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 WHICH IS THE WINNER?
 
 WHICH IS THE WINNER? 
 
 OR, 
 
 Cljf ^\xd €unilmM of Ijis iramiln, 
 
 By CHARLES CLARKE, 
 
 AITIIOR OF " CHARLIE THORKHILL." 
 
 IN THEEE VOLUMES. 
 Vol. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 
 
 1864. 
 
 [The R'ght of TrandGtimi is reserved.]
 
 LOWnON: PKINTED BY VT. CLOWKS AND SiO^S, STAMFORD STREET, 
 AND CHARING CKOSS.
 
 y.f. 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 ^^ CHAP. TAGl, 
 
 ^ I. — Spring Vale 1 
 
 II. — The Family Conclave 23 
 
 III. — Mr. Bkadfield's Proposal .... 5S 
 
 Y IV. — Lord Mentmore ^t> 
 
 V. — The Morning's Eide . . . . .117 
 • VI. — A Parvenue Beauty . . . • .147 
 VII. — The Lower Classes ..... IbO 
 
 VIII.— The Higher Classes 204 
 
 N^ IX — Newmarket 231 
 
 n^ X.— Training .252 
 
 -V XL— A Walk in the Country— Sommerton . 282 
 
 ^^
 
 WHICH IS THE WINNER? 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 SPRING YALE. 
 
 'Prisca gens mortalium.' — Hoe., Epodes ii. 2. 
 
 To the lover of the picturesque, the Midland 
 counties of England are presumed to present 
 but few attractions. The presumption is unjust. 
 Warwickshire is full of beauties: its magnificent 
 glades and gently undulating woodlands, which 
 intersect the county, give to the eye a park-like 
 appearance, scarcely surpassed in any part of 
 this island; the varieties of its substrata present 
 a series of fruit-bearing pictures to the agricul- 
 tural speculator ; and the great extent of rich 
 pasture-land assimilates to its neighbouring 
 counties of Northampton and Leicester. In 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 Which is the Winner 1 
 
 the case of these two we have to deal with 
 hardy sceptics, who can imagine no associations 
 wdth such names but leather breeches and scar- 
 let coats. It is a commonly-received opinion 
 among the uninitiated, that every field is a dead 
 level, whose ingress and egress is by a double 
 post and rails, lately improved by wire fencing ; 
 that there are trees in the county, but few and 
 far between; and that the lovely tints of our 
 woodland scenery are replaced by patches of 
 gorse, at stated intervals of four miles, for the 
 convenience of the Nimrods who people the 
 district. They and the foxes are supposed to 
 wage continual war, and to have devastated the 
 land of all save the fat beasts which graze on 
 the hundred-acre pastures. Broken collar-bones 
 and beef, to supply tea to the wounded, are 
 the staple commodities of the happy hunting 
 grounds. 
 
 We never yet heard of a tourist who made 
 Melton or Leicester his head-quarters, or of an 
 artist who settled at Market-Harborough to 
 cultivate his taste, or to idealize the picturesque.
 
 spring Vale. 3 
 
 TLe extent of such local ambition is a favourite 
 hound, or hunters at grass; the latter an im- 
 aginative concession to the beautifal, which is 
 never realized in either of the counties above 
 mentioned. A bobtailed nag, up to his hocks in 
 clover, may give some notion of Mr. Jorrocks's 
 crack country in the months of ^lay, June, or 
 July ; but the only run that a Northampton- 
 shire hunter, even in a poor man's stable, is 
 likely to get, during the summer, is a run in a 
 light buggy, when magisterial business, or a 
 market-day, may chance to take him to his post 
 town. 
 
 But whatever the notion of the Midland 
 counties formed by those whose knowledge has 
 been limited to the graphic reports of embryo 
 sportsmen, to encyclop^ediac readings, or to a flj- 
 incr transit throucrh the fens, we can assure our 
 readers that there are spots which vie with the 
 most beautiful scenery of southern or western 
 Ensrland : and as the eve roams over miles oi 
 country, always bright, winter and summer, 
 with its emerald green, it seems to encounter a 
 
 b2
 
 4 Which is the Winner f 
 
 succession of woodlands which ought to belong 
 to Sussex or Kent. This arises from the pecu- 
 liar magnificence of the hedgerow timber : the 
 long lines of which, from the sloping sides of a 
 country rather undulating than flat, give an 
 appearance of extreme richness and fertility. 
 Here and there, at the proper season, the yellow 
 grain, at intervals, relieves, or agreeably excites, 
 the eye after the repose it derives from the con- 
 stant recurrence of green fields. 
 
 It is in the most beautiful part of one of 
 these counties that the scene of our story is 
 laid. It was a calm, clear, but rather chilly 
 afternoon, towards the end of October, that two 
 figures (without pretending to rival the inimit- 
 able G. R. P. James) emerged from the market- 
 place of the little town of Saxonby. Saxonby 
 itself has but little to recommend it. A High 
 Street, which seems to belong to every town, 
 and two limbs of an isosceles triangle, branching 
 from it at either end, contained the nucleus of 
 about four thousand inhabitants. It had had 
 a trade, but short-sighted policy deprecated the
 
 Spring Vale, 5 
 
 approach of the railway, and it woke too late to 
 mourn its folly in a renunciation of its rubbers, 
 suppers, assemblies, and society in general. For 
 the rest, it has a Town Hall of moderate dimen- 
 sions, where, every Wednesday, choleric gentle- 
 men convicted poachers, assigned a vagrant 
 population to a distinct locality, and fatherless 
 babies to responsible papas, under the able 
 direction of Mr. Hugh Darville, clerk to the 
 justices, and Conservative political agent, of 
 whom they will hear more who are willing to 
 wade through the following pages. On other 
 days of the week, Sunday more particularly, 
 Saxonby was as stupid a place as can well be 
 conceived ; and the only time when any excite- 
 ment prevailed was when the county hounds 
 passed through on their road to or from cover, 
 or the roystering patrons of that great national 
 sport wanted gruel and brandy-and-water for 
 their horses and themselves. 
 
 Out of the market-place of this httle country 
 town of Saxonby there rode two persons, one 
 Wednesday afternoon, towards the end of Octo-
 
 6 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 ber, 185 — . One was (place aux dames I) a 
 young lady, of eighteen or twenty years of age, 
 of great beauty of form. Her habit of dark 
 blue was admirably fitted for the exhibition of 
 every feminine grace, without any constraint. 
 From her waist she moved with each caracole 
 of her dark chestnut horse, who seemed proud 
 of his burden; and whose action, as it should be, 
 was on the extremest limit of freedom, and yet 
 within a moment's control of his graceful rider. 
 Every market-cart that passed him on the 
 descent stirred the warm current of his blood ; 
 but the silken thread with which he was held 
 seemed as potent as though he were spell-bound. 
 The girl wore a man's hat, of a suitable shape, 
 which gave a firmness and dignity to her pliant 
 figure. Had she been in the middle of Rotten 
 Row, instead of on the Market Hill of her own 
 post town, she could not have been 'mieux 
 gantee ' than she was. Her throat was 
 piquantly collared, without being gentlemanly 
 (a great difficulty, it would appear, if we may 
 judge by our own experience), and her whole
 
 Spring Vale. 7 
 
 appearance had that finish which is essential at 
 all times to the true gentlewoman, but more 
 especially on horseback. She wore a half veil 
 — that mysterious softener of asperities, or 
 guardian of beauties, which forbids me to in- 
 dulge at present in any lengthened description 
 of her features. We can only say that the 
 farmers stood aghast, as they met her in their 
 market-day state, sobered by her presence ; and 
 the smock-frocked yokels grinned from ear to ear 
 as they touched their long-napped broad-brims 
 in involuntary homage to an irresistible 'nescio 
 quid,' which they could not explain. 
 
 Her companion was older than herself by 
 four or five years. He was very tall, very slight, 
 not a remarkably fine figure, though rather a 
 gentlemanly one on horseback. His dress was 
 that of a country squire, consisting of Bedford- 
 cord breeches and black polished boots, known 
 by the name of butcher boots. His legs were 
 eminently correct, being guiltless of what is 
 called a calf; a characteristic which we may 
 regard as a misfortune to any gentleman desir-
 
 8 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 ous of shining (about the legs) in the field. 
 His upper person was clothed in an ordinary 
 cutaway coat, buttoned over the chest He 
 carried a light hunting-whip, and rode a power- 
 ful but remarkably well-bred horse, as if the 
 saddle were his natural element. His features 
 were thin, his complexion clear, his hair and 
 eyes in colour inclined to the Norman strain of 
 blood ; and without being what is called hand- 
 some, he was a good type of the English gentle- 
 man of the best school — the landed aristocracy. 
 Such were Stafford and Evelyn Carrington, of 
 Spring Vale Manor. They were followed by a 
 well-mounted groom at a respectful distance. 
 
 ' Well, Stafford, what was there doing at the 
 Town Hall to-day ? Who was there ? ' 
 
 'There's to be a contest, after all, for the 
 county; and Sir Michael is not very well 
 pleased at the opposition. Who do you think 
 is the rival candidate ? ' 
 
 ' Lord Skeffington, or that odious Mr. Briggs, 
 the Chartist,' said the girl with a laugh, evidently 
 not regarding the opposition of the latter as of
 
 Spring Vale. 9 
 
 much importance. They had cleared the town, 
 and were ascending the hill which led into the 
 country on the road to Spring Vale. Her 
 brother threw the reins on his horse's neck, and 
 pulled out a cigar, which he proceeded to light. 
 
 * Some one even more odious than Mr. Briggs. 
 What do you think of young Bradfield ? Piece 
 of impertinence ! ' 
 
 Evelyn Carrington opened her eyes, but did 
 not immediately reply. Young Carrington pro- 
 ceeded. ' Darville tells my father that the 
 address will be out to-morrow. Why in the 
 world doesn't he go to some of his manufactur- 
 ing constituencies ; it can only be done to put 
 us to an additional expense. Besides, who the 
 devil is Bradfield, that he should disturb the 
 peace of a county ? ' 
 
 ' His father's enormously rich ; and after all 
 it's better to have a man of education and a 
 gentleman, than — ' 
 
 'That's just the reason why my father will 
 be so annoyed. If it had been Skeffington, or 
 one of the old county families, they would
 
 10 Which is the Winner 1 
 
 have had some pretension. But a parvenu, a 
 stocking-maker, a cotton-spinner, or whatever 
 he calls himself! ' 
 
 ' Stafford, you're unjust. You know young 
 Bradfield was one of the cleverest men in the 
 university. I've heard you say how he distin- 
 guished himself; and — ' 
 
 *Not very difficult to distinguish himself 
 after six hours a-day hard reading; you seem 
 rather interested in him.' 
 
 ' What nonsense you talk, Stafford. I've 
 never seen him above half-a-dozen times in my 
 life ; and you know you quarrelled with me for 
 a week, because I danced one quadrille with 
 him at Lady Sarah's ; I was almost the only 
 person he knew in the room.' 
 
 'Just what I said ; a confounded snob, whom 
 
 nobody knows, to come here and contest ! 
 
 Upon my soul, I've no patience with the 
 absurdity. Thank Heaven he's no chance.' 
 
 'Thirty thousand a-year has a chance any- 
 where.' 
 
 ' Ah ! that's just what the women always think.'
 
 Spring Vale. 11 
 
 The brother and sister were in a magnificent 
 country. On the right were large undulating 
 grass fields, with every fence well kept, and 
 the land well stocked, and in the highest state 
 of cultivation. About two miles from the road 
 on that side, was Sommerton, a large village, 
 w^hich had grown into almost a small town, 
 under the fostering care of the Bradfields. In 
 the middle of it stood the hall, a building of 
 great pretension, magnificently furnished, with 
 a library of almost European reputation, and 
 adorned with pictures and works of art of 
 every description. The village, the hall, and 
 the estate bore the evident marks of great 
 wealth. On the left side of the road ran the 
 remnant of the Carrington Estate ; it presented 
 to the eyes of the young people a painful 
 contrast to the other. 
 
 * Are you not going over these fields ? ' said 
 Evelyn, pulling up her horse and pointing to a 
 gate which led into a tempting sward. * We 
 always have a canter here, as far as the canal ; 
 the hand-gates are always open.'
 
 12 Which is the Winner? 
 
 * Certainly not, they belong to the Bradfields. 
 Come over here, Evelyn, if you want a gallop. 
 I'm going to jump this horse over the fences on 
 this side. He hasn't robbed us of that, at all 
 events.' 
 
 * Impossible, I can't get over that big bull- 
 finch at the bottom ; besides, if anyone was to 
 see me.' 
 
 ' Who is there to see you — the Darvilles ? 
 I don't suppose you care about them, or that 
 fool Bradfield, botanizing. However, I'm going 
 just inside the fence parallel with the road ; and 
 as Johnson's behind, you can keep along the 
 road.' 
 
 Evelyn looked as if she felt that her brother 
 was unjust ; but she said nothing, and cantered 
 quietly along, while she watched Stafford school- 
 ing his new horse over the fences towards the 
 canal gate, which was to bring him once more 
 into the road to Spring Vale. 
 
 The foregoing conversation does not exhibit 
 Stafford Carrington in an amiable light ; but if 
 ever an excuse could be made for an exhibition
 
 Spring Vale. 13 
 
 of temper, surely his was the case in point. It 
 is no slight matter to have to contest a county 
 at all. The representation of it, with its atten- 
 dance on committees when you should be 
 hunting, the wakeful drowsiness of eloquent 
 members at a time when the rest of the world 
 is in bed, or playing a rubber, your dependence 
 on others, and their expectations of your capa- 
 bility to befriend or assist them, a crown of 
 thorns, which is continually twitting you with 
 your greatness. When this honour is thrust 
 upon one it is bad enough, when a sort of 
 hereditary right, or a presumption of it (which 
 is the same thing), forces you into the vacant 
 seat, it is still a cushion stuffed with tenpenny 
 nails, which defies ease or oblivion; but when 
 you are likely to sweat bodily and mentally for 
 the acquisition of it, and to be made to pay 
 very heavily for the habit of being ill at ease, 
 the first glimpse of such a state of things, must 
 produce some little irritability of temper. I 
 think a strong substantial opposition in Tiverton 
 would try the good temper of the premier himself.
 
 14 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 And this was exactly Sir Michael Carrington's 
 case. The old gentleman, though impoverished, 
 and with a curtailed estate, but unrestrained 
 
 inclinations, had represented shire for thirty 
 
 years. His father had done so before him; and 
 it was fully intended that his son should succeed 
 him. A Whig had not been known in the family 
 — not in any branch of it — since the days of 
 George II., when they went over to the Hano- 
 verians, as supporters of the Monarchy, with 
 as much matter-of-course indifference as they 
 had hitherto supported the Stuarts. The Car- 
 ringtons were, and always had been. Church, 
 State, and King men, whatever form of Church, 
 State, or King could only prove its claim by 
 possession. Sir Michael always spoke of the 
 county as his own, as naturally as he spoke of 
 the remnant of the Carrington Estates. A Sir 
 Michael Carrington had been standard-bearer 
 to Richard I. in the Holy Land, and the family 
 had lived in the shire ever since. The whole 
 county concurred in believing the old Tory 
 baronet to be the proper representative of its
 
 Spring Vale. 15 
 
 sentiments, and be good-humouredly shared his 
 seat with a younger man, who did the hard 
 work, and held precisely the same opinions as 
 himself. Of late such men had been less easy 
 to meet with than formerly ; for the beautifully 
 neat leathers and tops, which was his ordinary 
 dress, were not much more out of date than the 
 very extreme conservatism which still marked 
 
 the bucolic mind of shire. Everybody, 
 
 therefore, must allow that an opposition at all 
 was a most unheard-of and impertinent pro- 
 ceeding. Circumstances, 1 shall show, made it, 
 from the quarter in which it arose, personally 
 and doubly offensive. 
 
 When Stafford Carrington jumped back 
 again into the road, he had regained much of 
 his usual serenity. The negotiation of a very 
 stiff piece of timber in cold blood had pro- 
 duced a satisfactory result on him, and placed 
 his new purchase uppermost in his mind. The 
 man who can resist the appeal, at his time of 
 life, must be naturally blest with a bad temper, 
 and Stafford's was far from that.
 
 16 Which is the Winner? 
 
 *I hope you saw him jump, dear,' said he, 
 rejoining his sister, and reining up his horse, 
 which ambled over the bridge in a state of 
 excitement produced by his late exercise. 
 ' How delighted my father will be : it's his last 
 present, — be sure you make the most of it at 
 dinner.' 
 
 ' I saw the fences ; and how did you expect 
 me to ride over such a place as those rails 
 in the bottom of the hollow ? Now a small gap, 
 I don't mind, when nobody's looking; and 
 although Selim is a little hot, he never makes 
 a mistake, do you, you beauty ? ' and the girl 
 patted her horse, and followed her brother to 
 the lodge gate, which opened upon Spring 
 Vale Manor. 
 
 The village itself is one of the most beau- 
 tiful in that part of England. The park 
 attached to the manor, the seat of the Carring- 
 ton family, is of great extent, beautifully 
 wooded, and well watered by a large reservoir, 
 whose banks were the resort of various kinds of 
 water-fowl. It had a wild appearance, sedgy
 
 Spring Vale. 17 
 
 and osier-like at the extremities, forming a 
 strong contrast with the cultivated look of the 
 rest of the domain. At its limit, a mile from 
 the house, ran the canal, which we have 
 before mentioned ; and which had been crossed 
 by the riders ; it had been judiciously planted 
 out by firs and spruce, and its banks, which 
 were steep and broken, presented to the eye 
 patches of heather and gorse, a sure find, when 
 the spinneys in the park had been tried in vain. 
 As the brother and sister ascended the sloping 
 road which led through the park to the house, 
 the former thought of the power and influence 
 he might have inherited, had the thousand of 
 acres of rich pasturage, which he beheld 
 around him, and which once were his grand- 
 father's, been now his. There was nothing 
 avaricious about this man's nature ; and he was 
 too indolent to be ambitious : but dark tales 
 were afloat of the manner in which thousands 
 had been alienated from the great Carrington 
 Estate, and he could not forgive the present pos- 
 sessor of those acres the fact of being a parvenu. 
 VOL. I. G
 
 18 Which is the Winner? 
 
 The house stood in a commanding situation, 
 more so than is usual with houses built about 
 the time of Elizabeth. It was long and low, 
 commanding the length of a terrace walk, from 
 which descended in a considerable slope, a lawn 
 of great extent; studded here and there with 
 rich trees of great rarity, and terminating in a 
 smaller lake ; which, as the equestrians ap- 
 proached, the autumnal sun was gilding with 
 frosty rays. A wide carriage drive extended 
 in front of the house, and passing along the 
 terrace entered a magnificent avenue of limes, 
 which led directly to the other lodge. This 
 gate abutted on to the village near the top of 
 the hill on which it stood. The church porch 
 faced it, and the parsonage stood beyond and 
 above it. 
 
 Returning to the bottom of the hill, with 
 the old mouldering park wall on the right-hand 
 side, and the labourers' cottages on the left, 
 with their cheerful gardens, still full of autumn 
 flowers, we come to the village green. It lay 
 upon the public road which led from Saxonby,
 
 Spring Vale, 19 
 
 and on wbicli Stafford and Evelyn Carrington 
 had been riding. The right-hand side of this 
 green was occupied by a large farm-house, the 
 residence of Farmer Leighton, the baronet's 
 principal tenant ; a stout handsome man, happy 
 in his landlord and his daughters, and a good 
 
 specimen of a shire yeoman. Crossing the 
 
 road and facing the green was a large house, 
 comparatively modern. The bricks appeared to 
 blush for their temerity ; there were, however, 
 plenty of them to keep each other in counte- 
 nance. Some handsome trees in the grounds, 
 and a multiplicity of gable ends bespoke size 
 and pretension. It overlooked large grass fields 
 on every side; and substantial paling which 
 joined the brick walls of the garden announced 
 ' proprietorship,' as plainly as if it had been 
 written by a professional wall chalker. This 
 was the house and property of Hugh Darville, 
 Esq., Attorney at Law. 
 
 The village therefore consisted, it will be 
 seen, of the squire, as Sir Michael Carrington 
 was usually called; ]\Ir. Darville, the lawyer, 
 
 c2
 
 20 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 whose house of business was at Saxonby ; the 
 rector, the Rev. Walter Carrington, a nephew 
 of Sir Michael, who lived as much at the hall 
 as at the rectory ; Farmer Leighton, and about 
 three hundred labourers, tenants, small farmers, 
 and little tradesmen, who belonged to the 
 Carrington interest, body and soul, and who 
 would not have thanked Mr. Ward Beecher, 
 or any of his North American brethren, for any 
 efforts at emancipation from their voluntary 
 slavery. There was one more house we had 
 nearly forgotten. Exactly opposite the upper 
 lodge gate which opened upon the lime 
 avenue was a road which led nowhere ap- 
 parently. It terminated with a sharp pitch, 
 and bending to the left disclosed a swing gate 
 and -a charmingly-sheltered cottage and lawn. 
 It was below the southern slope of the church- 
 yard. It was always in beautiful order and 
 enjoyed a remarkable reputation as 'The Spring 
 Yale Cottage.' It was occupied by a very old 
 lady, the aunt of Sir Michael Carrington ; the 
 unmarried sister of his father.
 
 Spring Vale, 21 
 
 Miss Philadelphia Carrington, or Aunt Philly, 
 as she was called by her relatives, was a 
 character, if ever there was one. At the time 
 of which we are now speaking, she was eighty 
 years old. She had never originally been a 
 tall woman, as most of her family were; she 
 was now nearly double, and so round-backed 
 as to be positively deformed. She had small 
 sharp dark eyes, on which she wore spectacles 
 when she did not wish to see or to be seen. 
 At other times she laid her glasses aside and 
 looked like a hawk. She had a small, well- 
 shaped nose, somewhat hooked, and a sharp, 
 well-defined chin. Her mouth was long and 
 thin, but furnished frequently with formidable 
 teeth. At other times they were to be seen 
 by her side in a finger-glass of water. She 
 wore a brown wig, with elf-like locks on each 
 side, and a neat broad-bordered cap. She was 
 alway dressed in black silk, and wore, as her 
 only ornament, a very massive gold chain. She 
 had the reputation of being a shrewd, well-read, 
 and remarkably honest woman, of most re-
 
 22 Which is the Winner? 
 
 tentive memory and strong principles ; eccentric 
 to the last degree. Many feared her for her- 
 self; others flattered her for the sake of her 
 nephew. She was remarkably just, and prided 
 herself upon it. Consequently she escaped the 
 distribution of petty alms to her neighbours, 
 who could neither be said to want nor to 
 deserve them. She was capable of making 
 great exertions, physically and mentally; and 
 was never so happy as in caustic denunciations 
 of humbug. The villagers regarded her as all- 
 powerful : something of a ' witch.' Had she 
 been anything but a Carrington, fire and faggot 
 would have been her portion.
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 THE FAMILY COXCLAVE. 
 
 ' Qiiand le corps se porte bien, le conseil est bon.' 
 
 ' IloXXaJy d'dypo^evcov, tqJ Tretcreai 6s kcv apiaTqv 
 BovXrjv (SovXeva-T]-' — HoM., Iliad, i., v. 70. 
 
 'Dinner, my lady,' said the butler, throwing 
 open the door. 
 
 * Come, Aunt Philly ; ' and Sir Michael bent 
 his long thin figure to raise the little old 
 woman from her chair, who assisted herself 
 with a handsome malacca cane. The Rev. 
 Walter Carrington offered his arm to his cousin 
 Evelyn. Lady Carrington passed hers through 
 that of Mr. Hugh Darville, and Stafford 
 follow ed alone. It was a strictly family party ; 
 in fact, a council of war, at which the real 
 actor was content to appear in a subordinate 
 part. The man who pulls the strings is
 
 24 Which is the Winner? 
 
 generally least visible, though the play cannot 
 go on without him. 
 
 There can be no doubt that everyone in 
 that room had his or her mind bent upon one 
 subject. Neither the beauty of the apartment 
 (and it was a handsome saloon, hung with 
 furniture that had once been costly, and with 
 pictures that still were valuable), nor the 
 excellence of the dinner and wines, which was 
 remarkable, attracted a moment's real attention, 
 though they came in for their due portion of 
 the conversation. Lady Carrington ' never ate 
 better fish than the man of Saxonby supplied,' 
 and Aunt Philly thought the * brown sherry 
 nearly as good as her own ; ' a present from the 
 Spanish Ambassador when in London at the 
 peace in 1815. It is an exceedingly difficult 
 thing to go straight to the point, sometimes 
 even when a whole family have determined 
 upon thinking of nothing else ; just as a child 
 picks up all the stale, dry crumbs, before he 
 comes to the well-buttered tit-bit of crust in the 
 corner, or the Irishman tells you of every road
 
 The Family Conclave, 25 
 
 in the county before be directs you by the one 
 by which you should go. I suppose there is a 
 certain refinement of delicacy in such reticence; 
 a kind of practical euphemism, which would 
 rather imply than pronounce a truth ; a foiHiori, 
 if it be an unpleasant one. 
 
 So Stafford, by way of encouraging the party, 
 went at once into horseflesh. It was seized 
 upon with avidity, and well shaken, as if they 
 had no better use for their teeth. * So you like 
 your new horse, Stafford. Well, I'm glad of 
 that. Jumped those rails out of Leigh ton's 
 meadow ; I've no doubt he did ; those quarters 
 are made for jumping.' 
 
 * Indeed he did, sir, most magnificently; I 
 don't know who's been schooling him with the 
 curb, but he gets his head up a little ; one of 
 the men, perhaps, with not the best hands in 
 the world.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said Sir Michael ; Mie did so the day 
 I rode him ; but if you put your hands down, 
 he always drops his head as he comes to the 
 fence. However, ride him for a day or two
 
 26 Which is the Winner? 
 
 with a martingale on the curb-rein, and you'll 
 have no trouble with him at all.' 
 
 'Oh! papa dear, he jumps most beautifully. 
 I wish you could have seen him,' said Evelyn, 
 becoming enthusiastic in the cause. 
 
 ' And what became of you, miss ? ' said the 
 baronet. 
 
 'I stopped in the road, my dear papa; we 
 couldn't afford to risk two necks at a time, you 
 know.' 
 
 ' Then where had you been, Stafford,' said 
 his mother, 'that you came home by the 
 Saxonby road ? ' who began to rejoice that the 
 conversation had taken a turn away from 
 electioneering, having due regard to her 
 husband's digestion. 
 
 ' To Rutherford, mother ; we found Skefiing- 
 ton and three or four men come down to begin 
 the season. Mentmore was there ; he's going 
 to Newmarket to see his horses, and then he's 
 coming here.' 
 
 'By your invitation ? It's a bad time to 
 have him here.'
 
 The Family Conclave, 27 
 
 'By his own, my dear mother. Flattering, 
 was it not ? ' and Stafford Carrington, who 
 did not conceive that they could have been 
 honoured by anybody's company, smiled list- 
 lessly. 
 
 ' What sort of a person is Lord Mentmore ? ' 
 asked Miss Philadelphia, shooting out a sharp 
 glance from her twinkling eyes. 
 
 'Mentmore, Aunt Philly?' said Stafford in 
 reply, ' the handsomest man in England.' 
 
 ' So was his grandfather, sir, but not the 
 wisest or the best ; ' rejoined the old lady, who 
 had some piquant recollections of the early 
 days of the Regency. 
 
 ' Well ! Mentmore's not the worst, aunt, at 
 all events.' 
 
 ' I suppose he plays ? * 
 
 ' I never saw him. Indeed I believe he 
 hates the trouble.' 
 
 *I hear he lost thirty thousand pounds last 
 year, sir, and that must have been ingenious in 
 a gentleman who never plays.' The old lady 
 looked very astute, and took a sip of her
 
 28 Which is the Winner? 
 
 favourite brown sherry. It was quite evident 
 that she had made up her mind that Lord 
 Mentmore was not the best companion for her 
 nephew. 
 
 * Excuse me, Aunt Philly, but that's not so 
 difficult as you imagine. His commissioner 
 managed it all for him.' 
 
 * And what's a commissioner? He must be 
 a very expensive addition to a gentleman's 
 household.' 
 
 * Mentmore backs his own horses ; and if he 
 were to lay against his own, and back other 
 people's, with his information he might improve 
 his account. They won't let him win till he 
 does.' 
 
 ' I don't see that it makes much difference 
 whether he gambles with dice or with horse- 
 flesh.' 
 
 You see Aunt Philly's was a practical 
 mind. 
 
 * Those are antiquated notions, madam,' said 
 Sir Michael, who was suspected of having com- 
 mitted himself on the turf in his early days, and
 
 The Family Conclave. 29 
 
 took a more lenient view of such matters than 
 his aunt. 
 
 'I don't understand such things, Michael/ 
 said the aunt, ' but the result seems to me 
 much the same.' 
 
 'The devil's not so black as he's painted,' 
 said Lady Carrington, who was a strong-minded 
 woman. 'I hear it was only ten thousand: what 
 shall we do with him when we get him ? ' 
 
 * Send him out with the hounds four days a- 
 week, and let him shoot the covers the other two.' 
 
 ' That's just what he's fit for, I suppose,' said 
 Miss Evelyn. 
 
 ' You don't know him, Evelyn. However, 
 we've not pheasants enough for more than one 
 day, and the leaf's not off yet,' said Stafford. 
 
 ' Then send him out canvassing,' said Mr. 
 Darville, who had not taken much part in the 
 conversation. * Lend him a good hack. Sir 
 Michael, and make him useful as well as orna- 
 mental.' 
 
 Canvassing ! The ice was broken, and now 
 the current was running freely. Everybody
 
 30 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 felt that the lawyer had hit the right nail on 
 the head ; it was their business to drive it 
 home ; and as soon as the dessert was on table, 
 and the Rev. Walter had said grace, the com- 
 pany laid themselves out to their work, like 
 hard-held horses beginning to feel their way. 
 
 The first thing they did was to proclaim war to 
 the knife against the impertinent rebel who had 
 dared to disturb the peace of the county. This 
 meant the peace of a very excellent clique who 
 formed the county. Nor was the violence of their 
 anger directed more against the fact than against 
 the individual. There might have been some 
 excuse for the ambition of a man whose ancestors 
 bad had a stake in shire, or who were admit- 
 ted to be of the same class as themselves. There 
 mio^ht have been some excitement in breakint]^ 
 a lance with such an one. But there was no 
 glory to be got by the defeat of a retired manu- 
 facturer, whose father bought the estate on 
 which he lived, and who had added to it; at the 
 expense of the Carringtons, every acre of valu- 
 able land by which it was surrounded. To be
 
 The Family Conclave, 31 
 
 honest, there was not much to be said in favour 
 of ^Ir. Bradfield, senior. He was cruel, purse- 
 proud, and mean towards his inferiors ; self- 
 sufficient, even insolent, to his equals in posi- 
 tion but inferiors in wealth ; and cringing to the 
 real aristocracy of the county, who tolerated a 
 man whose enormous riches could make him 
 inconvenient to them in a thousand ways. He 
 had done well to put forward his son instead of 
 himself; at least, nothing was known of Law- 
 rence Bradfield w^hich could add to the un- 
 popularity of his father. His reputation was a 
 university one, in which he had shone bril- 
 liantly. He was known as one of the first men 
 of his year, and contemporary history affirms 
 that he had improved his natural and acquired 
 powers since his degree, by sedulous study of 
 the laws and constitution of his country; facts 
 which fitted him peculiarly for the honours to 
 which he aspired, and which were likely to be 
 attended with more success than the political 
 consistency of a very worthy, but not strong- 
 minded, baronet. Need we say that Mr. Brad-
 
 32 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 field, senior, had begun life as a violent Radical 
 of the school over which self-interest predomi- 
 nates; he had slowly changed to a Whig, as 
 more acceptable to the great persons with whom 
 he was desirous of associating ; and would in his 
 son represent that moderate form of order com- 
 bined with progression, which may be Liberal 
 Conservatism or Conservative liberality, accord- 
 ing to the views of the popular assembly in 
 which the professor's oratory is to take its airing. 
 One thing was quite certain : he was not a 
 Tory, either in himself or his son ; and he was 
 sure to meet with that amount of vituperation 
 which fell to the lot of everybody, great or 
 small, who did not believe in the doctrines of 
 the Carrington charter. Sir Michael had been 
 tried once with a contested election, and was at 
 daggers drawn for six months afterwards with 
 a minority which numbered many personal 
 friends. Nobody talked Whiggery before him 
 or my lady, whatever they might feel. 
 
 ' Darville, you know all about this : how did 
 it happen?' said Lady Carrington. She had
 
 The Family Conclave, 33 
 
 great faith in Darville. Not in his talents, but 
 in his energy, and in his honesty. Sir Michael 
 talked most to him, but my lady believed in 
 him. 
 
 'Bradfield is pig-headed, that's the truth, 
 and fancies slights where none are intended. 
 That's the bottom of it. Perhaps his son's 
 university success, and supposed talents, may 
 have had something to do with it.' 
 
 ' Slights ? why the fellow kills foxes,' said 
 
 Sir Michael, 'and as an ex-master of the 
 
 shire hounds, no man knew better than he the 
 heinousness of such an offence, or was better 
 prepared to punish it.' 
 
 ' I don't think that was his fault, papa dear ; 
 at least, Stafford said it was not; and he dis- 
 charged his keeper as soon as he heard of it.' 
 If any oil was to be extracted for troubled 
 waters from this family, it always came from 
 the younger branches of it. Stafford, however, 
 was in the present case incapable of ordinary 
 justice. 
 
 *And there never is an atom of scent over 
 
 VOL. I. i>
 
 34 Which is the Winner? 
 
 his park. I never saw hounds run over it in 
 my life,' continued the baronet, without notic- 
 ing his daughter's interruption. Whether that 
 was an accident belonging to, or a consequent 
 of, his political opinion, no one asked ; indeed, 
 no one doubted that it was the latter. 
 
 ' Tom Leighton says hounds always ran over 
 it in my grandfather's time,' said the rector, 
 who was well posted in foxes and scent, and 
 knew every run in the county that had taken 
 place during two generations, at least. 
 
 ' That's quite a different thing, Walter ; I 
 dare say there were many things, then, in your 
 grandfather's time, which you'll never see again,' 
 said Lady Carrington. 
 
 ' And a great many things now that my poor 
 brother never dreamt of. There's a school for 
 the children, sir, and a church, and a w^ell- 
 
 drained village, and poor allotments, and ,' 
 
 this was Miss Philly. 
 
 ' And an institute, where they talk Radical- 
 ism, and teach the poor to despise the gentry. 
 I always said steam would be the ruin of this
 
 The Family Conclave, 35 
 
 country. When the new lines come we shan't 
 be able to ride a mile after hounds with- 
 out a check. It is all this infernal manufac- 
 turing, and building over the country. He's 
 made Somerton a regular town,' said the 
 squire. 
 
 ' Perhaps that's the reason hounds don't run 
 over that country so well as formerly, Michael,' 
 suggested the old lady. *If we had done more 
 for those people, we should have left less for 
 them to do ; and then we might have had it all 
 our own way.' 
 
 ' Why, aunt ? ' said Lady Carrington, with a 
 start. 
 
 * Why, aunt ? ' said Stafford, with a yawn. 
 
 ' My dear Aunt Philly, what do you mean ? ' 
 said the little Tory, with the red camellia in 
 her hair. 
 
 ' I mean, my dear, that if the old county 
 families had done their duty when I was a 
 girl, we shouldn't have had others doing it for 
 us now I'm an old woman. I know they all 
 think I'm cracked, Michael ; but I'm not. The 
 
 d2
 
 36 Which is the Winner? 
 
 world goes on while I stand still, so I've more 
 time to think than if I went with it.' 
 
 * But, my dear madam, — my dear Miss Car- 
 rington,' roared Mr. Darville, ' my excellent 
 client, the late baronet, surely — ' 
 
 'There, that will do — I'm not deaf to-night, 
 it don't suit me. Everybody knows I'm a 
 Carrington, and, as far as an old woman with 
 one leg in the grave can be so, a stanch sup- 
 porter of the family interest. I'm going can- 
 vassing for you, Michael, through thick and 
 thin ; but it's as well you should hear the truth 
 sometimes.' 
 
 Here the old lady took up her spectacles, 
 and adjusted them for observation. 
 
 ' I suppose Rutherford is all right this time, 
 Darville.' 
 
 * Yes ; he's quarrelled with Lord Laneham, 
 and he'd rather vote against his conscience 
 than not spite him. I'm glad Stafford and his 
 sister were over there to-day ; did he say any- 
 thing about his visit ? ' asked Brotherton. 
 
 ' What did Rutherford say to-day, Stafford ? '
 
 The Family Conclave. 37 
 
 ' Said there were lots of foxes at all his 
 pheasants.' 
 
 * That's what he always does say : what about 
 the election ? ' 
 
 * Nothing at aD : I don't think he knows of 
 the opposition.' 
 
 ' Indeed he does though,' rejoined Darville ; 
 'I told him myself.' 
 
 * How long have you known it, sir ? ' shot 
 out Aunt Philly. 
 
 ' How long ? Oh, w^ell ! known it ? I've 
 heard of it. Miss Philadelphia, two or three 
 days. I couldn't help it.' 
 
 * I hope you haven't helped it, sir ; I think 
 you should have told my nephew instantly. 
 Don't believe a word of it,' added the old lady, 
 with an aside which smote the remotest corner 
 of the room. 
 
 Darville was a bad-tempered man ; but his 
 interest always prevented any breach between 
 him and the Carringtons. His politics were 
 unimpeachable, as well they might be ; for he 
 owed all he had to them, besides the occu-
 
 o8 Which is the Winner? 
 
 pation and advancement of nephews, nieces, 
 and relations, without end. He was, however, 
 agent, and transacted business in connection 
 with the Sommerton estate, for the Bradfields, 
 which gave him a less stBong position than 
 he would otherwise have held. He bore 
 the old lady's rudeness with moderately well- 
 assumed calm. He was strong in something 
 — either his own integrity or Sir Michael's 
 favour. 
 
 ' How is the register, Darville ? what shall 
 we win by ? ' 
 
 ' You by seven hundred, Spence by three.' 
 
 ' Is that a certainty ? ' inquired Sir Michael 
 again ; ' what should we do in case of acci- 
 dents ? — fellows will turn round, now-a-days, 
 when you least expect it.' 
 
 ' In case of accidents, which are almost 
 impossible,' rejoined the lawyer, 'we should 
 sacrifice Spence.' 
 
 ' Pleasant for Colonel Spence,' said Stafford 
 Carrington ; * but a stop-gap is not of much 
 good, unless you can throw him away when
 
 The Family Conclave. 39 
 
 you've done with him. He'd feel flattered if 
 he heard Mr. Darville's suggestion.' 
 
 ' What will the Crackborough party do ? ' 
 ' They'll write to you to say that their tenants 
 will not be interfered with, and that you are 
 at liberty to canvass them ; and they'll order 
 Manks to go round the week before, and 
 give them due notice of old Crackborougli's 
 preference for tenants who think as their 
 landlord.' 
 
 ' I suppose Packington is dead against us ? ' 
 asked Stafford. 
 
 ' Indeed he's nothing of the sort. He's quite 
 sure to be with us.' 
 
 ' Why ? He owes Bradlield a lot of money, 
 and I know he got his brother a good appoint- 
 ment in Manchester, in the Stamps and Taxes, 
 or something of that sort.' 
 
 * He's got all he can get out of the Brad- 
 fields, and he knows there's nothing more to 
 come ; so he'll try your party now. The Whigs 
 regard him as safe.' 
 
 ' What a pretty blackguard he must be,' said
 
 40 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 young Carrington ; ' we should be quite as well 
 without him.' 
 
 ' He can command about thirty votes, so it 
 won't do to be particular.' 
 
 ' What do you think about the Suttons — 
 they're doubtful ? ' asked Lady Carrington. 
 
 'They were; but you left them out of your 
 archery meeting last summer, my lady; and 
 I'm told they haven't forgotten it, and won't 
 forgive it.' 
 
 ' Of course I left them out — so I did some 
 hundreds of others. You know it was a small 
 party made for Lady Sarah and the Duchess ; 
 we might as well have asked the Bradfields 
 themselves,' replied Lady Carrington. 
 
 ' The rest could afford to be left out, but the 
 Suttons could not. They were just struggling 
 into society with the old woman's diamonds 
 and the son's stud at Melton, and — ' 
 
 ' Yes ; and have rechristened their lawn and 
 shrubberies Nuneham Place.' 
 
 'They were just coming to the surface, my 
 dear,' said the old lady, ' and you shoved them
 
 The Family Conclave. 41 
 
 under again. Unfortunately you can't drown 
 tliem outright, so you should have given them 
 a helping hand.' 
 
 ' I was wrong, Aunt Philly,' said Lady Car- 
 rington. ' I made a mistake like the w^oman 
 in the shop at Leamington, who was desired 
 by Miss Sutton to send a parcel for her to 
 Nuneham Place. The girl, innocently enough, 
 said, "What number, please, miss?" for which 
 inadvertency the custom was withdrawn.' 
 
 * If my nephew is to represent the county, 
 you must represent your half of it, Lady Car- 
 rington ; and I think you will be quite as much 
 bored at home as Michael at St. Stephen's.' 
 
 ' How's Doddington, Gorsefield, and round 
 about Chessington ? I hear that Bradfield has 
 been buying property there with a view to 
 building and smelting.' 
 
 ' It won't do — there's no railway sufficiently 
 near ; besides, the squire at Doddington votes 
 at Chessington in right of the kennels, so he'd 
 be safe to go with you.' 
 
 ' I'm afraid you'll have the Dissenters against
 
 42 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 you. Growler's a regular firebrand, and he's 
 always talking about Walter as an absentee 
 and a pluralist, and wondering why the work 
 of so important a parish is to be neglected. 
 In fact, that country,' added Mr. Darville, ' is 
 not what it used to be.' 
 
 ' But Walter has a curate there, who has 
 established night-schools, and reading-clubs, and 
 worsted-stocking subscriptions, and a Dorcas, 
 and all those sorts of things,' said Lady Carring- 
 ton, 'and his greatest amusement is coursing, 
 which seems to me to be a very harmless amuse- 
 ment, except for the poor hares.' 
 
 'That's the reason the Dissenters are so 
 angry,' said Darville. ' Young Fairchild has 
 beat Growler at his own game. They like a 
 fellow that hunts and shoots a bit ; and leaves 
 the people to them.' 
 
 'Then you'd better send Walter Carrington 
 there, and have the curate here to help Evelyn 
 and me, with the old women,' said Miss Philly, 
 who was determined to be equally pleasant all 
 round. Indeed, whether it was that the family
 
 The Family Conclave. 43 
 
 spirits were soured by the contemplated opposi- 
 tion, or, that the weather was against charitable 
 feelings, the conversation had taken a turn 
 w^hich appeared to unite them all in hostility to 
 everybody else. If the impression upon the 
 reader is bad, we regret that he should see a 
 very amiable family at an unamiable time ; and 
 only hope, for their sake, that he has been 
 placed in the same circumstances himself. It 
 is right to speak well of our enemies, but 
 religion and politics are exceptional cases, in 
 which all one's charity is wanted for the support 
 
 of one's friends. The Bishop of O , when 
 
 he recommends to his clergy an uncompromising 
 distinction between that of the Church and all 
 other creeds, has seen necessary to add an 
 injunction to avoid giving offence. Perhaps 
 the right reverend divine will explain this 
 difference between precept and practice, and 
 carry the latter into the intricacies of a county 
 election. 
 
 ' Do you know young Bradfield, Stafford ? ' 
 said his mother after a pause, while the
 
 44 Which is the Winner 1 
 
 wine was being placed on the table, and 
 handed round by the brown wigged and 
 gouty old gentleman who called himself ' the 
 butler.' 
 
 ' I know him by sight, that is, I did when he 
 was up at Christ Church,' replied young Car- 
 rington, when thus appealed to. ' But Evelyn 
 knows him better than I do.' This was said 
 with a smile ; but smiles vary, and this carried 
 with it a trifle of badinage. Lady Carrington 
 and Aunt Philly looked up at once. ' What 
 sort of a person is he, Evelyn ? ' 
 
 ' Tall, fair, rather good looking, and evidently 
 a very clever man,' said the young lady without 
 hesitation, but with heightened colour. I have 
 met him a few times during the last season ; 
 but mamma knows as much of him as I do, only 
 she doesn't dance.' 
 
 ^ What was he like when you knew him at 
 Oxford ? ' demanded the great aunt. 
 
 ' Very slow ; but you know he wasn't in my 
 set.' 
 
 ' I presume not ; was he a clever man ? '
 
 The Family Conclave. 45 
 
 ' He got a good first ; but I shouldn't think 
 he would set the Thames on fire.' 
 
 ' Nor the college, sir, as I'm told you and 
 Lord Skeffington very nearly did between you.' 
 
 ' Skefllington had more to do with water than 
 fire, aunt. It was he who put the pink on to 
 the mercury during a frost, and broke the ice 
 all round.' 
 
 * For which he was sent away, and you were 
 rusticated, I believe, sir.' 
 
 ' We thought it rather hard though, especially 
 after his excuse about the fine arts, and the 
 colouring of the antique, to say nothing of an 
 execrable pun about putting the mercury into 
 water-colours, which the dean capped by some- 
 thing worse, to the effect that they had long 
 had their mercury in lake, and were perfectly 
 satisfied with it as it was.' 
 
 ' Will he fight, Stafford ? ' asked the old man. 
 
 ' If he begins, he will ; but I should think it 
 was sorely against the grain ; he's much more 
 given to hard study than to hard fighting.' 
 
 * I think he's had nothino^ to do with this
 
 46 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 himself: it's his father, and Crackborough's at 
 the bottom of the whole affair. Darville, what 
 are you drinking ? ' 
 
 ' Sherry, Sir Michael. They have stopped 
 the port.' 
 
 ' Gout ? that's bad ; ' and the baronet sighed 
 to see a lawyer with the gout, which in former 
 days could not be earned by everybody ; and 
 was hereditary only with those who had grand- 
 fathers. 
 
 ' What is the first thing to be done, Darville ? 
 the address will be out to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Most probably. Sir Michael. Then we must 
 have yours, and you must be off to Saxonby ; 
 we'll have the " Lion " as usual ; and you must 
 give us a speech next market day. The Church 
 is a capital watchword, because they all think 
 they understand that, and that flatters them ; 
 Colonial self-government is another, because 
 none of them understand that, and that is 
 flattering to you. Say a good deal about cheap 
 bread, meaning cheap labour, which between 
 ourselves it does not mean, and the injustice of
 
 The Family Conclave. 47 
 
 the income tax ; and blow up the French Em- 
 peror, he's very unpopular just now, on the 
 score of additional expenses ; and be sure to 
 finish with some allusion to fox-hunting, the 
 farmers like that, it has a liberal sound, and 
 costs nothing.' 
 
 ' And what will Bradfield go for, do you sup- 
 pose ? ' asked Sir Michael, of his legal adviser 
 and political tutor. 
 
 ' He'll go for the education of the poor on 
 scientific principles, which won't suit the farmers, 
 who have no idea of seeing the people better 
 educated than themselves, especially when 
 they're asked to pay for it. Of course he'll be 
 of the peace party, which he'll wish to obtain 
 by alliance, and you by war. I don't suppose 
 he's fool enough to talk about the ballot ; but 
 you've nothing to do but to say it's un-English, 
 and that, if it were not, it wouldn't answer the 
 end proposed.' 
 
 Sir Michael had long been in leading-strings. 
 On all social questions he submitted implicitly 
 to Lady Carrington ; in politics Mr. Darville
 
 48 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 had not only managed his entire business for 
 him, but had presented him septennially, or 
 whenever there was a dissolution, with a creed 
 ready cut and dried. So that he was not more 
 the exponent of the doctrines of a party, than 
 of those sentiments which were likely to attract 
 the majority of the landowners and cultivators 
 
 of the soil of shire. It would have been 
 
 quite sufficient to have known that the manu- 
 facturing interest advocated a principle of right, 
 for the worthy squire of Spring Yale to have 
 raised his standard in favour of wrong. He 
 was honest, proud, prejudiced, and a thoroughly 
 good man. But his convictions were purely 
 based upon externals, and, though frequently in 
 accordance with right, were almost entirely the 
 offspring of prejudice or pressure. 
 
 The discussion we have heard at the family 
 conclave was one of many which had taken 
 place, and which might have taken place, when- 
 ever an opposition was talked of, had it been 
 three times a week. A farmer, a glorious 
 half-educated, drab-breeched, and top-booted
 
 The Family Conclave. 49 
 
 agriculturist, was a sort of household god 
 which had its favourite niche in Spring Vale 
 Manor; he could do no wrong, excepting 
 by riding over a hound ; to be a farmer, like 
 Horace's philosopher, was to be a king. On 
 the other hand, if the agricultural interests had 
 ^ot it into their head that the county was made 
 for them, and if long use and gentle titiliation 
 had persuaded them of the fact, the last few 
 years had seen a totally opposite faction usurp 
 a situation to which their antecedents had 
 given them no claim. It was not in their case 
 the growth of intelligence, but that of wealth, 
 which from time to time o^ave sions of a 
 revolutionary action, and which it was hoped 
 might break forth into open opposition to the 
 reigning powers. These innovators had in 
 many cases bought up the estates of needy 
 noblemen and gentlemen, and had made no 
 secret of their hostility. The Earl of Crack- 
 borough, an hereditary Whig, who had long 
 lived in hopeless despondency, in amity with 
 his fellows, was the great patron of this 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 division. His interest and property were great 
 in the county ; he had the character of a 
 generous man, which he did not deserve. He 
 saw an opening at the present time, and pro- 
 ceeded to select a cat's-paw to do his work. 
 Had he started his own son or nephew, there 
 would have been some growlings, a fight, and a 
 renewal of former friendships ; but the body of 
 new men, who had lately crept into the county, 
 were barely noticed by the aristocracy; and 
 Bradfield, notwithstanding many advantages, 
 was one of the least popular of his class. 
 Certain reasons, connected with the property he 
 had acquired, had tended to make him particu- 
 larly obnoxious to the enmity of the Carringtons, 
 and by consequence to that of many other of 
 the county families. His notions were extreme, 
 even for his own party ; his private character 
 was unamiable, his ostentation absurd, and his 
 meanness and ill-temper remarkable. The 
 Earl of Crack boroui>-h had made a mistake, and 
 soon he knew it. 
 
 It was the fashion in Sir Michael's house for
 
 The Family Conclave. 51 
 
 the ladies to sit after dinner a considerable time, 
 indeed as long as the men. Lady Carrington 
 liked wine in moderation, and she liked men, 
 much better than her own sex. Besides this, 
 she usually managed to quarrel with her aunt, 
 or fall asleep with her daughter, so that on 
 strictly private occasions the table rose together. 
 They were about to do so now, when a servant 
 entered the room and presented a card. Sir 
 Michael read aloud, ' " Mr. Bradfield, Sommer- 
 ton Hall." Where is he?' 
 
 * In the library.' 
 
 * Then make the fire up, and put a lamp into 
 the room. Say I will be there in a minute or 
 two.' 
 
 ' What's the meaning of this, Darville ? ' 
 
 * Let me see liim for you, Sir Michael,' said 
 Darville, who seemed nervously alive to some 
 contretemps in the meeting of his two clients. 
 'Some compromise perhaps, some offer to make 
 an arrangement, probably.' 
 
 * Arrangement indeed ; a d d scoundrel 
 
 who comes here to rob me of my seat, or of 
 
 £ 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF iLMNms
 
 52 Which is the Win7ier? 
 
 several thousand pounds. No, no, Darville, I'll 
 go myself. You can't help your client's imper- 
 tinence, I know ; but I'll go myself, and if I 
 want you I will send for you. You'd better go 
 to my lady and talk the matter over with 
 her.' 
 
 The baronet rang the bell, and proceeded to 
 the library without more ado.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MR. BRADFIELd's PROPOSAL. 
 
 ' Dem Entschlossenen ist nicbts unmoglicli.' — Germ. Proo. 
 
 Mr. Bradfield, sen., was slioun into the 
 library, as Sir Michael had been told ; and in 
 a few minutes the servant had made a bright 
 cheerful blaze, and placed a lamp upon the 
 table. The room was remarkable for its size, 
 and the beauty of the richly-carved old oaken 
 panels with which it was surrounded. The 
 single lamp did but little towards lighting it, 
 and the fitful gleams of the bright wood-fire 
 gave it a vivid and gloomy appearance. There 
 was something inexpressibly grand not only in 
 its proportions, but in its colour ; half light 
 always impresses us with solemnity, and so- 
 lemnity with a sense of age. Spring Vale 
 Manor House was one of the most beautiful
 
 54 Which is the Winner f 
 
 in the Midland counties. A part of it had 
 been built in the reign of Henry VII., and no 
 portion of it was more modern than the time of 
 his granddaughter Elizabeth. On one side of 
 the room in question were four long and deep 
 oriel windows looking to the lawn, on the 
 opposite side were handsome book-shelves at 
 intervals, separated from each other by ela- 
 borately carved panels. At each end was an 
 open and beautifully-sculptured chimney-piece, 
 from one of which the gigantic half-burnt log, 
 newly stirred by the servant, emitted its fitful 
 sparks. The ceiling was highly enriched with 
 scrollwork, towards which the spiral circles of 
 the book-shelves pointed ; and on the panels, 
 between the book-cases, were the grim warriors 
 of the middle ages, the loosely-robed statesmen 
 of the Stuarts, a poet of the reign of Anne, and 
 a scarlet-coated trnncheoned general of the time 
 of George III. Such was the character of 
 the room in which Mr. Abel Bradfield found 
 himself, with one lamp, awaiting the coming 
 of Sir Michael Carrington. He had U few
 
 Mr. Bradjiehrs Proposal, ^:)^y 
 
 minutes to himself, and it is not astonishing 
 that his mind took that turn with which the 
 externals of the place impressed his senses. 
 
 Now what sort of a person was Abel 
 Bradfield? Had he been of an imaginative 
 turn of mind, in those few minutes he might 
 have peopled that room with the shadowy 
 outlines of an age long past. The rebellious 
 baron of feudal times would not have been 
 misplaced at the head of his retainers, rousing 
 their passions, or inflaming their appetites with 
 the incentive to rude intemperance. It was a 
 room of solemn state for the deliberations of a 
 monarch, for the cruelties of an Inquisition, for 
 the condemnation of a traitor, for the very 
 execution itself of the condemned. There the 
 ear of fancy might have drunk in the sounds of 
 barbarous revelry, of chivalrous determination, 
 of political sagacity. The solemn hymns, the 
 forbidden ritual of the first martyrs, might well 
 have floated through those groined arches, or 
 the spiritual world have sent back the troubled 
 and wandering manes to haunt the scenes of
 
 56 Which is the Winner? 
 
 unassoilzed guilt. In fact there was nothing 
 of the grand, the terrible, or the mysterious 
 which might not have been connected with the 
 room, and the time ; there was nothing of light, 
 of cheerful, and of commonplace, that seemed 
 capable of any connection with it. 
 
 But Abel Brad field was neither a poet, nor 
 an historian, nor an antiquary. Taste he 
 affected, refinement he affected, but he had 
 neither. He was a purse-proud, dissatisfied, 
 tradesman, in. all but the name, and though he 
 might have talked of these things, he never 
 felt them. When therefore he looked at the 
 room and the books and the pictures, he felt 
 envious of their possessor. ' Curse this man,' 
 said he to himself, ' why cannot I have these 
 things — have them ? I will have them ; what 
 jmoney can buy, I can buy.' At the same time 
 he saw that though Sommerton had cost 
 thousands more than Sir Michael had in his 
 whole estate, there was nothing like the library 
 at Spring Vale Manor. There was one thing- 
 he could not have ; and, strange to say for a
 
 Mr, Bradjield's Proposal. 57 
 
 strong-minded, practical, business-like man, the 
 want stirred him cruelly. It seems odd enough 
 to you or to me that such a man could have 
 felt the absence of what could apparently have 
 been of no practical use to him. It seems 
 almost childish. Yet as he looked round the 
 room he coveted really nothing but those grim 
 warriors, those statesmen, that poet, and field 
 marechal with his baton. He know he could 
 buy everything else, but he could not buy them. 
 If Spring Vale Manor itself belonged to him 
 to-morrow, with everything in it, as it stood, 
 those pictures would still be the possessions of 
 an age and a name with which the Bradfields 
 had had nothing to do. 
 
 What a strange thing this is — this family 
 pride ! this love of ancestry ! and with this man 
 it was a ruling passion. He knew he might 
 have been great, had he not been mean ; his 
 son probably would be so. He might have 
 been good, or learned, or accomplished. Sapiens 
 et Rex; he was wealthy; he might have every- 
 thing that money could procure ; but neither
 
 58 Which is the Winner f 
 
 he nor his son could be noble. It was a sore 
 point with him. He could persuade others of 
 almost anything, even of his high birth; but he 
 could not persuade himself of it. Whence this 
 desire in men of no weakness ? probably from 
 its very inaccessibility. Wealth could procure 
 him everything ; but he never could be a 
 Carrington. It soured his disposition. Although 
 the pretension to high birth in those who have 
 it not is despicable, it holds a high rank in the 
 qualifications of those who really possess it. 
 They are frequently and strongly impressed by 
 it ; and when higher motives are deficient it 
 has been known to exercise a great and good 
 influence. For the highly-born we should be 
 sorry to see it despised, to the lowly Ave re- 
 commend the cultivation of a better principle 
 of action. Abel Bradfield's thoughts had taken 
 a shorter cut, and a different one, to our dis- 
 cussion, and in the midst of his reverie the 
 baronet entered the room. 
 
 These two men stood face to face, and as Sir 
 Michael advanced towards the fireplace, near
 
 Mr. Bradfield's Proposal, 59 
 
 which his neighbour was standing, this chill 
 October evening, the most casual observer 
 might have remarked the difference between 
 them. They were types of two classes, wide 
 asunder at that period, and they were as wide 
 asunder as the two types could be. Both had 
 their faults, but there was scarcely a virtue or 
 vice which belonged to them in common. 
 
 Sir Michael Carrington was very tall and 
 thin : he stooped more than slightly, from the 
 neck, not from the shoulders, which were 
 straight and flat. His face w^ore the stamp of 
 high breeding ; the features were thin and 
 delicate ; the eyes grey, with strong, dark brows 
 and long lashes ; the mouth set, and rather 
 obstinate ; the nose large, but the nostrils long 
 and handsome ; the forehead high, but narrow ; 
 and the hair covering the head, but straight and 
 grey ; complexion sanguine and clear, as of one 
 much given to the open air ; his hands a little 
 coarse for a man of such palpably high breed- 
 ing, probably from field sports, as they were said 
 to be the finest on a young horse that England
 
 60 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 had ever produced. He was plainly dressed in 
 black, and wore short breeches and black silk 
 stockings. He had not yet begun trousers, 
 either night or day. 
 
 Abel Bradfield was a taH man, too, but not so 
 tall, upright as he stood, as the baronet with his 
 stoop. He had come from Sommerton without 
 those graces of the toilette in which Sir Michael 
 had risen from the dinner table. He was 
 dressed in a plain frock coat, coloured trousers, 
 and ordinary boots ; he wore a coloured neck- 
 cloth, and his coat was buttoned at the top, but 
 opened below, where an old-fashioned watch- 
 ribbon and seals were manifest. His face was 
 hard and flat ; his features straight, and, though 
 they were well shaped, his eyes had a wasted- 
 out appearance, and looked cruel. He was 
 closely shaven and cropped, and his face was 
 without a particle of colour. Under ordinary 
 circumstances, he looked like a wealthy man of 
 the middle class, sufficiently conscious of his 
 own powers; at present he was the picture of* 
 well-feimed humility. Fie might have been
 
 Mr. Bradjield's Proposal 61 
 
 any age from forty to sixty. He was nearer the 
 latter. He was standing when Sir Michael 
 entered the room. 
 
 'To what am I to attribute the honour of 
 this visit?' said the baronet; and, as he spoke, 
 he continued to advance towards the table, on 
 which he placed a small silver candlestick, with- 
 out extinguishing it, or making any movement 
 towards taking a seat. We regret to add, for 
 the honour of Sir Michael's hospitality, that he 
 forofot to offer one to his oruest, too. 
 
 ' I could not help feeling. Sir Michael,' 
 replied the other, looking, not down, nor up, but 
 right away over the baronet's shoulder, 'that 
 this movement on our part, of which you must 
 have heard to-day, at Saxonby, must have an — 
 an — unfriendly, a — a — hostile appearance on 
 our part, which it is far from my desire that it 
 should assume.' Here the speaker ventured to 
 look at his companion, but he saw nothing in 
 the hardly-restrained temper (for such it was) of 
 Sir Michael to encourage him to proceed. He 
 wisely waited.
 
 62 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 * I should be glad to know whom you mean 
 to include in your party before I acknowledge 
 any opponent but yourself, sir.' Sir Michael 
 literally shook with suppressed indignation, and 
 his thin lips closed tightly as his nostrils ex- 
 panded. 
 
 ' Let me assure you. Sir Michael, that I have 
 intruded upon you at this time, that I might 
 seize the first opportunity of stating my regret 
 at being the cause of personal inconvenience.' 
 
 Sir Michael regarded the ex-manufacturer 
 with a contempt scarcely to be expressed. 
 ' What ! fight the battle with such a cur ? ' 
 thought he, * upon the terms I would have fought 
 it with the Crackboroughs, or Packington, or 
 Glanville, or any of the old Whig families.' 
 
 ' I don't know what Mr. Bradfield,' — here he 
 looked at the card he held in his hand, as if he 
 could not recall the name of so insignificant a 
 person without it — ' what Mr. Bradfield may 
 consider personal inconvenience, but such re- 
 grets are no answer to my question.' 
 
 ' Of course I am aware that the sentiments
 
 Mr, Bradjield's Proposal. 63 
 
 of the county have been frequently expressed, 
 and so ably represented in the person of your 
 own family, Sir Michael, but times are a little 
 chancred. Excuse me for the — the — suo-ores- 
 
 O CO 
 
 tion ; and — and — there is a party — ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir, there is a party,' struck in the 
 baronet, carried beyond all bounds by the recol- 
 lection of the personal inconvenience hinted at, 
 and by the fawning sycophancy of his opponent, 
 there is a party, which would never have moved 
 in the matter, but for the meddling interference 
 of other persons, who can have no object in view 
 but the setting a county in flames to gratify 
 their own vanity. The principles you advocate 
 have no sort of claim upon the gentlemen of 
 
 shire. They've been tried before. There 
 
 was some triumph in contesting it with Pack- 
 ington or Glanville, but it doesn't appear that 
 either of these gentlemen is disposed to risk the 
 peace of the county for the sake of putting 
 the Conservatives to a useless expense.' 
 
 During this speech, which was delivered 
 volubly enough, but with occasional hesitation,
 
 64 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 caused by the violence of the baronet's anger, 
 Abel Bradfield dropped his eyes and bit his lip 
 sharply. But if it be true that self-restraint is 
 the mark of high breeding, certainly the manu- 
 facturer had the best of the blood. In truth, at 
 no time was Sir Michael accustomed to restrain 
 himself. He was not naturally a violent per- 
 son ; in his home he was always a perfect gen- 
 tleman ; his patience and determination with a 
 young horse were exemplary; but he blew up 
 his field in fine old-fashioned language when he 
 was master of the shire hounds ; he ex- 
 acted implicit obedience from his tenants; and 
 cursed and swore with a heartiness worthy of 
 the old school at anybody that thwarted him. 
 Sir Michael had neither the dignity of a great 
 man, nor the patience of a good one ; but he 
 had his virtues, and one of them was openness, 
 and another courage. Had the squire of Som- 
 merton resented the insolence of the baronet of 
 Spring Vale Manor, it is probable that he might 
 have excited less antipathy than fell to his lot. 
 His Christian patience was sadly belied; and as
 
 Mr, Br ad field's Proposal. 65 
 
 he turned the other cheek the baronet did not 
 hesitate to smite it. 
 
 ' Sir Michael, I am, indeed, anxious that, as 
 neighbours, no ill-feeling should exist between us/ 
 
 * D — his impudence,' muttered Sir Michael. 
 ' I have, therefore, ventured out to-night, 
 
 trusting that a few minutes' conversation might 
 perhaps give me a closer insight into your feel- 
 ings on this subject. With your great experi- 
 ence of county politics, and the influential posi- 
 tion you and your family have held for so many 
 generations, is there nothing that you, Sir 
 Michael, would venture to suggest, which would 
 satisfy the — the — reasonable demands of — of — 
 well — a very large party ? ' 
 
 * I don't understand you, sir ; and am as far 
 from the object of your visit as when I first 
 came into the room.' The baronet had assumed 
 a dogged appearance of injury in lieu of his 
 suppressed passion, which sat well upon him ; 
 he threw himself into a chair on one side of the 
 fireplace and motioned to Abel Bradfield to do 
 the same. 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 Gi^ Which is the Winner? 
 
 ' Has no sort of compromise ever occurred to 
 you, Sir Michael, as possible ? It is far from 
 my wish to be at enmity with a near neighbour ; 
 and if, by any means — ' 
 
 * None whatever, sir. Colonel Spence de- 
 serves — ' 
 
 'Colonel Spence, my dear sir? Nothing 
 could be further from my intention than to pro- 
 pose anything derogatory to a man of his posi- 
 tion ; but if it were possible — second thoughts 
 are often best — and if by our retirement I could 
 prove to you my wish to — to — to — ' The rest 
 of the sentence stuck in the throat of the 
 manufacturer, for, what with the scheme which 
 he had in view, and his apprehension of offend- 
 ing his own friends, and the Earl of Crack- 
 borough, he was beginning to doubt the feasibi- 
 lity of his intentions. 
 
 ' Retirement ? ' The baronet hardly knew 
 what to make of this suggestion; it was so 
 utterly unlike himself, or his conception of any- 
 thing that could have happened under the cir- 
 cumstances ; and although he hated the man
 
 Mr, Bradjield's Proposal, G7 
 
 cordially, he was fully alive to the fact of saving 
 some thousands, which he could very ill afford. 
 * Retirement ? That's quite another matter. I 
 was at a loss to understand the reason of an 
 opposition. It must be very clear that the 
 chances of success — ' 
 
 ' We'll not enter upon that subject. Sir 
 Michael. The last thing I should wish would 
 be to place myself in antagonism to the general 
 feeling of the neighbourhood ; and certainly the 
 hope of saving you from personal anxiety will 
 add to the inducement to retire from the posi- 
 tion with which I was to be honoured in the 
 person of my son.' 
 
 'j\Ir. Bradfield, it would be absurd to pretend 
 that this contest was of no importance to the 
 Conservative interest ; every man has a right 
 to his own opinions. For your personal expres- 
 sions of regard I ought to be much obliged, 
 and—' 
 
 ' I trust, Sir Michael, that the unfortunate 
 circumstances which — ' 
 
 'That's a painful subject, sir, and the less said 
 
 F 2
 
 68 Which is the Winner 1 
 
 about it the better. You must not be surprised 
 that circumstances make it difficult to forget 
 that a stranger has usurped the property which 
 belonged to this family since the days of Henry 
 VIII. ; ' and Sir Michael flushed with the pain- 
 ful remembrance of the facts, of which every 
 walk, every ride, nay, every prospect from the 
 windows of his house reminded him. Bradfield 
 affected deep feeling of sympathy. 
 
 Both were silent for a few moments. Sir 
 Michael was about to rise, when Bradfield 
 rejoined, fixing his eyes on the ground, and 
 speaking with considerable hesitation — ' If I 
 might venture without offence, accident has — 
 yes, accident. Sir Michael, has put me in posses- 
 sion — circumstances have arisen which might 
 smooth the difficulties under which the question 
 of our property lies.' There was so much em- 
 barrassment in the speaker's manner, as well as 
 his words, that none but a person conversant 
 with the circumstances could have understood 
 him. 
 
 ' You speak in enigmas, Mr. Bradfield.'
 
 Mr, BradjieWs Proposal. 69 
 
 * Hear me with patience, sir. I feel the diffi- 
 culties of my position in regard to yourself ; yet 
 there are families of rank in this county, as 
 well as in many others, in which the manufac- 
 turing interest, the representatives of the com- 
 mercial powers of England, are regarded as 
 almost on a footing — yes, Sir Michael — on a 
 footing with the great agricultural interests of 
 the country/ 
 
 *That, sir, is a matter of opinion, at all 
 events;' and the baronet drew himself up to 
 his full height. 
 
 ' The late Sir Robert Peel—' 
 
 ' Was a deserter from the ranks of those who 
 had pushed him into place and supported him 
 in it. But I don't see the drift of your 
 remarks.' 
 
 'I have then, to be brief, I have, Sir 
 Michael,' and here again the parvenu stopped, 
 but seeing nothing very threatening in Sir 
 Michael's face, he resumed, looking straight 
 over his shoulder. ' I have a son, and you — ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir, I have a son too, who, I hope, will
 
 70 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 represent this county, Mr. Bradfield, when you 
 and I are at rest.' The good temper of the 
 tone which the baronet had assumed since 
 his expectation of a contest was diminished, 
 encouraged him to proceed. 
 
 ' I was not going to say that ; I would have 
 said a daughter, Sir Michael.' 
 
 ' Then allow me to state that the coupling of 
 the two names together is, whatever others may 
 think, a gross insult, and I am surprised that 
 you should have come to my own house to offer 
 it.' Sir Michael walked towards the bell which 
 he rang violently. ' No, sir, I couldn't purchase 
 the peace of England at such a compromise of 
 personal self-respect. Of your son I know 
 nothing ; but if he came here as a pauper to- 
 morrow to ask for my daughter, and she was 
 again the coheiress to every acre of land which 
 your father and you have pillaged from the 
 Carrington property, I would rather have 
 received him as her suitor than as the son 
 and heir of Abel Bradfield. Mr. Bradfi eld's 
 carriage, Simpson ; has my lady rung for tea ? '
 
 Mr. Bradjield's Proposal. 71 
 
 *Yes, Sir Michael.' 
 
 * Then I'Jl wish Mr. Bradfield a good evening.' 
 
 Simpson stood respectfully at the door, whilst 
 his master walked steadily but quickly out, 
 leaving his late guest in the full enjoyment of 
 the Spring Vale library. 
 
 We have said that the manufacturer w^as 
 not a good-tempered man. Had he been so 
 he might have been forgiven for an outbreak ; 
 he was however too much surprised to reply 
 before Sir Michael was gone, and as he 
 followed the servant to the hall door a saturnine 
 sneer was all that betrayed his indignation, as 
 he muttered to himself, ' I can afford to laugh ; 
 let those laugh that win ; that last speech has 
 cost you a good five thousand, my haughty 
 friend, and your daughter thirty thousand a 
 year. I suppose you can afford it.' 
 
 The servant stood at the carriage door while 
 Mr. Abel Bradfield finished his soliloquy. 
 ' Where to, sir? ' said the man. 
 
 ' Home, sir, to Sommerton — where the devil 
 should I go to from here ? '
 
 72 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 ' Papa dear,' said Evelyn Carrington, as her 
 father entered the room, ' your tea's almost cold ; 
 I've rung for some more.' 
 
 * Thank you, my dear, no tea, I don't want 
 any tea,' and the baronet walked straight to the 
 fireplace at once. * Darville.' 
 
 'Sir Michael.' 
 
 'Do you know what that infernal cur, Mr. 
 Bradfield, wanted here to-night ? ' 
 
 ' Probably to ascertain his chance of success 
 by visiting the head-quarters of the enemy. 
 Perhaps to make some proposal. But that's 
 out of rule; he should have applied to me, as 
 your agent — ' 
 
 ' He's not only a rogue, but a coward ; have 
 as little to do with him as possible, Darville.' 
 - 'I see but little of him, Sir Michael, ex- 
 cepting in the way of business ; we lawyers are 
 open to all calls upon our time, and you know 
 I never talk politics, except at a general 
 election, and then all on one side.' 
 
 'Now, my lady, won't your aunt have her 
 rubber? Walter, you and Stafford must make
 
 Mr, Bradjield's Proposal. 73 
 
 up the table to-night. I want to talk to 
 Darville. Aunt Phillj, you must take Stafford 
 instead of me.' Saying which the squire walked 
 out of the room followed by Darville. 
 
 Lady Carrington looked up from her cards 
 at her son : ' I wonder what that man wanted 
 here to-night; your father's put out about 
 something.' 
 
 ' Not very surprising, mother. It's the first 
 time any one of that family ever set foot in the 
 Manor House, I should think (that's the trick 
 and two by honours).' 
 
 * Not quite the first, Stafford, unluckily for 
 you,' said Aunt Philly, showing her suit, and 
 leading a trump. 
 
 * I should think my father, by the look of 
 him, intends it to be the last, at all events. 
 Your lead, Walter.' 
 
 * Nobody knows what he may do, with 
 Darville at his elbow,' rejoined the old lady; 
 * I can't trust him, sir ; I have a great horror 
 of lawyers generally, and when they tack 
 "honest" to their name, I despair of them
 
 74 Which is the Winner? 
 
 altogether. I can't believe in honest Hugh 
 Darville not being a rogue. " There is a modest 
 backwardness in virtue to expose her naked 
 beauties ; it's the harlot vice who endeavours 
 to set off her charms to attract men's applause." 
 That was written by Mr. Fielding, my dear,' 
 added the old lady, seeing her grand-niece's 
 look of astonishment; *it's too naughty a book 
 to be read now-a-days, but it has more good in 
 it than all the modern novels put together.' 
 Here the rubber finished. *What have we 
 won, Stafford ? ' 
 
 ' A double, single, and the rub, five points ; 
 I'll settle with my mother.' 
 
 ' Do so ; I'll take tithe of the rector. My 
 dear, ring the bell. I'm sure my maid's come,' 
 and the old lady shouldered her crutch. 
 
 'Surely you'll have the pony chaise, aunt. 
 They've got it ready.' 
 
 ' No, my dear, I'm much safer on foot ; my 
 woman is better than any pony in the world.' 
 
 'But it takes you so long to walk. The 
 pony is best, you shall drive.'
 
 Mr, Bradjield's Proposal, 75 
 
 * No, Evelyn, I tell you. I've a stick in one 
 hand, and an honest patient old ass in the other, 
 and that's enough for me. Good-night.' 
 
 The eccentric old lady rose as she spoke, 
 hobbled slowly to the door with the assistance of 
 her grand-nephew, Walter, who offered in vain 
 to see her and her maid to their cottage, and 
 took her way down the avenue. The rector re- 
 mained to smoke a cigar with his cousin Stafford. 
 
 When Abel Bradfield arrived at Sommerton 
 things wxre all at sixes and sevens. Mrs. 
 Bradfield had retired to her room. Lawrence 
 was not indoors, had gone out to smoke a cigar, 
 and Ellen Bradfield sat alone at the tea table 
 ready to receive her father. Ellen was the 
 only person towards whom he never exhibited 
 violent temper. Mrs. Bradfield had for years 
 given way — she was accustomed to bend to 
 fitful blasts of her husband's ill-humour as the 
 only means of leading a quiet and peaceful life. 
 Poor woman ! it was just what she w^as fitted 
 for. She w^as a kind-hearted, affectionate, 
 sweet-tempered little woman, with quite sense
 
 76 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 enough to see the results of opposition ; and 
 from the earliest days of married life had 
 always avoided the storm. When she knew it 
 must come, she usually went to bed. 
 
 Laurence Bradfield was not equally pacific, 
 for he liked his own way, and usually contrived 
 to have it. But he never descended to the 
 indignity of a personal quarrel. The storm 
 which blew over his mother, appeared to blow 
 all round him and leave him standing without 
 scathe in the midst of it all. It certainly was 
 very provoking to see his patent superiority, 
 and yet to know that he felt none ; that it was 
 as much an accident of his nature, as lying to a 
 Yankee, or cruelty to a Russian. While all the 
 world were astonished at it, he did not himself 
 appear to be the least aware of it. Yet it had 
 all the consequences to his opponent of a 
 violent and unsuccessful struggle; it usually 
 sent him away howling or skulking to his own 
 den. Abel Bradfield admired his son without 
 loving him ; possibly Laurence loved his father 
 without respecting him. He was not by any
 
 Mr, Bradfield's Proposal, 77 
 
 means naturally a good temper, but be bad 
 arrived at sucb a thorougb command of bimself, 
 as to be nearly unamiable from bis want of 
 sympatby witb an almost universal failing. 
 
 Tbe ill-bumour in wbich Mr. Bradfield in- 
 dulged was of tbe vulgarest and coarsest kind. 
 It was perfectly undiscriminating as to time, 
 place, or person, witb some few exceptions. 
 His daugbter was one; and sbe sbared the 
 distinction witb all men of superior rank to 
 himself. Abel Bradfield was afraid of rank: 
 he had never been accustomed to it. He was 
 neither a public-school nor university man ; and 
 though he bad been accustomed to wealth and 
 talent, and bad rubbed shoulders with many 
 men and minds, be was afraid essentially of a 
 well-born gentleman. Could he only have kept 
 a small, the very smallest of Irish lords as his 
 household god, he would have been temperate 
 in all his sayings, and thoroughly subdued. 
 
 As he passed from bis carriage to the draw- 
 ing-room door, it was already manifest that 
 something had gone wrong.
 
 78 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 * The lamps never do burn here — everybody 
 else can have his lamps bright enough. Whose 
 business is it to see to the lamps ? ' 
 
 ' The oil, sir, is newly come in, and — ' began 
 the footman, in the most obsequious of voices. 
 
 ' D — the oil ; whose business is it to see to 
 the lamps ? ' 
 
 * Mine ; and Williams, sir, looks after them.' 
 ' You and Williams ! Then you can go for 
 
 your wages to Mr.Compton to-morrow. Where's 
 your mistress ? ' and, without waiting for a reply, 
 he walked straight to the drawing-room door. ^ 
 
 'And so — ' began Mr. Bradfield, in a tone 
 of voice evidently meant for his wife ; when 
 seeing Ellen alone in the room, he immediately 
 arrested himself, and said, ' My dear Ellen, is 
 that you ? What's become of your mother ? ' 
 
 ' I heard the carriage — here's your tea, papa. 
 I kept you a cup, as both mamma and Lau- 
 rence have finished some time.' 
 
 The young lady raised one of the most 
 beautiful faces possible as she said these words, 
 and resumed her book, which had been inter-
 
 Mr. Bradjield's Pro'posal. 79 
 
 rupted by her father's sudden entrance. He 
 sat down on a sofa at some distance, and took 
 up a periodical and a paper-knife. 
 
 ' What time did Laurence arrive ? ' said he, 
 after a few minutes' pause. 
 
 * Just after you started. He had been de- 
 tained at his club on business, and could not 
 get down to dinner.' 
 
 * What business could Laurence have at his 
 club, when I wanted him here ? ' 
 
 ' He might have a great deal, pa' dear ; I 
 believe he was with his friend Cartwright, who 
 wanted an introduction to Laurence's pub- 
 lishers — he's bringing out a book on Poland. 
 Another cup of tea, papa ? ' 
 
 All this was said in a distinct, measured tone, 
 with a determination not to see that her father 
 was annoyed, though no one was quicker than 
 Ellen in detecting it. Like most women, she 
 had a quick apprehension, and, like fewer, an 
 excellent judgment in making the most of it. 
 
 ' I wish he was less with his publishing 
 friends than he is. His position in the county
 
 80 Which is the Winner'? 
 
 ought to be of more importance to him than all 
 the Poles put together. What the devil can it 
 signify to us whether there's a Pole more or a 
 Pole less in the world ? ' 
 
 ' But, papa dear, I suppose it signifies whe- 
 ther the cruelties practised against them are a 
 disgrace to a civilized era or not. Besides, they 
 are people of higher intelligence than their 
 masters, and it seems extraordinary that they 
 should not have found friends enough to main- 
 tain their independence.' 
 
 * Higher intelligence ought to be able to 
 maintain its own.' 
 
 * They might be of greater use to England 
 than at present by a more extensive importation 
 of our manufactures.' 
 
 Bradfield, indignant as he still felt, was be- 
 ginning to soften under the influence of his 
 daughter's imperturbability. 
 
 ' You know, papa, Laurence has interested 
 himself very much in the question. He has 
 written an article or two on the subject in the 
 " Continental Magazine," and holds some pecu-
 
 Mr. BradfieWs Proposal. 81 
 
 liar views of his own about the freedom of 
 Poland.' 
 
 ' I should be curious to know what his views 
 upon any subject are.' 
 
 ' Well, he says Poland always has been go- 
 verned by the women, and the women by the 
 priests ; and he says I ought to have been a 
 Pole/ 
 
 * I don't see it,' said her father, who shut his 
 periodical and looked at his daughter, who 
 raised the handsomest blue eyes in England to 
 his face as she replied, 
 
 ' Because I manage everybody, and make 
 them do as I like, excepting Mr. Scarsdale, the 
 new Curate of Sommerton, and he manages me.' 
 This was said with an openness of brow and 
 an evenness of expression which boded badly 
 for Scarsdale, if he had the remotest ideas of 
 anything beyond ordinary friendship ; never- 
 theless her father's brow darkened at once. 
 As he gloomily resumed his book, the door 
 opened, and Laurence Bradfield entered the 
 room. Ellen retired. 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 82 Which is the Winner? 
 
 Perhaps no two persons, having any resem- 
 blance, were less alike than the father and the 
 son. We have already described the father. 
 Laurence was taller by two or three inches, 
 almost gaunt in his proportions, having long 
 limbs, a broad chest and shoulders, but a some- 
 what slouching gait. He had an appearance 
 of having somew^hat outgrown his proportions, 
 not his strength, which was great. But it was 
 rather the vis inertice, an unenergetic mass, 
 which required something to set it in motion. 
 Once impelled, it might not so easily be 
 stopped. His face was the beau ideal of Saxon 
 beauty ; his complexion fair as a woman ; his 
 hair chesnut and uncurled ; his forehead open 
 and clear, marked with truth and intellect ; his 
 nose delicately formed ; his mouth tolerably 
 large, well-shaped, and with a short upper lip ; 
 remarkably good teeth ; the delicacy of his 
 complexion and features were atoned for by a 
 firm, determined chin — the only feature which 
 reminded us of his father's hard nature. It 
 was a very peculiar face. It reflected a variety
 
 Mr, Bradjield's Proposal. 83 
 
 of feelings, no passions. It was thoughtful, 
 calm, yet full of humour and intelligence. Its 
 habitual expression was contentment. 
 
 The father and son greeted one another, not 
 cordially. On the one side was a shade of 
 distrust — the good-humoured, confident smile 
 gave way to a thoughtful look. Abel Bradfield 
 shook his son by the hand, with an effort at 
 conciliation as it seemed ; half afraid of him, 
 and rather deprecating a quarrel, yet not wholly 
 able to restrain a sort of dislike. 
 
 ' I am sorry I was not in time for your 
 dinner-hour, but I was detained in town by an 
 appointment.' 
 
 'So Ellen has told me. I have been en- 
 gaged partly on your business this evening : 
 there's plenty to do to-morrow down here.' 
 
 * So I understand, sir I hope you've not 
 overtasked your powers.' 
 
 * What do you mean, Laurence ? The sup- 
 port promised us is sufficient to make even 
 failure desirable in our case.' 
 
 ' It has never occurred to me that failure in 
 
 g2
 
 84 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 anything is desirable. I have had some con- 
 versation in town, and since with my mother, 
 on the subject.' 
 
 * It doesn't strike me as being of any sort of 
 importance to your mother.' 
 
 ^ I take a different view of my obligations, 
 my dear father; however that's neither here 
 nor there.' 
 
 Saying which, Laurence Bradfield rose lazily, 
 stretched out his hand to ring the bell, and 
 ordered some seltzer water and the sherry. 
 
 ' I neither know nor care what your sense of 
 your obligations may be ; the first you owe are 
 to me and to the position I have made for you 
 in this county. It's not to be kept without 
 some sacrifice of self-indulgence.' 
 
 ' If you had said self-respect, I should have 
 said that no one should know that better than 
 ourselves. But what's the use of quarrelling 
 about such trifles, father ? We'll talk it all over 
 to-morrow. Good-night.' 
 
 * But I wish to talk it over to-night.' 
 Laurence sat down again. He listened with
 
 Mr. BradfielcVs Proposal. 85 
 
 apparent attention and good-humour to bis 
 father's account of what had heen done, which 
 he already knew : that he himself was to be 
 tbe Whig candidate; that intelligence of these 
 measures had been already forwarded to Saxonby 
 through Mr. Darville ; and that to-morrow an 
 address was to be submitted to a committee, to 
 which the name of Laurence Brad field Avould 
 be appended. He then took his candle, with a 
 smile, in which there was a little defiance and 
 a great deal of humour, and wished his father 
 a 'Good-night' once more. On the landing- 
 he knocked at his sisters door. 
 
 * So, I hear, I'm to be Lord Crackborough's 
 nominee. First step to the woolsack, Ellen.' 
 And he retired to rest, with the same comfort- 
 able smile.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 LORD MENTMORE. 
 
 ' Well, honour is the subject of my story.' 
 
 Shakespeake's Jul. Cces. 
 
 When Abel Bradfield came down to breakfast 
 the next morning, he came down alone; and, 
 bv the look of his face, he was excellent com- 
 pany for himself. Before long, however, he 
 was joined by Ellen, and then by Mrs. Brad- 
 field. When breakfast was nearly finished, 
 Laurence Bradfield appeared. 
 
 ' Ring the bell, Ellen.' Laurence did so. 
 
 *The carriage at eleven o'clock,' said Mr. 
 Bradfield, senior ; ' and Thomas,' added Mr. 
 Bradfield, junior, ' tell Wilson to put the saddle 
 on the old pony for me.' 
 
 ' Yes, sir,' said the man after the most ap- 
 proved fashion, and retired.
 
 Lord Mentmore, 87 
 
 ' Where are you going? Surely I'm to have 
 your company, Laurence, to Saxonby. Your 
 address should be out to-day, or you'll have 
 that fellow Carrington all over the county 
 before you've started.' 
 
 * I am not going to oppose the Carringtons,' 
 said his son, with as much good humour as if it 
 was quite an affair of the most ordinary kind. 
 
 *I beg your pardon, but you are,' said his 
 father, with a very dark brow. 
 
 ' Indeed, I am not,' rejoined the other with 
 a little more determination. 
 
 * You are pledged to do so, sir.' 
 
 * By whom, my dear father — by Lord Crack- 
 borough, or Mr. Packington V 
 
 His father winced a little, and then said, ' By 
 me, Laurence.' 
 
 ' Your word is your bond, father, doubtless ; 
 but in this instance I cannot allow your obliga- 
 tion to bind me. There are plenty of reasons 
 for this determination. I don't think with 
 them ; I don't care for them.' 
 
 ' Not care for them ? Lord Crackborough,
 
 88 Which is the Wi 
 
 inner 
 
 and the Honourable Louis Packington.' And 
 between passion and surprise Abel Bradfield 
 nearly choked himself. 
 
 ' I'm sorry it should annoy you, but I do not 
 intend to oppose Sir Michael Carrington in any 
 way, directly or indirectly.' And, drinking off 
 his tea, he rose from the table very deliberately 
 and took himself to the stables. In half-an- 
 hour he was in Saxonby in the lodgings of Mr. 
 Scarsdale, the curate of Sommerton. 
 
 As Mr. Bradfield, senior, knew his son 
 remarkably well, and was quite aware that 
 remonstrance was thrown away upon him, he 
 contented himself with abusing his wife, and 
 discharging a servant or two ; he also gave 
 some orders relative to the cottages in the 
 villages of Sommerton which inflicted hard- 
 ships upon innocent people, and departed to 
 concoct some fresh schemes for defeatinof the 
 man whom he was unable to cajole. 
 
 ' So, I hear we're to have no contest after 
 all,' said Mr. Parrott, the chief saddler of Sax- 
 onby, about a week later, to his friend Mr.
 
 Lord Mentmore. 89 
 
 Brand, the chief bookseller. ' I thought we 
 was to have a bit o' life, John — we've waited 
 for it long enough.* 
 
 'Yes! what with the .coaches that are gone, 
 and the trade that's carried away by the rail to 
 Normanton, and the death of old Doctor Rear- 
 don, there's not much doing. As to the elec- 
 tion, you know, my brother-in-law's one of the 
 tenants at Sommerton, and he says as the old 
 man wanted to start himself when IMr. Lau- 
 rence refused, but the party wouldn't let him.' 
 
 ' I shouldn't a voted for the old man, cer- 
 tainly not,' said Mr. Parrott ; * never set his foot 
 in my shop but once, and then it was to blow 
 up about something or other. The young 
 gent's well enough, they say, and got a deal o' 
 book learnin' ; but you know best about that. 
 Master Brand.' 
 
 'Ah! ah! he's a cleverish hand, I hear, one 
 o' your great college men. Not that I've much 
 opinion of them, myself. But they tell me he 
 does all the good in the parish, and just man- 
 ages to smooth the ways Squire Bradfield makes
 
 90 Which is the Winner? 
 
 rough. He must have a hard time of it, and 
 plenty on his hands.' Here old Brand chuckled 
 as if he'd said rather a good thing. 
 
 * There are a good many here would have 
 given the young 'un a vote ; they'd have divided 
 between him and Sir Michael. We don't see 
 much of Colonel Spence in this neighbourhood, 
 and one likes to have a townsman, if possible. 
 I w^onder how old Darville manages between 
 the two, he must have a rough time of it.' 
 
 ' Darville does pretty much as he hkes with 
 Sir Michael, and I expect Mr. Bradfield can't 
 get on without him. It's pretty certain they're 
 not of the same way of thinking, though he is 
 his agent. I've often thought there was a some- 
 thing or other that we don't know about.' 
 
 Here Mr. Brand looked very wisely out of 
 the corner of one eye, and Mr. Parrott winked 
 with the corresponding orbit at him, as much 
 as to say, if I could be quite sure now — he 
 hesitated a moment, however, and then asked 
 an apparently irrelevant question. 
 
 * You're getting in years, Brand, and you
 
 Lord Mentmore. 91 
 
 used to see a good deal o' the great folks about 
 here when Saxonby was more of a place than 
 it is now. I've heard say they used to come in 
 formerly with their carriages and horses of a 
 market-day, and stand about in your shop, and at 
 Bates's, and talk over the counters, just for all 
 the world as w^e do ourselves ; now, do you re- 
 collect ever seeing old Sir Reginald Carrington, 
 him as was killed on the road between Nor- 
 manton and Spring Vale?' 
 
 ' Oh ! bless ye, yes ; it ain't above thirty year 
 ago. Fine handsome old gentleman he was. 
 The present baronet was a tall handsome young 
 fellow then. Ah! there was some queer stories 
 afloat about Abel Bradfield's father and old 
 Darville. There was a great lawsuit too about 
 some missing papers ; it was tried three times ; 
 but they couldn't make head or tail of it. 
 They never caught the highwaymen, and the 
 baronet was so shook he never got over it. 
 Why that property of Sommerton must be worth 
 twelve thousand a-year now, since they found 
 iron and coal, and have taken to smeltinor and
 
 92 Which is the Winner? 
 
 so on. Every acre of it belonged to the Car- 
 ringtons. There's something wrong surelie, 
 but it'll never be set right now.' 
 
 At that moment, there turned the corner of 
 the High Street a sight which was always wel- 
 come in Saxonby. It was a man in scarlet on 
 a remarkably fine horse, who had returned from 
 hunting rather early in the day. It was the 
 beginning of the season, and he attracted more 
 attention than usual. He came slowly towards 
 the two townsmen, who both stared at him as 
 he approached. Opposite to them he stopped, 
 and said, ' Will you tell me which road out of 
 the town I must take to get to Spring Vale?' 
 
 ' Certainly, sir,' said Parrott ; ' cross the Mar- 
 ket Place, go down the hill past the Town Hall, 
 and bear to the left — two miles will bring you 
 to Sir Michael Carrington's lodge-gate.' Whilst 
 he yet spoke, and as the gentleman was slightly 
 raising his hat to thank the tradesman who had 
 directed him, Scarsdale came down the door- 
 steps of his lodging. 
 
 * Scarsdale ! ' said the stranger, smiling ; and
 
 Lord Mentmore, 93 
 
 it was a pleasant face to look at when it 
 smiled. 
 
 *Mentmore!' said the other, somewhat sur- 
 prised. 
 
 ' My dear boy, what are you doing here ? 
 blacked, I see by your white neckcloth — but I 
 thought you were to have had the good living 
 of Broomfield ; a family living, is it not?' 
 
 * Yes ! but you forget that John Muck les tone 
 has not yet killed himself with the York and 
 Ainstey.' 
 
 * No ! and never will ; when men ride as he 
 does, they take a great deal of killing. There 
 are many good ones of your cloth, but he is the 
 very best I ever have seen. I shall have to 
 provide for you at last. Where are your 
 quarters? ' 
 
 ' Here in the town. My cure is about two 
 miles off, at Sommerton ; but where have you 
 been, Mentmore, and where are you going, 
 unde et quo f ' 
 
 ' I've been with the shire. Had a very 
 
 quick thing, lamed one horse, and am riding
 
 94 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 the other over to Spring Vale. You know the 
 Carringtons ? ' 
 
 * No ! very slightly. I belong to the opposite 
 faction.' 
 
 ' What is the opposite faction ? ' 
 
 ' Here it comes.' 
 
 ' At that moment an open barouche, of the 
 very best possible pattern, and only disfigured 
 by too ornamental harness, and a pair of horses, 
 if possible, a little too grand for a country 
 market-town, pulled up with a jerk at the 
 chemist's door, near which the two young men 
 were talking. In the carriage was a quiet 
 amiable-looking woman, of middle age ; and by 
 her side a lovely girl, with large clear hazel 
 eyes, and a profusion of burnished gold about 
 her brow and face, which invited criticism to 
 defy it. Scarsdale raised his hat. 
 
 * What a lovely girl ! I should like to belong 
 to the opposite faction; but good-by. I'll 
 come to see you to-morrow; you must know 
 my friend Stafford Carrington, the best fellow 
 in England — good-bye.'
 
 Lord Mentmore, 95 
 
 'Who's that, Mr. Scarsdale?' said Ellen 
 Bradfield. 
 
 ' So he attracted even your attention, Miss 
 Bradfield. He's a college friend of mine. A 
 good man spoiled by fortune.' 
 
 *But who is he?' 
 
 * He has property near my father's.' 
 
 * A Yorkshire landowner, Mr. Scarsdale ? ' 
 
 ' He is ; and in various other places too,' 
 
 rejoined the curate. 
 
 ' x\nd you know him intimately ? ' 
 
 ' Very ; ' and still Scarsdale smiled good 
 
 humouredly, as he parried her thrusts. 
 
 * And his name ? come, tell me, Mr. Scars- 
 dale.' 
 
 ' Lord Mentmore ; but good-bye. Miss Brad- 
 field. I am very busy, and already late for an 
 appointment.' In another minute he was gone. 
 
 The figure that gradually disappeared down 
 the principal street of Saxonby was remarkable. 
 Looking at him from behind, he was tall, upright, 
 broad, and flat-shouldered ; he sat on his horse 
 with an ease, even at a foot's pace, which pro-
 
 9 6 Which is the Winner f 
 
 claimed to the initiated, the finished horseman. 
 His whip hung loosely in his right hand, and his 
 reins were held as loosely in his left, his knees 
 were turned slightly outwards, and his length 
 of limb in that attitude exhibited unusual 
 power over his horse. Regarding him as Mr. 
 Brand and Mr. Parrott had first seen him, he 
 was a handsome man of about thirty years of 
 age. He had an open sincerity in his deep 
 grey eyes, which was unmistakable. No man 
 could have doubted hi^ truth, though he might 
 have suspected his firmness of purpose, had 
 he seen his mouth; at present it was covered 
 by a thick, soft, light moustache. His features 
 and the shape of his face, were characteristic 
 of high blood ; and a very close observer 
 might have discovered an undercurrent of 
 temper, rather quick than settled, in the con- 
 stant play of his expression. He was never 
 the same for many minutes; and from the 
 gayest, the most childish simplicity he suddenly 
 changed to austerity, to almost settled gloom. 
 The horse he rode was quite sufficient to
 
 Lord Mentmore, 97 
 
 stamp his taste in that particular. He was 
 long, low for the man he carried, and would 
 have been remarkable for his strength, but 
 for the exhibition, in every action, of what 
 is known as quality. He had long quarters, 
 his tail was set on high, but his hocks were 
 low, a little bent, and gave a freedom to every 
 movement, which in his walk was as apparent as 
 in the quicker paces of some horses. Had you 
 or I been riding that horse, the chances are, 
 that we should have escaped observation 
 altogether : as it was, nobody could have looked 
 at anything but the man. He carried his 
 descent from the Plantagenets, in every feature 
 and in every limb. 
 
 Physiognomy is said to be a doubtful science, 
 — rather a speculation. I cannot think so,' I 
 scarcely believe in the existence of character 
 without its external development. The deepest 
 water is most moved by a transient ripple. 
 When I detect anomalies in physiognomy, I 
 believe in an error in judgment of my own ; or, 
 an oversight of some of those delicacies of detail, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 Which is the Winner? 
 
 which are the strongest indications to a professor 
 of the science. It was only judged in this way, 
 and subject to such scrutiny, that Lord Ment- 
 niore's face could have told a tale beyond the 
 proclamation of present enjoyment of all things. 
 
 As he rode down the street, he was an object 
 of speculation to more persons than one. Every 
 shop window had its occupant, and many had 
 their customers as well, who ran to the doors, 
 examining a piece of broad cloth, a piece of 
 lace, a ribbon, to have a look at the scarlet 
 coat, and the handsome stranger. Messrs. 
 Brand and Parrott watched him long, before 
 they separated, wondering who he might be. 
 
 Scarsdale let him rest on the image of his 
 brain, as a pleasing picture, which relieved him 
 agreeably from troublesome fancies ; and Ellen 
 Bradfield mused long and wonderingly on the 
 form of a man of whom she had heard much 
 and often. 
 
 * A fine match indeed, my Lady Carrington, 
 for that pretty daughter of yours. Is that the 
 game ? What a thing birth is, after all. Poor
 
 Lord Mentmore, 99 
 
 papa ! I've often laughed at his weakness. 
 But it is more than money, laugh as we will. 
 Laurence may live to think so ; and here he 
 comes.' 
 
 Laurence Bradfield was walking, and accepted 
 a seat in the carriage, to go back with his 
 mother and sister. 
 
 ' Did you meet a man in scarlet, on a beauti- 
 ful horse, as you came in from Sommerton ? ' 
 
 ' No, I came the upper road.' 
 
 ' Then he had turned towards Spring Yale 
 before you got here ? ' 
 
 ' Who was it, Ellen ; anything interesting ? ' 
 
 ' No one that we know, dear, though I 
 certainly do feel interested; it was Lord 
 Mentmore.' 
 
 * Mentmore, Lord Mentmore ? are you sure ; 
 who told you ? Where was he going ? ' and the 
 young man seemed more interested than his 
 sister. 
 
 ' One at a time, dear ; I am sure, and Mr. 
 Scarsdale told me.' 
 
 ' Scarsdale, how does he know him ? ' 
 
 h2
 
 100 Which is the Winner? 
 
 ' Neighbours and old college friends, the high 
 priest of Sommerton says. And he is gone to 
 Spring Vale Manor.' Laurence grew redder 
 than usual, but the blush receded and left him 
 pale enough. These signs were not unnoticed 
 by the vigilant eyes of his sister. 
 
 * Did Scarsdale appear very intimate with 
 him ? ' 
 
 *Well, for my chaplain, I think he did. 
 You know brazen pots and earthen vessels ought 
 not to float down quite the same channel.' 
 
 * I don't think Scarsdale considers himself an 
 earthen pot.' 
 
 * Perhaps not ; but he may be one for all 
 that. But you know Lord Mentmore ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, my dear Ellen, slightly.' 
 
 ' And is he so very formidable a person as 
 some seem to think ? ' 
 
 ' Far from it. Personally a simpler or 
 nobler fellow does not exist in England.' 
 
 'Is it his enormous wealth then, Laurence, 
 which has made him the talk of the country 
 and the Continent for the last ten years ? '
 
 Lord Mentmore. 101 
 
 * Certainly not that alone ; and he has 
 succeeded in reducing it to the dimensions of 
 a very manageable income ; but it is a com- 
 bination of extraordinary qualities, which have 
 made him the great person he is, and not the 
 least to those who know nothing about him.' 
 
 ' There is a Monte-Christo-like magnificence 
 in some of his proceedings, which delights the 
 vulgar,' said Ellen. 
 
 * The very last object he has in view. His 
 magnificence is the spontaneous demonstration 
 of his largeness of heart. He can neither think 
 nor do anything small.' At this moment Mrs. 
 Bradfield, who had been shopping in Saxonby, 
 appeared at the carriage door, the steps fell, 
 with an important noise ; the coachman squared 
 his elbows ; the footman drew himself bolt 
 upright ; Mrs. Bradfield stepped in, the door 
 closed with another bang, the footman touched 
 his hat and mounted the box, and the gayest 
 equipage, though not quite the best appointed 
 in the county, drove out of the town. 
 
 The object of this universal interest was
 
 102 Which is the Winner? 
 
 meantime sauntering onwards to Spring Vale 
 Manor. Whilst he goes on his way, we shall 
 have an opportunity of saying who Lord Ment- 
 more was. 
 
 Lord Mentmore was a man, at this time, of 
 about thirty years of age. Without being 
 exactly the richest peer in England, he had a 
 sufficiency; say 60,000/. per annum, to have 
 every requisite and some superfluities. He 
 was the remaining scion of one of the highest 
 families in this country, a descendant of a line 
 of kings. He was remarkably handsome, 
 accomplished, and of good natural abilities. 
 He was also unmarried, which added another 
 feather to his cap in the eyes of the women. 
 
 But a man might be all this, and mor^e, and 
 yet never have attained the extraordinary and 
 peculiar species of popularity of Lord Ment- 
 more. The universal influence which his name 
 carried with it arose from impressions of a 
 boundless magnificence in all he undertook. 
 He took hounds. It is not enough to say that 
 he did so at his own expense ; but the grandeur
 
 Lord Mentmore, 103 
 
 of the scale had never been equalled in the 
 crack county of England. Never had such a 
 stud in numbers or quality been got together. 
 His house during the winter was full of guests. 
 Those who had no horses were mounted as well 
 and as liberally as himself, and on not rare 
 occasions half-a-dozen second horsemen and 
 twelve horses were provided for those who 
 passed a week at Thrussington Park. He 
 shot ; and the slaughter in his covers, on, his 
 moors, and over his stubbles, was calculated by 
 hundreds over that of his neighbours. He was 
 the hete noire of the fine old sportsman who kept 
 a brace of pointers, and the penny-a-liners of the 
 sporting periodicals, who do the heavy business 
 against the 'battues.' He took to racing, not 
 as other men do, with a niggardly parsimonious 
 spirit, which regarded its winnings or losings 
 in a banker's book, but he kept a string of 
 fifty horses in training, and gave 1,000 guineas 
 for yearlings, whilst his competitors were won- 
 dering whether they might advance another 
 twenty upon a previous five hundred. The
 
 104 Which is the Wi7mer? 
 
 postboys who drove him to cover rejoiced in a 
 guinea a-head per ride; and the old women 
 and children who opened the gates were 
 cognizant of nothing under shillings and half- 
 crowns. He had a newspaper for the support 
 and exposition of his party and their opinions ; 
 hospitals for his tenants ; schools for his stable- 
 boys; gardens and grounds for the recreation 
 of a county ; unbounded luxury for his friends ; 
 and a mutton chop and a glass of sherry for 
 himself. For nine years he had resisted the 
 blandishments of the bespangled dowagers, who 
 sought him through thick and thin, though on 
 more than one occasion their importunities had 
 confined him to his dressing-room, and had 
 once given him a scarlet fever. There are 
 women whom the plague-spot itself would not 
 shake from their purpose, when in pursuit of an 
 undeniable parti. 
 
 In manner and appearance he was not so 
 young as his years, the last of a school just 
 passing away. He was courteous, chivalrous, 
 and abhorred that questionable fastness and
 
 Lord Mentmore, 105 
 
 roue-i^m^ the accompaniment of slang coats and 
 zouave breeches. He never had an acquaint- 
 ance, for they became involuntarily friends ; 
 and the poorer and more wanting in counten- 
 ance and protection that friend might be, the 
 more certain was he of obtaining them from 
 the Earl of Mentmore. He was too secure of 
 his own position to care for the reflected light 
 of any number of satellites. This was the 
 nature of the man ; that circumstances had 
 modified it we may well conceive. 
 
 The curate of Sommerton was a hard-work- 
 ing man and a gentleman. He was also a good 
 parish priest. We do not mean that he had a 
 particularly long frock coat, or very provincial- 
 looking highlows. In fact, to confess the 
 truth, he had a small spice of dandyism in him, 
 and as some thought, wore much too good 
 gloves and boots for a faithful shepherd. There 
 are men who seem to think that the care 
 of others necessarily implies neglect of self. 
 Being, then, as we said, a hard-working man, 
 some little time after this meeting, he was
 
 106 Which is the Winner? 
 
 asked to visit the union workhouse of Saxonby, 
 for the reigning chaplain. The Saxonby 
 Workhouse was about a mile out of town. 
 It was remarkable for the neatness of its lawn 
 and gravelled walks ; and for the evident 
 superiority of its spade-husbandry, which went 
 on under the superintendence of the master, 
 a former corporal of dragoons, in a fustian 
 jacket, and by the combined exertions of a 
 dozen middle-aged men in suits of yellow and 
 grey. The building itself was a comfortable 
 brick house, with a square imposing front, and 
 a couple of less lively looking wings. Creepers 
 grew over it in summer, and there seemed no 
 desire to make a life of dependence more 
 irksome than it necessarily must be. 
 
 Thither Mr. Scarsdale wended his way one 
 fine morning in December. It was mild for 
 the time of year, and there had not yet been 
 any stoppage to the hunting. 
 
 * Fine morning, sir,' said the ex-corporal and 
 master, saluting with a small cane he carried, 
 as a symbol of authority, while he looked on at
 
 Lord Mentmore, 107 
 
 the labours of the old men and young boys 
 under his care. ' Rather expecting Mr. Light- 
 foot, sir ; it's his morning.' 
 
 * I'm come in his place, Dalton ; I hope I'm 
 not late.' 
 
 'Not at all, sir. Here, Simmons, take the 
 keys to the matron, have the chapel door 
 opened, and the bell rung. Tell Sally that old 
 Giles had better go into prayers. He's an old 
 soldier, sir ; been in foreign parts ; and he's 
 uncommonly bad ; he don't take much notice 
 of anything, but they like going to prayers, all 
 of 'em, sir.' 
 
 ' Glad to hear it, Dalton. It's a good 
 sign.' 
 
 * Yes, it's a change for 'em ; but old Morton 
 says he'd like to see the minister to talk a bit ; 
 so perhaps you wouldn't mind stopping after 
 the prayers are done ; here, boys, in with ye.' 
 Here they ascended the clean white steps and 
 entered the building by the principal door. 
 
 Scarsdale walked into the chapel. On one 
 side, against the wall, and in the angle formed
 
 108 Which is the Winner? 
 
 by the side and the end of the room, was a 
 plain reading-desk, serving for purposes of 
 prayer and exhortation, when, on Sunday, that 
 was added to the ordinary service. A corres- 
 ponding seat admitted the master and matron, 
 schoolmistress and master, the latter of whom 
 acted as clerk. In front of these latter stood 
 the boys, and behind them the girls. A preter- 
 natural solemnity pervaded their countenances, 
 as they had only just been detected in a scram- 
 ble for a piece of sugar, which had been surrep- 
 titiously handed to them by one of the mothers. 
 In front of the curate sat a body of old women, 
 whose placid and resigned appearance seemed 
 to say — 'to this dreadful state of cleanliness and 
 discipline we are all reduced, but we are bearing 
 it, reverend sir, as you see, with great patience 
 and fortitude.' The younger women, beyond, 
 all played with the corners of their aprons, and 
 smiled at one another as they saw a young face 
 instead of the grey-haired old vicar, Mr. Light- 
 foot, to whom they were accustomed ; and the 
 old and young men at the back, two or three of
 
 Lord Mentmore. 109 
 
 whom were in the last stage of helpless imbeci- 
 lity, lounged forward on their arms, ready to pay 
 just the amount of attention which should suit 
 their humour. When a man has his bread, 
 soup, potatoes, and meat weighed out to him, 
 he soon becomes a machine. 
 
 Old Morton, as he was called, was a gigantic 
 old man, apparently upwards of eighty years of 
 age. He had thick matted white hair, and was 
 bent nearly double. All signs of intelligence 
 had left his face, and during the service he sat 
 staring, with eyes void of speculation, at the 
 clergyman. When they went back to their 
 rooms, Scarsdale followed the old man, who had 
 taken his seat on a bench, drawn close up to a 
 blazing fire — such a fire as one may have in a 
 coal country, without a grumble about poor's 
 rates, even from a board of guardians. Other- 
 wise the room was empty, and the curate sat 
 down beside him. 
 
 * And who be you ? ' asked the old man, 
 almost fiercely. 
 
 * The curate of Sommerton. The master said
 
 110 Which is the Winner'^ 
 
 you wanted to talk to me.' A gleam lit up the 
 old man's face. 
 
 *Sommerton, Sommerton,' said he, as if the 
 name had some charm for him, and he was try- 
 ino: to recollect somethino^. One hand was 
 paralyzed; and he kept it within his coat. ^I'm 
 not long for this world, but I'd like to see Som- 
 merton once more.' 
 
 ' You know it then ? But you seem to have 
 suffered from a stroke, Morton ? ' 
 
 * Ay ; I should know it ; I went there once. 
 There it is, always a running in my head. Som- 
 merton it is, sure enough. There's a mister — 
 a great man — what's his name? — the squire 
 they call him. He's no squire, though. Som- 
 merton, Sommerton, to be sure ; — and what's 
 his name ? ' and the old man pulled out his 
 handkerchief and wiped the rheum from his 
 eyes. 
 
 ' Bradfield, do you mean ? ' said Scarsdale, 
 more with the view of humouring him than 
 anything else. 
 
 ' Bradfield, Bradfield ; that's the name. Som-
 
 Lord Mentmore, 111 
 
 merton — yes ; I have it ; Abel Bradfield, Som- 
 merton Hall, Esquire. Yes ! yes ! that's right 
 enough. Now I have it.' 
 
 ' I suppose you were acquainted with this 
 neighbourhood, formerly ? ' 
 
 ' Sommerton ? to be sure,' repeated the old 
 man, ' that was the place. Yes ; I knew it 
 well enouoh lono^ afore that — lono^ afore that — 
 but never after it. Poor old gentleman ! But 
 I was away a many years ; and one forgets after 
 a matter of forty or fifty years. I suppose no 
 one remembers after so many years?' And the 
 old man looked half as if it were a question, 
 half a soliloquy. 
 
 *That depends upon circumstances, Morton,' 
 said Mr. Scarsdale ; * some make a great im- 
 pression, others of no importance — ' 
 
 ' True, sir, true ; so they do. But I've forgot 
 a-most everything ; everything but Sommerton 
 and Mr. Bradfield. That's the name.' And 
 here the old man rose from the form, and with 
 the help of his stick walked along the room. 
 He raised the latch of the door, and appeared
 
 112 Which is the Winner'? 
 
 as if about to leave the room. Suddenly he 
 returned, closing the door after him, and came 
 up to where Scarsdale was standing. Bent as 
 he now was with age and infirmity, Morton was 
 nearly as tall as the curate ; and it struck him 
 at the moment that he might have been a man 
 of great size and stature. He slowly drew his 
 crippled hand from his breast and opened a 
 paper. It was a large envelope of foolscap 
 paper ; and Scarsdale was surprised to see that 
 the hand was not so helpless as was pretended. 
 * If you know Squire Bradfield ' — he seemed to 
 have got the name pat enough now — ' ask him 
 if he recollects Giles — Morton Giles; and come 
 and tell me how he looks.' 
 
 'I don't think that will make much difference 
 to him, my good man ; besides, you must be 
 thinking of his father.' And Scarsdale made 
 a step towards the door, feeling rather embar- 
 rassed at the turn the conversation had taken. 
 
 ' See ; would you like to look at that, sir ? ' 
 said he, showing the inner folds of the envelope. 
 'Then you shall see something — something as
 
 Lord Mentmore, 113 
 
 'ill go agen him still ; ' and opening a paper, 
 yellow with age, and scarcely holding together, 
 he showed him the following words in ink, plain 
 but brown with time, on a sheet of ordinary 
 letter paper : — 
 
 'Mai/ 13, 18—. 
 
 * If Sir Reginald Carrington will do me the 
 honour of coming to Patcham, on Wednesday, 
 the 29th inst., I shall be happy to give the 
 release, which is already prepared, on the 
 receipt of Sir Reginald's cheque or note of hand 
 for the balance of the mortgage. 
 
 ' I have the honour to be, sir, 
 
 * Your obedient servant, 
 
 ' Henry Bradfield. 
 ' To Sir Reginald Carrington^ Bart' 
 
 Scarsdale read the paper as requested; and, 
 not knowing what he had to do with the busi- 
 ness, only returned it with much simplicity, 
 saying at the same time — ' You seem to attach 
 some value to that letter, my friend.' 
 
 * Value ? ' said old Morton, with more energy 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 than he had yet spoken, 'it's an estate, sir, that's 
 all. But good day, Mr. — Mr. — ah! — ah! 
 Well, it don't much matter. Be sure you tell 
 Mr. Bradfield about Morton Giles.' 
 
 As Scarsdale, after inscribing his name in the 
 chaplain's book, and giving a summary of his 
 duties at the union, prepared to descend the 
 steps, he was arrested by the lowest of curtsies by 
 the matron. She had a smiling, good-humoured 
 face, and was the figure of a bustling, tidy 
 woman, accustomed to the impudence and dis- 
 orders of paupers, and not likely to be incon- 
 venienced by them. 
 
 ' And how do you find old Morton to-day, 
 sir ? ' Here she smoothed her apron. 
 
 ' He seems very well, Mrs. Dalton. Of course 
 infirm, and has lost his memory; his faculties 
 generally, to a certain extent.' 
 
 ' Not so much as people give him credit for ; 
 he's sharp enough sometimes. I sometimes 
 think he's playing a game.' 
 
 * Where does he come from ? ' said Scarsdale. 
 
 * Well, Claygate's his parish. He was a long
 
 Lord Mentmore, 115 
 
 time out of England; but before he went abroad 
 he didn't bear the best of characters, sir.' 
 
 'And what name does he go by here? for he 
 has some curious story, as it seems to me, and 
 calls himself Morton Giles.' 
 
 The matron stood the pumping remarkably 
 well, and responded gHbly, — 
 
 ' In country parishes, you know, sir, they often 
 go by two names ; there are reasons you know, 
 sir; and when he came in he was known as 
 Giles, but his name on the parish books was 
 Morton, after his mother. All his friends were 
 gone from Claygate, and those who might have 
 known him before pretended not to recollect 
 anything about him, except his bad character ; 
 so here he is. He don't give much trouble, 
 unless he gets hold of a gentleman like yourself 
 to talk to. Mr. Lightfoot's a bit shy, and when 
 he goes among 'em he always reads the Bible or 
 the Prayer Book ; but he don't ever talk to 'em 
 or encourage 'em. To be sure, they don't many 
 on 'em want it, as Dalton says, and he knows the 
 world pretty well.' 
 
 l2
 
 116 Which is the Winner? 
 
 When Scarsdale took his leave, he pondered 
 over old Morton and his fancies for a quarter of 
 an hour ; but he had plenty to do and to think 
 of, and the old man's message had escaped his 
 memory before the end of the week. It re- 
 turned to his mind some months after, when 
 circumstances occurred which led to a recon- 
 sideration of the subject.
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 THE MORXIXG's RIDE. 
 
 * Equam memento rebus in arduis 
 Servare.' Hor., Ode Parodied. 
 
 ' The course of true love ' does not often run 
 ' smooth ; ' but why that proverbial asperity 
 shojild be confined to what is true, we are 
 unable to say. For our own part that eternal 
 smoothness has but little charm; and the ripple 
 which reflects sunshine and shade, briofht fleams 
 
 ' C) CI 
 
 and darkening clouds, in love as in nature, gives 
 brightness and variety to the prosiest poetry in 
 the world. That slow, smooth stream appears to 
 us always to hide more than it exhibits ; there 
 is a deepness and duplicity in its slowly-gurglin^^ 
 waters, which may conceal some hideous de- 
 formity which a more active current would 
 have brought to the surface, or have tossed 
 from its bosom for ever.
 
 118 Which is the Winner? 
 
 A determination to true love-making in this 
 civilized world of ours, is a disease which is 
 always subjected to the management of the 
 pruning knife of papas and mammas, just as 
 much as a determination of blood to the head 
 belongs to the family physician. In good 
 society it is under as much regulation and 
 discipline as a Surrey volunteer ; in the middle 
 classes it is at least guided by rule, though 
 the discretionary power is relaxed ; in the lower 
 classes, where it has found a freer vent, where 
 women do not stipulate for pin money; nor 
 men for little dinners once a fortnight, it has 
 run such riot as to serve rather for a beacon 
 and a warning, than an example to be followed. 
 
 Xo two persons ever came together, perhaps, 
 with a more complete reticence on such a subject 
 as marriage, and with a more perfect impression 
 of what was expected of them as well-bred 
 people, than Lord Mentmore and Evelyn Car- 
 rington. It was an understood thing that Lord 
 Mentmore was to marry, as soon as an eligible 
 person presented herself. He had never said
 
 The Morning's Ride, 119 
 
 so himself, but, then everybody had said so for 
 him ; and it was quite impossible that an Earl, 
 a Plantagenet, with large estates in half-a-score 
 of counties, thould be allowed to go down to 
 the grave unmarried. Had not the Duchess 
 of Fixington declared it; had not the old 
 Marchioness of Rougenoir predicted it ; had 
 not Lady Postobitville striven for it; and 
 twenty-thousand mouths young and old watered 
 for it. It was as well-known a fact, before 
 fulfilment, as the frost of January 1, 1864. 
 
 In such a case as this, there were certain 
 qualities, on the part of the bride, indispensable. 
 She must be well born, well bred, moving in 
 the highest society, of personal grace and beauty, 
 according to taste ; not his lordship's, but up to 
 the standard of fashionable social life. She 
 should be troubled with no incumbrances, which 
 could bring discredit on her husband's position, 
 in the way of peculiarities in herself or her 
 connections. She should be not too clever; 
 but she should be well versed in the moderate 
 accomplishments of high society, and capable
 
 120 Which is the Winner f 
 
 of receiving with that dignity which would be 
 of necessity a part and parcel of the Countess 
 of Mentmore. She required no money, no 
 ardent affections or aspirations, no ambitions 
 beyond those of haut ton, no remarkable amount 
 of courage, moral or physical, no self-denial, no 
 wit, no genius, and only just so much brains as 
 would suffice for the management of these large 
 family mansions, and a London establishment. 
 Such was the verdict of the world of fashion ; 
 and at the present moment, Evelyn Carrington 
 was the culprit, found guilty of such capabilities 
 for encompassing the match of the day. 
 
 * My dear duchess, so Mentmore is gone to 
 the Carringtons' — dear clever creature that 
 Lady Carrington ; and it is quite time he was 
 married and settled at last. They do say, 
 indeed — ' 
 
 ' No such thing. You mean that stupid 
 story about La Gitana. No truth in it, mar- 
 chioness, believe me. My only objection to 
 Evelyn Carrington is the want of money. They 
 can't give her anything.'
 
 The Morning's Ride. 121 
 
 * Mentmore want money ? Ob ! impossible. 
 His racing pays, and you know be never plays 
 or gambles in any otber way. He cleared 
 seventeen tbousand last season, at least so 
 Rougenoir tells me.' 
 
 * But bis expenses are enormous. His living, 
 his princely extravagances ; be's been borrowing 
 money for years ; and all tbe Woollenborough 
 property bas been in tbe bands of Cater, tbe 
 banker, for tbe last ten years.' 
 
 ' Still it would be a great matcb for the girl ; 
 and as tbe Carringtons know notbing about 
 his want of money, it does not take from tbe 
 talent displayed by Lady Carrington,' said tbe 
 Marchioness Rougenoir, who was not well 
 affected towards that lady, having herself, in 
 early life, cast her eyes on Sir Michael Carring- 
 ton, when she saw but little prospect of a well- 
 born pauper beauty attracting so large a gudgeon 
 as the Marquis of Rougenoir. 
 
 ' Let me put you right, marchioness. It 
 was entirely Mentmore's own doing. He's very 
 intiniate with Stafford Carrington, and having
 
 122 Which is the Winner? 
 
 nothing better to do, is gone to the shire 
 
 hounds for the beginning of the season. He 
 has seen the girl, and has expressed an admira- 
 tion of her ; but, strange to say in this ease, 
 both mother and daughter are guiltless. She 
 has all the qualities, except money, that his 
 aunt. Lady Elizabeth, would like ; and as he 
 is as reckless of that, as he is impulsive in every- 
 thing else, I presume it won't be long before 
 we hear that it is all settled.' Shortly after 
 the duchess took her leave. 
 
 Mentmore was not ignorant of what was 
 expected of him ; but he was one of those 
 persons, not only capable of, but determined 
 upon, judging for himself It is probable that 
 he would have been married before this, but for 
 the desperate assaults of every seasonable belle 
 that had come out ; and although the charms of 
 La Gitana had not been sufficient to bringr about 
 a secret marriage as some ladies averred, the 
 impolitic struggles of matronly anxiety had 
 driven him into liaisons which might be attended 
 with awkward results.
 
 The Morning s Ride, 123 
 
 Lord Mentmore's tastes led him but little 
 into London society. When he went, he evi- 
 dently regarded it as a duty rather than as a 
 pleasure. His natural openness and simplicity 
 revolted against the shams of which he per- 
 ceived it to be in a great measure made up. 
 His residence in Belgravia was usually as short 
 as it could be with decency to his order and 
 its requirements. Yet so remarkable was he 
 in elegance of manner and in those external 
 qualities and accomplishments of the world, 
 that the most distinguished woman of the day 
 had pronounced him, in these respects, perfect. 
 His winter was spent in dispensing the hospi- 
 talities of the best hunting quarters in England, 
 where a stud unrivalled in quantity and quality 
 was ever at the service of himself and such of 
 his guests as chose to avail themselves of his 
 liberality. Newmarket and its attractions, 
 which had now become a business, waited for 
 him from the first spring meeting. A retreat 
 to the most beautiful country-seat in England, 
 and the affection and necessities of a thousand
 
 124 Which is the Wi 
 
 inner f 
 
 dependants, claimed him for a short time after 
 the Goodwood week. His various shootings 
 in England and Scotland, his fisheries, and the 
 healthy pursuits which have raised up and keep 
 together an unrivalled class, called the country 
 gentlemen of England, were in his eyes worth 
 all the gilded salons and Apician feasts of the 
 metropolis of this country or any other. The 
 enthusiasm with which Lord Mentmore entered 
 into all of these gave him only time for occa- 
 sional visits to London, between the race meet- 
 ings, or during the frost, if Thrussington were 
 free from guests. 
 
 It was during one of these short sojourns 
 that he happened to meet, at a small supper 
 after the opera, a very attractive girl ; attractive 
 to him, indeed, from her perfect artlessness, and 
 the evident indifference with which she found 
 herself the object of his lordship's attentions 
 during the evening. Having ascertained from 
 his hostess that she was the sister of his friend 
 Stafford Carrington, he took an early oppor- 
 tunity of being introduced to Lady Carrington
 
 The Momng's Ride. 125 
 
 and Sir Michael ; and no great difficulty pre- 
 sented itself to his wish to have a few days 
 with the Saxonby hounds at the beginning of 
 the next season. To say that such a visit was 
 unimportant even to a person of Sir Michael 
 Carrington's position is not true ; and with the 
 well-understood possibilities to her daughter, 
 Lady Carrington, with all her good-breeding, 
 may be forgiven for a very little additional 
 excitement at the flattering proposal. Of all 
 the country houses on his visiting list few held 
 out equal attractions to Mentmore, exclusively 
 of the daughter of the house. Without any 
 costly extravagance, Sir Michael was one of 
 those men who, from mere habit, had what 
 they had of the very best. He could not afford 
 to rival Abel Bradfield in the magnificence of 
 his gilding, and the numbers of his servants; 
 but the furniture was more comfortable, and the 
 appointments of a higher class. The shooting 
 at Spring Vale was limited in extent, but as 
 good as could possibly be expected from the 
 size of the covers. The stables and the equi-
 
 126 Which is the Winner? 
 
 pages were childish in comparison with those of 
 Silvermere ; but the ex-master of the Saxonby 
 foxhounds w^as unsurpassed in the perfection of 
 management, and no man in England vied with 
 him in price for the few good horses which he 
 selected for his son. He had ceased to ride, as 
 he informed his friends, when he gave up the 
 mastership; but it took a very good man to 
 find his way over a country in front of the 
 squire (a name he retained from early and un- 
 titled years) when he chose to go for a spurt 
 on one of his jumping hacks. Great dinners 
 and profusion were forbidden by a moderate 
 income; but those who shared his hospitality 
 Avere loud in their praises of the cuisine, and 
 the company was rather select than numerous. 
 Some wondered at his hold upon the county 
 without a more frequent recurrence, or a more 
 extended scale, of hospitality ; but the good old 
 families recollected what Sir Michael had been, 
 and who he was, rather than what the member 
 for the county might have given away. 
 
 The sun shone brightly in at the windows
 
 The Morning's Ride, 127 
 
 of Spring Vale Manor one Thursday morning 
 (there were no hounds on Thursday within 
 reach), and Stafford Carrington lounged into 
 the breakfast- room. 
 
 * What are you going to do with Lord Ment- 
 more to-day, Stafford?' said Lady Carrington; 
 ' there's no hunting, and he'll find it stupid, 
 I'm afraid.' 
 
 ' Mentmore never wants amusing in the 
 country, I should think, mother; and if he 
 does, we can shoot the two covers at the back 
 of the home-farm. There's only about three 
 hours' w^ork, so we can begin at two o'clock, 
 after luncheon. I suppose he's not down 
 yet?' 
 
 ' Not yet — he seems to be a tolerably early 
 riser, however, and the most punctual man 
 alive. A good example for you, Stafford.' 
 
 ' Very — though I've never discovered that I 
 stand in need of it ; besides, he's late this 
 morning, at all events. Why, Evelyn, where 
 have you been to get such a colour ? ' 
 
 * Down to Aunt Philly's. We had some
 
 128 Which is the Winner? 
 
 business to do in the village, so I breakfasted 
 with her an hour ago.' 
 
 * Have you seen Lord Mentmore ? ' 
 
 ' That's scarcely probable, if he's not down 
 yet. Stay ! didn't he say something about kill- 
 ing a duck or a snipe before breakfast ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; he talked of having the keeper out at 
 seven o'clock, and going down to the farther 
 end of the lake to look for a widgeon; but 
 that's not very likely,' rejoined Stafford, who 
 was inclined to judge of men's aptitude for rising 
 by his own. 
 
 ' I should think Lord Mentmore a very likely 
 man to do anything he said he would,' said 
 Evelyn, in a tone of voice which implied very 
 little embarrassment, as it appeared to Lady 
 Carrington. 
 
 At that moment Lord Mentmore walked 
 into the room, and, after a comprehensive 
 * Good-morning,' and a friendly greeting from 
 Lady Carrington, took his seat at her side. 
 
 ' We were just talking about you, Mentmore, 
 and my sister would have it you were gone
 
 The Morning's Ride, 129 
 
 shooting with the keeper to look for wild- 
 fowl.' 
 
 ' I feel flattered by Miss Carrington's inte- 
 rest,' and Lord Mentmore's colour rose slightly 
 as he said so ; ' and what did you say on the 
 subject ? ' 
 
 ' Of course all that could be said— that you 
 were in bed rather later than usual; whilst 
 Lady Carrington held you up as a pattern of 
 punctuality to me.' 
 
 * Miss Carrington was right ; and I am obliged 
 to Lady Carrington for her good opinion of me. 
 I was shooting for two hours this morning, and 
 have left three couple of snipe and a wild duck 
 with your man for the larder. And what have 
 you been doing, Carrington ? ' 
 
 'What you see — preparing for the labours 
 of the coming day. There's a choice of evils : 
 billiards, the library, Saxonby, a few pheasants 
 behind the home farm, scarcely worth the walk, 
 and a ride ; Sir Michael's best back is at your 
 service.' 
 
 'You can scarcely have a better yourself, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 Which is the Winner? 
 
 Lord Mentmore ; only pray arrange with 
 Stafford what you would like to do.' 
 
 *I had an idea of walking, or riding, into 
 Saxonby, Sir Michael ; I have an old acquaint- 
 ance livinof there I find. I know what Stafford 
 means by the library ; the lighest literature I 
 could find was Hallam's " Middle Ages," with 
 which he was preparing himself for magisterial 
 duties or political life.' Lord Mentmore never 
 wanted courage before to say what he wished ; 
 but he could no more have proposed that 
 Evelyn Carrington should have accompanied 
 them in a ride or walk than he could have 
 proposed to walk away with the remains of 
 the breakfast-table. It must be confessed that 
 Lady Carrington herself saw no means of 
 making any such proposition; she was in a 
 similarly delicate situation. And the two 
 persons concerned would not have come to- 
 gether that day until dinner-time, but for the 
 opportune arrival of old Aunt Philly, who after 
 some very discursive questions as to the occu- 
 jiations of the party, said, rather abruptly :
 
 The Morning's Ride. 131 
 
 ' My dear, you must go into Saxonby after 
 lunch, and brinof me out mv afternoon corres- 
 pondence ; for I've no servant to spare, and I 
 suppose your grooms have plenty to do ; I dare 
 say the gentlemen won't object to ride with 
 you, unless they are otherwise engaged.' The 
 opportunity was not lost on Lord Zvlentmore, 
 who declared his anxiety to give up all or any 
 of his acquaintance, and went so far as to say 
 that Mr. Scarsdale was not likely to be at home, 
 as his duties took him to his parish, wherever 
 that might be. The only discontented person 
 was Evelyn Carriugton. 
 
 * That's a nice hack, Mentmore, he's by the 
 Cure dam by Autocrat, just the size for a hack: 
 my father's tall, but he never rides anything 
 above fifteen hands ;' and as Staflford Carrington 
 spoke Lord Mentmore's groom brought up a 
 neat brown horse, low and long, with the 
 peculiarly well-ribbed up barrel of the Cure, 
 and a quick active movement, which looked 
 like carrying more weight than his size at first 
 sight indicated.
 
 132 Which IS the Winner? 
 
 In the meantime Evelyn Carrington was in 
 the saddle. We have seen her there before, 
 and we need hardly say that she had not 
 diminished her attentions to her toilet in con- 
 sideration of the company in which she was 
 going to ride. The reader must not suppose 
 that one soupcon of what is called love had yet 
 affected her repose, or influenced any action of 
 her life. She was singularly heart-whole as far 
 as Lord Mentmore was concerned. It was 
 impossible to be in his company long without 
 liking him, but Evelyn had demonstrated the 
 possibility of receiving even marked attentions 
 from him without falling in love. For Lord 
 Mentmore had been particular in his attentions 
 during the week he had spent at Spring Vale, 
 and had shown but a very faint reluctance to 
 prolong his visit upon the invitation of Stafford 
 Carrington. The two young men got on just 
 as well as possible, not by mutual self-denial, 
 which is the highest virtue in a small establish- 
 ment, but by a recognized determination of 
 self-indulgence, which is by far the pleasantest
 
 The Morning's Ride. 133 
 
 mode in the houses of the great. Having all 
 necessary appliances, they did exactly as they 
 pleased, without reference the one to the other, 
 and as hunting and shooting were occupations 
 in which both delighted, and the rest of their 
 time might be passed together, or apart in any 
 room of the house, it was not unnatural that 
 Mentmore should find Spring Vale Manor, and 
 its agreeable society, more to his taste than 
 Thrussington and its solitudes, which he had 
 not yet interrupted this season by his usual 
 invitations. They could stand over at all events. 
 So he sent for more horses and helpers, and 
 inspected the rest of the accommodation for 
 his hunters to be found in the village. He 
 declared it to be excellent ; and as he seemed 
 to think some sort of reason for remaining 
 away from his own home was necessary to 
 satisfy vague scruples, he praised the Saxonby 
 country at the expense of his own, a partiality 
 which was not shared in by others, who as fre- 
 quently quitted the one for the other, for the 
 opposite reason.
 
 134 Which is the Winner? 
 
 Lady Carrington was a clever woman, of a 
 rather masculine understanding and manners, 
 but she mififht be foroiven the nourishment of 
 a sentiment common to all mothers, as she 
 looked at two of the mounted figures from the 
 library windows. And it was quite as well 
 that she should take some forethought for her 
 daughter's future, as neither Sir Michael nor 
 Stafford ever cared or thought one iota about 
 the business. They never doubted that Provi- 
 dence, or some unknown God, would do for 
 Evelyn what had been done for all the other 
 women of the Carrington family, and marry 
 her, or kill her, at the proper time and in 
 the most approved manner. As the figures 
 retreated through the glades of the park, whilst 
 a sickly November sun paled the bolls of the 
 trees on either side, Stafford, who had remained 
 behind to give some orders about his horses 
 for to-morrow, cantered after them ; and though 
 he was quite as far-seeing as most people, and 
 of a mind as active as in body he was indolent, 
 he failed to see anything but a very handsome
 
 The Morning's Ride. 135 
 
 man and a girl very good-looking for a sister, 
 riding before him. 
 
 * Where are the hounds to-morrow, Stafford?' 
 
 ' Four miles beyond Saxonby, and as this is 
 very likely to be the afternoon draw, I must 
 give orders about the earths. Evelyn, let's go 
 round by the keeper's lodge, and into Saxonby 
 by the other road.' 
 
 ' With all my heart, it makes very little dif- 
 ference, and we shall have some turf for a 
 canter,' replied the lady. 
 
 ' Women are always for cantering. I sup- 
 pose you never walked a horse to Saxonby and 
 back in your life. Did you ever know a woman 
 who was not unmerciful to her beast — at least 
 as far as his legs and feet are concerned?' 
 
 ' Miss Carrington showed a just discrimina- 
 tion, and, as soon as we get through the next 
 gate, she ought to be indulged.' 
 
 ' Oh ! of course Mentmore says " no " to my 
 " yes," while the lady is present ; besides, having 
 no sisters, he has not the experience I have.' 
 
 ' Let me profit by yours then,' said the earl,
 
 136 Which is the Winner? 
 
 in the hope of having to defend his com- 
 panion. 
 
 ' Certainly. Having no idea of time, they 
 are always in a hurry, and with such excellent 
 legs and feet of their own, they cannot imagine 
 the possibility of decay in their horses'. Their 
 caresses bestowed on their four-footed favourites, 
 are in proportion to their capability of endu- 
 rance, and resemble the blandishments of newly- 
 married wives, or of a schoolmaster to his 
 favourite pupil ; and they have a very general 
 opinion that they are all light-weights.' 
 
 * The condition of Miss Carrington's horse 
 disproves your criticism at all events,' said Lord 
 Mentmore. 
 
 ' You are just and generous, Lord Mentmore ; 
 Stafford is neither ; and he would like to reduce 
 our energies to a level with his own, I should 
 say, to his want of that quality.' 
 
 * Do you know my friend Scarsdale, Stafford,' 
 inquired Lord Mentmore of his friend, who, 
 having given his orders at the keeper's cottage, 
 again joined them.
 
 The Morning's Ride. 137 
 
 * Scarsdale ? we can hardly be said to know 
 him. My father makes very few new acquaint- 
 ances about here, and I am seldom here, ex- 
 cepting in the hunting season. vScarsdale is the 
 curate of Sommerton, I believe, but my sister 
 knows more of the neighbourhood and the clergy.' 
 
 * I know Mr. Scarsdale is a very hard-work- 
 ing person, and has a curacy which tries his 
 talents to the uttermost. Sommerton has be- 
 come a huge factory of late years. It was my 
 grandfather's property, but now belongs to a 
 Mr. Bradfield, who has found iron and covered 
 the country with smelting furnaces, and a race 
 of artisans in the place of our simple rustics, 
 whom we love much better.' 
 
 * Bradfield ? a tall fair man, a very clever 
 fellow they say ; I know him.' And here the 
 groom galloped up and opened a gate into a 
 hundred-acre grass field. 
 
 ' Now for the promised canter, Miss Carring- 
 ton,' and sitting down on his horse, and taking 
 him lightly by the curb, and pressing him firmly, 
 the colt by the Cure started as a horse does
 
 138 Which is the Winner? 
 
 start who comos out of such hands as those of 
 Sir Michael Carrington. Miss Carrington fol- 
 lowed at the same pace, while Stafford's ' whoay, 
 gently, be quiet, stupid,' proclaimed the horse's 
 intentions, but that his master was at that mo- 
 ment employed in lighting a cigar. This ope- 
 ration completed, he felt that for once he must 
 break through his rule, though sorely against 
 his will ; he was with them in time to pass 
 through the next gate as the groom held it 
 open for the other two. 
 
 ' I forgot whether you said you knew Brad- 
 field, Miss Carrington ? ' 
 
 Miss Carrington drew down her veil, it was 
 a November day, verging in fact on December, 
 and said, * You mean the young one, of course ; 
 I have met him once or twice. I was once for 
 a week with him at Lady Sarah Elmsdale's.' 
 
 * He must have been at Christ Church with 
 you, Carrington V 
 
 ' I believe he was,' said Stafford, listlessly, 
 and affecting a comfortable indifference to such 
 an epoch, though not many years past.
 
 The Morning's Ride. 139 
 
 ' He has a great reputation in town, with 
 certain men ; but I am very little there,' re- 
 joined Lord Mentmore, who seemed bent on 
 continuing the conversation at all hazards. 
 ' What's he meant for? he's gone to the bar.' 
 
 ' Politics, or the woolsack, of course. Hav- 
 ing no natural position, excepting such as his 
 money gives him, it is his business to make 
 one.' 
 
 *No fool either; though about thirty thou- 
 sand a-year takes a position by storm — ' 
 
 'I've never tried it,' said Stafford, a little 
 tartly. 
 
 * I have, and a devil of a deal of trouble it 
 gives one too ; what sort of a man was he at 
 the University?' 
 
 ' Slow and soft, I should think ; but I didn't 
 know him.' 
 
 ' He wasn't slow^ and soft when I made his 
 acquaintance,' replied the earl, sharply. 
 
 Miss Carrington pricked up her ears, and, 
 still through her veil, ventured to ask how and 
 when that was ?
 
 140 Which is the Winner? 
 
 * I was at Tours in 184-. The place was full 
 of English ; bad style ; and those who were not 
 utter impostors were pretenders to high class ; 
 they all played ecarte for five-franc pieces at 
 the club, and dined at M. Roland's, a good 
 restaurant, with a pretty wife. Foreigners are 
 never very discriminating, and all the English 
 who left a card at the palace, had the entree to 
 the Archbishop's parties at Tours.' 
 
 'The Archbishop's?' 
 
 * Yes ; one of the duties of the French archi- 
 episcopate is to keep society together, and to 
 see to its morale. The Archbishop himself was 
 a finished gentleman, polite to all men, espe^ 
 cially benign to us heretics. But to continue this 
 story. We were coming from a palace ball * 
 about two in the morning, when we saw flames 
 issuing from a window in the Rue Royale, 
 which did not seem as yet to have disturbed the 
 slumbers or the philosophy of the French com- 
 mandant, who lived there. The English are a 
 practical people, and we soon woke the house- 
 hold to a sense of their danger. First one sort
 
 The Morning's Ride. 141 
 
 of head-gear, then another sort, appeared at all 
 the upper windows ; then a cry of many voices ; 
 then the door opened and out ruslied some of 
 the lodgers, and in rushed the wind, and the 
 flames went up to heaven again.' 
 
 ' But what had Mr. Bradfield to do with all 
 this?' 
 
 ' You seem impatient. Miss Carrington,' — her 
 veil was down all this time, but her face began 
 to glow, — ' but we shall come to him directly. 
 One Englishman, called Kerr Beamish, or 
 Beamish Kerr (I forget which), ran up the 
 street calling out '^foul foul foul" with all his 
 might, upon which a gendarme from the Hotel 
 de Ville suddenly appeared and threatened him, 
 with a volley of sacres, but seeing the smoke, 
 happily brought some ladders and assistance, 
 and helped to get the rest of the people out 
 of the bedroom windows.' 
 
 *It seems to me, my dear Mentmore, that 
 your friend Bradfield is becoming slower 
 than ever.' This time it was Stafford who
 
 142 Which is the Winner f 
 
 * Wait a minute. We can understand a 
 lady's impatience, but yours is quite a new 
 feature ; ' and then he resumed : — ' While we 
 were standing looking at the flames, and im- 
 agining that everybody was safe, and that what 
 remained to be burnt was but of little conse- 
 quence, a voice, increasing somehow or other 
 till it got to us, ran through the crowd, to the 
 effect that a baby or two was left behind in a 
 certain room, indicated by the finger of the 
 mother, as I suppose. Ah ! Miss Carrington, 
 that mother's finger was a terrible index, and 
 Bradfield thought it so. It wanted some cou- 
 rage to scale the ladder that still rested against 
 the wall; and while I hesitated I saw a fine, 
 broad-shouldered, light-haired young Saxon step 
 out from the gleams of the firelight, and mount. 
 He was scarcely a minute gone, when he re- 
 appeared with the object of their search. The 
 mother met him on the ladder, and returned 
 with the child, but without a thought for her 
 preserver.' 
 
 ' Horrible ! how unnatural.'
 
 The Morning's Ride, 143 
 
 ' No, Miss Carrington, wrong again ; natural, 
 but inconsiderate. By some inexplicable mis- 
 take, as the mother put her foot to the ground, 
 the ladder was removed ; and in the crowd of 
 congratulations, for a moment — only a moment 
 — the hero of the scene was forgotten. He 
 appeared at the wnndow, and seeing the ladder 
 gone, and the impossibility of remaining longer, 
 he jumped from the room ; an ineffectual at- 
 tempt of a small Frenchman to catch him, 
 resulted in a severe fall for both of them, and 
 the man was picked up with one of the worst 
 dislocations of the foot that can well be con- 
 ceived.' Here Lord Mentmore stopped. 
 
 'But how came you to know him, beyond 
 your casual meeting ? ' 
 
 * Ah ! I forgot. The French papers kindly 
 attributed the fire to the smoking in bed of a 
 young Englishman, who was carousing there, 
 and who had met with a severe accident in 
 leaping out to save his life. It was necessary 
 to correct this misstatement, and having called 
 upon him, and having some influence with the
 
 144 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 consul and the authorities, I insisted upon a 
 contradiction and an amende,' 
 
 * And were you successful ? ' 
 
 ' He was henceforth known as " le vertueux 
 citoyen," and his accident and my leisure made 
 us companious for some months. If he lives 
 near you, I should like to see him.' 
 
 ' The village is two miles and a-half across 
 the fields, and the hounds meet there next 
 week, on Monday, I think. You'll have an 
 opportunity of seeing Mr. Bradfield then, unless 
 you prefer calling beforehand.' 
 
 The universal panacea for all ills is a gallop. 
 We prefer it with hounds; but there are 
 men who, physically or constitutionally, are 
 unable to enjoy it in that form. Therefore we 
 say whatever your ailment — loss of money or 
 health, a runaway bailiff, a bilious headache, a 
 dyspeptic wife, or a disappointment in love, seek 
 your remedy in the saddle. Desert the roads ; 
 there you will be reminded only of your ills by 
 every specimen of miserable humanity you meet. 
 The painted old dowager in her gilded chariot
 
 The Morning's Ride. 145 
 
 proclaims vanity and vexation of spirit; the 
 weary pedestrian, the laborious artisan, the 
 waggon load of coals, or the huxter's donkey, 
 send you back to your domestic grievances. 
 Trotting on a turnpike road may shake your 
 material liver, but it does nothing to exalt your 
 ideas or to take you out of yourself. But turn 
 in at the first bridle gate, select a line of grass 
 fields and practicable fences for your essay, and, 
 if you do not come to grief, you will return a 
 wiser and a happier man. There you sit, with 
 your reins lengthened on each side, just feeling 
 your horse with the curb, as he arches his neck 
 and puts his head into place; shorten your 
 stride for ridge and furrow, and when you get 
 upon the headland let him move, and move 
 with him. I dare, say it may be vanity, self- 
 applause at the beauty of the performance (for 
 there is no more beautiful performance in the 
 world) ; we do not stop to analyze motives ; but 
 there you sit, the true representative of the 
 Epicurean. Oh! how the heart bounds, and 
 fancy wings her way far from this dull world, 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 Which is the Winner? 
 
 and freedom frets herself upon her rightful 
 throne. We have heard of our native heather; 
 nay ! we have been on it ; but give us a hun- 
 dred-acre pasture, with the slightest possible 
 risk of a fall in getting out of it, and we 
 commend the exertions of the pedestrian, with- 
 out, however, following his example, ' Non 
 cuivis homini,' &c., &c.; but now you know why 
 I should like to live in Northamptonshire. 
 
 When Lord Mentmore, Evelyn Carrington, 
 and her brother reached Saxonby, two of the 
 party were radiant with happiness and beauty, 
 and the third was on the verge of animation in 
 spite of himself.
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 A PARVENUE BEAUTY. 
 
 ' Youre two eyn will sle me sodenly ; 
 I may the beaute of them not sustene, 
 So windeth it thorowout my herte kene.' 
 
 Chaucer. 
 
 * William,' said StaiFord Carrington to the 
 groom, as they turned up towards the post- 
 office of the sporting little town. * Get the 
 second-post letters, and follow Lord Mentmore 
 and Miss Carrington. Mentmore, I'll be with 
 you in five minutes, I see Dillon's horse at the 
 Town Hall, and I want to speak to him, it will 
 save me the trouble of writing. Keep straight 
 along the Sommerton Road till you come to 
 the village, and my sister will show you the 
 way back over the fields ; but I shall catch you 
 before that, unless you're going along the road 
 as you come through the last three fields.' 
 
 l2
 
 148 Which is the Winner? 
 
 Mentmore and his companion, thus directed, 
 turned short round to the left, without going 
 into the town, and proceeded slowly, almost 
 listlessly for the time of the year, along the 
 road indicated to them. Their horses played 
 with the bits, and occasionally broke from a walk, 
 as a market cart rattled past them ; but they 
 were straightway pulled up again ; and slowly 
 as they proceeded, neither seemed much inclined 
 to talk. They had been voluble enough in the 
 fields, while Stafford was with them ; surely his 
 absence had not thrown a damp on their spirits. 
 The removal of a wet blanket should be imme- 
 diately followed by a rise in the temperature. 
 
 The fact is, that Lord Mentmore began to 
 think : a process, with him, wholly inconsistent 
 with lively conversation. As he looked at 
 Evelyn Carrington, who had again raised her 
 veil, and whose glowing colour now owed 
 nothing to anything but nature and exercise, 
 he thought he had never seen so pretty a girl. 
 She was far from a beauty ; very far from his 
 style of beauty. There was but little regularity
 
 A Parvenue Beauty. 149 
 
 in her features, and they required perhaps to be 
 set in motion to give them their peculiar charm. 
 But there was a great simplicity and truth about 
 her whole carriage, which charmed his imagina- 
 tion, and disarmed his suspicions. The great 
 fault of Mentmore's character, was the liability 
 to suspect motives in everyone. His education, 
 and the external circumstances of his position, 
 had created this infirmity, from which his nature 
 was eminently free. He was beginning to fancy 
 himself very much in love. It was a curious 
 contradiction in his character, that, without any 
 diffidence, he never gave himself credit for crea- 
 ting impressions by what he was, always by what 
 he had. He had fancied himself in love before 
 this ; but was always awakened from his dream, 
 by a supposed detection of some hidden design. 
 He might have been well and happily married, 
 but for this inconsistency. Women as a rule. 
 are the least calculating creatures in existence. 
 There are some, spoilt by too old an education, 
 or made prematurely hard and bright by con- 
 stant friction with the world (rapid conductors
 
 150 Which is the Winner? 
 
 and non-absorbers), who will sacrifice every 
 charm of youth, and every sentiment of affection, 
 on the shrine of ambition or selfish indulgence ; 
 but these cases are exceptional. Women are by 
 nature self-sacrificing, true, impulsive : 'varium 
 et mutabile ' if you will; but not thoughtful, 
 considerate, 'tenaces propositi,' or self-seeking. 
 Lord Mentmore had not found them so; but 
 he had been rendered suspicious by a case or 
 two, unconnected with matrimony, and now he 
 looked at them through his own glass — darkly. 
 Whilst he was turning over in his mind his 
 present prospect of happiness, and the possibihty 
 of another indiscretion, the thoughts of Evelyn 
 Carrington were directed in the same way. 
 Women are quick of perception, especially 
 where they are themselves concerned, and she 
 almost divined his feelings towards herself. 
 This might have had some effect upon her, for 
 she was really wondering how little she was 
 attracted by himself, his coronet, his wealth, 
 or his grudgingly-offered affection. Personally 
 she liked him : his good-nature, his good-
 
 A Parvenue Beauty, 151 
 
 temper, his simplicity, and his princely liber- 
 ality. All this was in accordance with the 
 traditions of a half-ruined house, in which she 
 had been brought up. She was plotting at 
 that time a means by which she might prevent 
 a too hasty explosion on his part, for his atten- 
 tions could not be mistaken by herself. Her 
 instinct told her what a candid avowal she had 
 to expect, if he learnt to know her as she was. 
 She was anxious only to prevent disappoint- 
 ment, to him, to her mother, and to Stafford. 
 
 She almost hoped he might fancy some 
 symptoms of his hete noire in her; and thus 
 save her the trouble of inflicting pain. Yet 
 his good opinion was too valuable to lose, and 
 her own reputation for sincerity, too dear for 
 the sincere encouragement of such a wish. 
 Some other means must be tried, unless she 
 was so fortunate as to fall in love with Lord 
 Mentmore. 
 
 This has taken some minutes to write; it 
 took but a few seconds to design, to investigate, 
 to analyze. *
 
 152 Which is the Winner? 
 
 Tlie road on which they were now riding is 
 a narrow road. On the left is an elevated foot- 
 path near the town, which merges within a few 
 hundred yards into shapeless mud, and soon 
 ceases altogether. Heaps of stones ready for 
 repairs, and manifestly an allotted task for the 
 able-bodied pauper, line the opposite side ; 
 sloping fields of great extent, separated by 
 large bull-fences, extend in endless succession 
 parallel with the road. Its normal condition 
 is twofold : soft yellow stones, half broken, 
 or deep coal-cart ruts of unfathomable mud. 
 Squire Bradfield's iron and coal carts render 
 abortive the attempts of road surveyors and 
 able-bodied paupers alike. 
 
 When the morning has been devoted to 
 billiards, books, the bailiff, household cares, 
 and the demands of a parish or a property, 
 custom sanctions a ride, a drive, or a walk, 
 as * the occupation of the afternoon. The 
 Bradfields were not different from their neigh- 
 bours in this respect. When he was not 
 seeing his lawyer, or quarrelling with his
 
 A Parvenue Beauty. 153 
 
 tenants, or electioneering, or toadying, or doing 
 somethinof to further bis own interests at the 
 expense of other people, Mr. Bradfield accom- 
 panied his wife or his daughter for a drive. 
 He was fond of exhibiting himself in state 
 behind his handsome carriage horses, and of 
 fancying he heard a delighted populace shout, 
 ' Long live Bradfield the wealthy.' On the 
 present occasion he was engaged in giving 
 instructions for a lawsuit, in which he was 
 involved for robbing the public of a piece of 
 road, which completed an angle of his park 
 as he wished it to be completed : so his 
 daughter's carriage came to the door alone, 
 about the time that Lord Mentmore and Miss 
 Carrington were leaving Saxonby behind them. 
 It was her father's last present to her; and 
 was worthy, almost worthy, the beautiful reci- 
 pient of his bounty. The carriage was all that 
 Long Acre could do in the way of building : 
 beautifully got up, long, low, substantially put 
 together, but having an appearance of light- 
 ness, which it owed really to the elegance of
 
 154 Which is the Winner f 
 
 its shape. The ponies, which now pawed 
 impatiently for their mistresses hand, were the 
 best movers in London, and had been rescued 
 from the creditors of a nobleman of remarkable 
 taste by the offer of such a sum as made John 
 Anderson himself open his eyes. When Abel 
 Bradiield meant to be munificent, and it was 
 not often, he could afford to be so ; and his 
 daughter's birthday was a great occasion. They 
 had been driven two or three times and 
 approved of. They now waited for Ellen 
 Bradfield at the terrace steps of Sommerton 
 Hall. 
 
 * Ellen, are you going to drive those ponies 
 to-day or to-morrow ? ' inquired her brother, 
 who w^as cutting the leaves of a new French 
 pamphlet, * Sur I'Evangile,' which had made a 
 great noise among the theological critics of the 
 day. 
 
 ' To-day, of course ; and are you going with 
 me, sir ? ' 
 
 ' No, thank you : M. d' is more amusing 
 
 than even Saxonby itself ; but you'd better go
 
 A Parvenue Beauty. 155 
 
 at once, for that bay pony has been on his 
 hind legs for the last ten minutes, and seems 
 inclined to stop there altogether.' 
 
 With this he walked down the steps to help 
 her into her carriage. What he had said was 
 nearly true. Good keep and little work had 
 improved their condition, but not their manners, 
 and both exhibited considerable impatience to 
 be off. The small boy, who seemed to have 
 been bought with the rest of the equipage, 
 was more ornamental than efficient : but Ellen 
 Bradfield never wanted courage, and that natural 
 virtue on her part was now strengthened by 
 ignorance. She sat down behind them with 
 the aplomb of the Queen's state coachman on 
 a birthday. 
 
 ' They look fresh, Ellen : are you sure you 
 can drive them ? ' 
 
 The banter on his lips convinced her that 
 he had no fears for her, so she answered only 
 by taking the reins, and letting them go. A 
 succession of bounds carried them along the 
 drive towards the lodge gate ; she was scarcely
 
 156 Which is the Winner 1 
 
 willing to allow that she felt some degree of 
 pleasure in seeing it open. The boy behind 
 was becoming more alive to the danger, when 
 on turning into the road the bay pony aforesaid 
 gave a very unmistakable kick, which however 
 did not break the splashboard, and which was, 
 therefore, not regarded by his mistress as any 
 symptom of unusual violence. Bad manners in 
 horses are just as contagious as in the human 
 subject. It was quite impossible for Perrot to 
 see Dundreary (so called from the beauty of 
 his mane) disporting himself in this eccentric 
 manner, without joining in the amusement. 
 Before long he began to jump too. Ellen 
 Bradfield was a determined person, and had 
 no idea of asking for assistance until in 
 extremis, added to which she had not thought 
 of requiring the services of her useless little 
 boy in any such capacity. Her efforts to 
 restrain her horses had already tired her wrists, 
 and she had not yet gone a third of the way. 
 The road itself was a succession of short hills, 
 so that the ascent, which might have been a
 
 A Parvenue Beauty, 157 
 
 safety-valve to their exertions, was more than 
 counterbalanced by the descents immediately 
 following. They had as much idea of settling 
 as Colonel Waugh himself. Still she managed 
 to hold them ; and was determined to call, in 
 Saxonby, upon her friend Mr. Scarsdale to go 
 back with her, as a necessary precaution against 
 accident. 
 
 At this very moment one of those un- 
 fortunate contre-temps happened, which are 
 common enough in everybody's experience. 
 A cottage door, immediately on the road, 
 suddenly opened, and a woman did what she 
 had been in the habit of doing for the last 
 thirty years ; she threw a bucket of dirty 
 water into the road without looking. For 
 thirty years it had been done with no other 
 result than that of making a puddle or in- 
 creasing the mud. Upon the present occasion 
 the consequences were somewhat different, as 
 we shall see. 
 
 ' Miss Carrington, what's that ? ' said Lord 
 Mentmore, using his glass at the same time.
 
 158 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 They were about descending a long hill, and 
 looked straight towards an opposite eminence 
 of the same kind at half-a-mile distance. The 
 dip of the hill lay between them. 
 
 * What's that?' 
 
 'It's a carriage and pair, Lord Mentmore,' 
 replied the lady, not using a glass, ' and, good 
 heavens ! it's running away ; there's some one 
 in it — a lady — alone ! ' 
 
 As she spoke it was easy to see the carriage 
 rock from side to side ; now over a heap of 
 stones ; again into the road towards the path, 
 as the occupant endeavoured with all her 
 strength to keep her horses straight. 
 
 Lord Mentmore beckoned to the groom ; 
 and descending lower down the hill jumped off 
 his horse. 
 
 ' Up on the footpath. Miss Carrington ; 
 quick. Nothing can be done till she reaches 
 the bottom of the hill. Here, take my horse.' 
 
 The pace the ponies were coming gave but 
 little time for preparation ; and Lord Mentmore 
 was only just ready for action, as they dashed
 
 A Parvenue Beauty. 159 
 
 up the hill with almost undiminished speed. 
 Placing himself in readiness as they neared the 
 spot at which he stood, he ran by the side of 
 the off horse for three or four strides, and 
 turning him suddenly with all his great 
 strength (for without being a giant he was a 
 man of great power and activity, which his 
 country life had confirmed), he brought the 
 whole concern to a stand-still amidst a heap of 
 stones, on the deepest and muddiest road- side 
 he had yet seen. The heads of the ponies 
 were brought to bay in a thick bullfinch, and 
 in another second Miss Carrington and the 
 groom were by his side. 
 
 The ponies had had their gallop, and though 
 they were not by any means beat, they seemed 
 satisfied to stand still while Miss Bradfield 
 stepped out of her pony-chair on to the driest 
 stone she could find. She did not faint ; and, 
 with the number of horses and paucity of 
 hands, it may be considered fortunate that she 
 did nothing to add to the perplexity. Her 
 beautiful features were, however, as pale as
 
 160 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 death; and it was quite clear that she could 
 not take the ponies back in her present state. 
 They presented a curious group to anyone 
 coming over the hill, did these five persons ; for 
 by this time the little groom had joined them, 
 having been disposed of, as he says, at a heap 
 of stones : the supposition being that he jumped 
 out. Lord Mentmore stood by the ponies, un- 
 vi^illing to leave them ; Miss Carrington sat on 
 her horse, having first introduced herself and 
 then Lord Mentmore ; William busied him- 
 self in looking over the carriage to detect flaws 
 in that or the harness, having surrendered the 
 horses to the little groom, who was otherwise 
 useless ,• while Ellen Bradtield sat herself down 
 on a heap of stones, and, though her hands 
 shook and her limbs trembled, and her lips had 
 not yet regained their colour, thanked her 
 deliverers, and detailed the causes of the acci- 
 dent with as much presence of mind as though 
 she had been once more in her own drawinsf- 
 room. The next question was how to get her 
 there.
 
 A Parmnue Beauty, 161 
 
 'Here comes Stafford, Miss Carrington;' 
 and at that moment he appeared coming over 
 the hill, with his reins hanging on his horse's 
 neck; nor did the unwonted group much dis- 
 turb his equanimity. He continued his descent 
 at the same pace. Not so a pedestrian who 
 came over the brow at the same time : he no 
 sooner saw the pony-chair, and the groom, and 
 the unusual concatenation of circumstances, 
 than his walk became a trot, which shortly 
 ended in a run — a fair reason for a little ap- 
 parent indecision in demanding the cause of 
 the catastrophe. 
 
 Scarsdale, for it was he, was what one of the 
 best writers of the day is pleased to call a mus- 
 cular Christian ; not, as we heard it explained 
 from the pulpit by an extemporaneous cushion- 
 thumper, a mixture of piety and strong exercise, 
 the soul of a Spurgeon in the body of a Tom 
 Sayers, but a practical parson, who believed 
 his vocation to be that of doing good to every- 
 body, under all circumstances, in the way most 
 likely to be efficient for the end proposed. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 He occasionally visited his people in health as 
 well as in sickness. He did not always call 
 upon the old women of Sommerton with the 
 ' Visitation for the Sick' under his arm. He 
 threw in many a word of comfort to the labourer 
 in the field, whom he could not have hoped to 
 catch in his cottage. He interested the souls of 
 his flock not unfrequently through their bodies ; 
 and occasionally seemed to have no other pur- 
 pose in his little visits than to inquire after the 
 wellbeing of the pig. He had succeeded a very 
 spiritually-minded young man, with a frock- 
 coat down to his ankles, and a word of advice 
 to everybody, which he never varied. He was 
 always ' in season,' like the ratcatcher's dog, 
 whenever rats were to be met with. Yet, 
 strange to say, the poor of Sommerton pre- 
 ferred John Scarsdale to his predecessor ; and 
 that was quite enough to make Abel Bradfield 
 hate him. 
 
 This brotherly sentiment was not shared by 
 either his daughter or his son. They liked 
 John Scarsdale, and admired his practical sense
 
 A Parmnue Beauty, 163 
 
 and honesty of character, as did everyone who 
 knew him. There was a little dilemma as to 
 how Miss Bradfield should be sent back to 
 Sommerton. Lord Mentmore offered his ser- 
 vices, simply, kindly, not warmly; for. though 
 he could not but feel admiration for the lovely 
 face before him, and sympathy for her accident, 
 he felt more strongly that his duties and his 
 inclination belono^ed to Evelvn Carrinirton. 
 She, on the contrary, begged him not to think 
 of her, and not to trust Miss Bradfield to the 
 capacity of any groom. The lady herself, who 
 was rapidly recovering, was firm in her refusal 
 of assistance, and was about submitting to a 
 compromise, that the Spring Yale servant should 
 be spared as her charioteer, and that her own 
 * incapable ' should be trusted with ]Mr. Car- 
 rington's hack — a service of which his reviving 
 colour seemed to render him capable. The 
 arrival of John Scarsdale, however, put all to 
 rights. 
 
 ' Oh ! ]\Ir. Scarsdale, you were going to your 
 parish, I'm sure ; pray let me take you, or do 
 
 M 2
 
 164 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 you take me back ; that will save Lord Ment- 
 more and Miss Carriiigton's servant all further 
 trouble.' 
 
 Scarsdale's face glowed with delight, as he 
 replied to this request. But Scarsdale was 
 young ; as if he cherished any feeling beyond 
 that of the purest friendship, he was wTong. 
 
 ' And I'm sure my friend Scarsdale is quite 
 as able as I, or anyone else, to take you home 
 in safety,' said Lord Mentmore, shaking hands 
 with him the meanwhile, and raising his hat to 
 Miss Bradfield, whom he now assisted to take 
 the left-hand seat in the phaeton, while Scars- 
 dale gathered up the reins, ready for the drive. 
 
 'Mentmore, be so good as to let your man 
 take up that off pony's curb a link or two, and 
 put the near- side rein of the other down to the 
 bottom bar.' 
 
 Lord Mentmore beckoned to William, who 
 did as Scarsdale had suggested, the little tiger 
 climbed into his seat behind, and with renewed 
 thanks Miss Bradfield was once more on her 
 road home.
 
 A Parvenue Beauty, 165 
 
 * And who the devil is that ? ' said Mr. Car- 
 riDgton, as they once more got into marching 
 order. 
 
 'That's Miss Bradfield, Stafford; you must 
 have seen her before.' 
 
 ' Never, certainly — that's not a face to for- 
 get. You said there were no such things 
 as modern Valerias. You didn't believe in 
 them in connection with Turkey carpets and 
 civilization. That's a Valeria of modern 
 life.' 
 
 * A propos — ? ' 
 
 *0f Whyte Melville's book, "The Gladiators." 
 That's a Valeria in character; colouring of the 
 school of Correggio.' 
 
 * What do you see in her ? It must be some- 
 thinor distinctive to have attracted such marked 
 
 o 
 
 notice from your fastidious brother. Miss Car- 
 rington. 
 
 * Hair of yellow gold,' said he, almost to 
 himself, meditatively at least, 'dark eyes and 
 lashes, on a tint of snow ; an upper lip short 
 and arched ; passion and self-respect ; a chin,
 
 166 Which is the Winner? 
 
 handsome, but somewhat square; power for 
 good or evil/ 
 
 ' Why not for good alone ? ' asked Evelyn. 
 
 ' Because that's impossible.' 
 
 *What is there no goodness with power, 
 Stafford ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; but accidentally.' 
 
 ' Then pray give her the benefit of the doubt,' 
 said Mentmore, ' beauty is generally allied with 
 goodness, and a more lovely face than that it 
 would be difficult to see.' 
 
 He spoke warmly, and Miss Carrington 
 endorsed all he said. 
 
 'Power inclines to evil,' retorted Stafford, 
 ' that face has as much power as beauty. The 
 weak give up their vices as impracticable, and 
 take to respectability as SLpisallerJ 
 
 ' You're becoming cynical, Stafford ; come, 
 you're too young for that at all events.' 
 
 ' No ; it is true, whatever you may 
 think. Had she lived with my mother 
 she might have been good and certainly 
 great ; what can happen with the grasping
 
 A Parvenue Beauty, 167 
 
 avarice, and vulgar tyranny by which she is 
 surrounded ? ' 
 
 ' What's the matter with Bradfield pere f ' 
 ' Nothing particular ; he's a tyrant, and a 
 toady, a pretender, and a miser, in one breath ; 
 and is suspected of half-a-dozen rascalities that 
 would have hung poorer men ;' and here Stafford 
 Carrington relapsed into silence, and began to 
 whistle. 
 
 The fact is, that during the few moments he 
 was present, he had just found time to admire 
 the wonderful beauty he had seen before him. 
 After once raising his hat, as a mere distant act 
 of politeness, he had suffered himself to gaze his 
 fill at a loveliness, which struck him as the 
 more extraordinary, when he heard who she 
 was. His mind was peculiarly formed to 
 appreciate extraordinary physical beauty, and 
 to pass by what was commonplace. Though 
 his prejudices were great, his admiration was so 
 intense, that he felt bound to justify himself by 
 the immediate adoption of maxims by no 
 means just. Hence his philosophical analysis
 
 168 Which is the Winner? 
 
 of a beauty which he had but partially in- 
 spected. 
 
 ' And who was that fellow that so coolly took 
 his seat and the reins by her side? ' asked he, 
 after a sufficient pause which no one seemed 
 anxious to break. 
 
 'That was my friend, Scarsdale,' replied 
 Lord Mentmore. 
 
 ' Oh ! that was Scarsdale — free and easy ? ' 
 
 ' Not remarkably so. I intend to give that 
 fellow a good living ; he's a good, practical, 
 hard-working parish priest, a character I much 
 admire.' 
 
 * He won't stand in need of assistance to get 
 through life, if assurance will do it for him.' 
 Why he had fallen foul of Scarsdale it was 
 difficult to say. 
 
 'Why! StaffiDrd— what's the matter? that's 
 the first time I ever knew you with energy 
 enough to abuse even your enemies; and I 
 suppose you never saw Mr. Scarsdale till to- 
 day.' 
 
 Miss Carrington pulled her horse up as she
 
 A Parvenue Beauty, 169 
 
 spoke, and the groom held open a bridle-gate 
 to the left, leading 'into a large ridge and 
 furrow field. 
 
 * This way, Lord Mentmore.' And he passed 
 through the gate after her. 
 
 *I didn't mean to abuse Mr. Scarsdale; I 
 dare say he's a good fellow enough, but if 
 he looks closely after his principal female 
 parishioner, he may certainly manage to exist 
 without Mentmore's promised living.' 
 
 'Is that Sommerton, Stafford.' 
 
 ' Yes ! that's Sommerton ; what do you think 
 of it?' 
 
 * It's all wall — it looks like money to judge 
 by the bricks and mortar round it. If John 
 Scarsdale has an eye to the heiress, he'd better 
 provide himself with a rope ladder. Mr. 
 Bradfield seems to be an exceedingly mclusive 
 person.' 
 
 Here Miss Carrington took hold of her 
 horse, and the party quickened their pace ; the 
 day was beginning to fail. 
 
 The cottaores at Sommerton looked like
 
 170 Which is the Winner? 
 
 money, as well as the park wall. Everything 
 has its advantages; and *that egotistical *my' 
 which was the leading feature of Abel Brad- 
 field's mind resulted in strong, well-built, well- 
 ventilated, and well-drained cottages for the 
 labourers in his vineyard, and for which he 
 made them pay. Still there they were, un- 
 picturesque truly ; but air-tight and water-tight, 
 and not to be met with elsewhere. They 
 had too the Bradfield mark all over them, 
 'A. B., 18- — ;' and like everything round him, 
 excepting only the atmosphere itself, proclaimed 
 aloud : * I, Abel Bradfield, although a manu- 
 facturer and a parvenu, can do more than 
 all the Carringtons and their neighbours put 
 together.' 
 
 We will go into one of these cottages, an 
 hour or two later than the time at which the 
 Carringtons and Lord Mentmore had quitted 
 the village. It was clean and tidy, but meanly 
 furnished. Four chairs, a round table, a cradle 
 on which had been lavished all the art and 
 extravagance of a poor mother's love. Scraps
 
 A Parveniie Beauty. 171 
 
 of coloured gauze and ribbons were the first 
 objects which met the eye of a casual observer. 
 On the mantelpiece there, was the usual assort- 
 ment of tins, dredgers, and saucepans, mingling 
 in an inconsistent familiarity with a sixpenny's 
 worth of porcelain shepherdesses and lambs, and 
 the commonest representation of Carlo Dolce's 
 Salvator Mundi. Above them was a sampler, 
 hanging upon the wall, which purported to be 
 the work of Ann Mason, of the Spring Vale 
 School. The only other article of furniture 
 was a good-looking clock, too good indeed for 
 the rest of the decorations. There were cup- 
 boards, as in all the cottages in Sommerton, on 
 both sides of the fireplace ; and the room was 
 fitted with pegs and other conveniences, which 
 were evidently made use of We are particular 
 in describing these things, as they bespeak the 
 character of the delicate, pretty young woman 
 who occupied one of the chairs. She was 
 working at some coarse sort of sewing, re- 
 sembling a labourer's shirt ; her foot was 
 rocking the cradle before mentioned ; and on
 
 172 Which is the Winner? 
 
 the small piece of carpet before the fire were 
 playing two children, which might have been of 
 the respective ages of three and five years. 
 They were handsome black-eyed youngsters, 
 clothed not in rags but with many patches, less 
 dirty however than the ordinary run of such 
 children, and at present quiet by the intervention 
 of a thick slice of bread. When children know 
 nothing of butter, it is astonishing how palatable 
 the unadulterated material may be made to 
 appear. The day was long gone, but the 
 mother worked on by the single rushlight in 
 the room, aided by a cheerful coal fire, which 
 threw its flickering glare on the objects around. 
 Mrs. Job Fletcher was manifestly poor, but 
 she was a tidy woman, better than common, 
 and usually putting a good face upon difficulties. 
 That was evident. She had been better off*, 
 and in better houses ; the cradle spoke out. 
 She had or had had friends; that was the 
 clock's chime ; and she had a husband who was 
 either very hard worked or fond of his beer ; 
 his absence from her side proclaimed it aloud.
 
 A Parvenue Beauty. 173 
 
 But nothing else, or rather nobody livmg dared 
 have said so in Mrs. Fletcher's hearing. 
 
 There is a step outside, aud one of the little 
 ones lifted its brown curls and said, ' Daddy.' 
 The mother put down her work, trimmed her 
 candle with the point of her needle, and 
 unbolted the door. 
 
 An athletic-looking fellow, with dark eyes 
 and dark hair, in the dress of a labourer, 
 but somewhat affecting that of a gamekeeper, 
 by his brown velveteen jacket, stood on the 
 threshold. 
 
 ' Well, mother,' said he, shaking the ashes 
 from his pipe, and placing it carefully on the 
 mantelpiece ; ' how goes it ? young 'uns not in 
 bed yet ? Master Tom, what be you about ? ' 
 The woman looked up at him, and without 
 replying took his rough hand in hers ; there 
 was a great contrast between the two. Her 
 face expressed the smallest possible shade of 
 reproach. He saw it in a moment, and said, 
 ' Come, Nanny, I ain't been long. It's not late, 
 and I been put out above a bit, I can tell 'e.'
 
 174 Which is the Winner? 
 
 ' What was it, Job ; something about the 
 club money? We'll make it all right next 
 pay-day. Miss Ellen's very kind at bottom, 
 though she does make believe sometimes.' 
 
 ' No, Nanny, it's not about the club money. 
 Though there ain't much charity if they don't 
 convenience us sometimes when we're behind- 
 hand. It's all along o' that young parson of 
 ourn.' 
 
 ' I thought you liked Mr. Scarsdale, Job ; 
 I'm sure he's very kind to us, and always takes 
 such notice o' the children.' 
 
 ' Ah ! that's all very well ; but he's been on 
 again about them pheasants ; he says it's the 
 sanie thing as takin' fowls or money. Says as 
 the squire feeds 'em, and pays for 'em, and 
 consequently they be his'n. I can't see it in 
 that way nohow.' Here he sat himself down 
 again and began to refill his pipe. 
 
 ' Well, if he thinks so, you know. Job, God 
 knows all about it, and perhaps Mr. Scarsdale's 
 right.' 
 
 ' That's like you, Nanny, always for the
 
 A Parvenue Beauty. 175 
 
 parson. And then he went on uncommon 
 about Dan Morton ; and threatens to tell the 
 squire, or Jennyngs, if we don't give it up. 
 Says he hears on it everywhere, and it's his 
 duty.' 
 
 'And if it is. Job — ' said the woman, placing 
 her hand on her husband's arm. 
 
 ' What ! his duty to get you and your little 
 'uns turned out of the cottage? No, no, that 
 won't do. He wants to make friends with the 
 squire, that's all ; wants to marry Miss Ellen 
 belike, and have Sommerton for hisself.' 
 
 * Nonsense, how should you know ? ' 
 
 ' How should I know ? Oh, I knows a good 
 deal more than folks thinks for. Wasn't he 
 drivin' with Miss Ellen this arternoon ? Besides, 
 didn't Morton tell me all about it.' 
 
 ' Morton's always got something to say. I 
 can't think what he finds to talk about. He's 
 got the best cottage in the parish, and Mr. 
 Jennyngs is often doing him one good turn or 
 another. I'm sure I wish he'd been further 
 first before he came to work on the farm.
 
 176 Which is the Winner f 
 
 Why didn't he stick to the ironworks in Lower 
 Sommerton.' 
 
 ' I know he's a wildish chap, Nanny, but 
 there ain't much harm in him. He knows 
 what he's about; the squire won't make an 
 enemy of him.' 
 
 ' He didn't bear the best of characters in 
 Claygate, and he isn't any good to us, I'm sure ; ' 
 and Nanny Fletcher brought a good honest 
 sigh from the bottom of her breast. 
 
 ' Dang it, lass, what are you got again ? Dan 
 Morton? We shouldn't a had last night's 
 supper, if it hadn't been for him ; and what's 
 thee got to-night? I'm right clammed with 
 the fog.' 
 
 Nanny did not answer at first. She looked 
 up with a sorrowful expression of face, and then 
 nodded towards the cupboard on the right hand 
 side of the fireplace. Then she took up her 
 baby out of the cradle, and taking the candle 
 from the table went slowly to the door which 
 led to the staircase, and went upstairs. Her 
 foot was heavy for one so young and light as she.
 
 A Parvenue Beauty. 177 
 
 Meantime Job Fletcher lighted another can- 
 dle, and holding it in his hand, looked first to 
 the door, which he bolted and locked, and 
 then went to the cupboard indicated by his 
 wife. 
 
 'Ah sure enough; here it be. And she 
 ain't touched it — not a morsel. Poor Nanny ! 
 now, what can she and the young 'uns a-had for 
 dinner! She said she wouldn't, and dang me if 
 she have ; ' saying which he brought down from 
 the highest shelf a cold pheasant, part of a loaf 
 of brown bread, two plates, knives and forks, 
 and a couple of rude mugs. He then passed 
 through the door by which Nanny had retired, 
 and shortly returned with a jug of table- 
 beer. Having placed these things comfort- 
 ably on the table, he called at the foot of the 
 stairs, — 
 
 'Come, lass, make haste wi' the little 'uns, 
 and come down.' 
 
 Presently Nanny appeared ; but she hesitated 
 to take her seat at the table, and sat down look- 
 ing wistfully at her husband. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 Which is the Winner? 
 
 ' Now wife, ' said he, good - naturedly, 
 ' take the plate ; it won't bite ye,' and he 
 laughed at her fears. It stood before her un- 
 touched. 
 
 * I can't, Job, indeed T can't ; it's the wages 
 of sin ; it's a sacrifice.' 
 
 'Nonsense;' and he came round to her. 
 ' Come, Nanny, to obhge me; you never mind 
 about Dan Morton. Take and eat a bit ; it's not 
 pison; and, as to the wages o' sin, if we gets no 
 worse off the farm, there won't be much harm 
 done.' 
 
 'I can't bear it. Job, I can't indeed;' and one 
 large, slowly-gathering tear, fell on his velveteen 
 sleeve, as he put his arm tenderly round her 
 neck. ' It seems as if it would choke me. If 
 anything was to happen to you, what would 
 become of us ? ' 
 
 ^ ' Nothin' 'ill happen to us ; doan't ye be 
 afeard, my lass ; the squire and Dan Morton's 
 too good friends for that.' Nanny began slowly 
 to gulp down the pheasant, watered with her 
 tears.
 
 A Parvenue Beauty, 179 
 
 It was not in her nature to be long very sad ; 
 and she ate what was put before her, though 
 without much relish for what she knew to be 
 stolen food. Her husband was a kind persuader, 
 where her own hunger failed to convince. She 
 was a good and well brought-up woman ; had 
 been in the service of the Carringtons, and an 
 especial favourite of old Aunt Philly in the 
 school. She had married a man a little below 
 her in manners, and without the advantages of 
 the education by which she had profited; but 
 she never repented her choice, for he was the 
 kindest and handsomest man in either parish ; 
 and Nanny knew that the rosiest bed has the 
 most thorns. He shocked her principles some- 
 times, but he never injured her by an unkind 
 word or deed. He made her tremble for him- 
 self; for Job Fletcher was an incorrigible 
 poacher, and latterly it had produced its invari- 
 able result — evil communications were begin- 
 ning to corrupt good manners. 
 
 n2
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE LOWER CLASSES. 
 
 * And guile and ruffian force were all their trade.' 
 
 An Allegory. — Thompson. 
 
 An unsuccessful attempt upon the latch of the 
 door was followed by a loud knock, evidently 
 with a stick. Job returned from his place by 
 his wife's side, and took the pheasant, now 
 half-eaten, with the two plates, and placed 
 them carefully in the cupboard, which he locked. 
 He then unbarred the door. Dan Morton 
 stood upon the threshold. He was a giant in 
 size. . Job Fletcher was as fine a young man as 
 need be looked upon. His height must have 
 been six feet and an inch or two. As the two 
 men stood together in the semi-darkness of the 
 cottage, there was but very little, if any, diffe- 
 rence in this respect : yet Morton looked a giant
 
 TJie Lower Classes. 181 
 
 by the side of the other. His enormous breadth 
 of chest and shoulders, his length of limb, and 
 his ragged and unkempt hair and beard, both of 
 a fiery red, gave him an appearance which could 
 be described by no word so well as brutality. 
 His face was broad and flat, his forehead low 
 and receding, his brow was heavy and knotted 
 above his eyebrows, which were almost bare of 
 hair. His eyes were small and bright, with a 
 cunning ferocity shining in them ; his nose was 
 short and flat, telling a tale of more than one 
 long and savage battle in the ring ; where his 
 great strength almost served to conquer the 
 superior science of smaller men. His mouth 
 was large and thick lipped, and his hands and 
 feet even disproportionately large, for his enor- 
 mous bulk. In looking at him, he seemed to 
 possess every quality for deeds of lawlessness 
 and violence save one. Agility was not his 
 characteristic; and Job Fletcher by his side 
 was endowed, by comparison, with positive 
 refinement. The most conspicuous parts of his 
 dress were a bright-coloured neckcloth, knotted
 
 182 Which is the Winner? 
 
 loosely round his throat, corduroy breeches, and 
 very strong leathern gaiters. He carried in his 
 hand a short stick of some heavy wood, and was 
 accompanied by a mongrel sheep dog, manifestly 
 a pointer with his tail cut off; which greeted 
 Job with a low growl, and, after looking at the 
 cat, which retired back up and hackles standing 
 underneath Nanny's chair, curled himself up 
 before the fire. He seemed conscious that his 
 master's visit was not to be a very transitory 
 one. 
 
 Mrs. Fletcher looked positively frightened ; 
 but endeavoured to do the honours of her house 
 with a gentility innate, if not acquired in a 
 better school than that of Sommerton. 
 
 ' Good evening, Morton ; you seem cold ; stir 
 the fire. Job ; is the fog as heavy as it was an 
 hour ago ? ' She would willingly have engaged 
 Morton's good feelings, if he knew what such 
 things were, in behalf of her husband. 
 
 ' Fog,' replied he, without removing his hat, 
 and warming his feet on the hob at the same 
 time. ' It hangs over the cover side, as if we
 
 The Lower Classes. 183 
 
 should never see a branch of it again. Curate 
 been here to-night, Job ? ' 
 
 * Arn't seen him these three weeks.' 
 
 ' What ! not at the old shop. Why, man, 
 you be grown quite wicked,' retorted the other, 
 with a malicious laugh, which roused the 
 woman. ' You don't look arter him, Mrs. 
 Fletcher. He be a bad boy, be Job Fletcher.' 
 
 'He saw him the day before yesterday in 
 church, so he ain't so bad as some folks, Mr. 
 Morton ; but Mr. Scarsdale's safe at home by 
 this time, I hope.' 
 
 * He be pryin' about, looking arter his flock, 
 
 like the wolf, d him,' rejoined Morton. 
 
 He's been dining at the Hall, and gone up to 
 the night school. Squire be away in Lunnun, 
 so he and the young missus be arter their 
 games ; and he ain't been dining on bread and 
 cheese, I'll be bound. Is that all you're got for 
 supper? Come, Job, man, let's have 'em out.' 
 
 Job laughed, and winked to his wife; who 
 however sat immovable. Then he rose, went 
 to the cupboard, and brought down the pheasant.
 
 184 Which is the Winner? 
 
 with another plate, on which he immediately 
 placed almost the remainder of the bird, cutting 
 a huge slice of bread at the same time, and 
 offering it to Dan Morton. 
 
 ' No ! no ! dang it ; I be tired o' such dainties: 
 to-morrow be Saxonby market, and I means 
 going in for a shin o' Mr. Shamble's beef — 
 there, that'll do for me,' added he, as he cut 
 off a huge slice of cheese, and helped himself to 
 a mug of beer. 'Ah ! that's a Charnside bird, I 
 know, they be better fed nor the squire's; 
 but they be nothing to the long wood and the 
 canal bank at Spring Yale.' 
 
 ' You seem to know all about 'em, Morton,' 
 said Job Fletcher, who went on with his supper 
 during the conversation. 
 
 * Well, I knows a game country, when I 
 sees it. None o' your plashed hedges for me. 
 There's a sight too many wood-pigeons here- 
 abouts.' 
 
 ' What harm do they do ? ' asked Job 
 Fletcher. 
 
 'They're always on the move, d 'em,
 
 The Lower Classes. 185 
 
 said Morton, who usually uttered a curse on 
 everybody or thing which interfered with his 
 interests ; and it was no empty sound with him. 
 He followed it up at most times by active 
 measures to secure its fulfilment. 
 
 The men relighted their pipes, and drew 
 their chairs towards the fire, w^hich was re- 
 plenished by a large piece of coal, unbroken ; 
 and Mrs. Fletcher rose, without comment, and 
 produced a bottle and two horns. 
 
 ' Put a log to warm by the fire, Nanny ; w^e 
 may want it.' 
 
 At that moment there came a knock at the 
 door ; it was not a timid knock, it was decisive 
 enough ; but this time it was a finger, not a 
 stick. The door opened, and Mr. Scarsdale 
 entered. 
 
 At first he drew back, seeing two where he 
 had expected to find only one man by the fire. 
 
 ' Good evening, Mrs. Fletcher ; how are you, 
 Fletcher ? ' said the curate, as the man rose and 
 smiled good-humouredly, bowing with rustic 
 simplicity.
 
 186 Which is the Winner? 
 
 ' Pray come in, sir ; it's a bad night to be 
 out,' and so great was the effect produced by 
 the natural courtesy of his companion, that 
 Morton rose and removed his hat, which hitherto 
 he had kept on his head. 
 
 * Is that you, Morton ? ' said Mr. Scarsdale, at 
 once recognizing the giant, when he stood up, 
 ' Keep your seat, and don't let me interrupt 
 you. I have to walk to Saxonby, and I want 
 a light for my cigar. I saw one through your 
 shutters, as I was passing, and just turned in, 
 otherwise I must have gone without.' He took 
 his cigar to the fire, and so far was Morton 
 mollified by a parson who smoked, that he 
 screwed up a piece of paper, and held it for 
 him. As he went out of the door, Mrs. Fletcher 
 dropped a curtsy, and an audible ' Thank ye, 
 sir.' After makinof her husband and his <ruest 
 comfortable, she glided from the room without 
 exchanging a word on the late and unexpected 
 visit. 
 
 * Conscience doth make cowards of us all.' 
 And though nothing could have been simpler
 
 The Lower Classes. 187 
 
 or more innocent, than the appearance of the 
 cottage, or more natural than the visit. Job felt 
 uneasy at something or other. He was con- 
 scious of not having been caught in the best 
 of company. Even Morton, without those 
 sentiments of respect which actuated the Flet- 
 chers, male and female, in their intercourse with 
 their parish priest, tingled with an undefined 
 dislike for affinity with something so diiFerent 
 from himself. If Scarsdale had been a psalm- 
 singer or Pharisaical observer of outward cere- 
 mony only, no one would have more willingly 
 insulted him than Dan Morton ; but it was, in 
 his mind, impossible to laugh at a clergyman 
 who was frank, honest, and practically useful ; 
 and who was going to walk through a thick fog 
 to Saxonby at nine o'clock at night, with a 
 cigar in his mouth. It was so different from 
 anything which Morton expected his spiritual 
 adviser to be. He was likely to be a bitter 
 enemy, but he was sure to be an open 
 one. 
 
 To a man like Job Fletcher there is some-
 
 188 Which is the Winner? 
 
 thing wonderfully attractive in sport, and 
 everything connected with it. As a boy he 
 was always playing truant to go and look at 
 the hounds, when they came into his neigh- 
 bourhood. As a lad, he was always to be met 
 with at the meets, holding open the gates for 
 the gentlemen, and earning more by his idle- 
 ness than two or three days' work would have 
 given him. When he grew older, he never 
 omitted an opportunity of learning where the 
 partridges jugged, and from looking at them 
 too often, he sometimes joined in taking them. 
 He could scarcely be then called a poacher, as 
 going out at night was an exceptional case; but 
 he had his eyes about him, when at work, and 
 could see a hare quicker than most men in the 
 parish. His occasional depredations were over- 
 looked, as he was very useful to the keepers. 
 He knew quite as well as they where a fox was 
 to be found ; and could have told when and 
 why he was not to be found at the right time. 
 Abel Bradfield would have been very angry 
 with a keeper who was clumsy enough to have
 
 The Loirer Classes, 1S9 
 
 been found out destroyiug them. It \va? said 
 the rabbit-traps were conveniently large in the 
 Sommerton covers. 
 
 With all these tastes and opportunities, it is 
 not strange that there Tvas nothing repulsive to 
 him in Dan Morton ; and there was a positive 
 fascination in his conversation, which always 
 turned on the pursuit of game, and was full of 
 information and adventure ; for Morton had 
 been a sojourner in strange lands, and talked of 
 bustards and capercailzies, kangaroo's flesh ai:d 
 jackal hunting, buffaloes and rhinoceroses, as 
 if they were barn-door fowls, or home-bred 
 pheasants. There were tales of endless wood- 
 hmds. and rivers full of fish to be had for the 
 taking ; and altogether he had a life to expose 
 so full of adventure and peril, that Job Fletcher 
 was enchanted in spite of himself and his wife's 
 remonstrances. To do Dan justice, it was his 
 natural element, and he looked less repulsive 
 while relating his experiences among game. 
 He would almost have adorned a felon's dock 
 if the charo-e had been one of successful
 
 190 Which is the Winner? 
 
 poaching, accompanied by murderous assault 
 on a keeper. 
 
 ' Not much of a night for our work, Job/ 
 said Morton, drawing his chair nearer to the 
 fire, and smoking a short black pipe, which he 
 had laid aside for a moment on the entrance of 
 Mr. Scarsdale. 
 
 * Well, no ! one wants a little light for it ; 
 but what work do you mean ? ' 
 
 Job looked as if he longed for a job, and that 
 there was one in particular waiting for him. 
 
 ' Oh ! nothing particular, but the fog is so 
 dark and cold that I think it's going to freeze ; 
 and then we shall have 'em at our pheasants 
 again ; eh. Job ? ' This was such a curious 
 way of putting it, that it made Job laugh in 
 spite of himself. 
 
 ' And you think as we ought to be first 
 sarved? We'll leave 'em a few, Dan.' 
 
 * Sure-lie. But if Mr. Jennyngs comes any 
 more nonsense with me about that little bit o' 
 ground as I wants to my cottage, d — me if I 
 doan't shoot 'un some fine night.'
 
 The Lower Classes. 191 
 
 ' Nonsense about shooting, Dan. What would 
 ye have ? You do as you like, you get the best 
 house in the parish, you never has to ask twice 
 of the squire for anything, you takes half-days 
 when you like, you've come down from the works 
 to the farm below the hill, and now ye talk o' 
 shooting ; why what be ye thinkin' on, man ? ' 
 
 ' And why shouldn't I, pray ? I'm as good 
 a man as the squire any day, and knows more 
 than he does. If it warn't for Miss Ellen, I'd 
 a told him a bit o' my mind before now.' The 
 black bottle was getting lower, and taking 
 effect upon Morton, who had been at the beer- 
 shop earlier in the evening. 
 
 'But I don't see what the squire's done to 
 you ? ' said Job, rather dogmatically. 
 
 'Well, then, he's turned the old man into 
 the workus.' 
 
 ' But you'd a had to keep 'un yourself, if he 
 hadn't.' 
 
 ' May be or not ; ought to a kept him his- 
 self; and should if I'd a been here; but the 
 old 'un's not so stout as he was.'
 
 192 Which is the Winner f 
 
 * Miss Ellen told 'uii to stop where he was,' 
 rejoined Job, not sorry to say a good word for 
 her. ' My missus heard her order Jennyngs 
 out; but the old man wouldn't stop. He'd a 
 bee in the bonnet, Dan.' 
 
 * Good cause too.' Then he paused a little, 
 and looked straight into the fire, as if his mind 
 was wandering among forms and scenes far 
 away. At length he said, 'When be the 
 hounds a coming here. Job ? ' 
 
 ' Next week, I take it ; but the meets ain't 
 out yet.' 
 
 'Then mind you're at the bottom of the 
 cover ; and we mustn't know one another, if 
 we meet — keep a wide berth — we shall see 
 what there is in* the low cut; we can afford 
 a night or two up yonder ; and we'll give the 
 baronet a turn when the leaves is off. He'll 
 not be shootin' his'n before Christmas, there's 
 time enough. I owe the Carringtons a turn. 
 Master Stafford it was as pressed for a convic- 
 tion last year.' 
 
 They smoked on in silence, not saying much
 
 The Lower Classes. 193 
 
 to one another, till at length Fletcher said, 
 somewhat unexpectedly, * How's the iron get 
 on, up by them new blasting furnaces ? ' 
 
 ' Well, pretty well, I should think, for a new 
 concern; six or seven hundred tons a week, 
 and coal and a rail just handy; he must be 
 coining money all over this estate.' 
 
 * All the better for Mr. Laurence ; he'll have 
 it all, I suppose.' 
 
 ' Not he ; it's the girl as gets this property ; 
 Master Laurence takes the big place up in the 
 north somewheres,' and he knocked the ashes 
 from his pipe. 
 
 ' How's that then ? ' demanded Job Fletcher 
 of his companion. 
 
 ' The old man left this to her ; she'll have a 
 fine fortune she will.' 
 
 Another pause ; ' Why don't you go up to 
 the works ? I think I shall. The work's hard, 
 but the pay's better. I think I must, for 
 Nanny and the young 'uns.' 
 
 'Don't you be a fool. Job. I bin there. 
 There's as much as we want to be got here, and 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 Which is the Winner 1 
 
 jou can't work like a horse all day and all night 
 too. I got something as 'uU do for us in a 
 month or two. Meantime there's plenty to eat 
 and to spare too, and you know how to get it.' 
 
 ' But I tell you, Morton, Nanny don't like it. 
 She's better brought up nor I, and doan't see 
 things in the same light, you know. • Truth is, 
 I've half a mind to give it up.' 
 
 ' Not yet. Job, wait a bit. She won't mind 
 it when she can get a comfortable bit for the 
 children, and something to pay the rent. We 
 got an order down from London to supply a 
 great house with game at so much a head, all 
 we knows how to do ; there'll be six on us 
 with you, and there's no covers in the county 
 can stand against us, when the time comes. 
 Ah ! she won't mind it when the time comes. 
 Besides, what's wages? just nothing; how's 
 a man to find rent, and food, and firing, and 
 clothes, and just a sup o' beer or somethin' 
 more, and his club, an' all out o' ten shillin 
 a week ? Danged if I couldn't eat as much 
 at a meal,' and the huge monster opened his
 
 The Lower Classes. 195 
 
 mouth and mnned asfain from ear to ear at the 
 notion. 
 
 * We gets a trifle more than that with one 
 thing or the other, though it is hard work to 
 match it, to be sure. It ain't for me, but it's 
 Nanny as I thinks on. And there's her brother, 
 second keeper at Sir jNIicliael's — Lord ! what 
 would he do if he wor to catch me ! ' 
 
 * Why, let ye go again all the easier, to be 
 sure. What's the use of a brother, if he won't 
 stand in a bit ? ' 
 
 * No chance o' that, Dan ; he's a true-bred 
 'un.' 
 
 * And so be we true-bred 'uns. He's bred 
 for sarvice, I suppose, and a d — d bad sarvice 
 too. He don't think as the game belongs to 
 him any more nor to Sir Michael, do he? — 
 leastways I don't.' 
 
 * I don't think so myself, Dan ; but if we're 
 caught, what's to become of Nanny and the 
 little 'uns ? ' 
 
 Job looked seriously bent on a new life as 
 he spoke. 
 
 2
 
 196 Which is the Winner? 
 
 ' Never you mind about them — they'll be 
 took care on ; and as to hurtin' me, or any- 
 thing belongin' to me, Master Bradfield might 
 as well cut his own hand off.' 
 
 Job had so often heard the same inexplicable 
 inuendo from the lips of his companion, that 
 he had ceased to attach any importance to it ; 
 though if he had been accustomed to any logical 
 process of the mind, he might have seen cause 
 to give some credit to the apparently idle 
 boast. 
 
 Dan Morton soon after raised himself from 
 his seat, and taking his hat, and relighting his 
 pipe, he gave his dog a kick, which roused him 
 from his sleep, and went out of the cottage 
 with a rough 'Good-night.' 
 
 This is not a bad opportunity to consider the 
 antecedents of Dan Morton. 
 
 Of course, Dan had been a baby. There 
 was not much trace of it left, and, like himself, 
 the conception seemed too great for the pro- 
 duction of any brain. We can imagine him a 
 boy. He was so once, and the son of not
 
 The Lower Classes. 197 
 
 honest nor industrious parents. They lived in 
 the village of Claygate, not many miles from 
 the scene of our story. Until the birth of Dan 
 himself, the parish had been purely agricultural. 
 His father had enjoyed a reputation even then 
 not consistent with the Arcadian simplicity of 
 rustic life. The much-vaunted innocence of 
 the labourer has a close affinity with knock- 
 knees and imbecility of mind ; his vices with 
 the uncivilized ferocity of a savage. When 
 Dan was five or six years old, the discovery of 
 iron in the clay, the erection of furnaces, and 
 the employment of additional and skilled labour, 
 added refinement to the village calendar of 
 crime. Among the first to profit by this ex- 
 panse of education was Dan's father; and, by 
 consequence, Dan himself. His mother, who 
 might have saved him — for mothers do save 
 boys, you know — was dead and gone ; and, 
 rather than have a quiet home and a new 
 wife, old Morton lodged at the public, and 
 kept house in the tap-room for himself and his 
 son. One thing the parson of the parish did
 
 198 JVhich is the Winner? 
 
 for the young Rechabite (for at ten years old 
 be would drink nothing but water — with a 
 little gin in it), he sent him to school. This 
 might have been of much service to him — as it 
 was, he only corrupted the rest ; and when he 
 removed him, it was to make four shillings a 
 week by giving assistance on the tramway. He 
 was well up in pitch and toss ; he was a head 
 taller than any boy in the village school of his 
 own age, and far behind them in decent ac- 
 quirements ; he attracted notice from all who 
 visited the school for his singular backward- 
 ness and ugliness — until he began to believe 
 that the right thing was to be at the bottom of 
 his class and a head above it. Sunday was his 
 lioliday ; and, as his parish priest had often told 
 him that no work should be done on that day, 
 but that a certain measure of innocent recreation 
 was even commendable, he passed it in cock- 
 fighting or badger-baiting, in tracking hares, 
 and setting springes for pheasants. If sold as 
 a young one, he might have been recommended 
 as 'fast in all his paces.'
 
 The Lower Classes. 199 
 
 As Dan ^lorton advanced in years, he scarcely 
 grew better. His father was a man whose 
 reputation was so bad as to have subjected him 
 to every suspicion, but he boasted of never 
 having been convicted. This respectable old 
 man held his head high among his neighbours. 
 He had never been found out. His boldness 
 was tempered with discretion. As to Dan, he 
 knew of nothing wrong in the domestic circle — 
 for poaching was a great national virtue in 
 the neighbourhood, excepting among the pre- 
 servers ; and what could a keeper or two in 
 the world signify, more or less ? 
 
 Poaching is a very curious phase of the agricul- 
 tural epidemic — it is almost incurable; and though 
 dangferous enouofh, as leadino^ to other fiercer 
 maladies, it is regarded as of small importance 
 in itself. Nobody strives to check it, excepting 
 by such remedies as are totally inadequate to 
 the disease. So old Giles Morton, or Morton 
 Giles, as he was indiscriminately called, being 
 of doubtful lineage, and not caring to hand 
 down one name more than another to his son,
 
 200 Which is the Winner? 
 
 went through life ; and so young Dan had fol- 
 lowed him, until a sporting foreman at the 
 works from Birmingham took him by the hand, 
 and finding it strong enough and thick enough 
 to kill an ox, like Milo of old, put him in the . 
 hands of the Warwickshire Resurrectionist — a 
 name acquired by his celebrity for bringing 
 beaten men to the post. 
 
 Young Dan had pluck and strength, but was 
 deficient in that part of the art of self-defence 
 which requires quickness and intelligence. He 
 was not bad in the Provinces, where his length 
 and power gave him great advantages with 
 moderate yokels; but when he was put down 
 in the prize ring, he was knocked out of time 
 in fifteen minutes by the Burstall Rooster, and 
 returned upon his father's hands with a broken 
 nose, a damaged reputation, and seven pounds 
 ten collected on the spot for his capacity — 
 to take punishment. His trainer and supposed 
 backer, who had taken his measure beforehand, 
 won good stakes; and no one was the worse 
 for the fight but the men at the Claygate
 
 The Lower Classes. 201 
 
 Works who had put down the couters on their 
 man, and the ratepayers of Great Britain, 
 whose pockets support the gaols and work- 
 houses of this happy country. 
 
 Ugliness daunts no woman ; but some qua- 
 lities in Dan Morton, physical or mental, had 
 happily frightened the sex, and improvident 
 marriages could not be added to the lis* of 
 his venial peccadilloes. He was bad before, 
 but the Birmingham journey finished him. As 
 long as there was anything to be got without 
 labour, Dan Morton had no objection to help 
 himself. He was to be found at statutes — 
 why? nobody knew; at horse-fairs, where he 
 enjoyed much vagabond company, and was not 
 averse to taking charge of a few horses, so 
 long as he might ride. Of ratting he was very 
 fond ; and w^ould have adopted it as a pro- 
 fession, but unfortunately, at the opening of his 
 career, at the very drawing up of his articles, 
 he was detected with his pockets full of live 
 rats at the door of a barn which he was paid 
 for clearing at the rate of fourpence a head,
 
 202 Which is the Winner? 
 
 and the case was so very clear, that even his 
 well-known reputation, either for honesty or as 
 a bully, did not save him. He was now nearly 
 forty-five ; at the time he was twenty-three he 
 was a vagabond upon the face of the earth. 
 
 The Clay gate Ironworks and the Sommerton 
 Estate had belonged for some time to the father 
 of Abel Bradfield. He had bought them for 
 a small sum of money, being at the time a 
 rising man, manager of the Claygate Works. 
 The money with which he was supposed to 
 have bought the Sommerton property was the 
 produce of some other venture. Indeed that 
 property, some said, the old man had not 
 bought at all; but had taken possession of, 
 under a peculiar clause, existing in the mort- 
 gage deeds, by which the estate had passed 
 from the hands of Sir Reginald Carrington, the 
 uncle of the present baronet. Be that as it 
 may, the Sommerton Estate was old Bradfi eld's. 
 The old man was an unscrupulous person, with 
 no pretensions even to respectability of character 
 in a moral sense, and with no feelings of a
 
 TJie Lower Classes. 203 
 
 gentleman in an ethical one. He wanted tools 
 fitted to liis hand for many a questionable pur- 
 pose ; and no one in the parish wondered that 
 he should reo^ard with favour two men like the 
 JMortons, who made but a show of labour in 
 his service, but were ahvays treated with the 
 consideration that belongs to the unscrupulous 
 classes. 
 
 Some thirty years ago a deed of daring had 
 been done in the county. Nothing had trans- 
 pired to fix the highway robbery upon anyone 
 in particular ; the circumstances of it were 
 mysterious in every way ; nor was it till long 
 afterwards, that it was recollected that the 
 Mortons, father and son, had emigrated within 
 no long time of its occurrence. They had 
 returned again to this country three years ago.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE HIGHER CLASSES. 
 
 * Girt with many a baron bold, 
 
 Sublime their starry fronts they rear, 
 And joyous dames and statesmen old 
 
 In bearded majesty appear ; 
 In the midst a form divine.' 
 
 The Bard.— Gbay. 
 
 Sir Michael Carrington had been religiously 
 silent on the subject of his conversation with 
 Abel Bradfiekl. He was a proud man, and he 
 felt, wisely or not is another question, exceed- 
 ingly indignant at the proffered alliance. We 
 hardly know whether he argued the subject 
 very logically, for there was truly a vast differ- 
 ence between the tone of mind in the old 
 country gentleman and the millionnaire. We 
 venture to imagine that he rather missed that 
 point, and saw only the enormous gulf between 
 the man of the aristocracy, the descendant of
 
 The Higher Glasses, 205 
 
 kings, and the man of the people; the one, 
 grand in his impoverisliment by the folly of his 
 ancestors and his own ; the other, grovelling 
 and dependent on the resources of paternal and 
 personal industry and management. Be that as 
 it may, the old baronet brooded in silence, not 
 making a confidant even of Lady Carrington. 
 As to anyone else, the thing was to be des- 
 paired of. Aunt Philly would have laughed 
 aloud, and probably paraded the advantages of 
 such a match (alliance, by the way, is the word 
 for high contracting parties). Evelyn would 
 have felt some degree of compunction for a man 
 who meant to do her the greatest honour he 
 could, or proposed to himself her as the greatest 
 source of gratification to himself, for there are 
 two ways of reading the text ; Stafford would 
 have possibly gone straight to Sommerton, and 
 demanded reparation for the intentional injury, 
 at the point of the sword, and exposed to the 
 whole county, for his own revenge, that of 
 which the worthy old gentleman was so heartily 
 ashamed. He therefore * pocketed up his
 
 206 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 wrongs,' and betook himself to the chase for 
 consolation. 
 
 This gentleman of the olden school was not 
 perfect. He had his infirmities of temper 
 especially, at which times, I regret to say, he 
 swore roundly. It was a bad fashion, of an 
 epoch passing away. For a week or two 
 nothing went right ; and when the opposition 
 was withdrawn, as we have seen, by Laurence 
 Bradfield's unwillingness to fight, still the 
 grooms who brought his horse to the door, and 
 the people who got in his way in the garden, 
 had a bad time of it. I do not think that they 
 went, any of them, to the place to which he 
 sent them ; we may presume his threats to have 
 been disregarded ; and it should be a warning to 
 others of like temperament not to throw away 
 valuable language to no purpose. 
 
 There was, however, something very dignified 
 in Sir Michael's hatred of Abel Bradfield. He 
 utterly ignored his existence, as far as conversa- 
 tion or any interest in his proceedings was con- 
 cerned ; and the whole family of Carringtons
 
 The Higher Classes, 207 
 
 seemed to follow in the baronet's steps. It is 
 not to be inferred from this that Sir Michael 
 had any of that childish vanity which overlooks 
 the claims of its neighbours to distinction. He 
 was as kindness and complaisance itself to the 
 poor ; shook hands heartily with the farmers 
 and tradesmen, upon other than electioneering- 
 principles ; w^as * hail-fellow well-met ' with the 
 doctors and lawyers and small fry of Saxonby, 
 male and female ; opened his doors annually to 
 the clergy, and even more frequently to the 
 inferior clergy, some of whom, in that neigh- 
 bourhood, as in others, had been seeking gen- 
 tility at the point of their religion, and were 
 trading upon their office for an unprecedented 
 countenance in good society. The Carringtons 
 could afford very well to do all this ; but im- 
 pertinent rivalry was not to their taste. There 
 is little doubt that one gentleman would rather 
 have gone out of the world an attenuated corpse 
 as Stafford Carrington, than have remained in it 
 as a sturdy and uncompromising Bradfield. 
 ' Who dine here to-day, ^largaret ? ' said Sir
 
 208 Which is the Winner? 
 
 Michael one morning, after breakfast, to Lady 
 Carrington. He was dressed, as English gentle- 
 men should be dressed, in the whitest of buck- 
 skins and black boots, ready for a ride to the 
 magistrates' bench, at Saxonby. 
 
 * Besides ourselves, Lady Sarah, Skeffington, 
 the Duke, George Singleton, Mrs. Augustus 
 Reynard, and that new curate at Chessington, 
 with his pretty wife, that Evelyn called on last 
 week. I don't know him, but she's charming ; 
 and old Darby sleeps here.' 
 
 * Is Aunt Philly coming ? ' inquired Sir 
 Michael. 
 
 * Certainly, my dear ; who's to talk to the 
 duke? I believe he'd marry Aunt Philly, if 
 the duchess was to die.' 
 
 ' How's the curate to get here ? Does he 
 keep a carriage ? ' 
 
 ' No ; but I've told him that there's a dress- 
 ing-room at his service if they like to come 
 early ; and we'll send them back at night in the 
 brougham. He has a dog-cart, or pony-chair, I 
 believe.'
 
 The Higher Classes, 209 
 
 * Where's Evelyn ? ' 
 
 * Gone to her aunt's, I think. The men are 
 shooting. Stafford has no horse fit, and Lord 
 Mentmore preferred a day at home.' 
 
 'Does he stay on next week?' asked the 
 baronet. 
 
 ' 1 don't think he does. He goes to New- 
 market ; but talks of returning for the Saxonby 
 ball.' 
 
 * I hope it will amuse him.' 
 
 'I've no doubt it will, my dear, or he wouldn't 
 stay.' And Lady Carrington had a conscious 
 look, as of one carrying a basket on her head, 
 with something worth getting at within it. 
 Sir Michael did not share her triumph, and was 
 eminently in the dark, at least if there was 
 anything like enlightenment to be desired. 
 
 That mental obscurity accompanied him to 
 Saxonby, and spread a halo, if I may say so, on 
 all the proceedings at the magistrates' meeting 
 that day. His friend Darby was there ; a 
 pluralist, the editor of the great Tory paper of 
 the county, the ' Revolver ; ' his enemy, Abel 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 Which is the Winner? 
 
 Bradfield, was there, who was only so far right 
 in his views, that he contradicted the decisions 
 of the other two, who were as often wrong. 
 When he was wrong, the others were right. 
 They balanced accounts in this manner, until 
 the Saxonby bench had become a paragon of 
 just judgment in the neighbourhood. 
 
 They let off an outrageous poacher, because 
 Sir Michael was too proud to contest the point 
 with Bradfield. Bradfield was strong in his 
 acquittal ; and himself gave a character to one 
 Dan Morton, as a hard-working, industrious 
 man. Policeman F 164 received a high 
 eulogium from Mr. Bradfield for having done his 
 duty, and was severely censured by Sir Michael 
 for having overstepped it, in re one of his 
 tenants. They convicted the wrong man in a 
 case of assault, and had to admonish the plain- 
 tiff not to commit himself any more in the same 
 way ; then they begged his pardon, and let the 
 defendant off altogether. They wanted to flog 
 a boy of sixteen, and were only prevented from 
 doing so by their clerk, Mr. Darville, who
 
 The Higher Classes, 211 
 
 hinted at the illegality of the punishment. 
 However, Sir Michael and the Rev. Darby 
 went their way, and Mr. Bradfield went his, 
 and the people were highly delighted with the 
 administration of justice, which they regarded 
 rather as the corrector of the law. 
 
 The pleasures of amalgamation are great : 
 even the stomach delights to bear witness to 
 this truth. Nothing so healthful as a grand 
 variety of viands. The stomach that feeds only 
 on mutton and beef becomes crude, hard, insen- 
 sible. A vegetable diet is weak and insipid, 
 and tends to paralyze natural powers of diges- 
 tion. An entire devotion to the extreme deli- 
 cacies of the table palls, and, without satisfying, 
 overloads the palate. A judicious mixture 
 promotes health, vigour, and enjoyment. It is 
 the same w ith your guests ; and Lady Carring- 
 ton's table was no exception to the rule. 
 
 The duke, a truly sensible man of the highest 
 class in every respect, was delighted with the 
 curate's wife, and indulged in the notion that 
 she was some lady of fashion, who from country 
 
 p 2
 
 212 Which is the Winmr? 
 
 tastes, or eccentric inclinations, had not exhibited 
 herself in his orbit. She was far the best 
 dressed of the company, having studied the 
 ornamental and becoming, in anticipation of 
 some such fortunate occasion for display. The 
 duke imagined it to be an ordinary toilette, 
 such as might well appear at a small and rapidly- 
 organized dinner, and secretly wished the duchess 
 was equally well got up. The editor of the 
 * Revolver,' once out of the quarter-sessions 
 and the editor's box, was sparring with George 
 Singleton, a master of hounds, who had no 
 serious ideas of any sort or kind, who regarded 
 the quarter-sessions and the county politics with 
 equal disgust, and was deep in the mysteries of 
 earth-stopping, and the Battle of Farnborough, 
 w'here he chose to believe that he had seen the 
 reverend editor himself. 
 
 ' Yes, yes ; come. Darby, it won't do. I saw 
 you myself, hiding behiud the Bishop of Oxford. 
 Plenty more of you, you know ; no harm in it 
 at all. Besides, it was quite a national thing.' 
 And that end of the table laughed.
 
 The Higher Classes, 213 
 
 ' No, no ; I protest,' said the divine, who was 
 at all times hideously ugly, and none the hand- 
 somer for having his mouth full. * Singleton's 
 only joking; he wasn't there himself; and 
 as to — ' 
 
 ' Don't be ashamed of it, Darby. If I hadn't 
 seen you I should have known the article in the 
 " Revolver." It must have been yours ; and 
 none could have written it but an eye-witness. 
 Finest bit of writing I ever saw ; quite Homeric. 
 What with the thumps, and the falls, and the 
 brawn, and the muscle, and the positions, and 
 the finish — finest thing I ever saw. Yes, it was, 
 upon my soul ; everybody says so.' 
 
 After this it was impossible to deny anything, 
 and the Rev. Tom Darby quite enjoyed his 
 holiday after the feasts of politics to which he 
 was accustomed. 
 
 Mrs. Augustus Reynard, a very good-looking 
 woman of five-and-thirty, whose husband, Major- 
 General Reynard, had been left behind some- 
 where in the north or the south, — she didn't 
 pretend to know where, — went to work upon the
 
 214 Which is the Winner? 
 
 curate, and mixed up such a quantity of New- 
 market information and stable-language, with 
 Sunday-schools and parish exercise, that they 
 were mutually pleased, and, I believe, instructed. 
 
 ' Fifty children, have you, indeed ? ' said old 
 Miss Philly Carrington, who chose to be deaf 
 for the present. 
 
 ' In the Chessington schools, madam,' roared 
 the curate ; while the old lady, looking grimly 
 enough, as though no equivoque had been in- 
 tended, replied, ' I didn't suppose that there 
 was another Danaus at table, sir. I hope you 
 teach them the distinction between goats and 
 sheep better than my nephew Walter does 
 here.' 
 
 ' What's the matter, aunt/ inquired the 
 rector, who was in the middle of a run with 
 Lord Mentmore, who had at last turned to 
 the rector. He had secured a seat rather 
 nearer the salt than etiquette dictates, for the 
 pleasure of sitting near Evelyn, whom however 
 he had not taken in to dinner. 
 
 ' The matter is diverting enough, my dear
 
 TJie Higher Classes, 215 
 
 rector ; and redounds less to the credit of your 
 scholars' discernment than to their biblical 
 research.' 
 
 ' Let us have it, aunt,' said Stafford, with a 
 wicked look, quite aware of the old lady's love 
 for a good joke. 
 
 The old lady thus adjured pretended to 
 whisper, but like many deaf people was loud 
 enough and interesting enough to be heard all 
 over the table. 
 
 ' I was asking your Sunday-school children, 
 Walter, the difference between the sheep and 
 the goats ; and my old friend Miss Parchment, 
 who never was a beauty, and certainly never 
 had an offer of any kind in her life, was with 
 me. They told me the difference, but I was 
 anxious to test their intelligence further, so I 
 asked one of them which she thought Miss 
 Parchment was likely to be.' 
 
 ' A very delicate question, aunt.' 
 
 * So it was, my dear, more so than the 
 answer as it turned out. " A sheep," said the 
 children ; of course I was satisfied, but my
 
 216 Which is the Winner? 
 
 friend, who is very particular, would know the 
 why and the wherefore. There was a long 
 silence, which might have been accepted as 
 sufficient for the purposes, until one of the 
 younger ones replied, " Cos you've gone astray, 
 mum.'' I needn't tell you there's not the 
 slightest truth in it.' 
 
 At intervals was heard Politics, uninteresting 
 enough from their unanimity ; Literature, in 
 which Froude and Miss Bradden, the Gladiators 
 and Whewell's Philosophy, About's Madelon 
 and Wheaton's International Law, were raised 
 up in admired confusion ; Church Decoration ; 
 Shakespearian Revivals ; the Irish Agricultural 
 Association ; the Preservation of Foxes ; and 
 the Saxonby Ball. 
 
 ' Stafford, we've persuaded Lord Mentmore 
 to stay for the ball,' said Lady Carrington, 
 attaching evidently considerable interest to the 
 fact. 
 
 ' To return for it,' said he. ' Stafford and I 
 are going down to Newmarket next week to 
 look at the horses.'
 
 The Higher Classes. 217 
 
 ' Is anything of yours to win the Derby, 
 Mentmore ? ' asked the duke. 
 
 'Yes, duke, if they'll let him. My Cam- 
 bridgeshire horse was got at, as you know.' 
 
 ' I'm told so ; and that your trainer, Jack- 
 son, advised his brother to buy her at the 
 sale for a large sum, when there wasn't a bid 
 besides.' 
 
 ' My trainer has done many things that have 
 a suspicious appearance at and before the sale. 
 I, however, mistrust report.' 
 
 ' Where do you go for hunters. Lord Ment- 
 more?' said Sir Michael. * You must have a 
 difficulty to get many such as you rode for your 
 first horse yesterday.' 
 
 ' Ireland, Sir Michael ; and that market has 
 become so small, that the Agricultural Asso- 
 ciation has petitioned Her Majesty on the 
 subject.' 
 
 ' And what's the remedy, in your opinion ? ' 
 
 ' Government money for cross-country, or 
 hunters' stakes, at the principal meetings, 
 instead of the Queen's plates, or in addition to
 
 218 Which is the Winner? 
 
 them, for bond jide hunters which have never 
 been in trainers' stables.' 
 
 'But if the turf is in fault, Mentmore,' 
 said the duke, ' why don't you reform it ? you 
 have it to answer for.' 
 
 * Not at all, duke ; all the power's gone : and 
 for every gentleman that owns a horse, there 
 are twenty or thirty blacklegs, publicans, livery- 
 stablemen, and ex-trainers, who keep them. 
 Quantity is the thing, not quality ; and if they 
 can only get them pulled often enough in 
 handicaps, the worst of them will make more 
 than he's worth at last. Gambling has ruined 
 the turf as a gentleman's pursuit ; and fond as 
 I am of a horse, I shall give it up.' 
 
 * Saxonby ball. Not go to the Saxonby 
 ball — of course, dear, you'll go ? ' said Mrs. 
 Augustus Reynard, 'it's the best fun in the 
 world. Mr. Stafford Carrington goes, and Sir 
 Michael naturally, diplomatically or politically 
 — everybody goes. It's far better than that 
 
 stuck-up county ball at N , where one 
 
 goes at twelve in a last season's dress, and
 
 The Higher Classes. 219 
 
 comes away again at two, having had a sand- 
 wich and a glass of sherry.' 
 
 ' There's Koenig's music they give us.' 
 ' It's all they do give us, for a guinea. Oh, 
 oh ! Saxonby for ever ! Such crowds of inno- 
 cence and white muslin. Does your taste lie 
 that way, JMr. Carrington ? ' 
 
 * Would you think me exactly polite, if I 
 were to say, yes ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Augustus Reynard, though a good sort 
 of woman, was not remarkable for the one or 
 the other, and only laughed. 
 
 'I take Stafford with me,' said his father, 
 ' to canvass the women.' 
 
 * And I always find that they have already 
 promised their votes,' said he. 
 
 ' To whom ? ' asked the baronet, afraid of 
 more opposition. 
 
 ' To my father, of course, who has been 
 beforehand with me.' 
 
 ' Have you seen the new church decorations 
 at Sommerton?' asked the curate, not aware 
 that the subject was almost tabooed.
 
 220 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 * No, I have not/ replied Lord Mentmore, 
 who was equally ignorant of the situation; 
 ' have you, Stafford ? ' 
 
 ' No : but I've heard of them. The Brad- 
 field arms make a great show among the 
 "apostles," I'm told,' replied Carrington. 
 
 * We've just restored a monument here of 
 Elizabeth's reign. It was destroyed by the 
 Puritans, but sufficient colour remained on it, 
 and we have endeavoured to be right this time,' 
 said the rector ; ^ people are so mighty particular 
 now-a-days.' 
 
 ' Yes, the colouring's everything ; and if 
 they'd be as particular about their facts as 
 they are about their church decoration, nobody 
 would find fault with them.' 
 
 ' Shakespeare, ' said a voice somewhere 
 about the table — 'certainly Fechter is very 
 fine, but less so, if possible, in his Shake- 
 spearian characters than in others. As to 
 Othello, it has a ludicrous sound in the 
 mouth of a foreigner ; one is always expecting 
 it to degenerate into nigger language ; and
 
 The Higher Classes. 221 
 
 4 
 
 Hamlet never could have been intended for 
 the stage.' 
 
 ^ But it was acted in James's reign several 
 times, and the copy of the original edition is 
 in the Duke of Devonshire's library,' said old 
 Aunt Philly, who was an authority upon 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 * I ought rather to have said that its beauties 
 entitled it to much closer attention than we 
 could give it on the stage, Miss Carrington,' 
 said the duke, who had been the first speaker. 
 
 ' The stage in those days occupied the position 
 of the press now, and it was the shortest and 
 surest road to reputation. What could only 
 be read by few was seen by the many,' said 
 Stafford Carrington ; ' besides, what Horace 
 says is perfectly true, and a valuable axiom — ' 
 
 *' Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem 
 Quam qu£e " 
 
 ' I beg a thousand pardons, my dear mother. 
 ' Is that for being betrayed into rational 
 conversation before us ? Pray go on, Mr. Car-
 
 222 Which is the Winner? 
 
 rington,' said Mrs. Augustus Reynard, who was 
 a sincere admirer of the heir of Spring Vale. 
 
 When Lady Carrington retired to rest, she 
 certainly had something on which to con- 
 gratulate herself. Mentmore was the most 
 refined of lovers, but he had not attempted to 
 conceal his admiration for Evelyn Carrington. 
 If mothers ever are flattered, through their 
 daughters, we think the Lady of Spring Vale 
 Manor might have been. And she had such an 
 easy conscience too ! Why ! if Mrs. Silvertop, 
 or the Duchess of Grace-dieu, or Lady Maria 
 Sackington, or hundreds of others in the world 
 of fashion, had caught such a fish, their struggles 
 and exertions would have taken away their 
 breath before they landed him. Such a rent- 
 roll, such a man, they exclaimed ; he was worth 
 the struggle; and they could not deny the 
 fact of having toiled all night, every night, 
 even though they had cauglit the fish. Lady 
 Carrington had no more idea of angling in 
 such streams than I had. The fish came to 
 her waters and hooked himself, but she was
 
 The Higher Classes, 223 
 
 not such a goose as to let him go again, if she 
 could help it. So when she lay down to rest 
 after dinner, she was happy, for her conscience 
 was clear. She made the squire a participator 
 in her schemes; but he was a very bad con- 
 federate; at best an accessory after the fact. 
 Very sleepy, had lost his rubber, and con- 
 sequently his money — not much, for he did 
 not indulge now in the luxury of high play ; 
 but he hated losing a rubber ; so that all he 
 said was that he wondered * where Mentmore 
 got such short-legged horses, wished he'd give 
 up Newmarket, and wanted to know what 
 that d — d fellow Bradfield had to do with 
 a coat-of-arms.' 
 
 There were others of the party, too, who felt 
 happy enough, considering the possible dyspepsia 
 awaiting them in the morning, from the 
 baronet's good table ; to which, notwithstanding 
 excellent pretence, they were not much ac- 
 customed. Indeed the lady I have in my eye 
 would call Lord Crackborough, of whom she 
 frequently spoke, Earl Crackborough ; and
 
 224 Which is the Winner? 
 
 though he is an earl, it betrayed some want of 
 familiarity with society to have called him 
 so. Her husband gently reproved her for it. 
 Gently I say, for Mrs. Buddicom was not to 
 be rashly approached in the suit she had on 
 that night. ' You see, John, others appreciate 
 me, if you don't — the duke was most kind.' 
 
 *Ah ! my dear, if he would but give us a 
 living. He must have lots in his gift; we'll 
 look when we get home what they are. If any 
 becomes vacant I really think one might ask, 
 you know.' 
 
 They went to bed, and both thought a 
 long time of the possibility of such a thing. 
 Buddicom went for the substantials, but the 
 lady could see beyond the living, a world 
 beyond, a domestic chaplaincy, a very un- 
 reserved intercourse with his grace, a godfather 
 for the next little Buddicom, a semi-official 
 seat at the ducal table, and such a rise in the 
 social scale, as should render necessary an 
 everlasting order for moires antiques. 
 
 The duke smoked his cigar with Mentmore
 
 The Higher Classes. 225 
 
 and Stafford Carrington in the housekeeper's 
 room, and declared her to be a remarkably 
 fine woman ; and his grace was considered a 
 judge ; but that a woman in that dress could 
 want a living, would have occurred to him as 
 simply preposterous. 
 
 Lord Mentmore at last fell asleep, after 
 indulging in the most flattering of day-dreams. 
 He was fairly and honestly, as he thought, in 
 love; and, without the slightest conceit, had 
 never been accustomed to believe that his 
 attentions could be unacceptable. It is the 
 good fortune of such positions usually to give 
 an aplomb, which in itself half carries its point. 
 Disappointment to such natures comes unex- 
 pectedly, and inflicts a severer wound than that 
 felt by ordinary mortals. Oh ! what asses we 
 should have been had we all had sixty thousand 
 a year, with our present experience ! is a 
 comfortable assurance for the poor man, and 
 a protest against covetousness the most 
 powerful that can be conceived. Lord Ment- 
 more was quite right to go to sleep, satisfied 
 
 VOL. I, Q
 
 226 Which is the Winner f 
 
 that the game was in his own hands, when he 
 liked to play it, and that Evelyn Carrington 
 could only regard a few weeks dalliance as an 
 honourable sacrifice of time and feeling, to the 
 customs of polite society. 
 
 And what was that young lady doing, while 
 the gentlemen were smoking their cigars or 
 unmaking their toilettes ? She was in anything 
 but that comfortable frame of mind which 
 nine-tenths of her acquaintance would have 
 enjoyed. She sat in that charming apartment 
 known as * my own room,' which comprises the 
 mysterious repose of a sleeping-chamber, with 
 the solid comforts and light of a sitting-room. 
 She slept there ; and the pillows, on which 
 scarcely a tear had ever fallen, were retired 
 from vulgar gaze by the sort of alcove in v*^hich 
 the bed was placed ; a raised step almost sepa- 
 rated it from the room ; and, in winter, heavy 
 folds of rich damask completed its retirement. 
 With equal propriety she not unfrequently 
 breakfasted in the lower part of it, which 
 contained her chaise longue^ her bookcase of
 
 The Higher Classes, 227 
 
 favourite authors, her desk, her jewel-box, her 
 Sunday-school and clothing club-books, her 
 little gold and silver-headed whips, a tiny dog- 
 collar (sole relic of the deceased), and half-a- 
 dozen other things in which such girls delight, 
 and all of which are enhanced in value by 
 being called, and felt to be, ' my own.' It was 
 the only room in the house in which pure 
 luxury had been cared for. Neither Sir 
 Michael nor Lady Carringtou cared for signs 
 of state. They knew themselves, and were 
 known of theirs. Bat Evelyn was different in 
 taste, in feeling ; and a soft and timid nature, 
 too much so perhaps for her own happiness, 
 required to be propped in pillows, and armed 
 with the gentle panoply of velvet pile and 
 or-molu for its due effect. 
 
 On the evening in question, Evelyn Car- 
 ringtou sat in a luxurious easy-chair, facing a 
 comfortable fire. She had taken from her table 
 a French novel which was lying on it (I regret 
 to record a bad habit of the young ladies of 
 fashion of the time), but she was not reading 
 
 q2
 
 228 Which is the Winner? 
 
 it. She was absorbed in thought ; she had 
 inherited a fair portion of pride from her 
 family, and her nature supplied her with a 
 fair quantity of maidenly reserve. Still, the 
 attentions of Lord Mentmore justified an 
 interest in him which would otherwise have 
 been premature. She was far from appreciating 
 the advantages of her position ; and she taxed 
 herself fairly and closely as to her own feelings 
 on the subject. They were not satisfactory. 
 
 She liked him in common with the world ; it 
 was impossible to help it. His manner, espe- 
 cially to women, was not only charming, but 
 positively feminine in its delicacy ; and it was so 
 devoted. He forgot himself so entirely. When 
 other men, and they are legion, said, ' Can you 
 resist me ? ' his appeal was always on the other 
 side. Whatever he felt, he always said, ' I can-^ 
 not resist you.' He w^as the most flattering 
 lover in England. It was impossible, too, not 
 to be carried away by his munificence, his 
 noble generosity ; and he was almost the only 
 man in whom it would not have been called
 
 The Higher Classes, 229 
 
 ostentation. His personal simplicity of manner 
 procured his exemption from that. And yet 
 Evelyn felt she did not love him, and, strange 
 to say, that she never should be able to do so. 
 This once ascertained, she was a girl who never 
 w^ould allow any consideration in the world to 
 deceive him. The grand question was with her 
 how to save him pain. In the event of a pro- 
 posal, the difficulty of saying ' No ' would be 
 quite as great as the certainty of having it to 
 say. She sympathized with her mother; with 
 Ijer brother, who liked him better than anyone, 
 and who, with all his insouciance and assumed 
 levity, was a clear critic of character. She 
 appreciated the disappointment of her family, 
 and she shrunk from inflicting pain ; timid and 
 delicate natures do so. But she had made up 
 her mind that a timely retreat into herself 
 midit save strono^er measures. 
 
 A girl's first dre'am of love is the most beauti- 
 ful thing in the whole world. A man has no 
 experience of the feeling, and few men the 
 slightest conception of it. Its first avowal is
 
 230 Which is the Winner 1 
 
 not pleasant, though taken with an anodyne 
 which lulls. Its innocence, its simplicity, its 
 truthfulness, its refinement, the mysterious 
 charms of an unknown future, its risks, the 
 venture of all the heart's merchandise in one 
 barque, restraints all and each of them ; and yet 
 the ministers of a sentiment the most absorbing, 
 
 a passion the most overwhelming, a gentle 
 
 stream^ — let welling into a mighty torrent of 
 
 eternal happiness or eternal woe. 
 
 Evelyn Carrington was not in love, but she 
 
 was not entirely happy.
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 NEWMARKET. 
 
 ' Metaque fervidis 
 Evitata rotis, palmaque nobilis 
 Terrarum dominos evehit ad Deos.' 
 
 Hoe., Ode I. 
 
 Newmarket ! Newmarket ! What a quantity 
 of recollections and reflections arise at the 
 summons ! What a length of time we go back ! 
 Charles I., with his melancholy smile — foie- 
 boder of impending fate — watched there the 
 sport we love so well. Old Noll, the fanatic, 
 half preacher, all warrior, changed the venue, 
 but knew too well the influence such tastes had 
 upon the prosperity of his country to turn his 
 back upon the pastime. The man who could 
 have frightened a British Parliament, might 
 almost have made an impression upon the ring. 
 The atrocious depravity of the restored Court
 
 232 Which is the Winner"^ 
 
 * spotted ' the heath once more. There were 
 nobblers in those days; for the monarch who 
 sold himself, without doubt sold other people ; 
 and the courtier who robbed his friend of all he 
 held dearest, could not have been delicate about 
 rifling his neighbours' pockets. Then we pass 
 in review a better and a nobler age — the golden 
 age of horse-racing. One fine, good, honest 
 English sovereign is there. Over those courses 
 have ridden the Dukes Francis of Bedford 
 and Queensbury, Sir Charles Bunbury, Lords 
 Grosvenor and Clermont, Kit Wilson, and 
 Frank Standish ; and there was a greater than 
 all, whose string was led by Sam Chifney. 
 Those were days w^hen English gentlemen did 
 not fear to assert their own in the face of 
 royalty, and when, happily, dishonesty was the 
 exception, and not the rule. 
 
 The present race of legs would have looked 
 exceedingly odd amongst the buckskin breeches 
 and top boots of those glorious pillars of English 
 aristocracy. It would have been worth living 
 for to have seen the stare of astonishment with
 
 Newmarket, 233 
 
 which one of those gentlemen would have 
 greeted the impertinent familiarity of a levia- 
 than cobbler or a Brummagem artisan, who 
 should have proposed to write down the name 
 in his book which he had only lately learnt to 
 spell. Or the true lover of a racehorse might 
 well compound to have been under the turf 
 now, for the pleasure of being on it then. I 
 suppose there were scoundrels in every age; but 
 the rascality of the low betting-man was not 
 then known, and trainers and jockeys, even, had 
 a delicacy about being found out. That specu- 
 lative fishmonger, with his pale face and neutral- 
 tinted neckcloth, which has somewhere been 
 described as a white ' hayband,' was to come, 
 and in his wake the bloodsuckers of unsuspect- 
 ing youth — the ' mimi and balatrones ' — but 
 they were not come yet. 
 
 Newmarket is an innocent-looking place. 
 There is a simplicity almost suspicious about it. 
 It is a sort of egg-and-butter-looking place, in 
 which quiet market women come and go ; and 
 where, out of season, it would be hard for
 
 234 Which is the Winner? 
 
 honesty to get a living. Dishonesty finds no 
 difficulty at all about the matter. There never 
 was such a quiet-looking place ; and its single 
 street seems almost emblematic of its singleness 
 of purpose. It has a quiet, all its own; a down- 
 right stupidity, which makes its real sharpness 
 all the more appalling. It is very like a highly 
 successful and respectable leg, whose exemplary 
 conduct in his parish church, extensive charities, 
 domestic tastes, and decent exterior, cover an 
 unparalleled amount of swindling, and make 
 him the admiration, as he is the terror, of 
 minor candidates for honours. So much decent 
 dulness cannot but be the very hotbed of 
 iniquity. 
 
 If the stones of that little street could cry 
 out honestly, what would they not recount? 
 How many a mother's tears ! a wife's distrac- 
 tion ! What ruin ! what disgrace ! What 
 hopes ! what high aspirations, buried in an 
 early grave, together with the honour of a 
 proud name on Newmarket Heath ! And all 
 for what ? Love of sport or pastime ? Oh !
 
 NewmarJceL 235 
 
 no. Ambition to be first on the list of those 
 who love a horse for himself; admiration for 
 the most beautiful animal in existence, as he is 
 the most generous ? Oh ! no. But the ' auri 
 sacra fames.' Is it possible that, to add to that 
 heap which is already more than sufficient for 
 all the necessaries and comforts of life, and for 
 most of its luxuries, a gentleman will risk 
 position, reputation, the love of friends, his own 
 self-respect, and every obligation he owes to 
 God and man ? Is it possible that he will dis- 
 credit a name which has descended to him pure 
 and unblemished, and which is his no longer to 
 pollute, but which he holds as an heirloom, to 
 be transmitted to his children's children ? No 
 man of family has a right to play with his 
 reputation any more than with an entailed 
 estate. Very particular indeed, are we, to put 
 checks on the transfer of our property, to place 
 a stronof reservation on the nVht to alienate our 
 houses and our lands ; but it never occurs to us 
 that a spotless reputation is the grandest entail 
 we can leave to our heir, and that, if it has
 
 236 Which is the Winner? 
 
 come to us somewhat tarnished, it is our busi- 
 ness to restore its brightness, as we should have 
 striven, by honest means, to restore a shattered 
 property to its original value. 
 
 Lord Mentmore had fallen on the turf in evil 
 times. The * lo triumphe ' which went up to 
 heaven, as soon as it was known that he in- 
 tended to keep horses, had never been surpassed, 
 and will never be equalled, until the Prince of 
 Wales's strinof shall once more be seen issuinof 
 from stables for their morning exercise upon 
 Epsom Downs, or Ascot or Newmarket Heath. 
 Lord George was dead. The grand reformer 
 of the system, the Napoleon of the crusade 
 against the legs, was gone ; and his mantle had 
 fallen, whole and undivided, upon none. There 
 was still the great Admiral, honest and able, 
 it is true, with a leaning towards the book- 
 makers, and handicapping, short distances, light 
 weights, and other loopholes, because the gen- 
 tlemen could take care of themselves. If 
 the Admiral had only been a rascal, the 
 system would have fallen ; but his well-known
 
 Newmarket 237 
 
 honesty kept it, rotten as it was, upon its 
 props. 
 
 There was a dearth of money, that is, money 
 to be won. The gentlemen were about cleaned 
 out, and the thieves were nearly reduced to feed- 
 ing upon one another. Two or three hundred 
 thousand pounds of ready money was a godsend. 
 How they lauded him; the 'Halfpenny GafF,' 
 a new sporting paper, established for the benefit 
 of the peculiar classes which had of late years 
 swelled the sporting circles of the metropolitan 
 cities, be-praised and be-plastered him then as 
 much as they abused him afterwards. Never 
 was so princely a patron of sport before. The 
 knowing ones played their cards w^ell, and 
 allowed him to win many minor events, and 
 one or two great things — when they could not 
 help it. One thing they made quite safe : he 
 was never to be allowed to pull off a great stake 
 when the money was on. Mr. Jackson, the 
 trainer, was to take care of that ; and, although 
 he took into his councils wiser men than him- 
 self (for Lord Mentmore, though clever enough,
 
 238 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 was too impulsive to be wary), Mr. Jackson 
 managed to get the better of them all. 
 
 Mr. Jackson, or Tom Jackson, as he was 
 called, alias honest Toni Jackson, was the per- 
 fect picture of a perfect treasure. He was 
 rosy-gilled, inclined to corpulence, bald in fore- 
 head, with closely-cropped but widely-spreading 
 whiskers, of a light brown or auburn tint, good 
 teeth, and beautifully shorn. No man despised 
 more heartily the modern fallacies of respecta- 
 bility. He was grand, solemn, important, mys- 
 terious, and, by consequence, silent. His bow 
 was of the best kind : a mere elevation of the 
 well-twisted broad-brimmed hat, which spoke 
 volumes to his superiors. His ash-plant saved 
 his oratory with his stable boys. He was scru- 
 pulously dressed in black broadcloth ; it was all 
 broad, his back, his sleeves, and the skirts. His 
 waistcoat was long, large-pocketed, and rounded 
 at the corners, to match his collars ; the latter 
 were triumphs of art in their way, and can only 
 now be seen on Jack W — n, the great amateur 
 coachman of his day, and on a few West of
 
 Newmarket, 239 
 
 England parsons or squires. His trousers were 
 of sombre hue, but strong and serviceable, 
 strapped within the legs, which were tightly 
 made, as became his office, and fastened beneath 
 the broadest and brightest boots in the world, 
 by a single narrow piece of leather. His black- 
 ing was of home manufacture. As Tom Jack- 
 son never did anything for himself, he was 
 enabled to preserve his grande tenue for at least 
 six or seven hours of every day in the w^eek. 
 
 This invaluable treasure, as some friend had 
 de bonne foi assured Lord Mentmore that he 
 was, was come of a remarkable family. With 
 one little exception, they had all been in diffi- 
 culties, had all taken to the turf as jockeys or 
 trainers, or both, and had all got on in the 
 world. They lived well and reputably, and took 
 care never to be found out. The little excep- 
 tion was a small hanging matter, when men 
 were not so particular about fitting a hempen 
 collar round their fellow-creatures' necks. In 
 fact, he was the one that, having been what they 
 called unfortunate, ' never held up his head
 
 240 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 again.' It was not a bad way of putting it, and 
 is quite on a par with Hook's ' complaint in the 
 chest.' During his pecuniary difficulties, how- 
 ever, Tom Jackson had made some strange 
 acquaintances, and they served him now in good 
 stead of better ones. They stuck to him, as 
 might have been expected, and, what is exceed- 
 ingly to his credit, he to them. In one word, 
 there never was a stable ^o hampered from 
 beginning to end, from the rubicund respect- 
 ability of the trainer down to the lowest helper, 
 with specious rascality. 
 
 'Hollo! Mentmore,' said Tom Thornhill, 
 coming down the steps of the Jockey Club 
 stand, at Ascot, ' you should have put us on 
 that good thing,' as one of Mentmore's two- 
 year-olds was being led back into the enclosure 
 to weigh, having just won a good race hard 
 held. 
 
 ' Good thing!' rejoined his lordship ; * I hadn't 
 a shilling on her. They told me she couldn't 
 stay the distance, and I've backed the other.' 
 
 * Deuced odd ! there's Scraper has won a
 
 Newmarket. 241 
 
 good stake. He backed her this morning, at 
 pretty good odds. I ought to have followed 
 him, for he's a great pal of Tom Jackson's, 
 and — ' 
 
 'Pal of Tom Jackson's; I never heard that 
 before.' 
 
 ' Bless your soul,' said Tom, for it was in his 
 fast days, before he married Alice Dacre, 'he's 
 the man who lent Jackson all the money, and 
 got him out of quod, to go into business,' 
 
 ' The devil ! ' said Mentmore ; but it set him 
 thinking. 
 
 ' Is it all right this time, Mentmore ? ' whis- 
 pered young Hazard of the 10th, one bright 
 afternoon at Goodwood, as the horses were 
 walking down to the post. 
 
 ' I hope so,' replied he, ' for I've put the pot 
 on. It's a certainty, I believe,' and the horses 
 started. As they came up the course all the 
 glasses were out, and the Admiral's gruif voice 
 was heard among them. 
 
 'Mentmore wins,' shouted Charlie Swallow- 
 tail. 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 ' No, he doesn't ; whose that in the duke's 
 colours, next the rails? ' sung out the Marquis 
 of Chaffbox. 
 
 * The Duke wins, and Turniptop second ; 
 Mentmore's beat already,' grunted the Ad- 
 miral, shutting up his glass as he spoke, and 
 turning away to speak to old Lady Mongerton, 
 who had put a pony on Lord Mentmore by the 
 Admiral's advice. 
 
 And so it went on ; and Mentmore lost and 
 lost, and his friends lost with him ; while 
 telegraphic wires were put in requisition after 
 every trial ; and when he went to back a really 
 good thing, which had been kept quiet till the 
 last moment, the whole world was before the 
 master of the stable. 
 
 Lord Mentmore, like many other men, had 
 an inconsistency, in fact, he was inconsistent, 
 ' impar sibi.' That peculiar phase of this 
 weakness of which I am about to speak is 
 remarkably common. In twenty-five years a 
 new race of men had appeared uj)on the turf. 
 They were not only not gentleman, they were
 
 Newmarket, 243 
 
 scarcely removed in many instances from the 
 lowest dregs of the people. Runaway officials, 
 bankrupt tradesmen, ex-livery stable-keepers, 
 billiard-markers, ruined pugilists, and cobblers 
 and artizans of the lowest class made up the 
 sum total of the new company which visited 
 Goodwood and Newmarket. Lord Mentmore, 
 notwitstanding his absence of all vanity, was 
 the proudest man alive. When he first came 
 upon the turf, he tried hard to ignore the ring, 
 and to bet only with his equals. As long as he 
 confined his book to a few hundreds, that did 
 very well. But he could do nothing with 
 moderation ; a wholesome mediocrity was his 
 bete noire. So when he got to thousands, he 
 was obliged to call in the intervention of the 
 genii of the ring. When he avowed his inten- 
 tion of breaking the ring, he could do it with 
 nobody's assistance but their own. They were 
 always ready to back anything, or to lay against 
 anything. So he forgot his pride, and elbowed 
 his way, and shouted with the best of them, 
 
 and in better English, ' I'll lay against , 
 
 r2
 
 244 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 or, I want to back , and there was no 
 
 deficiency of backers or layers when his lordship 
 wanted anything to be done. 
 
 Lord Mentmore had an enormous fortune, 
 and a soul quite large enough to have spent 
 every shilling of it which all men have not. 
 But it had been going and going year after 
 year, and of late years too rapidly even for his 
 liking. He had his cake at a proper time for 
 eating it; when he was hungry and when all 
 his teeth were good. His pride he had put in 
 his pocket for this occasion only. The end 
 justifies the means ; besides, everybody else 
 
 does so excepting , and , and , 
 
 but then these are old fellows, who have had 
 their day. He might have excepted his friend, 
 Stafford Carrington, but he did not. What 
 wonder that the world should have erected a 
 metaphorical statue to him. They would not 
 have been satisfied with anything under the very 
 largest block ; and then in a few years they would 
 have wondered into how small pieces it could be 
 broken. It is always the case with an idol.
 
 Newmarket. 245 
 
 However, just when he and Stafford Carring- 
 ton had decided upon a visit to Newmarket, he' 
 was at the height of his popularity. He had 
 thirty horses in training, gave unheard-of prices 
 for his yearlings, lost his money like an English 
 nobleman, was as tolerant of brigands as the 
 government of Naples, and had a book of about 
 100,000^. upon the next Derby, of which he 
 himself had the favourite. 
 
 Do these sportsmen and gamblers, like 
 Indian fig-trees, only allow their branches to 
 descend that they may take root more firmly 
 in plebeian wealth; or, like royal houses, may 
 grow again into parent trees, by stooping to the 
 people ? 
 
 On the Sunday preceding that on which 
 Lord Mentmore and Stafford Carrington were 
 to go down to Newmarket, as they came out 
 of the parish church, at Spring Vale, Lord 
 Mentmore was struck with the beauty of a 
 monument, and turned back to examine it 
 more closely. It was the monument already 
 mentioned. It had been most carefully restored.
 
 246 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 and the original colours and gilding repaired. 
 It purported to be erected to a certain ' Lady 
 Catherine Carrington, daughter of the most 
 
 noble the Duke of D , first cousin to Her 
 
 most gracious Majesty Elizabeth, Queen of 
 England, the widow of Sir Reginald Carrington, 
 &c., &c., &c.,' following which announcement 
 was a long piece of poetry, the counterpart of 
 the productions of the Earl of Surrey and 
 Sir Philip Sidney, full of rare conceits, and no 
 disguised praises, such as are common to modern 
 tombs; and which convince me that having 
 gone through life quietly we shall enter upon 
 death with a flourish, or that we only discover 
 excellences when it is too late to profit by 
 them. * Sublatum ex oculis quaerimus invidi.' 
 
 ' Beautiful monument, Stafford, and very per- 
 fectly restored.' 
 
 ' Yes — I believe we're rather proud of that,' 
 said Carrington, languidly. 
 
 ' Of the restoration, or the alliance ? ' 
 
 ' Both ; but I meant the alliance. We have 
 been singularly unfortunate in our marriages.'
 
 Newmarket, 247 
 
 * How so ? Sir JNIichael lias made up for 
 the family defect, and will be able to put by 
 something in the way of supererogation for his 
 successor.' 
 
 Strange to say, this hazardous speech of 
 Lord Mentmore brought a shght throb and a 
 hesitation into Stafford's face and answer, and 
 he was certainly not given to either one or 
 the other. 
 
 ' Well, I hardly know how ; but we seem to 
 have more than our share of lord mayors' 
 daughters, and goldsmiths' and bankers' heir- 
 esses, among the former Ladies Carrington.' 
 
 ' No bad thing either, my good fellow, when 
 the gentlemen are as extravagantly inclined 
 as some of yours are reported to have been.' 
 
 The two walked on down the steps which 
 led from the churchyard to the manor. 
 Stafford Carrington was thoughtful for a few- 
 minutes, and then said suddenly, as though 
 the subject had burdened him, 
 
 ' Yes ; I presume I am destined to reward 
 the extravagance of two generations by in-
 
 248 Which is the Winner 1 
 
 stalling a wealthy manufacturer's daughter in 
 the seat of honour whenever it comes to my 
 turn to do so.' 
 
 ' And no bad thing either, Carrington ; you 
 only meet a difficulty which must come to us 
 sooner or later. See how the great properties 
 change hands. See how these fellows advance 
 upon us. It's better to compromise than be 
 driven out perforce. What do you say now to 
 Miss Bradfield — the heroine of our adventure ? ' 
 
 They had reached the stables, and, as they 
 entered, Stafford Carrington busied himself with 
 his cigar-case before he answered, 
 
 'Miss Bradfield — our political rival — yes; 
 that's something like money, to be sure. And 
 what would your friend Scarsdale say if you 
 dispose of the young lady in that way ? ' 
 
 ' Scarsdale wouldn't know what to do with 
 it. He'd be for founding a monastery,' said 
 Lord Mentmore, pulling aside one of the rugs, 
 and patting the quarters of a favourite hunter 
 of his friend's. 
 
 ' Perhaps quite as honourable a use for it
 
 Newmarket. 249 
 
 as propping up an impoverished name.' And 
 the words and tone sounded earnest, if not 
 harsh. 
 
 Lord Mentmore looked up, surprised at the 
 tone as much as the words. He was silent for 
 a few seconds, and then added, 
 
 * One would think, Stafford, that you were 
 beginning to entertain the proposal au serieux. 
 Whoever has the luck to marry that girl will 
 have quite as much beauty as money, if her 
 fortune was the largest in England. What a 
 lovely face ! ' 
 
 Stafford did not make a reply at first, but 
 said, 'Oh! really, well I hardly know her by 
 sight. Evelyn has met her brother once or 
 twice ; but we have no sort of acquaintance, 
 I suppose I must have seen her at the county 
 balls once a year ; possibly here and there in 
 London* The old man is on our bench, and is 
 a vulgar purse-proud snob. The son's not a 
 bad fellow, I believe ; he was at Christ Church 
 with me, but in a different set. What time do 
 we start for Newmarket to-morrow ? '
 
 250 Which is the Winner? 
 
 Stafford Carrington was a man of consider- 
 able character; among other things, he was 
 always very honest to himself, whatever he 
 might be to the rest of the world. To his 
 family and friends he was rather truthful than 
 candid. He would not have said what was not 
 true, but he would have withheld the truth 
 openly and in defiance of them. To himself he 
 was both truthful and candid. He admitted a 
 fact, and practically examined it. The con- 
 versation he had just held told him what he 
 had been suspecting ; that he felt an interest in 
 this girl, whom he had seen, as he said, once or 
 twice without looking at, until the day he saw 
 her in the pony carriage. She had interested 
 him far beyond any one whom he had yet seen ; 
 and one thing proved it to himself, Stafford 
 Carrington was not a dancing man. He was 
 essentially in ladies' society a lounger. Was 
 seldom seen in town with any but the best 
 persons, and most commonly with married 
 women. He affected to, or did really, under- 
 value the current conversation of the young
 
 Newmarket. 251 
 
 women he met ; and as he had attained a 
 reputation, not altogether undeserved of a 
 rising man in society, he was never without 
 it ; and was able to choose his own. With all 
 this he had begun to think for the first time 
 in his life of the Saxonby ball. We must be 
 back from Newmarket for the Saxonby ball. 
 What a consideration !
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 TRAINING. 
 
 ' Bring up a child in the way he should go,' 
 
 Honest Tom Jackson was not a man to be 
 caught napping, especially by his master ; so 
 that when he and Stafford Carrington walked 
 up to the stables a day or two after their last 
 conversation, everything was in excellent order; 
 and Mr. Jackson accompanied Lord Mentmore 
 and his friend. 
 
 In three sides of a square were contained 
 exactly thirty- six race-horses. Every horse had 
 his separate boy, who was now in attendance, 
 the clothing lightly thrown on, and the sponge, 
 combs, and brushes of everyone laid neatly out 
 upon the leathers, which were spread on the 
 left-hand corner of each stall. They were
 
 Training. 253 
 
 ready for inspection ; and no stalls in New- 
 market or elsewhere, were supposed to have 
 been built with greater attention to the health 
 and comfort of the valuable property they con- 
 tained. The yearlings were elsewhere; but 
 from two years old and upwards were to be 
 seen some of the best and best-looking horses 
 in England. Not a chain, not a head-stall, 
 not a straw, was out of place ; and even to a 
 man like Stafford Carrington, accustomed to 
 the ' comme il faut ' above all in stable 
 management, the sight was a treat. He was, 
 besides this, perfectly able to appreciate that 
 reticence, which is to be observed in stable 
 matters at all times ; and Lord Mentmore 
 affected no disguise before him. 
 
 ' How's that horse's leg, Jackson ? ' said my 
 lord, looking at a very handsome bay horse, a 
 little fleshy, and with a wet linen bandage on 
 one of his fore leofs. 
 
 'Better, my lord ; no harm done, I think;' 
 and it is to be observed that Mr. Jackson 
 touched his hat during the visit occasionally
 
 254 Which is the Winner? 
 
 with one finger, having ah'eady saluted with 
 his very best bow at the reception. 
 
 * A little short of preparation, isn't he ? ' 
 
 ' Think so, my lord ? ' and a rather super- 
 cilious smile crossed his face. 
 
 ' This one looks as fit as a fiddle, Jackson,' 
 said Lord Mentmore passing on to the next, 
 but without eliciting a reply. He therefore 
 turned to Stafford and said, ' This is our Two 
 Thousand Guineas colt ; he went amiss, some 
 say he was got at.' 
 
 ' Pleasures of a stud,' said Stafford as Jack- 
 son moved away out of hearing. 
 
 ' One of them,' rejoined his companion. 
 ' You'll see the Derby horse by-and-by.' 
 
 ' Shall I ever see him win ? What's this ? 
 A rare good-looking one.' 
 
 ' Newminster and Lady Kingston. He's a 
 little like Stockwell. Jackson's pet we call 
 him ; you shall see him gallop to-morrow.' 
 
 ' How's he engaged ? Anything very par- 
 ticular to come off? ' 
 
 ' The first thing is a match for a thousand ;
 
 Training, 255 
 
 and I've backed him, besides, rather heavily 
 on the strength of a trial, which makes it 
 nearly a certainty.' 
 
 Mr. Jackson continued to walk on, describing 
 each horse, as his boy took off the clothing, and 
 presented his bright, beautiful coat to view. 
 
 ' Here's the Archer, Carrington. He's a fine 
 horse. Looking pretty well, Jackson ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, my lord.' 
 
 * Is he doing strong work ? ' 
 ' Pretty well, my lord.' 
 
 ' I suppose he's forward enough, if we don't 
 run him before ? ' 
 
 * Yes, my lord. I should say so.' 
 
 'Not afraid of his legs standing the training?' 
 
 * No, my lord ; ' with another mild but super- 
 cilious smile. 
 
 ' It's rather his weak point, Stafford,' said 
 Lord Mentmore ; ' and I think he's as safe to 
 win the Derby as that you and I stand here.' 
 
 ' Nothing's certain but the Tax-collector and 
 Death; but he's a beautiful colt,' replied 
 Stafford Carrington, 'and my father, who is
 
 256 Which is the Winner? 
 
 an excellent judge, says he's the best two-year 
 old out.' 
 
 * He's never been beaten yet ; and Wilfred 
 Jones made me give eleven hundred for him as 
 a yearling. You know Jones ? 
 
 * A little, not intimately.' 
 ' He owes a lot of money.' 
 
 'That's not an uncommon failing amongst 
 our acquaintance.' 
 
 ' I suppose he's all right.' 
 
 ' All right, my dear Me nt more ! what the 
 deuce do you mean ? ' 
 
 * Mean ? why I mean that he knows all the 
 stable just as well as I do.' 
 
 ' Oh ! bless you, as honest a fellow as ever 
 lived ; d — d hard up ; but what does that 
 signify. Jackson knows as much as you and 
 Wilfred Jones put together.' 
 
 ' Well, yes, I really think he is ; but 'pon my 
 soul nobody knows.' 
 
 And as they turned away from the stable 
 and wandered towards Mentmore's house, they 
 met the Admiral. He, too, had come down
 
 Training, 257 
 
 to see his horses, and to raise a handicap upon 
 the spot. 
 
 'Bless my soul, Mentmore,' growled the 
 Admiral, * did you ever see such a set of fellows 
 about a place in your life as there are here ? ' 
 
 'Perhaps that's just what they say of us, 
 Admiral,' said Mentmore laughing : ' they don't 
 give us the best character in the world, you 
 know.' 
 
 The next morning Stafford got up in good 
 time ; he dressed almost by candlelight. He 
 was finishing his toilette, when a servant 
 knocked at his door. - • 
 
 'Lord Mentmore will be ready in about 
 half-an-hour, sir ; would you take coffee in here ? 
 Breakfast is ordered when you return from the 
 Heath. And I was to ask whether you would 
 like to ride one of his lordship's ponies, instead 
 of your own hack.' 
 
 ' Yes, certainly, I shall be very happy ; and 
 rU be ready in half-an-hour; bring me the 
 coffee and a biscuit or two in ten minutes,' 
 and he finished dressing. 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 Which is the Winner? 
 
 One of the most beautiful sights in the whole 
 world is Newmarket Heath in early morning, 
 a week or two before the consummation of 
 one of its meetings. On either side of the 
 town extend to a distance far beyond the reach 
 of the eye, lines of undulating heath, of a sparse 
 and dry herbage, and unprotected from the 
 influences of atmosphere by any shelter of hill 
 or woodland. Of these two sides the one is 
 devoted to the formation of the largest race- 
 course in the country, covering an area of many 
 square miles, and divided into numerous courses; 
 scT that, by constant change of locality, judge, 
 competitors, and spectators, may be gratified 
 with a novelty, and the capabilities of the 
 horses tested by different ground, according 
 to the circumstances of age or distance. With 
 this side which lies on the south-east of the 
 town, we have at present nothing to do. I 
 wish my reader to accompany Lord Mentmore 
 and Stafford Carrington to the other end of the 
 town, and to run their eyes over an equal 
 expanse of gently undulating country, nearly
 
 Training, 259 
 
 level indeed, and which constitutes the training 
 and trial ground of this monument to English 
 love of sport. The Heath exhibits at intervals, 
 very few and far between, some stunted trees, 
 or small ragged spinney, which may hold a 
 rabbit or a tout. Up a part of the centre of 
 the course runs a road defended by a hollow 
 belt of half-grown wood ; a shelter from the 
 wind only to those who are pleased to watch 
 the gallops from its cover. Below it again 
 stretches a trial ground of considerable extent, 
 towards the lower end of which, some straggling 
 hedge-rows proclaim a recommencement of 
 cultivated land. On the further side of this 
 belt Lord Mentmore and his friend smoked 
 their cigars. 
 
 The sun was dispelling the hanging vapours, 
 and as they cleared away there appeared to rise 
 on every side, as though by magic, far and near, 
 hundreds of hjDrses, each carefully clothed in 
 divers colours, and ridden by his boy. In Indian 
 file they crept slowly along, headed by the grave 
 and mysterious trainer, on his sturdy cob, or 
 
 s 2
 
 260 Which is the Winner? 
 
 used-up thorongh-bred one, champing at the 
 single snaffle, or boring towards the ground with 
 their arched necks, as their rider dropped his 
 hands to their efforts, save when some unruly 
 young one gave an occasional plunge, and was 
 led back like a refractory schoolboy by the hand 
 of his master to his proper place. Then, here 
 and there were to be noticed men, like our 
 heroes, who were come to see their strings out, 
 and to test the capability of their cracks. It 
 gave them, too, the opportunity of comparing 
 notes, and of watching the movements of their 
 neighbours. There was the great mill-owner, a 
 millionnaire, one might say, sturdily plodding it, 
 in thick highlows, and talking to his trainer of 
 the merits of his last purchase, a yearling, from 
 Mr. Blenkiron's lot. The stout and trusty 
 Admiral bestrode a weight-carrier, dividing 
 his attention pretty equally between them all, 
 and drawing out his glasses every minute to 
 take a closer inspection of a lot, as a doubt 
 seemed to arise as to their identity. There was 
 the mighty Israelite, the Jew financier of
 
 Training, 261 
 
 London, Paris, and all the great cities of Europe 
 and America, who shook thrones by his nod, at 
 this moment trying to solve the question of a 
 double event, and as anxious about its success 
 as his father had once been about a foreign loan. 
 Further on, a prematurely grey young ron£, 
 whose name and talents had sunk alike from their 
 high and early estate to no doubtful insolvency, 
 took his morning gallop in search of informa- 
 tion ; of whom it might be said, that if he lost 
 his money dishonourably, he as dishonourably 
 declined to pay. The next man watching the 
 small but select few, in new clothing, and 
 evidently intent upon being recognized, as an 
 owner of a lot, open to criticism, is a successful 
 stockjobber, who finds Newmarket Heath, and 
 a point or two in the odds, the shortest road to 
 social distinction. To complete the picture, you 
 must imagine these persons multiplied to any 
 extent, and the lazy, idle groups which infest 
 the place, now busy in their calling, the touts 
 paid and unpaid, private and public, the hangers- 
 on of a small number of patrons, or the clients
 
 262 TVMch is the Winner ? 
 
 of the low sporting press, now behind a tree, 
 now seated in a hedge-row, now boldly inspect- 
 ing some well-known favourite, whose trial was 
 not yet to come, and the reader may have a fair 
 and not unfavourable glimpse of Newmarket, 
 as the sun rose upon it, on the morning in 
 question. 
 
 ' Do you see him coming, Stafford ? ' said 
 Lord Mentmore to Carrington, who was look- 
 ing towards the town through the belt of trees. 
 
 ' Not yet ; unless this is your string. I can't 
 distinguish them from here, but there are two, 
 four, six, eight. Oh ! yes ; they must be yours ; 
 and here comes Jackson himself.' And as he 
 spoke the lot defiled at a distance, and then 
 came slowly on, headed by Jackson, who was 
 here, there, and everywhere, towards the lower 
 trial-ground. 
 
 * What's this coming, Mentmore ? ' said Staf- 
 ford, as three horses came streaming past at a 
 fine pipe-opening gallop. 
 
 'They're the Marquis of Appleby's crack, and 
 the two he bought of the duke. The crack's in
 
 Training, 263 
 
 the middle. He goes well, doesn't he ? ' said 
 Mentmore. 
 
 ' Very ; but he wants size for a Derby horse. 
 He hasn't grown as they expected, they tell 
 me.' 
 
 'He has grown up instead of down. Here 
 come four of that ruffian Shoplifter's. The first 
 of this lot has been pulled in every handicap 
 for the last two seasons. She's good enough to 
 win the Oaks ; and now she's in the City and 
 Suburban at 6st. 71bs., so that she can't lose. 
 His party have made her first favourite, and it's 
 even betting she don't start at all/ 
 
 Here Jackson walked his horses slowly 
 through the belt of trees, and touching his hat 
 respectfully turned short round to the right, 
 and after crossing the road directed them to 
 walk along the bottom until he came down to 
 them. He stopped behind and held a mys- 
 terious conversation of five minutes' length with 
 Lord Mentmore. He then rejoined his charge. 
 
 On the very morning of which I am speak- 
 ing, there passed along the back streets of
 
 264 Which is the Winner? 
 
 Newmarket a remarkably big, burly- looking 
 man, dressed in a ragged velveteen shooting 
 jacket, corduroy trousers, and a slouched cap 
 with a peak to it, from beneath which a short 
 crop of red hair might be seen ; a grizzly beard 
 fringed a very coarse, repulsive face. To be 
 brief, it was our old acquaintance, Dan Morton. 
 It seems difficult to conceive what he was doing 
 in Newmarket. Yet he had a purpose, as was 
 indeed plain from his stealthy manner, so un- 
 like the bold bravado which he assumed in the 
 village of Sommerton, when we were last in 
 his company. As he crossed this street, or 
 that, he looked uneasily up and down them ; not 
 precisely as knowing what he feared, but with 
 that indefinite vague discretion of rascality, 
 which betokens a cat on the look-out for cream 
 somewhere or other. Finding no let or hin- 
 drance, in the way of police or acquaintance, he 
 came at the back of the town towards the 
 Heath, and pulled up deliberately enough behind 
 Mr. Jackson's house, where a window looked 
 towards the open country. Having taken up
 
 Training. 265 
 
 his stand, in the early morning, near to this 
 window, he was attracted by a light which 
 shone in the room ; and peering through the 
 darkness and fog, he saw, by the light of a 
 candle, the great Mr. Jackson, just commencing 
 the elaborate shave for which he is famous. 
 
 * Bless my soul,' said Mr. Morton, to himself; 
 ' well, I'm d — d ; who'd 'a thought it?' 
 
 Having paid an attention, which we call 'deli- 
 cate,' but which our neighbours, with much 
 greater truth and wit, call ' presque violente,' to 
 these signs, he reluctantly left the window, as 
 though two minds agitated that body, and which 
 was, indeed, big enough for both. He then 
 walked, still in the fog, on to the Heath, and 
 the first person he met was a very small man, 
 so enveloped in clothes, neckcloth, and gaiters, 
 as to look like a little baby wrapped up in its 
 papa's clothes, playing at being grown-up. 
 
 'Hallo, young feller, who be you?' said the 
 gruff voice of Dan Morton ; ' and where be you 
 a-goin' to in such a hurry ? ' 
 
 ' What's that to you ? ' replied the precocious
 
 266 Which is the Winner? 
 
 young gentleman, in the very choicest Billings- 
 gate. ' You're looking out for a mount, that's 
 quite clear, by the look of you; and to judge by 
 your countenance, one needn't ask where you're 
 going to.' Saying which the small bundle of 
 greatcoats and comforters resumed his walk, 
 leaving Dan Morton not much wiser than when 
 the conversation began. 
 
 The next person he met was more communi- 
 cative. He was a thin, long, active-looking 
 man, with a sealskin cap, and waistcoat, knee- 
 breeches, and groom's gaiters, and a drab coat 
 with outside pockets, in which his hands re- 
 posed, as safe from all labour. He was cross- 
 ing the Heath diagonally, and nearly ran into 
 Dan Morton in the fog. 
 
 ' Young man, who lives in that house at the 
 corner of the Heath, with the stabling at the 
 back ? ' 
 
 'The biggest rogue in all England,' replied 
 the man, without hesitation. 
 
 ' I thought so,' said Dan ; ' and what's his 
 name ? '
 
 Training. 267 
 
 * They call him honest Tom Jackson.' 
 
 ' And what's honest Tom Jackson a-doin' of 
 here?' While this colloquy was progressing, 
 Dan Morton was lighting his pipe. 
 
 ' He's got Lord Mentmore's lot to look after, 
 so it don't do to say much about him.' 
 
 ' Great man is he ? ' asked Morton, in an off- 
 hand sort of way. 
 
 ' Greatest in these parts. Does as he likes 
 with the 'osses.' 
 
 ' Have a bit o' baccy? ' said Dan, handing it out 
 to the other, who quickly found his pipe. They 
 smoked and walked in silence for a few minutes. 
 
 * Got anything very good ? ' was Dan's next 
 inquiry. 
 
 ' See any green ? ' was his companion's reply, 
 who was now well into the middle of the 
 ' 'baccy.' 
 
 ' You'd better keep a civil tongue in your 
 head, young feller,' said Dan, ' or I shall punch 
 it for you.' And as he seemed exceedingly 
 likely to do it, the conversation continued more 
 politely across the Heath.
 
 268 Which is the Winner? 
 
 In the course of it, Morton learnt all he 
 required to know about Jackson and his em- 
 ployer. In the latter he seemed to take some 
 interest, probably from his temporary connec- 
 tion with Spring Vale and Sommerton. At 
 present it was not easy to connect Dan Morton 
 and Lord Mentmore in the interest of our 
 story. Be that as it may, a couple of hours 
 before the appearance of Lord Mentmore's 
 horses he had shaken off his companion, and 
 ensconced himself in a dry ditch, within easy 
 range of the gallop, where he found shelter 
 from the cold. 
 
 Mr. Jackson himself had been busy before 
 starting, arranging the saddles, and weights, 
 in which first the colt by Newminster, out of 
 Lady Kingston, was to be tried at even weights 
 with a three- year-old ; and then the Archer 
 was to take a spin at very high weights, to 
 settle his Derby pretensions one way or the 
 other. Honest Tom Jackson's measures were 
 very simple : he took care to let the boys who 
 rode, see and feel the saddles; and he took
 
 Training, 269 
 
 care to put them on himself, with his own 
 hands, having inserted about a stone more, 
 unknown and unsuspected by anyone. The 
 trial proved under these circumstances to be 
 a failure ; and the news of the old one having 
 won easy, went to London with such suspicious 
 celerity, that that afternoon IVIr. Jackson was 
 able to get considerable odds against his horse, 
 Lord Mentmore having already backed him at 
 even. Nor was his lordship allowed to know 
 the real truth, for a very obvious reason. Lord 
 Mentmore was much too straightforward, and 
 his appearance in the ring would have left no 
 doubt as to the capacity of his horse. 
 
 ' Let them go down to the bottom, Jackson ; 
 bring them along slowly up to the turn, and let 
 them race for the last quarter of a mile. Mr. 
 Carrington will be the winning-post, and I will 
 start with them at the run in.' 
 
 Away they came, the old horse leading at a 
 moderate pace, their light clothing, without 
 hoods, fluttering in the morning breeze. As 
 they passed the corner, the young one was
 
 270 Which is the Winner? 
 
 allowed to go up, but still, only to the girths of 
 the leader. The boy sat still, and the New- 
 minster colt was pulling. He was a fine 
 slashing goer, and looked like winning all over. 
 Then as they neared Lord Mentmore, the pace 
 increased, until they reached him, when drop- 
 ping into his saddle he went racing by their side, 
 and watching his young one with an anxious 
 look. Disappointment succeeded to hope, as 
 he saw him die away in his final effort ; and 
 knew that if that was the criterion, his money 
 was gone. 
 
 ' That's not good enough to win, Jackson ? ' 
 ' It's not good enough to back, my lord ; 
 but you must have a run for the money. 
 " Many a slip between the cup and the lip." 
 Besides, we may improve that form before the 
 day,' 
 
 With the Two-Thousand Guinea horse, a 
 different game was pursued ; and as Mr. Jack- 
 son had opened a commission to lay against 
 him, the horse was to be made at the shortest 
 possible odds. When his trial came, the ad-
 
 Training. 271 
 
 ditional weight was put upon the other back ; 
 and as the colt ran at least a seven-pound 
 better horse than he really was, his master 
 backed hira with sufficient confidence to bring 
 him to the short odds at which his trainer 
 desired him to be. The trials over, and the 
 rest of the business satisfactorily concluded, 
 the two friends returned to their breakfast, and 
 Mr. Jackson himself took care of the saddles. 
 
 After a few days spent in Newmarket, Staf- 
 ford proposed a return to their hunting quarters. 
 A proposal to which Lord ]Mentmore responded, 
 as lovers alone respond to an approximation to 
 their mistress. 
 
 Mr. Jackson had relieved his mind of its 
 cares, his body of its coat, and his feet of their 
 boots. Dressing-gown and slippers had re- 
 placed the latter, and a bright fire, a good 
 cigar, and a strong and hot glass of whisky- 
 toddy, promoted circulation. He was thinking, 
 as men will think, of his successes, his gains, 
 and calculating in how many years he might be 
 keeping his own race-horses, with another to
 
 272 Which is the Winner f 
 
 train for him? No, no, none of that. He 
 knows the Yalue of personal superintendence 
 himself too well. No secret so close as that 
 between a man and his horse. Certainly his 
 present condition offered a brilliant contrast 
 to a time on which he was meditating. Mr. 
 Jackson was eminently consistent too, for 
 whether he lost or won, it was always without 
 reference to the capability of his horses, or to 
 the convenience of his master ; it was entirely 
 for the benefit of himself. Just now he was 
 running over in his mind's-eye, a series of 
 domestic pictures, cartoons of the life and 
 adventures of honest Tom Jackson. He was 
 a boy, a dirty snivelling little boy, with a pina- 
 fore and a slate, shirking his lessons, and steal- 
 ing his schoolfellows' marbles and toffy. Then 
 he was grooming horses, and riding them at 
 exercise and in their gallops, where he was 
 kept at work only by an ash-plant, unhesita- 
 tingly made use of : it was a fortunate circum- 
 stance for the racing world that he soon out- 
 fed his weight, or that nature had embellished
 
 Training, 273 
 
 his person with early corpulence, for his natural 
 talent for roping, lying, welshing, and general 
 rascality was such as would have mystified even 
 a Greek patriot, and have ruined a score of 
 stables. He had powerful friends in the trade, 
 and was only found out once ; and it is some- 
 what remarkable that though his friends were 
 always willing to recommend him, they none 
 of them employed him. They found him more 
 useful in their neighbours' stables than in their 
 own. Then the foreground of the picture dark- 
 ened considerably. There was a Quarter-Ses- 
 sions judge, and a jury, and a young man at 
 the prisoner's bar, and an acquittal ; and then 
 a change of country and some very rough life, 
 which finished at the diggings ; and some very 
 rough customers indeed, among whom was one 
 Dan Morton. To which succeeded a very 
 wholesome picture full of good luck, and exter- 
 nal respectability, and a Lethean forgetful ness 
 of all that had been wrong a quarter of a cen- 
 tury before ; and such wholesale robberies, but 
 so safe and so profitable, that they set conjecture 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 Which is the Winner? 
 
 almost at defiance, and swallowed up all previous 
 felonies in their Tartarean blackness. 
 
 Mr. Jackson had arrived at this point, when 
 he was roused by a short, but distinct and 
 decisive knock at his kitchen door. It was 
 opened by one of the boys, who remained after 
 stable hours to assist in the embellishment of 
 Tom Jackson's person, by cleaning his boots 
 and brushing his clothes. 
 
 ' Who's there, William,' inquired he as the 
 boy presented himself 
 
 ' Won't give no name ; says he must see you, 
 sir.' 
 
 ' Really. Shut the door. What does he 
 look like? ' asked Jackson. 
 
 * German giant, as we see at Ascot last year ; 
 a'most as big, and quite as dirty.' 
 
 * He must be a nice sort of individual. Show 
 him in, William. Got some information 
 praps. 
 
 ' Don't look it, anyhow,' rejoined the boy ; 
 but he went out and returned, bringing after 
 him Dan Morton. Both were speechless until
 
 Training. 275 
 
 the boy had left the room, when Jackson rose 
 and went to the door. 
 
 ' William,' said he. 
 
 ' Yes, sir,' said the boy, who was not out of 
 hearing. 
 
 * Take the saddle and the leading rein we 
 borrowed of the duke's people down to Mr. 
 Miller's, and say I'm very much obliged to him. 
 I'll attend to the house till Mrs. White comes 
 in.' And Jackson returned to the room, after 
 seeing that his orders were likely to be exe- 
 cuted. 
 
 In the meantime Morton proceeded to the 
 adjustment of his proper person with those 
 petits soins which indicate some intimacy. He 
 pulled out his pipe, and proceeded to smoke, 
 drew a chair to the fire, and arranged himself 
 in it, as is the manner of squatters, with his 
 arms and elbows over the back of it; taking 
 then a retrospective view of the blazing logs. 
 They were pleasant enough to look at. 
 
 *And now, Morton,' said the other, as he 
 entered, * what is it? What brings you here? 
 
 T 2
 
 276 Which is the Winner? 
 
 I heard you were well employed in — — sliire, 
 
 and that General H ^'s covers had seen the 
 
 last of you.' 
 
 * Oh ! you heard of me then ; but you didn't 
 think it worth while to inquire after an old 
 friend ? I've been back long enough.' 
 
 'The new country and this are different. 
 Tell me what you want, and if I can do it for 
 you, I will.' And Jackson continued standing, 
 in order to shorten the interview as much as 
 possible. 
 
 ' Bread, meat, clothes, money,^ — everything ; 
 and I don't think you're the man to turn your 
 back upon Dan Morton.' 
 
 ' How did you find me out V 
 ' Easily enough ; my employments are various 
 since I came to England. Some gents as do a 
 little in the ring sent me down here to look 
 arter a pal, as isn't on the square. I been arter 
 him on their account ; T come arter you on my 
 own.' 
 
 ' I'll be honest with you, Dan Morton,' said 
 Mr. Jackson, putting his thumbs through the
 
 Training. 277 
 
 armholes of his waistcoat, after having ascer- 
 tained that his cigar had gone out in his 
 excitement. 
 
 ' Thank you for nothing,' returned the other. 
 
 ' I'll be honest with you, Dan Morton. Since 
 I've been home, I'm in a different position to 
 what I was when you found me at the Creek.' 
 
 ' Are ye honester ? 'Cos, if you are, you're 
 not much use to me, nor to yourself either.' 
 
 ' May be, or not ; but it don't suit me to 
 have you seen about my premises ; if you want 
 a trifle to help you,' said Tom, magnanimously 
 drawing out his purse, * I won't say no to an 
 old comrade; but we must make an end of it 
 here.' 
 
 And here Jackson put on his hat, which w^as 
 singularly well brushed, and stood on the table 
 before him ; it is less imposing with a dressing- 
 gown than any other style of coat. 
 
 * I should a' thought that you might have 
 found a good reason. However, you know your 
 own business best,' said the other sulkily, and 
 knocking the ashes out of his pipe. *Now
 
 278 Which is the Winner? 
 
 youVe the great man, I suppose. Once on a 
 time there wasn't such a difference between 
 us/ 
 
 ' Perhaps not ; and if you're hungry, you shall 
 eat ; and, if you're thirsty, you shall drink ; but 
 Newmarket's no place for you, Dan Morton. 
 So take that sovereign, and be off.' 
 
 ' A sovereign ! ' said Morton, looking con- 
 temptuously at the money, * I rather think my 
 information's worth more than that to you;' at 
 the same time, however, slipping it into his 
 waistcoat pocket after spinning it. 
 
 ' I'm quite sure you can't have any informa- 
 tion that I care for, so you may keep it as far 
 as I'm concerned.' 
 
 ' P'raps it u'U pay better to give it to some- 
 body else.' 
 
 And with these words and a defiant air Dan 
 Morton replaced his cap upon his head, and 
 lounged towards the door, which was opened 
 for him by Tom Jackson, and scrupulously 
 closed on his back. 
 
 ' He seems pretty well to do,' was the reflec-
 
 Training. 279 
 
 tion of the one ; and ' I don't think he'll risk it 
 for a hundred pounds or two.' 
 
 * There's very little to get by paying off such 
 a scoundrel as that ; and I think I can stand 
 my ground against Dan Morton. There are 
 richer men to pay for that business before it 
 comes to my turn, and Master Morton's not the 
 man to put his own head in a noose for the 
 sake of a hundred more or less — we'll wait a 
 bit.' 
 
 He resumed his cigar after this, but it was 
 not so narcotic in its influence as before the 
 visit. 
 
 * You never race, Carrington ? Has it ever 
 occurred to you to keep a horse or two? ' 
 
 They were alone in the train a day or two 
 after, on their way back to Spring Vale Manor. 
 
 ' Never.' 
 
 ' Curious ; so fond of sport, and so good a 
 judge ; and a family taste.' 
 
 * I can understand my father, and my great- 
 uncle. They lived in other days. They lost 
 money, but they lost it to gentlemen. I've
 
 280 Which is the Winner? 
 
 none to lose, and I should grudge it sadly to 
 
 those ruffians.' 
 
 ' I've had a bad time of it lately.' 
 
 ^ Can you be surprised at it ? Every man's 
 
 hand is against you. It's unfair ; it's outrageous. 
 
 Give it up.' 
 
 ' Could I onl)^ give the ring one good turn ! 
 
 I think I've a chance now with the Two 
 
 Thousand and the Derby.' 
 
 * A quoi hon ? Your book is heavy enough 
 for anything; but if you win how can you get 
 paid ? And is it worth the trouble and asso- 
 ciations?' 
 
 ' Probably not ; but what to do now is the 
 question.' 
 
 ' Do you ask me ? Bring them to the ham- 
 mer. Keep half-a-dozen for the credit of the 
 turf, if you like ; never go near the ring ; run 
 only for the stakes ; and get rid of Tom Jack- 
 son.' 
 
 * Jackson ? ' said Lord Mentmore, with some 
 surprise. 
 
 * Is as great a rascal as I ever saw, if I am
 
 Training. 281 
 
 any judge of physiognomy. I'll tell you some- 
 thing more. WBen you went over to the rooms 
 the night before last, I took my cigar to the 
 end of the street, as the evening was warm and 
 line, and your room rather hot. Turning at 
 Jackson's premises, I saw clearly enough a man 
 coming from them whom I know. He's a 
 Sommerton man. Whether he was with your 
 trainer, or with some of your subordinates, and 
 for what I can't tell : but there's no o-ood doino- 
 where Dan Morton of Sommerton is to be 
 found.' 
 
 Soon after, the train stopped.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A WALK IN THE COUNTRY — SOMMERTON. ' 
 
 * Son bonheiir m§me a I'air d'une calamity, 
 Tout dans ce pays, tout est odieux pour moi : 
 Tout, jusqu'^ ses beautes, m'inspire de I'effroi.' 
 
 The absence of Stafford Carrington and Lord 
 Mentmore may be presumed to have made 
 Spring Vale Manor dull. At all events Evelyn 
 Carrington was more at her aunt's than usual, 
 and assisted at the preternaturally long walks 
 of the old lady with increased activity. I 
 have hardly had an opportunity of describing 
 Philadelphia Carrington at home. I will 
 endeavour to do so before she enters into a 
 conversation with her grand-niece, which is 
 explanatory of the position of parties at this 
 time of my tale. 
 
 Aunt Philly at home was perfection ; and
 
 A Walk in the Country. 283 
 
 remarkably eccentric as she undoubtedly was 
 in many things, vigorous in action and lan- 
 guage, she surrounded herself with every 
 external attribute of a finished lady. Her 
 rooms were small but light, and charmingly 
 furnished. When you saw her at her eight- 
 o'clock breakfast, her dress was as perfect as if 
 she had expected a visit from the bench of 
 bishops — a body which she respected as much 
 as their profound learning, single-mindedness, 
 and disinterestedness have always merited. At 
 six in the morning, the little old woman had a 
 cold bath of spring- w^ater every day of her 
 life. It seemed to freshen and invigorate her 
 intellect, as it evidently did the members of 
 her body. She carried its freshness with her 
 all day long. Her table was served with the 
 most dazzling linen, the finest porcelain and 
 glass, for which she had a mania, and rolls, 
 butter, cream, and cookery which was rivalled 
 seldom and never excelled. Her one man- 
 servant was of the same pattern — aged, but 
 neat and handy ; and how many linen jackets
 
 284 Which is the Winner? 
 
 Nurse put on during the week, it would be 
 difficult to say. He was so respectful and 
 respectable himself, that it was impossible not 
 to put a Mister before his name. In the 
 matter of linen your low-church parson had no 
 chance at all with this servitor d'un meilleur 
 age. She had begun life as somewhat of a 
 man-hater, but Mr. Nurse had almost reconciled 
 her to the uglier sex. 
 
 Amongst other peculiarities Aunt Philly 
 prided herself upon never being without what 
 was wanted or its equivalent ; in other words, 
 upon her readiness for every emergency, and 
 upon her endurance. This latter quality she 
 exhibited in w^alks of unheard-of distances, 
 at a pace which would have put the patience 
 of Job to the test. Having made up her mind 
 to walk four miles to breakfast, whether it 
 occupied two hours or four, she never stopped 
 short of her intention ; and though the carriage 
 at the Manor was always at her service, she 
 seldom availed herself of it. This independence 
 of character had been her strong point through
 
 A Walk in the Country , 285 
 
 life ; and if it had made her some enemies, it 
 had gained her numberless admirers. There 
 was not a soul in the county who knew Miss 
 Carrington that did not honour her. Her 
 charities were as numerous as they were 
 judicious ; and when she imagined herself 
 imposed upon, she had quite courage enough 
 to resist. 
 
 She was bent on one of these excursions 
 when Evelyn Carrington presented herself in 
 all the freshness of a morning toilette, a 
 charming hat, and Balmoral boots. She exhi- 
 bited a striped petticoat of a warm colour, as 
 is the correct thing to do. 
 
 ' My dear child,' said the old lady, passively 
 submitting to a salute, ' you're early ? ' 
 
 ' Rather, aunt ; the hunting gets us out of 
 bed in good time ; and now they're away, papa 
 and mamma are seldom down before half-past 
 nine — it's only just half-past eight.' 
 
 * Then you've had no breakfast ? ' rejoined 
 the old lady, dropping her glasses, and putting 
 down the county paper.
 
 286 Which is the Winner? 
 
 * And you have already finished ? ' 
 
 * That's nothing ; we'll have in Nurse, and 
 see what he's got for us. Now, Nurse, make 
 some good tea for your young mistress, and 
 put the pcite on table again — in fact we want 
 another breakfast ; ' and Nurse disappeared. 
 * You know, my dear, I always call you the 
 young mistress, because you'll have all I've 
 got when it pleases God to take me.' 
 
 ' Oh, aunt, don't—' 
 
 ' We shall all go to heaven some day or 
 other, that's certain ; so it's no use to make a 
 mystery of the matter.' 
 
 I think the old lady concurred in the late 
 Chancellor's verdict, who 'deprived the orthodox 
 of the pleasures of everlasting damnation ' by 
 a legal decision. 
 
 * You came here to tell me something, my 
 dear ? ' 
 
 * No, aunt, indeed I did not.' Evelyn 
 coloured slightly. 
 
 ' I am sorry to see that it was to tell me a 
 falsehood, my child.'
 
 A Walk in the Country, 287 
 
 ' Oh, aunt dear, how — ? ' 
 
 ' Well, never mind, finish your breakfast. 
 I am going to walk to a cottage beyond Som- 
 merton, and we shall have plenty of time to talk.' 
 
 ' And how do you intend to get over the 
 stiles,' said Evelyn, laughing. 
 
 ' Never you mind that, either. I shall do 
 witliout Stafford ; and as to Walter, he's better 
 helping the old women in his parish than out 
 of it.' 
 
 Ellen Bradneld, the squire's daughter, was 
 just as charitably disposed on this very morning 
 as Miss CaiTington herself ; but she set out 
 at half-past ten on the same mission as the 
 other at half-past nine. Strange to say they 
 were both bent on the same errand to the same 
 house — to look after a poor fellow who had 
 hurt himself by a fall from a scaffold in Mr. 
 Bradfield's employment. He had formerly 
 been a workman on the Spring Vale Estate — 
 hence a natural wish on the part of Miss 
 Carrington to offer him some assistance ; and 
 the old lady was well disposed to add her own
 
 288 Which is the Winner 1 
 
 personal inquiries to the dole. Giles might 
 have felt flattered had he known that Mr. 
 Scarsdale was equally solicitous for his re- 
 covery ; and that the squire himself had given 
 orders that it should be accelerated by all 
 possible means. 
 
 * As soon as ever he can be moved, let him 
 be moved,' said Mr. Bradfield. 
 
 'The doctor says that he can't be moved 
 without great danger, sir,' replied Mr. Jennyngs, 
 the bailiff. 
 
 * I don't want to kill him outright, but I 
 want his cottage,' said the other ; and with 
 that Mr. Jennnygs departed. 
 
 At eighty years of age the wind is never so 
 good as it has been, be the condition what it 
 may ; and though the stiles offered some 
 hindrance to progress, they aided respiration 
 and conversation as resting-places. 
 
 ' I dare say you find the house lonely, my 
 dear,' said the old lady, sitting down on the 
 first stile she came to, ' now that Lord 
 Mentmore is gone,'
 
 A Walk in the Country, 289 
 
 * On the contrary, aunt, it's a relief.' 
 'Then you don't like him, Miss Evelyn ?' 
 
 * Indeed, I do ; I do not know anyone I 
 like better.' 
 
 ' Then you think you like him too much. 
 Evelyn, I admire you.' 
 
 ' And why ? Aunt Philly,' said she with an 
 open brow, full of smiles^ and evidently tickled 
 with this unsuspected declaration of love. 
 
 ' Because, my dear, if you know your weak- 
 ness, and are not ashamed of telling it to your 
 best friend, you'll soon conquer it.' 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 * That's not it ? Then what's the matter ? 
 Has Lord Mentmore made you an offer ? ' 
 again demanded the old lady. 
 
 * No, aunt, certainly not ' 
 
 ' Should you accept him, if he did ? ' 
 
 ' No, aunt : I really — but you know he 
 hasn't asked me — , well, well if he did, I 
 think not,' and Evelyn blushed and laughed. 
 
 ' Then, my dear, you'd be a greater fool than 
 any of the young — ; here John Briggs, John 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 Which is the Winner ? 
 
 Briggs,' shouted the old lady, shaking her 
 crutched stick at a man who was crossing the 
 field, 'come and help my niece to push me 
 over this stile into the next field.' 
 
 As the labourers in the neighbourhood were 
 accustomed to this mode of progression, it 
 scarcely raised the ghost of a smile on the 
 stolid face of John Briggs, who felt both the 
 ' esse ' and ' posse ' of many a shilling. In the 
 next field there was a broad footpath, and at 
 the end of it neither stile nor labourer ; farther 
 on there was stile and no labourer, and some- 
 times a labourer and no stile ; but the morning 
 was getting on, and Evelyn Carrington had 
 made her aunt understand how matters stood 
 between her and Lord Mentmore. To a 
 delicate mind, such as Evelyn's, it is not easy 
 to vaunt an attachment such as Mentmore's, 
 unless it be reciprocal. The admission, still more 
 the avowal, appears to place the narrator upon 
 a pedestal so far above most of her fellows. 
 
 * Now, my dear, I must rest here ; and then 
 you shall help me over this stile ; for I don't
 
 A Walk in the Countrf/. 291 
 
 see my old friend Will Hodge at work here 
 to-day. There are only three more before we 
 set to Sommerton.' Both the ladies were well 
 wrapped up, and though near Christmas the 
 weather was open and genial, or the walk 
 would have been a cold one. 
 
 ' And where are we going to, aunt ? ' 
 
 ' We're going to see old Giles. They tell 
 me that that very excellent landlord, Mr. Abel 
 Bradfield, has threatened him with condign 
 punishment for daring to injure himself, whilst 
 engaged in his service. Having broken his 
 ribs, he's going to turn him out of his cottage ; 
 you know you and I keep favourite bits of 
 china in our service, when they are broken. 
 I think he's a very bad man, my dear.' 
 
 ' They speak well of Mrs. Bradfield, aunt, and 
 of Miss Bradfield.' 
 
 ' Yes, so I've heard ; but I doubt they're 
 none of 'em good for much ; I see by the 
 paper this morning his son's likely to be 
 returned for some borough in the North, 
 without opposition.' 
 
 u2
 
 292 Which is the Winner? 
 
 ' We have never knovrn much of the Brad- 
 fields; it seems odd to live so near, and never 
 to have even exchanged a visit.' 
 
 *The lion would be as likely to lie down 
 with the lamb/ said the old lady, ' though 
 there's more of the wolf than the lamb in him. 
 Ah ! here comes my old friend Davy Lightfoot 
 to help us over this terrible obstacle. That's 
 it, Davy, my man, not too fast,' and Aunt 
 Philly placed her hand on the stalwart smock- 
 frocked arm of Davy, and surmounted the 
 difficulty. Evelyn disdained the assistance of 
 a rough, but honest hand. Towards the end 
 of their walk they met Job Fletcher, who was 
 also an acquaintance of Miss Carrington, and 
 who addressed a few words to him, chiefly as to 
 the health of his wife and his children. 
 
 ' Nanny's pretty hearty, mum, thank 'e, and 
 the children, mum,' and Job Fletcher opened 
 the gate into the village for the two ladies. 
 ' Thank 'e, mum,' again said Job as he touched 
 his hat, this time for a piece of silver which he 
 conveyed to his pocket.
 
 A Walk in the Country, 293 
 
 *And how's Giles to-day, Job; I suppose 
 you've been to see him ? ' 
 
 ' The missus have been up and says he's a trifle 
 better ; but he's a bit put out about havin' to 
 go to the union. Says he ain't used to it like.' 
 
 ' Well ! few honest men are ; but what's he 
 going to the union for ? ' 
 
 * Squire wants un's cottage ; goin' to make 
 it one o' the park gates for the keepers,' and 
 Job touched his hat again and was gone. 
 
 'Look at this,' and the old lady stood on a 
 rising ground and surveyed the now ugly but 
 compactly-built village, and the surrounding 
 fields, and said, * there's a property, my dear. 
 It was once yours ; and now it's his, and worth 
 five times the money with his iron, and coal, 
 and tramways, and furnaces, and all the means 
 of doing good, and he's made it a hell upon 
 earth by his evil passions.' 
 
 ' You ought to know this man well, aunt ; 
 surely his family are not all like him. I 
 knew the young man a little, and he seems 
 a — a — a — clever — '
 
 294 Which is the Winner? 
 
 'Clever enouglj, I'll be bound to say — the 
 Bradfields never wanted brains; only honesty. 
 But you shall hear all about it — it's a long story 
 — as we go back. At present, that's the cottage 
 and the sooner we're there the better.' 
 
 ' I hope you're not tired, my dear aunt.' 
 
 * Tired, ma'am, not in the least,' retorted the 
 old lady, rather testily, though she was almost 
 fainting. As they knocked at Giles's door, it 
 opened, and Ellen Bradfield met them face to 
 face. 
 
 Two of those three persons were remarkable 
 for presence of mind. Miss Carrington never 
 flinched from man, woman, or child in her life ; 
 so with a very shrewd guess as to who the lady 
 was, though she had not seen her since child- 
 hood, the old lady darted a sharp look at her 
 from her black sloe-like eyes, and then made 
 her a silent bow. Miss Bradfield returned it 
 with interest, and then seeing Evelyn, whom 
 she knew and recognized at once, she exchanged 
 a more cordial greeting, assuring her in answer 
 to her inquiry, that no further harm had re-
 
 A Walk in the Country, 295 
 
 suited from lier drive, than the sacrifice of one 
 of the t\^o ponies to her father's fears or i)reju- 
 dices. She then presented Ellen Bradfield 
 formally to her aunt, who said, briefly, 
 
 ' We scarcely calculated, ma'am, on finding 
 one of your family here.' 
 
 ' I hardly know anyone so likely to have 
 been found here, except Mr. Scarsdale.' 
 
 Miss Bradfield could not but understand the 
 tone of the old woman ; and Evelyn, perceiving 
 it, ventured to begin an interpository, 
 
 ' Aunt ; ' but aunt was not to be pacified in 
 the presence of the enemy. 
 
 ' Very little could be said by one of my 
 name to Miss Bradfield, that could need expla- 
 nation ; ' and Aunt Philly passed into the cottage, 
 while the plume of her steeple-crowned beaver 
 hat, which she insisted on wearing, nodded with 
 indignation. Evelyn stayed behind a moment, 
 to say something apologetic if ])ossible ; but 
 there seemed very little to be said. Ellen 
 Bradfield looked at the good, truthful, pretty face 
 of the young aristocrat, and only smiled. She
 
 296 WJiich is the Winner? 
 
 said a few words on the length of the walk from 
 Spring Yale, and assured Evelyn that she 
 would find her patient better in every respect. 
 The girls shook hands for the first time in their 
 lives, and parted. ' How like her brother ! ' 
 thought Evelyn ; what Miss Bradfield thought 
 we don't know. 
 
 It was not so strange that tlie junior mem- 
 bers of these two families did not feel that 
 antipathy which it was manifestly their duty to 
 have felt. Their minds probably were, at 
 birth, as capable as others, of receiving impres- 
 sions from external objects; but it was clear 
 that they were not so susceptible of envy, 
 hatred, and malice, as they ought to have been. 
 No one pretends to account for this. It was 
 clearly their duty to have been natural enemies, 
 to have imbibed evil prejudices, to have drunk 
 in bitterness and gall wdth their mother's milk, 
 and to have felt a sentiment of unaccountable 
 repulsion, as strong as that of the Federals and 
 Confederates, the Capulets and Montagues, 
 Politics and Honesty, Schoolboys and Soap-
 
 A Walk in the Country. 297 
 
 and-water, or any other two things between 
 which there is a natural and unconquerable 
 aversion. But there was very little of this 
 really. Sir Michael, it has been seen, said not 
 a word about his own affront, or we do not 
 know what might have been his daughter's 
 indignation. Abel Bradfield had been equally 
 silent on the subject of his rebuff; and though 
 it rankled deeply in his heart, he had given 
 vent to no determinate invectives, beyond the 
 ordinary expletives, in which he indulged. 
 Pride had kept them both quiet on that point. 
 At Spring Vale the Bradfields were almost 
 ignored ; a quiet contempt for the whole mass 
 rather pervaded the elders of the family. So 
 that of personal abuse, or reasons for personal 
 affront, the junior members, as children, heard 
 nothing. At Sommerton, the invective was 
 personal enough, violent enough, and frequent 
 enough ; but it probably defeated its own 
 object. It was regarded as the exaggerated 
 outpouring of an embittered spirit, and pro- 
 duced but little effect upon his hearers. ^ Whom
 
 298 Which is the Winner? 
 
 did not Abel Bradfield envy? Whom would he 
 not have cursed ? So between the two these 
 young people were not such good haters as 
 good children should have been. 
 
 It is impossible to say what Evelyn might 
 have felt had she heard of the impertinence of 
 Mr. Bradfield's proposal ; or how far Laurence 
 Bradfield would have acquiesced in his father's 
 unauthorized transmission of himself to the 
 enemy. 
 
 The visit to the cottage proved so far satis- 
 factory, that it was clear that Giles himself was 
 better, and that Mrs. Giles had been made 
 happy by the certainty of retaining her cottage 
 for the present. Immediate prospect of the 
 union was taken away. * Mr. Jennyngs told you 
 that you would have to go, did he, Mrs. Giles ; 
 then if he comes here again with any message 
 or information about the cottage, desire him to 
 come to me ; and on no account quit your 
 house, whoever tells you. My father must do 
 without a lodge gate, and Mr. McShotten can 
 stay where he is till your husband is at work
 
 A Walk in the Country. 299 
 
 again.' Mrs. Giles was loud in her praise of 
 the young missus, and the New Parliament 
 man, as she called her young master, and hoped 
 the latter might ' do well in his new situation, 
 God bless him.' It was impossible to hear 
 these praises without being convinced of their 
 sincerity; and the prejudices of Miss Carring- 
 ton, and of Evelyn too, perhaps, began to give 
 way before the satisfaction of seeing that those, 
 wlio could not chain Cerberus, sopped him ; 
 and that Abel Bradfield's greatest enemies 
 were those of his own household. The old 
 lady had a little temper of her own, and if she 
 desired to gratify it she might have done so with 
 a very solid reflection ; that domestic opposition 
 is continuous, and leaves no time for repara- 
 tion of damages. No war like a civil war for 
 intensity. 
 
 As Aunt Philly turned from the cottage door, 
 after her visit of charity, she walked some way, 
 leaning heavily on her stick on the one side, 
 and making use of Evelyn's arm on the other. 
 Conversation never flagged long with her ; and
 
 300 Which is the Winner' ? 
 
 by the time she reached the village . again, and 
 had crossed the road to enter the fields on her 
 way home, she found it convenient to stop and 
 look round her. No one who had once known 
 Sommerton, and now looked at it, wanted a 
 topic of conversation. The change was remark- 
 able enouirh. 
 
 ' Our friend seems exclusive,' said Aunt 
 Philly, eyeing the stone cottages and the park 
 wall with about as much satisfaction as a bur- 
 glar looks at Newgate. ' No wonder the last 
 curate, who was too modest to knock at the 
 doors and ask, spent his first morning in looking 
 for the church, and returned to Saxonby with- 
 out having found it.' 
 
 ' Was that Mr. Scarsdale, Lord Mentmore's 
 friend, aunt ? ' 
 
 ' I believe it was, my dear. A pains-taking 
 young man,' added the old lady, with a cer- 
 tain amount of patronage. She made a point 
 of becoming acquainted with the neighbouring 
 clergy, by name and character, at all events. 
 Evelyn said nothing, but thought it was
 
 A Walk in the Country. 301 
 
 not the praise that Mr. Scarsdale wouki have 
 desired. 
 
 * I should scarcely suppose Siivermere a larger 
 place than this.' 
 
 * I've no idea of the size of it, aunt. I hear 
 the gardens are the finest in England, and the 
 situation must be far more beautiful.' 
 
 * A fine place to be mistress of, Evelyn.' 
 
 ' That would depend upon who was the mas- 
 ter, aunt.' 
 
 * My dear, the mistress may always be the 
 master ; and you certainly ought to marry.' 
 
 * Why so ? ' 
 
 ' Mild, good young women, who are dependent 
 upon others, and of a gentle nature, are meant 
 for marriage. You'll never take care of your- 
 self. It wouldn't have agreed with me, my 
 dear ; and I think that Miss Bradfield looks as 
 if she could do without it.' 
 
 ' That's jumping to a conclusion very rashly, 
 I think. I dare say we might both manage to 
 put up with it, if we could have the husband we 
 liked.'
 
 302 Which is the Winner? 
 
 ' All life is habit, so that that has less to do 
 with the business than appears at first sight. But 
 my breath is better, and if you'll give me your 
 arm we'll proceed, my dear, and then I'll tell 
 you something about the Bradfields.' 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LOKDON ; PRIKTED BJ W. CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STRKF.T, 
 AND CHAEING CROSS.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLIN0I8-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 041679025