hopes of redeem- 
 ing his losses. Willoughby was equally of opinion 
 that retrenchment would be unwise. ' Your cre- 
 dit,' he would say, ' is at present unimpaired; 
 but if your difficulties get known, which they 
 most assuredly would do, were your establishment 
 reduced and style of life altered, your creditors 
 would become clamorous ; and, what is worse, your 
 relations, on both sides, would be furious at your 
 folly/ 
 
 This last consideration was of more weight than 
 any other. We continued the same course of 
 life, our difficulties hourly increasing; so much 
 so, that I often had not a shilling in my purse, 
 as you witnessed at the charity sermon ; which 
 sermon appeared to my guilty conscience as if 
 levelled at myself and my unfortunate husband. 
 In other instances, that I might indulge some 
 little benevolence as a woman and a Christian, 
 I was obliged to conceal my name, well aware that
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 157 
 
 what was becoming in the humble Mrs. Smith 
 would have been considered shabby in the fa- 
 shionable Mrs. Cleveland ; and I employed my- 
 self, therefore, in protecting, and not supporting, 
 the poor. 
 
 " Again we were on the brink of ruin, and again 
 did Willoughby assist us ; and again I talked of 
 the Continent and economy. But Willoughby 
 had recourse to the old arguments for convincing 
 me of the necessity of keeping up appearances 
 till the day when Horace's luck would turn — as 
 it assuredly would. To keep up an outward show 
 of prosperity, he would send me weekly presents 
 of the most costly exotics, which he paid for in 
 my name, and made me other presents, in a 
 similar manner, of trinkets, china, and articles of 
 furniture. Disliking the donor — blushing at the 
 disgraceful proceeding — broken-hearted and yet 
 smiling, I was obliged to accept and appear grate- 
 ful ! The intimate terms on which I was now 
 necessitated to receive Willoughby, made my 
 knowledge and dislike of him to march hand-in- 
 hand ; and, at the very time the voice of slander 
 was busy with our names, I sickened at his ap- 
 proach, and with a trembling hand, and most re-
 
 158 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 pulsive spirit, \7rote, at my husband^s desire, the 
 constant invitations to dinner which he felt bound 
 to propose. 
 
 " But, however, I need not explain my feel- 
 ings ; you know them by discovering my secret 
 of the masquerade. I acted wrongly as regards 
 that fete ; but it matters not now. Knowing 
 that from the voice of masked friendship I should 
 hear much pleasant truth, I resolved to stay away : 
 however, when the day came, I began to feel that 
 restless spirit which constant dissipation without, 
 and discomfort at home, gives, and I resolved to 
 disguise myself and join the party. Knowing, 
 as I did, the histories of so many, I had a fertile 
 field for the exercise of my ill-nature, if I chose 
 to indulge it. It was not with that design that 
 I originally formed the project ; but when at the 
 masquerade, and Willoughby in my grasp, I 
 could not resist the opportunity of venting all 
 that gall and bitterness of spirit which was brood- 
 ing in my heart. I was that evening in parti- 
 cular a prey to sorrow, which almost amounted 
 to despair ; for I had heard that Horace, furious 
 at his bad luck in better society, now frequented 
 an inferior club, where very equivocal characters
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 159 
 
 assembled ; and amongst such associates, what 
 hope had I of his long retaining those feelings 
 of morality and integrity which he yet possessed ! 
 — to say nothing of the loss of fortune, which 
 was certain.'"
 
 160 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 DEPARTURE. 
 
 " But I must hasten to the conclusion of my 
 tale. Why weary you with a detail of things 
 which led to the present crisis — exile and ruin ! 
 Shortly after I became acquainted with you, Ho- 
 race withdrew himself to Paris. He had sustained 
 additional losses at play ; and being well aware 
 that Parliament would shortly be dissolved, he 
 deemed it advisable, by Willoughby's counsels, 
 to quit the country, and leave his affairs in our 
 hands to arrange as best we could. For some 
 time Willoughby flattered me with hopes that 
 all could be arranged, if we (his old policy) put 
 a good face upon the matter ; and for some time 
 I believed him ; but when he again wanted to add 
 to our obligations by lending us money, I remon- 
 strated strongly against the deceptive system I fol-
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 161 
 
 lowed according to his advice, and which evidently 
 only increased our embarrassments. I expressed 
 myself warmly, perhaps too warmly, for the obliged 
 party. Willoughby had recourse to the old argu- 
 ments, still pressing his wealth to our assistance. 
 ' - o, no,'' I exclaimed, ' mv husband is great- 
 ly too much indebted to you already ; I do not 
 wish that you should add to his olDligations.' 
 Never shall I forget Willoughby's countenance 
 as I spoke ; his eyes became suddenly like two 
 vivid flames, and his cheeks of an ashy paleness. 
 
 " ' His obligations f he exclaimed, striding to- 
 wards me as if he would strike me dead by his 
 look, — ' His obligations ! — your husband ! what 
 has he to do with the assistance I have afforded 
 you ? You alone are my object ! He might 
 starve or rot in a gaol, as he richly deserves for 
 his mad folly — for his neglect of such a being as 
 you, for what I care. You, you alone are the 
 cause of my relieving his necessities ! The same 
 feelings which actuated me, in proposing to make 
 you my wife, still exist in their fullest force. The 
 same wish to render you happy which made me 
 propose for your hand in the first instance, has 
 since made me fly to your aid in the difficulties
 
 16? MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 your atrocious husband had heaped upon you. 
 Atrocious as he is — hating him as I do — jealous 
 of him as I am — still, I could worship him for 
 having afforded me the opportunity he has done 
 of proving my devotion to you. That day when, 
 at Paris, I drew from him the difficulties he was 
 involved in — when I witnessed his despair, heard 
 his groans, and relieved his distresses, was a 
 healing balm for all the misery I had endured on 
 your account. You, the only being I ever loved 
 or even liked ! — in whom, as a child, I discovered 
 that perfection of character you have since shown 
 — on whom to have lavished all my wealth and 
 my tenderness would have been felicity more than 
 earthly, you, I repeat, despised me ! Infatuated 
 being ! Poor as you then were, — neglected, ill- 
 used, and unhappy, — yet for such as me you 
 would not change your condition ! whilst after- 
 wards, in wealth and prosperity, you scrupled not 
 to barter them for such as Cleveland ! Infatuated 
 being I" 
 
 " That I ought to have resented Willoughby's 
 declaration, upbraided him for his opinion of, 
 and treacherous advice to, my husband, and per- 
 haps have summoned the servants to show him
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 163 
 
 the door, I know many prudent persons (and per- 
 haps yourself amongst that number) would deem 
 the proper and only course for me to have pur- 
 sued. However, I acted differently. I could not 
 abuse the man to whom we were under pecuniary 
 obligations which it turned me giddy to think of, 
 and whose fault was love ; who in a bad temper 
 had an everlasting torment, and who, hated by 
 every one, had thought to find a being in myself 
 to love and be beloved by in return, and found 
 that by no possible means, not by artifice, by 
 threats, by power, by devotion, was that hope likely 
 to be realized. Still there was enough to make 
 his speech highly offensive ; and from that moment 
 I resolved, cost what it would, to emancipate my- 
 self from the thraldom in which he held me. I 
 deemed it wise, however, for the present to con- 
 ceal my feelings ; and when Willoughby turned 
 again towards me and seemed more composed, I 
 held out my hand with a smile, and said half seri- 
 ously, half laughingly — 
 
 " ' My dear Mr. Willoughby, you must mend 
 your manners ; you forget that I am married for 
 better for worse, and anything said against my 
 husband is offensive to me ; for I love him in
 
 164 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 the truest sense of the word, with a fond, foolish 
 woman''s affection, spite of poverty, unkindness, 
 neglect, or even disgrace. Pity me, there- 
 fore ' 
 
 " ' Pity you !" screamed Willoughby with the 
 voice and look of a fiend, and tossing my hand 
 from him — ' I pity you not ; rather pity me — I 
 am the object of compassion. That love wasted 
 upon him would have been my glory, had fortune 
 been propitious.' 
 
 '' ' Wasted !' I exclaimed ; ' wasted ! my love 
 is not thrown away.** 
 
 " ' Such love as yours is as pearls before swine, 
 when bestowed on a gambler.' 
 
 " I burst into tears. ' Nothing, nothing shall 
 make me believe that Horace does not love me. 
 His affection I am as assured of as that yonder 
 sun gives light and warmth. Weak, even wicked 
 as his conduct may have been, yet I have never 
 been absent from his thoughts. Miserable and 
 wretched as he has been, did he not always find 
 comfort in my affection ? If words can speak the 
 language of love, well do these walls know that he 
 has daily pronounced them ; and his letters are 
 tenderness and devotion itself — all in fact that the
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 165 
 
 utmost extent of woman's vanity, or woman's lore, 
 could require !"* 
 
 '' I ceased. Willoughby gazed earnestly at 
 me ; he seemed trying to make an effort to con- 
 quer his feelings, but his lip quivered and he was 
 deadly pale. He moved slowly towards the door 
 with a look that I own made me tremble. 
 His rage at length, however, burst forth. ' Fool 
 that you are !' he exclaimed ; ' infatuated idiot ! 
 Your vreakness is positively an object of derision, 
 instead of tears. I could find it in my heart 
 to laugh at your absurd folly in loving this 
 madman ! — Madman did I say ? — poor wretch I 
 to bestow your affections on one who would 
 barter your sweetest smile for the dice-box — 
 to whom the society of Sa\dll is far more con- 
 genial than your own, and to whom the atmo- 
 sphere of a gaming-house is far more familiar 
 than that of his home ! Poor wretch, I do pity 
 you ! I would have saved you, but your fault be 
 upon your own head ! — Farewell !' Willoughby 
 left the room — I have never seen him since. 
 
 " The next day I sent for Francis Cleveland, 
 whom you had seen with me, and had mistaken 
 for my husband. He had always been very kind
 
 166 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 to me, and was much attached to his brother ; to 
 him therefore I confided the whole state of our 
 affairs, and requested his advice. According to 
 his counsels, the state of the business was laid 
 before a confidential lawyer, the friend of the 
 family. Secrecy was soon out of the question ; 
 for the only step to be taken, as I had long fore- 
 seen, was to sell everything that we could dis- 
 pose of for the benefit of our creditors. I retired 
 to my aunt's house, and Francis took the whole 
 business into his own hands, which he conduct- 
 ed with the utmost delicacy, both as regarded 
 myself as well as his brother ; and at the same 
 time satisfied, as well as he could, those to whom 
 we were indebted. He also did more than I 
 required of him ; for he warmly espoused my 
 cause, and defended my conduct against the un- 
 just aspersions of old Lady Iceland, who, quite 
 forgetting her original fault in concealing from me 
 her son^s losses at play, when we were married, 
 now talked, in all the fulness of her maternal sor- 
 row, of my flirtation with Mr. AVilloughby driving 
 her poor dear Horace from his home to the gam- 
 ing-table ; and, to feed my extravagance, the same 
 poor injured being had been obliged to resort to
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 167 
 
 the Jews. As to how far she was believed or dis- 
 believed, I know not ; but I never took the trou- 
 ble of contradicting her statements. 
 
 " To return, however, to Willoughby. After we 
 parted I heard he was ill, some people said dan- 
 gerously so ; I sent several times to inquire after 
 him, and Francis tried to see him, but in vain ; 
 about a week back I received the following letter 
 from him: — 
 *' ' The Hon. Mrs. Cleveland, 
 
 " ' On rising from my bed of sickness, I see 
 your name frequently in the list of those who have 
 inquired after me. I am well aware your motive 
 could not be affection : it may have been pity, 
 courtesy, or even self-interest ; for your interest 
 might be furthered by my sudden death ; — such a 
 motive as the last could not, I will hope, be the 
 case in a woman whom I still regard with the ten- 
 derest feelings. Whatever may be the fact, and 
 whether your inquiries be genuine, interested, or 
 assumed, I thank you for them, and in return ad- 
 dress you this letter, convinced that what I inform 
 you will give you the utmost satisfaction. We 
 meet no more ! Next week I leave England for 
 my estate in the West Indies, and the horses are
 
 168 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 already at the door to convey me from London. 
 Rejoice, therefore ; the love of Willoughby will 
 never more be put in competition with that of 
 your husband ! You want not his affection ; and 
 having thought proper to call Mr. Francis Cleve- 
 land to your counsels, his friendship is now super- 
 fluous. Oh ! did you but know my heart ! — you 
 must have known it, you must have seen its 
 inward workings ! — But women are perverse 
 and infatuated ; they not only love in prosperity 
 and in adversity, but weakly cling to their idol 
 when spurned, trampled on, neglected, and tra- 
 duced ; yes, I repeat, traduced ! Did not Cleve- 
 land, your husband, well know that your fair fame 
 was tarnished by mi/ attentions being received ? 
 and was he not conveniently deaf to the talk and 
 suspicions of the world, merely to answer his own 
 selfish purposes ? Was not that traducing you ? 
 Do you believe that, had you married me, or had 
 you been prevailed upon to leave this husband for 
 me, such would have been the case ? No ; no 
 breath of heaven should have blown upon you of- 
 fensively, — no exertions that man or man's wealth 
 could have called forth to render this world a pa- 
 radise to you, should have been spared. Such
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 169 
 
 visions are now over ; I now know the truth, 
 though I long tried to believe otherwise. You 
 prefer a prison with a disgraced outcast, to a 
 palace with an adoring slave I Well, act the he- 
 roine if you will ! — poor, mistaken, unfortunate 
 being as you are ! — I could weep, did I not 
 execrate your folly. 
 
 " ' Thank Mr. Francis Cleveland for his in- 
 quiries after me : on the subject of business I 
 shall trouble him, not you. The gift I made 
 your husband was for you, and you alone : you 
 choose to regard it otherwise — be it so. I have 
 relations, or heirs as they style themselves ; and 
 though in befriending you^ their interests would 
 never have been considered, the case is very dif- 
 ferent as regards your husband. I do not, for his 
 follies, intend to impoverish them or myself I 
 remain, &c. &c. F. Willoughby.' 
 
 " This extraordinary epistle was accompanied 
 by a short note from Mr. Willoughby's lawyer 
 to Francis Cleveland, naming the amount of 
 what his client had advanced to my husband, and 
 requesting a bond for the same with interest, &c. 
 in due legal form ! 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 " I liave little more to add," said Mrs. Cleve- 
 land. " My estate is at nurse, and managed by 
 trustees. Willougliby is our principal creditor. 
 As soon as I have seen Horace, we shall arrange 
 our future plans ; and I trust he will enter into 
 my wishes of retiring to Switzerland, where we 
 may live respectably on the allowance our trustees 
 make us, educate our children, and, after having 
 paid all our debts, regain, I hope, that peace 
 which we have both been long in ignorance of, 
 spite of the glittering surface which has shone 
 deceitfully on our fortunes, concealing aching 
 hearts and the pangs of a wounded conscience !'' 
 
 '' Oh ! this abominable, this atrocious House 
 of Commons !" I exclaimed, as I lay in my 
 wretched inn bed, unable to close my eyes. 
 " Oh ! my consummate folly ! my vanity ! my 
 doting credulity ! to be talked over into be- 
 coming one of the legislators ! What had I to 
 do with parliament, or business, or ambition, or 
 even occupation ? Am I not arrived at years of 
 discretion and years of repose ? After toiling and 
 fighting, starving and complaining, were not my 
 present days sent as a relief? — and to what use
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 171 
 
 am I going to turn them ? Am I not going to 
 act all my life over again, ^vitllout prospect of 
 benefit to myself, or others, as a stimulus to my 
 exertions ? Am I not going to toil, fight, fast, 
 and complain, — - and all within the narrow sphere 
 of St. Stephen's, instead of that noble theatre, the 
 world ! where, in former days, as an alleviation to 
 much misery, my companions were brave, beloved, 
 spirited, and young as myself, — and to soften our 
 cares we possessed youth's best friend, Hope — a 
 friendship incompatible with wise old age ! Idiot 
 that I am, to have placed such trammels round 
 me ! And in the month of November the parlia- 
 ment meets, and I must take my seat and assist 
 in the arrangement of the aflfairs of the nation, in- 
 stead of assisting Mrs. Cleveland in the arrange- 
 ment of the aflfairs of her family ; and, but for 
 this abominable election, I should have been near 
 her at the time of her distresses in London. I 
 would have arrested the impertinent proceedings 
 of the malicious Willoughby, have silenced the 
 libellous tongue of the superannuated Lady Ice- 
 land. But is it too late now to be of use to her ? 
 I started up in bed; the day was beginning to 
 dawn : I rang the bell, and on my servant's entry,
 
 172 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 told him to go instantly and find out the time 
 Mrs. Cleveland's carriage was ordered, and to 
 have mine ready at the same hour, — and also to 
 take my compliments to Mrs. Cleveland, and I 
 would breakfast with her. 
 
 This affair arranged, I arose, and having finish- 
 ed my toilette, descended to the sitting-room, 
 where I had parted from her the night before. In 
 the passage I met the courier. " I presume," 
 said I, addressing myself to him, — " I presume 
 you pay all Mrs. Cleveland's expenses ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Well, sir, then have the goodness, as we are 
 going the same road and at the same time, to take 
 this twenty pound note : pay with it my post- 
 horses, and also the bill here, which includes 
 Mrs. Cleveland's expenses as well as my own." 
 
 The courier pocketed the bank note, and de- 
 parted with a much more satisfied air than when 
 we first met; convincing me that my surmises were 
 right as to Mrs. Cleveland's anxiety to get out of 
 England arising from the limited nature of her 
 funds for the purpose, — as probably the courier 
 was well aware. It was too true : what with small 
 bills delivered at the last moment, and last dona-
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 173 
 
 tions to favourite objects of charity — to old 
 servants whom she was parting with, and sou- 
 venirs to friends she was quitting, poor Mrs. 
 Cleveland had reason to anticipate with no small 
 alarm the missing the Brighton packet to Dieppe, 
 so as to be detained at a Brighton hotel, and 
 even to look rather dismayed when I unthink- 
 ingly ordered a bottle of sherry at dinner. 
 
 The arrangements for our journey were soon 
 made. I had the satisfaction of handing Mrs. 
 Cleveland into my carriage, lea\dng Miss Wil- 
 liams to take care of the countless packages her 
 carriage contained. A hint that I gave the post- 
 boys made them proceed rapidly, and we reached 
 Brighton just one hour before the packet sailed. 
 The question with me now was — to go, or not 
 to go ? Looking at the sea, which was perfect- 
 ly calm, I thought of my amiable companion, 
 whom I mio^ht never meet ao^ain — of her dis- 
 tress and misfortunes — and perhaps also of the 
 easy voyage which the weather promised. The 
 question was decided. " Get the carriage in- 
 stantly on board with all my luggage," I ex- 
 claimed to my servant, who waited for no further 
 orders, and did what he was desired. The hour was
 
 J 74 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 soon over, and, with Mrs. Cleveland on my arm, 
 I hurried through the idle throng gaping on the 
 pier into the vessel. We were quickly under 
 weigh, and before long the shores of England 
 were out of view. 
 
 As Mrs. Cleveland sat mournfully gazing on 
 the expanse of ocean, the tears stole gently down 
 her cheeks. 
 
 " You regret England ?" said I. 
 "It is not regret, but worse — it is remorse 
 that I feel when I think of my native land ! 
 There was my heritage thrown ; goodly and plea- 
 sant, all that the bounty of a beneficent Creator 
 could grant to favoured mortal ; and, alas ! how 
 used ! Where is it now ? — scattered to the winds 
 of heaven ; whilst I, on whom so much was be- 
 stowed, am now a wanderer, leaving no trace be- 
 hind me, but the having 
 
 * With superior skill abused the gifts of Providence, 
 And squander'd life.' '' 
 
 " It is not you who are to blame,"*' I observed; 
 " your husband's faults fall not on your head.'' 
 
 " God alone knows !" sighed Mrs. Cleveland 
 meekly. " Did I sufficiently exert the influence 
 I possessed to keep him from eiTor ? was my own
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 175 
 
 conduct sufficiently free from selfishness to shame 
 him into a change in his own "t Was it not I 
 who, on our first embarking in life together, en- 
 couraged expense, show, and splendour ? Horace 
 may be the most to blame, but I am not guiltless." 
 
 " I trust that, when you land, your husband 
 will meet you ?"" 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland shook her head. 
 
 " Not meet you ?" said I. 
 
 " He wished it ; but we must save every ex- 
 pense, even his journey from Paris." 
 
 " Poor thing ! that so trifling a consideration 
 should now be a matter of moment to you — you 
 who once possessed such means !" 
 
 " Oh ! talk not of it. I was resolved to marry 
 Horace ; I loved him ; and had I then known all 
 that I know now — had I anticipated more than 
 the misery I have endured, I fear that I should 
 have loved him equally, and have married him 
 the same.'^ 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland ceased. I thought of the un- 
 fortunate Willoughby's feelings, which such sen- 
 timents as those just uttered goaded nearly to 
 madness. 
 
 It was late when we reached Dieppe ; we there-
 
 176 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 fore proceeded at once to the hotel. During our 
 voyage I had arranged in my mind that I would 
 accompany Mrs. Cleveland to Paris. Time enough 
 for St. Stephen's afterwards, I thought ; and 
 perhaps I shall be none the worse for a little 
 French polish on political matters, any more 
 than a young lady on her first appearance at 
 Ahnack''s is for the lustre which a Parisian mil- 
 liner bestows. 
 
 •' Whom have we here .?" said I from the hotel 
 window on the following morning, as a smart 
 English carriage drove up to the door amidst the 
 click-clack of the postilions. Mrs. Cleveland ap- 
 proached the window — two gentlemen descended 
 from the carriage. '' Heavens ! my husband I*" 
 she exclaimed. The next moment Horace was in 
 the room, and herself in his arms. 
 
 I know not, if my presence had been observed, 
 whether it would have made any difference in the 
 tenderness of his greeting ; but, as it was, I was 
 ready to forgive him half his misconduct for the 
 unfeigned pleasure which sparkled in his eyes as 
 again and again he pressed his lips to the face of 
 his wife. " My own Horace !"*"* — " My dearest 
 Mary !" were the only words that could for some
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 177 
 
 time find utterance. The tears of affection flowed 
 down the soft cheeks of Mrs. Cleveland, whilst 
 in the brilliant eye of her husband trembled 
 that which I was well inclined to place to the ac- 
 count of penitence. He looked care-worn, and 
 when he had time to observe his wife's pale and 
 thin appearance, a deep groan burst from his 
 heart. 
 
 " Poor, poor injured being ! and injured by 
 me, who swore to protect you ! Can you forgive 
 me, Mary?" 
 
 " I must forgive you," answered his wife play- 
 fully, " as before a witness I cannot but assume 
 a \irtue though I had it not." 
 " A witness ! where ?" 
 
 I now advanced from the deep recess of the 
 window, where I had been standing. Mrs. Cleve- 
 land took my hand and presented me to her hus- 
 band. He started, and with a heightened colour 
 said, 
 
 " We have met before." 
 
 " And we know the worst of each other," I said. 
 "Not of each other,''^ replied Cleveland mourn- 
 fully ; " for I know no harm of you, beyond the 
 company in which we met, — and that was very ex- 
 
 I 5
 
 178 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 cusable as regards yourself, returning to England 
 after a long absence, ignorant of its society and 
 disliking solitude. But very, very different was 
 the case as regards me !"" And Cleveland looked at 
 his wife. 
 
 *' Well,'' said I, " you are a lenient judge of 
 character ; but as to myself, I must confess, that 
 living anywhere, and I may almost add, with any- 
 body, is no such direful calamity with me as with 
 the more refined and delicate of our species. I 
 knew pretty well the class of individuals whom I 
 met in Street, with the exception of your- 
 self, who, I allow, excited my curiosity and my 
 interest ; and I must say, that, such as they were, 
 I was not sorry to join them, rather than lead the 
 life of solitude to which all strangers are consigned 
 in the rich and gay town of London ! But enough 
 of this." 
 
 " Enough of this indeed," said Mrs. Cleveland ; 
 " remember the proverb, ' let by-gones be by- 
 gones :' I only think of the present and future ; 
 the past I intend to expunge from my memory." 
 
 " Alas !" observed Horace, '* why banish from 
 your thoughts the bright spots of your existence,
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 179 
 
 and why encourage gloom in thinking only of the 
 future r 
 
 *' My dear love, I have not the slightest thoughts 
 of leading a gloomy life in future." 
 " How can it be otherwise ?'' 
 " Why, as to that, if you will be dull and un- 
 happy, I shall be very sorry ; but I see no reason 
 that a very attached pair — which I presume we are 
 — in good health, with good education, young 
 and agreeable, (which I, at least, have the credit 
 of being.) and with three lovely children, and suf- 
 ficient means to live comfortably, though not 
 splendidly, are to be gloomy and wretched, be- 
 cause, foKooth, they cannot afford to give splendid 
 fetes ! Instead of being gloomy, Horace, you 
 should rejoice that at last we may live for each 
 other ; that we have got rid of English fogs, 
 noise, and late hours, so as to be positively ob- 
 jects of envy. Are you now convinced, love r*' 
 
 Horace smiled languidly, but could not banish 
 the stings of conscience sufficiently to enter into 
 his wife's innocent buoyancy of spirits. 
 
 " But I have never asked you how you came 
 here."
 
 180 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 " Lord offered me a lift, and I could not 
 
 resist the proposed opportunity of meeting you, 
 dear Mary." 
 
 " Lord deserves my warmest thanks ; — 
 
 but tell me, Horace, do I not look better than 
 my aunt described me ?" 
 
 " Yes, you look rather better than when I left 
 you." 
 
 " Oh ! I shall soon get quite well. It was that 
 horrid hypocritical farce which I was obliged to 
 keep up that nearly killed me. Hating deceit as 
 I do, to have been obliged to live so many months 
 as it were in a mask, was to render myself odious 
 in my own eyes. I detested my own thoughts ; 
 I trembled at my own shadow ; and, above all, I 
 loathed solitude. Now I am lightened of all my 
 cares, and if " 
 
 " If what, love ? I know what you would say, 
 — if Horace will never play again '' 
 
 " No, it was not that ; for my finn belief is 
 that you never will play again. It was that hor- 
 rid debt to Willoughby which haunted me.**" 
 
 '* Name it not, I implore,"'* said Cleveland, 
 clasping his hands. '' Oh, Mary ! if you will not
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 181 
 
 drive me mad, talk no more of that debt — Villain, 
 fool that I have been ! In a few years, however, 
 the trustees will have paid it off; and, by every- 
 thing that is sacred, I swear that I will never play 
 again."" 
 
 " Very well,^^ said Mrs. Cleveland ; " Mr. 
 Morland is your witness, and I am satisfied.'"
 
 18£ MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 RETURN AND CONCLUSION. 
 
 I ACCOMPANIED the Clcvelands to Paris, where 
 they were joined by their children. Shortly after- 
 wards they set off for Geneva, and I returned to 
 London. I was more than ever delighted with 
 Mrs. Cleveland, and in great measure reconciled 
 to her husband. Though sobered, he was not 
 soured by his adversity : he was earnestly employ- 
 ed in the arrangement of his affairs, and I was 
 happy to observe that there was much self-denial 
 in his proceedings ; at the same time he appeared 
 anxious in the extreme for his wife to amuse her- 
 self in any possible way that their finances would 
 allow of. Her wishes were moderate in that re- 
 spect, and, except an occasional dinner en ville, 
 she went nowhere but to the theatres, where I 
 had a box. 
 
 On my arrival in London, I took my scat in
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 183 
 
 the House of Commons, voted on most questions 
 to some good purpose, and spoke on a few to no 
 purpose at all. At Christmas I went into the 
 country to my cousin Kate, where I remained 
 until parliament again met, when I resumed my 
 attendance until the session was over. About 
 ten days after that event restored me to liberty, 
 Francis Cleveland and myself were rapidly de- 
 scending the Jura mountains, leaving behind us 
 that hideous country so miscalled La belle France, 
 and viewing before us lovely Switzerland. 
 
 With cracking whips and clattering hoofs we 
 soon were winding through the lanes which lead 
 to Secheron, when we espied in a char-a-banc, 
 with Horace and their eldest child, my dear Mrs. 
 Cleveland. In a moment we were out of the car- 
 riage, and joined them. Their house, one of 
 those very pretty campagnes which surround 
 Geneva, was not very distant. We did not return 
 to the carriages, but with Mrs. Cleveland on one 
 arm, and her daughter on the other, I preceded 
 the two brothers. 
 
 '' You are happy then here ?"' said I, as we 
 walked slowly on. 
 
 " Perfectly so ; and do you know that we live
 
 184 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 with such economy, that I verily believe in a few 
 years we shall have paid off all our debts, most 
 particularly that odious one to Willoughby. 
 Horace is so very happy here ! We drink tea, 
 dance and sing with our neighbours of all coun- 
 tries, amongst whom are some very agreeable per- 
 sons. Then in the morning we rise early, edu- 
 cate the children, and walk or drive out after 
 dinner; for, happily, late hours are unknown at 
 Geneva. Now that you and Francis are come, 
 we will make excursions to the mountains. So, 
 having told you all our proceedings, pray tell 
 me some in return about London, and a few of 
 its inhabitants, especially my good aunt." 
 
 " I shall leave their own letters, of which I 
 have brought you a good store, to speak for them- 
 selves ; but I have one also of more importance 
 from Mr. Willoughby''s lawyer." 
 
 " Mr. Willoughby"'s lawyer ! What can he 
 write about ? Surely he cannot be impatient for 
 the principal of his debt. I thought the trustees 
 had arranged it all, as to the periods of pay- 
 ment." 
 
 " There is the letter, however," said I, assum-
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 185 
 
 ing a serious air: " read it, and discover its con- 
 tents." 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland tore the letter hastily open : 
 within the envelope was a note, enclosing a re- 
 ceipt for the whole amount of Cleveland's debt 
 to Willoughby. 
 
 " What can this mean ?'' exclaimed Mrs. Cleve- 
 land. " Who has done this ? and how can this 
 
 receipt have been procured ? Surely Horace 
 
 But no, it is impossible he could have paid the 
 money without my knowing it.'' 
 
 '' Horace knows no more of the matter than 
 yourself." 
 
 " Then who can have been our secret benefac- 
 tor ?'* — when suddenly, with the colour rising to 
 her cheeks and the tears in her eyes, she said, 
 " There is only one person who could have acted 
 the kind Samaritan's part so well ; — he who paid 
 my poor father's debts — who delivered Williams 
 from a prison, and now stands before me, must be 
 our too kind and constant benefactor !" 
 
 As she spoke, she caught me by the hand, which 
 she carried to her lips. Her husband and Francis 
 Cleveland came to us at the same moment ; and I
 
 186 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 saw by the happy countenance of the fonner, that 
 his brother had anticipated the information I had 
 to deliver. 
 
 " O Horace, we are no longer exiles, no lon- 
 ger in debt, no longer poor ! Behold and thank 
 your benefactor. But still, can we, ought we to 
 accept his bounty ?" 
 
 " If Mr. Morland will not be offended at the 
 proposition, I should suggest "" 
 
 " I know exactly what you would suggest,'' I 
 interrupted Cleveland : " you would talk of pay- 
 ment, and transfer Willoughby's account to me ; 
 — that cannot be, for I have given you> his receipt, 
 consequently the debt is cancelled between you ; 
 and as I never lent you any money, you can have 
 no debt with me. But if you are both too proud 
 to accept favours unrequited, I will tell you the 
 return you can make. I have the misfortune to 
 be a childless, and, 1 had almost said, friendless 
 old man, who, having survived many friends, 
 and nearly all his relations, with one solitary ex- 
 ception, has, by the bequests of the first, and the 
 course of law as to the last, added to his trou- 
 bles the misfortune of being rich. I stand 
 alone amidst my heaps of gold ; but alone T do
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 187 
 
 not wish to die. Some younger hand must close 
 my eyes, something more soothing to my feelings 
 must meet my fading sight than the face of mer- 
 cenaries or the chests containing my wealth. "For 
 the gold, therefore, that I give you, requite me 
 with your friendship. Let your home be my home, 
 your children my children, your people my people. 
 Grant this request, and I would willingly resign 
 all the gifts which fickle Fortune has been pleased 
 to heap, with a bounteous though tardy hand, on 
 one who for many years had known her only in 
 frowns — or more properly storms.'"* 
 
 " Generous, noble-minded man !" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Cleveland, " too happy shall I be if, in the 
 filial attention of Horace and myself, you can 
 receive any return for your kindness to us, Avho, 
 alas ! have not only your bounty to ourselves as 
 a weight of gratitude almost too great to repay, 
 but, in addition, have my father's." 
 
 " No more, I beg. As a first step towards 
 showing your wish to give me pleasure, let the 
 word gratitude never pass your lips again as re- 
 gards anything I have done for you ; which, after 
 all, is no great thing, did you know the simpli- 
 city of my habits, or the extent of my means.
 
 188 MRS. CLEVELAND. 
 
 As to having paid your father's debts after his 
 death — a secret I intended to have died with me — 
 why, he was the original benefactor. When he 
 landed in India, poor as he was, at that moment 
 I was still poorer, and he assisted me. I was 
 sick also, and he took care of me. A short 
 time afterwards, circumstances had arisen which 
 placed me in great affluence. I was then sepa- 
 rated from poor Clairfield, and when we again 
 met, it was too late for him to profit by my 
 wealth — he was dying ! Still I could sit by his 
 bed-side ; and when I received his last breath, 
 which he drew in these arms, he was comforted 
 by the assurance that I would discharge every 
 debt that he had in the world, and that his chil- 
 dren, if they required assistance, should find in 
 me a parent. I heard afterwards, through the 
 Governor of Madras, that poor Clairfield's only 
 remaining child had inherited a large fortune ; 
 and, satisfied with that intelligence, I at the 
 time made no further inquiries. Now, however, 
 I trust to having redeemed that promise ; though 
 I fear my original motive for so doing was not 
 the spirit of generosity, gratitude or charity, but 
 the spirit of — curiosity !"
 
 MRS. CLEVELAND. 189 
 
 Six years have elapsed since I wrote the above. 
 I am no longer in parliament. Willoughby suc- 
 ceeded me in representing the borough of Ash- 
 bridge ; therefore, some of my wealth continued 
 to flow, though indirectly, through the hands of 
 Messrs. Cash and Co. My time is chiefly passed 
 between my good cousin Kate's and the Cleve- 
 lands\ Though such things are deemed impos- 
 sible, I believe Horace Cleveland to be radically 
 cured of his passion for play. I believe it, because 
 he is rich and happy, and rendering all around 
 him the same ; which could not be the case did 
 the love and habit of play still exist in him ; for, 
 of those who play, few can be rich, whilst none 
 can be truly happy.
 
 THE ST. CLAIR S. 
 
 " La fortune fait paroitre nos vertus et nos vices comme 
 la lumiere fait paroitre les objets."
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 On the evening of the 13th of , 18—, 
 
 Captain William Crawford, after having looked to 
 the well-being of the remnant of his troop — sad 
 sjinbol of glory dearly purchased on the mom ! — 
 drew his cloak around him, and once more bent 
 his steps to the gory field. 
 
 Many a brave fellow who, but a few hours 
 before, had followed him to the charge, now lay 
 stiff and cold ! — others, with hearts still clinging 
 to a world in which all their hopes and joys had 
 centred, with bodies agonized by pain, and minds 
 distracted by surrounding scenes of blood — now 
 first beheld, yawning to receive them, that dread 
 eternity, till then so little thought of ! 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 To such, Crawford could only give a passing 
 sigh, and fervent prayer for their speedy release 
 from misery, as he passed on to the spot where his 
 devoted regiment had fought that morning, in 
 which regiment it seemed next to miraculous 
 that he and a few more should have survived. 
 It was a sickening sight around him ; but, as he 
 had seen such before, he came not to display his 
 sensibility, but humanity — not to moralize, but 
 to act — to assist the living, if such there were, 
 and not to weep for the dead. 
 
 " It was in heading the charge,"" said Crawford, 
 " that St. Clair fell. I saw his upraised arm sink 
 powerless by his side. I knew he was struck, for 
 in another moment his horse rushed across me 
 without a rider — it could not be far from hence."" 
 Crawford called aloud, in hope of some feeble 
 reply, " Edward St. Clair!"' — His voice echoed 
 awfully over the field of dead. Again he pro- 
 nounced the name of his friend — '' Edward St. 
 Clair ! — it is Crawford calls r This time his cry 
 was not unheeded, for a faint groan was heard, 
 and a feeble voice exclaimed, — " If a friendly 
 hand be near, give me a drop of water, for the 
 love of Heaven, to quench my parched lips.""
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 195 
 
 Crawford turned to the spot whence the voice 
 proceeded, and there beheld the countenance of 
 one with whom he was well acquainted. 
 
 " Poor Reynolds ! is it you ?" and approach- 
 ing him, he knelt by his side, and gently raised 
 his head. '' Who is it speaks ?" inquired the 
 wounded man. " It cannot be Captain St. 
 Clair r 
 
 " No, it is Crawford ;'"* and he moistened 
 the soldier'^s lips from the flask of brandy-and- 
 water he had the precaution to bring with 
 him. 
 
 " Thank you, sir,*" said the wounded man : 
 " but my own captain, where is he ? I saw the 
 ball strike his side — I shot the rascally French- 
 man ; but I was wounded myself in another mo- 
 ment. I tried to crawl where my officer lay ; 
 but it was beyond my strength. I cannot tell 
 why, but when I heard your voice, I thought it 
 was his ; — ^my head was confused, I suppose — it is 
 better now." 
 
 " You know then where St. Clair lies .^" de- 
 manded Crawford eagerly. 
 
 " It cannot be far from here," replied Rey- 
 nolds ; " he fell just by a single chestnut-tree — it 
 
 K 2
 
 196 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 is so dark, or my eyes are so dim, that I cannot 
 make it out." 
 
 " I see it well." 
 
 " Then pray, sir, take no thought of me ; look 
 after him, I beg." 
 
 "In a moment ; but first, my good fellow, I 
 must do what I can for your welfare." 
 
 ** You can do nothing for me but put me into 
 the earth. What use will life be to me, sir, 
 without my precious limb ! I know it must go, 
 even if your kindness saves my life." 
 
 " We will hope for the best, Reynolds. In 
 the mean time, be tranquil, whilst I go and seek 
 for my poor friend." 
 
 Having placed the wounded soldier in the posi- 
 tion most easy to his shattered leg, Crawford 
 hastened to the spot directed, where, beneath the 
 solitary chestnut-tree, withered and dying, like all 
 around from the combat of the morn, lay the 
 object of his search, pale and motionless, but life 
 still marked by a small, tremulous pulse. In 
 opening his dress to give him air, the blood oozed 
 slowly from the fatal wound in the chest. To 
 fan the faint embers of returning life, Crawford 
 had recourse to the slender means in his power ;
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 197 
 
 and the gentle pressure of his hand in recognition, 
 and as proof of returning life, gave hini a momen- 
 tary satisfaction almost amounting to joy. 
 
 St. Clair turned his heavy eyes towards his 
 friend, who ventured to address him with an in- 
 quiry as to his hurt. 
 
 " My hurt is to death,"' faintly said the dying 
 man. 
 
 "God forbid r 
 
 '« Rather, God's will be done !" 
 
 A pause ensued. St. Clair seemed gradually to 
 revive ; but Crawford's experience made him guess 
 too well, from the nature of the wound, that it 
 must be mortal. 
 
 " Is there anything I can do for you, St. 
 Clair.'* — have you an}i;hing to say? I promise 
 to obey your most minute wishes, and to do all in 
 my power for you, living or dead." 
 
 " You are very good." Then, after collecting 
 breath, he continued, " I have two poor boys in 
 England — orphans they soon will be — take them 
 to my brother St. Clair, when you return home, 
 and ask him to be kind to them for my sake ; 
 implore him to befriend them — to look after their 
 morals and education, and to protect the little
 
 198 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 fortune they possess. I do not doubt his affec- 
 tion to myself; but my dying wishes must find 
 a passage to his heart for my poor children, if 
 they could not have reached it otherwise. There 
 are others of the family to whom I could wish to 
 recommend them ; for, without parents, they can- 
 not have too many friends : but I doubt not 
 their love, for my sake — we were ever an attach- 
 ed family." 
 
 Poor St. Clair ceased. Crawford promised to 
 fulfil all hia desires, and added — " Humble as 
 I am compared to those you name, yet if they 
 all desert them, so will not I ; if others fail them, 
 my means shall be their means, my home shall 
 be their home." 
 
 " They cannot fail," sighed St. Clair,—" they 
 cannot desert their own blood : but if they do," 
 he added with renewed energy, " may you be- 
 friend them, and may your reward be all the love, 
 duty, and gratitude that generous natures are ca- 
 pable of, and of which others will be undeserving. 
 
 You can tell them how I died and if 
 
 their profession be that of arms, tell them " 
 
 here St. Clair's voice became thick. Crawford 
 pressed his friend's hand to his breast as he mur-
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 199 
 
 mured in his dying ear — " I will tell them to 
 be all their father was before them ; to unite, 
 like him, the bravery of a soldier to the tender- 
 ness of a woman ; that, living, they may be equal- 
 ly beloved, and, dying, as sincerely mourned." 
 Crawford ceased. No answer was returned — the 
 noble spirit had flown to Him who gave it ! 
 
 Captain St. Clair was buried with military ho- 
 nours, by the side of his brave companions. Rey- 
 nolds, surviving the amputation of his leg, was 
 sent home. 
 
 Too soon for his professional tastes, was Craw- 
 ford enabled to fulfil his friend's wishes. Whilst 
 the skeleton of his regiment remained on the 
 coast for reinforcements, he himself was ordered 
 to join the depot in England. As an indi- 
 vidual, it was a cruel ending to a brilliant cam- 
 paign; and Crawford could hardly help feel- 
 ing as if disgraced, when he bade farewell 
 to his comrades, and bent his solitary steps to- 
 wards home. Most bitterly did he curse the 
 cowardice of our allies, to whom the destruction 
 of his gallant regiment was owing. With the 
 wealth of England lavished on their persons, in 
 the shape of clothing, arms, and food, — in a cause
 
 200 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 which was their own, and on their native soil, — 
 did these chivalrous and high-spirited people* 
 throw down their maiden swords and fly ! leav- 
 ing the regiment they were to support to defend 
 a post against thrice their numbers. They did 
 defend it — but at what price has been already 
 shown ! The conduct of the Spaniards was 
 glossed over, and a hint given to Crawford to be 
 more measured in the abuse which, in vengeance 
 for those who had fallen, he hurled upon the 
 Spanish nation in every society he entered, and 
 most particularly on one individual, who, in his 
 willingness to die many times before his death 
 rather than meet the fate of the truly brave, 
 had been the first to flee. 
 
 Immediately on his landing in England, Craw- 
 ford wrote to Lord St. Clair, to whom the event 
 of his brother's death was already known, giving 
 the particulars of his last moments, and express- 
 ing his own desire to fulfil his friend's wishes 
 by presenting to him his orphan nephews in per- 
 son. A very amiable letter was returned by Lord 
 St. Clair. He expressed much hind feeling both as 
 regarded the deceased and his children, whom he 
 should ever look upon in the light of sons. He 
 * Vide all the newspapers of the day.
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 201 
 
 was, at the present writing, at his house in the 
 country for the approaching holidays ; and if 
 Captain Crawford would do him the honour to 
 pay him a visit and accompany his nephews, he 
 should be most happy to have the opportunity 
 of forming his acquaintance. In short, the letter 
 was a very pleasing performance ; it quite satis- 
 fied Crawford ; and, before he had half read the 
 complimentary expressions with which it con- 
 cluded, he had ordered a chaise, and in less than 
 a quarter of an hour was on his road to Twicken- 
 ham, where the boys were at school. 
 
 The St. Clairs were a handsome race, and 
 Edward''s wife had been a lovely woman. When, 
 therefore, the master of the school pointed out 
 as their children the two best-looking boys of 
 about twenty others in the play-ground, he only 
 confirmed a fact which Crawford had previously 
 arranged in his own mind to be the case. 
 
 The master having introduced Crawford to 
 them as their father's friend, a shade of feeling 
 immediately overcast the brow of each boy at 
 the announcement. 
 
 " You remember your father, do you not, 
 my little men ?"' inquired Crawford. 
 
 K 5
 
 202 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 " Oil yes !" replied the boys ; " we remember 
 him well, and poor dear mamma too ;" the tears 
 filling their eyes as they spoke at the thought of 
 their mother's never-to-be-forgotten kindness. She 
 had been dead about a year ; and the impression 
 of her tenderness from their cradles to her grave 
 was too indeliblygrafted on their affectionate minds 
 to be ever effaced. Their father they had compa- 
 ratively known little of ; he had been long absent 
 at the time of his death ; their love for him was 
 consequently more in obedience to their mother's 
 desires than from their own knowledge. 
 
 " You are good boys, I am quite sure,'** said 
 Crawford kindly, " and well deserve the indulgence 
 I am about to ask for you, namely, to be allowed to 
 anticipate the period of your holidays a short time, 
 and to carry you with me to your uncle Lord St. 
 Clair's, where in future your home will be." 
 
 Smiles at the announcement of holidays soon 
 chased the tears from their eyes ; and when they 
 were further informed that the carriage actually 
 waited to convey them away, they made but one 
 spring from the play-ground into the house, there 
 to make their preparations and announce the 
 news.
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 203 
 
 The schoolmaster followed them with his eye, 
 and then turning to Crawford, said, '' Such is the 
 thoughtlessness of youth, — they rejoice in quitting 
 an old, indolent, indulgent tutor such as I am, 
 to encounter far more severe, though perhaps 
 instructive taskmasters. Change ! fhe love of 
 change is inherent in our natures, till age and ex- 
 perience teach the bitter lesson, which as a proverb 
 and a copy are usually inculcated in vain — 'the 
 going further and faring worse." 
 
 Captain Crawford was a man fonned to ingrati- 
 ate himself with children ; and the youths having 
 listened with the deepest interest, and more feel- 
 ing than Crawford had expected to arouse, to the 
 details of their father's death, during the early 
 part of their journey, were cheered the remainder 
 by less touching details of military life, which, to 
 confess the truth, were as agreeable to the captain 
 to relate as to the boys to hear. In this man- 
 ner they travelled on with mutual satisfaction to 
 St. Clair Abbey. 
 
 Edward and Arthur St. Clair were at this pe- 
 riod nine and ten years of age. They were hand- 
 some, as it has been already observed, with what 
 does not always accompany beauty, and will some-
 
 S04 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 times even attach itself to ugliness — the bearing 
 and stamp of gentle blood. A person may be 
 intrinsically good without being so distinguished, 
 and intrinsically bad though so favoured. Yet 
 still the absence of vulgarity is a blessing on na- 
 ture's part not to be despised, and as precious, 
 both as regards person and mind, as its possession 
 is unfortunate to those who are doomed its victims. 
 In other respects the boys appeared to Crawford, 
 as far as his study of a day went, to be amiable, with 
 some intelligence and a great deal of ignorance; they 
 had no vanity nor ill nature, though sufficiently 
 fond of recounting their own exploits, and not dis- 
 inclined to mingle them with the disasters of their 
 companions. His interest in his young friends 
 hourly increased ; so much so, that when they 
 found themselves at the close of their journey in 
 a splendid drive through noble woods, a part of 
 the St. Clair Abbey domain, he abruptly demand- 
 ed of the boys what family their uncle had ? 
 
 " Three," was the reply. 
 
 " All boys, I would lay my life." 
 
 '' Oh no — girls — that is, two arc girls, and the 
 baby." 
 
 " And what is the baby ?"
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 205 
 
 Neither of the boys knew ; they could only 
 tell it wore a blue sash, it was a very nice little 
 thing, and it was made a great fuss with. 
 
 " A young heir, I would take my oath," said 
 Crawford. 
 
 " Very likely," answered the boys, without in 
 the least knowing what a heir meant. 
 
 After various sweeps, and turns, and hills, and 
 dales, and three times traversinof a meanderinfr 
 stream, first by a rustic, secondly by a Gothic, 
 and thirdly by a Grecian bridge, the travellers 
 stood by the door of what was anciently an abbey, 
 now a respectable and extensive pile of stones, 
 with nothing of Gothic to be discovered except in 
 the pointed arches of the French windows, ex- 
 tending along one of the fronts, which opened 
 upon a terrace-walk. The carriage drew up op- 
 posite a flight of steps leading to a glass door, 
 through which appeared a large fire, giving warmth 
 and light in a huge fireplace surmounted by a pair 
 of gigantic stag's horns. The scene was in due time 
 further enlivened by the appearance of a liveried 
 servant, who, with measured tread, crossed the 
 hall, and descending the steps, proceeded to open 
 the chaise -door, and give the strangers welcome.
 
 206 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 When once in the house, it seemed to Craw- 
 ford that there was no end to the apartments they 
 traversed ere they reached that destined for their 
 reception. However, having left behind a library, 
 billiard-room, print-room, and nondescript par- 
 lour, the servant made his bow and closed the 
 door upon the travellers, in a gallery sixty feet by 
 thirty, the furthest extremity opening into a con- 
 servatory ; in which spacious apartment it was ne- 
 cessary to cast a searching look around, in order 
 to ascertain that they were the only living crea- 
 tures therein. 
 
 Crawford drew near the fire, muttering some- 
 thing about ostentation. The boys crept close to 
 him, rather intimidated by the splendour, space, 
 and silence around. 
 
 In the course of time. Lord St. Clair appeared. 
 He was a fine-looking man, in the prime of life. 
 His task was easy to perform, and he did it well, 
 as was usually the case with his lordship with re- 
 gard to the ceremonies of life, which comprised 
 the greater part of his actions ; for to him every- 
 thing was a matter of form : he could not, there- 
 fore, be otherwise than perfect in the part. He 
 extended both hands to each of his nephews in
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 207 
 
 turn, and gave a prolonged shake, with his head 
 slightly bent forwards. To Crawford he gave only 
 one hand; his head was thrown further back, and the 
 shake was of short duration. He expressed, how- 
 ever, the utmost pleasure in making Captain Craw- 
 ford''s acquaintance ; stated his intention of doing 
 everything in his power for his orphan nephews ; 
 his sorrow that their mutual loss should require 
 such fatherly protection ; his hope that they were 
 not fatigued ; that if hungry they would command 
 refreshment ; that they would not huny their 
 toilets, but that the dinner-hour was nearly ar- 
 rived, and Lady St. Clair retii-ed to dress. The 
 conclusion of the whole discourse was the most wel- 
 come to his hearers; namely, that the late melan- 
 choly event had closed his doors upon all strangers 
 for the present ; they were merely a family party, 
 amongst whom, however, was an acquaintance of 
 his nephews, a youth bearing the same affinity to 
 himself, Ernest St. Clair, their cousin. His lord- 
 ship also added, turning to Crawford, " I trust 
 you will not feel yourself quite isolated amongst 
 us, as one of your profession, a relation of Lady 
 St. Clair's, is now here." 
 
 With this parting information Lord St. Clair
 
 208 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 retired, making way for the groom of the cham- 
 bers, who escorted the guests to the rooms pre- 
 pared for them. 
 
 The gallery was a splendid apartment, and 
 when, on re-entering it before dinner, its fine pro- 
 portions and costly furniture, no longer obscured 
 by a fickle blazing fire mingled with the dull twi- 
 light, were displayed to the utmost advantage 
 by numerous brilliant lamps, Crawford thought 
 he had never seen so beautiful an apartment 
 before. For a moment he paused in admiring 
 astonishment: the next, a far greater surprise 
 met his eye — the large company therein as- 
 sembled ! A very sufficient reason for a family 
 party existed, and Crawford had taken it for 
 granted that, by family. Lord St. Clair equally 
 meant to describe small, — a most egregious error 
 on the stranger'*s part. For an instant he imagin- 
 ed he was in a dream, as the nodding plumes and 
 jewels — in short, all the paraphernalia of gr ancle 
 toilette — met his view on the persons of at least a 
 dozen females, many of whom, to be sure, were 
 in black ; but in the dress of an elderly lady, 
 with three grenadier-looking daughters, every co- 
 lour of the rainbow seemed to vie for preeminence.
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 209 
 
 Crawford was really alarmed, and for once hesi- 
 tated to advance : happily, Lord St. Clair came to 
 his aid, and begging to make him known to the 
 company, led him forwards ; first to Lady St. Clair, 
 which ceremony perfonned, he swept rapidly over 
 the rest of the society ; who consisted of the Comi- 
 tess of Denmark and her three daughters, the mo- 
 ther and sisters of Lady St. Clair ; a whole family 
 of Egertons, distant relations of the St. Clairs, 
 in honour of which blood each young lady had 
 a black sash and black necklace for their cousm 
 Edward : Mr. William St. Clair, Lord St. Clair's 
 brother; another brother, a prebendary in the 
 church, with his wife, a pale-faced son, Ernest, and 
 a pale-faced daughter, Anne ; Lord St. Clair's two 
 sisters, Mrs. Willis and Miss St. Clair, with Mrs. 
 Willis's companion Miss Croak ; Sir George and 
 Lady Carey, his cousins ; an uncle of Lady St. 
 Clair, and his pet bull-dog ; three cousins, in the 
 shape of Colonel A — , Mr. B — , and Sir Francis 
 C — ; who, with the chaplain, the governess, and 
 two or three odd men, " always there in the shoot- 
 ing season," formed the aggregate amount of this 
 " family party !" 
 
 By the time dinner was announced, Crawford
 
 SIO THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 in some measure understood his company. Then 
 ensued a long filing-ofF of the ladies and their 
 respective beaux; old, young, and middle-aged 
 walked forth as they best might to partake of the 
 anxiously-expected dinner, the rear being brought 
 up by Lady St. Clair, supported by Crawford, 
 who, as the stranger, was appointed to the post of 
 honour. 
 
 At dinner, general conversation was impossible, 
 and private discourse apparently not much the 
 order of the day. Excepting, therefore, a giggling 
 whisper between the two boys and their pale-faced 
 cousins, nothing was heard but the noise which 
 appertains to the business of eating, with occa- 
 sional sounds of — " May I have the honour of 
 drinking a glass of wine ?" — or, " Colonel, a glass 
 of wine?*" — or, " Will your ladyship do me the 
 pleasure?" — or, "St. Clair, champagne?'' — or 
 the more humble and laboured address of the 
 chaplain to one of the young ladies, " Miss Julia, 
 may I be permitted to prescribe a little excess in 
 a glass of exhilarating champagne ?" 
 
 With the dessert conversation flourished rather 
 more. Lady St. Clair grew somewhat animated 
 upon the subject of the culture of pines, address-
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 211 
 
 ing herself to Crawford ; Lord St. Clair became 
 eloquent on the subject of mangel-wurzel, ad- 
 dressing himself to the company. In due time 
 the ladies withdrew ; in half an hour the gen- 
 tlemen followed. Coffee was drunk; cards and 
 billiards ensued. At ten o'clock the boys were 
 sent to bed, after being severally embraced by all 
 their relations ; and at half-past eleven, Crawford, 
 in a less public manner, thought himself at liberty 
 to follow their steps, and, retiring to his chamber, 
 sank to rest beneath a canopy of blue silk, with a 
 confused notion hovering in his mind, that of all 
 the dull evenings he had ever spent, the one just 
 concluded was the dullest. He had not come to 
 any decided conclusion as to where the fault lay, 
 •whether it was in himself or others : — if with the 
 latter, the misfortune was incurable ; but if the 
 blame rested with himself, better acquaintance 
 might improve matters, and therefore he would 
 endure twenty-four hours more ere he gave up the 
 cause in despair. With this resolve he went to 
 sleep, and with this resolve he arose on the fol- 
 lowing morning.
 
 212 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Not only twenty-four hours, but thrice twenty- 
 four hours did Crawford remain as guest at St. 
 Clair Abbey. Not that his pleasure in the society 
 increased ; but he was induced so to do in order to 
 ascertain the fact as to the well-being of his two 
 proteges^ Edward and Arthur St. Clair. As far 
 as worldly good went, the scrutiny on this point 
 was favourable, — the whole family seemed to be 
 actuated by a spirit of rivalry as to which should 
 most befriend the orphan boys. Their home in 
 future was to be with Lord St. Clair, and their 
 place of education Eton ; but all their uncles and 
 aunts put in a claim for some share of the " dear'' 
 boys' holidays ; and Mrs. Willis was so peremp- 
 tory, that for the ensuing Easter vacation they 
 were to be resigned to her. She was rich, a 
 widow, and childless; so no one dared gainsay her 
 desire. In the mean while they were overwhelmed
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 213 
 
 with presents and surfeited by amusement ; their 
 beauty was a constant theme of discourse, and all 
 their homely sayings were recorded as wit ; and 
 but for the prospect of those distant spires which 
 Gray has so beautifully commemorated, Crawford 
 would have thought it a duty to his departed 
 friend, to save his children from the ruin of in- 
 dulgence, rather than that of neglect ; and this 
 feeling induced him one evening to hint as much 
 to Miss St. Clair. This lady was the only per- 
 son of the family with whom his acquaintance 
 had not remained stationary after the first introduc- 
 tion. She had originally attracted his notice, 
 by reason of her being the only one of all his 
 relations from whose eyes tears had fallen when 
 her brother Edward's death was reverted to. 
 This solitary instance of feeling drew Crawford 
 instantly towards her, with the wish of knowing 
 more of one whose heart seemed still to retain 
 some tenderness for him who, to the rest of the 
 family, was as if he had never been : to her, in 
 consequence, he imparted his fears of the boys' being 
 spoiled by the lavish kindness of their relations. 
 
 Miss St. Clair raised her eyes slowly from her 
 work at the conclusion of Crawford's address, and
 
 214 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 directing them with deliberation to where the boys 
 were engaged in a noisy round game of cards, 
 said, — " It seems they are the fashion. Well, 
 do not grudge them their present enjoyment — 
 happiness is short-lived. I remember when their 
 father was just as great an object of import- 
 ance !" 
 
 " Indeed ! that is the best defence possible of 
 the system with regard to them. If they resemble 
 their father, it is all I desire ; and if they are only 
 treading in his steps, I shall have no alarm — it 
 must turn to good," 
 
 " What good?" demanded Miss St. Clair in a 
 manner almost to startle by its abruptness. 
 
 '' What good !" replied Crawford, half smiling 
 at her question. " Why, the good which is pro- 
 duced by being generous, manly, high-spirited, and 
 friendly ; beloved during life, and lamented after 
 death !" 
 
 " Lamented after death !" and Miss St. Clair 
 fixed her large dark eyes on Crawford's fiice with 
 an expression he could not mistake ; and then, 
 before they regained her work, she moved them 
 in slow and grave survey around the company. 
 " Who laments him .^^ Crawford was silent.
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. SI 5 
 
 Mi3S St. Clair continued : ''' You know as well as 
 myself, that Edward is as much forgotten in this, 
 the abode of his family, as though he had never 
 existed.'"* 
 
 " No, I do not know it !" answered Crawford 
 half angrily; for there was a bitterness in her 
 manner, totally at variance with the tone of his 
 feelings. 
 
 " Then, if you have not made the discovery, 
 you are short-sighted indeed, and are to be envied 
 for your want of that discernment which, after all, 
 is a gift less productive of pleasure than pain to 
 its possessor." Miss St. Clair ceased, as if she 
 cared not to continue the discourse : Crawford, 
 however, replied, 
 
 " I would certainly rather see the bright side of 
 human nature than the dark, and would there- 
 fore much more willingly conclude, that the appa- 
 rent indiiference to the memory of my poor com- 
 rade arises more from the sacrifice necessary to the 
 forms of society, than from want of feeling or 
 natural affection."" 
 
 Miss St. Clair's lip quivered. '* You are too 
 good for us," she said, affecting to speak lightly 
 in order to conceal the emotion she felt :
 
 216 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 " the St. Clairs are cold as the ice on Alpine 
 steeps." 
 
 " Edward was not cold, — you are not cold." 
 
 " Edward was an exception." 
 
 " And are not you also ? supposing even your 
 harsh judgment of the rest of the family to be 
 correct." 
 
 " Harsh judgment ! — supposing !" said Miss 
 St. Clair almost wildly ; " do I not know them ? 
 In them, pride and the love of wealth and power 
 usurp the whole dominion of their hearts. In 
 such, no place can be found for any one feeling 
 that does not minister to their predominant pas- 
 sions. Self is their idol ; and the selfish have 
 no affections, no feelings, no heart ; and the St. 
 
 Clairs are a cold, proud " 
 
 " Hospitable race," interrupted Crawford, 
 smiling : " let me say one good word for them." 
 
 " If you like to apply that term to ostentation 
 and hatred of solitude, you are welcome. But our 
 tete-a-tete may attract hearers, so we had better 
 cease ; and my assistance is wanted at the tea- 
 table. You appear horror-stricken at all I have 
 said : if you give credit to my words, you will 
 be under no alarm at the over-indulgence of the
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 217 
 
 St. Clairs towards those two boys. Believe me, 
 the hearts now so apparently devoted to them 
 would not weigh one ounce the heavier if to- 
 morrow's sun were to rise on their graves." 
 
 Crawford shuddered. Miss St. Clair moved 
 towards the tea-table ; and, for the next hour, 
 was employed in distributing that beverage, with 
 an air that might have poisoned the refreshment 
 she solicited the guests to partake of. 
 
 For once Crawford spent a sleepless night. 
 Miss St. Clair's harsh manner and bitter words 
 haunted his usually placid mind. With the early 
 dawn he arose , and, profiting by the fineness of 
 the morning, determined to shake off, by a walk, 
 the disagreeable impression which the conversa- 
 tion of the previous evening had left. As he 
 traversed the hall, he met the chaplain, who, find- 
 ing out his object, offered himself as a compa- 
 nion. Accordingly they sallied forth together. 
 They talked as men talk — of game, hunting, and 
 such like rural and English topics, for some 
 time ; when, as Crawford wished, the conversation 
 turned upon the St. Clairs. The politic chap- 
 lain lauded them up to the skies. The flattery 
 was, however, a little too ob\ious to be a decided 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 contradiction to Miss St. Clair's opinions. Craw- 
 ford praised their appearance ; but observed, that 
 the ladies of tlie family had not such good rea- 
 son to be grateful for the favours of nature as 
 the gentlemen. Mrs. Willis was decidedly plain ; 
 and Miss St. Clair's eyes, though fine, were so 
 little in keeping with the rest of her appearance, 
 as to be rather disadvantageous than otherwise. 
 
 " And yet," said the chaplain, " Miss St. 
 Clair's eyes were once but little thought of, in 
 comparison with her form and features." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " Ay, and she was as gay as a lark too." 
 
 " That is still more extraordinary; for I never 
 saw a face in which melancholy and gravity — I 
 might add severity, are now more strongly de- 
 picted." 
 
 " Very true, sir, very true ; yet I can remem- 
 ber when her presence inspired universal joy, and 
 when every youth in the neighbourhood was in 
 love with her." 
 
 " How comes it, then, she is not married .^" 
 
 " Oh, Lord, sir ! she might have married fast 
 enough ; but she fell in love — it was a sad story 
 — with a young man who was tutor to her eldest
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 219 
 
 brother. They secretly corresponded, and when 
 of age she was resolved to marry him. The aiFair 
 was discovered or suspected; and, whilst they 
 were both from home, their writing-cases were 
 broken open ; and, sure enough, there were proofs 
 sufficient of their engagements in volimies of let- 
 ters. Egerton never set foot in the house again, 
 as you may well imagine, and she was sent to a 
 relation in Scotland. I lost sight of her for se" 
 veral years ; but, when I again saw her, she was 
 completely an altered being — her beauty and 
 spirits fled !" 
 
 ^' Poor thing !" observed Crawford ; " her early 
 disappointment is an excuse for the bitterness of 
 her present remarks. What became of her 
 lover?" 
 
 '' Oh, poor fellow ! he returned to college, to 
 read hard, in hopes of obtaining some honours, 
 to render him worthy of her he loved, if, at the 
 death of her father, she still remained constant. 
 His efforts were fruitless, and only accelerated a 
 consumptive tendency to which he was always 
 inclined. He died, — some people say, however, 
 not before a stolen visit to Scotland, when he 
 and Miss St. Clair were secretly united. Be it as 
 
 L 2
 
 220 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 it may, the conduct of her family, (though they 
 acted as people of rank should,) and the death 
 of her lover, which she never scrupled to lay at 
 their door, broke her spirit completely. She ge- 
 nerally spends a few weeks here every year ; but 
 her home is in Scotland, where she lives very 
 retired, associating only with two or three per- 
 sons, the remnants of the old puritanical race, 
 whose doctrines she seems to have imbibed, if 
 I may judge from the animadversions she fre- 
 quently indulges in with regard to my perform- 
 ance on Sundays and festivals, which she makes 
 free to consider as far too lenient and concilia- 
 tory. 
 
 Crawford was better satisfied after this conver- 
 sation. Miss St. Clair'*s severity was accounted 
 for ; and he trusted that she judged through the 
 medium of her own sombre mind, and not as 
 the St. Clairs deserved to be decided upon. 
 After all, she might be either right or wrong; 
 but, of his own feelings towards them, Crawford 
 could be under no mistake. They bored him, 
 and he did not suit them. As to the colonel, 
 the person of the society whom Lord St. Clair 
 had particularly selected for his notice, he was,
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 221 
 
 of all people in the world, a man most repug- 
 nant to Crawford"'s feelings as a companion or 
 comrade. A colonel younger than himself, who 
 had never seen a shot fired, was enough to taint 
 with disgrace a whole society by his presence ; 
 and Crawford was thankful to the size of the 
 party, which enabled him to avoid all immediate 
 intercourse with so discreditable a personage ; 
 who, however, to do him justice, was equally 
 harmless in the cabinet as the field : his very ex- 
 istence might, indeed, have been forgotten, but 
 for an occasional snore, which, bursting firom the 
 depth of an arm-chair by the fire side, called 
 forth a responsive growl from the bull-dog in the 
 corresponding seat opposite. This growl and 
 snore over, the colonel fell back into his custom- 
 ary insignificance. 
 
 The day of Crawford's departure, he sought 
 his two young friends, to take leave and gently 
 insinuate some parting admonitions. The boys 
 clung to him with an affection that showed they 
 were as yet unspoiled by prosperity. 
 
 " Why do you go ? Do you not like being 
 here ? I thought you would have remained all 
 the holidays. I know my uncle expected it. Do
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 not you like him ? Is he not good-natured ?" 
 uttered both the boys. 
 
 " He is the best uncle I ever saw," replied 
 Crawford ; " but he will spoil you." 
 
 " Oh, no ! that is impossible." 
 
 " Very well ; be it so ; so much the better. 
 But remember one thing : spite of all your pre- 
 sent enjoyments, you are only two poor orphan 
 boys ; when you are men, you must earn your 
 bread, just like your poor father and the rest 
 of us." The boys looked incredulous. " You do 
 not believe me ?" 
 
 " Yes, we do ; but we have now much more 
 money than cousin Ernest, and " 
 
 " Well, well, I hope you may always be as 
 well off. But let me tell you, the possession of 
 wealth is nothing — it is the use to which it is 
 applied. The poor man who, out of five shil- 
 lings, gives away one to a more distressed being 
 than himself, is far more noble and far superior 
 to him who spends on himself forty-nine shillings 
 out of fifty. So, beware of selfishness.'''' And 
 Crawford, actuated perhaps a little by his con- 
 versation with Miss St. Clair, spoke more sternly 
 than was his wont. The boys, evidently struck
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 223 
 
 by his manner, answered earnestly, " We will 
 indeed." 
 
 " Poor children ! it will be for your o^n good 
 in the end/' 
 
 " And for others too, I hope," answered Ed- 
 ward. " Do not think us forgetful or cold-hearted ; 
 for all the money our uncles and aunts have given 
 us has not been spent upon ourselves, as you will 
 find, I am afraid, when you get into the carriage ; 
 and possibly you may then wish we had not been 
 so generous." 
 
 " How so ?" 
 
 " Shall I teU, Arthur ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but pray. Captain Crawford, do not be 
 angry at our crowding your carriage." 
 
 " Well then," continued Edwai'd, " you will 
 find a large parcel in it ; somehow the things 
 would not get into a smaller one, and they are 
 some presents for our old schoolmaster, his sister, 
 and our schoolfellows. We had no time to ^vish 
 them good-bye ; and so we thought they might 
 think it unkind, as we shall not go back to that 
 school any more. When we were there, most of 
 the boys had, more money than ourselves, and used 
 to share their playthings with Arthur and me ; and
 
 224 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 their friends used to give us money sometimes, and 
 Mrs. Willes never went to London without bring- 
 ing us back a great quantity of gingerbread nuts ; 
 so " 
 
 " My dear good boys," interrupted Crawford, 
 his eye glistening with pleasure, ''make no excuses 
 for what I am charmed with you for doing. If the 
 carriage were loaded to suffocation, I would not 
 blame you. Continue to have the same grateful 
 spirit and desire to oblige, and you will be blessed 
 yourself, and a blessing to others. God protect 
 you !" 
 
 Crawford departed. Excepting the boys, no one 
 experienced any regret ; and to Lady St. Clair his 
 absence was rather a relief — it placed Sir Frederick 
 by her side at dinner, a person much more to 
 her taste. Crawford had never praised anything 
 but the baby — a lovely little girl of four years 
 old, who appeared daily with the fruit. Sir Frede- 
 rick was a far more general admirer, and, in a 
 smooth stream of oily superlatives, could overflow 
 her mind of vacuity to a state of positive enchant- 
 ment. Most fortunate, therefore, was Lady St. 
 Clair in such a neighbour ; for, vain of everything 
 she possessed, she was equally greedy of admiration
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 220 
 
 as regarded the meanest or the most noble of 
 her concerns : the burning of her wax-candles, 
 or the mental lights which ornamented the li- 
 brary shelves ; the abbey, or the abbey smoke- 
 jack ; the stables, or the stables'* hayloft, — all 
 were open to encomiums in her eyes; not to 
 proffer which, as in Crawford's case, was as 
 great a dereliction on the score of propriety in 
 her ladyship's ideas, as the approaching majesty 
 without removing one's hat, or the knight's lady 
 contriving to shuffle in to dinner before the lady 
 of a knight of the garter. 
 
 Mis's St. Clair saw Crawford depart from her 
 window. She had once meditated descending to 
 wish him good-bye. "It is as well as it is," she 
 said, turning from the window as he drove away, 
 and casting her eyes on the mirror opposite. "The 
 adieu of a soured old maid he will think himself 
 lucky to have escaped : the pressure of this 
 skeleton hand can impart nothing but disgust." 
 
 L O
 
 226 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 About fourteen years after the events alluded 
 to in our last chapter, a lovely girl was seated at 
 her toilette table in a pleasant apartment, neatly 
 furnished with a lively chintz. A smart looking 
 abigail stood behind her, occupied in twisting to 
 some fanciful form a profusion of dark brown 
 hair, whilst the lady herself was employed in the 
 contemplation of a delicious bouquet which had 
 been just delivered to her with — " Edward St. 
 Claires love." 
 
 " He is returned, and perhaps may be at the 
 ball — and will dance with me," thought Ellen. 
 
 •• The ball was brilliant, and Ellen St. Clair's 
 hand was sought for by all the most fashionable 
 of the day; but never granted without a lingering, 
 longing look towards the door of the apartment, in 
 hopes of seeing him whom to have danced with 
 once she would willingly have sat still the whole
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 2^7 
 
 remainder of the evening : but he came not. 
 Ellen danced languidly, her conversation was ab- 
 sent, and she returned home to pronounce the 
 ball dull, and to wonder why " Cousin Edward" 
 chose to stay away. Cousin Edward explained 
 the reason very satisfactorily the next day — he 
 had not been asked. This little elucidation took 
 place in the park when Edward St. Clair attended 
 Ellen and Lord St. Clair on horseback. 
 
 " Now St. Clair is come back," said Lord 
 Marston, regarding Edward and his cousin as they 
 cantered by, "it is vain to think of approaching 
 Ellen : there he is, always at her bridle rein, and 
 the little thing blushing and laughing every se- 
 cond at the soft nothings he is whispering in her 
 ear. I wonder how it will end." 
 
 '^ End !" said Mr. Orde, who was standing by, 
 and chose to consider the speech addressed to him- 
 self, though in fact Lord Marston was only solilo- 
 quising aloud, — " End ! Why, in soft nothings : 
 how should it end otherwise P^' 
 
 " You do not think, then, that Ellen likes her 
 cousin ?" inquired Lord Marston, turning towards 
 Mr. Orde. 
 
 " She ! nonsense ! What is Edward ? — alawver
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 — clever, no doubt, but poor and untitled ; and she 
 the prettiest girl in London. That he loves her 
 is evident — and so do others ;" (Lord Marston 
 coloured;) "she only plays with his passion, be 
 assured." 
 
 " Yet she encourages no one else," observed 
 Lord Marston. 
 
 " That your lordship may be a better judge of 
 than myself — I never made love to her. But 
 believe me," and Orde raised his voice to an 
 indisputable pitch, " Ellen does not intend 
 to make a less good marriage than her sisters. 
 When she flies along in Lady Conway's splendid 
 equipage, with the roses in her bonnet dancing 
 perpetually as she bends her pretty little head to 
 everybody she meets, she is only rehearsing the 
 part she will some day play in a similar carriage of 
 her own. And only observe her little consequential 
 manner in her mother's opera-box with Prince 
 
 A by her side! My good Marston, if she 
 
 does encourage Edward, it is mere child's play ; 
 and I lay my life he is not deceived : that it is 
 all outward show, he is well aware." 
 
 At that moment the subjects of their discourse 
 rode by. Edward's horse made a violent plunge :
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 229 
 
 it was only the affair of a moment; but in that mo- 
 ment a scream was heard from Ellen, and she 
 turned pale as death. The next instant a deep 
 blush had succeeded to the alarm she had betrayed, 
 and which the occasion did not in the least justify. 
 Edward was completely master of his horse, and 
 would hardly have noticed the plunge he gave, 
 but for the interest it excited in Ellen, which she 
 attempted to laugh off, not daring to encounter 
 the gratitude sparkling in return from Edward's 
 eyes. All this was well observed by Lord Mars- 
 ton, and he turned with a dejected air towards his 
 companion ; but Orde had moved away : with a 
 heavy sigh, therefore, he guided his horse in an 
 opposite direction to that of the St. Clairs. 
 
 For above the space of six months Lord Mars- 
 ton had admired Ellen greatly ; and his admiration 
 only required some admiration from the lady her- 
 self in return to be warmed into fervent love. 
 But well did Lord Marston know, though he 
 dined twice a week at her father's, and met her 
 every evening in society, that Ellen's behaviour 
 to him was merely the well-bred ease of a good- 
 natured girl, perfectly compatible with absolute 
 indifference ; and that his assiduities would have
 
 280 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 long died away but for Lord and Lady St. Clair, 
 to whom they were not so devoid of value as in 
 their daughter'^s eyes. For the last month, Ed- 
 ward''s absence on the circuits had cleared the 
 field of a formidable rival ; at least so thought 
 Lord Marston, — and love is quick-sighted. Poor 
 Edward was clever, and though untitled, of the 
 same blood as herself : he w^as a favourite of her 
 father, and moreover very handsome. Lord Mars- 
 ton sighed as these reflections passed his mind. 
 
 To be sure, oi revanche^ he himself was an earl, 
 and his income fifteen thousand a year ! But he 
 was not handsome, and he was forty: and his forty 
 years' experience told him that, at eighteen, w^ealth 
 is considered of no moment, beauty of some im- 
 portance, and, alas ! title a matter of indifference. 
 
 The meditative mood in which Lord Marston 
 pursued his ride was not lost upon a certain Mr. 
 Conyers, who, putting his horse into a trot, soon 
 joined his lordship. Mr. Conyers was extreme- 
 ly intimate with the St. Clairs, and suspected 
 Lord Marston''s attachment. He was not a man 
 of iron feelings, and would therefore rather do a 
 kindness than not ; so, as an act of charity, he 
 determined to give him a hint that his love was
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 231 
 
 hopeless, and with that benevolent intent reined 
 up his horse by his side. To begin at once on 
 the subject would have been to fail in good- 
 breeding and tact, so by a circuitous route he 
 gained the desired end. Hunting was his first 
 theme ; that led to shooting ; shooting produced 
 the preserves at St. Clair Abbey. The transition 
 was easy then from the woods to the drawing- 
 room, from the covey in the field to the family in 
 the house. 
 
 " Ellen is a lovely child — perhaps not so 
 handsome as Lady Conway, but very pretty ; 
 and Edward St. Clair is a very lucky dog to 
 have such a wife in prospect." 
 
 " Orde has just been treating the idea with 
 ridicule." 
 
 " Orde always affects greater wisdom than his 
 neighbours," returned Mr. Conyers ; •' but it 
 is quite a settled thing, I imagine — and I must 
 say, I look upon it as a redeeming trait in old 
 St. Clair's character, his consenting to this mar- 
 riage. It will be a little set-off against a life of 
 pride, avarice, and selfishness." 
 
 " He then encourages the man*iage ?'' demand- 
 ed Lord Marston.
 
 232 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 '' To be sure: did I not see all the manoeuvres 
 last Christmas ? After all, St. Clair does as he 
 has ever done, — he considers himself first. His 
 two eldest daughters have aggrandized the family 
 sufficiently, and in so doing have completely 
 abandoned their homes. One, to be sure, as an 
 ambassadress, could do no otherwise ; and though 
 they never meet, the rays of her glory still reach 
 him at a distance, and her fame is heard of far and 
 near. But Lady Conway, living in the same coun- 
 try, is opposed to him in politics and in society ; 
 is the queen of her own sphere, and too much oc- 
 cupied with her own concerns to think of her 
 parents but at odd moments — such as on her 
 journey to the North once in six years, or at din- 
 ner three times in the season, when she comes 
 with the second course on an opera night, and 
 vanishes with the ice ! Fine ladies are all very 
 well for holiday wear, but not fit for general 
 use ; a truth which I suppose St. Clair has by this 
 time discovered, so he is concocting a different 
 story at home. He will marry his pet to her 
 love — they will live with him, and be always 
 at hand to divert his ennui. Edward will look 
 after the horses, dogs, and accounts ; Ellen will
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 sing •wlien slie is wanted, talk sometimes, smile 
 always, and please every one by her amiability 
 and grace." 
 
 '' Such mixed menages seldom answer,"" ob- 
 served Lord Marston. 
 
 " So I have heard; butEllen is so very charming, 
 and Edward so good a fellow : besides, it will be 
 their interest to behave well, and, what is better, 
 their taste. It will do famously : I must really 
 think of a present. They want nothing for their 
 establishment, as they will reside with Lord St. 
 Claii- : I must buy a ring or necklace — a Sevignee 
 — that shall be the thing ! it will suit my little 
 Ellen delightfully." 
 
 " But surely," exclaimed Lord Marston, roused 
 to answer, " the affair is not so near completion, I 
 trust ?" 
 
 " Why not ? what should they wait for .^" 
 
 " Ellen St. Clair is so young." 
 
 " That is Edward's look-out. But I will tell 
 you one thing, — they leave town in a week, and 
 Edward goes fourth in the family coach." 
 
 " Then, if Lord St. Clair does not intend him 
 for a son-in-law, he is acting a most atrocious part 
 by all concerned."
 
 234 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 " Does not intend ? my good lord ! He is 
 making the marriage himself: but for him, Ed- 
 ward and Ellen would have played at brother and 
 sister all their lives. If they did not like each 
 other, St. Clair would be the first to complain,^"* 
 said Mr. Conyers ; and wishing Lord Marston a 
 good morning, he put his horse into a canter, leav- 
 ing his lordship to ruminate on what he had said. 
 
 Lord Marston did consider, and at the same 
 time reverted in his mind to sundry speeches ad- 
 dressed to himself by Lord and Lady St. Clair, not 
 very compatible with Mr. Conyers's opinion of 
 their wishes to maiTy their daughter to her cou- 
 sin ; and indeed, with all his modesty, — and he 
 was modest almost to humility, — those speeches 
 strongly savoured of encouragement to him as a 
 suitor for Ellen's hand. 
 
 " He is deceiving those poor children, I verily 
 believe,'"' thought Lord Marston. He was quite 
 right ! 
 
 Upon his return home from his morning's ride, 
 he found a smooth-surfaced note, with an interior 
 flowing as smoothly. 
 
 " If I should not have the good fortune to 
 meet you, my dear Lord Marston, before we
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 235 
 
 leave town on Thursday, pray believe how de- 
 lighted Lord St. Clair and myself should be to 
 have the pleasure of seeing you at St. Clair Abbey 
 whenever you may find it convenient to pay us a 
 visit ; and, need I add, the earlier the day the 
 more agreeable. As an inducement, I must men- 
 tion that we expect the Archers and the Momams 
 in the beginning of September : but, before that, 
 if you will visit us, en famille^ we shall have great 
 delight in introducing you to our summer beau- 
 ties, &c. &c. Caroline St. Clair.'" 
 
 This billet had a decided effect upon Lord 
 Marston's movements, bringing to a decision a 
 question which had some time agitated his mind — 
 a visit to his sister, who lived some thirty miles 
 from London, which might be taken either on the 
 road to the abbey, or on his return from thence, 
 and that the sooner he departed the better, so as 
 to steal a march upon the Archers and Momams, 
 the lure held out to attract him, in the shape of 
 what is termed fine people ; — and Lord Marston 
 could not bear fine people, when that character is 
 obliged to support itself unconnected with talent, 
 generosity, or liveliness. Though the wings of 
 love were supposed to aid his flight into the
 
 236 THE ST. CLATRS. 
 
 country, yet it ever cost him a pang to quit the 
 shady side of the London streets. He was not 
 dissipated ; but he had the misfortune to be in- 
 sensible to the beauties of nature in country 
 scenes, and indifferent to country sports. His 
 taste, which there is no disputing, led him to pre- 
 fer the society of a humdrum October party in the 
 smoky atmosphere of May Fair, to the elite 
 of the heau monde then congregating in their re- 
 spective counties : and if the actual presence of 
 the landlord be not absolutely necessary — of which 
 there may be doubts, provided the poor are attend- 
 ed to, and the rents not squandered in a foreign 
 land, — Lord Marston was not wrong in following 
 the bent of his humour ; and but for his alarm at 
 the threat of the Mornams and Archers, he would 
 probably have hesitated a little longer ere he put 
 to the proof how far he might hope to gain Ellen's 
 affections, or how far they were undermined by 
 the constant presence of " cousin Edward.""* In 
 motion, however, his lordship was put; and the 
 sudden stoppage of four galloping posters awoke 
 him from a slumber that had lasted from the foot 
 of Highgate Hill to the door of St. Clair Abbey. 
 Lord Marston shook himself, rubbed his eyes.
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 2S7 
 
 and springing from the carriage, found himself 
 welcomed by Lord St. Clair. 
 
 St. Clair Abbey was, as to exterior, the same 
 as Crawford had found it fourteen years before. 
 Its society was, however, on a much reduced scale ; 
 Mrs. Willis and Miss St. Clair being the only 
 visitors. Like the abbey, the appearance of these 
 two ladies was unchanged. Time had laid a very 
 lenient hand on Mrs. Willis : her hair was as 
 brown, her figure as round, and her skin as dead 
 as at twenty years of age. With Miss St. Clair, 
 the feelings had at one blow accomplished the 
 worst that could be done to beauty through their 
 destructive agency, and she was early cast, a 
 useless wreck, beyond the reach of future storms 
 to assail her more : with her, the work of years 
 had been the affair of a moment ! 
 
 Lady St. Clair was most cordial in her recep- 
 tion of her hoped-for son-in-law ; Mrs. Willis 
 expressed her pleasure at seeing him ; and Miss 
 St. Clair, darting a penetrating glance from be- 
 neath her dark eyes, followed the direction of his 
 as they rested on Ellen, who, fresh with the 
 bloom of exercise, entered with Edward from a 
 walk.
 
 238 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 At dinner, Lord Marston of course sat next to 
 Lady St. Clair ; but Ellen was on his other side. 
 The party was too small for particular discourse ; 
 they had no communication, therefore, but the 
 drinking wine together. 
 
 The conversational part of the entertainment 
 was furnished by Edward and Ellen, who rattled 
 on, like two indulged children, upon the walk of 
 the morning, which of course, like all young peo- 
 ple's, had been extremely prolific in adventures. 
 As no one else spoke, they were at full liberty to 
 talk on till the dessert was placed upon the table, 
 and the servants gone; when Lord St. Clair took 
 the principal share of speech into his own hands, 
 having relinquished that of eating, and began a 
 series of oft-told tales, which happily required the 
 semblance only of attention in his constant au- 
 ditors. Lord Marston, indeed, could not boast of 
 being equally well-infonned; but he trusted to 
 others giving the mechanical nods, sighs, and 
 smiles as required, and resigned himself to the 
 contemplation of the prettiest little shaped head 
 in the world, so well placed on her shoulders, and 
 ornamented by such luxuriant dark hair. Ellen's 
 eyes were downcast, though without apparent in-
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 239 
 
 attention to her father's words, and round her 
 mouth lurked a soft smile, which the pleased Lord 
 St. Clair gave credit to, as the offspring of his wit ; 
 — the rather more sagacious Lord Marston had 
 other suspicions. Miss St. Clair was occupied in 
 watching the stranger's eyes, and divining the 
 nature of his thoughts : that she di\ined justly 
 was perhaps no great proof of her penetration, for 
 his lordship was inartificial to a fault, and the 
 safety which he gained by the fewness of his 
 words was rendered nugatory by the simple sin- 
 cerity of his countenance. Edward found eni- 
 plo}Tiient in a dish of walnuts, and whenever he 
 did raise his eyes, they were sure to catch a cor- 
 responding look from Ellen : Lord Marston mar- 
 velled much at his good fortune, and by never 
 turning his from the fair object of his adoration, 
 hoped by accident to obtain a similar reward ; but 
 he looked and hoped in vain. 
 
 After dinner a whist-table was formed in the 
 drawing-room. Lord and Lady St. Clair, ^Irs. 
 Willis, and Lord Marston formed the party. 
 Ellen was summoned by her father to sit by him 
 for luck; and Edward was preparing, unsummoned, 
 to follow her steps, when he was arrested by the
 
 240 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 sound of Miss St. Clair's voice, demanding, in 
 rather a peremptory tone, 
 
 " Who may this Lord Marston be ?" 
 
 " Who !'' 
 
 *' Oh, I do not wish to know his pedigree and 
 rent-roll ; they are both long enough, I make no 
 question : but what brings him here ?" 
 
 " His own pleasure, I suppose, in consequence 
 of my uncle's and aunt's invitation." 
 
 " His own feelings, rather say, in consequence 
 of his admiration of their daughter." 
 
 " I am not in his confidence," answered Ed- 
 ward with gravity ; " your surmises or informa- 
 tion may be correct." 
 
 '' Information, child ! what should I know 
 about Lord Marston ? I never saw him, or even 
 heard of him, before to-day ; but I see plainly 
 that he loves Ellen, and I read that in his cou- 
 tenance which I like : he has sincerity and 
 worth imprinted on his brow. I would rather 
 be the Countess of Marston than the patron- 
 ess or the ambassadress : therefore he has my 
 good wishes to win the poor child's heart, and to 
 transport her from, her native soil as soon as ever 
 he likes."
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 241 
 
 Whilst Miss St. Clair spoke, the countenance 
 of Edward assumed each moment a darker hue ; 
 and when she ceased, he asked in a sharp tone, 
 " if, in marrying, Ellen would be obliged to ask 
 the consent of all her relations ?" 
 
 " She will have only to ask one person's con- 
 sent," answered Miss St. Clair. 
 
 " Her own !"" eagerly exclaimed Edward. 
 
 " Her own ! poor child," said Miss St. Clair, 
 smiling contemptuously, " she is the last person 
 who will be listened to, when disposed of." 
 
 " My dear aunt, you must allow me to differ 
 with you as to such an opinion : you forget what 
 a favourite Ellen has been from her cradle, — you 
 forget the indulgent nature of my uncle and 
 aunt." 
 
 " I forget nothing," said Miss St. Clair with 
 warmth : "I know what St. Clair's indulgent na- 
 ture is ; — I remember that of my father, — and he 
 is his exact counterpart. It is with the greatest 
 pleasure I hail Lord Marston as an unobjection- 
 able son-in-law. I trust he is arrived in time to 
 save poor Ellen from treading in her aunt's steps, 
 and bestowing her affections unsanctioned by a 
 parent's consent." 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 Edward smiled. His aunt regarded him 
 earnestly, and, laying her meagre hand upon his 
 arm, she said in a solemn tone, her eyes darting 
 a glance as if to read the inmost secrets of his 
 heart — " You smile, Edward. Is it that you know 
 my wishes and hopes are vain ? If so, instead of 
 smiles let me hear groans, and mourning instead of 
 triumph ; for assuredly such as I am, Ellen will be."" 
 
 " My dear aunt, do not, I implore, forbode 
 evil, nor give ray smile a meaning it was not 
 meant to convey." 
 
 " I grant you, not meant to convey, or rather 
 betray ; but "" 
 
 " My smile, I assure you, was nothing more 
 than one of incredulity as to Lord Marston's suc- 
 cess, because " 
 
 '' Because of Ellen'*s heart being gone," inter- 
 rupted Miss St. Clair, her pallid face assuming a 
 more ghastly hue. 
 
 '' Not at all ; because simply Lord Marston, 
 though a very good sort of fellow, does not suc- 
 ceed with women ; and, as Ellen is neither sordid 
 nor ambitious, I look upon the earPs chance of 
 being accepted, should he propose, as altogether 
 hopeless."
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 243 
 
 '' Do you think any one else likely to have 
 better success ?" 
 
 " No ;" but Edward blushed as the faint mo- 
 nosyllable escaped his lips. 
 
 " You are not sincere, Edward ?'*'' 
 
 Edward gave an impatient gesture as if wearied 
 by the discourse, and made a movement to rise. 
 
 " You are offended," continued his aunt. 
 " Well, I forgive you ; you are in love." 
 
 " I !" ejaculated Edward. 
 
 " Yes ; answer me not : you think you are 
 loved in return ; you even dream of marriage ; 
 but, believe me, you are deceived — Lord St. 
 Clair never will consent." 
 
 " You imagine a case, aunt, and then argue 
 upon it. I have made no acknowledgment of 
 being in love, or of having the slightest idea of 
 marriage." 
 
 " I wish that was any proof; but I trust I am 
 mistaken, and that I am not too late in giving 
 you warning. Beware of allowing your cousinly 
 affection for Ellen to ripen into a warmer senti- 
 ment." 
 
 " Oh, my dear aunt," answered Edward play- 
 ftilly, " your warning is indeed too late : I fell 
 
 M 2
 
 244 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 in love with Ellen when she attained the age of 
 four years, and gained her affections in return by 
 the present of a certain lilac and green sash ; our 
 love is therefore quite antiquated, has borne the 
 test of time, and is more likely to fail from age 
 than any other death." 
 
 " I am glad you can be witty upon your feel- 
 ings, — it is more than I could have been under 
 similar circumstances." 
 
 " Then we will trust that our cases are not so 
 analogous as you suspect ; and in one respect, 
 granting your suspicions to be correct, allow me 
 to observe a marked dissimilarity — excuse me, 
 and believe I wish not to hurt your feelings — but 
 you can understand that, though poor, I am well 
 born — Ellen and I are of equal rank and family, 
 whilst ^" 
 
 " I know what you would say," interrupted 
 Miss St. Clair, — " whilst Charles Egerton was 
 only a tutor." 
 
 " That is not all, I am a favourite of her 
 father's." 
 
 " So was Egerton of mine." 
 
 " But from my boyhood I have been so." 
 
 " The more unfortunate for you, I fear. In
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 245 
 
 one respect, however, I must set you right, and 
 exculpate myself from any apparent vanity in 
 drawing a parallel between my lover and yourself, 
 supposing my suspicions to be correct. To say 
 that Egerton was a favourite would be using far 
 too cold a term : he was positively everything in 
 the house ; no pleasure could be enjoyed, no care 
 supported, without him. We were brought up to 
 consider him in the light of a devoted friend. 
 You will say all this might well exist, and yet a 
 line of demarcation be so strictly observed, that the 
 difference of birth could never be forgotten. My 
 father was the first who threw that barrier down ; 
 and at the very moment when the discovery of 
 our love took place by the person who, in defiance 
 of all that was just and honourable, took the op- 
 portunity of Egerton's absence to break open 
 his writing case, quite as many letters from 
 my father were found, urging him to relinquish 
 the church, for which he was intended, — offering 
 to bring him into parliament, and to push his 
 fortunes with the minister, who was a near rela- 
 tion of my mother's. All these offers were made 
 to the man whose ruin he afterwards tried every 
 possible means to compass, for presuming to fall
 
 246 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 in love with a girl thrown quite as much in his 
 way as Ellen has been in yours — more so could 
 not be well possible. Remember what I say, 
 Edward ; let my words not fade in an instant : 
 everything else in this house you may command, 
 but one thing you cannot compass — marriage with 
 Ellen." 
 
 Miss St. Clair paused, and having as she 
 spoke arranged her work in her box, arose, and, 
 without waiting her nephew's reply, quitted the 
 apartment. The feelings which his aunt's dis- 
 course had awakened in his mind would be diffi- 
 cult to describe ; Edward, however, gave little 
 credit to her warnings, though they certainly 
 had produced sadness, and not precisely un- 
 derstanding why he sought the relief of air, stole 
 from the drawing-room, and soon found him^ 
 self in the lofty portico which extended on the 
 garden front of the house. A soft moonlight 
 gave life to the landscape, and the air was filled 
 with a thousand perfumes extracted from a par- 
 terre below, crowded by every gay and fragrant 
 plant the season afforded. For one moment, feel- 
 ings of self gave way before the tran quil scene : 
 but the next, Edward was insensible to all but 
 
 ^-\
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 247 
 
 the charms of solitude, Tvhen occupied with the 
 thoughts of her he loved. 
 
 " So my aunt thinks I love ! Well, she 
 is not very far mistaken ; but as to her other 
 surmises, I by no means subscribe to them. I 
 to be slighted, neglected, and refused ! I, who 
 bear the same name, who have lived under the same 
 roof, and who own the same ties as Ellen ; and, 
 whatever vanity there may be in the acknowledg- 
 ment, do no dishonour to the name I possess 
 — and I to be scouted, rejected, and warned oif 
 the domains ! Impossible ! My uncle loves me, 
 so does his wife ; and, far, far more precious, my 
 gentle Ellen in this very spot, one short week 
 back, before that very moon acknowledged her 
 affection. What dreams of bliss have since filled 
 my mind ! till, like a bird of ill omen, arose 
 Miss St. Clair's raven voice, threatening me with 
 a repetition of her own melancholy tale. Why 
 did I listen to her ? Why do I now think of 
 her ? She always foresees evils. But she judges 
 wrongly, as one day she will confess, for Ellen 
 shall, must, and will be mine ; and my aunf s 
 prophecy be scattered before the winds." 
 
 " The winds and the waves can restore that
 
 248 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 which is abandoned to their mercy — and the sibyl's 
 prophecy may recoil on him who despises it." 
 
 " My aunf s voice ! but I will hear no more," 
 exclaimed Edward, rushing by Miss St. Clair, who 
 had stolen unperceived on his soliloquy. She did 
 not attempt to stop him as he flew towards the 
 drawing-room for half an hour of Ellen's con- 
 versation before he retired to rest. 
 
 As the conversation of lovers is never of value 
 but to the individuals themselves, it shall be 
 omitted. All that is necessary to be told is, 
 that when Edward sank to sleep. Miss St. Clair's 
 discourse was entirely forgotten, and nothing re- 
 membered but the silver tone of Ellen's voice, 
 which even in his slumbers seemed to linger in 
 his ear. 
 
 Lord Marston remained one week at St. Clair 
 Abbey — long enough to convince himself that his 
 love for Ellen was hopeless, and, from the favour 
 with which they regarded Edward, the encourage- 
 ment even of her parents might after all be doubtful. 
 The vanity of Lord Marston was not hurt, for he 
 was singularly free from that odious though very 
 common failing : his feelings, however, on the 
 subject were more than was quite compatible with
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 249 
 
 the calm philosophy in which he wished to en- 
 shrine himself. 
 
 Ladv St. Clair was somewhat surprised at Lord 
 Marston's sudden departure without proposing for 
 Ellen. She settled the matter to her own satis- 
 faction with this reflection : 
 
 " I dare say he will return with the shooting or 
 hunting season, for men are always restless with- 
 out the sports of the field to employ them. The 
 aflfair will perhaps be more conveniently settled 
 then than now, and it will not carry us to London 
 much sooner than usual. Now, they must have 
 been married here — and a country wedding is the 
 most boring thing on earth — unless we had gone to 
 town when not a soul would be there. — And what 
 can possess Wright to put out my lilac satin dress, 
 with not a creature in the shape of company ? any 
 old gown will do." 
 
 A few days after this soliloquy, a fresh set of 
 ideas had been created in Lady St. Clair's mind, 
 which were better expressed, not in the form they 
 were vented by her tongue, but by her pen, in a 
 letter to her daughter the ambassadress. The 
 reader shall be spared the beginning of the precious 
 epistle : it related to an attack of the gout in her 
 
 M 5
 
 250 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 liusband''s foot, and the demolition of a lately- 
 erected hothouse, caused by a hail-storm. It con- 
 tinued thus : 
 
 " These distresses have been quite enough 
 annoyance to me without any additional trou- 
 ble. I am sure, therefore, you will pity me 
 when you hear that Edward, pour comble de 
 malheur, has chosen to fall in love, as he calls 
 it, with Ellen, and has had the folly to propose 
 marriage ! Of course Lord St. Clair and myself 
 have treated the idea in the manner it deserves, 
 and would not listen to what the young man had 
 to say in favour of his suit ; the most important 
 matter being too clear, that neither the one nor the 
 other possess anything, which the arguments of 
 the young lawyer, with all his sophistry, could 
 never prove to be otherwise than the case. The 
 folly of the proposal on Edward's part was great, 
 but Ellen has the still greater absurdity to affect 
 an inclination for her cousin also. I suppose she 
 has been reading novels till her brain is turned by 
 their romantic nonsense ; and having conjured up 
 Edward as a hero of romance, she must needs play 
 the heroine. I have given her my mind pretty 
 freely, begging to hear no more of such stuff. She
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 251 
 
 was confined to her chamber for three days, and 
 her books taken from her as a punishment, and 
 was only allowed to descend when Edward de- 
 parted to visit his friend Hartley at the Grove, 
 where he now is. 
 
 His departure, however, is a great annoyance : 
 we expect company next week, and without him I 
 know not how Lord St. Clair will be able to ma- 
 nage about the shooting; and then we expect 
 the Lady Nightingales, and they are always so 
 troublesome about their singing if they have no 
 man to accompany them ; and we shall have no 
 one of the family to sit at the bottom of the table ; 
 and there are a thousand directions to be given, 
 which, without Edward, I fear cannot be explain- 
 ed ; so I think that I shall write to him to return 
 home. He and Ellen must take their chance ; 
 but I shall give positive orders that they are to 
 have no communication with each other. Edward 
 will have enough to do in looking after the male 
 guests, and I shall insist upon Ellen's devoting 
 herself to the females. 
 
 " Miss St. Clair has been more than ever dis- 
 agreeable about this business. She presumed to 
 give advice ; and, would you believe it ? to blame.
 
 252 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 not the guilty Edward and Ellen, but the innocent 
 Lord St. Clair and myself ! I will not weary you 
 by repeating her impertinent speeches. She wants 
 Ellen to go with her into Scotland: — what an 
 idea ! when our house is going to be full of com- 
 pany for the next six weeks ; after which we are 
 engaged to Dartmore House for the races, and 
 Ellen has in preparation the prettiest morning 
 and evening costume that ever appeared. She 
 will then assuredly dance with the Duke of Ash- 
 ford, and forget, if she has not already done so, 
 her childish whim. 
 
 " Adieu, my dear child ! 
 *' Caroline St. Clair."
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 253 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The commencement of this tale introduced to 
 the reader a person named William Crawford. 
 From the long silence with regard to him it might 
 be imagined that he had met a soldier's fate, and 
 followed his friend St. Clair to an untimely 
 grave. His good genius, however, had ordained 
 otherwise, and at the period we have reached in 
 this history, he had survived hard blows and 
 wounds to succeed to his paternal property — to 
 marry a lovely and amiable woman, the sister of 
 Lord Marston, — to become the father of three 
 children, — to receive a red riband from the 
 hands of his sovereign, and to write K. C. B. at 
 the end of his name. He lived chiefly on his 
 estate in Hertfordshire ; — farmed a little, shot a 
 little, visited his neighbours, spoiled his wife, 
 played with his children, indulged his servants, 
 and, in short, led an easy happy life, with every
 
 254 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 one happy around him — most particularly the 
 maimed hero Reynolds, who, in the capacity of 
 gate-keeper, lived at the entrance-lodge, and was 
 himself at the head of an establishment consisting 
 of a wife, more robust than handsome, and half a 
 dozen children, whose countenances spoke health 
 and good humour, if not beauty. 
 
 The evening of the day Lord Marston quitted 
 St. Clair Abbey, Reynolds was summoned to 
 his post by the impatient cries of two well-paid 
 postboys. Hardly was their call obeyed and the 
 gates thrown open — hardly had Reynolds time to 
 lift his hand to his head, en mtlitaire, to his mas- 
 ter'*s guest, before the chaise and four to which he 
 gave entrance had flown past him, and was lost to 
 view in a cloud of dust raised by the horses'* feet. 
 The cloud flew forward to the door of the house, 
 where gradually dispersing, a smart green travel- 
 ling chaise appeared, from which smart chaise in 
 due time stepped forth the Earl of Marston. Lady 
 Jane and Sir William Crawford were instantly at 
 the door to give him welcome with their custom- 
 ary warmth as a tenderly beloved brother : the 
 children followed ; but the whole family soon dis- 
 covered that Lord Marston was not in his cus-
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. ^5 
 
 tomary, even flow of spirits. It was in vain that 
 they displayed various improvements which had 
 taken place since his last visit — it was in vain 
 Sir William paraded before him a newly purchased 
 steed, as faultless as all such acquisitions, when 
 lately made, ever are in the eyes of the purchaser 
 — it was in vain his wife related an amusing anec- 
 dote of the neighbourhood — Lord Marston could 
 not be aroused even to the appearance of in- 
 terest ; — he was absent and almost melancholy, 
 and his sister at length consigned him to his own 
 apartment, hoping that a few hours, or at most a 
 few days, would remove his dejection, or give her 
 the opportunity of consolation by having the 
 cause imparted to her. She had some suspicions 
 as to the real state of the case, which suspi- 
 cions were confirmed, not however till ten days 
 or more had elapsed, when, as she was at break- 
 fast with her brother and husband, the latter read 
 from the paper the following simple paragraph 
 amongst the marriages : — 
 
 " Edward St. Clair, Esq. to the Hon. Ellen St. 
 Clair." 
 
 Lord Marston's florid complexion became of 
 a deadly pale : he replaced the coffee he was
 
 256 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 carrying to his lips on tlie table, exclaiming, 
 " Good God ! they are then actually married !" 
 
 " Did you know it was likely ?" inquired Lady 
 Jane. 
 
 " I had my suspicions," answered Lord Mars- 
 ton in a low voice. 
 
 '' Well,"" said Crawford, " I am sure I had 
 none ; and, considering all things, Mr. Edward 
 might just as well have anticipated the public 
 prints, by a letter announcing the event as likely 
 to take place." 
 
 " It is very strange," continued Lord Marston 
 as if to himself; — " it must have been all settled 
 when I was at the Abbey. Well, I might have 
 supposed as much." 
 
 "It is a very good marriage for Edward," 
 said Lady Jane. 
 
 " Excellent ! and I give old St. Clair credit 
 for having so handsomely redeemed his promise 
 of providing for his brother's child — for of course 
 he has settled handsomely on his daughter." 
 
 " I should like to know some particulars," said 
 Lady Jane : " Edward should have written." 
 
 " He is too much engaged with his love to 
 think of any one else," replied Lord Marston.
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 257 
 
 *' They are very much in love, and I dare say — 
 I hope — they will be very happy.'" Lord Mars- 
 ton heaved a deep sigh, and, lea^ing his unfinish- 
 ed breakfast, hastily quitted the room. 
 
 Sir William and his wife exchanged glances. 
 " Poor Marston !'' said the first ; " he has been 
 hit at last. But, as Ellen is fairly married and 
 out of the question, we must cure him by finding 
 a new love. There is no scarcity of single ladies, 
 happily, of all complexions and dispositions, the 
 greater part of whom will not hold a coronet so 
 cheap as Edward's bride.'' 
 
 '' But Marston must be loved and married for 
 himself, not for his wealth and title." 
 
 ** I hope so too, Jane ; but if those glittering 
 appendages were to prove the attraction, I trust 
 the more valuable advantages of sense and temper 
 would secure the prize." 
 
 " Which prize must be pretty, agreeable, sen- 
 sible, and amiable, or she will not be worthy of 
 Marston," answered the sister. 
 
 The marriage of Edward St. Clair and his 
 cousin was graced by no splendid accompaniments,
 
 258 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 nor even friendly ones. It was in Scotland, — it 
 was in that land of refuge for two devoted, un- 
 thinking beings, such as Edward and Ellen, that 
 their hands were joined; and in the ecstasy of 
 that moment, no thoughts intruded themselves to 
 throw a shade over their felicity ; they cared not 
 that the step which had joined them, never to part, 
 had closed the hearts of all they depended upon for 
 ever against them — had made them exiles, house- 
 less, and friendless : for the poor have rarely a 
 friend, and the effects of toadyism are seldom more 
 strikingly displayed than when, at the great man's 
 law, all the humble satellites in his orbit shut 
 their eyes and ears, if they cannot their under- 
 standings, to ensure their making no display of 
 any feeling but subservience to the superior 
 planet's power. 
 
 The marriage took place. Missives of peni- 
 tence and hopes of forgiveness were despatched to 
 Lord and Lady St. Clair, and to every one who it 
 was supposed had power to soften their hearts ; 
 and, with very little doubts as to finding satisfac- 
 tory answers to their various letters upon their 
 
 return to the town of S , the new married 
 
 pair started on a tour in the Highlands. Three
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 259 
 
 weeks did they pass in uninterrupted happiness : 
 arm-in-arm did Ellen and Edward wander over 
 hill and dale, and side by side did they sketch 
 every beauty which nature unfolded to their Wew. 
 The rude fare they met with was excellent after 
 the mountain excursions of the morning, and they 
 sank to rest beneath the humblest roof, with that 
 delicious repose which a peaceful conscience, 
 happy mind, and healthful body ever give. 
 
 Once more the town of S broke on their 
 
 view. 
 
 Mr. St. Clair's valet and his wife's maid stood 
 at the inn door, having formed no part in the 
 tour. 
 
 " There are a vast number of letters for you, 
 madam," said the maid, as Ellen descended from 
 the carriage. 
 
 " I knew it would be so !" exclaimed Ellen, 
 springing forward into the house ; " I told you, 
 Edward, that my parents would be kind to their 
 poor Ellen." 
 
 " It would be very extraordinary if they were 
 otherwise. Who coidd be unkind to so dear a 
 little angel as yourself?" answered her husband, 
 as he pressed to his side the little hand which
 
 260 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 rested on his arm. They were soon in the small 
 inn parlour : a cheerful fire blazed in the grate, 
 and preparations for dinner were on the table; but 
 the chief object of attraction to both was the 
 formidable array of letters which stood on the 
 chimney-piece. 
 
 " There are three from my father,'' cried Ellen, 
 as she hastily tore open the envelopes, whilst Ed- 
 ward more leisurely began to scan those addressed 
 to himself. He had advanced but a little way, 
 however, when the convulsive sobs of poor Ellen 
 met his ear : he rushed towards her, and folding 
 her in his arms, implored to know the cause of 
 her sorrow. Disappointment — ^bitter disappoint- 
 ment was the occasion ! The three important 
 packets, franked by her father and sealed by her 
 mother, contained her milliner's bill ; a ball-room 
 friend's letter full of girlish gossip ; some litho- 
 graphic announcements of the change of abode of 
 various tradespeople, and requests of future fa- 
 vours ; a letter from an old governess ; and none — 
 no, not one single line from Lord or Lady St. 
 Clair, — nothing to denote they existed, or thought 
 of their once loved child, except the care with which 
 matters of no importance whatsoever had been
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 261 
 
 conveyed to her ! One letter, however, of the 
 many she had written was acknowledged. Ellen's 
 answer from the Countess of Conway was as 
 follows : — 
 
 " My dear Ellen, 
 
 " I RETURN you many thanks for your letter, 
 and beg to offer my congratulations on the happy 
 event announced. I trust that all your felicitous 
 prospects wiU be realized, and that years of mar- 
 ried bliss are opening to you and Edward, to 
 whom present my love, as well as that of Lord 
 Conway, who begs to offer the same mark of his 
 affection to you. 
 
 " If you had made a more brilliant marriage, I 
 would have requested your acceptance of some 
 ornament for your person ; but as I imagine a 
 useful rather than a showy present would be 
 more acceptable, I have ordered Harding to for- 
 ward, to wherever you may direct, a pink gros de 
 Naples dress, which I hope you will accept for 
 the sake of your affectionate sister, 
 
 " Pamela Conway.'' 
 
 Edward knew not which most to condemn, the
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 silence of the parents or the heartless epistle of 
 the sister. The latter, however, he had the satis- 
 faction of crushing in his hand with disdain, as 
 some retribution for the oiFence ; but with regard 
 to Lord and Lady St. Clair's behaviour he had 
 no consolation but unfeigned commiseration with 
 his little wife, who, broken-hearted, shed torrents 
 of tears on his bosom. The sorrow of Ellen was 
 violent almost to exhaustion. She did not antici- 
 pate any of those evils, which now first found place 
 in her husband's mind, of all the difficulties po- 
 verty entails in its hideous suite : it was not loss 
 of wealth, but loss of friends, that Ellen mourned 
 over. She had never known unkindness — she 
 would not willingly herself have turned away from 
 the prayer of the meanest individual, or have 
 given pain to any one living thing : in her small 
 sphere her hand and heart were open to all, and 
 no tear was ever shed which she could possibly 
 avert. That the whole world thought like herself, 
 that all were equally humane, disinterested and 
 generous, never admitted a doubt in Ellen's mind. 
 The pleasure of doing good and being kind was 
 so great to herself, that she imagined it would be 
 exercised for itself alone, independently of the gra-
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 263 
 
 tification afforded to others ; and having trusted 
 to the maxim, that "it is more blessed to give 
 than to receive," she had lived to her eighteenth 
 year in happy ignorance of care or evil ; the first 
 lesson, alas ! she was fated to receive arising 
 from a quarter she \vould have deemed perfectly 
 secure — her parents ! 
 
 " Could you have believed it possible?" ex- 
 claimed the weeping Ellen ; — '' not one line to 
 acknowledge the letters ! I am so very, very 
 miserable, Edward." 
 
 " My angel, my love, be consoled ! — I am with 
 you — I will be everything to you, do ever}i;hing 
 a man can do to make you happy : let us hope 
 for the best — the answers to your letters may be 
 favourable yet. My sweet darling Ellen, do not 
 cry so !" 
 
 The words of Edward for some time fell un- 
 heeded ; at length he persuaded Ellen to retire 
 to bed, and giving her a composing draught, a 
 tranquil slumber succeeded her violent sorrow. 
 
 Whilst the cares of his wife were locked in 
 sleep, Edward felt little able to seek the same 
 remedy, and sat in melancholy contemplation of 
 the declining fire, and his own equally fallen
 
 264 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 fortunes. Ellen had wept from disappointed 
 affection ; she had sorrowed over the neglect of 
 those from whom she had expected indulgence, 
 and over the first instance of unkindness that had 
 ever met her youthful mind. She would wake, 
 however, to form excuses for the conduct of those 
 she loved, to hope for better things, and to be 
 again deceived. 
 
 Not so Edward : his better knowledge of the 
 hearts of men had never led him to encourage the 
 expectations, which Ellen had entertained, of a 
 speedy reconciliation with her parents ; but that 
 their ire would have carried them the length of 
 allowing their offspring to suflper from pecuniary 
 want, had never entered his mind. Lord St. Clair, 
 as his guardian, knew that his fortune produced 
 about three hundred a year : from himself, how- 
 ever, Lady St. Clair, and Mrs. Willis, he had gene- 
 rally received presents in the course of the year 
 to more than double his income; and as to Ellen, 
 whatever she desired, she had but to ask for, and 
 her purse was instantly replenished, be it for cha- 
 rity, dress, or merely for wanton expenditure. That 
 these means should entirely cease — that their sole 
 dependance in future should be on Edward's
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 265 
 
 three hundred a year, which income, Edward 
 trembled to think, various unpaid debts he had 
 thoughtlessly contracted would for the present 
 swallow up — that the indulged Ellen should 
 be without the means of existence but in the 
 most lowly form, now struck him for the first 
 time, and was an idea so cruel, that whilst he 
 inwardly imprecated the hard father, he was 
 equally inclined to invoke punishment on his 
 o^vn head for having beguiled from her luxuri- 
 ous home, a youthful plant like Ellen, so un- 
 fitted for, and ignorant of, " the ills that flesh is 
 heir to" — and who, in the simplicity of her 
 heart, only wept at the unkindness of her pa- 
 rents in not writing to her, perfectly unconsci- 
 ous that such silence ominously portended loss 
 of bread as well as loss of friends. 
 
 It would have been difficult to explain all this to 
 Ellen, and Edward had no intention of adding to 
 her sorrows ; still he was almost in despair as to 
 finding means for their present subsistence. Co- 
 vering his face with his hands, he sat deeply ru- 
 minating upon the steps he must take to exist. 
 The very milliner^s bill, which, with admirable 
 mockery, had been sent to Ellen, amounted to 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 fifty pounds — and poor Edward too well knew 
 that the letters he had received were of that 
 melancholy species termed ' duns' ! Thinking, 
 however, was of little use. His brother, who, 
 he was assured, would befriend him if he had a 
 shilling left in the world, was at Malta with 
 his regiment, and to no other person could he 
 apply. It might be years before he could ob- 
 tain any advantage by his profession of the 
 law ; and in the mean time Ellen would be im- 
 mured in a small lodging and subject to every 
 possible inconvenience, often uncheered by his 
 society, perhaps sick from confined air and want 
 of exercise. 
 
 Edward groaned as the prospect of his future 
 life opened to his view ; and in agony of spirit 
 at what his beloved Ellen might have to undergo, 
 he buried his face in his hands and wept aloud. 
 Engrossed in his sorrows, he heeded not the 
 arrival of a carriage, the loud ringing of a bell, 
 the opening and shutting of doors, nor the ac- 
 tual entrance of a female into the room in 
 which he sat — it was only the familiar touch 
 of some one upon his arm which made him
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 267 
 
 start round, and he beheld standing before him 
 his aunt, Miss St. Clair ! 
 
 " Why, what is all this ? — groans and tears ! — 
 when I thought to have found you in all a bride- 
 groom's smiles and glee, — all frolic and fun, and 
 no thought or care. Where is your wife ? Is 
 she ill ?" 
 
 " Rather indisposed ; she was fatigued with 
 her journey, and is retired to rest. My dear 
 aunt, I am delighted to see you — I did not 
 know your abode was in this neighbourhood." 
 
 " I dare say you did not — very few of my fa- 
 mily do know where I live," answered Miss St. 
 Clair, with her accustomed scornful air ; " but 
 that is no matter — it is much more to the pur- 
 pose to talk about yourself than myself. What 
 ails you, Edward ? — are you sick or sad ?" 
 
 '' Neither, my dear aunt — perfectly well and 
 perfectly happy," said Edward, affecting a cheer- 
 ful air. 
 
 " I could swear the tears were in your eyes 
 when they first met mine," — and Miss St. Clair 
 regarded her nephew earnestly, — *' even now I 
 could fancy a slight moisture hung on their lids." 
 
 N 2
 
 268 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 " The heaviness of sleep was alone upon them ; 
 for, setting aside the unmanliness of tears, which 
 should only be the solace of your sex''s sorrows, 
 how is it possible that the husband of dear lovely 
 Ellen should be otherwise than the happiest of 
 the happy ? I can have no care, and no reason 
 but for smiles." 
 
 " The possession of the woman you love is in- 
 deed a reason for smiles — and I can readily be- 
 lieve that such a cause would make a dungeon 
 a paradise, render wealth superfluous, friends 
 obtrusive or unnecessary, and a parent''s ire un- 
 heeded — this I can believe, and expected to find, 
 and, according to your account, have found. I 
 will not credit my own ears, but your assertions — 
 though I thought I heard sighs and groans on en- 
 tering this apartment ; but I make no doubt I was 
 mistaken." 
 
 Edward did not think it necessary to repeat his 
 former assertion, and having drawn a chair for his 
 aunt to the fire, he waited to hear what further 
 she might have to say to him. 
 
 " Well," she said at length," I want to know 
 if you and Ellen would like to pay m.e a visit be-
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 269 
 
 fore you leave the country ? — Pray what may 
 your plans be ?" 
 
 '' We have formed none," answered Edward 
 hesitatingly. " We shall be very happy to pay 
 you a visit — I am sure that I can answer for 
 Ellen as well as myself." 
 
 " Very well, — then you had better come to- 
 morrow, and stay as long as you like. I should 
 not have presumed to offer my humble roof as a 
 covering to the heads of Lord St. Claiis favoured 
 children, had I not found you in this lowly dwell- 
 ing — a house of public entertainment ; which en- 
 tertainment, I make no doubt, is as dear as it is 
 bad. I have little to offer you in my abode, 
 save a tidy bed-room, a tidy dinner, the company 
 of a cross old woman and her Scotch terrier ; to 
 which I may add, what we are supposed to reckon 
 in the North a great enhancement to all pleasure, 
 and an equal antidote to pain — the having no 
 bill to pay on your departure, however long you 
 choose to indulge me with your company." 
 
 Edward coloured, and though conscious that 
 his purse was not over full, and that his aunt had 
 no intention in reality of insulting his poverty.
 
 S70 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 yet he could not resist replying, that his affairs 
 were not yet in so desperate a state as to oblige 
 him to have recourse to the charity of his relations. 
 
 ''God forbid!" exclaimed Miss St. Clair 
 vehemently, — " God in his mercy forbid ! The 
 very idea of depending upon the hearts of the 
 St. Clairs — of depending upon the charity of 
 our family for bread, is enough to freeze the 
 few drops of blood that age has left in my veins. 
 I will give you one piece of advice, Edward — If 
 you are starving, never own it to them ; if they 
 thought you could not live without their aid, they 
 would leave you at once to die. As far as they are 
 concerned, you must pretend to have discovered 
 the philosopher'^s stone. Dazzle their eyes and ears 
 by exaggerated statements of your wealth, and 
 they will offer you their hearts, homes, and possi- 
 bly their purses ! " 
 
 " Hypocrisy is no part of my character — it 
 is what I can never practise — and, moreover, it 
 would be perfectly useless as far as my income 
 is concerned : my fortune is too well known to 
 every one of my relations, and most particularly 
 to my uncle, who had the management of it till 
 I became of age," replied Edward earnestly.
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. S71 
 
 " Then God help you !" said his aunt with a 
 sigh almost amounting to a groan. 
 
 " I trust He will ; but I need not despair of 
 the aid of man, I hope, in the person of Lord 
 St. Clair." 
 
 " Of St. Clair.?" said Miss St. Clair earnest- 
 ly: " has he really done anything for you ? — is 
 he likely to forgive and assist you ?" 
 
 Edward shook his head — " He has returned 
 no answer to our letters." 
 
 '' And never will, take my word for it. Do 
 not / know him ? Do I not know them all ? — 
 The day after you left St. Clair Abbey, Ernest 
 and his sister, by way of condolence, came on a 
 visit. They were soon established in yours and 
 Ellen's place : Anne accompanied her aunt to 
 the races, and danced with the Duke of Ash- 
 ford ; and as to Ernest, he has actually com- 
 menced his canvass of the county, and, it is re- 
 ported, is to marry Miss Taylor, the heiress in- 
 tended for you." 
 
 " I wish him joy of his senatorial and matrimo- 
 nial honours," replied Edward ; " and Lady St. 
 Clair of her good taste in putting up with that 
 little squinting fright, Anne St. Clair, instead of
 
 272 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 her own lovely daughter. As to the Duke of 
 Ashford, it was his misfortune to be obliged to 
 dance with my sweet Ellen's miserable represen- 
 tative." 
 
 Miss St. Clair rose. " Well, you will come 
 to-morrow ? — Thank goodness, lovers do not re- 
 quire to be amused, so you will not mind my 
 being dull ; and I am reckoned so much so in 
 this neighbourhood, that no one will be wearied by 
 my society, except an old puritanical minister or 
 two, with whom I can be as disagreeable as I 
 like, without their finding it out, or caring about 
 it if they did. With one of these gentlemen I 
 am now returning from dinner. Adieu, child ! — 
 kiss your wife for me — do not despond, and take 
 the word of a soured old maid, that you are more 
 an object of envy than pity." 
 
 Miss St. Clair departed, and shortly after Ed- 
 ward retired to rest, with his heart lightened of 
 some care by the present offer of a home for his 
 Ellen.
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. STii 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Miss St. Clair'*s abode was far from splendid : 
 a person, however, of less fortune but more tas,te 
 might have given it a better air without any great 
 exertion of mind or diminution of purse. 
 
 She seemed studiously to have avoided any 
 collision with that rock so many have split upon, 
 and, by flying from elegance, to have sunk into the 
 extreme of negligence, — rendering a dreary spot 
 ten times more dreary ; and, by the contempt with 
 which she treated such common repairs as paint- 
 ing rails, weeding of walks, new hanging of gates, 
 and mending of roads, had given so dilapidated 
 an appearance to the whole place, that, but for 
 various columns of thick smoke rising from the 
 chimneys, and a well-fed house-dog at the door, 
 Edward and Ellen would have certainly retraced 
 their steps, deeming it impossible for that before 
 them to be the habitation to which they had been 
 
 N 5
 
 274 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 directed on leaving S , as Miss St. Clair's, 
 
 or, indeed, the habitation of any one. 
 
 The dog's roar — for it was a note beyond a 
 bark — and his efforts to burst his chain at the 
 sight of the strangers, made poor Ellen tremble ; 
 but the first had the desired effect of answering 
 the purpose of a bell — there being none — and 
 brought to the door a respectable old man-servant, 
 followed by a ploughboy-looking youth, in an ill- 
 made livery of the St. Clair hue. 
 
 The interior of the house was far superior to 
 the exterior. A low, matted passage led to a 
 small vestibule filled with flowers, which opened 
 into a comfortable sitting-room, where, though 
 there were no toys or china to dazzle the eye, 
 there were of couches, chairs, and tables, a goodly 
 store ; and on the walls were neatly arranged poor 
 Egerton's little property, bequeathed to Miss St. 
 Clair at his death, — his college library, which, 
 though the contents were in general little suited 
 to a lady's drawing-room, it need not be added, 
 were regarded by their present possessor with a 
 veneration quite independent of the author who 
 wrote them, or the amusement or instruction they 
 afforded.
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 275 
 
 Miss St. Clair could be repulsive, but she 
 could be cordial, and there was nothing to com- 
 plain of in the reception she gave her nephew and 
 niece. Still she was not for their sake going to 
 adopt a new character, — to lay aside that which 
 from habit or nature was now identified in her 
 being. After a cordial embrace, and a few words 
 of congratulation, which brought tears of gratitude 
 into Ellen's lovely eyes, she could not resist the 
 observation — 
 
 " Well, child, this is but a lowly dwelling for 
 you to live in after St. Clair Abbey ; and plain 
 as this room is, you see the state apartment of the 
 castle ; and you must be content to forego all M. 
 Aubert's dainties, with which your appetite has 
 been pampered ever since your birth. And as to 
 Edward, I never drink wine myself, and no one 
 hardly ever crossing my threshold, I have a very 
 impoverished cellar : God knows if I can muster 
 a bottle of sour port for you to quench your 
 thirst with. The old minister, when he comes, I 
 treat with whisky : it is very good, he says, and 
 I value it as being a present. But do not ima- 
 gine any relation gave it me, or that any St. 
 Clair ever vouchsafes to bestow any gratification
 
 276 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 upon such an obscure individual as myself. No ; 
 it was a souvenir from a poor boy, to whom 
 I was once enabled to show some trifling ser- 
 vice ; — trifling as it was, it influenced his future 
 destiny, and when prosperous times arrived he in- 
 creased his prosperity by a good marriage." The 
 emphasis Miss St. Clair laid on the word good 
 drew a blush to Ellen's cheeks, but highly di- 
 verted her less susceptible husband. Miss St. 
 Clair continued, without noticing the smiles of 
 the one or the emotion of the other : — " This mar- 
 riage gave him occasion to write to me, and with 
 the letter arrived a cask of whisky. I hope, Ed- 
 ward, therefore, you will not despise the bride- 
 groom's gift or a misanthrope's fare." 
 
 Of course the guests professed their utter indif- 
 ference to the luxuries of the table, and their pre- 
 ference to simple diet. Ellen truly expressed her 
 feelings ; and if Edward did not, he had the satis- 
 faction of finding in the dining-room that his 
 aunt had very much underrated the merits of her 
 cuisine. A plain but excellent dinner appeared 
 before them, rather profuse than otherwise, and 
 some very tolerable claret, in addition to the 
 whisky, which Miss St. Clair protested she had
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 277 
 
 forgot the existence of, till reminded by her old 
 maitre d'hotel. 
 
 After dinner, a short walk, tea, and a little con- 
 versation soon brought the evening to a close. On 
 parting with her guests at their chamber door, 
 Miss St. Clair earnestly begged them to consider 
 her house as their home for as long as it might be 
 convenient or agreeable ; and that, should they not 
 receive any summons from Lord St. Clair before, 
 it would give her the greatest satisfaction if they 
 would remain till the necessity of prosecuting his 
 legal studies should oblige Edward to go to 
 London. 
 
 This proposal could not be otherwise than ac- 
 ceptable to Edward and Ellen. The last ex- 
 pressed her thanks, and readiness to remain where 
 she was till she heard from her father ; the more 
 discriminating Edward named their departure for 
 London as the period when theii* visit was likely 
 to end. 
 
 Happily the sunshine of the honey-moon is not 
 easily obscured. A light cloud had shaded for a 
 moment the felicity of the newly-married pair ; 
 but the delightful privilege of hoping soon revived 
 Ellen's spirits ; and living beneath his aunt's roof,
 
 278 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 all Edward's cares were at rest for the present. 
 It must be confessed, however, that there was 
 nothing enlivening either in Miss St. Clair's 
 society or house ; on the contrary, both were cal- 
 culated to inspire gloom : her guests, however, 
 were lovers, and had not yet attained the fifth 
 week of their marriage. All Miss St. Clair's 
 caustic remarks fell unheeded — or if attended to, 
 it was only to pity the cause from "whence they 
 proceeded — disappointment in that passion which, 
 with regard to themselves, rendered them, in their 
 own estimation, the most blessed of human 
 beings. 
 
 Miss St. Clair's character was a singular one. 
 She said truly that her family were a cold, heart- 
 less, and selfish race ; but she herself did not form 
 an entire exception to the general rule. She was 
 not cold or heartless, but she was selfish : her 
 sorrows, and her hatred of the world, of society, 
 and of her own family, were all to be traced to 
 self. It was her wrongs which had put her out 
 of humour with <^he world — and which wrongs she 
 lost no opportunity of revenging by the bitterness 
 of her tongue. 
 
 Till she ^vas fifteen. Miss St. Clair had given
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 279 
 
 no promise of being the least viser, better, or 
 more tender-hearted, than her forefathers : she 
 had come to no disgrace in the school-room, and 
 afterwards in the drawing-room had kept the 
 even tenour of her way, giving promise of being a 
 regular St. Clair, and a very common-place charac- 
 ter. The arrival of one individual, by thawing 
 the ice-bound nature of the family, made Miss St. 
 Clair for a short time the happiest, and for many 
 succeeding years the most miserable, of her sex. 
 
 Egerton was handsome, well-bred, had great 
 talents, and a highly-cultivated mind : it need not 
 be added that he was poor, — his situation as tutor 
 to Mr. St. Clair sufficiently proved that calamity. 
 His birth was that of a gentleman, being the son 
 of a clergyman whose family had once been dis- 
 tinguished : but that was a tale of other days. 
 Egerton was only twenty when, it becoming ab- 
 solutely necessary that the heir of St. Clair Abbey 
 should know something beyond firing at a target, 
 he was selected for the purpose of instructing him, 
 and became from his necessities, as regarded in- 
 come, an inmate of a society which, however morally 
 and intellectually deficient, had over it that gloss 
 which the good-breeding of persons of rank de-
 
 280 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 cidedly gives, and which is often preferred, es- 
 pecially by the young, to qualities of more intrin- 
 sic value. 
 
 Egerton knew little of society but in his col- 
 lege, and his acquaintance with females was 
 extremely limited, being confined to the very few 
 who frequented his father"'s parsonage. When, 
 therefore, he found himself associated with such a 
 being as Miss St. Clair, then first opening into 
 a form of perfect loveliness, it seemed to him that 
 he was in a dream ; he watched her agile step, 
 listened to the music of her voice, and observed 
 the quick glancing of her eye, till, ashamed of his 
 own feelings, he would rush to his pupil and his 
 books, determined to forget in the obtuseness of 
 the one, and the abstruseness of the other, the 
 wild imaginations which were beginning to find 
 place in his heart. 
 
 It has been already mentioned that Miss St. 
 Clair was fifteen when Egerton entered the 
 family. Though full-grown, and to every ap- 
 pearance a w^oman, she was called a child, and 
 her province was the school-room. To that room, 
 of course, Egerton had free access ; and over the 
 governess's fire did he gradually draw the mind 
 of Miss St. Clair from the common-place fetters in
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 281 
 
 which it was bound, and lead her to contempla- 
 tions of a very different and superior nature. He 
 chose her books, and encouraged her to read ; he 
 assisted her in the cultivation of foreign languages, 
 and gave her, far better than all, ideas of genero- 
 sity and benevolence, which no one before had ever 
 even hinted at to her, and much less brought for- 
 ward as rules of conduct for this world and the next. 
 
 That ^Ir. Egerton should walk out with the 
 young ladies and their governess was nothing extra- 
 ordinary in the eyes of Lady St. Clair, who took 
 it for granted that Miss Adams was trying' to 
 catch the young man for herself — a piece of pre- 
 sumption, in her ladyship's opinion, with whom 
 Egerton was a great favourite, that could not be 
 sufficiently ridiculed. 
 
 Miss St. Clair had already made two cam- 
 paigns, as they are termed, in London, when 
 the discovery of her love took place. During 
 that period her character remained precisely in 
 the form her lover had moulded it. Her family, 
 even when he had ceased to exist, either in the 
 world or at St. Clair Abbey, never regained her 
 to their school ; their treatment added to her con- 
 tempt, and, but for the knowledge that her pre- 
 sence was disagreeable, she would probably have
 
 282 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 avoided them for the remainder of her life. Her 
 annual visits were more to find food for censure 
 and dislike, than from any other pleasure she re- 
 ceived, and to enjoy the satisfaction of being the 
 general confidant to all their discontents and 
 complaints. As she rarely spoke a good word for 
 any one, all were secure of her as a ready listener 
 to the various petty griefs which are gendered in 
 families, and which no partiality towards the ag- 
 gressors was ever likely to make her betray or 
 contradict. 
 
 Still, two of her name did, spite of herself, gain 
 an interest in her affection ; and whatever portion 
 of the milk of human kindness lingered about her 
 heart, was, as far as relations were concerned, al- 
 most entirely engrossed by Edward and Ellen. 
 To those bearing no affinity she was more lavish of 
 that precious quality ; but it was more in charity 
 than love — more readily granted to poverty and 
 misfortune, than even to virtue and wisdom. 
 
 Two months glided away with a swiftness which 
 had never been experienced by Miss St. Clair in 
 her solitary dwelling ; which swiftness was rather a 
 source of annoyance to Edward, as drawing nearer
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 283 
 
 to that period when it would be necessary for him 
 to repair to London in the prosecution of his pro- 
 fession. Neither of her parents had taken the 
 slightest notice of various letters which, contrary 
 to her husband's wishes, Ellen had from time to 
 time addressed to them. 
 
 Mrs. Willis had acknowledged the receipt of 
 hers indeed; but her answer was penned, in de- 
 ference to Lord and Lady St. Clair's opinions, 
 with all the bitterness of wrath at the impropriety 
 of their conduct, and desired never to hear from 
 them again. This injunction was no great draw- 
 back to the happiness of the lovers, and to Miss 
 St. Clair it aiForded a positive source of enjoy- 
 ment. In the society of her niece and nephew 
 she was getting almost into good humour with the 
 world, and perhaps with her own family ; this 
 letter, therefore, was most acceptable, as preventing 
 so unnatural a state of things, and in the out- 
 pourings of her spleen against the epistle and its 
 writer, she found vent for a deposit of that article, 
 which had not been required as regarded her pre- 
 sent companions. 
 
 As far as Mrs. Willis was concerned, Ellen 
 cared little as to what was said ; but nothing
 
 284 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 could induce her to countenance, by a single word 
 or smile, any imputations against her parents, 
 when they were the subject of her aunt^s censure. 
 That she did not openly defend them, arose from 
 her knowledge of the other's humour, which could 
 little bear contradiction, particularly when indulg- 
 ing her favourite acrimonious style of discourse. It 
 might also be added, that Ellen could not bring 
 forward any proofs that Lord and Lady St. Clair 
 were otherwise than selfish and overbearing : all 
 she knew was, that they were her parents, whom 
 she had been taught to honour and obey; and 
 that having failed in the latter part of her duty 
 towards them, was no reason why she should do 
 so in the former instance also. 
 
 " When a woman marries,'** said Miss St. Clair 
 one day to her niece, " she leaves father and 
 mother, and cleaves to her husband : you need 
 not therefore think the loss of your parents' favour 
 as a matter of such very great distress. Supposing 
 yourself the wife of a foreign minister, treading 
 in the same steps as your sister the marchioness, 
 you would see nothing of your parents, hear little, 
 and, perhaps, ultimately caring less about them, 
 forget them entirely."
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 285 
 
 " My parents, however, have been always kind 
 to me," said Ellen, " and though now angry 
 with, they will never cease to care about 
 me ; and in whatever station I might be, I 
 should never cease to remember their fonner 
 kindness." 
 
 " That they care little about you, and are per- 
 fectly happy at St. Clair Abbey, you may be 
 assured from the fact of the house having been a 
 constant scene of festivity and hilarity since your 
 departure. I hear, through the respectable me- 
 dimn of my maid, the whole history of all their 
 gaieties. Your cousin Ernest is everything with 
 your father, just as Edward was ; and that horrid 
 yellow-haired sister of his has been constantly 
 riding on your horse." 
 
 " On Ellen's horse!" exclaimed Edward — " im- 
 possible ! My dear aunt, you must be mistaken ; 
 my uncle could never have had the cruelty " 
 
 Miss St. Clair, albeit unused to the smiling 
 mood, could scarely refrain from laughing at her 
 nephew's warmth. Interrupting him, she ex- 
 claimed — " Cruelty ! O men, men, what are 
 ye ! Whilst you pass over without complaint the 
 transfer of protection and affection, you look upon
 
 286 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 the transfer of a horse as an act to call down the 
 fire from heaven !" 
 
 " My not complaining is no proof that I do 
 not feel every other misfortune, though more on 
 my wife's account than my own. But that Ellen ""s 
 horse, which was considered her own, and which 
 fed out of her hand, should be mounted by an- 
 other Miss Clair, and in the person of so atrocious 
 a horsewoman as I know Anne to be, I allow, 
 stings me to the quick : I would not go to St. 
 Clair Abbey to see such profanation, even if they 
 asked me." 
 
 " You need be under no alarm — they will 
 never ask you. I told you how it would be 
 from the first — I prophesied all that has hap- 
 pened. I know them well, those charming St. 
 Clairs ! and his lordship in particular. I can 
 well remember,*" said Miss St. Clair in a thicker 
 voice, " when he who first woke some good 
 feeling in my ill- directed mind tried in vain 
 on my brother's callous breast. If he failed, 
 who was to succeed ? — I well remember the 
 blushes which flushed my cheeks at witnessing 
 his abortive efforts to instil the feelings of a 
 man, much more those of a gentleman, into one
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 287 
 
 boasting the proud name and blood of St. Clair, 
 — when he, his preceptor, poor, low-born, yet rich 
 
 in every mental qualification But what 
 
 matters it my saying what he was ? — his mind, 
 poverty, sorrows, and abilities, have long been at 
 rest in the grave — have long been forgotten 
 by all but one ! "" 
 
 The middle of January was the term fixed 
 for Edward and Ellen's departure for London. 
 A friend of his had secured for them a reason- 
 able lodging in that quarter of the metropolis 
 mostly patronised by the aspirants to legal fame. 
 The day was settled and the post-horses order- 
 ed. Miss St. Clair insisted upon her nephew 
 accepting from her a bank bill of ^100. Ne- 
 cessitous as he was, it was with much repug- 
 nance that he received the generous gift, though 
 tendered to him in a manner that would render 
 his refusal almost offensive. As to Ellen, who 
 never considered self, and had always a heart 
 open to the sorrows of others, such bounty was 
 positively painful, being in her eyes a robbery 
 of the poor and needy : for though rather in- 
 discriminate as to persons, and very often un- 
 gracious in her manner, yet the greater part of
 
 ^88 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 Miss St. Clair's income was expended in chari- 
 ty ; and whilst frugal with regard to herself, she 
 was often the positive saviour of the poor, both 
 in mind as well as body, as she generally per- 
 mitted herself the privilege of bestowing, toge- 
 ther with more substantial benefits, that of good 
 counsel ; which good counsel, with such accom- 
 paniments, had often the advantage of being re- 
 membered, and, in her instance, truths constantly 
 heard from the pulpit, and, alas ! as constantly un- 
 heeded or forgotten, came with greater effect con- 
 veyed with such adjuncts as food, clothing, and fuel. 
 The morning dawned on which Edward and 
 Ellen were to quit this peaceful abode, and bid 
 farewell to their eccentric, though not unami- 
 able relative. They were seated with her to 
 eat their last meal together. All were sad— ^ 
 Miss St. Clair was more depressed than she 
 cared to own, or even to show, at losing those 
 who had contrived to find access to her wither- 
 ed heart, and had given her a taste for society 
 which, for twenty years before their arrival, she 
 had hourly congratulated herself upon being in- 
 dependent of. Veiled as they were, Ellen un- 
 derstood her aunt's feelings. She felt for her —
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 289 
 
 and she felt for herself in quitting so peaceful a 
 roof, beneath which she had experienced so much 
 kindness from its owner. Of the fears which cast 
 an anxious shade over Edward"'s brow, she knew 
 nothing — of the value or want of money she 
 was alike ignorant. 
 
 Ellen only imagined poverty could be felt by 
 those who esteemed luxury as essential to exist- 
 ence ; but the poverty which curtails the common 
 necessaries of life, was a calamity she imagined 
 all well-bom persons, however poor, must yet be 
 far removed from. Her husband's experience of 
 the world made him entertain very different sen- 
 timents, and as he spread the butter on his roll, 
 his thoughts darted forward into that futurity, 
 which, dark as it appeared, he yet dreaded to 
 arrive at a more intimate knowledge of, for 
 fear that the present prospect, though somewhat 
 veiled to his eyes by a sombre shade, should 
 on nearer inspection prove to be still more lu- 
 gubrious. The smallness of his income was 
 now about to be felt, and the trials of life to 
 begin ! 
 
 The entrance of the old servant with the daily 
 letter-bag aroused the party from their medita- 
 
 VOL I, O
 
 290 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 tions. The newspaper was generally tlic most 
 valuable part of the important bag's contents, 
 but this day there also appeared a letter to 
 " Edward St. Clair, Esq.*''' Some ominous flou- 
 rishes in the direction gave a very sinister as- 
 pect to the epistle, which Edward, with a height- 
 ened colour, tore hastily open, inwardly exclaim- 
 ing, " So my troubles are already begun ! " 
 
 In a moment, however, the expression of his 
 countenance changed — his eye brightened, and 
 a smile played on his lip. His wife, who had 
 anxiously observed everything from the prior 
 look of distress to the present air of content, 
 now eagerly inquired what the letter contained. 
 Edward waited no further questioning, and read 
 aloud — 
 
 " Sir, 
 
 " We have the honour to inform you that 
 we received this morning the sum of five hun- 
 dred pounds to be placed to your account, and 
 we are desired to state that the same sum will 
 be paid every first day of January. 
 
 " We have also been particularly requested 
 to add, that the person from whom this money
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 291 
 
 proceeds has given strict injunctions that his 
 name should be concealed. 
 
 " We have the honour to be, 
 
 " &c. kcr 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the asto- 
 nishment and delight of Edward, his wife and 
 aunt, at the contents of this letter. For a little 
 time nothing was heard but expressions of con- 
 gratulation and pleasure. 
 
 " My dear, dear papa! how very, very kind !" 
 at length Mrs. St. Clair found sufficient pause 
 from the noisy delight of the two others to ex- 
 claim, whilst the tears stood in her eyes. 
 
 " Your papa, child ! what has he to do with 
 your good fortune ?" inquired Miss St. Clair 
 sharply. 
 
 " Oh, it must be my papa," replied Ellen ; 
 " I knew he would not forget us, he could not 
 cast us off for ever. I have told you so a thou- 
 sand times, Edward, have I not ? It is not 
 the possession of the money gives me pleasure-— 
 it is the satisfaction of knowing papa still thinks 
 of his little Ellen." 
 
 " As to that," said Miss St. Clair, with a
 
 292 THE ST.'CLAIRS. 
 
 chagrined air, as if tlie supposition of Lord St. 
 Clair being the benefactor took very much away in 
 her eyes from the merit of the performance — "as to 
 its being St. Clair or not, I am sure I cannot tell : 
 all I can say is, that I never knew him act upon 
 the rule of not letting his left hand know what his 
 right hand doeth ; — with him, on the contrary, 
 the sounding of a trumpet according to the fashion 
 of the pharisees, in order to have glory of men, 
 was much more characteristic : I therefore do not 
 believe my brother to be the author of your good 
 fortune." 
 
 " What say you then of aunt Willis ?'" said 
 Edward, laughing. 
 
 *"" Why, she is just as likely as St. Clair."*"^ 
 
 " My dear aunt, whether according to our ideas 
 of his character or not, there can be no doubt of 
 Lord St. Clair being the person — indeed I should 
 be very sorry to think otherwise, for I should be 
 scrupulous in receiving such a sum annually from 
 any but him." 
 
 "Oh, if you have any qualms of conscience in 
 that respect, pray let them repose in the belief 
 that Lord St. Clair is your benefactor. For the 
 honour of the St. Clairs, I wish that I could be
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 293 
 
 equally Credulous — but I neither can nor will. 
 You must have some bountiful godfather or god- 
 mother — or we will suppose majesty itself has 
 been worked upon by some sentimental favourite 
 to befriend two distressed lovers ! or Arthur has 
 been left a fortune — anything will I believe, rather 
 than credit your supposition." 
 
 " It is in vain to seek further than Lord St. 
 Clair — the sum itself speaks volumes ; it evidently 
 must proceed from an individual of fortune. I 
 know none, save him, who have the power to act 
 in the same manner, whatever their inclinations 
 might be. Though angry at our disobedience, he 
 evidently does not wish to cast us off entirely ; he 
 does not intend us to starve whilst awaiting the 
 period he has ordained for us to be received into 
 favour." 
 
 " Of his merciful character tliere can be no 
 question, nor of that of any of his tribe," said 
 Miss St. Clair, sneeringly ; but as she saw that her 
 niece and nephew were more happy in the giver 
 than the gift, and rather hurt that the first should 
 be questioned, she pressed her opinion no further. 
 
 In a short time the carriage was announced. 
 Edward now gently hinted to his aunt that, under
 
 2.94 THE ST. CLAIRS. 
 
 liis present improved circumstances, he could not 
 think of retaining her hundred pounds. Miss St. 
 Clair laughed at his disinterestedness. 
 
 '' Why, my dear Edward, you forget that your 
 windfall is only five hundred pounds: whenever 
 this unknown genius, or beneficent fairy of yours 
 converts the five hundred into five thousand a year, 
 then you may repay me my hundred pounds ; till 
 then, do me the favour of spending it in bonnets 
 for your wife, and coats for yourself. Adieu, chil- 
 dren! remember you have an old aunt who will 
 be always happy to see you — w^hose heart and 
 home will ever be open to you in sunshine or 
 gloom ; and let me tell you, that had such a speech 
 been made to me when I was of your age — had I 
 then imagined there was one human being in the 
 world who took an interest in my fate, or who 
 could feel for me when my heart was breaking, 
 I yet, without being happy, might have known 
 less misery.'^ 
 
 " My dear aunt, it is not now too late — you 
 must leave Scotland and come with us to London 
 — you are not so wedded to this place."" 
 
 " Poor Ellen ! a happy task indeed you would 
 be imposing upon yourself ! — and a happy figure
 
 THE ST. CLAIRS. 295 
 
 I should make — a misanthropical antediluvian fol- 
 lowing in the suite of two turtle-doves ! — No, my 
 dear child, I do very well where I am — I am of 
 some use to the poor, and, as poor Co^^'per said 
 before me, ' It is the place of all others I love 
 the most, not for any happiness it affords me, but 
 because here I can be miserable with most con- 
 venience to myself, and with the least inconve- 
 nience to others.' "' 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 T.ONnoN : 
 
 PRINTED BY SAMl'FL BENTIZY, 
 
 Dorset Street, Fleet Street.
 
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