L I E) R.ARY 
 
 OF THL 
 
 U N I VLRSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 M3)42a 
 v.\
 
 ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE,
 
 ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE. 
 
 BY 
 
 MAEY A. M. HOPPUS. 
 
 Some men's sins 
 go beforehand to 
 judgment, and 
 some follow after. 
 
 IN THBEE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SAMPSON LOW, MAESTON, SEAELE & EIVINGTON, 
 
 CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET. 
 
 1879. 
 
 (All rights reserved.)
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, 
 
 STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
 
 
 ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Life and Thongtit have gone away 
 
 Side by side, 
 
 Leaving door and windows wide : 
 
 Careless tenants they ! 
 S 
 
 - The day wlien old Mr. Lancaster was buried 
 *' was so rainy and dreary, that Adelaide Grant, 
 "t his grand-niece, for ever afterwards associated 
 '''^ funerals with wet days, and could never 
 - entirely overcome a certain depression of 
 ;> spirits, bom of the sad memories of that time, 
 •i which would creep over her, whenever she 
 
 ., heard rain splash against window-panes. 
 '■-.. That was a most dreary day. It had rained 
 ^ all night, and it continued raining all day, in 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 ^ ALL THE WOELDS A STAGE. 
 
 a steady downpour, with no stormy gusts, but 
 also with none of those partial clearings-up, 
 which usually come, on the worst of days, to 
 remind us that there is blue sky somewhere, 
 even in November. Little rivers of mud 
 and water ran down all the gutters of 
 Kussell Square, which, gay enough in May 
 and June, was but seldom crossed by a 
 carriage on this November day, when the 
 heavens wept on, as though they would weep 
 themselves away ; and the more rain fell, 
 the darker and more lowering were the 
 clouds, and the more closely did the foggy 
 veil wrap over everything. 
 
 Adelaide, persuaded by Harriet, the under- 
 housemaid, to take a look (between the laths 
 of the Venetian blinds in the dressing-room) 
 at the funeral pomp, had seen the glossy 
 necks of the horses steaming ; and the heavy 
 plumes upon their heads, and on the hearse, 
 drenched into an appearance of even more 
 sombre despair than was natural to them. The 
 ghastly appurtenances, too, which the mutes
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 3 
 
 bore — and which might well stand for a 
 symbol of the end of all things, looking, as 
 they did, like huge black hour-glasses — were 
 sodden and saturated. So were the poor 
 clothes of the crowd of shabby people who 
 had gathered to see the funeral. 
 
 Adelaide had hastily drawn back from the 
 window, appalled at the blackness and deso- 
 lation of the spectacle. Not even Harriet's 
 entreaties that she would look at the gentle- 
 men coming out, could induce her to approach 
 the window again. 
 
 " There's the gentlemen from the Injia 
 'ouse — I see them when they come. They're 
 in a coach by theirselves. And there's 
 Mr. Rench, and Dr. Meadows, and Mr. Vin- 
 cent. And there's Mr. Horace — he looks like 
 the Dook, in his muffler ; you really had 
 ought to see him, Miss Adelaide," urged 
 Harriet ; but in vain. 
 
 Not that the indoor prospect was much 
 less dreary. Poor Adelaide had withdrawn 
 her eyes from hearse and plumes, from mutes
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 with dead hour-glasses, and all the panoply 
 of woe, only to let them alight on a pair of 
 black leather shoes, which she had last seen 
 upon her uncle's feet, on the day on which 
 he died. 
 
 " Goodness gracious. Miss Adelaide ! you 
 mustn't let your tears fall on a dead man's 
 shoes ! — 'tain't lucky ! " exclaimed Harriet, 
 when the slowly departing procession left her 
 at leisure to look round. 
 
 This was an hour ago. Since then, Mrs. 
 Staples, the housekeeper, had opened the 
 shutters, and set refreshments upon the table 
 in the dining-room ; and Adelaide, who 
 shrank from the solitude of the upper rooms, 
 had come downstairs, and was standing in 
 the shadow of the heavy crimson curtains, 
 looking across the square. The houses on 
 the opposite side seemed as though no sun 
 had ever shone on them ; their wet brick 
 frontage suggested weeks, months, years, of 
 the same dreary weather. A hatchment on 
 one of them gave Adelaide a strange feeling
 
 ALL THE WOJRLD's A STAGE. 
 
 that she was looking at the wraith, as it were, 
 of the house which she was in. At any rate, 
 that hatchment (but three weeks ago it had 
 seemed to her inexperienced eyes a rather 
 romantic, and very aristocratic object) now 
 only suggested to her that that house too 
 must have known a time of confusion and 
 dismay, followed by a time of darkened 
 windows, and hushed voices and footsteps — 
 with, at last, a day like this. Adelaide 
 wondered how death had come to the hatch- 
 mented house — whether after due warning, 
 or suddenly. She shivered, as she watched 
 the naked boughs of the forlorn trees, and 
 recalled the sudden alarm, the incredulous 
 horror, the dreary realization, of that day 
 week. 
 
 Involuntarily she glanced at the portrait of 
 her uncle (flanked by two great Indian vases 
 on brackets), and shuddered again as she 
 remarked that the attitude of the figure was 
 identical with Mrs. Staples' account of how 
 she had found him, " sitting well back in
 
 b ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 
 
 his easy- chair," with one hand hanging down 
 — the arm supported by the chair-arm, and 
 the other resting on his knee. 
 
 It was a favourite attitude; — Adelaide had 
 already learned to think of her uncle as 
 sitting thus, in venerable ease, during the 
 brief fortnight which she had spent under 
 his roof She was glad when Mrs. Staples 
 came in with a tray of wine-glasses, and 
 began to arrange them on the table. 
 
 Mrs. Staples had been housekeeper to 
 Mr. Lancaster for thirty years, and sole 
 domestic authority for nineteen, and was in 
 all respects an admirable woman. After the 
 first shock, she had recovered the propriety 
 of deportment which had rather frightened 
 Adelaide, until she found that the house- 
 keeper's decorum proceeded from a sense of 
 duty, and not from a cold heart ; and she had 
 transferred her allegiance to the new head 
 of the family in an unqualified manner, 
 which would alone have sufficed to win 
 Adelaide's heart. Then, too, she had shed tears
 
 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 at precisely the proper time ; wliereas Ade- 
 laide, after crying half the night, found 
 herself dreadfully callous when tears would 
 have been only decent. And Mrs. Staples' 
 tears were themselves decorous ; but, when the 
 weeping household had assembled in the hall, 
 as the body of their old master was being 
 carried out, poor Adelaide had been unable to 
 control her hysterical grief, and had been 
 compelled to shut herself in the breakfast- 
 room. 
 
 But this was an exception, and cousin 
 Horace might well suppose, as he had kindly 
 said, that the short time during which Ade- 
 laide had known her uncle, would lessen the 
 force of the blow which his sudden death 
 must otherwise have been to her. 
 
 Dull as the day was, the newly admitted 
 light jarred upon Adelaide. She said to 
 Mrs. Staples that it seemed more dreary than 
 ever, now the shutters were opened. It would 
 soon be dark — would it not be better to have 
 candles at once ? But Mrs. Staples replied.
 
 8 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 conclusively, that it was always reckoned 
 proper to open the house before the company 
 came back from the funeral. 
 
 " They are coming," exclaimed Adelaide, in 
 a sudden flutter. " The carriages are just 
 turning the corner. May I go into your 
 room, Mrs. Staples ? I do not want to see 
 any of them." 
 
 Adelaide retreated, but lingered as soon as 
 she had passed the glass door which shut off 
 the basement and household offices from the 
 front part of the house, and did not refuse 
 this time to look over the maids' shoulders at 
 the returning mourners. 
 
 First came a tall figure, which threw off 
 the mourning cloak wrapped about it, before 
 the officious undertaker could offer his assist- 
 ance, and strode, with bowed head and 
 folded arms, in at the open door of the 
 dining-room. A very short, stout, middle- 
 aged man followed, and then two or three 
 others — but Adelaide gave little heed to any 
 of them. Her thoughts were all with that
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 figure of tragic grief, beside which the others 
 seemed so commonplace, and whose sorrow, 
 like his stature, made theirs seem so trivial. 
 Even the servants were impressed by his 
 bearing. 
 
 " Mr. Horace looks that awful, I dursn't 
 speak to him, unless he speaks first, and then 
 I'm fit to jump out o' my skin," said Harriet ; 
 and Adelaide, listening in the housekeeper's 
 room for any sound, heard her.
 
 10 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 We pray you, throw to earth 
 This unprevailing woe. 
 
 Mrs. Staples, having seen that all was as it 
 should be, had solemnly closed the door, and 
 left the funeral guests alone with their host. 
 He sat, where he had thrown himself on 
 coming in, at the head of the table. He had 
 not spoken or lifted his head, which rested 
 on his crossed arms. The short, stout man 
 touched a much younger, very handsome man, 
 on the shoulder, and nodded significantly, 
 giving him at the same moment a slight 
 push. After an instant's hesitation, during 
 which he looked with a questioning face at 
 the other guests, the young man stepped up
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 11 
 
 to the table, and, leaning over the silent 
 figure, said, in a low voice — 
 
 *' My dear Horace, my dearest friend, do 
 not give way like this — do not wound the 
 hearts of your faithful friends. Let them 
 comfort you " 
 
 The mourner lifted his head and gazed 
 around him, as if he were trying to take in 
 the situation. " Comfort ! " he said in a 
 hollow voice, which seemed to fill the room. 
 " Comfort ! I tell you, miserable comforters are 
 ye all ! " He rose, and turning to the portrait, 
 stretched out his arms, as though he would 
 embrace it. Then, with a gesture which, if 
 a little fantastic, was not undignified, said, 
 " Eichard, you will take my place, and our 
 friends will pardon my retiring. A son may 
 be pardoned " 
 
 The short man, who happened to be nearest 
 the door, opened it for him, and he went out. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! he feels it dreadfully," said 
 the young man. " It was such a sudden thing. 
 And Mr. Lancaster was so excellent a father."
 
 12 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 *' All ! yes, yes. Sad thing, sad thing ! " said 
 the short man. "But — but even on these 
 painful occasions, business, you know, gentle- 
 men — in short, I should wish, on this melan- 
 choly occasion to — ahem ! — read the will ; and 
 it is highly desirable that the chief legatee 
 ■ — or one of them — and representative of the 
 deceased, should be present. Miss Lancaster 
 being unfortunately absent also " 
 
 "Perhaps," said an elderly man with stiff 
 white hair and whiskers, framing a rather 
 harsh-featured but kindly and energetic coun- 
 tenance — " perhaps Mr. Vincent's influence 
 could prevail on Mr. Lancaster to return, and 
 hear the will read ? " 
 
 " I scarcely like to intrude on him at such 
 a moment," said the young man, speaking with 
 evident hesitation ; " and especially on such 
 an errand " 
 
 " Pshaw ! My dear sir, you are too 
 scrupulous," said the short man. " Mr. 
 Meadows, I am sure, will endorse me when 
 I say that you are too scrupulous. And, I
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 13 
 
 may tell you — it is no breach of confidence on 
 this melancholy occasion to say, that you 
 yourself have an interest in the will." 
 
 " Indeed ? " said Mr. Vincent, lifting his 
 eyebrows in surprise, but seeming otherwise 
 not much impressed by this information. " I 
 was not aware of it." 
 
 " Very possibly not, my dear sir ; but so 
 it is. And it is on this and other accounts 
 desirable that Mr. Lancaster should be present 
 at the reading. I am told that your influence 
 over Mr. Horace Lancaster is very great — 
 deservedly great, I am sure." 
 
 " I will go, then," said Mr. Vincent, who 
 appeared impatient of these compliments. 
 " But I shall say that I come only at Mr. 
 Bench's urgent request." 
 
 " Say what you like, but bring him down. 
 Such a thing was never heard of," continued 
 the little man, drawing a parchment from his 
 breast-pocket, " as the heir refusing to hear 
 the will read ! " 
 
 "Will the old gentleman cut up well, sir,
 
 14 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 should you say ? " asked a person who had not 
 yet spoken. 
 
 ''Excellently well, sir; excellently well. 
 We shall swear the personalty under the 
 hundred thousand ; but we shall only just 
 save our bacon ! Mr. Hillyard, I believe ? " 
 
 " The same, sir. George Hillyard, of Bristol, 
 sir, at your service." 
 
 ''To be sure. A nephew, by marriage, I 
 believe, sir, of our late lamented client ? His 
 only nephew, I think ; William Grant and 
 Ferdinand Firebrace, also nephews by mar- 
 riage, having both pre-deceased him." 
 
 " Poor Grant died out in India," said Mr. 
 Meadows. " Quite a young man ; as good- 
 hearted a creature as ever breathed, but not 
 much headpiece. His daughter, from what 
 I've seen of her, seems to have ten times as 
 much strength of character. By-the-by, what 
 an extraordinary likeness she has to that 
 portrait — quite a striking likeness." 
 
 The doctor pointed to a three-quarter length 
 portrait of a lady in the costume of the middle
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 15 
 
 of the last century. Without being regularly 
 beautiful, her features were piquant and 
 sprightly, and her eyes and complexion very 
 fine. She was represented in a charming 
 attitude of careless repose. The sleeve had 
 fallen back from one exquisitely moulded arm, 
 the hand of which played with a tress of her 
 rich black hair. The other hand held a fan 
 of peacock feathers. 
 
 " That lady in the primrose gown, that looks 
 as if she'd speak in another minute ? " said 
 Hilly ard. " She was a handsome lady, who- 
 ever she was ; she'd an eye of her own, too." 
 
 " That lady, sir," said Eench, twisting him- 
 self round upon his heel, and raising himself 
 on tiptoe, the better to examine the portrait, 
 " that lady, Mr. — er — Hillyard, was a famous 
 woman in her time — a very famous woman. 
 And, if I am not much mistaken, her portrait 
 is considered by our friend upstairs — I hope 
 Vincent will persuade him to come down — as 
 the most precious of the possessions this docu- 
 ment makes him the owner of."
 
 16 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Kencli ! " said Mr. Meadows. 
 '' I was aware that Mr. Lancaster placed a 
 high value upon the picture ; but I did not 
 know that his son was a connoisseur." The 
 doctor pronounced the last word as though 
 it were written connishiire. 
 
 "'Tis not so much the painting as the 
 actress, sir," returned Rench. 
 
 " Actress, sir ? " said Hilly ard. " I thought 
 the lady was a connection of the family." 
 
 " And so she was, Mr. Hilly ard ; so she 
 was. That lady, sir — doosid fine woman, as 
 you may see from the portrait — was one of 
 the first actresses of her day — played with 
 Mr. Garrick — drew crowds to Old Drury 
 night after night. Not a bad pun that, eh, 
 doctor ? See — To Calliope, written on the 
 frame. Angelica Kaufiman painted the por- 
 trait." 
 
 " Why, Eench, you're a connishure your- 
 self ! " exclaimed Mr. Meadows, taking a pinch 
 of snuff, and handing the box round. 
 
 " Not I. I know nothing about any other
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 17 
 
 picture ; 'port my honour, I don't. Poor old 
 Lancaster " — the lawyer lowered his voice as 
 he uttered the name, and glanced at the door — - 
 '' told me the particulars too often. It was 
 a presentation portrait. She was his grand- 
 mother, and, of course, great-grandmother to 
 our friend upstairs. What a very long time 
 he is, to be sure ! " 
 
 " Well, I don't know as I should care to 
 hang a play actress's picture on my dining- 
 room wall," observed Hillyard. " I might 
 feel different about it, of course, if it was my 
 own grandmother. She looks a saucy piece 
 of goods. Got a fine hand and arm, too. 
 Was she a respectable woman, as play actresses 
 go, sir, if I may ask the question without 
 ojffence ? " 
 
 *' Oh, certainly, certainly, my dear sir ! 
 Retired from the stage, and lived many years 
 at Twickenham. The house is still in the 
 family, and now comes to Miss Lancaster. Was 
 visited by persons of the highest quality and 
 the most unblemished reputation, I assure you." 
 
 YOL. I. C
 
 18 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 " I'm glad to hear it, sir, being, as I suppose 
 I must say, a kind of connection of my own," 
 said Mr. Hilly ard. '' I was brought up religious, 
 and never had anything to do with theaytres. 
 But we've got one in Bristol, and the manager, 
 Parnassus Smith, he calls himself — but I doubt 
 that's not a Christian name, sir ? — seems a 
 decent kind of man enough. I've supplied 
 him with a few trifles from time to time, and 
 always found him very civil." 
 
 " It would not surprise me in the very 
 least," observed Meadows, " if our friend up- 
 stairs took to the stage himself I only 
 wonder he has not before now." 
 
 '* Bless me ! " said Rench. " You don't say 
 so, doctor ? I knew he once had thoughts 
 of the musical profession ; but that was when 
 he was a mere boy. But the stage ! What, 
 and give up the Bar ? " 
 
 " Much he cares for the Bar ! His heart 
 ain't in it, sir ; and it was only to please his 
 father that he ever read a line of Blackstone. 
 He'd sooner learn the worst play that ever was 
 written."
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 19 
 
 " Bless me 1 " said Eench again. " He has 
 good abilities, too ; and, with his connection, 
 might have made a figure at the Bar ! " 
 
 " Let us hope he may. The stage is a risky 
 profession. How long will the will take in 
 reading ? I have an appointment at four 
 o'clock." Mr. Meadows pulled out a very 
 large gold watch, with a black ribbon and a 
 bunch of seals to it, and began marking out 
 the time on it with his fingers. 
 
 " It is barely three now," said the lawyer. 
 '' After what you tell me of this codicil, I must 
 beg you to stay. Ah, here he is ! " 
 
 But Mr. Vincent returned alone. " I found 
 Mr. Lancaster in a very distressing state of 
 depression," he said, when he had noiselessly 
 closed the door. A sudden gravity had fallen 
 upon all the party, and the funereal gloom 
 (which had lightened considerably during his 
 absence) seemed to gather again. "He is 
 really quite unfit for business of any sort ; 
 but he begs that the will may be read as 
 though he were here."
 
 20 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 " A most unusual procedure — ^most unusual. 
 However, if Mr. Lancaster insists upon it, of 
 
 course " And Kencli looked from one ta 
 
 the other, as Avho should say, " What can a 
 poor devil of a family solicitor do, gentlemen, 
 who has the misfortune to have a madman for 
 a client ? "
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 21 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Nerissa. Your father was ever virtuous ; and lioly 
 men at their death have good inspirations. 
 
 Mr. Eench sat near the window, in order to 
 have the full benefit of such light as there was. 
 It rained faster than ever, and the afternoon 
 was already closing in. 
 
 The will was tied with red tape, the ends of 
 which were carefully secured by seals. 
 
 '' This will, gentlemen," observed the solici- 
 tor, " was drawn up by our firm — in fact, by 
 myself, personally, at the testators desire, 
 some six months ago. It remained, after it 
 was signed, in the testator's hands, until the 
 day on which he died. On the afternoon of 
 that day, he sent it to me, by a special
 
 22 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 messenger — liis coacliman, I believe — with a 
 note, which I have here, requesting me not to 
 allow the seals to be broken, or the document 
 to leave my hands, until the time should come 
 for it to be read. I little imagined, gentlemen, 
 that the time would come so soon. Knowing 
 the contents of the will, and being aware of 
 the admirable terms which existed between 
 the testator and his children, I was somewhat 
 surprised that he did not retain the will in 
 his own custody. A communication, however, 
 which Mr. Meadows — our lamented client's 
 medical adviser and confidential friend — has 
 made to me, throws a little light upon the 
 circumstance, though it does not, to my mind 
 at least, entirely explain it. That circum- 
 stance, gentlemen, I will mention presently." 
 
 While he was speaking, Mr. Kench had 
 been carefully cutting the ends of the tape, 
 and untying the knot. He now unfolded the 
 parchment with great deliberation. As he did 
 so, a paper fell to the floor. Kench picked it 
 up, glanced rapidly over it, then read it again
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 23 
 
 more slowly, after exchanging significant looks 
 with the doctor. Then, carefully re-folding 
 it, he placed it on the table, and, taking up 
 the parchment (behind whose ample pro- 
 portions he almost disappeared from view), 
 began to read, in a rapid, monotonous voice, 
 interrupted at regular intervals by a legal cough : 
 
 In the name of God Amen This is the 
 last will and testament of me Rohert Curtess 
 Lancaster of Russell Square London and 
 Riverside House Twickenham both in the 
 county of Middlesex gentleman and a Director 
 of the Honourable East India Company 
 
 The first part of the will contained the 
 customary provisions. Then followed several 
 small legacies to servants, Mrs. Staples being 
 handsomely remembered. At this point in the 
 proceedings, the reading was interrupted, that 
 candles might be brought and the curtains 
 drawn — it having grown very dark, and Eench 
 pleading that his eyesight was not so good as 
 it had been. 
 
 Then came a long and precise description of
 
 24 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 the real and personal estate of the testator, the 
 bulk of which (including the house in Kussell 
 Square, and a considerable property in Essex) 
 was bequeathed to my dear son Horatio Lan- 
 caster Master of Arts of the University of 
 Oxford and a Fellow of Queen's College in the 
 same University. — Twenty thousand pounds 
 of the testator's East India Stock, and the 
 house at Twickenham, were left to my dear 
 daughter Charlotte Lancaster considering that 
 such sum is amply sufficient for her reasonable 
 ivants and not large enough to expose her to 
 those dangers tuhich beset unmarried ivomen 
 of larger fortune. — The testator further de- 
 sired that this money should be secured to his 
 daughter, in such a way as that no husband 
 with whom she may at any time intermarry 
 shall have any poiver or control over it 
 whatsoever. — To this end, her brother was 
 appointed her trustee (he was also executor 
 to the will), and solemnly charged to protect 
 her, so far as in him lay from all the perils 
 and evils of this uncertain world.
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 25 
 
 Charlotte was also to select from the house 
 in Eussell Square any furniture, curiosities, and 
 pictures, that she might especially desire to 
 possess, with the sole exception of the portrait 
 which had just been the subject of discussion, 
 and which was left to Horatio. 
 
 Up to this point, the lawyer had run on 
 glibly enough — so glibly, indeed, that his 
 hearers had some difficulty in following him. 
 He read the next clause much more de- 
 liberately, keeping his fingers on the place, 
 as he glanced sharply from time to time at 
 Mr. Vincent, who preserved a look of grave 
 attention, in which, however, Kench thought 
 he detected a little surprise and uneasi- 
 ness. 
 
 And I give and bequeath unto Richard 
 Vincent Master of Arts of the University of 
 Oxford and Barrister-at-law the sum of three 
 thousand pounds more or less being moneys 
 entered to my name and accumulating at 
 interest in the Agra Bank in token of my 
 gratitude for his great service rendered to my
 
 26 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 dear son Horatio who was preserved from 
 drowning hy the said Richard Vincent 
 
 Mr. Vincent again lifted liis eyebrows, and 
 slightly shrugged his shoulders, but exhibited 
 no elation visible to the sufficiently inquisitive 
 eyes of Mr. Kench, who went on to read 
 bequests of Jive thousand pounds each to the 
 children of Anna Hilly ard deceased wife of 
 George Hilly ard of Bristol to Sophia relict of 
 Ferdinand Firehrace formerly a major in the 
 Honourable East India Company's Bombay 
 Fencibles — the testator's nieces ; and to Ade- 
 laide Grant daughter of the said Sophia. 
 Firebrace — his grand-niece ; also of one thou- 
 sand pounds to George Hillyard. 
 
 "That is the will, gentlemen," said Mr. 
 Rench, when he had concluded. '^ And a very 
 just and proper disposition of his property has 
 been made by the testator, as I think you will 
 all admit, and exactly what we should have 
 expected from him. And now " — Rench 
 lingered over the words, as though he enjoyed 
 the eifect they would produce, and would pro-
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 27 
 
 long it as mucli as possible — '' and now we 
 come to the codicil ; " and he took up the folded 
 paper and opened it with great deliberation, 
 pausing in his task to observe, "I did not 
 know of the existence of this codicil, gentle- 
 men, until this morning, when I was informed 
 of it by Mr. Meadows, who is one of the 
 mtnesses ; nor of its purport, until a few 
 minutes ago, when I opened it for the first 
 time. It bears date the 18th of November, the 
 very day on which Mr. Lancaster died. In the 
 evening of that day, as you are aware, he was 
 found dead in. his library, having apparently 
 died while in the act of writing a letter to his 
 son ; or, perhaps, as seems probable from the 
 perfect composure of his attitude when dis- 
 covered, while he was leaning back in his 
 chair, considering how to frame the sentence 
 he had begun. By a singular coincidence, Mr. 
 Vincent's name was the last word he had 
 written. As you are also aware, by another 
 singular coincidence, Mr. Meadows, though not 
 then in regular attendance on Mr. Lancaster,
 
 ^8 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 happened to call tliat day and see Hm, and thus 
 the necessity for an inquest was obviated. At 
 that interview, I believe I am right in stating 
 that Mr. Meadows observed a great change in 
 Mr. Lancaster's manner ? " 
 
 " But nothing in the least affecting his 
 intellect. He was, if anything, even more 
 collected than usual. He spoke with none 
 of those little digressions which were usually 
 frequent with him. I do not know the purport 
 of the codicil," continued the doctor, the snow- 
 white frills of his shirt-front seeming to bristle 
 with righteous obstinacy as he spoke ; '' I have 
 not even an idea further than that I, quite 
 inadvertently, saw that the name of Miss 
 Adelaide Grant was mentioned in it. But, 
 whatever the purport may be, nothing will 
 ever convince me that Mr. Lancaster did not 
 know perfectly well what he was doing, and 
 had not his reasons for doing it. His manner 
 was unmistakably that of a man who has taken 
 a, fixed resolution." 
 
 " Very good, Mr. Meadows, I am very
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 29- 
 
 mucli obliged to jou ; and so, am I sure, will 
 Mr. Horatio Lancaster be ; and — and, in fact, 
 everybody. It saves a world of trouble when 
 witnesses speak as decidedly as you liave just 
 done. Upon the whole, I am of opinion that 
 it would be impossible to upset the codicil. 
 I do not think it would be possible to show 
 undue influence. I believe, Mr. Meadows,, 
 that, on your arrival, Mr. Lancaster showed 
 much satisfaction at seeing you, requested you 
 to witness his signature to a codicil he had 
 just executed, and sent in to No. 20 to beg 
 Mr. Langley to step over and be the second 
 witness ? " 
 
 " He sent a note " 
 
 " Quite so ; quite so. Yes. In case of 
 need, we could, of course, request Mr. Langley 
 to step over now ; but perhaps we shall not 
 need to trouble him. Probably — most probably, 
 not. I will now read the codicil. It is as fol- 
 lows : — I Robert Curtess Lancaster of Russell 
 Square London and Twickenham Middlesex- 
 one of the Directors of the East Lndia Com-
 
 30 ALL THE WOKLd's A STAGE. 
 
 jpany hereby add a codicil to my last will 
 and testament, dated July 7 1837 — which, by 
 the way, gentlemen, was the day on which 
 Miss Charlotte attained her majority — I 
 revohe my bequest therein made to Richard 
 Vincent and I bequeath the said sum of three 
 thousand pounds more or less now lying in 
 the Agra Bank as therein described in equal 
 jportions to George Hillyard of Bristol dry- 
 salter and to Adelaide Grant my beloved 
 grand-niece now residing under my roof And 
 I further direct that all moneys whatsoever 
 which I have bequeathed unto the said Ade- 
 laide Grant shall be held in trust for her by 
 m/y dear son Horatio until she attain the age 
 of twenty-one years or until her marriage 
 hefore that age And the rest of my said will 
 and testament I hereby confirm. That is the 
 codicil, gentlemen. Of course, I cannot speak 
 of my own knowledge as to the testator's in- 
 tentions in making it. I was not consulted. 
 It is always matter for regret when a client 
 takes matters into his own hands — ahem ! I
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 31 
 
 can only say, tliat when I was taking Mr. 
 Lancaster's instructions last June, lie bade me, 
 on my showing him the rough draft, alter the 
 sum bequeathed to Mr. Vincent from two to 
 three thousand pounds. I merely mention this. 
 
 I should not advise " 
 
 '' If you will pardon me, Mr. Kench, for 
 interrupting you," said Mr. Vincent, who was 
 very pale, but otherwise self-possessed, '' I 
 should like to say at once, that, although Mr. 
 Horace Lancaster, who is, as all know him are 
 iiware, generous to a fault, has sometimes 
 hinted at something of the kind, I myself 
 never for one moment expected to be mentioned 
 in Mr. Lancaster's will. I have received from 
 him kindnesses which far outweigh any services 
 I may have been able to render his son ; and 
 nothing would grieve me so much as for any 
 pain to be caused to Mr. Horace Lancaster, or 
 to any one else, by this change in his father's 
 intentions towards me. Mr. Lancaster, no 
 doubt, considered, on more mature reflection, 
 that he had no right to divert such a sum from 
 his family."
 
 32 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 The young man spoke with a frankness 
 wHcli much impressed Mr. Hillyard. 
 
 "AVell, sir," he exclaimed, in the pause 
 which followed Mr. Vincent's speech. " I 
 never had the pleasure of seeing you before 
 to-day ; but if this was not a solemn occasion, 
 I should say that you had been d — d badly 
 used. And I say it, though it appears I 
 benefit by the old gentleman changing his 
 mind. And I must say, sir, I think you take 
 it in a way that does you credit." 
 
 " I suppose, then, gentlemen, there is 
 nothing more to be said," observed Eench, 
 as he folded up the will. 
 
 " God bless my soul ! I must be off this 
 instant ! " exclaimed the doctor, who had been 
 again consulting his watch. 
 
 " I wanted a word with you, Mr. Meadows," 
 said Eench. 
 
 " Can't wait, indeed ! — must be there at 
 four." 
 
 " Then I must see you another day, if 
 necessary — there may be no necessity."
 
 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 33 
 
 " I should have liked to take my leave of 
 Mr. Horace/' said Hillyard. '' But perhaps, 
 uncler the circumstances, he will excuse it. 
 The coach starts at six. Perhaps one of you 
 gentlemen will be so good as to make my 
 excuses to him, and offer him my sincere 
 condolence. And if ever you come to 
 Bristol, Mr. Vincent, George Hillyard will be 
 glad to see you. Much honoured to have 
 made yoar acquaintance, sir. I wish you 
 a good day, sir.'' This to Eench, who 
 replied — 
 
 " I wish you a safe journey, sir. You will 
 hear from us in due course." 
 
 Left alone, Mr. Vincent and the lawyer 
 looked at each other. The contrast between 
 them was almost ludicrous. Eench's head 
 was not much higher than Vincent's elbow, 
 and he had a habit of standing with his legs 
 wide apart, which deprived him of an inch 
 or two that he could ill spare. Perhaps, 
 though, the little solicitor was not so far out 
 in supposing that his favourite attitude (in 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 wMcli he mucli resembled a trim and pug- 
 nacious bantam), by giving him at least an 
 appearance of manly defiance, was the one 
 best suited to his figure. Vincent, however, 
 had the advantage of him in every way. 
 His slender, supple figure was set ofi" by the 
 high-waisted, open-breasted coat, which was 
 then the fashion ; and his long neck seemed 
 made for the high stock, which, on the little 
 lawyer, appeared more like an instrument of 
 torture than an article of dress. His abun- 
 dant dark hair had precisely the most be- 
 coming amount of curl ; and his regular 
 features and grey eyes (which the merest 
 suspicion of a cast rendered more expressive 
 and interesting), made up a countenance 
 which was as striking as it was handsome, 
 and as unlike as was well possible to the 
 bullet head, round eyes, and pug nose of the 
 lawyer. 
 
 Perhaps Eench felt the influence of Vin- 
 cent's physical advantages — he appeared 
 slightly embarrassed, and as though he did
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 35 
 
 not know how to begin wliat lie wished to 
 say ; or, it may be, he preferred that the 
 first words should come from Mr. Vincent, 
 who, after a few minutes' pause, said, in his 
 singularly pleasant voice — 
 
 " I trust, Mr. Kench, that you will dwell as 
 lightly as possible to Mr. Lancaster on what 
 has happened. He has so often expressed his 
 hopes that his father would in some way or 
 other further my prospects, that I know it 
 will give him pain to find he thus, as it were, 
 recalled his gift." 
 
 " I confess I am puzzled at his doing so. 
 It is certainly very strange," said Eench, 
 coufidentially. 
 
 " It seems to me far more strange that he 
 should have left me anything in the first 
 |)lace. Many people have a strong feeling as 
 to the paramount claims of blood relation- 
 ship."' 
 
 " A paltry three thousand, to a man of 
 ]\Ir. Lancaster's wealth ? No, no, my dear 
 sir ; he had some other reason."
 
 36 ALL THE WOELd's A STAGE. 
 
 ^' The principle is tlie same ; and old gentle- 
 men are often crotchety." 
 
 '^ Without prejudice, Mr. Vincent — strictly 
 without prejudice — are you sure no little 
 escapade of yours, such as young men laugh 
 at, and old men frown at You take me ? " 
 
 '' I am neither a dicer, nor a drunkard,. 
 Mr. Eench." 
 
 *' No, no ; who said so ? Of course not. 
 But you know, dicing and drinking don't 
 exhaust all the Commandments — there are 
 little peccadilloes — and old gentlemen are apt 
 to forget that they have been young them- 
 selves, and are a little hard on " 
 
 " I assure you, Mr. Bench, that I am 
 unaware of any cause for Mr. Lancaster's 
 revoking the bequest he had made me. His 
 manner to me was almost paternal, at all 
 times. I regret the money very little," added 
 Mr. Vincent, with an ingenuous appeal in his 
 voice and manner, and a slightly increased 
 cast in his eye ; " but I shall think it a hard- 
 ship indeed if I am to lose your, or any
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 37 
 
 one's, good opinion, because my kind old friend 
 reconsidered liis intentions/' 
 
 "No, no; that would be very unfair, cer- 
 tainly — most unfair ! " said Eencb. " And 
 now, I really must see Mr. Lancaster before 
 I go." 
 
 " I cannot intrude upon him a second time,'' 
 began Mr. Vincent. 
 
 "My dear sir, I do not ask it. No" — 
 Eench rang the bell — " I quite understand 
 that you would not wish, under the circum- 
 stances, to seem Ah, Mrs. Staples, do 
 
 you think you could just give that note to 
 Mr. Horace? It is only to beg him to see 
 me for five minutes." 
 
 Neither of the men spoke until the house- 
 keeper returned. "Mr. Horace says, if you 
 please, sir, if you really must see him, will 
 you please to walk up." 
 
 " Perhaps, Mr. Eench, you will be good 
 enough to say to Mr. Lancaster for me that 
 I will call on him in the course of to-morrow. 
 He had asked me to stay and dine ; but I
 
 38 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 think, as matters have turned out I will,, 
 
 with your permission, wait here till you come 
 down ; but I think you will find he prefers to 
 be alone to-day." 
 
 Mr. Vincent spoke with that air of modest 
 yet manly dignity which had marked him 
 throughout the trying circumstances of the 
 afternoon. It was quite evident that he was 
 the last man to thrust himself where he was 
 not wanted.
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 39 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 If I tell you you're a scoundrel, 'tis for your good. — 
 Tlie A'pjprentice. 
 
 Adelaide spent tliat gloomy afternoon in the 
 drawing-room, whose three great windows, 
 heavily draped with Indian stuffs, only served 
 to show more of the dreary world without. 
 It was a large double room, with folding doors 
 dividing the front from the back ; but the 
 doors were seldom closed — a thick curtain 
 usually, as now, being drawn across the open- 
 ing between the rooms. Even the fire (which 
 burned rather dull in the damp atmosphere) 
 could not do much to make the room look 
 cheerful. It did its best — glistening here and 
 there on the rich but tarnished gilding of the
 
 40 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 ceiling, and rendering half visible tlie gorgeous 
 hideousness of tlie Indian idols in the splendid 
 cabinets, and playing with such a life-like 
 gleam in the eyes of the tiger whose skin, 
 with head and claws attached, was stretched 
 upon a sofa, that Adelaide (who, when a child, 
 had narrowly escaped being carried off by one 
 of these beasts) was glad to sit in a window 
 where she could not see those hungry eyes 
 fixed upon her. 
 
 Adelaide was born in India. Her father 
 had obtained a post in the Company's service, 
 through Mr. Lancaster's influence. He died 
 after but one day's illness, when Adelaide was 
 eight years old, and his widow returned to 
 England. She was a very pretty woman, and 
 her beauty and her grief caught the fancy of 
 a major in the Bombay Fencibles, who had 
 just sold out on account of his health. He 
 consoled the widow so effectually that, at 
 the expiration of a year from her first hus- 
 band's death, she became Mrs. Firebrace — a 
 good deal to the scandal of her elder sister,
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 41 
 
 Mrs. Hillyard, who had always considered 
 Sophia flighty, but was now none the less 
 shocked and astonished at her conduct. 
 
 Mrs. Firebrace, however, after shedding tears 
 over her sister s unkind letter (which she 
 showed to the gallant major, who swore that 
 such a dash, dash, dash, dash, was not worth a 
 single one of his Sophia's tears), set off in the 
 best of spirits for Bath, where she and the 
 major were a great deal gayer than the state 
 of that distinguished officer's liver could 
 safely bear. 
 
 The major had an excellent taste in wine, 
 and was accustomed to remark that, by dash, 
 it was one of the few sensible arrangements 
 in this dashed world, sir, that the better 
 wine was, the more a man could drink of it 
 without his dashed liver paying for it. But, 
 alas for all too-eminent merit in a disap- 
 pointing world I The final consequence of 
 this and other fine tastes of the major's was, 
 that he became unable to pay for anything ; 
 while his liver paid for everything to such
 
 42 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 
 
 a tune that lie died, after a brief seven years 
 of the diversions of Bath, leaving to his twice- 
 disconsolate widow his sword, his macaw, and 
 his debts. 
 
 The latter were so numerous — the major 
 always said that, dash it, he took care never 
 to pay for anything if he could help it, and 
 yet he could never keep a dashed rupee in 
 his dashed pocket — that Mrs. Firebrace was 
 obliged to give up her house in The Crescent 
 and retire to a cottage at Bath Easton. She 
 had brought the major a nice little property, 
 inherited from her father, a well-to-do silk 
 mercer of the city of London ; but he had 
 so diligently cultivated his tastes, that barely 
 enough remained, when all claims against him 
 were discharged, for the widow and her 
 daughter to live on, in what Mrs. Major 
 Firebrace called " elegant poverty." 
 
 Mr. Lancaster had bought and furnished the 
 cottage at Bath Easton, and had in other ways 
 smoothed the descent from The Crescent. He 
 would have invited the widow to come and
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 43 
 
 live with him as chajperoiie to Charlotte, but for 
 the entreaties of the latter — and, perhaps, his 
 own secret dread of his niece's power of getting 
 her own way. The old gentleman kept np 
 a generous but sober-minded hospitality, which 
 he was well aware would have been irksome 
 in the extreme to his widowed niece. So he 
 bade Charlotte remember that her cousin had 
 gone through a great deal of trouble, and 
 speak more kindly of her ; and he furnished 
 the cottage ornee, and sent down a hamper 
 of wine at Christmas, and felt a little ashamed 
 of himself for not inviting Sophia to eat her 
 Christmas dinner in Kussell Square, and a good 
 deal relieved that Charlotte would not let him. 
 
 As for Charlotte, she upset the ink over a 
 letter from an Indian official, in her eagerness 
 to kiss her father, " for not having that horrid 
 old flirting thing here, to spy on me ; " and 
 spoiled a silk handkerchief in repairing the 
 mischief. 
 
 This was rather more than a year ago. 
 Since then, Mrs. Firebrace had contented her-
 
 44 ALL THE WOELd's A STAGE. 
 
 self with writing gentle, pathetic letters, in 
 which she always expressed her gratitude to 
 her dear uncle, in a manner which was skilfully 
 calculated to imply that he had done all which 
 strict propriety demanded, and that Sophia 
 Firebrace was the last person in the world to 
 either ask or expect more. The occasions, too, 
 for these letters were so chosen that calumny 
 itself could not have proved the widow im- 
 portunate. " The receipt of a hamper of such 
 wine as my dear husband, whose judgment 
 in these matters was quite remarkable, would 
 have been able to appreciate ; but which I, 
 who seldom drink anything stronger than 
 ^reen tea, gratefully accept for my dear 
 Adelaide, who has latterly been outgrowing 
 her strength " — " The commencement, dear 
 uncle, of a new year, reminds me affectingly 
 of past happiness, and also admonishes me 
 that I ought to express to you my own and 
 my dear Adelaide's prayers for your continued 
 health and happiness " — '^ I cannot see the 
 a,nnouncement in this morning's papers, mj
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 45 
 
 dearest uncle, of our dear cousin's most dis- 
 tinguished success at Oxford, without offering 
 our heartiest congratulations and our sincerest 
 good wishes for his future career." These 
 were some of the occasions, and this was the 
 style, of Sophia's letters, which Charlotte made 
 cruel fun of, and declared were extracted from 
 the Complete Letter Writer. In this, how- 
 ever, she wronged her cousin, who was quite 
 equal to composing these, or any other epis- 
 tolary effusion. 
 
 With all Sophia's dignified gratitude, she 
 nevertheless contrived to imply — no, not to 
 imply, but to suggest the idea to Mr. Lan- 
 caster's own mind, that her friends at Bath 
 had commented on the rich uncle in London 
 never having invited Adelaide to stay with 
 him. In vain he would read over and over 
 again one of those elaborately folded letters, 
 addressed in Sophia's elegant Italian hand- 
 writing. He could never be quite sure that 
 she had intended to convey the disagreeable 
 fact that people "wondered a little at Mr.,
 
 46 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 Lancaster ; " but, on tlie other hand, he 
 always was sure that such luas the case. Poor 
 thing! No doubt, Bath Easton was dull for 
 a young girl ; and if she now and then (as 
 Mrs. Sophia very frankly mentioned) saw a 
 little " gaiety '' in Bath itself, he knew (indeed, 
 the widow took care that he should) of what 
 that gaiety consisted. Half a dozen gouty 
 old majors and colonels, a nabob or two (''as 
 yellow as a guinea, and with tempers as hot 
 as the curries they have for breakfast," thought 
 the old gentleman) ; a couple of curates too 
 poor to marry ; and a collection of old maids 
 and widows, setting their caps at all the 
 bachelors, and snubbing all the pretty girls. 
 Two or three such parties in the season, for 
 a girl not yet eighteen ! No wonder Sophia 
 said that, " though dear Adelaide was a most 
 dutiful child, the poor girl had confessed to 
 sometimes regretting her young companions 
 at Miss Easedale's." 
 
 Mr. Lancaster was exceedingly fond of 
 young people, and especially of young ladies ;
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 47 
 
 and lie began to feel an interest in his grand- 
 niece, whom he had not seen since she was 
 a pretty little dark-eyed girl of ten, when he 
 had paid a visit to his niece at Bath — Mrs. 
 Firebrace, who had been married to the major 
 but a few months, having implored him to 
 "spare a little time from his delightful seat 
 at Twickenham, and come and see them, as 
 her sister's un kindness had placed her in a 
 very uncomfortable position — in fact, had cast 
 quite a slur upon her." Mr. Lancaster (already 
 some years a widower) accordingly went down 
 to Bath, and was received with enthusiasm 
 by the major, who repeated a dozen times a 
 day, at the least, that he was the only specimen 
 of John Company worth his salt, whom he 
 (the major) had ever had the luck to meet in 
 all his dashed life. No dashed pride about 
 him, dash it ! And after all the dashed 
 stuck-up Jacks-in-office that it had been the 
 major's dashed luck to meet with, it was 
 dashed refreshing, sir, to find one man superior 
 to the prejudices of his position — dash it all !
 
 48 ALL THE WOKLD's A STAGE. 
 
 Lest the major should seem (to readers 
 whose grandfathers reigned in Leadenhall 
 Street) nnjustly to praise Mr. Lancaster at 
 the expense of the whole East India Company, 
 it is only right to remark, in passing, that hi& 
 fine tastes had been the means of bringing 
 him into collision more than once with the 
 dense civilian intellects which governed at the 
 Council Board ; and that his brother officers 
 attributed his retirement as much to this cause 
 as to the biliary derangement which he himself 
 put forward as the main reason. 
 
 Mr. Lancaster did not wholly reciprocate 
 the major's favourable opinion; nor was he 
 altogether gratified by the efi"ect which India 
 had produced upon his niece. He did not 
 repeat his visit to Bath ; and when, in the 
 days of her second widowhood, Sophia's ad- 
 mirably turned phrases awoke a lurking fear 
 that he was not doing all an uncle should for 
 a widowed and orphaned niece, he quieted his 
 conscience by the remembrance of a certain 
 evening in The Crescent (but not in the major's
 
 ALL THE .WOULD's A STAGE. 49 
 
 own house), wlien she had allowed a horrible 
 
 old nabob, with a face like the late Mr. 
 
 but hush I the present age never indulges in 
 personalities — well, with a yellow death's head 
 on his shoulders, and half-a-million in Indian 
 securities at his banker's, to kiss her hand and 
 make love to her under the major's very nose. 
 Perhaps the latter was an extenuating circum- 
 stance, as showing that she meant no harm ; 
 but Sophia had taken a little more sherry than 
 was good for her, and had altogether given 
 her uncle cause to think her very indis- 
 creet. 
 
 Poor Adelaide ! Sophia was not the most 
 judicious guardian for a young girl who had 
 but just left a dull country school, and who 
 would doubtless be eager for a little excitement 
 and variety. 
 
 Mr. Lancaster's mind had gone through this 
 process of thought, once, at least, for every 
 letter he received from Sophia. Towards 
 the end of last October, he had received 
 another — this time, on his birthday. After 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 neatly expressed congratulations and good 
 wishes, Sophia observed that the dear majors 
 birthday fell, by a curious coincidence, upon 
 the very same day — the 26th — only in March, 
 instead of October. The poor dear major 
 used to say that he ought to have had better 
 luck, havino: contrived to come into the world 
 just after quarter-day. Dear man, he was 
 always so fond of a joke ! As her dear uncle 
 would know, by sad experience, Sophia's life 
 was very different now; but she trusted she 
 was resigned, and she only regretted the position 
 in which her poor Ferdinand — otherwise the 
 best of husbands, as dear uncle had seen for 
 himself — (" Dear me ! I wonder she refers to 
 it ! The major was decidedly in his cups that 
 night ; and at the house of a beneficed clergy- 
 man, too — I was truly sorry to see it," 
 muttered the old gentleman, on reading this 
 passage) — had left her, for her child's sake, 
 who was thus, at the entrance of life, deprived 
 of the advantages, etc. Sophia was, however, 
 glad to be able to assure her dear uncle, that
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 51 
 
 Adelaide was mucli admired by the few who 
 knew her. 
 
 Mr. Lancaster at length made up his mind to 
 sound Charlotte as to the possibility of inviting 
 Adelaide alone to spend some time with them 
 in Eussell Square. Mrs. Firebraee's lucky star 
 must have been in the ascendant ; only the 
 evenino' before, Charlotte had been at the 
 house of some people who were but just come 
 from Bath, where they had seen Adelaide 
 Grant and her mother. Adelaide had made so 
 favourable an impression on Lina Overton, 
 Charlotte's most intimate friend, that Mr. 
 Lancaster had little difficulty in carrying his 
 point. Adelaide was invited, in a kind letter, 
 in which her uncle made the most of his own 
 aofe and infirmities, as an indirect excuse for 
 not also inviting her mother. Mrs. Firebrace 
 wrote back, by return of post, accepting the 
 invitation with overwhelming gratitude, and 
 fixing a day in December for Adelaide's 
 arrival in town, as the dear child would need 
 several little additions to her wardrobe, before 
 
 UNivERsmr OF iurNoi»
 
 52 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 
 
 she could appear in Kussell Square as became 
 lier clear uncle's position. 
 
 It was two or three days after this, that 
 Lady Overton burst in upon Mr. Lancaster 
 (while he was still at breakfast), full of what she 
 declared was the most delightful scheme, and 
 which proved to be a plan for a flying visit to 
 Paris. 
 
 ''It is intolerably dull in London, what 
 with the Queen at Brighton, and the bad 
 weather, and the cholera — though I don't 
 believe it was half so bad as Sir John fancied 
 — and no one quite sure if it's right to be very 
 gay — there really has been nothing going on. 
 I tried to get Sir John to go to Brighton, but 
 he wouldn't give up the hunting ; so we left 
 him at Overton, and went to Bath. And now 
 he won't come to town until Parliament 
 assembles, and Overton is the very dullest 
 place in the world — even the election makes 
 no difi"erence, though Sir John does say the 
 country is going to the dogs. And when he 
 does come to town, he'll be eaten up with the
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 53 
 
 debates — not that he can hear a single word — 
 — and as cross as a bear. So Gerald and 
 Blanche and I are going to run over to Paris. 
 Paris is always delightful, even in November ; 
 and then there's the royal marriage — the court 
 has returned to the Tuileries, for the balls ; 
 and a good many of our set are there. And 
 now, do, do, dear Mr. Lancaster, let your 
 sweet Lotta go with us ! We shall not enjoy 
 it a bit, if she is not there — she keeps Gerald 
 in a good humour so cleverly." 
 
 It may be observed that Lady Overton, 
 although she appeared wholly bent upon plea- 
 sure, was in reality here combining it v/ith 
 duty. A fortnight or three weeks in Paris 
 would throw Charlotte and Gerald closer to- 
 gether than a whole season in London. Gerald, 
 while assuring his mother that he liked Char- 
 lotte as well as anybody, and would " see 
 about it some day," was a decided laggard in 
 love ; and Lady Overton did not know Mr. 
 Lancaster's opinion of the danger of a large 
 fortune to a woman, and had no doubt that he
 
 54 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 would divide his property equally between his 
 children. 
 
 Mr. Lancaster readily consented. • They 
 would not be gone more than three weeks at 
 the most ; and Adelaide was not due till 
 December. Charlotte was beside herself with 
 joy, only checking her transports to ask her 
 father if he was quite sure he did not mind, 
 and to lament that Blanche, and not Lina, 
 would be her companion. 
 
 Meantime, Mrs. Firebrace, who suspected 
 that her dear uncle's house was rather dull, 
 especially with Horace so often away at Oxford, 
 and who was, on the whole, not sorry that the 
 present invitation did not include herself, had 
 a little scheme of her own. The very day that 
 the invitation reached her, she announced to 
 her Bath friends her intention of letting the 
 cottage, and wintering at Weymouth. She 
 wrote to a good-natured friend who was, with 
 an invalid daughter, established there for the 
 winter. The rich and crotchety uncle, said 
 Sophia, of whom Mrs. Hanway had often
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 55 
 
 heard her speak, had at last invited poor dear 
 Addy. It was too important an advantage to 
 be refused, on many accounts (trebly under- 
 lined) ; but what should she^ do alone in that 
 dreary little village all the winter ? Did Mrs. 
 Hanway think a moderate lodging could be 
 got in Weymouth ? Doctor Pouncett had 
 ordered her sea air before this invitation came ; 
 and she really could not face the dismals of a 
 lonely winter at Bath Easton. 
 
 Mrs. Hanway wrote back that a bedroom 
 and sitting-room were to be let in the very 
 house she was in ; whereupon Mrs. Firebrace 
 wrote to her uncle that she had received a 
 most advantageous offer, but it must be closed 
 with at once. Might she venture to send 
 Adelaide a little sooner than had been agreed 
 upon ? As for herself, she had been pressed to 
 go to Weymouth, where, indeed, a kind friend 
 had engaged rooms for her, thus leaving her 
 little power to refuse. Adelaide should set out 
 for London by the next evening's coach. 
 
 By this means, it happened that Adelaide
 
 56 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 reached London before Mr. Lancaster could, 
 even if lie liad wished it, have demurred to 
 receive her so long before the time fixed. She 
 was spared any embarrassment, even on finding 
 Charlotte absent, for her mother had allowed 
 her to imagine that her uncle had himself 
 proposed the change. The kind old gentleman 
 was too anxious to make her feel at home to 
 refer to the circumstance at all, except to say 
 how very glad he was that things had hap- 
 pened thus, since, if Charlotte had been at 
 home, the old uncle would have been snuffed out 
 by the young cousin. As it was, they could 
 make each other's acquaintance undistracted. 
 
 The first time that Mr. Lancaster said this 
 he spoke from a good-natured desire to set 
 Adelaide at her ease ; but he repeated it more 
 than once afterwards, because he ''took to her 
 amazingly," as he wrote to Horace. "She was 
 not in the least like her mother, nor, so far as 
 he could see, like her poor father — a good fellow 
 enough in his way, but rather heavy, as a 
 young man."
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 57 
 
 The fortnight which followed seemed to Ade- 
 laide, as she sat here watching the rain, like a 
 brief, pleasant, and yet troubled dream. She 
 had left Bath Easton rather unwillingly — 
 eager, indeed, to see London and the world, 
 and to escape from the constant petty intrigues 
 and cabals of her life at home ; but also with a 
 proud fear of intruding, and of having been in- 
 vited out of compassion. Perhaps Charlotte and 
 Horace would look on her as a poor relation, 
 and patronize her. With this feeling, Adelaide 
 had even asked her mother to refuse the invi- 
 tation (with a dreadful pang at the thought of 
 giving up London, and all which that magic 
 word meant) ; but Sophia, almost in hysterics 
 at the bare thought of such folly, called her 
 a rebellious, ungrateful girl to a devoted 
 mother, who had been working for a whole 
 year to get this very invitation from uncle 
 Lancaster, ''who might do anything — any- 
 thing, you foolish girl, if you can only make 
 him fond of you ! " 
 
 To every friend and acquaintance whom
 
 58 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 Sophia saw, until Adelaide's departure, did 
 she communicate the splendid invitation, and 
 her dear girl's foolish reluctance to accept it ; 
 and from every one did Adelaide hear, more 
 or less politely expressed, that none but a 
 fool would dream of refusing such an offer. 
 
 But one day in Kussell Square dispelled 
 all her fears, and laid all her pride to sleep. 
 Her uncle talked to her, showed her the won- 
 derful Indian curiosities which had been sent 
 to him, from time to time, from the land 
 where she was born — the land which he had 
 never seen, but of which he was one of the 
 kings. Busy as he was (with the Indies io 
 rule !), he found time to show her a few of 
 the sights of London. And she had actually 
 seen the Queen ! It seemed to Adelaide a 
 thing beyond belief, but she had seen her 
 twice ! Her uncle had taken her in his car- 
 riage in the procession, when the Queen went 
 to the City, on the 9tli of November ! And 
 she had sat at a window to see the Queen 
 go by to open her first Parliament ! Her
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 59 
 
 uncle had promised to show her one day the 
 Painted Chamber itself ; but what Adelaide 
 had already seen seemed to her almost enough 
 to satisfy the greediest of sight-seers. 
 
 And he had not been content with merely 
 showing her all these wonderful things — he 
 had bought her a beautiful watch and chain, 
 even better than the one he had given her 
 mother when she married her father. 
 
 How good and kind her uncle had always 
 been to them ! thought Adelaide, with a fresh 
 burst of love and grief. She drew the watch 
 from her bosom, and kissed it, and wept over 
 it till the gold glistened with her tears. And 
 he had said that he was amply repaid by her 
 delight, and by the poor little babyish re- 
 miniscences she gave him of Calcutta and 
 Mysore. And he was dead — gone away, with- 
 out a word of farewell ! It was too dreadful 
 to believe, too sad to weep about. But yet 
 she wept, and relieved her heart by weeping, 
 and thought of her cousin Horatio, whom she 
 had never seen until he came, summoned post-
 
 60 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 haste from Oxford, the day after his father 
 died. 
 
 These things did not pass through Adelaide's 
 mind as they are here set down. Not in such 
 regular order do memories, a,nd, above all, sad 
 memories, come. They thrust themselves in 
 upon her, most of them, like ugly peeping 
 faces, which she would rather not have seen. 
 Her dimmest memories were those most 
 pleasant to dwell on. She had no painful 
 associations with her dark-faced ayah, nor with 
 the elephants which she used to see in the pro- 
 cession on show-days ; nor with the jugglers 
 who had made a pine-apple grow under a white 
 sheet, in her father's compound at Mysore. 
 The major's red face and loud voice, and 
 boisterous caresses, were far less agreeable to 
 remember ; and so were the glimpses of the 
 life at Bath, when she was at home for the 
 holidays, There was always noise and glare 
 in public, and peevish complaint in private. 
 Adelaide did not like the old nabob who 
 pinched her cheek, and said things which she
 
 ALL THE WOELd's A STAGE. 61 
 
 did not understand, and which made her 
 mother say "Fie!" And then the quarrels 
 between her mother and the major ! Adelaide 
 remembered how, one day, she had stood in the 
 middle of the drawing-room in The Crescent, 
 looking from one to the other, not knowing 
 which of them to obey. " Dash it, Addy ! " 
 roared the major, with a stamp which set the 
 lustres clinking ; ''go down and tell the hussies 
 to send the chair away ! " "No, don't, Addy!" 
 cried her mother, who was in a very pretty 
 dress. " Obey me, child ! I'm your mother ! " 
 Adelaide had forgotten what it was all about — 
 she was not even sure how it had ended ; but 
 these two sentences were stamped on her 
 memory . 
 
 Then the dull years at school — the back- 
 boards, and the worsted work, and Miss Ease- 
 dale in mittens ; and the confusion when the 
 poor major died — he was always good-,natured 
 to Adelaide; and her mother's constant repin- 
 ings, and little schemes, and little lies, and little 
 piques, — there was not much in all this to look
 
 62 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 back upon with any pleasure. Perhaps Ade- 
 laide's happiest memories were some quite recent 
 ones, of quiet hours spent in Miss Simpson's 
 sick-room. Miss Simpson was dying of con- 
 sumption, and had been brought to Bath by 
 her brother, a very learned man, who was once 
 a poor boy. Adelaide's visits had begun in 
 compassion for the poor sick lady, who was a 
 stranger in Bath, and must have found it very 
 lonely sometimes, though her brother often left 
 his books to come in and ask her how she did. 
 One of Mrs. Firebrace's Bath friends had taken 
 Adelaide to call on Miss Simpson, and some- 
 thing had been said about reading aloud, and 
 Adelaide, almost before she was aware, had 
 offered her services as reader ; and out of this a 
 great friendship had soon sprung up between 
 the woman who was leavins; life and the girl 
 who was entering upon it. 
 
 Adelaide had found it easy to say to Miss 
 Simpson a great many things which she had 
 never thought of telling any one before ; and 
 Miss Simpson had told Adelaide much which
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 63 
 
 tlie girl thought it a great honour to be allowed 
 to know. These conversations mostly con- 
 cerned Dr. Simpson, whom (till she knew her 
 uncle, and her cousin Horace) Adelaide had 
 learned to believe was the wisest and best of 
 men. There was comfort in the mei*e memory 
 of Miss Simpson's face, which always brightened 
 so when Adelaide came in ; and of the doctor's, 
 which was like the picture of Mr. Herbert, at 
 the beginning of his poems, only still thinner. 
 And yet Miss Simpson was " quite a plain sort 
 of person," as Mrs. Firebrace often said (and 
 hurt Adelaide in saying it). She was very 
 gentle and refined, but she had never even 
 learned French ; and she had seen but very 
 little society, having, indeed, been an invalid 
 all her life. But her room always seemed to 
 Adelaide like a calm place, where one ceased to 
 hear the roaring of the sea, and where no storms 
 ever came. The Doctor, too, though he was so 
 learned, and was always thinking of his books, 
 and seemed not to understand much about 
 anything that went on, yet was very kind,
 
 64 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 and never omitted to thank Adelaide, in a little 
 set speech, for coming " to cheer his dear sister." 
 Adelaide had written a little note to Miss 
 Simpson, to tell her of her uncle's death, and 
 had received a few kind sympathetic lines in 
 reply, but Miss Simpson was too ill to write 
 much. 
 
 Most of the other people at Bath were rather 
 unsatisfactory to look back upon at such a 
 time as this. Adelaide was glad to turn her 
 thoughts to her cousin Horatio. He was so 
 clever ! He had written a book and dedicated 
 it to Queen Adelaide, and she had given him the 
 king's portrait for it I And he was so grand ! 
 He was sublime — he was like Thaddeus of War- 
 saw. No, more like Philip AVharton ; but how 
 much nobler ! How kind he had been ! — abso- 
 lutely refusing to let her go back to her mother, 
 as she had, of course, proposed. He had even 
 seemed to find a little comfort now and then 
 in talking to her. 
 
 Just then she heard the street door bang, 
 and presently saw Mr. Meadows bustling across
 
 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 65 
 
 the square, lifting his feet high, as though 
 he thought that would prevent his splash- 
 ing himself. The next moment a voice 
 said — 
 
 " Excuse me, my dear ; I have only come to 
 bid you good-bye, and to ask you to make 
 my excuses to Mr. Horace." 
 
 Adelaide had given a little scream. She 
 had been so absorbed in watching the doctor 
 picking his way, that she had not heard a step 
 upon the stairs. 
 
 *' Well, my dear," continued her uncle 
 Hillyard, '' we ain't much of acquaintances ; 
 but you re my niece, and I don't forget it. If 
 ever you want a friend, come to George Hill- 
 yard, plain Gr. H., of Bristol city ! I've got 
 seven girls, and one more won't make much 
 diflerence. Not that you'll ever want any 
 help of mine, now the old gentleman has left 
 you so comfortable. Well, good-bye, my dear, 
 and God bless you ! " 
 
 " Good-bye, uncle," said Adelaide, recovering 
 her self-possession. " And thank you .for 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 speaking so kindly, and give my love to all 
 my cousins." 
 
 And so uncle Hillyard took Ms leave, and 
 was presently to be seen walking straight 
 through the largest pools, and the worst of 
 the mud, in the direction of Oxford Street. 
 
 Some time after this, Adelaide saw Mr. 
 Eench and Mr. Vincent going away together. 
 They shook hands and parted at the corner. 
 And presently afterwards, came Mrs. Staples, 
 to say that Mr. Horace begged his cousin to 
 excuse him ; he could not dine, but hoped 
 to see her later in the evening. 
 
 " I'm sure it's awful to see him," said Mrs. 
 Staples, wiping her eyes. ''How he can set 
 up there, in master's room, all by himself, 
 I can't think ! / dursn't be alone up there, 
 not if it Avas ever so ! I declare, I'm as 
 nervous as the cat ; and, talking of the cat, 
 I missed her ever since the morning, and 
 when Mr. Horace opened the door to speak 
 to me, just as he was giving me the message 
 for you, miss, I heard a me-ew, and out
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 67 
 
 walks the cat, purring so loud you could 
 hear her all over the room. Mr. Horace he 
 hadn't known she was there, and he did look 
 scared ! " 
 
 Adelaide felt scared, too — she was already 
 in the state in which one starts at a shadow, 
 and she had been not a little startled, a few 
 minutes after uncle Hillyard's departure, by 
 a loud report — which was, however, only the 
 •cracking of one of the strings of Horace's 
 violin, which stood in its case in the corner, 
 looking not unlike a baby's coffin. She was 
 glad to go down to the dining-room, and, 
 on one pretext or another, to keep Mrs. 
 Staples talking, until Harriet came in to lay 
 the cloth for her solitary dinner.
 
 68 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Is he not more than honour, and his friendship 
 Sweeter than the love of women ? 
 
 The Tragedy of Valentiniaru 
 
 It was tlie evening of tlie next day. Adelaide 
 sat at dinner witli her cousin Horace and 
 Mr. Vincent, who had been closeted together 
 in the library all the afternoon. 
 
 ''Kichard," Horace had said, "I ask you 
 once more, sitting here in the very place in 
 which my father died, if you know of any 
 reason for the alteration he made in his in- 
 tentions ? Can you throw any light on this 
 letter ? Hear it, once more, before you 
 reply." And Horace read, in a voice which 
 he could scarcely keep steady enough to be 
 intelligible : —
 
 all the worlds a stage. 69 
 
 *''My dear Son-, 
 
 " ' I had purposed postponing the 
 subject which I am about to mention, until 
 we could discuss it by word of mouth. But 
 life is uncertain, and some slight symptoms 
 of failing strength which I have observed in 
 myself of late, warn me not to risk another 
 month's delay. I am aware that what I am 
 about to say will cause you great pain, 
 greater, perhaps, in some respects, than it has 
 even caused me. But my dear son knows 
 me well enough to believe that I have ear- 
 nestly desired to be just ; and that I have, in 
 a very painful and anxious dilemma, taken 
 the course which seemed to me the safest for 
 all parties concerned, including Mr. Vincent 
 himself. Mr. Vincent ' " 
 
 Horace paused, fixing his eyes steadily upon 
 his friend. 
 
 " Is there no more ? " asked Vincent, at 
 last, in a low voice. 
 
 "There is no more. The rest is silence.
 
 70 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 Death would not wait while he told his 
 secret, if he had one." 
 
 The slightest look of relief flitted across 
 Mr. Vincent's face (which was paler than 
 usual). " Horace/' he said, with a sudden 
 change of manner. *' Did you or Kench first 
 suggest that interpretation of your father's 
 words ? " 
 
 "Eench did. I was utterly bewildered. 
 Eench drew my attention to these expressions,, 
 and " 
 
 " And has filled your mind with distrust 
 and doubt. My dear Horace, I owe you too 
 much, in a thousand ways, even to have the 
 right to say, I forgive you. I don't say that 
 — I say, I understand you. You are not to 
 blame — you have scarcely even hurt me. No, 
 not you ; 'tis another hand that strikes ; not 
 yours. Do you think, Horace, that I could 
 feel the love and veneration I do feel for your 
 father's memory, that I could mourn his loss 
 as I do, if I knew in my secret heart that his 
 last act was an attempt to injure me in your
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 71 
 
 estimation ? If he could hear me now," said 
 Vincent, glancing round the room, and paler 
 than ever, *' I would tell him that I looked 
 on him as a father, and as the wisest and 
 kindest friend I ever had." 
 
 " Dick, forgive me I This business has 
 almost distracted me. The thought that my 
 dear father had, or imagined he had, anything 
 
 against my friend, my heart's brother " 
 
 Horace laid his head on the desk, on which 
 that fatal letter had lain, and sobbed. 
 
 Mr. Vincent looked down on him — his face 
 workino' with some emotion which brouo;ht no 
 tears. " My friend, my brother," he said, " we 
 will forget this — we will leave it. Time may 
 explain the mystery — if there be any mystery 
 except that an uncle felt his lovely young niece 
 had a greater claim upon him than an alien 
 in blood ; and that a lawyer was jealous of 
 a friend whose eyes might be inconveniently 
 open to your temporal interests." 
 
 ''You think that Eench has been your secret 
 enemy ? "
 
 72 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 " I do not know/' 
 
 "What motive could he have? Oh, Eichard, 
 this hurts me cruelly ! The doubt — the per- 
 plexity " 
 
 "My dear Horace, we will speak no more 
 of this. I do not accuse Mr. Kench. I only 
 say, that if his hope was to excite intangible, 
 and therefore, entirely undisprovable, sus- 
 picions of myself, he could have adopted no 
 means so infallible. If this was his intention, 
 I freely acknowledge that he is a master of 
 strategy, and none of us has a chance against 
 him. We are all puppets in his hands. But 
 I say, if- — I do not know, and I should be 
 most unwilling to believe, that he it is who 
 thus strikes at me by your dear father's — my 
 kind old friend's — hand. Such villainy is 
 almost incredible. I, for my part, rather lean 
 to the simpler explanation, and I beseech you 
 to accept it also. If I have an enemy, you 
 will thus eflfectually baffle him ; and if not, 
 we shall both be spared much needless suffer- 
 ing."
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 73 
 
 " Dick," said Horace, rising, and laying his 
 hand on Vincent's shoulder. " You are a far 
 better man than I. In your place, I should 
 be maddened by the sense of injustice. How- 
 can I make up to you for this undeserved 
 pain ? You have refused to accept, as a gift 
 from me, a sum equal to the one my father 
 left you ; and I cannot but feel that you are 
 right. Some means I will find of substantially 
 benefiting the man to whom I ow^e my very 
 life ; but I stand here, in the most cruel per- 
 plexity, between a dead father and a living 
 friend." 
 
 This was a part of what had passed between 
 the friends. It was an exceedingly em- 
 barrassing position for Vincent ; and Horace 
 began to see the probability of his friend's 
 suggestion, as he reflected how few friend- 
 ships could have come unscathed out of such 
 an ordeal. So painful a circumstance would, 
 in nine cases out of ten, have created suspicion 
 on the one side and resentment on the other.
 
 74 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 It was, indeed, as Vincent had said, a 
 master-piece of strategy. And what if Vin- 
 cents suo^o'estion were correct ? What if this 
 were, in very truth, the first step in a plot 
 to alienate the friend whose eyes would be 
 quickest to perceive, and whose tongue would 
 be readiest to warn ? Horace resolved to 
 watch the family solicitor very narrowly, and, 
 on the slightest sign of anything which should 
 warrant distrust, to place the management of 
 his property in other hands. 
 
 The entire confidence Avhich had always 
 subsisted between the father and son, and the 
 high opinion which Mr. Lancaster had enter- 
 tained of his son's friend (to say nothing of 
 the gratitude which he had on all occasions 
 expressed with the utmost warmth), gave far 
 more significance to the last act of his life, 
 than it would otherwise have had ; and Vin- 
 cent's own position, which was well known 
 to Mr. Lancaster, made it more inexplicable 
 still. 
 
 Vincent was the youngest son of a country
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 75 
 
 doctor, with a large practice, and good 
 private property. His elder brothers had 
 both followed their father's profession, and 
 had been settled for some years — one in 
 America, and the other in Scotland. Of two 
 sisters, one had died a year after her marriage, 
 and the other was the wife of a curate in the 
 north of Eno^land. The father was a man of 
 fair abilities, with a decisive manner, which 
 was, as he said himself, a great deal better 
 than cleverness. He was naturally shrewd, 
 and had, in the course of his life, picked up 
 a smattering of several professions besides his 
 own ; among others, of the law. He had 
 availed himself successfully of this knowledge, 
 in more than one law-suit in which he had 
 been involved. He had triumphantly re- 
 covered fees from the executors of a rich and 
 hypochondriacal patient, and had vindicated, 
 the right of way over a certain pasture, which 
 an unpopular farmer had attempted to dispute. 
 For this latter affair, he had been presented 
 with a piece of plate by the members of the
 
 76 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 North Wattleshire Hunt. The doctor was a 
 keen sportsman, and could tell a good story 
 at a hunt dinner, and make a good speech 
 after no matter how many bumpers. He was 
 considered rather litigious ; was a little feared, 
 if not greatly respected, and a good deal 
 admired, even by those who did not like him. 
 Of all his children, only the youngest 
 showed any especial talent. The elder 
 sons were commonplace young men ; the 
 daughters, amiable girls, chiefly remarkable 
 for their modest reserve. The doctor might 
 be a trifle ''loud," but his wife and daughters 
 at least were irreproachable. But Eichard 
 had, from boyhood, been his father's favourite. 
 The doctor was keen-witted enough to per- 
 ceive, in his youngest son, signs of abilities 
 far superior, not only to those of his other 
 children, but to his own. "'Twill be our 
 Dicky's own fault, if he ain't a big-wig some 
 day," he would say to his wife ; and Eichard 
 heard and understood. At an age when his 
 brothers had cared for nothing more serious
 
 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 77 
 
 than prisoners' base, lie was nursing ambitious 
 schemes, and had formed plans over which 
 he brooded in secret. He had already chosen 
 his profession, when he went to Oxford. 
 There, he resolved not to waste his strength 
 on barren academical distinctions, but to be 
 content with an exhibition, and a good, but 
 not distinguished, place on the list of prize- 
 men. Most of his contemporaries, however^ 
 declared, that if Vincent of Queen's would 
 have read for his degree, instead of becoming 
 a little encyclopaedia of human knowledge, he 
 would have been sure of a double first. 
 
 It was in Vincent's second year at Oxford,, 
 that Horace Lancaster was entered at Queen's. 
 Horace was not popular ; he was unsociable, 
 and he was voted insufferably conceited. But 
 it was impossible to deny that his powers 
 were of a very superior order ; and Vincent 
 (who was popular) went out of his way to 
 make the acquaintance of the freshman, in 
 whose peculiarities he professed to discern 
 genius. The acquaintance had already become
 
 78 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 friendsliip, when one day, Horace, who was 
 fond of bathing, but was a poor swimmer, 
 was seized with cramp, and sank, unobserved 
 by any one but Vincent, who had left the 
 water, and was dressing. He instantly 
 plunged in, and, after diving several times, 
 found and brought out the insensible, and, 
 to all appearance, dead body of his friend, 
 who was restored with the utmost difficulty, 
 and who, as the doctor asserted, probably 
 owed his life a second time to the prompt 
 measures which Vincent fortunately knew 
 how to use. It is needless to say that, after 
 this, the friendship between the young men 
 became closer than ever. Vincent was intro- 
 duced to old Mr. Lancaster, and was treated 
 by him almost as a son. 
 
 This happened in May. The next January 
 Vincent's father broke his neck in the hunting 
 field ; and then a disgraceful story came to 
 light. The doctor was known to bet, and to 
 have even run a horse now and then for a 
 local stake ; but the scale on which he had
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 79 
 
 carried on these transactions was a secret, 
 until his sudden death revealed it. It also 
 appeared that he had lost money by unfortu- 
 nate speculations, and had heavily mortgaged 
 the property which he had always assured 
 Eichard should one day be his. He was so 
 deeply involved on every side, that the only 
 wonder was, how the crash had been so long 
 deferred. Nothing was saved from the wreck. 
 Mrs. Vincent was glad to accept the home 
 offered her by her daughter and her son-in-law ; 
 and Richard would have been unable even to 
 take his degree, but for the timely aid of an 
 exhibition which he had obtained. By the most 
 strenuous exertions, he earned enough, by read- 
 ing with pupils procured him by Mr. Lancaster, 
 to keep his terms at Lincoln's Inn. He had 
 hoped to obtain one of the Tancred Student- 
 ships, and Mr. Lancaster's influence was very 
 nearly successful in getting him elected. But 
 it happened that an unusual number of candi- 
 dates applied that year ; and Vincent was 
 passed by in favour of the son of a bencher.
 
 80 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 wlio had died just as success came to him, 
 leaving his family but ill provided for. 
 
 Mr. Lancaster had, however, been of service 
 to Richard Vincent in many ways, and had 
 only waited for him to be called to the Bar, 
 to procure him an Indian appointment. It 
 cost Richard much to give up a career in 
 England ; but he had, after a hard struggle 
 with himself, decided that it would be wise 
 to accept an offer which might lead to a judge- 
 ship, though only an Indian judgeship. And 
 now, at this critical moment in Vincent's 
 fortunes, Mr. Lancaster had died. 
 
 Adelaide knew some of these particulars, 
 and the knowledge of them, Avhile it disposed 
 her to look on Vincent with sympathy and 
 even with pity, made her feel uneasy in his 
 presence. She had learned too early how the 
 world talks, not to fear that perhaps Mr. 
 Vincent believed she had cajoled her uncle. 
 The thought was too horrible ! This uncom- 
 fortable idea gave a constraint to her manner, 
 which would have disconcerted a less self-
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 81 
 
 possessed person than the unlucky young 
 barrister. He, however, saw in Adelaide 
 merely a handsome but unformed girl, and 
 continued talking with an easy politeness, 
 calculated to set the most bashful person at 
 ease. But, despite his efforts, the little party 
 often relapsed into silence. 
 
 *' We shall all be glad when Miss Charlotte 
 returns," said Mr. Vincent, in one of these 
 pauses. 
 
 Horace, who had not spoken for some time, 
 said absently that he had been assured, at the 
 coach-office, that the Dover packet would be 
 late, and that passengers crossing in it could 
 not be in London till to-morrow. He aJD- 
 peared to have forgotten that he had already 
 told them this before dinner. 
 
 There was another silence. 
 
 *' I think," said Vincent, addressing Adelaide, 
 and making a new attempt, ^' that you have 
 not seen your cousin since you were both 
 children ? " 
 
 The cloth had been withdrawn, and Clcgg 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 ALL THE WORLD S A STAGE. 
 
 (Mr. Lancaster's coachman, whose indoor 
 duties were confined to waiting at dinner) 
 had placed the dessert upon the table and 
 retired, when Mr. Vincent made this fresh 
 essay at conversation. 
 
 Horace, leaning back in his chair, seemed 
 lost in a gloomy reverie, and only showed, by 
 now and then slowly sipping his wine, that he 
 was not quite obHvious to everything around 
 him. 
 
 " I saw Charlotte when mamma and I came 
 from India, after papa died. We stayed here 
 till mamma went to grandmamma's." Ade- 
 laide stopped just in time not to add "to 
 be married." This, she felt, was a rather 
 awkward phrase on a daughter's lips. 
 
 " She stayed with you, did she not ? " pur- 
 sued Mr. Vincent, peeling a walnut. 
 
 " No, not with us ; it was at Bristol, with 
 my cousins." 
 
 " Very amiable girls, I believe ? " 
 
 " I believe so ; but I do not know them," 
 said Adelaide, with a disagreeable recollection
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 83 
 
 of lier mother's refusal to let her visit at a 
 ''tradesman's" house. 
 
 Mr. Vincent felt that he had struck the 
 wrong chord, and was about to try another, 
 when the sound of wheels, and then a loud 
 knock and ring, startled them all, and made 
 Horace spring to his feet, exclaiming — 
 
 '' Charlotte at last ! " 
 
 In another moment there was a subdued 
 hubbub in the hall, and an excited voice cried, 
 " Where is Mr. Horace ? " 
 
 Horace opened the dining-room door at that 
 instant. 
 
 " Oh, Horace, Horace ! " cried Charlotte, 
 flinging her arms round his neck ; "if only 
 I had been here ! " 
 
 Vincent had risen ; Adelaide sat in her 
 place with a beating heart ; Charlotte was 
 sobbing as if her very heart would break, 
 regardless that the hackney coachman was still 
 bringing her luggage into the hall. 
 
 Horace drew her into the room, and shut 
 the door. Adelaide could only see that she
 
 84 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 was small and slight, and that her hair was 
 brown. 
 
 "Here is your cousin Adelaide," said 
 Horace. 
 
 Charlotte instantly made an effort to re- 
 cover her composure. She lifted her head 
 from Horace's breast, and looked round. As 
 she did so she saw Mr. Vincent ; and Adelaide, 
 who was watching her, caught a swift look of 
 doubt. 
 
 Mr. Vincent bowed respectfully, and saying 
 " Pardon me, Miss Charlotte, I will leave you 
 with the only persons whose presence is not an 
 intrusion," quitted the room. 
 
 Charlotte seemed to have been startled into 
 calmness. ''Adelaide," she said, turning to 
 her cousin, and holding out her hands, " I must 
 love you ; you were with papa when I was 
 away ! " She broke down for a moment at 
 this, but recovered herself again, and let Ade- 
 laide help her to lay aside her wraps. 
 
 It was difficult to judge of Charlotte's 
 appearance, travel and tear-stained as she was,
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 85 
 
 Adelaide did not think lier pretty, but she 
 felt, even in this first interview, the charm of 
 watching the most expressive face she had ever 
 seen. Charlotte had a pretty little head, round 
 which some of her hair was coiled rather 
 untidily ; the front hair fell in what had once 
 been ringlets, but which now hung limp and 
 disordered. Charlotte's eyes were bright, but 
 not otherwise remarkable ; and her face was 
 chiefly to be remembered (apart from its ever- 
 varying expression) by the dark, straight eye- 
 brows which, almost meeting, gave decision 
 to a countenance in which the emotional 
 predominated. Her speech and manner were 
 quick, at times even abrupt, and presented 
 a curious contrast to her brother's — Charlotte 
 always seeming to speak on the moment's 
 impulse, while Horace's words had a dignified 
 deliberation, which had been caricatured a 
 hundred times in his undergraduate days. 
 
 Charlotte asked some questions, but not 
 many, as they sat round the drawing-room 
 fire. Mr. Vincent was not there : he had
 
 86 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 gone away so quietly, that no one had heard 
 him. 
 
 " You won't mind my saying that I am glad 
 we are alone to-night, Horry dear ? '^ said 
 Charlotte, stroking his hand. She was full 
 of little caressing ways to this brother, who 
 seemed almost old and grave enough to be her 
 father, though there were but five or six years 
 between them. She told how she had started, 
 with her maid, the same day that Horace's 
 letter arrived ; how everything had conspired 
 to delay them ; and how, after a rough voyage, 
 they had been unable to make the harbour. 
 *' I thought we never should get away from 
 that horrible boat," she said. " Prickett was 
 dreadfully ill, but I was not. I was only 
 thinking that I should be too late. If I could 
 
 but have seen him once more, even in ! " 
 
 Charlotte began to cry afresh, and to blame 
 herself for having gone to Paris at all, or for 
 not having returned before. 
 
 " Dear Charlotte, none of us thought that 
 uncle was ill," said Adelaide, who longed to
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 87 
 
 take Charlotte in her arms and comfort her, 
 but did not dare. 
 
 '' But I knew — I knew ! " cried Charlotte. 
 " At least, I might have known ! " 
 
 " My darling sister," said Horace, drawing 
 her to him, " you must not torment your 
 tender heart with fancies of this sort." 
 
 " They are not fancies, dear. I had a letter 
 ■ — oh if I had thought it was the last ! Oh 
 if I had but come home as soon as I received 
 it!" 
 
 And she hurriedly began to turn out a 
 pocket, which appeared to have been the 
 receptacle for everything small enough to go 
 into it, which she had either taken with her or 
 picked up while in Paris. Out of a little chaos 
 of scent-bottles, needle-cases, bonhonnieres, a 
 pm'se, a manual of devotion, a pocket-mirror, 
 and innumerable nicknacks, evidently of 
 Parisian origin, she disengaged a letter. A 
 needle had impaled it, but it did not appear 
 to have suffered much otherwise. 
 
 Adelaide had slipped out of the room, so
 
 88 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 the brotlier and sister were alone. Horace 
 opened the letter with a troubled face. It was 
 dated two or three days before Mr. Lancaster's 
 death, and in it he spoke of having been much 
 harassed by a circumstance which had lately 
 occurred. After saying that this circumstance 
 was altogether strange and perplexing, and 
 that it had cost him several sleepless nights, 
 he continued : " But I have at last come to 
 a resolution, and trust that I have acted for 
 the best, in perhaps the most painful dilemma 
 I was ever placed in. I have ever striven to 
 let principle gaide me ; but in this matter I 
 have been forced to act as seemed most ex- 
 pedient." The following words had been care- 
 fully obliterated, but not so completely that 
 Horace did not believe he could still decipher 
 some of them. " Having no proof, and being 
 unable to obtain any," he thought he made 
 out. But an entirely illegible passage fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 After this, Horace was able to tell, and 
 Charlotte to hear, all the particulars of their
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 89 
 
 father's death. She listened in silence to her 
 brother's account of the change in the will ; 
 only saying, in a low and awe-struck voice — 
 
 '' Do you think that is what the letter 
 means ? " 
 
 But here Horace was as much in the dark 
 as herself.
 
 90 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I confess ingenuously, I cannot 
 
 So soon forget the choice and chaste delights, 
 
 The courteous conversation of the prince. 
 
 The Great Duke of Florence. 
 
 Adelaide received a letter from her mother 
 next morning, in answer to one which she her- 
 self had written. Mrs. Firebrace expressed 
 herself as much surprised and hurt at her 
 dear child's perverseness, in wishing to shun 
 her relatives. (Adelaide had begged to rejoin 
 her mother.) Was not she, asked Sophia, the 
 best judge of what was proper for her own 
 child ? She had written to Horace, to tell 
 him that the Cottage was let until Easter, 
 and that she herself was inclined to come
 
 ALL THE WOELDS A STAGE. 91 
 
 up to London for a few weeks, if he thought 
 that she could obtain moderate but respectable 
 lodgings for herself and Adelaide. Weymouth, 
 Sophia added, was excessively dear in 
 winter. 
 
 Horace had mentioned the receipt of this 
 letter, to Adelaide, and had said that, of 
 course, Mrs. Firebrace must not think of 
 taking lodgings when she had a cousin in 
 London with a house far larger than he 
 needed. Adelaide, who was reading her own 
 letter, had stammered her thanks ; she had 
 just come to this sentence in her own: "Of 
 course, Horace ought to ask me to stay in 
 Russell Square. Charlotte will want a chape- 
 rone. You can take an opportunity of sug- 
 gesting to Horace that no one can be so 
 suitable for this as his widowed cousin, I 
 hoj^e you have read your cousin's poem — it is 
 beautiful — and it will naturally gratify him 
 to find that you adndre it. I suspect that 
 he is a very different person from your poor 
 uncle, who, between ourselves, was half a
 
 92 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 Methodist. I was on thorns the whole time 
 of his visit to us — you were too young to 
 remember it — lest the poor clear major should 
 say something. Military men do say things 
 at times. But the visit passed off admirably — 
 the major's appreciation made up for any little 
 peccadilloes. Burn this letter at once — house- 
 keepers are generally prying persons, and you 
 are frightfully careless. I hope you do not. 
 neglect any opportunity of gaining influence 
 over your cousin. Never mind your being 
 young — anything may be done in this way 
 by any one who knows how to go to work.'' 
 
 Poor Adelaide read this letter with un- 
 utterable shame. " Gain influence over " 
 Horace ! The very idea was treason ! She had 
 been reading The Tower of Bahel yesterday 
 afternoon ; there was a beautifully bound copy 
 on the drawing-room table, with a crown upon 
 it, exactly like the one which had been pre- 
 sented to the Queen. She had not cared for 
 the poem when uncle Lancaster sent it to her 
 mother ; but that was more than a year ago —
 
 ALL THE WOULD S A STAGE. 93 
 
 she could understand it better now. Not that 
 she did understand it all ; there were several 
 passages which she had intended asking 
 Horace to explain to her. But, after reading 
 lier mother's letter, Adelaide resolved that he 
 should never know she had looked at his poem, 
 much less that she was learning by heart the 
 passages which she loved best. By this time, 
 Adelaide was in the drawing-room, her eyes 
 fixed longingly upon the emblazoned cover of 
 the book she would not open, lest Horace 
 should come in and catch her reading it. 
 But there was no danger of his surprising her 
 as she said the opening lines to herself. How 
 majestic they would sound, if Horace read 
 them ! 
 
 Great is my theme ! too vast for my poor skill — 
 The wondrous story of those men of yore, 
 Those builders, over-bold, who on the plains 
 Of Shinar reared their Heav'n-defying tow'r, 
 And were by Heav'n confounded. Heav'nly Muse, 
 Aid thy poor poet, while he strives to sing. 
 In verse not all unworthy of the bards 
 "VVbo erst sang well on themes as vast as this !
 
 94 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 'Twas tlie world's morning. Time liimself, still 
 
 young, 
 But just escaped tliose waters whicli engulfed 
 A guilty earth, had set himself anew 
 To run his race, and wield his fatal scythe." 
 
 Here Adelaide's memory failed her, while 
 a loud crackle of the fire suggested that she 
 had better burn her mother's letter while she 
 was still alone. She was in the act of 
 thrusting it into the reddest part of the rather 
 black and newly lighted fire, when Charlotte 
 came in. 
 
 " What ! burning your letter ? " said she. 
 *' I always keep my letters — I couldn't bear 
 to burn them." 
 
 " I keep some of mine," said Adelaide, 
 " when they are interesting." 
 
 " Adelaide," said Charlotte, after a pause, 
 during which she had been walking about the 
 roomj with a quick, restless swing of her little 
 figure, " will you promise to tell me the 
 exact truth, if I ask you a question ? " She 
 seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then, 
 with the air of one who makes up his mind
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 95 
 
 to take tlie plunge, she came and stood upon 
 the hearth-rug close to Adelaide, and said, 
 " I want to know what you think of Mr. 
 Vincent. You need not be afraid to speak 
 freely. You won't hurt my feelings." 
 Charlotte gave a nervous laugh, but she did 
 not blush, and she looked steadily at her cousin 
 as she spoke. 
 
 " I don't know. I haven't thought much 
 about him." 
 
 " You must know whether you like him or 
 not." 
 
 '' I have only seen him two or three times." 
 
 " Adelaide, when I like people, I expect 
 them to trust me ; you don't ! " 
 
 " Indeed, I do," said Adelaide, " and I * am 
 sure you may trust me." 
 
 " Then why won't you tell me what you 
 think of Mr. Vincent ? " 
 
 " I really don't know myself. I will tell 
 you when I know him better." 
 
 " When you know what other people think 
 of him, you mean ! That won't be your
 
 96 ALL THE WOELDS A STAGE. 
 
 opinion at all ; I want to know how he strikes 
 you. You are younger than I am, and you 
 have not seen so much of the world," said 
 Charlotte, with an air of premature wisdom ; 
 " but perhaps you can judge all the better for 
 that. To tell the truth, I don't exactly know 
 myself what I think of him, and I wish you 
 would try to answer my question." 
 
 Thus entreated, Adelaide said that Mr. 
 Vincent was very handsome and elegant, or, 
 at least, would be thought so at Bath ; but 
 owned that she did not feel at her ease with 
 him. "I think he is too polished to talk to 
 any one who is ignorant," she said. " He 
 was very kind last night. He talked to me 
 all the time, and though I was shy and stupid, 
 he was very polite to me." 
 
 " He can talk well. I wonder he did not 
 set you at your ease." 
 
 '' It was my fault. I did not much care to 
 talk. And he seemed to know all about you 
 and Horace, and I to be such a stranger — it 
 made me miserable/'
 
 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 97 
 
 Charlotte's persistent questions drew these 
 reluctant admissions from Adelaide, who, 
 havinof none of her mother's readiness of in- 
 vention, was compelled to give truthful replies 
 or none at all. 
 
 " Then you really mean that Mr. Vincent 
 has not impressed you much in any way ? " 
 said Charlotte, who had begun to walk about 
 again — round the table this time. '' I am 
 surprised, I own. I thought he could never 
 pass unnoticed. If you had said he was 
 haughty, or contemptuous " 
 
 '' But I don't think he is at all. He 
 looks a little proud, perhaps, but I think 
 it is only because he is so tall and slender. I 
 am sure he was quite condescending to talk 
 to me." 
 
 " I believe you like him a little after all." 
 There was a touch of vexation in Charlotte's 
 voice. 
 
 " I don't dislike him. And then, he is 
 Horace's friend, and he saved his life ; uncle 
 told me all about it the day after I came." 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Charlotte ; " but you 
 have no idea why he took him out of the 
 will ? You know he did ? " 
 
 " Uncle Hilly ard told me so. It makes 
 me feel very uncomfortable," said Adelaide, 
 simply. "Perhaps I should like Mr. Vincent 
 better if that had not happened. But, indeed, 
 Charlotte, I knew nothing of it ! " 
 
 " I never thought you did. Oh, Addy 
 dear, papa wrote and asked me to be kind to 
 you, and I will be.'' 
 
 Charlotte kissed her, and cried a little, and 
 presently began to talk about Horace. Had 
 Adelaide read his poem ? Did she not 
 think it better than Bjrron — more sublime ? 
 But Horace could do everything ; he could 
 play the violin and the piano quite as well 
 as people who play at concerts. Indeed, 
 Charlotte preferred his playing — it was more 
 expressive. Some day, not just yet (here her 
 tears were ready to flow again), Addy should 
 hear him. And he could sing ! If Addy could 
 hear him sing '' Kevenge, Timotheus cries ! "
 
 ALL THE WOKLD's A STAGE. 99 
 
 But, above all, he could recite Shakespeare so 
 that you could hardly bear to hear him — it 
 was too dreadful. And when he combed back 
 his hair, and turned down his collar, he looked 
 exactly like Shakespeare ; many people had 
 said so, and an artist had begged to be let 
 paint him as Shakespeare, but dear Horace was 
 so modest, he would not have it done. Then 
 he had written a little play ; he had kept it 
 for a Christmas surprise for papa. " And now 
 he will never know ! " 
 
 ^'Oh, Addy," cried Charlotte, "I think I 
 shall never be quite happy any more ! I feel 
 as though papa kept troubles away, and, now 
 he is gone, all sorts of things may happen to 
 us." 
 
 Adelaide tried to comfort her by saying how 
 clever Horace was, and how much every one 
 thought of him. 
 
 '^ Oh, but poor dear Horace doesn't in the 
 least know how to take care of himself ! " cried 
 Charlotte. ** He's just like a child! /know 
 more about the world than he does. His ideas
 
 100 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 are so grand and noble, anybody can deceive 
 him. If you tliink me suspicious and hard- 
 hearted, I am only so because Horace is so 
 dreadfully unsuspecting." 
 
 " But Mr. Vincent knows the world, I am 
 sure," said Adelaide ; " and Horace thinks so 
 much of his judgment, that he can hardly go 
 far wrong." 
 
 ''And Mr. Vincent is devoted to Horace," 
 said Charlotte, in a dreamy voice. 
 
 ''Any one can see that. He seems always 
 trying to spare him, and he speaks to him with 
 such respect ! I am sure he would not let any- 
 body impose on Horace. It is a good thing he 
 has such a friend." 
 
 " In spite of all you say, you like him, 
 Addy." 
 
 " I cannot help liking those who love my 
 friends." 
 
 " Addy, I believe you care for us." 
 
 " It would be very ungrateful if I did not. 
 And you are both so different from the people 
 at Bath."
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 101 
 
 The girls' hearts warming thus to each 
 other, they exchanged various little confi- 
 dences ; but not a word was said by either 
 of them on the subject of Mrs. Firebrace's 
 approaching visit.
 
 102 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Hamlet. Come, give us a taste of your quality ; come, 
 a passionate speech ! " 
 
 Within a fortnight from the day of the funeral, 
 Mrs. Firebrace was established in Eussell Square. 
 Having by this time learned the amount 
 of Mr. Lancaster's bequests, she had elabo- 
 rated her first intention. She now proposed 
 (as she informed her cousins) to look out for 
 a nice little house, in some tolerably central 
 position, and remain in town for a year at 
 least. There were so many advantages in a 
 town residence. And then, too, dear Addy 
 could have far better lessons in music and 
 singing here than in Bath. It was by quite a 
 providential coincidence that the gentleman
 
 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 103 
 
 who had taken the cottage at Bath Easton had 
 no sooner moved into it, than he had been 
 attacked by a violent fit of gout. Dr. Pouncett 
 had been called in, and had treated him so 
 successfully, that the old gentleman — a very 
 eccentric person, quite a character in his way 
 — had taken a violent fancy to him ; and 
 nothing would do but he must settle down 
 near enough to Bath to have the advantage of 
 the doctor's constant attention. His wife had 
 written a letter, entreating Mrs. Firebrace to 
 allow them to take the cottage for a longer 
 term. 
 
 " And, indeed," observed Sophia, ** I should 
 not wonder if they wanted to buy it ; but I 
 don't think I could bring myself to part with 
 your dear father's gift to me." 
 
 Sophia sighed, and Horace saw a tear in one 
 of her still pretty blue eyes, as she looked up 
 to ask Charlotte for another cup of chocolate. 
 They were at breakfast. 
 
 Mrs. Firebrace was described by her friends 
 as " a very elegant woman." She was at this
 
 104 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 time eight-and-thirty, and, but for lier com- 
 plexion, which was a little roughened and 
 coarsened by time and generous living (and the 
 sorrows of widowhood), she might have passed 
 for ten years younger. She was rather florid, 
 and wore her fair hair in a number of glossy 
 little ringlets, kept in their place, on either side 
 her forehead, by two small combs. Another 
 high narrow comb supported a mysterious 
 structure at the back of her head, formed of 
 loops and bows of hair, not in the latest fashion, 
 but showing off to advantage Sophia's silky 
 yellow tresses. She was now dressed in be- 
 coming mourning ; but her favourite colour 
 was that delicate shade of purple, afterwards so 
 fashionable under the name of " puce." 
 
 It is only justice to Sophia to say that her 
 account of the letting of the cottage had a large 
 substratum of truth. Mr. Pin key had gone to 
 Bath to take the waters. He met Dr. Poun- 
 cett at a whist party, and was much impressed 
 by his remarks on the salubrity of the neigh- 
 bourhood, and by the interest with which he
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 105 
 
 listened to the valetudinarian's story of the 
 wonders wrought by a prescription of his own 
 devising. Mr. Pinkey, delighted to find himself 
 instructing an eminent physician, declared he 
 would spend the winter and spring in the 
 neighbourhood, if the doctor would find him 
 a house, and become his medical attendant. 
 Dr. Pouncett thereupon drew a glowing picture 
 of Jungle Cottage, which Mrs. Firebrace had 
 that very day told him she wished to let. Mr. 
 Pinkey saw, approved, and proposed to buy 
 the cottage, and so not be dependent on a 
 woman's whims, as he ungallantly put it. Sophia 
 had willingly extended the term ; but had de- 
 murred to parting with the cottage at once, though 
 she held out hopes of doing so in a few months 
 — the fact being that she was heartily tired of 
 Bath Easton, but feared to ofiend her uncle, 
 and had resolved to await the result of Ade- 
 laide's visit, before taking any irrevocable 
 step. Even now, she wished to sound Horace 
 and Charlotte before finally disposing of the 
 cottage.
 
 106 ALL THE WOELd's A STAGE. 
 
 Horace, who wondered at his father's pre- 
 judice against poor Sophia, agreed with her 
 that it would be well to spend a year or two 
 in London — if, indeed, it would not be better 
 to leave Bath altogether, and hoped that she 
 would not allow a generous scruple to stand 
 in her way. 
 
 By the time Sophia had been a week in 
 the house, even Charlotte, who had looked 
 forward with dismay to her visit, was com- 
 pelled to own that she was rather an agree- 
 able guest than otherwise. She treated Char- 
 lotte with as much respect as if the girl had 
 been as old as herself; she made the house 
 more cheerful, without the least interference, 
 and almost without obvious effort. She drew 
 Horace out of those gloomy moods into which 
 he had fallen since his father s death. 
 
 Sophia had chosen her tactics with ad- 
 mirable skill. Her immediate aim went no 
 further than to ingratiate herself with her 
 cousins, and thus prolong her stay indefi- 
 nitely ; she was content to leave the future
 
 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 107 
 
 to arrange itself. At present, she was enjoy- 
 ing a welcome change from the constant 
 effort to live elegantly on a narrow income ; 
 and if Kussell Square was dull, she had 
 grown heartily tired of the old bachelors and 
 widowers, whom it did not do to neglect — 
 and thus own one's self superannuated at once 
 — but on whom all one's efforts were thrown 
 away. She was glad to use this season of 
 comparative seclusion to examine her ground, 
 and prepare the way for the great achieve- 
 ment which had hitherto been but an im- 
 possible dream, but which now seemed to be 
 becoming every day more and more a pro- 
 bability. 
 
 And thus Christmas and the New Year 
 passed, and January was half gone ; and 
 Sophia began to tell Charlotte how uneasy 
 she felt at dear Horace's continued brooding 
 over his loss, and avoidance of all society 
 except Mr. Vincent's. And Charlotte, who was 
 herself a little jealous of Vincent, determined 
 to try and rouse him.
 
 108 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 Sophia was tolerably satisfied with the 
 prospect of affairs thus far. Horace certainly 
 took a decided interest in Adelaide — rather 
 too paternal an interest, perhaps ; but still an 
 interest. He must be blind, indeed, not to 
 see how very handsome Addy was ; and he 
 should hear her sing, as soon as they could 
 have any music. Many people had been 
 struck with Addy's voice ; Sophia, who had 
 a high soprano, did not herself admire it, but 
 that was of no consequence, if Horace did. 
 
 Perhaps, of all the mistakes which we make 
 in judging character, there are none more 
 fatal, as there are certainly none more com- 
 mon, than those which arise from our in- 
 veterate habit of parcelling out mental and 
 moral qualities, and labelling them good or 
 bad, irrespective of the ends to which the 
 possessors apply them. Cceteris paribus, a 
 brave man is better than a coward ; but how 
 is it, cceteris imjoarihus? That 
 
 " Spartan dog, 
 More fell tlian anguish, hunger, or the sea,"
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 109 
 
 never blenched to tlie last. If all evil 
 be some form of Selfishness, and all good 
 some form of Unselfishness, courage, patience, 
 perseverance, acuteness, are good or evil 
 merely as they are prompted by one or other 
 of these primal motives of human action, but 
 in themselves they are neither good nor evil. 
 They are weapons, which may be used in a 
 just or an unjust cause ; they are items in 
 the ledger, and mean solvency or insolvency, 
 according as they are ranged under the head 
 of Ci^edit or Debit. " But," says some one, 
 "if we must not judge by these visible 
 characteristics, but must wait until we can 
 discern, past all doubt, the motives which 
 underlie them, we shall be obliged to suspend 
 our judgments almost indefinitely." Even that, 
 good friend, were better than the being con- 
 tinually obliged to reverse our judgments — too 
 late. But we have instincts, which would save 
 us from many a terrible mistake, if we would 
 but listen to them, instead of persisting in 
 a foregone conclusion. How often have we
 
 110 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 had an inkling of the cloven foot peeping 
 out, and have refused to see it, because, for- 
 sooth, the man was a philanthropist, and 
 therefore, must be conscientious ; or was 
 aesthetic, and therefore, must be tender- 
 hearted ! For, not content with treating 
 relative qualities as absolute, and forgetting 
 that motives alone can make actions evil or 
 good, we become, as it were, spiritual money- 
 lenders, and put down all sorts of good 
 qualities to a man's account, because we know 
 him to possess one or two. But this is a 
 necessary consequence of our habit of at- 
 tributing morality to the empty ciphers, 
 instead of to the figure which determines their 
 value. 
 
 For instance, poor Sophia Firebrace (whose 
 manoeuvres would scarcely deserve to be made 
 the occasion of so grave a digression, but for 
 the issues they helped indirectly to bring 
 about) displayed, in the gaining of her ends 
 a truly admirable self-control, and even self- 
 denial. She deferred to Charlotte. She
 
 ALL THE WOELDS A STAGE. Ill 
 
 behaved with a quiet, matronly dignity, which 
 she beheved made her appear an old frump, 
 but which, she instinctively felt, would re- 
 commend her to her cousins. She did not 
 even flirt with Mr. Vincent; or with Mr. 
 Meadows, when the old doctor looked in to 
 see how Miss Charlotte was. Nay, she only 
 smiled sedately when Mr. Meadows, who was 
 a bachelor, resumed, under her very eyes, the 
 half -jesting, half-serious flirtation which he 
 had carried on with Charlotte for the last 
 fifteen years at the least. Adelaide was 
 amazed to behold her mother tranquilly net- 
 ting, and leaving the game to the young 
 people. 
 
 " Are you well, dear mamma ? " asked Ade- 
 laide, a little alarmed at this self-abnega- 
 tion. 
 
 " Yes, child ; do I not look so ? " 
 Sophia gave her curls a slight toss, and 
 glanced up sideways, so much in her old way, 
 that Adelaide's fears for her health subsided at 
 once.
 
 112 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 '^ Yes, mamma, you look very well ; but you 
 are so quiet." 
 
 ^' This is a house of mourning, my dear. I 
 should be very unfeeling if I did not check my 
 naturally high spirits." 
 
 Sophia glanced across the room at Charlotte, 
 who was saying — 
 
 '' I don't think any of us could touch the 
 piano yet." 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear ! " said Mr. Meadows. 
 '' Begin with the Old Hundredth ! You are 
 young people, and must not give way like this. 
 The dear old gentleman we have lost loved to 
 see young people happy. He would not think 
 a harmless tune any disrespect to his memory. 
 You must rouse yourself, my dear, for your 
 brother s sake ; he's too fond of brooding — 
 don't you encourage him. Music's a famous 
 medicine. "What's -his-name, you know, in the 
 Bible, found it so — drives the devil out of a 
 man. Don't let Horace get hypochondriacal, 
 my dear ; that's the only devil I've ever met 
 with in forty years of practice, and I wouldn't
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 113 
 
 wish to meet a worse. Mrs. Grant — be^ 
 pardon — Mrs. Firebrace will bear me out in 
 that, won't you, ma'am ? " 
 
 " Indeed, Dr. Meadows," said Sophia, with 
 a gentle air of melancholy, which Adelaide 
 had seen her use with great effect upon the 
 major, after one of his " tantrums." " I am 
 sorry to say that I know what it is to have 
 fluctuating spirits only too well. For my 
 child's sake I try to keep up, but I find it very 
 difficult sometimes, even with the aid of those 
 little diversions which tend to prevent the 
 mind from dwelling too exclusively on its own 
 sorrows." 
 
 " Exactly so, ma'am ; just what I mean.. 
 Horace must be diverted. I don't like what 
 this young lady tells me of his shutting him- 
 self up in the library alone for hours together. 
 He has a fine mind — a very fine mind, and he 
 must be roused to use it. Miss Charlotte, I 
 look to you to back me. You, too. Miss 
 Grant ; young people can always be cheerful if 
 they like. I shall drop in this evening, quite 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 by cliance — you understand — and well break 
 the ice with the Old Hundredth." 
 
 The doctor was as good as his word. But 
 Horace gravely said that cheerful strains 
 would jar on the present feelings of most of 
 them, while any pathetic or mournful air 
 would touch them too keenly. 
 
 " Eh ? Is that it ? Another day, then. But 
 now, here am I, a lonely old fellow, come in 
 here, hoping to find a little entertainment 
 among the young people. Don't send the 
 hungry empty away ! If you won't sing (you 
 can't think what a fine voice he has, Miss 
 Addy), give us some of the immortal bard. 
 I'll be bound Miss Addy has never heard you. 
 Give us one of the great speeches, now — 'To 
 be or not to be,' or 'Henry the Fifth.' I 
 thought you would say ' yes ' to that ! " 
 
 For Horace had smiled, and risen from his 
 chair, and Adelaide, looking up from the 
 cambric frill she was hemming, thought that 
 thus he must have looked when he was writing
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 115 
 
 of the overthrow of Babel. He leaned against 
 the mantel-shelf and looked round on the little 
 company. 
 
 " I am not in the vein for Hamlet,'' he 
 said ; *'but if yon wish, I will try to give you 
 
 something Adelaide, have you ever read 
 
 Othello?" 
 
 " There are some pieces from it in the 
 Elegant Extracts; I have read them." 
 
 " Then you have not read Othello ! No 
 wonder the drama has declined, when Shake- 
 speare's masterpieces are chopped up to coldly 
 furnish forth Elegant Extracts ! " 
 
 .Sophia resolved that Adelaide should forth- 
 with study the Family Shakespeare. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Horace," said the doctor, 
 stretching out his legs, and leaning back in 
 his chair, as though he were at the play, " the 
 house is getting impatient." 
 
 Horace took a turn or two, and then, with, 
 a wave of his hand towards Meadows, 
 began — 
 
 " Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors."
 
 116 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 This was one of the pieces included in the 
 Elegant Extracts; but as Horace delivered 
 it, it sounded quite new, and far more moving 
 than Adelaide had ever imagined printed 
 words could be. She could scarcely control 
 her excitement. She identified the characters 
 and the circumstances. Othello was Horace 
 himself, and Desdemona was the beautiful 
 Miss Overton, of whom Charlotte had told her, 
 but who was hardly as kind and gentle as this 
 Venetian lady. Charlotte was afraid that 
 Desdemona (that is. Miss Blanche Overton) — 
 was not as sensible as she should be to Othello's 
 merits. But this was surely impossible ! How- 
 ever beautiful and admired Miss Overton 
 might be, she must be proud of Horace. 
 Was he not a genius, and a poet ? Had he 
 not hinted at greater fame still, which was yet 
 to be won ? She would be sure to listen to 
 him when he had won it ; but it would be 
 much more generous to listen now ! Adelaide's 
 heart swelled with pain and indignation at the 
 thought that Horace could ever plead in vain.
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 117 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "What ! cramp my genius over a pestle and mortar ? — 
 The Ajyprentice. 
 
 When Horace had recited the speech out of 
 Othello, Mr. Meadows, after loudly applaud- 
 ing, said — 
 
 '' I should like to see you in the part, with 
 Desdemona standing by." 
 
 Adelaide, who had a habit of giving to 
 characters in fiction the names and personalities 
 of her own friends and acquaintance, never saw 
 the beautiful Miss Overton and Horace together 
 without thinking of these words of the doctor. 
 There could not be a doubt as to Horace being 
 Othello. He looked so frowning when Blanche 
 provoked him ; but she was less satisfactory as 
 Desdemona.
 
 118 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 It was now March. A great deal liaci 
 happened since January. Horace had lost 
 some money ; not much, to sure, but enough 
 to make him think Mr. Eench had been care- 
 less. Mr. Vincent thought so too, though he 
 made excuses for Mr. Eench, and said that only 
 a very clever man indeed could foresee every- 
 thing. The end of it was that Horace had 
 persuaded Mr. Vincent (who was almost too 
 poor even to go on circuit) to manage his 
 aJBfairs for him, until he could choose another 
 solicitor. 
 
 But very much more important things than 
 this had happened. Horace, who had been 
 quite another creature ever since he had begun 
 to think about Shakespeare again, had made 
 up his mind to become an actor in real earnest, 
 and go upon the stage. No one was surprised 
 except Adelaide and her mother ; and Adelaide 
 need not have been so much astonished as she 
 was, for uncle Lancaster had often spoken in 
 his letters about the private theatricals, in 
 which Horace used to act so well.
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 119 
 
 There had been a great maDy very exciting 
 conversations on this momentous subject, and 
 some rather odd-looking people had come to the 
 house. Horace had even taken a few lessons 
 in elocution of a little man in a very shabby 
 great- coat ; but he wanted Horace to spoil all 
 the best passages, so the lessons were soon 
 given up. Adelaide proudly reflected that — ■ 
 next to Mr. Vincent and Charlotte and Mr. 
 Meadows — she herself had been taken into 
 Horace's confidence, and allowed to hear the 
 arguments for and against the chances of success, 
 the hopes and fears which surrounded so great 
 an undertaking, discussed over and over again 
 in solemn conclave. How great an under- 
 taking it was, and how little had she guessed 
 till now what great qualities, and what 
 strenuous eflfort, it demanded ! Would Horace 
 succeed ? Would his name be handed down^ 
 along with Garrick's, and Kean's, and Kemble's, 
 and the few great names which the whole world, 
 and not merely one generation, reveres? Ade- 
 laide thought of Horace ; and he seemed great
 
 120 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 enough to succeed. And tlien slie trembled, 
 as she remembered bow in this art, above all 
 others, it is not enough to be great ; one must 
 forget one's greatness, and remember one's self 
 only as a part to be played by-and-bye. Could 
 Horace do this ? Could he, as Mr. Vincent 
 had said he must, use Horace Lancaster as the 
 mere blank paper on which to write his Hamlet 
 or his Othello f Or would he never be able to 
 help making Hamlet or Othello occasions for 
 displaying some at least of his own per- 
 sonality ? 
 
 The great resolve had been taken about a 
 fortnight ago. And as though this was not 
 exciting enough, it now appeared that Mr. 
 Vincent was madly in love with Charlotte, and 
 that Horace had urged her to accept him,. 
 And Charlotte could not make up her mind, 
 and was workins: herself into a fever about it. 
 And Mrs. Firebrace was quite sure that Char- 
 lotte had some other attachment — perhaps that 
 good-looking Mr. Gerald Overton, who went to 
 Paris with them ; and Mrs. Firebrace hoped
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 121 
 
 most sincerely that Horace would not force 
 poor Charlotte into a marriage with a very 
 designing man, whom she herself had seen 
 through from the first. Horace was so in- 
 fatuated with him, and had such romantic 
 ideas, that he was ready to sacrifice his own 
 sister to a briefless barrister, without a penny 
 — absolutely without a penny ! He almost 
 lived in Eussell Square ; and it was Mrs. 
 Firebrace's firm belief that Horace paid for the 
 very clothes on his back. For her part, she 
 had never liked him. A very dangerous man, 
 she called him. Oh yes, very clever ! and 
 very good-looking^ — at least, most people would 
 say so ; Sophia did not. She did not admire 
 a squint, though some people did consider it 
 interesting. And the airs he gave himself 
 were insufierable ; in fact, he was altogether an 
 insufierable person. He deferred to Horace ? 
 Of course he did ! he was far too clever to 
 slight Horace in his own house ; but he made 
 himself far more at home there than she, 
 Horace's own cousin, should think of doing —
 
 122 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 in fact, disgustingly at liome. There was a 
 quiet assumption about every word and look of 
 the man, which she understood. And Horace 
 was completely under his influence, completely! 
 Oh no ! she had known better than to say a 
 word to Horace of what she thought ; it would 
 only do harm. Her poor uncle had evidently 
 had his reasons for taking Mr. Vincent out of 
 his will ; and see what had come of it ! Sophia 
 verily believed that this marriage would never 
 have been thought of if Horace had not taken 
 it into his head that an injustice had been done 
 Mr. Vincent, and that he ought to make it up 
 to him somehow. A very clever stroke of 
 Vincent's to refuse Horace's oflfer of the money ! 
 He was a snake in the grass, that's what Mr. 
 Vincent was ! And Adelaide need not trouble 
 herself to plead for him. He had done her a 
 deal of harm with her cousin, as Sophia very 
 well knew. A designing man, who meant to 
 keep Horace to himself, and not let him marry 
 at all ; or, if he couldn't quite do that, marry 
 him to some poor, silly little thing like Lina
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 123 
 
 Overton, who would not interfere witli his 
 plans. Adelaide little knew how much Mr. 
 Vincent was her enemy. 
 
 Mrs. Firebrace was in bed, recovering from 
 a quinsy which she had caught by standing 
 at the churcli door in an east wind, talking 
 to one of her old beaux from Bath, who 
 happened to be in town. She was much 
 better ; but as there was a good deal of east 
 wind still about, Mr. Meadows advised care, 
 and, as Sophia remarked, it was perhaps a 
 providential circumstance that she was thus 
 spared the necessity of giving an opinion as 
 to this preposterous match, until poor dear 
 Charlotte had made up her mind. 
 
 " But you may take my word for it, Addy, 
 if that man had not got your cousin's ear so 
 completely, there would have been something 
 serious between you and Horace before now ! " 
 
 " Mamma ! — when you know that Horace 
 admires the beautiful Miss Overton ! And 
 Mr. Vincent is always praising her. I don't 
 think I should like it if I were Charlotte ; but
 
 124 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 it does not look as if he wished Horace to 
 marry Lina/' 
 
 " He knows well enough that Blanche will 
 never have him. The beautiful Miss Overton, 
 indeed ! As haughty a piece as ever I saw ! 
 You are twice as handsome, Addy ; and you 
 could have Horace if you knew how to play 
 your cards, in spite of Mr. Vincent. But 
 you are enough to drive a mother to despair ! 
 A hundred thousand pounds, at the very 
 least, besides the estates in Essex, and you 
 won't stir your little finger ! And I'm sure 
 you have seen enough of the miseries of 
 poverty ! " 
 
 " Mamma," said Adelaide, jumping up so 
 quickly that she upset the little table by the 
 bedside, " I cannot bear your talking so ! I 
 don't want to marry anybody, and I am sure 
 I hope Miss Overton will marry Horace. She 
 ought to, and he will be very unhappy if she 
 does not. But you always talk so about 
 every one. There was that horrid rich old 
 Mr. Wiggleswade at Bath. When you talk
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 125 
 
 SO, you make me Avish I need never see Horace 
 again." 
 
 " Ungrateful girl ! " whimpered Sophia. 
 " And all because I want to see you com- 
 fortably established ! I'm sure I don't know 
 where you got such a violent temper. Not 
 from your poor dear father, I'm sure; he had 
 a temper like a lamb ! Have you picked up 
 all the things you knocked down ? Is any- 
 thing broken ? " 
 
 " No, mamma. There was only the Sick 
 Man's Companion and the fashion book." 
 
 " It would have been just the same if my 
 medicine had been there. How often have I 
 told you, Addy, that such tempers are sinful ! " 
 
 It was with a mind thus disturbed that 
 Adelaide was summoned to the drawing-room 
 to see the Misses Overton. She found Horace 
 there, leaning with his elbow on the mantel- 
 piece, which was a favourite attitude with 
 him. As Adelaide entered, Blanche Overton 
 was saying —
 
 126 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 '' And so, Mr. Lancaster, you really are 
 going on the stage ? How very extraordinary 
 of you ! Papa has done nothing but laugh 
 ever since he heard it." 
 
 Blanche said this with the faintest approach 
 to a smile on her perfect lips, and the slightest 
 possible lifting of her long, dark, curled eye- 
 lashes. Her manner would have been insipid 
 but for a fine flavour of indolent contempt, 
 which had piqued other men besides Horace 
 Lancaster to try and win a woman's smile 
 from this superb statue. Blanche was not of 
 an enthusiastic temperament ; and if she felt 
 a little idle contempt for a world which 
 worshipped her, what wonder ? 
 
 " I think it is delightful ! " cried little Lina, 
 who was two years older than Blanche, and 
 looked two years younger. " Where shall you 
 act, Mr. Lancaster ? I must come." 
 
 Horace said that he should not attempt a 
 London engagement for some time. There 
 was an idea of his playing for a few nights 
 at Bristol in April; but as yet nothing was 
 settled.
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 127 
 
 Lina's face fell on hearing this. " Bristol ? 
 What a pity ! If it were only Bath ! But 
 nobody goes to Bristol." 
 
 *'And in what character do you intend to 
 make your debut, Mr. Lancaster ? " asked 
 Blanche, looking at him with an appearance 
 of lazy interest, which annoyed Adelaide. 
 
 Horace seemed to feel it, too. He answered, 
 rather coldly, that he had not yet determined, 
 but that Mr. Smith, the manager, had been 
 pleased with a little thing of his own, and 
 had proposed to bring it out on the 23rd of 
 April. "The piece is entitled A Dream of 
 Shakespeare's Youth/' added Horace. "So 
 there will be an appropriateness in producing 
 it on the great poet's birthday." 
 
 To every one's surprise, Blanche laughed — 
 a charming, silvery laugh, which scarcely dis- 
 turbed the statuesque regularity of her 
 features. 
 
 "I beg your pardon for laughing," she 
 said. " I really could not help it. It has 
 just struck me how very like Mr. Lancaster
 
 128 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 is to the statue of Shakespeare — somewhere 
 or other — in the Abbey, isn't it ? And he is 
 standing in just the same attitude ! " 
 
 " Good Heavens, madam ! " exclaimed 
 Horace, angrily ; "is it so ridiculous to re- 
 semble the greatest poet who ever lived ? " 
 
 Blanche's eyes did not quail beneath his 
 (which, as Charlotte said afterwards, '^posi- 
 tively blazed ") ; but a red spot came on 
 one of her delicate cheeks as she said, "Do 
 not tear me to pieces, Mr. Lancaster! I am 
 sure you look as if you could. Such a re- 
 semblance, you know, as well as I do, might 
 be very ridiculous indeed — in some persons." 
 She looked at him defiantly, and laughed. 
 
 Horace had recovered his dignity,but was 
 still a little flushed. He had shifted his 
 position, and now stood leaning back and 
 looking down from under his eyelids at her 
 with a studied nonchalance, to which Blanche 
 was not accustomed in her admirers. 
 
 ''Yours are formidable eyes, Miss Blanche," 
 he said ; " but I must learn to accustom
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 129 
 
 myself to still more formidable eyes than 
 yours." 
 
 Blanche put up her delicate eyebrows at 
 this. AVhat inspection could be so formidable 
 as that of her eyes ? ''At least, I hope 
 your professional engagements — how odd it 
 does sound, to be sure ! — will allow you 
 to come to us on Thursday. Our music- 
 master, Mr. De Eue, begged mamma to let 
 him bring out one of his pupils at our 
 house. He says she has a very good voice 
 indeed. You must come. If Mrs. Firebrace 
 is afraid to venture out, that need not prevent 
 your coming. Mamma wants some one who 
 understands music. Perhaps a cousin of ours 
 from Germany will be there, and there must 
 be some one to talk to him." 
 
 Horace appeared half-disposed to decline 
 this gracious invitation ; but Lina begged hard, 
 Charlotte wished to go, and Blanche turned the 
 scale by remarking that Gerald had said Mr. 
 Lancaster would be too busy studying his part, 
 and had scolded them for coming disturb to him. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 ALL THE WOKLD's A STAGE. 
 
 " Something liad put Blanche out," said 
 Charlotte, as soon as the visitors were gone. 
 " She is a strange girl ; she always laughs 
 when she is in a bad temper. She doesn't 
 storm — she laughs, and says things. I'd 
 sooner people stormed, for my j)art." 
 
 It is time to say a few words about the 
 Overtons. Sir John had represented the 
 borough of Stoggington ever since the Prince 
 Eegent's days. Even the Eeform Bill, as 
 Lady Overton complained, had not had much 
 effect on the intelligent electors, who had, 
 however, escaped being disfranchised by the 
 very skin of their teeth. Sir John was also 
 colonel of the Yeomanry, and had been read}?- 
 to perform prodigies of valour when the 
 Peterloo affair seemed about to give that 
 gallant force an opportunity of distinguishing 
 itself. But, as every one knows, the aj)pre- 
 hended insurrection ended ignobly in a mere 
 riot ; and Sir John's wounds, received in his 
 country's service, amounted to no more than 
 a severe cold, which had resulted in deafness.
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 131 
 
 This was, however, of little consequence, as Sir 
 John had never served liis country with his 
 ears, having, at an early period, made up his 
 mind on all political subjects, and not needing, 
 therefore, to be convinced. He tranquilly 
 slept through the debates, and was only 
 awakened when the House went into division. 
 It is almost unnecessary to add that he was 
 a true-blue of the purest water. He supposed 
 it was proper for Whigs to exist — a Ministry 
 appearing to involve an Opposition, as a pack 
 of hounds pre-supposes a fox. But he con- 
 sidered that the country would never be well 
 governed until the Yeomanry were called out, 
 and the Eadicals disposed of by small-arms. 
 He came of an ancient family, who had seldom 
 left the county, and had never changed their 
 opinions. 
 
 Lady Overton was more ambitious, and, 
 therefore, less Conservative. She was fond of 
 famous people, and had even been heard to 
 say that " she doted on Eadicals, they were 
 so interesting ! " Fortunately, Sir John (who
 
 132 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 stoutly refused to use an ear-trumpet, and 
 made liis butler repeat scraps of tlie conver- 
 sation to him from time to time) did not hear 
 this. Her ladyship had a hearty good will ta 
 literature, and nothing would have delighted 
 her more than to l)e thought " blue " in 
 another sense than her husband ; but her zeal 
 outran her discretion, and some malicious 
 stories had gone the round of her circle. A 
 spiteful young barrister, who had written a 
 clever political pamphlet, got into Parliament, 
 and having been invited by Lady Overton to a 
 matinee^ declared that she had lamented to 
 him (he was a Scotchman) the fearful crimes 
 and awful end of the late Mr. Burke. " Such 
 a great man as everybody thought him, Mr. 
 McLasher, and a fine speaker, too ! " But this 
 was probably a calumny. 
 
 Sir John had a large family, of whom the 
 eldest son, Augustus, was a captain in the 
 Hussars ; and the eldest daughter, the plainest 
 of the girls, was married to Mr. Counsellor 
 JBingham, a respectable Chancery lawyer, full
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 133 
 
 twenty years her senior. Then there was 
 ■Gerald, who excused himself for what his 
 mother called " his incorrigible laziness," by 
 remarking that it was not his fault ; he should 
 have made a capital elder son, but had not 
 energy enough for a younger one. Amelia, 
 Lina, and Blanche came next in age ; and then 
 two boys who were still at Harrow. 
 
 The Overtons were not rich for their posi- 
 tion. Augustus was expensive, and there 
 were still three daughters to marry. Lady 
 Overton had, therefore, not discouraged Mr. 
 Lancaster's attentions, although she did not 
 the less look out for a title — in default of which 
 she was prepared to make the best of a fortune 
 without that desirable appendage. 
 
 A note was brought round on Thursday 
 morning, begging the Eussell Square party to 
 come to dinner. Horace, who had been in 
 a somewhat bitter mood ever since Blanche's 
 visit, said he supposed some one was to be 
 at dinner whom her ladyship did not know 
 how to talk to.
 
 134 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Ah, were slie pitiful as she is fair ! 
 
 RoBEET Greene. 
 
 The Overtoils' town-house was in South Aud- 
 ley Street. Lady Overton was accustomed to 
 bewail this fact, on the score of there being 
 no room for a carriage to turn (she alluded to 
 a defect in the street, and not in the house) ; 
 but she was secretly of opinion that her 
 drawing-rooms were very elegant. They 
 certainly appeared so to Adelaide, as she 
 followed her mother and cousins, who were 
 announced by Buddie the butler in. a voice 
 which long practice on Sir John had rendered 
 stentorian. 
 
 Sophia had entirely recovered from her
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 135 
 
 quinsy. Mr. Meadows had shaken his head ; 
 but Sophia assured him that she knew 
 her own constitution, and that nothing ever 
 did lier so much good as a little agreeable 
 change of scene. It had been a struggle with 
 her not to wear her lilac satin. It was full 
 three months since Mr. Lancaster's death, and 
 one cannot be in mourning for ever. But Char- 
 lotte would be in deep black ; so, perhaps ■ 
 
 And, with a sigh, Sophia took out a black silk, 
 which, with a white scarf, and a white plume 
 in her hair, might be made very becoming. 
 She was so well satisfied with the final effect, 
 that she did not even envy Lady Overton's 
 somewhat full-blown charms, in pink silk, shot 
 with silver. 
 
 Lady Overton received the party with her 
 usual transitory empressement, declared that 
 Mrs. Firebrace was looking even better than 
 when she saw her in Bath, said the girls were 
 charming, as usual, and asked Horace what 
 was this that she heard about him ? 
 
 These variously appropriate greetings did
 
 136 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 not in the least distract her ladyship's thoughts 
 from the question (which she had been de- 
 bating with herself ever since she had heard 
 that Sir Saville Fidelle had come in for old 
 Lord Gatheringay's property), whether this 
 intimacy with the Lancasters had not been a 
 mistake ? And the further question, whether, 
 by prudent management, it would be possible 
 to transfer Horace Lancaster from Blanche, who 
 had too many admirers, to Amelia or Lina, 
 who had too few ? Lina was just the girl 
 that a man like Horace falls in love with. He 
 should take her down to dinner. Lady Over- 
 ton came to this resolution, in time to add, in 
 a more confidential tone, to the object of these 
 search in o;s of heart — 
 
 *' I want you to take my little Lina to-night 
 — the child has been raving about your poem — 
 you'll find her easier to talk to than old Lady 
 Fidelle. I meant you for her, but Gus shall 
 take her down ; I won't be so cruel as to give 
 her to you ! A dear, good creature, but a little 
 trying to talk to. I know you'll be grateful to 
 me!"
 
 ALL THE WOULD's A STAGE. 137 
 
 This was said with as frank and disinterested 
 an air as if Horace were six instead of twenty- 
 six, and she were good-naturedly promising 
 him a slice of cake. 
 
 Thus it came about that on this somewhat 
 eventful evening, Horace found himself talk- 
 ing to Lina with such unusual interest, that he 
 actually let several courses go by, without cast- 
 ing so much as a look at Blanche, sitting beside 
 a very fair and very narrow-shouldered young 
 man, who did not appear to be remarkably 
 entertaining. Blanche, who, as we know, was 
 always scornful, to-night looked positively 
 sarcastic as she replied to this young man ; and 
 Horace began to think what he would say to 
 her by-and-bye — there would be plenty of 
 opportunities during the music. Lina, whose 
 eyes had sparkled, and her cheeks flushed, till 
 even the pre-occupied Horace observed how 
 pretty she looked, felt his thoughts flying away 
 from her, and became her usual pale, insigni- 
 ficant self again, as she wondered whether all 
 girls' hearts ached at dinner-parties. Blanche
 
 138 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 looked as if hers did, and Adelaide's eyes 
 seemed to be searcliing for something which 
 they could not find. 
 
 Adelaide had been taken down to dinner by 
 a young man, whose name she had lost when 
 he was rapidly presented to her by her hostess. 
 He was of the middle height, and had a 
 remarkably eager expression, to which his 
 bushy dark hair gave an appearance of im- 
 petuosity very unlike the well-bred repose of 
 manner observable in most of the other guests. 
 
 '' You love music ; I see it in your face," ho 
 had said, before they were well out of the 
 drawing-room, and he continued to talk of 
 music all through dinner. 
 
 Adelaide did love music. At the moment 
 when her cavalier was presented to her, she 
 had been looking with longing eyes at a piece 
 of music lying on the piano, scarcely able to 
 resist the temptation of peeping inside to see 
 if it was that one of Dussek's rondos which 
 had the thunderstorm in it, but restrained by 
 shyness from gratifying her curiosity. Still,
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 139 
 
 one may love music, and yet have a little 
 curiosity to spare for other subjects ; and 
 Adelaide was not sorry when her cavalier now 
 and then addressed himself to his dinner, and 
 left her free to listen to an animated discussion 
 going on between Lady Overton and Mr. 
 Counsellor Bingham, about M. Berna s report 
 on those extraordinary cases of animal mag- 
 netism, of which her ladyship had heard so 
 much when she was in Paris last autumn. M. 
 Berna, in his report just published, was dis- 
 posed to treat the whole thing as delusion, 
 if not as imposture, and Mr. Bingham agreed 
 with him, much to the indignation, of her 
 ladyship, who hankered after the marvellous. 
 
 But Adelaide's new acquaintance did not 
 allow her much leisure for listening to any one 
 but himself, and he made her take her share 
 in the conversation. 
 
 "Music is the end of the Arts — it begins 
 where they leave off," he exclaimed vehemently, 
 after she had said something about the different 
 effects which different masters produce upon us.
 
 140 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 ^'It can be compared with none. All otlier 
 arts differ from each, other in degree. Music 
 differs in kind. The other arts mutually 
 aid each other, but music is but half music 
 unless she is alone. We shall never have a 
 true opera till the opera is given as free from 
 distracting surroundings as the oratorio." 
 
 He said the last words so loud that Horace 
 heard across the table. 
 
 " Pardon me, sir," said he ; "but did I hear 
 you aright ? Would you do away with scenery 
 at the opera ? " 
 
 " Most certainly I would, sir, and with 
 acting too. Acting is glorious, sublime, in 
 its proper place. Its place is in tragedy or 
 comedy, not in opera, where, to my mind, at 
 least — I am aware that I am in an overwhelm- 
 ing minority — the music spoils the acting, and 
 the acting spoils the music." 
 
 " I suppose you would allow music between 
 the acts ? " 
 
 ''By all means, and appropriate music. And 
 I gladly admit that music may be introduced
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 141 
 
 with great effect into the body of a play. 
 Shakespeare has left us many stage directions- 
 to that effect, as though he felt that great 
 deeds and thoughts were fitly set to music. 
 But compare The Tempest with an opera ! " 
 
 " Certainly the music in The Tempest does 
 not seem out of place." 
 
 *^ Whereas," said the other, growing more 
 enthusiastic every instant, "in an opera, all 
 seems out of place, except, perhaps, the scenery, 
 and that, as we manage it, is generally a mere 
 vulgarity. Music is the universal language — 
 in her highest form, she has all to lose, and 
 nothing to gain, from the other arts. She can 
 lend a grace to them, but they can give her 
 nothing. Think only, sir ! — in opera we have 
 the poetic, the dramatic, and the pictorial arts, 
 all contending for our attention at the same 
 moment with music, who, of herself, demands, 
 all our heart and soul and strength ! " At 
 this moment the speaker suddenly became 
 aware that he had raised his voice considerably,, 
 and that the whole table was listenino; to him.
 
 142 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 He instantly checked himself, and, blushing, 
 said, with a slight smile, as he looked round, 
 " I entreat pardon ! I forget myself when the 
 talk is of music/^ 
 
 '' What are they saying, Buddie ? " asked 
 Sir John, who saw that all heads were turned 
 in one direction. 
 
 " The gentleman says that hop'ras ought to 
 be just like horertorios, Sir John/' bawled 
 Buddie in his ear. 
 
 *' What ! operas like oratorios ? What the 
 doose does he mean ? Never heard of such a 
 thing ! What do the other gentlemen say to 
 it, Buddie ? " 
 
 " They don't seem to know what to say. Sir 
 John," yelled Buddie again. 
 
 " Well, but demmy, don't any of 'em say 
 anything ? Ain't we to have a bailey ? 
 Demmy, what good's an opera without a 
 bailey ? " urged Sir John, testily. " What 
 does Mr. Lancaster say to it, Buddie ? " 
 
 " Mr. Lancaster says. Sir John, as there's 
 more satisfaction in a play nor a hop'ra,"
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 143 
 
 screamed Buddie, wlio was growing red in 
 the face. 
 
 " Ha! lia ! ho ! ho ! that's what he says, is 
 it ? Nothing like leather, eh, Lancaster ? 
 Stand up for your arm of the service, eh ? 
 Not but what you'd a deal better have stuck 
 to the law, like Bingham. Why, demmy, 
 Bingham's sure to be a judge as soon as ever 
 the Dook comes in again, and sends the Whigs 
 to the right-about. Better by half have stuck 
 to the law, like Bingham — eh, Bingham ? How- 
 ever, there's no accounting for tastes — learned 
 that at Harrow — was flogged — never forgot it. 
 Nothing like flogging to make boys remember ! 
 Pleasure taking glass of wine, Lancaster. Ha ! 
 ha ! very good ! very good ! " 
 
 Sir John bowed to Horace, and lifted the 
 glass ; but the exquisite appropriateness of 
 Mr. Lancaster's remark struck him afresh at 
 the critical instant of swallowing. The most 
 alarming results followed: he became black 
 in the face, and was thumped violently upon 
 the back by Buddie, while Lady Overton, 
 from her end of the table, exclaimed —
 
 144 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 "Sir John ivill laugli when he is taking 
 wine with people — I tell him it will be his 
 death some day, but he will do it. And 
 peoj^le will make him laugh." 
 
 Horace began to apologize. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Lancaster, of course you couldn't 
 help it. And no one can ever tell when 
 Sir John will laugh — he's so deaf, he always 
 laughs in the WTong place at the play. I 
 shall never dare bring him to see you, Mr. 
 Lancaster ; I know he would laugh." 
 
 This was so disconcerting a speech, that 
 Lina hastened to tlie rescue. 
 
 " Poor papa is so deaf, that when he does 
 hear anything, he dwells on it, and laughs 
 at it when other people have forgotten all 
 about it. And then, he sees things in dumb 
 show, you know," explained Lina, anxious to 
 soothe Horace's wounded feelings. " People 
 do look absurd, when you can't hear what 
 they are saying." 
 
 '^ Will you tell me your name, to show you 
 forgive me for having behaved so badly, and
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 145 
 
 made every one stare ? " said Adelaide's 
 cavalier, who had been explaining to her that 
 he had lived in Germany all his life, and 
 had forgotten for the moment that he was 
 in England. 
 
 " My name is Adelaide Grant. And now 
 you must tell me yours, for I did not hear 
 it. 
 
 " I am Theodore Paston, and your humble 
 servant to command — I think that is the 
 English phrase. It is better in German," 
 said the young man, with a very un-English 
 gesture. " And so your name is Adelaide ? 
 That is a truly superb name ! " 
 
 " Who is the gentleman sitting beside my 
 cousin ? " asked Horace of Lina. " Surely 
 he is a foreigner ? " 
 
 " No ; that is, he was born in Germany, 
 but his mother was a cousin of mamma's. 
 She ran away with her music -master," added 
 Lina, in a very low voice, and blushing a 
 little. " Mamma was very much shocked, of 
 course, and they were never talked about in 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 the family, till the Duke of Vogelheimsburg 
 made Mr. Paston a Privy Councillor." 
 
 " And is the young gentleman opposite also 
 a musician ? " 
 
 *'Yes. Mamma wants him to try and get 
 a diplomatic appointment ; but he says he 
 would rather be chapel-master to the Duke 
 of Vogelheimsburg than be Secretary of State 
 in England. Is it not strange ? " 
 
 " Very," said Horace, drily. " And yet, Miss 
 Angelina, I am a little surprised that you 
 think so. I should have imagined that you 
 would have sympathized with your cousin." 
 
 "So I do ; but then, I am only a girl," 
 said Lina, simply. " Of course, / like music 
 much better than politics ; but Theodore is a 
 man." 
 
 " And you consider music unmanly ? " 
 
 " Oh no, no ; but men like to make them- 
 selves a great name, to be powerful and 
 famous." 
 
 " And who is so famous as a great com- 
 poser? All nations, and all ages, listen to his
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 147 
 
 works. He is remembered and loved by 
 millions, who neither know nor care under 
 what king, or duke, or prime minister he 
 lived. You, Miss Angelina, are accustomed 
 to hear genius spoken of and treated as 
 though it were a superior kind of juggling, 
 for the recreation of the fashionable world. 
 Genius was not given for this. Not to the 
 vulgar and uncultured clique which calls itself 
 * society ' does genius address itself — flattered 
 by being called ' very clever ' by duchesses 
 more ignorant of all that is worth knowing 
 than their own waiting-maids ! No, Miss 
 Angelina, genius speaks to a greater world 
 than ' the great world ' you live in ! " 
 
 Horace addressed this speech to Lin a ; but 
 in the course of it, his eyes wandered in the 
 direction of the narrow-shouldered young man, 
 who appeared to be boring Blanche con- 
 siderably, and whose name he had ascertained 
 to be Sir Saville Fidelle. 
 
 Lina looked puzzled and distressed. " I 
 did not think you could say such unkind
 
 148 ALL THE WOELd's A STAGE. 
 
 things," she said, "and I do not know 
 what I have done to deserve them." 
 
 " You, Miss Angelina ? Nothing — nothing ! 
 Forgive me. I had no right to speak thus 
 to one like you." 
 
 The last words were said in a hurried 
 whisper, as the ladies rose from table. 
 
 As soon as they had retired, Horace went 
 round, and sat by young Paston. 
 
 " It is as pleasant as it is rare," he began, 
 " to hear the dull commonplace of an English 
 dinner-table broken in upon by any one who 
 seems in earnest about the opinions he is 
 uttering." 
 
 " I am a fish out of water," replied Paston. 
 *' These people choke me. They seem to think 
 it a mark of ill-breeding to have ideas. The 
 Duke at home does not think so." 
 
 Upstairs, in the drawing-room, Blanche came 
 behind Lina, and, slipping her arm round her 
 sister's waist, whispered — 
 
 " You little puss, how bright you looked at
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 149 
 
 dinner ! Sir Saville is the very man to marry 
 — one need see so little of one's husband — but 
 he is rather a bore in society." 
 
 "Don't squeeze me so tight, Blanche — I 
 can't breathe." 
 
 " You are such a poor frail little thing, I 
 really believe 1 could squeeze the life out of 
 you, if I tried," said Blanche, rather tightening 
 her clasp. " There, don't faint, you poor 
 mousie ! Did its sister kiss it too roughly ? 
 Lina ! Lina I what is the matter ? " • for Lina, 
 deadly pale, sank down on the sofa the moment 
 Blanche relaxed her sisterly embrace. 
 
 The gentlemen were allowed to sit but a 
 very short time over their wine that evening. 
 Sir John was in the middle of an account 
 of his experiences at Peterloo, when Buddie 
 entered. 
 
 ''Beg pardon, Sir John," roared the butler 
 in Sir John's best ear. "My lady says the 
 company's arriving, and the musicians is 
 expected every moment."
 
 150 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 " Demmy, Buddie, don't speak so loud ! I 
 can hear better to-night. You're as bad as 
 that demmed fusillade at Peterloo, demmy if 
 you ain't ! Well, gentlemen, if my lady says 
 so, 1 suppose we must go." 
 
 Among the company now taking their places 
 on rout-seats set in rows, as though this were a 
 concert-room, was Mr. Vincent, whom Lady 
 Overton had met once or twice in old Mr. 
 Lancaster's time, and had taken rather a fancy 
 to, as a handsome and well-bred young man. 
 He made her ladyship laugh by something he 
 told her ; and when the gentlemen came up- 
 stairs, she presented him to Mr. Counsellor 
 Bingham, with whom he was soon deep in 
 conversation, and who seemed to find Mr. 
 Vincent an agreeable companion. 
 
 Meantime, the " musicians " had arrived, 
 and Mr. De Rue had introduced his pupil as 
 Miss Elton, and announced that she would 
 sing a canzonet of Haydn's. Miss Elton was 
 a slim, pale girl, with an emotional face. Her 
 voice was an extremely sweet mezzo-soprano 
 of some power.
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 151 
 
 "What an Ophelia she could be made!" said 
 Horace to Adelaide — he was leaning against 
 the wall, close to where she sat — when the 
 song ceased, and was followed by a murmur of 
 applause, and of renewed conversation. 
 
 Blanche sat just behind Adelaide, and it was 
 she who replied, " She has the lackadaisical air 
 which most Ophelias have, and I dare say in 
 the mad scene would look rather pretty." 
 
 " She has the womanly gentleness and ten- 
 derness. Miss Overton, which most Ophelias 
 are obliged, for lack of those qualities, to 
 counterfeit by what you describe." 
 
 " You are severe, Mr. Lancaster. I should 
 be sorry to be the unfortunate Ophelia to your 
 Hamlet ! " 
 
 '' Oh, as for that, madam, I am easily 
 satisfied 1 I only ask that my Ophelia shall be 
 mad enough to be in love." 
 
 Blanche reddened ; but any reply she may 
 have intended to make was lost, for at that 
 moment Miss Elton began to sing again. 
 
 The *' musical evening" passed off very
 
 152 ALL THE WOELDS A STAGE. 
 
 successfully. Mr. De Eue played, at Lady 
 Overton's particular desire, his Ramble 
 through the Forest — a pretty little sketch of 
 the sort which composers call impromptu. 
 The little music-master was transformed into 
 another man the moment he laid those long 
 quivering fingers of his upon the keys. The 
 very outlines of his figure underwent a change, 
 and became more flowing and harmonious. To 
 judge from the abrupt vivacity of his usual 
 manner, one would have expected to find in 
 him one of those energetic performers who 
 seem to bring every muscle in their bodies to 
 bear upon the keyboard and the pedals ; but 
 Mr. De Eue, as soon as he began to play, 
 became perfectly calm and composed. The 
 music flowed on, every note delicately clear, 
 the rhythm distinctly but not obtrusively 
 marked, the melody full and sustained, and 
 yet subdued. Scarcely ever rising into a. forte, 
 the player contrived to avoid anything like 
 monotony, and, even in his quietest passages, 
 to hint at a restrained passion.
 
 ALL THE WOELd's A STAGE. 153 
 
 " That is something like playing!" exclaimed 
 Theodore, as De Eue rose from the piano ; and 
 he made his way through the closely packed 
 audience, and began talking eagerly to the 
 music-master, apparently oblivious of the at- 
 tention he attracted by so doing. "It is not 
 only full of feeling — it is a new style — it is a 
 new interpretation," said Theodore. " Ah, if 
 you would only play the overture to the 
 Freyschtitz — not the whole, of course — it is 
 far too much for two hands ; but the most 
 romantic passages. You know which I mean. 
 Lady Overton, I am sure, permits ? " 
 
 " Oh, I'm sure, with pleasure," said her 
 ladyship, who would have given her ears (or 
 her ear-rings, which she valued more), to be 
 able to whisper in Theodore's, that in England 
 we do not act with this familiar abandon in 
 public. 
 
 De Eue perceived her ladyship's vexation. 
 But Theodore had awakened the musician in 
 him, and he sat down again, and began to 
 play.
 
 154 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 Before he had finished, Lady Overton had 
 recovered from her distress. Every one was 
 delighted with Mr. De Kue's playing, so there 
 was no harm done. But Theodore really ought 
 to consider her feelings a little, and not behave 
 as though he were determined no one should 
 forget that his mother eloped with a music 
 master ! 
 
 Sir John, who had been asleep, woke at this 
 juncture, and asked, in a voice unconsciously 
 loud, " What are they saying, Buddie ? '' 
 
 'Lady Overton, with some difficulty, explained 
 that Mr. De Rue had been playing charmingly, 
 and that every one was quite enraptured. 
 
 '' Oh, that's it ? Very good, I've no doubt. 
 Fiddle, my lady ? Oh, pianoforte, eh ? Glad of 
 it ; a man looks a fool playing the fiddle." 
 
 Theodore Paston, who did play the fiddle, 
 cast an indignant glance at Adelaide, who 
 looked away to hide a smile. 
 
 After this, Mr. De Rue, expressing his con- 
 viction that a gentleman who had so good a 
 taste in music was doubtless himself a per-
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 155 
 
 former, Theodore was persuaded to take part 
 ill a duet which De Eue had composed, and 
 which he had brought, intending to sing it 
 with Miss Elton himself. 
 
 "But my voice is worth nothing, and the 
 part is too high for such as I have. The music 
 is quite easy, as you see." 
 
 Theodore glanced over the tenor part — 
 copied in De Kue s own hand, and as clear as 
 his touch — and consented. The words were 
 sentimental enough. 
 
 " How dare I trust these fervent vows, 
 These prayers, and tears, and sighs ? " 
 
 The soprano began, and went on to hint 
 that the tenor had wooed another lady not so 
 very long ago. To this the tenor replied — 
 
 "I do confess I would have loved, 
 But she was proud and cold ; 
 And love's a flower that needs the sun 
 Its petals to unfold." 
 
 The tenor added that (like Romeo) he now 
 transferred his affection to a more responsive 
 object.
 
 156 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 " What do you think of the sentiment ? " 
 Horace asked of Blanche Overton. 
 
 " I could not hear the words." 
 
 " Indeed ! Mr. Paston's enunciation is so 
 clear, that I heard every one." 
 
 " Really ? What was it about ? " 
 
 *' It was about a lover who grew tired of 
 worshipping in vain." 
 
 "A very sensible state of mind," said 
 Blanche, putting up her fan to check the 
 slightest possible yawn. " People who do not 
 know when to be tired are very fatiguing." 
 
 '' You really think so, Miss Overton ? " 
 
 " I don't know what I think. I think that 
 mamma is looking as though she wished to 
 speak to me. Thank you, there is plenty of 
 room for me to pass." 
 
 Mr. De Rue and Miss Elton had gone, 
 refreshments had been served, and some of the 
 guests had already taken their leave, when 
 some one asked if Mr. Paston would not 
 favour them with a solo, by way ofjinale ? At 
 the moment when this request was made,
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 157 
 
 Charlotte and her cousins were bidding Lady 
 Overton good night. Her ladyship, who was 
 not quite sure whether she should invite the 
 Lancasters again — at least, until Blanche was 
 married — was unusually cordial. She made it 
 a rule to be extremely gracious to people 
 whom she meant to drop. As she said some- 
 times to Blanche, " You may almost drop 
 people without their knowing it, if you 
 are careful." 
 
 " Going already, my dear ? You must stay 
 a little longer ; Theodore is going to sing." 
 
 Mr. Paston needed a little persuasion. He 
 had an instinctive feeling that Lady Overton 
 would rather he appeared in her drawing-room 
 as the son of the humblest Privy Councillor 
 to the smallest Grand-Duke, than as a new 
 Mozart or Hadyn, who lived by music. But 
 he had talked much with Adelaide Grant 
 during the evening, and Adelaide looked as 
 though she wished to hear him sing. He 
 glanced round on the little group — Lady 
 Overton, the Lancasters, Adelaide, Mrs. Fire-
 
 158 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 brace, and Gerald, who was lazily leaning 
 against the mantel- piece, with one finger in 
 the pocket of his dress- waistcoat, and one arm 
 behind him — an attitude which his mother 
 especially disliked. But then Gerald could 
 afibrd these awkwardnesses better than Theo- 
 dore Paston. 
 
 " What shall 1 sing ? " said this irrepressible 
 young man. " Do you prefer Italian or 
 German music. Miss Grant ? Listen ! did you 
 ever hear this ? " 
 
 As he spoke, Theodore had been playing a 
 bar or two of prelude ; and now he began, in 
 his rich tenor — 
 
 "Einsam wandelt dein Freund im Friihling's Garten." 
 
 At Bath, they sang Mozart, Haydn, and 
 Handel, of the classics ; but Adelaide had 
 never even heard of the great song — perhaps 
 the greatest of all sono^s — which Theodore was 
 singing. Every one in the room could per- 
 ceive that Mr. Paston addressed himself chiefly 
 to Miss Grant's ears ; and as the song pro-
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 159 
 
 ceeded, a good many recognized her name 
 occurring pretty often, but no one detected 
 anything in her manner, except a little proud 
 embarrassment at hearing her own name thus 
 set to such passionate music, and sung with 
 such undisguised fervour. The guests looked 
 at each other, and smiled. 
 
 Horace, who was watching Adelaide as she 
 stood in the full blaze of the lights, her head 
 a little averted, was struck by a certain 
 haughty rejection, expressed alike in face and 
 figure ; and the thought flashed across his 
 mind that he would like to see her play some 
 part in which a lover should plead his cause 
 in vain. If she were to yield at last, thought 
 Horace, he would willingly play the lover 
 himself. There would be room for some fine 
 acting ; he would fling himself at her feet, and 
 grasp her robe. He involuntarily advanced a 
 step just as Paston was singing the last and 
 most tenderly passionate — 
 
 "Adelaida! Adelaida ! " 
 Adelaide — who never quite forgot Horace's
 
 160 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 presence, or was unaware of any movement 
 of his — turned, and, meeting his eyes, blushed 
 deeply. 
 
 Horace believed that the song had touched 
 her, and so did Theodore, who sprang up from 
 the music-stool with a glowing face, exclaim- 
 ing— 
 
 " Do you know it ? It is the greatest of 
 love-songs ! " 
 
 " I don't know what it was all about," said 
 Lady Overton, '' except that, of course, we all 
 know enough Italian to understand that the 
 lady's name is Adelaide. It is an exceedingly 
 pretty song. I wonder it has not been in- 
 troduced at Hanover Square. Is it by a com- 
 })Oser of any note ? " 
 
 "It is by the author of the Fidelio, 
 madam," said young Paston, shaking his long 
 hair at her, and looking '' shockingly German," 
 as she afterwards remarked. 
 
 The rest of the company contented them- 
 selves with praising the voice of the singer, 
 which was indeed a fine tenor, flexible and
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 161 
 
 true. Gerald alone refused to admire his 
 cousin, asserting that " It was very good in its 
 way, but fellows who can do this sort of thing 
 are never quite gentlemen — there's always 
 something queer about them, that makes people 
 stare. A gentleman should never make peo2:)le 
 stare." 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 162 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Hamlet Look where my abridgments come. 
 
 The street in which Mr. Hillyard's business 
 premises and dwelling were situated, is one 
 of the oldest in Bristol, and, forty years ago, 
 was one of the narrowest acd worst paved. 
 Bristol, even now, helps the traveller to under- 
 stand what London was before the Fire. Forty 
 years ago it was yet easier to transport one's 
 self back to the day when Sebastian Cabot 
 sailed in the Matthew of Bristol, having the 
 King's patent for the discovery and conquest 
 of unknown lands, and found Labrador ; for 
 which thrifty King Harry wrote him down in 
 his pocket-book — to liym that found the new
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 163 
 
 Isle, \Ql, Or that other day, when the good 
 folks of Bristol ran to see the Aid, Captain 
 Martin Frobisher, come in from an unsuccessful 
 attempt to discover a North-West passage, but 
 having a live Esquimaux family on board, and 
 some of the gold ore, which was to make 
 Greenland a very Peru. 
 
 Narrow and unsavoury as Seven Sahuons 
 Street was, the houses were large. Most of 
 them dated from the sixteenth and seventeenth 
 centuries, although many of them had under- 
 gone various additions and alterations. A 
 narrow door, between two very long and 
 narrow slips of shop-w4ndow, bore, neatly 
 painted in black letters on each of its side- 
 posts, the name " George Hillyard ; " but 
 nothing in the shape of goods was discernible 
 through the dingy windows. Down this 
 street one gusty April evening came Horace 
 Lancaster and Mr. Vincent, just off the coach, 
 and somewhat cramped in their limbs. 
 
 " 'Tis cruel walking here, Dick," said Horace. 
 " Take care — I stepped into a hole."
 
 164 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 /' 'Tis a pity we did not make ourselves 
 known to Mr. Hillyard," said Vincent. " He 
 will be a quarter of an hour describing us to 
 the coachman and the guard, and another 
 quarter of an hour expatiating on your 
 dramatic genius, while we are doing penance 
 on this cursed pavement. We must have 
 passed the house ; let me inquire." 
 
 " No, Dick ; I entreat you, no. I would 
 preserve my incognito. I am disordered with 
 the journey, and not fit to encounter the gaze 
 of strangers." 
 
 " My asking for Mr. Hilly ard's house would 
 not " 
 
 " Dick, we are expected. I am the subject 
 (you may be sure) of much curious comment. 
 I saw my own portrait in the inn window at 
 the corner of this very street." 
 
 Horace had so muffled himself in his travel- 
 ling-cloak that the artist himself might well 
 have failed to recognize his sitter. 
 
 " Thank Heaven, this is it ! " said Vincent, 
 reading the name upon George Hillyard's door- 
 post.
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 1G5 
 
 " Is Mr. George Hillyard within ? " asked 
 Horace, stepping in at the open door, and 
 accompanying the question with an involuntary 
 stamp of his foot, occasioned by his not having 
 perceived that there was a step down. 
 
 The place seemed to be a warehouse. The 
 corners suggested cobwebs, and the sides were 
 shelved from top to bottom. The full extent 
 of the warehouse could not be seen — a 
 single oil-lamp burning far away in unknown 
 recesses, and another which flared in the sharp 
 night- wind near the door, being the only 
 lights. 
 
 " Is Mr. Hillyard within ? " again asked 
 Horace, advancing a little way, and speaking 
 louder. 
 
 The distant lamp moved, and was presently 
 seen to be carried by a very diminutive old 
 man, who looked ready, at a moment's notice, 
 to vanish into the shadowy greyness around 
 him. 
 
 " Is Mr. Hillyard here ? " asked Horace once 
 more.
 
 166 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 The old man was by this time standing half 
 a dozen paces off, shading the lamp with a 
 hand as withered and wizen as his face, and 
 calmly scrutinizing the intruders. 
 
 " Are you the player- gentleman from Lon- 
 don ? " asked the old man, in a quavering, 
 high-pitched voice. 
 
 Horace was spared the necessity of making 
 -any reply, for at that moment the sound of 
 a heavy footstep made both him and Vincent 
 look round. 
 
 " Then it was you, all the time ! I said so. 
 "Welcome to Bristol, sir ; welcome to Bristol ! 
 ]\Ir. Vincent, you're welcome, sir. Plain G. H. 
 of Bristol city considers himself honoured, sir, 
 l:>y a visit from so worthy a young man as 
 yourself." 
 
 " Is this the player-gentleman from Lon- 
 don ? " again demanded the old man, who had 
 not removed his eyes from Horace or taken 
 the slightest notice of Mr. Hillyard's entrance. 
 
 " Yes, Nollins ! " shouted Hillyard, making 
 a trumpet of his hands, and using his lungs
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 167 
 
 to such effect that old Nollins's thin grey 
 hair, which stood out a Httle from his head, 
 fluttered as in a breeze. 
 
 Still he stood unmoved, gazing with his 
 dim old eyes — once blue, probably, but which 
 now seemed almost bleached with age. 
 
 " Him that is to play King Richard, and 
 Othello, and Macbeth, and the rest of 'em ? " 
 persisted old NoUins, still staring at Horace, 
 who had thrown back his cloak, and was 
 looking from Hillyard to old Nollins, and 
 from them to Vincent, at whom he smiled. 
 " Ah ! " at length said old Nollins. " So that's 
 the player-gentleman come from London ? A 
 fine man, a fine man ; twice as big as Little 
 Davy. But, bless you ! d'ye think he'll ever 
 make the flesh creep right off your bones an' 
 leave ye shivering, as Little Davy did ? 
 Talk' St thou to me of if s? says he. A horse I 
 a horse ! a kingdom for a horse ! And so 
 this is the player-gentleman from London, come 
 to play crook-backed Dick ? Well, well ! I've 
 seen Little Davy."
 
 168 ALL THE World's a stage. 
 
 " Don't you be late, and knock yourself up, 
 Nollins," shouted Hillyard. "We are going 
 round into the house. Shut up the place at 
 once. You must excuse the old fellow, cousin 
 Lancaster. He's hard upon ninety years of 
 age ; and he's been my head man, and my 
 father's before me, and my grandfather's before 
 him. He's served the Hillyard's pretty nigh 
 on eighty years. He says what he likes, and 
 he does what he likes, and we all humour him. 
 In fact, I may say, we're all proud of him." 
 
 " I should be honoured in shaking the hand 
 of one who has seen Garrick," said Horace. 
 
 And Mr. Hillyard, putting his mouth closer 
 than ever to old NoUins's ear, shouted, " The 
 gentleman wants to shake hands." 
 
 Poor old Nollins, looking with lack-lustre 
 eyes at them both, and, seeing Horace bare 
 headed and with extended hand, said, " A 
 fine man. But I saw Little Davy ; " and 
 suffered Horace to shake his hand. 
 
 They were at the door, and Horace had 
 already crossed the threshold, when old
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 169 
 
 Nollins seemed for the first time to perceive 
 Vincent. He hm-ried after Mr. Hillyard, and 
 pulled the skirts of his coat to attract his 
 attention. 
 
 " Who's the other ? " he asked. " I've 
 seen him, with Little Davy, but I've forgot 
 his name. Don't let him play ; he'll spoil 
 all." 
 
 " On the whole, Mr. NoUins's verdict on us 
 can scarcely be called favourable," said Vin- 
 cent, as they turned up a passage at the side 
 of the house. " He thinks that Lancaster will 
 fail, and is sure that I shall." 
 
 The passage was dark and narrow. After 
 a few paces, it widened, and Hillyard stopped 
 at a door, which the strangers could see was 
 handsomely corniced, albeit in this obscure 
 situation. 
 
 " I always carry a key. Waiting on my 
 own door-step, till maids have done chattering 
 and choose to come don't suit G. H. Walk 
 in, cousin Lancaster. Walk in, Mr. Vincent. 
 You are both very heartily welcome ! Dang
 
 170 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 my buttons, cousin Lancaster ! did you think 
 George Hillyard, of Bristol, would let his 
 cousin go to an inn, while he had a roof over 
 his head ? A cousin's a cousin, even if he 
 does come a play-acting, which wouldn't have 
 suited my poor wife's ideas, poor dear soul ! 
 that's certain sure. But what's done can't be 
 undone, and what can't be cured must be 
 endured ; and I s'pose a man must do what 
 he's cut out for. So we'll make the best of 
 it, and I'll see that Smith gives you fair play." 
 
 By this time, the travellers had disen- 
 cumbered themselves of their cloaks, hats, 
 and the small portmanteaux they carried with 
 them, and were mounting the broad oak 
 staircase. 
 
 " Walk in, gentlemen," said Hillyard, 
 throwing open a door. " We shall find some 
 of my girls here, I don't doubt." 
 
 The room was long and low. Kound a 
 large fireplace, with a heavy oak mantel, sat 
 three young women, who, suddenly ceasing an 
 apparently animated conversation, rose hur-
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 171 
 
 riedly, and curtsied in acknowledgment of the 
 strangers' bow. 
 
 " My three eldest/' said Mr. Hillyard. 
 *' The dark one is Jane, the short one is Sophy, 
 and the tall one is Bessie. I've got four 
 more somewhere or other, but three's quite 
 enough to begin upon." 
 
 There was a substantial meal ready spread, 
 in the course of which Hillyard alternately 
 plied his guests with meat and drink, and 
 delivered himself of much shrewd advice as 
 to the best way of " tackling the folks at the 
 theayter." 
 
 " Never set foot in one in my life, till 
 t'other day," said the drysalter. "Just try 
 the smoked beef, cousin Lancaster — 'tis 
 good, I know — when I went to look up 
 Parnassus Smith, if that's his name, and just 
 give him a hint to be on his p's and q's. 
 Says 1, 'Mr. Manager, I can't say I know 
 much about your business ; but I doubt 'tis 
 pretty much like my own — there's rogues in 
 it, and there's honest men. And/ says I,
 
 172 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 ' Mr. Manager, my cousin, that's to have the 
 honour, as I understand, of ]3laying in your 
 theayter, is a great scholar, and a very clever 
 man, and all that, and so, of course, can't be 
 expected to know what's what so well as we 
 do ; so, by your leave, Mr* Manager,' says I, 
 ' I'll take the liberty of looking in at your 
 place from time to time, just to see as he 
 has the right sort of people about him.' '' 
 Here the drysalter winked at Horace, and 
 added, " I gave him a pretty strong hint, 
 I assure ye, and, as I say^ a word in time 
 saves ninety-nine."
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 173 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Hamlet, My lord, you played once in the University, 
 you say ? 
 
 Folonius. That I did, my lord ; and was accounted a 
 good actor. 
 
 Mr. Parnassus Smith, sole lessee and 
 manager of the Theatre Royal, Bristol, in- 
 variably subscribed himself plain *' P. Smith," 
 in the blue and orange manifestoes which he 
 issued from time to time ; and no one knew 
 how it had been discovered that this modest 
 initial stood for Parnassus. A few idle and 
 inquisitive persons of his more intimate ac- 
 quaintance declared that they had listened 
 in vain to hear from the lips of his spouse 
 such endearing diminutives, as " Parny," or 
 *' Nassy," to which the manager s baptismal
 
 174 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 name might naturally be supposed to lend 
 itself. Mrs. Smith never addressed the great 
 man by any more familiar title than "Mr. 
 Smith," with the occasional affix of " my dear." 
 Nevertheless, every one spoke of him as 
 Parnassus Smith, and would have flouted the 
 idea that ''P." might stand for no more than 
 " Philip," or " Phineas," at most. 
 
 Mr. Parnassus Smith chiefly prided himself 
 upon two things — the great Mr. Garrick had 
 said that the Bristol Theatre was the most 
 complete in Europe ; and Mr. Smith was 
 assured that he himself was the most com- 
 petent manager in England. With these two 
 dogmas he ruled his little world. Did a 
 " leading lady " complain that her part gave 
 her no opportunities ? " Madam," he would 
 exclaim, ^' do you imagine that I, with my 
 experience, do not know how to cast the parts ? 
 study it, ma'am, study it, and you'll find oppor- 
 tunities enough ; trust me for that, ma'am, trust 
 me for that!" Or did the much -tried stage- 
 manager represent that impossibilities were
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 175 
 
 required of him ? Mr. Smith would magnifi- 
 cently reply, " Sir, in a Theatre, pronounced 
 by the great Garrick to be the most complete 
 in Europe, there are no impossibilities ! '' 
 
 In spite of all his exertions, however, Mr. 
 Parnassus Smith had reason to lament the 
 decline of the drama. If, by dint of those 
 attractive posters, in the concoction of which 
 he held himself to be without a rival, he filled 
 the house for a few nights, the attendance soon 
 fell off again, and " a beggarly account of 
 empty boxes " too surely met his eye, when he 
 applied it to the hole in the curtain. He had 
 learned by sad experience that a constant 
 succession of novelties was his only chance. 
 
 The announcement of a gentleman amateur 
 (who, moreover, asked no share in the profits 
 if he succeeded) seemed a promising bait ; and 
 Mr. Smith had omitted nothing which could 
 heighten the public curiosity. Portraits in 
 costume, and in which the most was made of 
 Mr. Lancaster's supposed resemblance to ''our 
 Immortal Bard," appeared in the shop windows.
 
 176 ALL THE WOELd's A STAGE. 
 
 Advertisements, in which the manager sur 
 passed himself, were inserted in the local papers, 
 and placarded on every available wall. " This 
 present "Wednesday, April 23rd, being the 
 anniversary of the birthday of the Immortal 
 Shakespeare, the performances will commence 
 with the divinest creation of his master-mind, 
 the tragedy of Hamlet, upon which occasion 
 Mr. Lancaster will have the pleasure of making 
 his first appearance on any boards in that 
 character. After which An Ode, written ex- 
 pressly for this occasion by Horatio Lancaster, 
 Esq., M.A., will be spoken by Mr. Willoughby. 
 To conclude with a dramatic sketch, entitled 
 A Dream of Shakespeare's Youth, by Horatio 
 Lancaster, Esq." Thus ran the advertisement ; 
 the " Ode " was given in the most literary of 
 the Bristol journals, and the editor, in a slight 
 notice of it, hoped that '' the debutant would 
 be cheered by a better attendance than had 
 lately greeted the efforts of Mr. Smith to 
 provide dramatic entertainment for our city,"
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 177 
 
 The great day was come. There had been 
 a dress rehearsal the night before, and Mr. 
 Smith was sanguine. 
 
 "It is very fine, I don't doubt," said Hill- 
 yard, who had faithfully watched over Horace, 
 and attended him to all the rehearsals without 
 as much as asking permission. " But, to my 
 mind, Mr. Manager, I should like it better if 
 he didn't do it quite so much, so to speak. 
 Don't you think now, if he looked a little more 
 like, say, you and I do, when we're a-talking ? 
 — I don't mean to say as either of us is the 
 figger for Hamlet ; but the manner, you 
 know ? " 
 
 " He'll draw, Mr. Hillyard," said the man- 
 ager, who was of a tall and portly figure, 
 and whose back described a concave curve. 
 " He'll draw, sir. I don't say he could fill a 
 London house ; but here, he'll draw for the 
 few nights he plays. The likeness is a great 
 point, a very great point. They'll all be look- 
 ing at that, aod they'll forget to notice how he 
 plays." 
 
 VOL. 1. N
 
 « 
 
 178 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 Old Nollins had been presented by Mr. 
 Hillyard with a dress-circle ticket; but nothing 
 would induce him to sit anywhere but in the 
 middle of the pit — for this was before the happy 
 thought of orchestra- stalls had occurred to an 
 enterprising manager ; in those days the pit 
 was all pit. 
 
 " That's the place," he said ; " that always 
 was the place, and always will be. I saw 
 Little Davy from the pit." 
 
 And old Nollins would have taken his 
 chance in the crowd, had not his master made 
 interest with the box-keeper to smuggle him in 
 before the public were admitted. 
 
 Behind the scenes there was a good deal of 
 hurry and confusion. It was a long while 
 since the Theatre Eoyal had attempted to put 
 upon the stage our Immortal Bard (who, alas ! 
 had brought many an enterprising manager 
 to the Gazette). As the hour approached, 
 Horace's excitement grew almost beyond his 
 control, and Vincent had much difficulty in 
 compelling him to cease pacing about his
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 179 
 
 room, vehemently declaiming, and take a little 
 needful rest before tlie performance. The 
 honest drysalter was himself very anxious, 
 and more than once observed that his poor 
 dear mother, who sat under Mr. Thorpe so 
 many years, would never have believed that 
 her son would come to be in such a bait about 
 a play actor. 
 
 And now the very hour had come. The 
 doors were open, the pit was crammed. 
 Horace was already dressed ; and Mr. Wil- 
 loughby (as Horatio) was running his eye 
 over the Ode for the last time. 
 
 " A very fair house indeed," said Mr. Smith, 
 who had been reconnoitring. "Like to take 
 a look, sir ? " 
 
 Vincent looked. The house seemed quite 
 full. He saw the Hillyards — their faces alone 
 filled up two boxes — and was searching for old 
 Nollins, when the footlights (kindled by the 
 gentleman who was presently to play Rosen- 
 crantz), blazing up one by one, interposed a 
 misty glare between him and the audience, and 
 a moment afterwards the music struck up.
 
 180 ALL THE WOELB's A STAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The groundlings . . . for the most part, are capable of 
 nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise.— 
 Samlet. * 
 
 The manager was right ; tlie audience, eager 
 to see ^the gentleman amateur, who, as they 
 read on the play -bills, "resembled the. Im- 
 mortal Shakespeake, in a manner which may 
 be truly termed miraculous," was neither able 
 nor willing to criticize the merits of his acting. 
 Indeed, it is probably not an exaggeration to 
 say, that only a very small minority was quite 
 clear as to whether Mr. Lancaster was acting 
 Hamlet in his own person or Shakespeare's, and 
 that the majority of the house was sure of but 
 one thing — that Mr. Lancaster was the very
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 181 
 
 image of Shakespeare's image. If he ranted 
 aud fumed, if all sense of proportion was lost 
 in the attempt to make every sentence em- 
 phatic, if his gestures were unnatural and 
 stilted, the audience was too excited to observe 
 it, or too much impressed to show^ disappro- 
 bation. And when, in the soliloquy, he 
 assumed the very attitude of the statue (with 
 which the manager had taken care they should 
 all be familiar), the applause was tumultuous. 
 The house rose to him — and Horace himself 
 was as blind to the real nature of his ovation, 
 as the most ignorant gallery-god frantically 
 leaning forward at the risk of his neck. 
 
 " Well, girls, what do you think of the 
 play ? " said Mr. Hillyard, in the pause after 
 the third act. 
 
 " Oh, father, doesn't Mr. Lancaster look hand- 
 some in that dress, and ain't he a beautiful 
 voice!" exclaimed Bessie. "I'm sure I don't 
 see anything wicked in going to the play ! " 
 
 " What say you, Jennie ? " 
 
 " 'Tis very fine, father, to look at," said Jane,
 
 182 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 a prim young woman, who seemed mucL. older 
 than three and twenty years could warrant. 
 
 " Well, Sophy, you ain't generally the last 
 to give your opinion. Bless me, child, you've 
 been crying, I declare ! Sophy Saucebox crying 
 at the play ! Bless me ! " 
 
 " 'Tis all so dreadful, father," said Sophy, 
 who was considered the witty one of the family, 
 not to say the sarcastic one. " I don't wonder 
 Mr. Lancaster looked so wild, and shut himself 
 up, and didn't care to talk to us, if he had 
 such dreadful things upon his mind." 
 
 " Carry and Hannah look as if they thought 
 it very fine, too," said Mr. Hillyard. "We 
 shall have to let Sally and Cilly come one 
 night." 
 
 "What do you think, father?" asked 
 Sophy, willing to divert attention from herself. 
 " I, my dear ? I'm no judge of such things. 
 But I think there's a little too much fuss, as 
 you may say. Leastways, if a chap was to 
 come to the ware'us, and go on like that, I 
 should pretty soon ask him to be so good as to
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 183 
 
 speak so as I could understand what he meant. 
 All these twists, and nods, and winks, and 
 speaking loud and soft, all in the same breath, 
 it kind o' dazzles you— 'tis like a chap as 
 keeps opening and shutting a dark lantern." 
 
 *' Oh, father, there's so much expression ! " 
 
 "That's just where 'tis, Sophy. There's a 
 deal too much expression for a plain man like 
 me to take in in the time." 
 
 But Horace obtained his greatest triumph in 
 the Dream, which was the after-piece, and 
 in which he played the part of Shakespeare 
 w^ithout disguise and unhampered. 
 
 ''Will you tell me now that I have mistaken 
 my vocation ? " he said to Vincent, who found 
 him in his dressing-room when the performance 
 was over. 
 
 *'My dear Horace, believe me, I rejoice at 
 your success." 
 
 " But you do not think I am an actor ? 
 Don't deny it. I read it in your face." 
 
 '' I think that you have plenty of the stuff to 
 make one, and that you only need to think less
 
 184 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 of the impression you are producing, in order 
 to achieve a real success." 
 
 " Dick, you can never have entered into the 
 feelings of an artist, or you could not speak so. 
 Not think of the impression I am producing ? 
 Why, man, that is the very object I have in 
 view ! I live to produce the impression, and 
 how can I but think of it ? Forgive me, Dick, 
 but you have not the artistic temperament. 
 With you, art is an intellectual exercise, not 
 a passion. You cannot judge in a case like 
 this." 
 
 " That may be," said Vincent, with perfect 
 coolness ; " but I judge of human nature, and 
 I know that the best way to produce the im- 
 pression one desires, is not to be too anxious 
 about it." 
 
 " Ah, Dick, you are more independent than 
 I. You care little for the opinion of others. 
 Praise is not dear to you : it is the breath of 
 life to us poor artists ! " 
 
 ^' I am not such a fool as to underrate the 
 value of the world's opinion," said Vincent,
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 185 
 
 quietly helping his friend on with his coat' and 
 cloak ; " but I know too well how it is ob- 
 tained, to desire it except for what it brings." 
 
 Just then, Hillyard came in, followed by the 
 manager. 
 
 "Eeady, cousin Lancaster?" said the former. 
 *' I've sent the girls home in a hackney coach, 
 and there's another waiting for us. We mustn't 
 have you catching a quinsy." 
 
 " We have made quite a hit, Mr. Lancaster," 
 said Parnassus Smith. " Permit me to con- 
 gratulate you, sir, on having made a successful 
 debut in a house pronounced by the great 
 Garrick to be the best-appointed in Europe — 
 I may say, in the universe." 
 
 "We owe something, too, to the intelligent 
 exertions of Mr. Smith," said Vincent. 
 
 " Sir, you are monstrous obliging. I have 
 some little experience, as you say, sir ; and I 
 hope I may, without vanity, assure myself that 
 Mr. Lancaster has lost nothing by appearing 
 under my auspicies." 
 
 *' I was heard well, I hope ? " said Horace, 
 as they went out.
 
 186 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 " Clearly heard, sir, to the extreme back seat 
 of the pit. I went round myself to ascertain 
 the fact. Your voice, sir, is all that could be 
 desired, and with a little toning down, you 
 will be fit to appear on any boards. There's 
 a great advantage in a provincial engagement 
 
 to begin with. The audience ain't so d d 
 
 critical as they are in town. A good voice and 
 a fine figure is enough to begin upon in the 
 pro^dnces." 
 
 A criticism of Mr. Lancaster's Hamlet 
 appeared in the Bristol Messenger. It was 
 evident, said the critic (well known to be the 
 editor himself), that Mr. Lancaster had studied 
 his part intensely — perhaps too intensely, for he 
 had refined and elaborated until his main object 
 seemed to be to torture the text into some new, 
 but wholly unnatural, meaning. All was ex- 
 travagant and over-strained. It was, more- 
 over, a miserable afiectation to so continually 
 obtrude an accidental personal resemblance upon 
 us, at the cost of that appropriateness which was 
 the essence of true art. " We speak for Mr.
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 187 
 
 Lancaster's profit," concluded the Messenger. 
 "He is a gentleman and a scholar. We respect 
 his devotion to his art, and we believe him to 
 be capable of taking a hint. It will be his own 
 fault if he does not correct the errors we have 
 pointed out." 
 
 But even the Messenger praised Mr. Lan- 
 caster's last performance in Bristol. The 
 manager was so much encouraged by the sight 
 of the house on the first night, that he 
 bethought himself of attempting The Mer- 
 chant of Venice, with Mr. Lancaster as 
 Shyloch Horace had never studied the part, 
 and the result, said the Messenger, was " in- 
 comparably superior. Mr. Lancaster was 
 perforce simple, and therefore comparatively 
 successful." 
 
 " If I'd only known that he had such a 
 quick study," observed Mr. Smith to Vincent, 
 I'd have had him on in more parts ! He 
 studies himself to rags, sir, clean to rags ! 
 Amateurs are too wooden in a general way ; 
 but if you could make Mr. Lancaster just
 
 188 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 a leetle more wooden, sir, you'd be the salva- 
 tion of him, you would indeed." 
 
 " What do you think of his prospects on 
 the stage, Mr. Smith ? " said Vincent. " 1 
 ask in confidence." 
 
 " Well, sir," said the manager, with one 
 hand thrust into his breast, and his head in 
 the air. *' It is quite impossible to predict an 
 actor's future from a first appearance. Some 
 promise great things, and never improve. 
 And some work their way steadily up from 
 nothing at all." 
 
 "But have you no opinion whatever, as to 
 Mr. Lancaster's talents ? " persisted Vincent. 
 " I ask as his friend, that I may know what 
 course I ought to take in advising him." 
 
 " Sir, he has plenty of talent — too much. 
 Talent is a dangerous thing in acting. Nine 
 times out of ten, it runs away with a man. 
 With a woman, it is different — somehow, they 
 can better afford to be clever. Bless you, 
 Mr. Vincent, every woman's clever ! I've 
 learned that to my cost — the jades even get
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 189 
 
 the better of me ! It is a consolation to 
 know that the great Garrick himself could 
 not always hold his own against some of 'em. 
 But, as I was observing, Mr. Vincent, an 
 actor who has talent is apt to be conceited, 
 and to set up his judgment against the 
 manager's. If Mr. Lancaster can only bring 
 his mind to follow good advice, he may rise 
 high in the profession yet." 
 
 " You don't think he could ever be another 
 Kemble, I suppose, Mr. Smith ? " said Vincent, 
 looking steadily at him. 
 
 '■Sir, I decline to commit myself. I'm 
 afraid he is too clever ; but that may wear 
 off. If he had just half as many ideas about 
 his parts as he has, he would be just twice 
 as good an actor as he is at present. But 
 your clever man always will stick to his own 
 ideas." 
 
 Horace had been much struck by- the 
 criticism in the Messenger. Perhaps his 
 Shylock\ had benefited by it. "I aimed at 
 too much," he said to Vincent. " I expected
 
 190 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 too much from my audience. They cannot 
 follow a great part in detail. The Messenger 
 is right so far. One must be simple, if one 
 would appeal to a commonplace audience." 
 
 " He meant more than that. He advocates 
 simplicity on principle/' said Vincent. 
 
 " Then I differ from him. And I wonder 
 how any intelligent man can make it a subject 
 of reproach that I put too much meaning 
 into a part." 
 
 From which it will be seen that there was 
 some truth in the manager's complaint, that 
 clever men will stick to their own ideas, in 
 spite of all that managers and critics can 
 say.
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 191 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio ? 
 
 Before he left town for Bristol, Horace had 
 not been too exclusively engrossed by the 
 study of his part (as Gerald Overton's sneer 
 had hinted) to improve his acquaintance with 
 Theodore Paston, who, on his side, responded 
 readily enough. That enthusiastic youDg 
 musician had not hitherto found the air of 
 England congenial. During his brief stay he 
 had been almost equally scandalized at the 
 neglect, and indignant at the patronage, of 
 art, which he witnessed. And the little he 
 had seen and heard of those who followed art 
 as a profession, had almost brought him to the 
 conclusion that, in England, art was impos-
 
 192 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 sible. A Hot-headed young man, fresh from 
 a little German capital, where art occupied the 
 place of politics and religion combined, might 
 be pardoned for coming to this conclusion 
 during a two months' residence in England, 
 at a time when the names of Lord Melbourne, 
 Lord Grey, and Sir Eobert Peel could not be 
 pronounced without extremes of praise or 
 abuse, unknown to a generation whose reason 
 has so far prevailed over its passions that it 
 sees most things with a tolerably impartial 
 eye — a generation which, adopting as its 
 motto, caveat empt07\ thinks and speaks of 
 fraud much as former generations did of the 
 fortune of war ; and, scarcely indignant at even 
 its own wrongs, cannot reasonably be expected 
 to take seriously to heart those of other people. 
 Forty years ago we were less philosophical. 
 More heads were broken in defence of the 
 corn-laws than would be sent to hospital 
 nowadays, were all our venerable institutions 
 in danger together. A charming naivete, too, 
 marks the loyal and patriotic effusions of the
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 193 
 
 time, such as we seek in vain in our own more 
 careful compositions. 
 
 " Three times three, and one cheer more ! 
 Plum-pudding, bojs, in store ! " 
 
 sings one of these bards, for the encourage- 
 ment of Tory electors ; while another, a little 
 lg.ter, cries (reckoning, however, without his 
 host) — 
 
 " With a glorious Peel we've knell'd repeal. 
 Quiet as cofi&ned nun." 
 
 The journals of the day contain an Orange 
 proclamation, adorned with a cut of King 
 William on horseback, with the legend, To the 
 Glorious Immortal Memory, which would 
 have surprised the Dutchman a good deal. 
 In fact (so well does the loyal and patriotic 
 party know how to move with the times), the 
 once opprobrious phrase, " I'm a Dutchman ! " 
 would seem to have now become the watch- 
 word wherewith to rally staunch Tories to the 
 defence of Church and State. 
 
 Theodore Past on knew little of all these 
 
 YOL. I.
 
 194 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 things. When the desperate state of the 
 country was expounded to him by Sir John, 
 he observed, unconscious of the enormity of 
 the sentiment, that he could not understand 
 why the prosperity of the country required 
 that corn should be dear. 
 
 Luckily, the baronet only heard the words, 
 "I do not understand,'^ and replied, " No, I 
 dare say not. Foreigners cannot be expected 
 to understand these things. I am glad to see 
 that you are not like those ignorant jack- 
 anapes of Eadicals, who profess to know better 
 than ministers themselves. Not that our pre- 
 sent ministry is to be trusted ; but we shall 
 oust them before long." 
 
 Two or three such conversations showed 
 young Paston pretty plainly that he was not 
 to expect to hear affairs of State discussed on 
 fundamental principles in South Audley Street. 
 Those debates on eternal justice, and the equal 
 rights of mankind, which the Duke some- 
 times carried on with the Baron von Klein- 
 boden, at the Sunday-evening receptions, would
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 195 
 
 have appeared to Sir John downright revo- 
 lutionary ; and the reigning duke neither more 
 nor less than a madman. 
 
 But in Russell Square, Theodore could 
 almost forget that he was in England. He 
 took a deep interest in Horace's debut, and 
 had besides much to say on the drama in 
 general, and the plays of Shakespeare in par- 
 ticular. And, above all, he believed he had 
 found his ideal of womanhood in Adelaide 
 Grant. 
 
 He had instantly discovered and proclaimed 
 her likeness to the famous Calliope, whose 
 tradition and image had so powerfully in- 
 fluenced Horace. And he had persuaded him- 
 self, and was always attempting to persuade 
 Adelaide, that she too was fitted for a 
 dramatic career. He greatly annoyed her by 
 perpetually calling attention to the grace of 
 her movements, and the fine modulations of 
 her voice. 
 
 *' With a very little training she would 
 be admirable," he would say. " She has the
 
 196 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 physique, and the dramatic faculty needs only 
 to be developed — it exists already, I am con- 
 vinced — ^to make her a great actress. You 
 and she would play together magnificently." 
 
 Adelaide was vexed at these speeches, and 
 still more at her mother's reception of them. 
 
 " I'm sure," Sophia would remark, " I never 
 noticed anything of the sort in Addy — not 
 that I mean to say it's wrong ; and I'm sure 
 I have always told Addy she was too quiet for 
 a young girl. Not that I approve of young 
 ladies going on the stage ; but, of course, if 
 she acted with Mr. Lancaster, I could have no 
 objection." 
 
 The departure of Horace for Bristol made 
 no difference to Theodore's visits in Russell 
 Square, unless it increased their frequency. 
 He called almost every day to hear of Horace, 
 or to express his own anxiety for his success. 
 It was impossible for Adelaide to dislike the 
 company of a person who spoke so much and 
 so admiringly of her cousin. When Theodore 
 exclaimed, '* He must succeed ! He has en-
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 197 
 
 thusiasm, faith ; he is not like the cold- 
 blooded, stiff-jointed Englishmen that I see 
 everywhere ! " how could she help feeling and 
 showing a grateful cordiality to the man who 
 spoke thus ? and who added — 
 
 " You, too. Miss Grant, can recognize 
 genius. You are not bound by these narrow 
 conventionalities. You could never endure a 
 life of petty interests, unillumined by noble 
 sentiments and beautiful aspirations. Young 
 as you are, you have, no doubt, already suf- 
 fered from the trammels with which grovelling 
 souls seek to confine gifted spirits to their own 
 miserable limits. Is it not so ? " 
 
 " A little, perhaps," said Adelaide, thinking 
 of the whist parties at Bath. "Not that I 
 am gifted ; but I like to be with those who 
 are. 
 
 " Miss Adelaide," Theodore began, " you are 
 
 all that ever " But Charlotte came in, 
 
 and he left his sentence unfinished. 
 
 During Horace's absence, it had become
 
 198 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 clear to Charlotte that Mr. Paston admired 
 Adelaide excessively. And it was also every 
 day becoming clearer to her that she herself 
 could not accept Mr. Vincent. While he was 
 there, she had been still in doubt as to her 
 feeling for him ; but, by the time he had been 
 a week away, she had discovered that this 
 feeling was in reality a strong dislike. She 
 communicated her discovery to Adelaide. 
 Strange to say, however, the trouble of her 
 spirits seemed none the less. She was as fitful 
 and restless as though she had been still 
 uncertain what reply to give her absent lover. 
 But Adelaide, who knew how much Charlotte 
 dreaded disappointing Horace, was at no loss 
 to account for the uneasiness and pre-occu- 
 pation which Mrs. Firebrace was at first in- 
 clined to attribute to Charlotte's not knowing 
 her own mind.
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 199 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Clocks will go as they are set ; 
 
 But man 
 
 Venice Preserved. 
 
 The motives of the best of us are often mixed, 
 and Mrs. .Firebrace was one of the last persons 
 to form an exception to this rule. She was 
 beginning to find Eussell Square irksome, and 
 to long to be again the mistress of an estab- 
 lishment. It was also inexpedient to outstay 
 her welcome, or even to run the risk of some 
 officious person suggesting to her cousins that 
 she was doing so. The late Mr. Lancaster's 
 affairs had been promptly wound up, and she 
 was already in possession of her legacy. 
 These were good reasons for not delaying her
 
 200 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 departure ; but Theodore Paston was a better. 
 He was evidently smitten with Adelaide, who 
 might do worse than marry the cousin of an 
 English baronet and the son of a German 
 privy councillor — that is, if the appearance of 
 a rival did not bring Horace to the point, as 
 Sophia fondly trusted it would. This desirable 
 effect, she reasoned, was all the more likely to 
 be produced by a timely removal. 
 
 But by this time, Sophia knew her daughter 
 too well to tell her this, especially as she had 
 another, and a perfectly genuine, motive to 
 give for the course she had resolved upon. If 
 Charlotte should really refuse Mr. Vincent, 
 Sophia's position would become very uncom- 
 fortable. She could scarcely . avoid offending 
 one or other of her cousins ; and she could 
 only side with Horace by siding also with a 
 man whom she instinctively felt to be the 
 chief obstacle to all her plans. To quarrel 
 with him would be dangerous — to propitiate 
 him, impossible ; Sophia knew that this was 
 not a man to be either hoodwinked or cajoled.
 
 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 201 
 
 Her only chance was to avoid a collision 
 altogether* 
 
 Having come to this conclusion, Mrs. Fire- 
 brace waited till the very day of Horace's 
 return, and then announced that she had a 
 confession to make. 
 
 " You and dear Horace have been so very 
 kind/' said Sophia, half playfully, but with 
 tears in her blue eyes, " that I knew you 
 would try to persuade me to put off going, if 
 I said anything about it. And it happened 
 that I saw the advertisement of a house in 
 Queen Anne Street that will just do for Addy 
 and me ; it is the smallest house in the street, 
 but you would never know that from the out- 
 side ; and the rent is quite low — no more than 
 we must pay for three rooms at Bath. And 
 we can go into it — furnished, of course — at 
 the half- quarter. I hope you and Horace will 
 come and see us there very often. And, I'm 
 sure you will own, Charlotte dear, that it was 
 better for me to do as I have done, and not 
 worry you about it. You appreciate my 
 motives, don't you, dear ? "
 
 202 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 " What will Horace say ? Could you not 
 have waited till he came home ? " said Char- 
 lotte, whom this announcement took entirely 
 by surprise. 
 
 " My dear girl, Horace would have said we 
 must stay on ; and we can't stay on for ever, 
 can we, dear ? " said Sophia, with an admirable 
 mixture of a smile and a tear. '* We must go 
 some time, and the longer we put it off the 
 worse it will be." 
 
 " But couldn't you wait a little ? It seems 
 so sudden," urged Charlotte. 
 
 " It wants more than a week to the half- 
 quarter, and the house would probably be let 
 long before next quarter-day." 
 
 '^Did Addy know?" 
 
 *' Mamma told me yesterday afternoon," 
 said Adelaide — this conversation took place 
 at breakfast. 
 
 " I took her to see the house, when we left 
 you in the Pantheon with the Overtons," 
 Sophia explained. "I made her promise not 
 to say anything about it last night. And I
 
 ALL THE WOKLDS A STAGE. 203 
 
 want you to come and see it to-day, and give 
 us your judgment on one or two points." 
 
 Charlotte was obliged to acknowledge the 
 delicacy of Sophia's behaviour, and she could 
 not but feel that it was time some arrange- 
 ment of the sort should be made, 
 
 " If Horace is very angry, I shall run away 
 to you, Addy," she said, between jest and 
 earnest, when the subject of Mr. Vincent next 
 came up.
 
 204 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 Why, this it is to be a peevish girl, 
 
 That flies her fortune when it follows her. 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona, 
 
 There was so much to ask and to tell when 
 Horace came home, that Mr. Vincent was for 
 some days a very secondary figure, especially as 
 he avoided the house, apparently not choosing 
 to meet Charlotte until he should come to know 
 his fate. Theodore Paston came as often as 
 ever, and Horace had ample opportunity of 
 observing his manner to Adelaide. Sophia, in 
 an agony lest Mr. Paston should propose, con- 
 gratulated herself on the greater ease with 
 which, in her own house, she could ward ofi" a 
 premature avowal. 
 
 Horace received the news of his cousins'
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 205 
 
 approaching departure very quietly. He seemed 
 to be too full of his own future plans to have 
 much thought to spare for any one else ; and 
 Sophia would have almost lost hope, if she had 
 not seen that he often regarded Adelaide with 
 great attention, and was always more irritable 
 than usual after Mr. Paston's visits. Horace had 
 seen the Overtons since his return, and Mrs. 
 Firebrace felt sure that he had quarrelled with 
 Blanche — which is, perhaps, another way of 
 saying that she hoped he had, for she could 
 have given no reason for her belief beyond the 
 fact that Horace, in speaking of his visit, had 
 never once mentioned Blanche's name. 
 
 Charlotte was beginning to fear that Mr. 
 Vincent intended to delay the dreaded inter- 
 view until her cousins had left, when one 
 evening, as they were parting for the night, 
 Horace detained her. 
 
 ''Vincent is coming for his answer to- 
 morrow, Charlotte," he said, as soon as they 
 were alone. " You know what I hope it will 
 be."
 
 206 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 " Horace, dear Horace/' said Charlotte, 
 trembling so much that she was glad to drop 
 into the nearest chair, "I can't marry him! 
 Don't be angry. I have tried to like him ; I 
 have, indeed ! " 
 
 " I shall never try to force your inclinations, 
 Charlotte ; but I confess I am at a loss to 
 understand how you have discovered that you 
 cannot like Mr. Vincent. You have not seen 
 him for three weeks. He can have done no- 
 thing in that time to forfeit your good opinion. '^ 
 
 " Horace, have pity upon me ! I can't 
 argue about it ; but I don't like him, and I 
 can't marry him." 
 
 " My dear Charlotte, pray be calmer. Do 
 not cry ; and, above all, do not think me 
 harsh. I had, I confess, set my heart on the 
 marriage. I owe my life to Vincent " 
 
 " Oh, Horace, don't ! I can't bear it," said 
 Charlotte, sobbing. " I will do anything 
 else." 
 
 "I will only ask you to promise not to make 
 up your mind beforehand, not to harden your-
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 207 
 
 self against Vincent, but to hear what he says ; 
 and then, if you will, decide against him." 
 
 She gave the promise, and Horace seemed 
 satisfied. 
 
 But upstairs Adelaide had much ado to 
 soothe her, and only succeeded by declaring 
 she should think that Horace had been very 
 unkind if Charlotte cried any more. 
 
 "No, he wasn't unkind," said poor Char 
 lotte ; " but he looked so unhappy and dis- 
 appointed, and I felt so wicked for vexing him. 
 If dear papa had been alive, this would never 
 have happened ! " 
 
 Charlotte implored her cousin so urgently to 
 ^0 no further away than the back drawing- 
 room, while she received Vincent in the front, 
 that Adelaide unwillingly yielded. She had 
 vainly represented that, unless the folding- 
 doors were shut, she could scarcely avoid 
 hearing all that passed. 
 
 "I wish you to hear," said Charlotte. "I 
 hope you will listen ; I shall feel safer. I am
 
 208 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 SO afraid I shall say 'yes/ out of mere fright 
 and to please Horace ; but even if I do, I'll say 
 ' no ' afterwards." 
 
 For all this, Adelaide began by stopping her 
 ears and standing close to the window, that she 
 might not hear. But it is very difficult to stop 
 one's ears for long — the desire to know whether 
 one could hear anything if one took one's fingers 
 away is almost irresistible. Adelaide found 
 it quite so presently. And Charlotte wished 
 her to hear ; so she sat down on a settee in the 
 middle of the room, and listened for sounds on 
 the other side of the curtain. She could hear 
 Vincent's voice, but could not distinguish the 
 words — then Charlotte's, in tones a little raised, 
 saying, " Indeed, Mr. Vincent, it is quite 
 impossible ; " then his voice again. 
 
 Adelaide held out for a minute or two, and 
 then shifted her position to the music-chair, 
 which, placed ready at the open piano, was 
 very near the curtains, and facing the door 
 of the room. Even here, she could at first 
 only catch a few disjointed words of Vincent's ;
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 209 
 
 but slie heard distinctly all that Charlotte 
 said. 
 
 " Am I to consider your answer as final ? 
 "Will further proofs of my devotion to you and 
 Horace have no ejffect in changing your resolu- 
 tion ? " Vincent said at length. 
 
 " There is nothing else I would not do to 
 show my gratitude," replied Charlotte's voice. 
 
 " And there is nothing else I ask, Miss 
 Lancaster. You need not fear my persecuting 
 you further. Pardon my presumption, and 
 believe that I shall not repeat it." 
 
 As he opened the door of the front room, 
 that opposite to Adelaide swung back a little, 
 and she saw him, at the very instant that her 
 arm accidentally struck one of the keys of the 
 piano ; but she had seen his face before he 
 had time to smooth away the frown — he could 
 not so quickly bring back his complexion from 
 the inky hue which had overspread it. He 
 had heard the slight sound, had looked up, 
 and passed on, all in an instant. Adelaide 
 did not know whether he had seen her or not. 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 She sat quite still until she heard the street- 
 door close, and even then she did not move 
 till Charlotte called in a subdued voice — 
 
 *' Addy ! are you there ? Oh, Addy, I am 
 so glad it is over ! " said Charlotte, as Adelaide 
 drew the curtain aside, and came in. ^* It was 
 not so bad as I expected. He was very 
 polite. I thought, perhaps, he would have 
 gone into a passion. But oh, Addy, he squints 
 worse than ever ! I couldn't marry a man 
 that squinted." 
 
 "It is a very slight cast. I have almost 
 forgotten it ; but mamma always notices it." 
 
 " It was dreadful this morning. He must 
 have got worse at Bristol. Addy, I believe he 
 squints more when he is angry '' 
 
 " I have never seen Mr. Vincent angry," 
 began Adelaide — and then she remembered the 
 look on his face as he passed down the stairs, 
 and she was silent.
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The gain I seek is, quiet in the matcli. 
 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 Sir Saville Edward Carr Fidelle was the 
 heir to a baronetcy which dated back to the 
 days of good King Jamie, and which would 
 doubtless have dated further back still had 
 baronets been invented before the days of the 
 English Solomon. The Fidelles' family history 
 was not particularly interesting to any but the 
 genealogist. Some of them had spent more 
 than the family estates would very well bear, 
 but, beyond this, there had been little worthy 
 of remark in their annals ; nor was even this 
 occasional prodigality marked by any features 
 of interest — except, of course, to the creditors.
 
 212 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 
 
 Theodore Paston maintained that the family 
 character of the Fidelles was as barren of 
 interest as the family history ; but Theodore 
 was fresh from the sesthetico-philosophic atmo- 
 sphere of Yogelheimsburg, and was, therefore, 
 it is almost needless to remark, entirely in- 
 capable of judging. 
 
 If Theodore Paston had been asked his 
 opinion of Sir Saville, he would have said that 
 the English baronet was a creature one remove, 
 perhaps, from an automaton, but certainly 
 with no claim to be called a man. In person, 
 Sir Saville was as nearly as possible colourless ; 
 his hair was of the palest yellow, his eyebrows 
 and eyelashes were all but white, his com- 
 plexion had never been florid, and, at five and 
 twenty, it seemed already faded ; while a 
 slightly puffed appearance under the eyes 
 gave Theodore a pretext for calling Sir Saville 
 dissipated. In this, he was unjust, for Sir 
 Saville's complexion had really looked much 
 the same ever since he was four years old. 
 
 Nor was Theodore's estimate of Sir Saville's
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 213 
 
 character by any means correct. He was not 
 a nonentity — nobody is. He knew nothing 
 and cared less about philosophy and literature ; 
 he thought that music was very well in its 
 place, and that the opera was, on the whole, 
 the best lounge for a man, of an evening. But 
 he was not destitute of ideas on subjects which 
 did concern him. As Sir Saville Fidelle, 
 thirteenth baronet, and connected by marriage 
 with a dozen noble families, he could have 
 " afforded " (as Lady Overton often remarked 
 of herself) to do anything. But Sir Saville had 
 never desired to do anything ; why should 
 he ? He felt genuine wonder, mixed with a 
 very little contempt, when he heard of men of 
 his own rank "going out of their way to do 
 out-of-the-way things " — by which he meant 
 anything beyond the Parliamentary and mili- 
 tary spheres of action. The navy was too 
 rough-and-ready, and the Church had, in Sir 
 Saville's opinion, the same defect as the law — 
 *' a fellow could rise from nothing " in either. 
 True, since the passing of the Keform Bill, the
 
 214 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 
 
 same might almost be said of Parliament ; 
 but not quite to the same extent. Not that 
 Sir Saville was in the House ; but he felt that 
 to be there did not lower a man, and was a 
 fact which need not be kept out of sight in 
 society — whereas Mr. Counsellor Bingham's 
 Chancery anecdotes always sounded a little 
 vulgar. 
 
 It must not be imagined, from all this, that 
 Sir Saville Fidelle was an enthusiast for his 
 order-^a romantic legitimist, behind the age, 
 to be sure, but a chivalrous high-hearted 
 "gentleman of the old school." Sir Saville 
 was enthusiastic about nothing — his tempera- 
 ment was .lymphatic, and his mind was undis- 
 turbed by doubts on any subject — two excellent 
 preservatives from enthusiasm. He had left 
 Oxford just before the famous Tracts for the 
 Times appeared ; but he would probably 
 have passed unscathed through the tempest 
 which they conjured up. Had he not listened 
 without emotion to the great debate on the 
 Eeform Bill, at which even Gerald Overton had
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 215 
 
 lost his equanimity, and spoken out of order ? 
 Had he not, when asked by Lady Overton 
 what he thought of those debates, replied, that 
 no doubt they were good practice for fellows 
 who meant to go into Parliament, but that 
 otherwise they were rather a bore ? 
 
 Sir Saville was not ambitious ; but he was 
 aware that his position required him to 
 marry ; and, until lately, he had recognized 
 the great expediency (not to say necessity) of 
 marrying money. Now that he had inherited 
 the Gatheringay property, however, money 
 was no longer an object, and he determined 
 to marry a woman who could " hold her own." 
 Sir Saville did not know that he was con- 
 sidered by his acquaintances rather a fool than 
 otherwise ; but he was dimly conscious that he 
 himself could not " hold his own " with the 
 ease which he desired. He believed that no 
 one knew it, but he was excessively nervous — 
 so nervous, that he engaged in a conversation 
 with much the feelings of an inexpert duellist, 
 who expects to be thrust through at every
 
 216 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 moment. And of all people in the world, 
 Blanche Overton was the one with whom he 
 found it hardest to " hold his own.'' As soon, 
 therefore, as he was freed from the necessity of 
 marrying a rich wife, he began to think of 
 Blanche as the best choice he could make. 
 Her position and connections were ''all right;" 
 and Sir Saville felt that society would assume 
 quite another aspect to a man whose wife 
 could " carry it all off," as Blanche would. 
 Instead of being obliged to be constantly on 
 the defensive, lest she should "make him look 
 a fool," the whole array of her weapons would 
 then be employed in his service. "For, of 
 course," reasoned Sir Saville, " she wouldn't 
 chaff me, when we were married. Women have 
 the sulks, when they're married, but they don't 
 chaff you ; and I shouldn't mind her sulking." 
 Accordingly, Sir Saville proposed to Blanche. 
 That is, he wrote a note to Lady Overton, 
 requesting the favour of a private interview. 
 The immediate result of the interview was not 
 auspicious. For three whole days, Blanche
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 217 
 
 was SO intolerably sarcastic as to drive Lin a to 
 tears, on an average, thrice per day. Even Sir 
 John perceived that something was wrong, and 
 at last (it was after dinner on the third day) 
 asked what the devil was the matter with the 
 girl ? Was young Fidelle making love to 
 another woman ? For Sir John was aware of 
 his wife's hopes for the match, though, at 
 Blanche's peremptory request, he had not yet 
 been informed of the proposal, 
 
 " Eeally, Sir John, I can t think where you 
 learned to say such things," said Lady Overton, 
 in reply to this well-bred inquiry. 
 
 " Whatever it is, I won't have the girl 
 looking as though she'd turn all the milk sour, 
 demmy if I will I " continued Sir John, throw- 
 ing a whole glass of port down his throat at 
 once, and then setting the glass on the table 
 so energetically that it broke short off at the 
 stem. Sir John muttered something as he put 
 the broken pieces on his dessert-plate, and then 
 went on. "I may be a little hard of hearing, 
 but I can hear enough to know the girl's in a
 
 218 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 devil of a temper, and I won't have it ; 
 demmy, I say, I won't have it ! What's it 
 all about ? Demmy, Blanche, why don't you 
 speak ? " 
 
 "I do not understand what you mean, 
 papa," said Blanche. Blanche could always 
 make her father hear. 
 
 " Not understand ? Demmy, why have you 
 been in the sulks for a week ? D'ye take me 
 for a fool, miss ? D'ye think, when I see 
 Lina turn as red as a turkey-cock, and the 
 tears come in her eyes, that I don't know 
 you've been saying something nasty — some 
 of your nasty women's speeches ? When I'm 
 in a bad humour, I swear, and when a 
 woman's in a bad humour, she smiles and 
 says something nasty. Demmy, d'ye think 
 I don't know ? " 
 
 "Oh, papa, don't be angry with Blanche!" 
 said Lina, in her pleading voice, which Sir 
 John could not hear very well, but which 
 he generally understood, for all that. 
 
 " Demmy, child, I won't swear at her, but
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 219 
 
 I will know what it's all about. Demmy, 
 I'm kept in the dark I Ts it anything be- 
 tween Fidelle and Lina ? Demmy, I will 
 know — Blanche ain't a girl to sulk because 
 she wants a new gown — demmy, d'ye think 
 I don't know my own daughter by this time 1 
 Is it Fidelle and Lina ? " 
 
 *' No, j)apa," said Blanche, who stood a little 
 in awe of her father, when he was really 
 angry, and always treated him with polite- 
 ness. 
 
 " Glad of it," said Sir John. 'Tidelle's as 
 obstinate as a mule, always was — remember 
 him when he was a flabby little boy — had 
 white hair, too. Those white-haired fellows 
 always are as obstinate as mules." 
 
 " We used to call him Second Fiddle at 
 Christ's, sir," said Gerald, who sat at his 
 father's left, between him and Lina. Gerald 
 had to repeat this sentence twice, before Sir 
 John took in its meaning, but when he did, 
 he burst into a roar of laughter. 
 
 " The initials of his name made Sec, you
 
 220 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 know, sir," explained Gerald, actually taking 
 the trouble to get up, and speak in his 
 fathers ear. ''And then Fidelle came in all 
 right." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha I " roared Sir John. " Ho ! 
 ho ! ho ! Demmed clever young dogs you are 
 at Oxford ! Demmy ! Ha ! ha ! ha I " 
 
 Blanche, who had grown very white amidst 
 all this merriment, was looking at Gerald with 
 eyes which were certainly very brilliant, but 
 which could hardly be supposed to beam with 
 love. Gerald, however, was busy with an 
 orange, and did not look at his sister. 
 
 Lady Overton, who had said, '' Eeally, Sir 
 John," a good many times, heeded by no one 
 but Lina, took this opportunity of retiring. 
 Gerald opened the door for the ladies, looking 
 as lazy and careless as ever ; but he smiled 
 to himself, as he closed the door, and returned 
 to the table. 
 
 " Now the women are gone," said Sir John, 
 " perhaps you 11 tell me what Blanche is in 
 this infernal tantrum about. D it ! it's
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 221 
 
 enougli to spoil a man's digestion, to see the 
 looks slie gives poor little Lina." 
 
 " I rather fancy, sir," said Gerald, " that 
 Fidelle has proposed to Blanche." 
 
 " Good G — ! then why the devil's she 
 in such a tantrum ? " 
 
 " I fancy she can't quite make up her 
 mind." 
 
 " Not make up her mind ? Then, demmy, 
 why does she vent her mind on Lina ? Lina's 
 worth a dozen of her ! " 
 
 '^Blanche is very much admired by the 
 men, sir." 
 
 " More fools they ! A stuck-up minx ! 
 Whatever you do, Gerald, don't marry a bad- 
 tempered woman — one in the family's 
 enough ! " 
 
 "To do Blanche justice, sir, she never for- 
 gets herself; however angry she may be, she 
 is always cool." 
 
 " Yes, d her ! " said her wrathful 
 
 father, "I shouldn't mind, if she'd lose her 
 temper — I lose mine myself, sometimes, when
 
 222 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 I'm provoked. She's cool enougli, d — d cool ! 
 But she shan't plague Lina, demmy if she 
 shall ! I suppose my lady means to do 
 me the honour of consultiug me, before she 
 gives Fidelle his answer ? " began Sir John 
 again, testily, after he had drunk a couple of 
 glasses. "Don't like the fellow — never did, 
 when he was a flabby little boy, and used to 
 sulk for hours together. But I s'pose my 
 lady thinks it's a good match, now the 
 Gatheringay property has fallen in. Lina's 
 too good for him ; but if he wants Blanche, 
 demmy, if I'll say no ! She can hold her 
 own — demmy, if I'll interfere. My lady may 
 have her way for once." 
 
 " Shall we drink to your future son-in- 
 law, sir ? " asked Gerald, lazily filling his 
 glass. 
 
 *' No, demmy ; drink his health ? No, 
 demmy, if I will ! " said Sir John, more 
 testily than ever. " I thought she liked 
 Lancaster," he added, after a few minutes' 
 silence, during which Gerald sipped his wine.
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 223 
 
 " On the whole, I prefer him to Fidelle," 
 said Gerald. 
 
 "Yes, demmy, I wish he'd never seen 
 one," said Sir John, who had not caught the 
 precise purport of Gerald's words. 
 
 Gerald was too indolent to overcome a 
 slight lisp, or to raise his voice sufficiently to 
 be heard by dull ears. 
 
 " I'll lay any man ten to one, that cursed 
 fiddle's at the bottom of all this confounded 
 folly about going on the stage. My lady 
 thinks I'm blind, because I'm deaf ; but 
 demmy, if I didn't think the jade would have 
 him, before this infernal folly ; and you mark 
 me, my boy, it all began with the fiddle. 
 There's young Paston, he plays the fiddle — 
 and what's the consequence ? He's been 
 offered the post of attashy to the Portuguese 
 Embassy, and he won't take it, sir, he won't 
 take it 1 "
 
 224 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVII. 
 
 I would forget her ; but a fever slie 
 
 Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be." 
 
 Love's Labour's Lost. 
 
 As it was on one of tlie days immediately 
 following Sir Saville's proposal that Horace 
 made his call, it may be easily imagined that 
 he came in for his share of the polite sarcasms 
 for which Blanche was dreaded by her family, 
 and which her father (who did not hear them, 
 but who saw the effects they produced) was 
 accustomed to call 'tantrums." Horace had 
 not seen Blanche, except in the presence of 
 others, since he had made known his resolve to 
 go upon the stage. On this occasion, he called 
 literally in the " morning," hoping thus to get
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 225 
 
 a few words with Blanche alone. But he 
 found her with her mother and her sister 
 Amelia, the eldest unmarried daughter, and a 
 quiet, rather pretty young woman, of no very 
 marked character, physically or mentally. 
 Blanch'e sat netting imperturbably. Horace 
 watched her slim white fingers sending the 
 shuttle through the scarlet meshes, till his eyes 
 were dazzled, and his attention wandered from 
 what Lady Overton was saying about Theo- 
 dore Paston's provoking behaviour. 
 
 "It is really too bad," said her ladyship. 
 "We were all prepared to overlook the past 
 and receive him into our set. And I have 
 taken no end of trouble — I actually got Lord 
 ^\'^illiam's promise — and now Theodore says 
 that I knew his resolution from the first, and 
 that I had no right to mention his name ! " 
 
 " No, I suppose not," said Horace absently, 
 and with his eyes on the scarlet thread. 
 
 " I don't believe you're a bit sorry for me, 
 Mr. Lancaster ! " exclaimed Lady Overton. " I 
 believe you encourage the ungrateful boy. 
 
 VOL. L Q
 
 226 ALL THE WOKLDS A STAGE. 
 
 I declare rm quite angry with you botli ! One 
 may be very fond of music, and the theatre, 
 and all that, but one must draw the line some- 
 where, you know. Private theatricals are all 
 very well — we got up some at Overton once — 
 but the stage is really going too far. If you 
 would write books, now, as Sir Edward Bul- 
 wer does — no one could object to that " 
 
 " I have written a book, madam," said 
 Horace in his dignified manner — it was formed 
 on that of John Kemble ; "a poor poem, 
 which the world has doubtless already for- 
 gotten." 
 
 " I am sure it was charming," said her 
 ladyship. " Even Blanche admired it." 
 Blanche's eyes shot a wrathful glance at her 
 mother, as she said this. " And many people 
 said that it was very much like Milton. Now, 
 why couldn't you go on writing poems, Mr. 
 Lancaster, and give up this dreadful idea of 
 the stage ? " 
 
 Was it Lina's entrance at this moment 
 which stung Blanche into speech ?
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 227 
 
 " Mr. Lancaster is a universal genius, 
 mamma," she said. " He wishes to triumph 
 everywhere." 
 
 " I hope you are come to take my part, 
 Miss Angelina," said Horace. '* You will not 
 bid the poor cobbler stick to his last, I trust ? " 
 
 " Lina is far too amiable to say anything 
 disagreeable to any one, are you not, Pussie ? " 
 said Blanche, who, having once broken silence, 
 took the lead in the conversation. 
 
 But Horace was none the better off for this. 
 She skilfully parried all his attempts to avail 
 himself of the arrival of another caller, and 
 he was at length obliged to take his leave in 
 despair. 
 
 She met his eyes unflinchingly, as she said, 
 *' I shall come to see you act, Mr. Lancaster, 
 but I shall not forgive you." Blanche said 
 this smiling, but something in her smile so 
 disconcerted Horace that he could only stam- 
 mer a few unmeaning words in reply. 
 
 The Overtons were asked to dinner a day or 
 two before Mrs. Firebrace departed for Queen
 
 228 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 Anne Street. It was the first dinner-party 
 Horace had given since his father's death, 
 and Mrs. Staples expressed herself as very 
 glad that Mr. Horace had brought himself to 
 see company again. Mr. Vincent was not 
 there ; he had not been in the homse since his 
 interview with Charlotte, and he could not be 
 persuaded to do as Horace entreated, and 
 " come as though nothing had happened." 
 Horace still hoped that his sister might relent, 
 but Vincent steadily refused to " throw himself 
 in her way." He had taken his rejection very 
 silently, and had requested Horace to say no 
 more on the subject. 
 
 What with his own love affair, his anxieties 
 about his success in the profession he had 
 chosen, and his conviction that Vincent's 
 health was giving way under repeated dis- 
 appointments and wounded affection, Horace's 
 naturally irritable temper made himself and 
 every one around him very uncomfortable 
 during the next few weeks. It made Char- 
 lotte downright miserable ; and when Horace
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. , 229 
 
 said, in his gravest manner, speaking to Sophia, 
 and carefully avoiding Charlotte's eye, " I 
 cannot persuade Mr. Vincent to dine with us 
 to-night. He is far from well ; he is suffering 
 from sleeplessness ; and Mr. Meadows, who has 
 seen him, bids him avoid excitement for the 
 present " — when Horace said this, poor Char- 
 lotte felt a sudden gush of pity for Vincent, 
 and, for the first time, allowed herself to think 
 that perhaps he had really cared for her. 
 
 The dinner that evening was one of the 
 most miserable occasions of Charlotte's life — 
 far more miserable than could be accounted 
 for by any actual causes then known to her. 
 True, Blanche Overton had excused herself ; 
 and Mr. Vincent really was ill in his lonely 
 lodgings. And to-morrow, Sophia and Ade- 
 laide were going to Queen Anne Street, and 
 Charlotte would be left to face the terrible 
 blank of the house, which her cousins' presence 
 had hitherto prevented her from feeling very 
 oppressively. Charlotte thought that the 
 house would be unbearable after they were
 
 230 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 gone — it would be like losing her father over 
 again. How empty the great rooms would 
 seem ! And though Horace shut himself up 
 most of the day in the library (where he might 
 be heard pacing up and down, and declaiming 
 the various parts he was studying), Charlotte 
 felt that it would not be right to spend all her 
 days in Queen Anne Street with Adelaide, or 
 in South Audley Street with Lina, as her first 
 impulse tempted her to do. This, she felt, 
 would be to estrange herself from Horace. In 
 fact, they were estranged already, thought 
 poor Charlotte ; and she shed a little flood of 
 tears into her pillow-case that night at the 
 thought. 
 
 And yet Horace was exceedingly kind, ex- 
 cept now and then, when some interruption or 
 noise made him irritable ; but it was easy to 
 see how much pain her refusal of Mr. Vincent 
 had caused him. It had almost deprived him 
 of Mr. Vincent, who would not come to the 
 house, and from whose lodgings Horace always 
 came back looking so sad that Charlotte never
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 231 
 
 now sat lip for him when he went there in the 
 evening ; she could not bear to see the un- 
 happiness she had caused, and always fled 
 early to her own room, where she listened 
 guiltily for Horace's return. 
 
 Horace did not talk very much to Charlotte 
 at this time ; but he kept her informed of 
 all his plans, and his manner to her was that 
 of an affectionate father towards a beloved 
 but rather wilful daughter. He seemed to 
 sadly take for granted that she could not do 
 for him the thing he had set his heart on, and 
 to be generously trying not to let her see how 
 deep was his disappointment. Then he was 
 much engrossed with the study of most of the 
 great parts in tragedy, and with all the many 
 arrangements necessary for no less an enter- 
 prise than himself becoming lessee and 
 manager of the Dockhampton Theatre — a step 
 he had resolved upon after much consideration, 
 and with the approval of such of his friends 
 as approved of his proceedings at all. 
 
 Charlotte usually saw Horace only at break-
 
 232 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 fast and dinner ; but now and then lie would 
 call her into the library, to ask her opinion 
 on small matters of detail, such as the pro- 
 bable effect of different costumes, or her as- 
 sistance in hunting out historical references — 
 for Horace was, in some respects, in advance 
 of his age, and was prepared to go even farther 
 than Mr. Macreadj in fidelity to history. 
 
 But one day — it was about a fortnight after 
 Sophia went to live in Queen Anne Street — 
 Horace came up into the drawing-room just as 
 Charlotte was beginning her morning's practice. 
 
 " Charlotte," he said, "it is better that you 
 should learn from me that Blanche Overton 
 is engaged to marry Sir Saville Fidelle. You 
 will probably soon hear it from Lina " 
 
 "Oh, Horace ! " exclaimed Charlotte, in a 
 flutter of grief, anger, surprise, and sympathy. 
 " How can she ? Are you quite sure it is 
 true?" 
 
 " I had the fact from herself." 
 
 " Oh, Horace ! And he is so ugly, and 
 he looks so stupid I "
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 233 
 
 "Blanche does not care for beauty or wit. 
 She possesses enough for both," said Horace, 
 with a scornful smile. 
 
 "He is horrid — he has white eyelashes I 
 Oh, how can she ? " said Charlotte again, 
 almost in tears. 
 
 " Then you do not admire him, Charlotte ? " 
 asked Horace, still smiling. 
 
 " Admire him ? Oh, Horace ! how could 
 I when I've seen you ? " 
 
 "Thank you, dear sister. I am sure you 
 are sincere," said Horace, with a half laugh. 
 He glanced across at the looking-glass as he 
 spoke. He might be pardoned a little com- 
 placency. Compared with Sir Saville, he 
 was, so far as personal appearance went, as a 
 portrait by Velasquez is to those efforts of 
 untaught genius which we sometimes see ex- 
 hibited in chalks on London pavements. " He 
 is a baronet, and players are not even knighted 
 — that is an honour reserved for aldermen," 
 continued Horace, letting his words drop 
 slowly, as though they were coins.
 
 234 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 "Horace, dear, I am so sorry," said Char- 
 lotte, timidly. 
 
 He seemed to be waiting for her to say 
 something:. " I do not know that it is to be 
 regretted," he replied, still in the same staccato 
 voice. "At any rate. Sir Saville is not a 
 universal genius, and will scarcely win many 
 other triumphs — 'twere perhaps ungenerous to 
 grudge him this one." 
 
 Horace turned on his heel — a little in his 
 Hamlet manner — and left Charlotte to finish 
 her practice as she might. But she played no 
 more that day. 
 
 Charlotte did hear the news from Lina, who 
 further confided to her that Horace had written 
 to Blanche, and had called the same day and 
 seen her. 
 
 "But I'm almost sure that Blanche did 
 not mean to see him," said Lina. " She didn't 
 tell me Mr. Lancaster had written ; but I saw 
 the note brought in, and I — happened to 
 recognize his writing. And Blanche looked 
 as she does when she is vexed."
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 235 
 
 Lina was right. Fortune, and not Blanche, 
 had favoured Horace ; Blanche was in the 
 drawing-room, and could not escape. The 
 interview was brief. 
 
 " Miss Overton," Horace began at once, 
 *' you must be perfectly well aware what it is 
 that I wish to say to you." 
 
 "I am so well aware, Mr. Lancaster," said 
 Blanche, interrupting him with a quickness 
 unusual to her, " that I hope you will not say 
 it. How is Charlotte, and when is she coming 
 to see us ? " 
 
 " I am not to be answered thus. Miss Over- 
 ton," said Horace. '' For once, you shall hear 
 me. You have closed my lips a hundred 
 times as only a woman knows how ; but you 
 know what my hopes have been — would I 
 might say, what my hopes still are ! You 
 are beautiful and admired, but you are ad- 
 mired by those whom you must despise — 
 whom I can see that you despise — who are 
 incapable of appreciating you." 
 
 Blanche's colour had come and gone during
 
 236 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 this speech, and she could not conceal that she 
 was far from calm as she replied, " I do not 
 think I particularly care to be appreciated ; 
 there are inconveniences in it." 
 
 " Blanche, your heart pleads for me — listen 
 to it." 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Lancaster, I have no heart. 
 I have given it, such as it is, to Sir Saville 
 Fidelle." 
 
 Blanche said this in a strange agitation ; 
 but there was no weakness in her emotion — 
 she seemed angry with herself for it — and 
 Horace felt all his passionate words driven 
 back. 
 
 " At least," he said, after vainly trying to 
 plead with her — '^ at least, tell me whether you 
 would have listened to my suit if I were not 
 an actor ? " 
 
 " I don't know," she said, with a forced 
 laugh; "most likely not. But you could 
 never be anything else." 
 
 At this moment Lady Overton came in, 
 and Blanche presently excusing herself, Horace
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 237 
 
 was compelled to listen to Sir Saville's praises, 
 and to hear how eminently desirable a match 
 he had become since he had inherited old Lord 
 Gatheringay's estates, 
 
 " The old lord was almost a miser," said 
 Lady Overton, *'For years he lived much 
 within his income — very eccentric man, in- 
 deed. Of course, Sir Saville will get into 
 Parliament at once ; and I think it is very 
 likely, when the Duke comes in again, the title 
 may be revived in his favour. It is always 
 a pity when a title becomes extinct — don't 
 you think so, Mr. Lancaster ? "
 
 238 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The drossy age. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Mrs. Firebrace more than once regretted her 
 haste in leaving Eussell Square ; for although 
 Charlotte and Adelaide saw each other very 
 frequently, Horace had become almost inac- 
 cessible. He paid one call in Queen Anne 
 Street, in the course of which he said that his 
 own occupations must, for some time at least, 
 entirely prevent his going into society, adding 
 that he trusted his cousins would take pity 
 upon Charlotte, whom he was compelled to 
 leave much alone ; and after this Sophia saw 
 him no more. 
 
 Adelaide, who often spent a day with 
 Charlotte, had always the same answers to
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 239 
 
 give her mother on her return. Horace had 
 come in to luncheon, and again to dinner, and 
 that was all she had seen of him. 
 
 " And ril be bound, Addy, you never tried 
 to make yourself agreeable. I don't doubt 
 you sat mum, or talked to Charlotte about her 
 fancy sale ! " said Sophia, after one of these 
 visits. 
 
 " Horace is always thinking when he comes 
 in, mamma. Of course, Charlotte and I don't 
 disturb him." 
 
 " Disturb him, indeed ! Addy, you're a 
 fool I " 
 
 Adelaide looked pained, but she said no- 
 thing. 
 
 " You are positively a child ! " went on 
 Sophia. " It is very trying. I'm sure they 
 may well talk of rolling a stone up a hill. 
 If you had any tact, you could easily draw 
 your cousin into conversation about his 
 theatre." 
 
 " He does tell us things which have hap- 
 pened sometimes," said Adelaide. "But he
 
 240 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 was called away before dessert to-night — the 
 gentleman who is to be the stage-manager 
 came to see him." 
 
 "And so I suppose you did not see your 
 cousin again all the evening ? " 
 
 " Yes, I did, mamma. . Horace had told 
 Charlotte to let him know when I was going, 
 and he came out of the library and put me into 
 the carriage." 
 
 " And why didn't you tell me so at once ? 
 You allowed me to suppose that Horace took 
 no notice whatever of you. You are sadly 
 inconsiderate, Addy ! And so he actually came 
 out of his den to put you into the carriage ? 
 I suppose he said something civil to you ? " 
 
 " He said he was sorry that he must not 
 have the pleasure of seeing me home, but that 
 Bloxam would take as much care of me as he 
 could himself." 
 
 '* Well, I suppose that was very civil under 
 the circumstances," said Sophia, rather doubt- 
 fully ; "and Bloxam is a very confidential 
 servant, which makes a difference.. I do be-
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 241 
 
 lieve, Addy, that if you would only play your 
 cards " 
 
 ** I have no cards to play, mamma ; and I 
 wouldn't play them if I had," cried Adelaide, 
 crimsoning all over. *' Doiit say such things, 
 mamma. You can't think how they hurt me." 
 
 '' Was Mr. Paston there to-night ? " asked 
 Sophia, with a sudden distrust in her face and 
 voice, and eyeing Adelaide keenly. 
 
 "No, mamma. Did I not say we were 
 alone all day ? I shall never deceive you, 
 mamma. I will go to bed, if you please. 
 Good night." 
 
 Sophia saw that she had driven Addy too 
 hard. It was very rarely that mother and 
 daughter had parted so coldly. Usually, 
 Adelaide carried her mother's candlestick up- 
 stairs for her, and saw that her night-light was 
 burning, and that everything was in order ; but 
 to-night she went straight to her own room, 
 and Sophia thought it better not to follow her, 
 
 Horace's brief experience at Bristol, while it 
 had greatly encouraged him in his belief in his 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 own powers, had shown him that he much 
 needed to go through an apprenticeship of some 
 kind before venturing to appear before a Lon- 
 don audience. And he considered that, by 
 becoming himself the lessee of a theatre, he 
 would be able to develope his genius ad 
 libitum. He had long been tolerably well 
 acquainted with the practical side of a man- 
 ager's duties, sufficiently so, at least, not to 
 appear at a loss. Vincent had undertaken to 
 supervise the business arrangements, and was 
 already reconnoitring for a company. Mr. 
 Parnassus Smith, who had given Horace much 
 valuable advice, had recommended a certain 
 Mr. Kiddle as stage-manager ; and Theodore 
 Paston had eagerly offered his services as band- 
 master. 
 
 The Theatre Royal, Dockhampton, which 
 was soon, as Horace fondly hoped, to rival that 
 York under Tait Wilkinson's reign, had of late 
 of been very unfortunate. One manager after 
 another had appeared, comet-like, above the 
 horizon, only to vanish like a comet, leaving
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 243 
 
 the regular constellations shining on as usual ; 
 but, as Horace represented to Mr. Smith and 
 George Hillyard (who would never allow his 
 cousin to see the manager alone), there was a 
 vast difference between a manager who lived 
 by his theatre and a gentleman-amateur of 
 fortune, who could afford to wait until he 
 should have raised his audience to his own 
 level. 
 
 "That's true enough, Mr. Lancaster," said 
 Parnassus ; " but somehow, d'ye see, sir — and 
 I'm free to confess that I couldn't always lay 
 my finger on any one thing and say, ' There's 
 where it was he went wrong ' — even / couldn't 
 always do that. But, somehow or other, a man 
 that don't live by his theatre always does make 
 a mess of it. Mr. Hillyard here will bear me 
 out, I'm sure." 
 
 "Well, sir, I ain't a judge of these things," 
 said Hillyard, " not having been brought up to 
 go to the theatre myself. No offence, sir ; and 
 I'm sure I've never seen any particular harm in 
 the plays my cousin Lancaster acts in. But I
 
 244 ALL THE WOELDS A STAGE. 
 
 dare say you're right, sir. It stands to reason 
 that having to get his living out of a thing 
 sharpens a man's wits, as you may say." 
 
 " My good cousin, it is fatal to the develop- 
 ment of true art," interposed Horace. '' You 
 know the proverb, ' He that preaches to live — ' 
 and the same is true of art." 
 
 '*Well, cousin Lancaster, you know best; 
 but, if you're right, there must be a deal of 
 difference betwixt art and the drysalting 
 business." 
 
 " Never mind art, Mr. Lancaster. Take my 
 word for it, sir, your mind runs a deal too 
 much on art and genius, and the rest of it," 
 said the manager. "Not that some of your 
 ideas mayn't come in handy by-and-bye in the 
 costumes and the scenery ; but what you've 
 got to do is to make your theatre draio, and to 
 do that, Mr. Lancaster, you must study the 
 public." 
 
 " I shall study how best to put upon the 
 stage the best works of the best dramatic 
 writers, sir, and to raise the drama from the
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 245 
 
 degradation into which it has fallen througli 
 the constant pandering of managers to a de- 
 praved taste." 
 
 "Then, d it, Mr. Lancaster, yon'll be 
 
 ruined in six months. Such ideas as yours 
 sir, will lead you to perdition — you shan't say 
 I didn't warn you — to perdition ! " 
 
 " Come, come, gentlemen both," said Hill- 
 yard ; " the longer you talk, the more you'll 
 disagree; and that's a pity, when you both 
 mean pretty much the same thing after all. 
 Leastways, I am sure my cousin Lancaster 
 don't mean to play to empty boxes. If hell 
 allow me to say it of him, he's uncommon 
 keen about what people think of him, and likes 
 praise as well as e'er a one of us." 
 
 This timely speech of Mr. Hillyard's pro- 
 duced the desired effect ; and Mr. Smith, 
 appeased, began to give Horace some of the 
 fruits of his own experience, and wound up by 
 highly recommending Mr. Kiddle. 
 
 Midsummer was past by the time matters 
 were thus far settled.
 
 246 ALL THE world's A STAGF. 
 
 Horace revived Mrs. Firebraces sinking 
 hopes by the pains he took to get good places 
 for Adelaide and herself to see the procession 
 on the day the young Queen was crowned. To 
 Adelaide, the day recalled many sweet but 
 painful memories of her uncle ; but if Horace 
 and Charlotte guessed this, they did not refer 
 to it. They attributed the tears in Adelaide's 
 eyes to a less personal cause. 
 
 Horace had spent a week at Dockhampton 
 early in June, and it would be necessary for 
 Jiim to go down again at intervals, to super- 
 intend the putting of the theatre into thorough 
 repair, one bankrupt manager after another 
 having left the house pretty much as he had 
 found it. Horace also intended making several 
 other journeys, to see and treat with provincial 
 players, whom Vincent had discovered for him. 
 Under these circumstances, the house in Eussell 
 Square was to be left in charge of Bloxam and 
 his wife ; and Charlotte, with Mrs. Staples and 
 her maid, was to go and spend the summer 
 and autumn at her own house at Twickenham, .
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 247 
 
 to whicli she had invited Sophia and Ade- 
 laide. 
 
 Sophia had already a little circle of ac- 
 quaintance, of whom the major — in talking to 
 whom, on the steps of new St. Pancras 
 Church, she had caught that quinsy in the 
 spring — was the nucleus. But most of them 
 would be going away soon ; and even if they 
 were not, Sophia would have cheerfully sacri- 
 ficed them all. Twickenham was nearer Horace 
 than Queen Anne Street ; and, in case Horace 
 fell through (which . this theatrical craze of his 
 made less to be deplored, for he was sure to 
 lose a great deal of money over it), there was a 
 very select society down at Twickenham. Mr. 
 Gerald Overton, too, would be coming down. 
 In his careless fashion, he was paying attention 
 to Charlotte — at least, Sophia supposed it must 
 be called paying attention. He lounged in to 
 Kussell Square, seemed to have come for no 
 particular reason, and lounged away again ; 
 but then he was so incorrigibly lazy, that he 
 would hardly have come at all, unless he had 
 been in earnest. So Sophia reasoned.
 
 24S ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 But be this as it might, Charlotte was 
 unaccountably indifferent to Gerald's merits. 
 Sophia had heard her telling Addy that he was 
 all collar and eye-glass. " I was half in love 
 with him when I was sixteen," Charlotte had 
 continued ; " but I know better now." 
 
 Sophia never actually listened at doors ; but 
 if people will talk confidentially with the door 
 wide open, they must not complain if other 
 people, going upstairs just then, catch a 
 sentence or two not intended for their ears.
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 249 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Kings took their pleasure here ; let ns take love. 
 
 Riverside House, Twickenham, was a mode- 
 rate-sized " Villa," very pleasantly, if some- 
 what moistly, situated on a gentle slope which 
 led down to the Thames. The garden was 
 much overgrown with trees, which rose con- 
 siderably higher than the chimney-tops. 
 There was a lawn, surrounded by gravel 
 walks and flower-beds, and a broader gravel 
 walk ran along the lower end of the garden. 
 The river-bank was bricked to the level of this 
 walk ; and half a dozen slippery steps — the 
 bricks greened over till hardly a vestige of 
 their original red could be seen — led down to 
 the water's edge. There was a rusty gate at
 
 250 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 the top of these steps, to whose iron railings 
 time and weather had given a fine blue-green 
 bloom. 
 
 The little party of ladies assembled at 
 Eiverside House passed their time very agree- 
 ably. They could well be called a party, for 
 Lina Overton had been invited to join them, 
 and had preferred doing so to going with her 
 mother and sisters to Brighton. As Mrs. 
 Firebrace had hoped, Gerald also had found 
 his way down more than once ; and besides 
 these town visitors, there was plenty of society 
 in Twickenham. Forty years ago, the Thames 
 Kegatta was a new thing ; and the University 
 Boat Kace had not yet taught gentlemen to 
 consider it a part of a polite education to learn 
 to row. Gerald saw nothing to blush for in 
 sitting at ease beside the ladies, while a water- 
 man plied the sculls. 
 
 To Adelaide, the early part of her stay 
 at Twickenham was a time of deep and tran- 
 quil happiness. She was with Charlotte ; she 
 heard constantly of Horace. Miss Simpson,
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 251 
 
 having got through May, seemed to have 
 revived, and to be much better. The doctor 
 had actually written to Adelaide, and told her 
 this good news in a few short sentences of 
 very long words, which she treasured for the 
 sake of his autograph. The good doctor had 
 written this note, as he said, at the instance 
 of his sister ; but neither he nor Adelaide 
 dreamed of the innocent plot for his benefit 
 which Sarah Simpson lay contriving through 
 many sleepless hours. 
 
 All this contributed to make Adelaide's 
 summer a happy one. And other pleasures 
 were not wanting. Theodore Paston, in the 
 intervals of preparation for his duties as future 
 leader of the band to Mr. Lancaster, very often 
 found time to take a chaise out to Twicken- 
 ham, sometimes staying all night. He planned 
 several water-picnics, which Charlotte enjoyed 
 as she had never enjoyed anything in her life. 
 She had never yet seen Horace act in his full 
 glory — for this he had begged her to wait 
 until he should be fairly started at Dockhamp-
 
 252 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 ton. But she felt sure that nothing else could 
 be compared with the delight of hearing Mr. 
 Paston discourse on his violin, while the boat 
 glided down the moonlighted reaches of Hamp- 
 ton Court. 
 
 When they first came to Twickenham, 
 Charlotte often talked to Adelaide of the old 
 trouble about Vincent. His dignified silence, 
 and Horace's only half- concealed disappoint- 
 ment, had produced such an efiect on her — 
 especially as Mr. Vincent, by dint of judi- 
 ciously keeping out of the way, had begun 
 to appear rather an interesting and injured 
 person than otherwise — that Charlotte had 
 more than once been on the point of telling 
 her brother that she would no longer refuse 
 her consent. But the household must neces- 
 sarily be broken up for some months, during 
 which Horace and herself would not see each 
 other ; and she resolved to wait. But if, when 
 Horace returned to London, Mr. Vincent still 
 wished to marry her, Charlotte told her cousin
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 253 
 
 that she thought she should accept him. " It 
 does not matter so much now," she said ; 
 " Horace will be at Dockhampton for a year, 
 at least ; but when he comes back, we can't 
 go on as we have done. It is dreadful to feel 
 you've driven any one out of the house. And 
 perhaps I shall be able to like Mr. Vincent 
 then." 
 
 The return to London of which Charlotte 
 spoke, was to be an occasion of great rejoicing, 
 being nothing less than that of Horace's ap- 
 pearance in the legitimate drama on London 
 boards. He had at first spoken of spending 
 several years in the provinces, but the more 
 he thought of his debut at Bristol, the more 
 convinced he became that a far briefer space 
 would suffice to send him Londonwards, covered 
 with provincial laurels. 
 
 Charlotte received a good many eightpenny 
 letters from Horace (as well as several from 
 Lady Overton, franked by Sir John), most of 
 which she read aloud for the public benefit. 
 Adelaide was thus able to follow Horace in
 
 254 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 imagination througli many tiresome journeys, 
 and unsatisfactory interviews. She knew how 
 much persuasion Mrs. Kiddle (the wife of the 
 stage -manager) had needed ; how preposterous 
 a salary Mr. A'Deane had asked ; how Miss 
 Annesley had stipulated that she should never 
 be required to make up dark ; and how 
 dilatory the workmen were in repainting the 
 theatre. And she had said to Charlotte that 
 it did seem as though, but for Mr. Vincent, 
 Horace would never have emerged triumphant 
 out of so many difficulties., For in all these 
 letters Mr. Vincent appeared as the beneficent 
 genius, who made all come right in the end. 
 
 But of late Charlotte had ceased to speak of 
 Mr. Vincent, and did not receive this observation 
 with any cordiality. Perhaps this was partly 
 due to her having discovered from Gerald that 
 Mr. Vincent had visited them a good deal in 
 South Audley Street of late, and that he was 
 quite a favourite with Sir John, who had 
 consulted him about a long-pending lawsuit, 
 which involved very serious consequences to
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 255 
 
 the family. There was nothing in this to 
 comphiin of, certainly ; but the moment Mr. 
 Vincent ceased to seem inconsolable, Charlotte 
 ceased to feel his claim upon her, and she 
 chose to consider these visits (in which it 
 appeared that he also made himself agreeable 
 to the ladies) as a proof that he was not 
 inconsolable. 
 
 The day before Theodore was to start for 
 Dockhampton, he and Gerald gave the ladies 
 an entertainment, in the shape of an excur- 
 sion to Hampton Court. They rowed up to 
 the reach, and took their luncheon under 
 the great willow-trees which shade the rank- 
 growing grass between the two little mouths 
 of "sullen Mole," who here ends his secret 
 course, and openly casts himself into the arms 
 of the Father of rivers. It was cloudless 
 autumn weather, and even that usually damp 
 spot was perfectly dry. Across the smooth, 
 broad water they could see the upper windows 
 of the Palace — the rest of the building was 
 hidden by the trees — and farther away still,
 
 256 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 the topmost bouglis of the chestnuts in Bushy 
 Park. The sun made the river blaze like a 
 sheet of molten gold, and the luxuriant mid- 
 summer green of the trees had changed to a 
 darker and richer tone, while a single patch 
 of pale yellow, high up on the tallest elm, 
 hinted already at autumn glories and autumn 
 decay. 
 
 There is always a sombre touch about the 
 magnificence of Hampton Court — a sense of 
 bygone generations and long-ended story — 
 of passion past, and pride turned pitiful, and 
 loves and hopes which Time's sharp scythe 
 reaped long ago. Here, Jane Seymour's ter- 
 rible liege lord rejoiced aloud that at last a 
 son was born to him, and perhaps thought 
 more gently on the dead cardinal. Here, 
 James the First held his conference on the 
 affairs of the Church, and entertained foreign 
 princes with Ben Jonson's masques. Here, the 
 most unfortunate of English kings held stately 
 revel in the brief, bright morning of his 
 stormy day — even then, with " youth at the
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 257 
 
 prow and pleasure at the helm," seeing the 
 clouds lie threatening all around ; and hither 
 he came, half king, half prisoner, from Holmby 
 House, to hold once more the mockery of a 
 court, and to watch his last hopes fade away. 
 Many a night, in that little room with the 
 iron door, he has sat turning over the leaves 
 of the Icon Basilike, lost since Naseby, and 
 sent back to him here. Thither too came 
 young Mr. Evelyn to kiss his Majesty's hands, 
 bringing news from over seas. That iron door 
 has been shut by a stronger hand than Charles 
 Stuart's — Cromwell often slept here after he 
 had read that '^ very smart and surprising 
 paper entitled, Killing no Murder." On 
 these terraces William the Third talked with 
 Ben tin ck ; and here the " little gentleman in 
 black velvet" put his foot into English 
 history. And here, in the days of good Queen 
 Anne, beaux in deep-flapped waistcoats and 
 coats standing out with gold lace made love 
 a la mode to belles in mountainous head- 
 dresses and billowy hooped petticoats. 
 
 VOL. L s
 
 258 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 Theodore and Charlotte talked of all these 
 things, when, after luncheon, the little party 
 had been rowed across the river, and were 
 strolling through the sleepy, old-world gardens. 
 Sophia, who had been at infinite pains to 
 prevent any tete-d-tete between Adelaide and 
 young Paston, and who had, as we know, been 
 kept on thorns for months past by his obvious 
 admiration for her daughter, had been nearly 
 reduced to despair when this excursion was 
 proposed. It would be Mr. Paston's farewell, 
 and she was convinced that he intended it to 
 furnish him with the opportunity he had 
 hitherto sought in vain. So, as soon as the 
 ladies had all stepped ashore, So]3hia slipped 
 her arm within Adelaide's, and thus spoiled 
 Theodore's plans. Much as Adelaide liked 
 and admired the young musician, she was 
 almost as anxious as her mother to avoid an 
 explanation ; and thus it came about that 
 Theodore found himself expatiating on the 
 Cartoons to Charlotte, who, for her part, was 
 not sorry to escape from Gerald.
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 259 
 
 Theodore was rather sore — in three months 
 he seemed to have made no progress with 
 Adelaide. True, that intriguing mother of 
 hers had out-manoeuvred him all along. 
 Theodore saw through her policy, and knew 
 that she was waiting for Gerald. But if 
 Adelaide had in the least cared to do so, she 
 could have swept aside all her mother s little 
 stratagems as if they had been so many cob- 
 webs ; and Theodore did not believe that filial 
 duty was her chief motive for not having done 
 so long since. It was this belief and fear 
 which had hindered him from writing to her, 
 or from boldly demanding an interview — both 
 of which expedients had occurred to him a 
 hundred times at least. But he had, after 
 much thought on the subject, come to the 
 conclusion that he could lose more by being 
 refused, than he could gain from having made 
 known his passion. He already went pretty 
 far in compliments and lover-like speeches ; 
 and he astutely reflected that if he allowed 
 Adelaide to refuse him, he should give her the
 
 260 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 right to insist on his assuming a colder de- 
 meanour. He was not greatly cast down. 
 This young Germanized Englishman had im- 
 bibed some of the less objectionable foreign 
 ideas on love and love-making. He believed 
 that most women can be won, if men know 
 how to woo, and no previous attachment stand 
 in the way ; and, even in that case, he had a 
 lively faith in the chapter of accidents, ^ and 
 would be slow to think the game irretrievably 
 lost. But if he was disposed to be hopeful 
 for the future, he was considerably annoyed at 
 the present ; and he could not quite reconcile 
 himself to going away for months, and leaving 
 Adelaide to be seen and admired by he knew 
 not whom. 
 
 " You quickly became very intimate with 
 your cousin, did you not ? '' he said, rather 
 abruptly, as they came out upon the terrace 
 again. " Yet she seems to strangers rather 
 cold and reserved." 
 
 '' I can't think that any one would imagine 
 her to be cold. She is rather reserved, per- 
 haps."
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 261 
 
 " You don't think her cold, Miss Lancaster ? 
 You think her capable of a great passion ? " 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by * a great 
 passion,' " said Charlotte, blushing as she said 
 it. " But I am sure Adelaide would die for 
 any one she loved.'' 
 
 " Precisely ; all young ladies would. But 
 would she love any one ? I rather doubt it. 
 She is of a calm, self-contained temperament. 
 She could inspire a great passion ; but could 
 she feel one ? " 
 
 '' If truth and loyalty are great — I do not 
 understand you, Mr. Paston ; and I do not like 
 to hear Adelaide spoken of so. You cannot 
 understand her at all, to speak so." Charlotte 
 said this warmly, and her voice trembled as 
 she said it. 
 
 " You, at least, Miss Lancaster, are cap- 
 able " began Theodore ; but just then they 
 
 joined the others, and the conversation become 
 general. 
 
 Charlotte thou2rht over what Mr. Paston had 
 
 o 
 
 said ; and while indignant with him for saying
 
 262 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 
 
 it, she did wonder a little whether Adelaide's 
 great humility and unselfishness would not, 
 perhaps, tend to moderate, not the intensity, 
 but the expression, of any attachment which 
 she might feel. It was very strange that she 
 was not as much in love with Mr. Paston as he 
 was with her — for Charlotte was quite sure of 
 this, though the girls had never discussed Mr. 
 Paston as they had Mr. Vincent. By a tacit 
 consent, his name was never mentioned in their 
 confidential conversations ; but Charlotte was 
 sure that Adelaide did not love him. 
 
 Gerald was more fortunate to-day than 
 Theodore — or less so. He contrived to isolate 
 Charlotte from the rest, when they all sat down 
 by the fountain in the Chestnut Avenue. It 
 was not a very private opportunity, but this 
 he felt to be rather an advantage, as it simplified 
 matters, and made retreat easy; and the others 
 were all talking about Dockhampton, and the 
 opening of the theatre. 
 
 " It's a deuced nuisance," said Gerald, drop- 
 ping a handful of fallen leaves into the water, 
 " this notion of your brother's, you know."
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 263 
 
 " Indeed ! I don't think so," cried Charlotte. 
 " I am proud that Horace should follow the 
 bent of his genius." 
 
 *' Genius be That is," said Gerald, 
 
 checking himself in a little embarrassment, 
 *'I mean that it's a pity for a gentleman to 
 take up with this sort of thing." 
 
 '^ Very few gentlemen could." 
 
 "Why, no, I s'pose not. After all, you 
 know, I think it's a pity." 
 
 Gerald had arranged this conversation in his 
 own mind, and knew how he meant to bring 
 it round to a proposal ; but Charlotte's next 
 words saved him full ten minutes. 
 
 " Why is it a pity ? " 
 
 "Well, to go no further, you can't go on 
 living in Kussell Square, with all sorts of queer 
 people coming and going at all hours." 
 
 " I certainly intend to live with Horace until 
 he is married." Charlotte saw here what an 
 opening she was giving Gerald, but she was too 
 angry to choose her words more carefully. 
 " Horace will never let people come who will 
 make it necessary for me to go away."
 
 264 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 ''^ Dare say not ; but you'd far better make 
 
 sure." 
 
 *' I can trust Horace. And bow can I make 
 sure ? " 
 
 " Why, by marrying yourself first. You 
 know what I mean, Charlotte," continued 
 Gerald, more hurriedly, and trying to get hold 
 of her hand. '' You know I've always looked 
 on you as my wife, ever since we were children 
 together. There's no need for me to make a 
 fine speech ; you know me by this time, I 
 suppose. We should get on very well " 
 
 " No, we should not," said Charlotte, at last 
 
 finding words. "I mean, you must not 
 
 Let go my hand, please." 
 
 This was but a very lame reply ; but it is 
 difficult to be coherent in a whisper. 
 
 " Do you mean to say you won't ? " asked 
 Gerald, with more vivacity than she had ever 
 seen in him. You can't mean to say ' no ! ' 
 Have I offended you by my manner ? I am 
 deuced idle, I know ; but I'm more in earnest 
 than I ever was in my life. I know I've been
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 265 
 
 too cool — taken you too much for granted, and 
 all that ; but, pon my soul, I'm in earnest/' 
 
 " Please don't," said Charlotte, drawing her 
 hand away. " I am very sorry " 
 
 " So am I," said Gerald, dryly. " But don't 
 give me an answer now ; wait. I'm quite 
 willing to wait." 
 
 " Waiting is of no use, indeed." 
 
 " Don't be cruel, Charlotte. You think I 
 take things too easily, I know. You don't know 
 how you've knocked me over. I've rather 
 despised this sort of thing, I know — more fool 
 I ! You don't believe I'm really in love with 
 you. I know that's why you refuse me." 
 
 " Indeed, it is not." 
 
 " I'll make you like me, Charlotte, if you'll 
 only give me time." 
 
 "Please, think I am in earnest. I never 
 can, indeed," said Charlotte, as earnestly as 
 one can, when four other people are sitting not 
 four yards off, and the fountain is not playing 
 to help drown one's voice a little. 
 
 She was much surprised at Gerald's per-
 
 266 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 sistency ; and so, to say the truth, was he. She 
 had been prepared for a proposal. It was 
 impossible to misunderstand Lady Overton's 
 hints, and Lina's shy little speeches about how 
 nice it would be to have Gerald married to 
 some one she could love ; but she had expected 
 that Gerald would address her in more con- 
 ventional terms, and would need no more than 
 a hint of denial. 
 
 Gerald, for his part, fully expected to be 
 accepted. He was not at all in love — it was 
 too much trouble, as he often said, and some- 
 times thought; but, as he also often said to his 
 mother when she complained of his delay in 
 bringing matters to a crisis, he liked Charlotte 
 as well as anybody he had ever seen. 
 
 As he sat dropping withered leaves into the 
 fountain, he cursed his folly in having made so 
 sure, and his further folly in having chosen his 
 time so ill. If only they were alone, he felt 
 sure he could shake her resolution ; and yet, 
 as he glanced at her troubled face — Charlotte 
 was on the vero:e of tears — an uncomfortable
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 267 
 
 conviction stole over him that he was indifferent 
 to her. It was a humiliating and incompre- 
 hensible thoudit. Gerald considered himself 
 several social degrees higher than an East India 
 Director's daughter ; and, so far as personal ap- 
 pearance went, he knew that he beat his brother 
 Gus hollow. A man cannot help knowing that 
 his figure does credit to his tailor ; and one's 
 brother being in the Tenth is no reason why he 
 should be better looking than one's self. But 
 what was the use of having an arm which took 
 a sleeve an inch tighter and an inch louger 
 than most men, if all this elegance made no 
 impression on a girl who really wasn't pretty, 
 after all ? 
 
 These and other reflections disturbed the 
 usual nonchalance of Gerald's temper a good 
 deal. It was almost too much to see Theodore, 
 unconstrained by even Mrs. Firebrace's rather 
 uncongenial presence, descanting on something 
 or other — something about music, most likely 
 — to Adelaide, who was growing handsomer 
 every day. Somehow or other, her beauty
 
 268 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 did not touch Gerald half so much as the ever- 
 changing face of the little girl by his side, who 
 was obstinately rejecting him, but whom the 
 last half-hour had made seem infinitely desir- 
 able. 
 
 They had tea at a decent woman's, not far 
 from the gates of the Palace grounds. Char- 
 lotte looked very tired ; she said the heat had 
 overcome her. Women keep these innocent 
 fibs in their pockets, with their vinaigrettes, 
 and the best women have them the most 
 handy. (Do not fume at this statement, stern 
 moralist ! — it is true ; and if it goes against 
 your stomach, consider whether these fibs are 
 not compounded of a large infusion of fact, 
 when all is said. Women are more sensitive 
 creatures than men ; and a woman whose 
 heart is aching does actually feel the heat 
 o' the sun and the furious winter's rages with 
 an intensity unknown to the heart-whole.) 
 
 Theodore, seeing that Adelaide was out of 
 the question, with her dragon of a mother 
 mounting guard in an intangible but im-
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 269 
 
 pregnable fashion (a very elegant, blue-eyed, 
 attractive dragon, too, was Sophia), devoted 
 himself in pure kindness to Charlotte. He 
 talked to her of Horace all the way back to 
 the boat, Gerald now and then interposing 
 with a little sub-acid sarcasm, when he could 
 stand the whole thinoj no lono^er. 
 
 A slight chill seemed to have fallen on every 
 one's spirits — perhaps the shadow of approach- 
 ing departure, and of natural anxiety for the 
 venture in which most of them were more or 
 less interested. The sun had gone down, and 
 the great facade of the Palace was plunged 
 in shadow. The fast-fading sunset, reflected 
 from the sky, tinged the broad reach with pale 
 light ; and above the trees, on the other side 
 of the river, the full moon came up, blacken- 
 ing all the shadows as she came. 
 
 " It is a hot moon," said Theodore, as the 
 boat glided down past the islands. 
 
 " It is a moon for music," said Adelaide. 
 " You promised to play to us, Mr. Paston." 
 
 Mr. Paston, who had been grudging every
 
 270 ALL THE world's A STAGE, 
 
 instant of the river and the moonlight, did 
 not wait to be asked twice. He produced his 
 violin from its case, and forthwith began to 
 draw Charlotte's heart out of her body. He 
 drew out Adelaide's heart, too, for that matter, 
 but in a different direction. 
 
 " Charming, I'm sure, Mr. Paston ! " cried 
 Sophia the instant Theodore stopped, which 
 was not until they were at the garden steps. 
 " I declare you almost made me cry. There's 
 nothing I love like a plaintive melody." 
 
 Sophia should have known better than to 
 speak so closely on the heels of Theodore's 
 music ; her voice sounded quite harsh, and 
 almost vulgar, in even her daughter's ears. 
 No one else thanked Theodore at all ; but he 
 had caught a glimpse of Charlotte's face as 
 they came round a bend into the moonlight, 
 and was satisfied. 
 
 As the house was rather full with the two 
 gentlemen, Adelaide slept with Charlotte that 
 night. She fell asleep before Charlotte came 
 to bed ; hours after, as it seemed, she awoke.
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 271 
 
 Charlotte was sitting at the toilette-table, 
 half UD dressed and with her hair down, and 
 weeping as though her very heart would break. 
 Perhaps she heard Adelaide stir, for she ceased 
 crying almost immediately, and began to put 
 up her hair as quietly as usual. When Ade- 
 laide spoke, she answered as though nothing 
 were amiss. But both the girls lay awake a 
 long while — Adelaide lest Charlotte should 
 cry any more, and Charlotte — perhaps, because 
 the heat had overcome her.
 
 272 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Quince. Here is the scroll of every man's name, 
 which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our 
 interlade before the Duke and the Duchess, on his 
 wedding-day at night. 
 
 The Dockhampton Post and Western Gazette 
 came out rather strong in advertisements towards 
 the end of August. Mr. Mohammed Abdallah, 
 "son of the celebrated Sake Deem Abdallah, of 
 Weymouth," described himself in that valuable 
 journal as a " Shampooing Surgeon," and 
 respectfully informed the nobility, gentry, and 
 public of Dockhampton, that he attended in- 
 valids at their own residence, " for the purpose 
 of applying external friction, which has been 
 found so effective in cases of Paralysis, Weak-
 
 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 273 
 
 ness of Muscles, Contractions, Spinal AjQfections, 
 etc." 
 
 There was also a very exciting announce- 
 ment of tlie approach to the town of Mr. Van 
 Amburgh's Koyal Collection of Trained Animals. 
 These, said the advertisement, were to be ex- 
 hibited in Mr. V. A.'s splendid marquee, erected 
 in the Fair Field, by permission of his Worship 
 the Mayor of Dockhampton, on condition that 
 Mr. y. A. contributed £3 to the Infirmary. 
 They had been exhibited in the presence of Our 
 Most Gracious Soveeeign. Here the adver- 
 tisement fairly broke into blank verse, inter- 
 spersed with capitals. " Any attempt at 
 describing Van Amburgh's Daring Feats I ! 
 would be almost superfluous, but 'twas enough 
 to state that, in his presence, the Loedly Lion 
 and the Feeocious Tiger forgot their savage 
 nature, and crouched in Trembling submission." 
 Only the greatest poets can long sustain such 
 a flight as this, and the advertiser here falls 
 fluttering to earth, and to the baldest prose, 
 not always rigidly grammatical, and abruptly 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 informs us that, '' Associated with the Above 
 is a Giraffe, or Cameled pard, and his cele- 
 brated Performing Elephant," adding that the 
 band is led by Mr. Mann, of the Theatre Koyal, 
 Drury Lane ; Admission (including Elephant), 
 one shilling ; seats, one shilling extra ; children 
 under ten, Half Price. 
 
 In the parallel column, and, as it were, 
 cheek by jowl with the Cameleopard, came Mr. 
 Lancaster, announcing himself as Sole Lessee 
 and Manager of the Theatre Eoyal, Dock- 
 hampton, submitting a list of the Company, 
 and assuring the Patrons of the Drama, that 
 " every care will be taken in producing 
 Novelties, with a strict attention to Scenery, 
 Dresses, and Decorations ; the time of begin- 
 ning and terminating punctually kept, and no 
 delay between the Acts. Police officers will be 
 stationed in the House to preserve order, and 
 every endeavour made to promote the comfort 
 and amusement of the audience." The theatre, 
 which had been re-painted and re-decorated, 
 was to open on that day Aveek. Then followed
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 275 
 
 a list of the company. Mrs. Kiddle, a pro- 
 vincial star who had with difficulty been 
 prevailed upon to emerge from a five years' 
 occultation, and Miss Annesley, of the Liver 
 Theatre, Liverpool, were the leading ladies. 
 Then came Miss Greyson, Mr. Culpepper, Mr. 
 A'Deane, Mr. Larking, and a good many more 
 ladies and o^entlemen. Mr. Kiddle was stage- 
 manager ; Mr. Theodore Paston, of the Grand- 
 Ducal Musik-Gesellschaft of Vogelheimsburg 
 (these hard words made sad havoc with the 
 readers of the Fast), would direct the band, 
 and play the first violin ; second violin, Mr. 
 Jenkins, from the Eoyal Gardens, Yauxhall. 
 There were to be three performances a week. 
 If there were but three performances a week in 
 any theatre, the drama might stand a chance 
 of being revived in earnest. 
 
 It will be apparent from all this that Mr. 
 Parnassus Smith's advice had borne fruit. We 
 may fairly trace the hand of Mr. Kiddle in this 
 production ; but Mr. Smith himself might have 
 been satisfied with the consideration it displayed 
 for the public.
 
 276 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 The Post responded nobly. In a leader of 
 a day or two later, it spoke in lofty language 
 of the influence which the drama ought to 
 exercise over the tastes and morals of society, 
 and adverted in terms of cordial welcome 
 to Mr. Lancaster. "Mr. Lancaster," said the 
 Post, "is a gentleman and a scholar, a pro- 
 found student, and enthusiastic admirer of our 
 Immortal Bard. He made a successful debut 
 at Bristol some months since. He has forsaken 
 an honourable and lucrative profession, of 
 which he promised to be an ornament. With 
 so strong a love of the histrionic art, and great 
 devotion to the general business of the stage, 
 we may expect an intellectual treat, as well as 
 a merely dramatic spectacle." Mrs. Kiddle 
 also was gracefully alluded to; and the "dis- 
 tinguished young musician, who has received 
 his education at the court of His Serene 
 Highness the Grand-Duke of Vogelheimsburg," 
 was assured that good music was appreciated 
 in Dockhampton. "The Dream,'' added the 
 Post, "is a pleasant trifle, embodying an
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 'Ill 
 
 interesting incident in the life of our Immortal 
 Bard, and wliich gracefully introduces the new 
 lessee to a Dockhampton audience." 
 
 The editor of the Fost called on Horace 
 the day before the first performance. He was 
 a middle-aged man, with a shrewd face, and 
 little twinkling brown eyes. 
 
 "Don't mention it, sir, pray," he said in 
 answer to Horace's acknowledgment of this 
 handsome notice. " Glad, I'm sure, to put in 
 a word for the legitimate drama. We have 
 too many Burlettas, and Comediettas, and 
 Operettas, and Extravaganzas, and all the rest 
 of 'em. You must excuse my laying it on 
 pretty thick about His Serene Highness, and 
 aU that; nothing catches 'em like a Serene 
 Highness, especially when he's got a name 
 they can't pronounce."
 
 278 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 Honest men 
 Are the soft easy cushions on which knaves 
 Repose and fatten. Were all mankind villains, 
 They'd starve each other. 
 
 Venice Preserved. 
 
 It was tlie morning after tlie opening perform- 
 ance. Horace sat at breakfast in his flowered 
 dressing-gown, with the Dockhamjpton Post 
 spread open on his knees. 
 
 " It will do, Dick ; I shall succeed ! The 
 plunge has been taken. We have passed the 
 Eubicon. We have burned our ships 
 
 ' I^ow, Es;perance ! Percy ! and set on.' *' 
 
 " I am glad to see you in such excellent 
 spirits," said Vincent. 
 
 *^ Excellent spirits, man ? And what spirits
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 279 
 
 should I be in, pray ? Could anything have 
 possibly gone off better ? " 
 
 " It certainly went very well — admirably." 
 
 " Then why, in Heaven's name, Dick, are 
 you not in better spirits yourself ? " 
 
 "Because I cannot quite forget my own 
 selfish sorrows and annoyances, Horace ; because 
 a letter like this wounds me to the quick, 
 in spite of all the delight I feel at your 
 extraordinary success." 
 
 Horace took the letter which Vincent offered 
 him, saying as he did, " I was beginning to 
 be afraid you had reasons for doubting my 
 success. I had forgot Kench's letter. I'll have 
 no more of this. What does the fellow mean 
 by a former explanation ? Listen. 
 
 "^Dear Sir, 
 
 " ' We are concerned to hear from 
 Mr. Vincent that you are still unsatisfied 
 that we carried out your instructions for the 
 transference of your East Indian Debentures 
 in the manner most advantageous to your
 
 280 ALL THE WOKLD's A STAGE. 
 
 interests. We can only repeat our former 
 explanation, and add that we mucli lament 
 any difficulty arising between our firm and 
 so respected a client as yourself. At the same 
 time, we cannot admit any error on our part, 
 and beg to remain, 
 " ' Dear Sir, 
 
 " 'Your obedient servants, 
 " ' Lambton, Eexch, and Lambton/ 
 
 What does he mean ? " 
 
 " He means that he will not explain why 
 he sold twenty thousand pounds worth of East 
 Indian Debentures, when they were at the 
 lowest quotation for three months before and 
 after the day he sold them." 
 
 '' After all, Dick, it only made a few 
 hundreds difference. I'm half ashamed to 
 make so much ado for such a paltry sum.'' 
 
 " As you please, my dear fellow ; you have 
 hundreds to throw away. Only I would 
 advise you not to be too magnanimous. The 
 theatre will cost you a good deal more yet
 
 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 281 
 
 tlian you bargain for. If you will do every- 
 thing in this splendid fashion, you can't afford 
 to let Eench play you this trick very often. 
 He knows your temper ; he said to me only 
 the last time I saw him, that you were far too 
 careless of money to be able to manage so large 
 a property as yours." 
 
 "Why, he is always advising me to treat 
 with him directly, and not let you manage 
 for me." 
 
 " Does he seriously advise that ? " asked 
 Vincent, with suspicion in his voice and 
 manner, which he seemed to wish to conceal 
 from his friend. " Do you mean he has 
 actually said so ? " 
 
 "You shall see the letters. I should have 
 shown you them, but for the fear of wounding 
 your feelings." 
 
 Mr. Vincent gnawed his under lip, a trick 
 he had when moved. " Horace," he said in 
 a moment or two, " your delicate kindnesses 
 are not lost upon me. Believe me, I see all, 
 and thank you. But my position, with regard
 
 282 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 to yourself and Eench, is a false one. Pie 
 is right. You should be your own man of 
 business.^' 
 
 ''How is "it," exclaimed Horace bitterly, 
 "that it is always the honest man who* is so 
 over-ready to retire, and leave the field to 
 the rogue ? You know that Eench has been 
 working like a snake in the grass, ever since 
 that most unhappy afiair of my dear father's 
 will ; you know he has been ready with hint 
 and innuendo, and yet you are ready to 
 abandon me to him " 
 
 ''My dear Horace, I owe something to 
 myself," said Vincent, in a manner full of 
 suppressed feeling. " Ever since that unhappy 
 affair, as you have called it, and as I will call 
 it, though for far other reasons — ever since 
 then, I have felt myself insecure " 
 
 " Dick ! Dick ■ '' 
 
 "Nay, Horace, hear me out. I have felt 
 myself insecure, because I saw that I must 
 either openly or secretly pit myself against the 
 influence of your family solicitor. I would
 
 ALL THE AVORLD's A STAGE. 283 
 
 not do this secretly, and delicacy prevented 
 my doing it openly. Consider for a moment — 
 it is impossible but that you should think my 
 distrust of him proceeds from his known dis- 
 trust of me." 
 
 '' Nay, indeed, Dick. I know you better 
 than that," said Horace smiling. '' I know 
 you well enough to be rather amazed that 
 you should ever have brought yourself to see, 
 much less to admit, anything suspicious. I 
 should have expected your generosity to blind 
 you to your enemy's sins. Eench must have 
 shown his hand very plainly for you to see it." 
 
 " If you think that, why do you object to 
 deal with him personally ? " 
 
 " If he were honest, because I cannot be 
 troubled with extraneous matters ; since I 
 suspect him of being a rogue, because I can- 
 not be distracted with sordid villainies." 
 
 " After all, if he is trying to transact your 
 business with you instead of with me, I have 
 more than once told him I desire nothing 
 better than to wash my hands of it."
 
 284 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 
 
 " Of course ; lie lias been throwing all these 
 difficulties in your way, purj^osely to drive 
 you to say it. It does not need much know- 
 ledge of the world to see that." 
 
 '' Anyhow, Horace, he must have his way. 
 I have told you before that I will do anything 
 for you except consent to be placed in a false 
 position." 
 
 " If you did but know how all this worries 
 me ! " said Horace impatiently. " Here am 
 I, already obliged to think of a thousand 
 things besides my part, and you want me to 
 contend with a wily lawyer ! Yet I must 
 not be selfish. You are in a somewhat false 
 position ; but 111 end it ! Say no more, 
 Dick ; 111 end it ! " 
 
 The entrance of Theodore Paston at this 
 moment relieved both the speakers. The 
 musical programme for to-morrow was a far 
 more agreeable subject for discussion than the 
 conduct of Mr. Eench.
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 285 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 Actors may put in for as large a sliare 
 As all the sects of the philosophers. 
 
 The Boman Actor. 
 
 *' Owing to the entliusiastic reception of The 
 Dream of Shakespeare's Youth, it will be 
 repeated to-morrow evening." 
 
 This sentence appeared at the bottom of 
 Mr. Lancaster's play-bills on the day after the 
 re-opening of the theatre. The first night had 
 passed off as successfully as even a manager 
 could wish ; and Mr. Vincent must have been 
 very much disturbed by the treatment he had 
 received from Horace's solicitors not to have 
 forgotten all about it on so triumphant an 
 occasion. 
 
 A croAvded house had received not only the
 
 286 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 Dream, but every tiling else, with entliusiasm. 
 As soon as the music struck up — led in the 
 most spirited manner by Mr. Paston — and 
 the drop-scene was disclosed, with Dock- 
 hampton in the olden time, and King Harry 
 and all his men stepping aboard for France, 
 the audience rose en masse and called for the 
 manager, who was obliged to come on in his 
 habit as Prince of Denmark and bow his 
 acknowledgments. 
 
 After this (since approval begets approval, 
 and since, when once we have been surprised 
 into praising, most of us feel that it is safer 
 to go on), they applauded everything. Mrs. 
 Kiddle (who was too stout for Ophelia) 
 was a little too young, perhaps, for Gertrude ; 
 and Mr. Culpepper {Horatio) had got him- 
 self up in so very close an imitation of 
 Mr. Lancaster's Hamlet, that the effect 
 was a little confusing — especially as Mr. Cul- 
 pepper was about Mr. Lancaster's height and 
 exactly half his breadth across the shoulders. 
 Theodore Paston was reminded of more than
 
 ALL THE WOKLd's A STAGE. 287 
 
 one grisly German story of men whose 
 shadows had somehow acquired a sort of 
 personality, and learned to stand upright. 
 Miss Annesley looked pretty, but her Ophelia 
 snivelled so much that some of the pathos 
 was lost. Mr. A'Deane, as the King, had a 
 trick of swinging himself completely round 
 upon his heels, and scowling from the very 
 back of his skull, whenever he addressed his 
 *' cousin Hamlet." This action was intended 
 to indicate the pangs of remorse, and the 
 suspicions of a guilty King ; but it chiefly 
 suggested to the unthinking, that Mr. A'Deane 
 had forgotten to chalk his boots. Mr. Lark- 
 ing, too (engaged for the heavy parts), per- 
 sisted in making his Poloniiis a venerable 
 buffoon, with a terrible family likeness 
 to an eminent clown who had delighted 
 London a year or two before. All these and 
 many other defects were glaringly obvious to 
 Vincent, and in a lesser degree to Horace ; 
 but such was the good humour of the audience 
 (kept in full swing by the renewed applications
 
 288 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 of the drop-scene between the acts, and by- 
 Mr. Paston's very appropriate music), that 
 they laughed with Polonius instead of at him, 
 and called Mr. Lancaster thrice before the 
 curtain at the end of the performance. 
 
 Mr. Warrener, the friendly editor of the 
 Post, who had never had such an opportunity 
 as this of distinguishing himself as a Patron 
 of the Legitimate Drama, not only applauded 
 visibly from one of the stage boxes, but wrote 
 a highly favourable criticism next day, in 
 which he dismissed the many shortcomings 
 of the other actors in a single sentence. " The 
 company," he observed, " is not of extra- 
 ordinary ability throughout ; but all are 
 tolerable, and the lessee is a host in him- 
 self." 
 
 Mr. Culpepper was extremely indignant 
 when he read this, and fiercely appealed to 
 Mr. Larking to bear witness that he had 
 played up his Horatio to Mr. Lancaster's 
 Hamlet nobly. " Nobly, I say, sir," he re- 
 peated ; ^' though I do not in every instance
 
 ALL THE WOELd's A STAGE. 289 
 
 concur in his reading of the part." Mr. 
 Culpepper was proceeding to call the editor 
 names, but desisted on reading that he in- 
 tended to discuss the merits of the other 
 performers next week. 
 
 The editor concluded the present notice by- 
 praising Mr. Lancaster's " make-up " in the 
 Dream, and observing that the miniature used 
 by him in the chamber-scene was a portrait 
 of his late Majesty, presented to Mr. Lancaster 
 by her Majesty the Queen Dowager. 
 
 The editor had said in his criticism that 
 Mr. Lancaster's Hamlet " had none of those 
 stock distortions which so often disfigure this 
 great part;" from which remark it will be clear 
 that Horace must have considerably improved 
 since his appearance at Bristol. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 290 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 lago [aside]. With as little a web as this will 1 
 ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. 
 
 It is perhaps time to explain at a little more 
 length the relations of Mr. Vincent with 
 Horace's family lawyers. It is not so very 
 easy to help a young barrister who is as poor 
 as a church mouse, but who will neither 
 abandon his profession nor accept of pecuniary 
 aid. One can scarcely go to law merely to 
 give him a brief — nor would a solitary brief 
 help him much. But as Horace's man of 
 business Vincent could be of such real service 
 to his friend that he need not hesitate to 
 accept a steward's wages. Ever since the 
 hint which Vincent had thrown out of Bench's
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 291 
 
 possible desire to estrange himself and Horace, 
 the latter had distrusted his lawyers, and 
 especially Eench, who had always of late 
 years taken the active work of the firm. It 
 was no inconvenience to Mr. Vincent, in the 
 intervals of his attendance in Westminster 
 Hall, to look after Horace's securities ; and 
 this he had been willing to undertake to do. 
 But that fatal mystery about the will seemed 
 to follow every one concerned, like some bale- 
 ful spell. It made Eench suspicious of 
 Vincent, and Vincent suspicious of Rench ; 
 it filled Vincent with morbid scruples, and it 
 urged on Horace to more and more open 
 proofs of confidence. 
 
 To embroil matters further, and when 
 Horace was already resentful of Rench's 
 candidly expressed reluctance to act on Mr. 
 Vincent's instructions, it happened that 
 Horace, at the latter's advice, resolved to sell 
 some East Indian Debentures. Rench main- 
 tained that he was hurried into selling out 
 at an unfavourable time at Mr. Lancaster's
 
 293 ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE. 
 
 peremptory desire ; Mr. Lancaster, on tlie 
 other hand, declared that Rench's own dila- 
 toriness was alone to blame. There are such 
 innumerable windings in every part of that 
 vast maze which goes by the name of " busi- 
 ness transactions," that it would be both 
 tedious and bewildering to attempt to give 
 more than a bare outline of what happened. 
 Suffice it to say, that Rench sold out at a 
 considerable loss, and that Vincent regarded 
 the affair as highly unsatisfactory. At his 
 instigation Horace saw the broker, who ad- 
 mitted that only pressing need for ready money 
 could have justified any one in selling out 
 at so low a quotation. Horace was incensed — 
 not at the loss of the money, but at what 
 he believed to be the cause, viz., Rench's 
 determination not to act under Vincent. 
 Perhaps however a conversation which took 
 place in the office of Lambton, Rench, and 
 Lambton, not long before Horace left town, 
 will best explain the mutual attitude of 
 Mr. Vincent and the solicitors.
 
 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 293 
 
 "I have assured you over and over again, 
 Mr. Eench/' said the senior partner, in answer 
 to Rench's expressions of annoyance at a letter 
 received that morning from Mr. Lancaster, 
 " that no blame can possibly attach to you or 
 to. us. We hold Mr. Lancaster's letter of 
 instructions for what we did." 
 
 " Yes ; but Vincent has made him believe 
 that we lost our opportunity months before 
 that letter was written. Pardon me, Mr. 
 Lambton, but you overlook the point at issue. 
 We have a legal warrant for all we have done ; 
 but that is not the point." 
 
 '^ Then what is the point, Mr. Rench ? 
 asked Mr. Lambton, perfectly unruffled by his 
 partner's snappishness. 
 
 He was a rather tall, rather spare man of 
 sixty or thereabouts, dressed very correctly 
 in plain black, and wearing a stiff black satin 
 stock, fastened behind with a silver buckle, 
 He was always the same — gentlemanly, mild, 
 and self-possessed. Eench had great con- 
 fidence in his prudence, and was compelled
 
 294 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 to admit tliat lie was shrewd and clear-sighted; 
 but he considered Mr. Lambton sadly old- 
 fashioned and slow-going. 
 
 " What do you consider the point to be, 
 Mr. Eench ? " asked Mr. Lambton again, as 
 he carefully rubbed his gold eye-glasses with 
 his white bandana. 
 
 "The point, sir, avoiding legal phraseology 
 and circumlocutions,'^ said Eench, as fiercely 
 as though his partner were contradicting him 
 instead of listening to him — " the point is, sir, 
 that Mr. Horace Lancaster is in the hands 
 of a needy and dishonest member of our pro- 
 fession, who is trying to shake his confidence 
 in our firm, in order to get the management 
 of his property into his own hands." 
 
 " Hush, hush, Mr. Eench ! " said Lambton, 
 lifting a handkerchief- draped hand in reproof 
 of this language. " These are highly impru- 
 dent assertions to make — in fact, actionable." 
 
 "I don't care if they are. They are the 
 truth." 
 
 *' Even in that case, Mr. Eench, the greater
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 295 
 
 the truth, the greater the libel, as I need not 
 remind you." 
 
 "Well, sir, what do you think yourself of 
 the whole affair ? " 
 
 " What affair do you speak of ? " said Mr. 
 Lambton, holding up his glasses to the light 
 to see if they were sufficiently polished. 
 
 " Mr. Lancaster's whole action since his 
 father's death." 
 
 " I think he has been very ill-advised ; I 
 have told him so. And I think he has shown 
 an impatience of advice, I may almost say an 
 obstinacy, and at the same time an irresolute- 
 ness, which I have been sorry to see, truly 
 sorry to see." 
 
 " And do you not attribute this to Vincent's 
 influence ? " 
 
 " My own impression is, that Mr. Vincent 
 finds himself placed in a dilemma between 
 Mr. Lancaster and ourselves, and that he has 
 indirectly tried to force us to take action of 
 some kind which shall relieve him from his 
 present position, and throw the onus of so 
 doing on us and not on him."
 
 296 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 " And you really are hoodwinked to that 
 extent, Mr. Lambton ? You can believe that 
 Vincent's only object is to rid himself of his 
 office of dry-nurse to our client ? " 
 
 "My good sir, be calm, be calm. Mr. 
 Vincent is under great obligations to Mr. 
 Lancaster, and is naturally averse to seeming 
 unwilling to serve him." 
 
 "It is perfectly evident — this letter is only 
 one of a dozen which shows the same thing," 
 exclaimed Eench, bringing down his fore-finger 
 so sharply on the letter in question that he 
 tore the paper — ''that Vincent is and has been 
 poisoning Mr. Lancaster's ear." 
 
 " I have, of course, observed that our present 
 client is far from reposing the confidence in us 
 that his father did — and I may say, never 
 repented it," said Mr. Lambton, with a slight 
 motion of deprecation. " Indeed, I have 
 mentioned to my son that if this state of 
 things continue, I should advise our recom- 
 mending Mr. Lancaster to transfer his affairs 
 to another firm."
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 297 
 
 "'Gad, then, I've to apologize to you, Mr. 
 Lambton ! Much as I have always honoured 
 you, sir, I honour you more now that I dis- 
 cover you can be offended." 
 
 "Well, I suppose, Mr. Kench, we must say 
 that Mr. Lancaster is offended with us, eh ? " 
 said Lambton, with the faintest approach to 
 a smile disturbing for an instant the wrinkles 
 about his mouth. "But our firm need not 
 seek to retain a distrustful client." 
 
 " No, indeed, Mr. Lambton ! And yet," 
 added Eench, relentingiy, " it goes against 
 my conscience to hand over such a property — 
 and an old client, too — to Vincent's tender 
 mercies." 
 
 " We cannot be answerable for that. Mr. 
 Lancaster is quite capable of managing his 
 affairs if he would give his mind to them ; but 
 we cannot compel him to do so, nor can we 
 compel him to listen to advice." 
 
 " Except Vincent's," said Eench viciously, 
 as he imlocked a draw^er of his secretary.
 
 298 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIY. 
 
 Tilhurina. Now, pray, sir, don't interrupt us just 
 here : you ruin our feelings. 
 
 Puff. Tour feelings ! but zounds, my feelings, 
 ma'am ! — The Critic. 
 
 Mr. Vincent remained at Dockhampton until 
 the beginning of term, and was exceedingly- 
 useful to Horace. He and Theodore made 
 common cause against Horace's most mis- 
 chievous theories, and succeeded in persuading 
 him that to be extraordinary is not necessarily 
 to be original, except, as Theodore once told 
 him in the heat of argument, as madmen are 
 original. 
 
 Horace, too, seemed to be made more modest 
 by success, and was more ready to listen to 
 criticism now that his pretensions had been
 
 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 299 
 
 to some extent recognized. He laid aside 
 some of his worst affectations, and could he 
 but have forgotten his unlucky resemblance 
 to the Immortal Shakespeare he might have 
 made real progress. It may almost be said 
 that that resemblance was the ruin of him ; 
 in his secret heart he hugged the thought 
 that a personal probably argued a mental 
 likeness. Mr. Warrener vainly hinted, both 
 in public and in private, that the colour of 
 the actor's cheeks, in the Dream, was ''too 
 rude," and gently insinuated a plea for " a 
 less elaborate manner in some of the passages." 
 Horace could not resist the temptation to bring 
 out as strongly as possible a likeness which he 
 himself seldom forgot for a moment. 
 
 But the theatre was succeeding very fairly, 
 and before Christmas Mr. Lancaster had been 
 respectfully noticed in the Era itself, as " the 
 enterprising manager of the Dockhampton 
 Theatre." He had acquired the reputation of 
 being a strict disciplinarian, and he allowed no 
 drinking behind the scenes. Forty years ago,
 
 300 ALL THE WOELD's A STAGE. 
 
 this was unlieard-of strictness, out-Macreadying 
 Macready himself; but a manager with a 
 hundred thousand pounds to fall back upon 
 can occasionally disregard precedent. 
 
 Mr. Kiddle found Mr. Lancaster more 
 manageable than he had expected. "I've fairly 
 warned you," Parnassus Smith had said to 
 him. " You know what gentlemen amateurs 
 are ; and this one's worse than most, partly 
 because he's richer and can afford to lose 
 money, and partly because he's cleverer, and 
 might learn to act — though I wouldn't say so 
 to his friend — if he'd take advice. But, bless 
 you, did you ever know a gentleman amateur 
 that ivould take advice ? I don't say it mayn't 
 turn out better than I expect ; I only say, go 
 and look before you leap, and don't say I 
 didn't warn you." Kiddle had been prepared 
 by this exordium for Mr. Lancaster's "refusing 
 to look at anything but Shakespeare " — to use 
 the stage manager's own expression. But he 
 showed no such intolerance. He not only 
 talked of putting on The Fatal Marriage and
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 301 
 
 Venice Preserved, but he admitted several 
 lighter modern pieces ; and altogether the 
 advertisement column of the Post, for the 
 autumn of 1838, shews a great deal of variety 
 in Mr. Lancaster's bill of fare. 
 
 Horace was so much engrossed in his duties 
 that when he read the announcement of Blanche 
 Overton's marriage to Sir Saville Fidelle, he 
 only refused himself to Kiddle and every one 
 for the day, and played Hamlet at night with 
 such effect as to send Ophelia into real 
 hysterics. 
 
 It was an agreeable surprise to Mr. Kiddle 
 to find the manager so ready to hear reason on 
 the subject of a Christmas piece. Mr. Lan- 
 caster even consented to briug out a highly 
 sensational " Fairy Spectacle," entitled, Prin- 
 cess Parihanou, or the Magician of the 
 Enchanted Garden. It cost him some pangs 
 to see himself compelled to spend more money 
 on his Christmas piece than on the production 
 of a tragedy; but he consoled himself with 
 hopes of returning to the legitimate drama as 
 soon as Christmas should be over.
 
 302 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 Horace was not without his share of a 
 manager's troubles. To say nothing of Mr. 
 Culpepper's ridiculous imitation of himself — 
 which he was the first to see and to condemn — 
 that gentleman was violently in love with Miss 
 Annesley, and at daggers-drawn with Mrs. 
 Kiddle on her account. Whenever Mrs. Kiddle 
 was cast for the leading lady, Mr. Culpepper 
 laid himself out to spoil all her points. He 
 gagged, he spoke before his cue, he unexpectedly 
 varied the "business '^ and threw her out. Mrs. 
 Kiddle complained to her husband, who, like a 
 sensible man, espoused his wife's quarrel with 
 great moderation. 
 
 " Culpepper, you've ojffended my wife 
 again," he would say (having first ascertained 
 that she was out of earshot). " She's a capital 
 little woman, but a little tetchy at times. Just 
 humour her a little — it's never worth while to 
 quarrel with a woman." 
 
 Kiddle would wink at Culpepper as he said 
 this, and Culpepper would reply — 
 
 ^' Very sorry, I'm sure, to ofiend any lady.
 
 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 303 
 
 I don't think we do act up to one another 
 quite as well as some — don't know how it is, 
 I'm sure. Our styles don't harmonize some- 
 how. Some people's voices don't do together, 
 you know. Now A'Deane can act up to 
 Mrs. Kiddle splendidly — never saw him come 
 out finer than his King to her Queen. But 
 / can't hit it. It's queer ; but I can't. I can 
 play up to Miss Annesley any time ; but, 
 somehow or other, with Mrs. Kiddle, I always 
 lose my head." 
 
 Having already lost his heart to Miss 
 Annesley, Mr. Culpepper had nothing else to 
 lose. He was a very tolerable actor when he 
 chose to do his best ; and he generally con- 
 trived to get his way in the distribution of the 
 minor parts. 
 
 Mr. Larking was more trying. He was 
 incorrigibly vulgar, and sometimes he partook 
 too freely of gin. The first time this hap- 
 pened, Mr. Lancaster sent for him. It was 
 just before a dress- rehearsal of Othello, and the 
 manager was dressed for his part, thus taking
 
 304 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 poor Larking, who was still in rather shabby 
 plain clothes, at an enormous disadvantage. 
 
 '' Is this true, sir ? " said Horace, turning 
 upon the culprit in all the dignity of the 
 Moor — -'^is it true that a member of my 
 company has partaken in a vulgar debauch ? '^ 
 
 '' No, no, general — no, sir," stammered 
 Larking (who was to play Cassio). " It was 
 only a glass of hoUands at the Bevis of 
 Southampton. I had a colic '' 
 
 "Have you studied your part to no better 
 purpose, sir, than to get drunk in a common 
 alehouse ?" thundered Horace, utterly disre- 
 garding this extenuating circumstance. 
 
 " I'm quite sober now, sir," faltered the 
 luckless Cassio. 
 
 '* So I should hope, Mr. Larking. Do not 
 let this happen again. I am determined to 
 show that a company of actors need not be 
 a company of disorderly persons. . I hope this 
 will never happen again." 
 
 It was remarked that Mr. Larking gave a 
 new reading that night of the drunken scene ;
 
 ALL THE WOKLd's A STAGE. 305 
 
 his Cassio was maudlin, and not, as is tra- 
 ditional, rollicking drunk. It was considered 
 rather a hit — the contrast between the words 
 and the manner of their delivery being very 
 humorous. His penitence too was admir- 
 ably genuine. He was much applauded, and 
 called on after the Second Act. 
 
 Mr. A'Deane tried Horace's patience in yet 
 another way. He had a good stage presence, 
 a fine sonorous voice, and always knew his 
 part. But Horace almost wept with rage at 
 his lago. Nothing could persuade Mr. 
 A'Deane but that it was a highly effective 
 bit of " business " to alternately grin and 
 scowl. As long as Othello's eyes might be 
 supposed to be on him, he assumed a diabolical 
 grin, which might have sent a child into con- 
 vulsions, but could not possibly have deceived 
 any human creature ; while the moment he 
 believed himself unobserved, his features 
 underwent a series of hideous distortions, 
 supposed to indicate gratified malice. Horace 
 early remonstrated about the grin, but it was 
 
 YOL. I. X
 
 306 ALL THE world's A STAGE. 
 
 some time before he was aware of the scowl. 
 When, on a hint from Warrener, he looked 
 to see with what expression his lieutenant was 
 regarding him, he sprang at lago's throat in 
 a rage by no means simulated. Mr. A'Deane 
 afterwards complained of the manager's 
 violence ; but he believed that facial expres- 
 sion was his forte, and reasoning and wrath 
 were alike thrown away upon him. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON,: PEINTED BT WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STKEET 
 AND CHAEING CEOSS.