8 ^^ 
 
 b 
 
 j 
 
 THE 
 
 BANKER’S WIFE; 
 
 / 
 
 O R, 
 
 Cotirt an^ Citg* 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 BY MRS. GORE. 
 
 AUTHORESS OF ^ 
 
 '« MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS,” “ MRS. ARMY'TAGE,” &c., &c. 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 
 No. 82 Cliff- Street, 
 
 1843 . 
 
• ■ rf ' 
 
2Z3 
 
 QiU-. 
 
 THE B A N K E R’S WIPE; 
 
 OB. 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Beenes form’d for contemplation, and to nurse 
 The growing seeds of wisdom, that suggest, 
 
 By every pleasing image they present, 
 
 Reflections such as meliorate the heart. 
 
 COWPBR. 
 
 A LOVER of th€ picturesque, whether poet, 
 painter, or simply an enjoyer of Nature s works, 
 may be justified, perhaps, in extending his quest 
 after the sublime and beautitul beyond the 
 of the rich but monotonous landscapes of Old 
 England. But, while the iridented shores of 
 Naples or cloud-capt mountains of Switzerland 
 attract these dreamy wanderers to fill their al- 
 bums and sketch-books with sonnets in sixteen 
 lines, or daubings in* bistre and cobalt, a notable 
 counter-charm is produced on the minds oi for- 
 eign tourists in our own country by the neat- 
 ness, order, and fertility of our rural districts. 
 
 Scarcely a county but boasts its series of 
 cheerful villages and aristocratic residences, 
 from the stalely Gothic hall pf earlier centuries 
 to the commodious family mansion of modern 
 times, surrounded by spreading parks and trim- 
 ly gardens ; nor is it easy to travel ten miles in 
 England without passing the lodge%ates of some 
 private domain, unmentioned save in the ob- 
 scure annals of county -hi story, which, if the 
 summer residence of some German principicule, 
 would be signalized to tourists with all the de- 
 scriptive pomp of a guide-book, or the onerous 
 eloquence of the valet <k place. 
 
 If, for instance, as a stranger in the land, you 
 stop to dine or sleep at the little country inn of 
 Ovington, and inquire of mine host of the Bur- 
 lington Arms whether the neighbourhood con- 
 tain any object of interest, he will answer, with 
 a stultified look, that there is “nothing there- 
 abouts worth speaking on.” 
 
 “ There’s the Hyde, an old place as ’longs to 
 the Vernon family; and Squire Hamlyn’s, at 
 Dean Park; besides, sir, Rudger Burlinton’s far- 
 ther up along the river ; but i\one on ’em show- 
 laces; and the gentry as likes to visit grand 
 ouses be forced to cut across the country, to 
 Burleigh, or Bel voir,” 
 
 Nevertheless, these three domains— the Hyde, 
 Burlington Manor, and Dean Park — are sever- 
 ally citable as models of rural beauty ; the neigh- 
 bourhood which, within a circle of fifteen miles, 
 comprehends the three properties in questioii, 
 affording a favourable type of that rich and smi- 
 ling order of home-landscape which seems al- 
 most to imbody a portraiture of our social insti- 
 tutions ; nothing salient — nothing discordant— a 
 limited horizon — a pleasant foreground, with 
 symbols of peace and prosperity interposing be- 
 tween, and abundant evergreens to plant out the 
 
 offices, in order to gratify the taste of those who 
 care less whether Lazarus be sitting famished 
 and suffering at their gates^, than that the gates 
 should be of sufficient solidity to exclude the 
 spectacle of so piteous an object. 
 
 The parish of Ovington is, in short, a beauti- 
 ful country ; watered by a fine river, prospered 
 by a fertile soil, unmolested by commercial spec- 
 ulation, undisturbed by factories, unvulgarized 
 by villas; a country such as George Robins 
 would have delighted to describe in his largest 
 capitals and most sonorous periods, had either 
 of the noble mansions in question fallen, at any 
 moment, under the branding-iron of his pen of 
 
 hammer. , , , . 
 
 At the period to which the reader’s attention 
 is humbly requested, the fairest of the.se estates 
 had of late narrowly escaped this degrading con- 
 tingency, For nearly a year it had remained 
 an undecided point among the executors of the 
 late Sir Roger Burlington, whether Burlington 
 Manor should be sold outright, to pay off the 
 mortgages on the Yorkshire property of his son 
 (a minor, scarcely past the age of infancy), or 
 whether ,the place should be let on lease lor a 
 term of twenty-one years. 
 
 The latter alternative carried the day; thanks, 
 as it was believed, to the advocacy of the most 
 zealous of the guardians, Mr. Hamlyn of Dean 
 Park, whose estate adjoined, and who was sup- 
 posed to tremble at the idea of seeing the Bur- 
 lington property fall into the hands of some 
 moneyed speculator, disposed to turn to account 
 the facilities of the fine stream traversing the 
 two properties. A respectable and quiet neigh- 
 bour, secured by his own interference, was a 
 most important object to him ; and it was proba- 
 bly an argument of some weight with his co-ex- 
 ecutors and trustees, that, precisely at the right 
 moment, he was able to produce the one man 
 needful, in the person of a wealthy colonel of the 
 East India Company’s Engineering Service, re- 
 cently returned from Bombay. 
 
 Richard Hamlyn was one of those fortune-fa- 
 voured individuals who seem born with a knack 
 for producing the right thing at the right mo- 
 ment. Though qualified by the innkeeper of 
 Ovington as “ ’Squire Hamlyn,” there was little 
 enough of the “ ’Squire” in the estated proprie- 
 tor of Dean Park. He was simply a London 
 banker; a cold, methodical, prudent man, taking 
 as much pride in his countr}''-seat as the engro-ss- 
 ing nature of a thriving business allowed him 
 to take in anything out of Lombard-street, but 
 eager, as a matter of interest, to secure his prop- 
 erty against the deterioration of manufacturing 
 innovation. With the terror of steam-engines 
 or spinning- jennie's before his eyes, it was a 
 
THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 4 
 
 comfort, indeed, to find such a man as his friend 
 Colonel Hamilton established, for the rest of 
 his life, at Burlington Manor. 
 
 The new tenant had been for years a valued 
 constituent of the banking-house of Hamlyn and 
 Co., and, on arriving in England, it was to 
 Richard, the acting partner, his correspondent 
 for twenty years past, that he addressed himself, 
 as a friend and counsellor, in matters even of 
 more personal interest than the investment of 
 his lacs of rupees. 
 
 Though he had passed nearly half a century 
 in banishment. Colonel Hamilton had been driv- 
 en home from India several years before the 
 epoch he had mentally fixed for his return— the 
 completion of a fortune of four hundred thou- 
 sand pounds !— by the loss of his wife, and a se- 
 vere illness (the first in his life) consequent upon 
 this heartfelt bereavement. But the moment he 
 set foot on his native soil, and cast the slough 
 engendered by a long life ol slavery to Mam- 
 mon, the old man became reconciled to leave 
 the cipher of his fortune at three hundred and 
 forty-two thousand ; deciding that, at sixty-five 
 years of age, it was better to content himself 
 with these ample means of enjoyment; for, hav- 
 ing outlived his two sons,^who left no posterity 
 to inherit his fine fortune, he had to choose be- 
 tween bequeathing his property to distant rela- 
 tives, or earning a posthumous statue and news- 
 paper renown from the gratitude of some public 
 institution. 
 
 A London banker is not the man to refuse his 
 friendship or advice to an heirless old gentle- 
 man, with a floating capital of hundreds of 
 thousands. Cold and mechanical as were Mr. 
 Hamlyn’s habits of life, he put himself almost 
 out of his way to seek a suitable London resi- 
 dence for Colonel Hamilton, the moment he 
 began to complain of the hot rooms and cold 
 mulligatawnv of the hotel in the Adelphi to 
 which he had resorted on his arrival, as the only 
 one still extant which he remembered as a boy. 
 Many were “the substantial town mansions” 
 which Mr. Hamlyn commended to the notice 
 of the nabob for the remainder of the season. 
 But the old gentleman, with his over-brimming 
 purse and indefinite purposes, like a sailor re- 
 turned from a cruise in a hurry to get rid of his 
 prize-money, v.'as determined to purchase. As 
 if he could not make too much haste in securing 
 himself a footing in his native country, he con- 
 cluded a ha.sty bargain for a commodious house 
 in Portland Place, and for some weeks amused 
 himself and enriched the upholsterers by the ef- 
 fort of furnishing. 
 
 But no sooner was all arranged on what ap- 
 peared to his friends the Hamlyns the most 
 comfortable and liberal footing, than the colo- 
 nel, for want of farther occupation, began to 
 grumble. Day after day did he make his ap- 
 pearance at their house in Cavendish Square, 
 with some complaint against the climate or cus- 
 toms of the metropolis ! 
 
 Luckily, he was far from a peevish grumbler. 
 He was a laughing rather than a crying philos- 
 opher; and bantered his own fastidiousness so 
 good-humouredly, that Mrs. Hamlyn, to whom, 
 during the absence of her husband in the city, 
 his complaints were usually confided, was far 
 more amused than wearied by his Chapter of 
 Lamentations. 
 
 “ Between ourselves, my good lady,” said he, 
 after ensconcing himself in an armchair by the 
 fireside one gloomy morning in January, when 
 
 the leafless trees in Cavendish Square looked as 
 grim and ghastly through the fog as the spectral 
 forms of Ossian’s heroes, “ between ourselves, I 
 own myself plaguily disappointed in this Lon’on 
 of yours ! The first few days in any country 
 are a sad take in, more especially in one’s na- 
 tive land, after fifty years’ absence. The ex- 
 citement of finding one’s self among fellow-crea- 
 tures of one’s own creed and complexion, and 
 hearing spoken around one the language of one’s 
 boyhood— the language in which one’s parents 
 pronounced their blessing on one’s head at part- 
 ing — is apt to bring tears into one’s eyes that 
 blind them to other matters. At first I thought 
 I could never see enough of busy, prosperous 
 Lon’on ; and I vow to my Maker there were 
 moments when I could have found it in my 
 heart to kneel dowm and kiss the sooty earth 
 under my feet (old blockhead that I was!), be- 
 cause it was that of Old England. But, at a 
 week’s end, ma’am, I began to see clearer. Af- 
 ter I’d been knocked about a bit, and jeered by 
 the Cockneys every time I ventured to ask a 
 question, or put my nose out of doors in a coat 
 or waistcoat differing in cut from those of the 
 weekly fashion-mongers, I recognised the folly 
 of giving way to such warm emotions among a 
 race of folks who dare not yield to a single nat- 
 ural impulse, from fear of what their finer neigh- 
 bours may be thinking of ’em !” 
 
 “ It is true, the forms of social life are some- 
 what rigidly maintained among us,” observed 
 the banker’s wife, stitching placidly on at her 
 monotonous carpet-work. 
 
 “ Rigidly, indeed, for a country that calls it- 
 self the Land of Liberty 1” retorted the old colo- 
 nel. “ I’d as soon live in a waxwork show as 
 among such stuflfed puppets as this sort of for- 
 mality engenders— men in buckram — men in ar- 
 mour— that is, men of straw! Your good hus- 
 band (who has my interests at heart as if they 
 were his own) finds me a mighty'stubbom schol- 
 ar, I fancy, in the grand art of modern polite- 
 ness 1” 
 
 “ Mr. Hamlyn has, I am sure, sincere pleas- 
 ure in any little service he may be able to ren- 
 der you !” replied his companion, without rais- 
 ing her eyes from her work. 
 
 “ I believe you— I really believe you; only we 
 diflTer, maybe, in our notions of service. My 
 friend Hamlyn thinks it a matter of kindness to 
 be always setting me right about little idle, 
 empty, fussy ceremonies of society, concerning 
 which, ’tween you and I, my dear ma’am, I care 
 not a button! When I propose anything he 
 thinks out of the common, by way of making 
 those about me comfortable or myself happy, 
 he’s sure to remind me that ‘such is not the 
 custom of this country,’ or, that ‘ ’tis contrary 
 to the usages of the world.’ Bless your heart! 
 I’ve lived' too long where the usages of the 
 world were of no account, to submit patiently to 
 the thraldom of a network of copper-lace and 
 spangles ! God forbid V should behave myself 
 like a Hottentot. But 1 can’t fancy that Ham- 
 lyn’s favourite ‘world’ would have gone on a 
 jot the wor.se had you brought your girls to dine 
 with me on Tuesdav, or if I’d persisted in giving 
 up my back parlour for the use of my man John- 
 ston and his wife, who in Indy were not used to 
 mope aw'ay their davs in cellars !” 
 
 “ But you have such a capital housekeeper’s 
 room in Portland Place,” remonstrated Mr.s. 
 Hamlyn, subdued by the force of habit into un- 
 questioning acquiescence in the opinions of her 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 husband. “ With respect to ray daughters, as 
 Mr. Hamlyn mentioned to you before, they are 
 not out. Lydia is little more than sixteen, her 
 sister two years younger. Both are still in the 
 schoolroom. They do not even dine at our own 
 table.” 
 
 “ So much the worse, ma’am, so much the 
 worse; one of the very things 1 complain of! 
 Little more than sixteen, indeed ! Why, in 
 Indy she’d be a wife by this time, perhaps a 
 mother. And not allowed to share the meals 
 of her parents '? not permitted to dine with her 
 father’s old friend 1 Always with the governess 
 •-^always at her studies! What’s the use of 
 such excess of edication for young ladies, pray, 
 unless to teach ’em to play their parts prettily 
 in society 1 And how the deuse is a girl ever 
 to learn to become a woman, if excluded from 
 the company of gentlemen and ladies till, with- 
 out knowing her cue, the curtain suddenly draws 
 up, and she finds herself alone upon the staged” 
 
 “ The late hours Mr. Hamlyn is obliged to 
 keep,” observed the banker’s wife, careful not 
 to admit how far more closely her ideas of hap- 
 piness and propriety agreed with those of the 
 warm-hearted colonel than those of her austere 
 husband, “would scarcely be advantageous to 
 the girls. With respect io having declined your 
 kind invitation, had they dined in Portland 
 Place, my own family, which is numerous, 
 wodld have claimed the same exception in their 
 favour.” 
 
 “ Ay, ay, ay ! it all sounds mighty plausible 
 and Mrs. Goodchild-ish!” interrupted the col- 
 onel, shrugging his shoulders. “ But the long 
 and the short of these wise regulations is, that 
 such rule-and-compass work in the bosom of 
 families is making away with everything like 
 warmth of feeling, and shrivelling up social 
 interest into a manual of etiquette. Household 
 happiness is too joyous a thing, ma’am, to be 
 worked by steain. I vow to my Maker I’d as 
 soon live in a p^itentiary, and be rung in to 
 meals and exercise like a felon, as be cramped 
 up eternally in my loves and likings by a code 
 01 heartless decorum.” 
 
 “ I trust your kind feelings towards my girls 
 are not likely to be cramped by the methodical 
 habits of the family V’ observed Mrs. Hamlyn, 
 with a smile. 
 
 “ That’s more than I’ll take upon me to say. 
 What will those poor children ever care about 
 me, pray, whom they’re called away from their 
 forte-piano once a week to courtesy to, and hope 
 I’m well, and*whom they never see in the exer- 
 cise of human charities 7 I’m disappointed, my 
 dear ma’am — I’m sadly disappointed ! I’ve no 
 family left of my own, the more’s the pity ; and, 
 being fond of young people, ’twas a comfort to 
 me, in returning to this country, to think of sur- 
 rounding myself with innocent, happy faces— if 
 not those of my own kith and kin, at least the 
 kith and kin of my friends. And what’s the end 
 on’t*? I vow to my Maker I was not more lone- 
 some in my bungalow at Ghazerapore, than in 
 my fine, showy, comfortable, comfortless house 
 in Portland Place ! Most of my acquaintance 
 in Lon’on are men of business, tied down to 
 their occupations; and as to the ladies, my 
 friend Hamlyn gave me a broad hint t’other 
 Bight, over our claret, that ’tisn’t the custom of 
 what he calls the world for gentlemen to in- 
 dulge in too frequent morning calls — ” 
 
 “ Be assured,” interrupted Mrs. Hamlyn, for 
 once raising her eyes from her work, “ that my 
 
 6 
 
 husband intended no allusion to his men house 
 or family in the prohibition.” 
 
 “ I know it, my dear good lady, I know it. If 
 you’d allowed me to finish my sentence, I was 
 going to add, ‘ except in the case of so warm a 
 friendship and intimacy as unites ourselves.’ 
 And so you see the consequence of this last 
 piece of schooling of Hamlyn’s will be to trouble 
 you twiee as often with my company. He well 
 knows you are the only folks in Lon’on with 
 whom I’m on anything like a friendly footing; 
 and at the snail’s-pace rate at which acquaint- 
 ances are made in this confounded foggy metrop- 
 olis, I shall have leisure to die and be cata- 
 cornbed in one or t’other of the new cemeteries, 
 long afore I’ve brought myself to more than a 
 distant bow with my next-door neighbours.” 
 
 “ The vast extension of society in London,’* 
 observed Mrs. Hamlyn, her habitual serenity 
 unruflied by the vehemence of her companion, 
 “ has necessitated a degree of caution in the 
 formation of intimacy which, to persons habit- 
 uated to the sociability of a colony, may appear 
 coldness and reserve. But an intimacy, once 
 created, soon ripens into friendship; and the 
 friendship, once really matured, ripens and brings 
 forth fruit, an inheritance from generation to 
 generation.” 
 
 “ So much the better for those who’ve patience 
 to wait so long. But my heart’s not like an aloe, 
 my dear ma’am, that wants a hundred years to 
 bring it into bloom; and I’ve learned, to my 
 cost, that a winter in Lon’on (which in Indy 
 we’re apt to fancy the summum bpnum of human 
 sociability) is about as cheerful. a thing as a 
 judgeship two thousand miles up the country, 
 or a solitary detachment in the Ghauts.” 
 
 “ Winter is generally admitted to be an unso- 
 ciable moment in London,” said Mrs. Hamlyn, 
 quietly. “ Most people who have family seats 
 spend their Christmas in the country. This is 
 the first winter 1 have passed in town for the 
 last ten years.” 
 
 “And how came you to pass it herel” de- 
 manded the matter-of-fact old gentleman. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlyn was busy picking up her scis- 
 sors, and did not hear. But the colonel, who 
 seldom asked questions except with the view of 
 obtaining information, reiterated his interroga-? 
 tion. 
 
 “Mr. Hamlyn fancied, I believe,” replied the 
 lady, thus forced to an ungracious explanation, 
 “ that you would find it dull if left in town 
 without a single family of your acquaintance.” 
 
 Grateful conviction glistened in Colonel 
 Hamilton’s eyes as he replied ; “ And so, then, 
 you’re all doing penance in Lon’on for my sake T 
 That was mons’ously kindly thought of on 
 Hamlyn’s part,” added he, after a moment's con- 
 sideration. “ To be sure, if dull and lonesome 
 now, I should have been fit to hang myself when 
 you were all ofl!’ to Warwickshire. Poor girls ! — 
 poor young ladies, I should have said — I un- 
 derstand now why Miss Lydia complained to 
 me t’other day of the tediousness of parading, 
 morning after morning, round and round yonder 
 square like a squirrel in a cage. But I didn’t 
 guess, poor little lady, that I was The cause of 
 moping her up, away from her pony and her 
 country pleasures. Well ! I shall always think 
 ’twas a mons’ous friendly sacrifice on the part of 
 Hamlvn.” 
 
 “ My husband is not able to enjoy much of 
 his time at Dean Park,” replied the veracious 
 wife. “ He can seldom spare more than an oc- 
 
the BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 casional Saturday and Sunday, and a week or 
 
 X^t‘deu^couWn■t he take me 
 Tvith him, Ihii, to spend Christmas in the coun- 
 
 heard him speak of yonr havi^ impor- 
 tant business to wind up at the 
 
 “ True— very true ! Hamlyn s such a steady, 
 thou'^hiful dog, where business is concerned I 
 “ Mr. Hamlyn fancied, too, you might be dis- 
 inclined to move, so shortly after settling your- 
 self in your charming house in Portland Place- 
 “ My dear lady, I should be mighty glad to 
 turn my back on my charming house in Portland 
 Place ! To tell you the honest truth, 1 m sick 
 to death of the sight of those eternal damask 
 SirS and rosewood tabies ! What interest 
 have I in Lon’on'l I care for nobody, and mo- 
 body cares for me. I look out at my windows 
 half the day, like a chained dog from its kennel, 
 at the houses of my opposite neighbours, whose 
 very names I don’t know from Adam, except in 
 the Court Guide, and who’d think me an iin- 
 pertinent old fellow if 1 chucked their little 
 ones under the chin on meeting them in my 
 morning’s walk !” . 
 
 Mrs. Hamlyn uttered a civil sort of half-dis- 
 sentient murmur. . tv 
 
 » And when evening draws on, and my house 
 is shut in for the night,” resumed the colonel, 
 with nobody but poor Pincher and me to keep 
 each other company, I sometimes ask myself 
 what crime I’ve committed to be thp con- 
 demned to a solitary cell, and whether 1 in 
 really at home, and really in the Old England 
 that calls itself so hospitable !” 
 
 “ You are surely dwelling on the dark side. of 
 the picture, my dear sir !” said Mrs. Haml^. 
 
 “ I wish you’d show me the bright ope. Such 
 desperate long evenings ! Spin out one s din- 
 ner and one’s claret as one will, they can t last 
 forever: and though Johnston reads the Courier 
 over to me once, and I read it to myself all oyer 
 again the moment he goes down to supper, 1 ve 
 a hard matter to make it out till bed time. If it 
 ■wasn’t a shame to rouse poor Goody Johnston 
 out of her armchair, I should sometiines send 
 for her to make my tea; but as to taking out 
 servants and horses in such weather, for half an 
 hour’s gossip or whist at my club, I haven t the 
 heart to do it — and that’s the truth. ^ 
 
 “ But why not spend your evenings with us ! 
 demanded Mrs. Hamlyn, in all sincerity. 
 
 . « Why so I do, as often as my conscience 
 will allow. I’m aware, of course, that poor 
 Hamlyn would far rather enjoy his leisure un- 
 disturbed, with his wife and farnily, thari be 
 taken up at backgammon, night after night, by 
 a tiresome old fellow, always pumping kim for 
 news, and with none to offer in return. Why, 
 my dear ma’am! even duiddle, the apotcary, 
 shirks me, when I lay an embargo on him more 
 than twice a week! Though I make the most 
 of my rheumatics, purely to secure half an hour s 
 chit-chat with him of an afternoon--when 1 try 
 to coax him into stopping dinner, forsooth, he 
 puts on a demure, family-man-ish sort of face, 
 Ld tells me, ‘Mrs. a. is expecting him at 
 home *’ ” 
 
 Mrs. Hamlyn inclined her face closer over 
 her work to conceal an involuntary smile at 
 this desolate picture of the situation of a man 
 of fifteen thousand a year, thrown over by an 
 uxorious apothecary. But scarcely 
 emile arisen ere it subsided to sadness. Well 
 
 did she remember the time when, on her trans- 
 lation from her own cheerful home to the cold, 
 formal household of the banker in Cavendish 
 Square, she felt nearly as lonely as the old 
 Indian. Habit had become second nature to 
 her. She was now tamed down into apathy by 
 the long, uneventful mornings, and taciturn Ult^ 
 a-Utes completing the day; and though few 
 women would have more enjoyed unrestrained 
 intercourse with her children, she had long re- 
 signed herself to the methodical order imposed 
 by the banker, of seeing them at stated periods 
 decreed by the wisdom of the head-nurse and 
 governess, so as not to interfere with the clock- 
 work arrangements of their meals, exercise, and 
 education. For the rigid man of business, ac- 
 customed to regard regularity as the mainspring 
 of affairs, carried his system of arithmetical 
 exactitude into all the details of private life. 
 Profound sympathy arose accordingly m the 
 bosom of Mrs. Hamlyn, as she reflected how 
 thoroughly she had subdued her impulses of 
 feeling, and silenced her own repinmgs ; while 
 the gray-headed man before her, though his 
 threescore years were accomplished, had his 
 lesson yet to learn. . „ , u 
 
 » I cannot help fearing, my dear sir,’ she ob- 
 served at the close of a few moments silence, 
 
 “ that you have been precipitate in settling in. 
 town In the country, the bond of good neigh- 
 bourship still subsists. In tne country, you 
 would have found interests in your property to 
 occupy your time. I sa^y fear you will never 
 
 be quite happy in town.” 
 
 “By George, I’m beginning to think so too! 
 cried Colonel Hamilton; “though, to bb sure., 
 in Indy, the thing I used to dread most for my 
 old age was the seclusion of a lonesome country- 
 house Between ourselves, my dear ma am, 1 ve 
 had enough and to spare of fey own company. 
 Mine has been a curious life. I married lor 
 love I’ll tell you the whole ^ory some day or 
 another, when I’m in better spirits : suffice it 
 now that I married for love. Nothing very won- 
 derful in ihai, you’ll say; but you may perhaps 
 account it worth mention that thirty y^rs of 
 wedded life didn’t lessen the mutual affection 
 which first instigated the imprudence. Mary 
 and I had but one head and heart between us. 
 We lived in a remote district, wholly out ol 
 reach of society, and so never fretted after it, or 
 anything else. No little mortifications or heart- 
 burnings to create unkind feelings oii either 
 side ; no meddlesome friends to m^ke mischiel ; 
 nobody to confide in but each other; nobody to 
 dress for, talk for, think for, feel for, pretena for, 
 but each other. Life lay plain and straight 
 afore us. All our object was to be frugal and 
 crow rich as quick as we could, that we might 
 return to our native country, and enjoy ourselves 
 with our children. , 
 
 “We had four— poorthings!— who were pack- 
 ed off to Europe to be reared and edicated, which 
 was our only trouble. But there was no remedy, 
 and people soon reconcile them.selves to vhat 
 is irremediable. Mary and I loved each ot^ 
 only the more when thus left alone together 
 Our two girls died young: one of em on her 
 passage home, the other a year or two 
 ward But the boys throve and prospered, 
 and a great joy it was to their mother and me 
 to watch the progress of the ““j 
 
 day or other, was to “s al hapr “d 
 
 ^^mX^Vo^elher. I had a fine appofnt^U 
 In those days, ma’am, the pagoda-tree hadnt 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 been shaken too roughly,, and there were still 
 wavs and means whereby an honest man might 
 make a princely fortune in Indy, and Indy none 
 the worse Ibr^t. I had the roads and tanks oi a 
 whole district to create ; and was lucky enough 
 to create myself, at the same lime, a prime 
 favourite with the rajah. ^ , 
 
 “ Like an ass as I was, however, the first hun- 
 dred thousand pounds I had the luck to scrape 
 together, I deposited with a company of native 
 merchants; and when Mrs. Hamilton and I, 
 moderate in our desires, determined to come 
 homh and rejoin our children, these fellows, 
 .though not in a state of insolvency, were so suu- 
 ated that to realize my funds was impossible. 
 ■So I was even forced to stay and look after 
 them. Fortunately, my roads and tanks wanted 
 looking after too. By way of compensation, the 
 , rajah doubled my salary from the company, 
 .and so my fortune went on increasing and in- 
 : creasing, and as the appetite for money is said 
 to increase by what it feeds on, we only grew the 
 more sparing for growing richer. By this time, 
 ;I’d opened an account with my friend Hamlyn, 
 who strongly advised my remaining on the spot 
 .to mount guard over my coffee-coloured debtors. 
 And why not*? Mary and I were as happy to- 
 ;cether as the day was long.” 
 
 “And while your sons remained at school, 
 /even in England, you could have enjoyed little 
 .of their society,” interposed Mrs. Hamlyn. 
 
 “ The voyage home, too, was a serious matter 
 in those days ; so, having determined to stay in 
 Indy, so long as there was any necessity for re- 
 •turn, we dawdled on from year to year, happy 
 •in ourselves, and still happier in the thought of 
 settling in our old age in our native country, in 
 4,he bosom of our family— see the boys prosper in 
 • their turn, marry, and settle. But what a selfish 
 ■old blockhead I am, to trouble you with all these 
 details, in which you can take no manner of in- 
 terest !” cried the old man, suddenly checking 
 ^himself, as a warm tear, stealing down his face, 
 rendered him painfully conscious of the presence 
 -of his companion. 
 
 “ Go on, I entreat you,” faltered Mrs. Ham- 
 lyn, in a tone of unfeigned interest and compas- 
 •sion. 
 
 “The rest, my dear good lady, you know 
 pretty well as near as myself,” resumed the col- 
 . onel. “ You kriew my poor sons. When they 
 were schoolboys-^when Jack was at Eton, and 
 Bob at Haileybury, they used to write us word 
 of the happy holydays they enjoyed at Dean 
 Park. Thanks to you and Hamlyn, the poor 
 fellows never felt the want of a home. When 
 they grew to man’s estate, Bob, instead of ac- 
 cepting the fine appointment offered me for him 
 by the Company, chose to go into the army. 
 But Jack— Jack!— finding I had determin- 
 ed to remain in exile half a dozen years longer, 
 .resolved to come out to Indy (bless him for the 
 thought!), to have a sight of his old father and 
 mother. He never did see ’em, ma’am! The 
 unfortunate vessel — ” 
 
 “Spare yourself, my dear sir!” interrupted 
 Mrs. Hamlyn. “ The fate of poor dear John 
 Hamilton was as deeply deplored by our fireside 
 as by your own.” 
 
 “ Poor lad ! poor lad ! To judge by his letters, 
 as fine a fellow as ever breathed God’s air. His 
 mother never held up her head again. She sur- 
 vived for years, but Ttever held up her head again 
 .after the fatal news reached us. His brother — ” 
 
 “ His brother married — ” 
 
 “Ay, but not till we'd committed the fatal 
 mistake of fretting his heart and health out by 
 opposition to his marriage. In that, my friend 
 Hamlyn was a wee bit to' blame. Hamlyn 
 seemed to think that it was because I had yield- 
 ed at a word to Robert’s whim about the army, 
 he now presumed on his influence to threaten 
 me with a foolish marriage. As if parents, 
 thousands of miles oflT, have any right to control 
 the affections of an only son, grown to man’s 
 estate, and the best judge of his own tastes and 
 inclinations ! But all that might have been pre- 
 dicted came to pass. Though at first as positive 
 as a Turk, I gave way the moment I heard the 
 boy’s health was failing. Too late, my dear 
 madam, too late— too late! He married (as 
 you know, for you were present, I fancy, at the 
 wedding), and went straight to Italy, and died 
 within the year. If he had only left a child to 
 comfort his parents in their old age— if he had 
 mily left a child ! Well, ma’am, the moment the 
 news of his sudden death reached us, we re- 
 solved to hurry home— an odd fancy, you’ll 
 think, just then, when we had nothing left to 
 care for in England. But our only object had 
 been to lay by a fortune for the boys. Both 
 were gone ! What or who was there now left in 
 the world, to induce us to remain estranged from 
 our native country 'I Mary was a confirmed in- 
 valid ; but I cheered her up with hopes that na- 
 tive air would restore her — that there were 
 bright days in store for us yet. Poor Mary! 
 She smiled, and pretended to believe me, not 
 liking to seem to reproach me for having occa- 
 sioned the death of her son !” 
 
 “ I well remember receiving the letter from 
 Mrs. Hamilton, announcing her return,” said 
 Mrs. Hamlyn, in a low voice, “ and thanking 
 me for a lock of her son’s hair. Her only de- 
 sire in this world, she said, was to be laid beside 
 him in the grave.” 
 
 “Did she say thatT* cried the old man, wi- 
 ping his eyes. “Good creature! She never 
 expressed the wish to me; feeling, I dare say, 
 that it was fated to be ungratified ! Her pas- 
 sage home was taken, however; and, thanks to 
 Johnston and his wife, every comfort provided. 
 But it wouldn’t do. The word had gone forth 
 — God had called her to himself!” 
 
 “ I laid her in the grave,” resumed Colonel 
 Hamilton, in a voice broken by sobs. “ My 
 companion for thirty years — my companion, I 
 may say, in the wilderness, with whom I had 
 never exchanged one angry word or resentful 
 feeling ! Poor Mary ! My grief for her was 
 very different from what I had felt for the boys. 
 That she had been there to alleviate! But 
 everything went with Aer— everything— every- 
 thin !” 
 
 Mrs. Hamlyn respected in silence the grief of 
 the good old man. At length she ventured to 
 congratulate him on having been able, at a cri- 
 sis so grievous, to turn his back on the scene of 
 his trials. 
 
 “ Your afflictions would have been doubljr 
 painful,” said she, “ had circumstances compell- 
 ed you to remain in India.” 
 
 “ I don’t know — I often think otherwise,” was 
 his reply. “ It seemed like losing sight of all 
 my happier recollections, to turn my back on 
 the place where we had abided together. The 
 old house and gardens at Ghaznapore were full 
 of her. T/icre'had our children been born to us 
 —there had I wiped the last moisture from her 
 face. My poor dear wife ! The natives adored 
 
8 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 her ; she was a seco^ Providence in the village. 
 Here, no one ever heard her name. 1 spoke of 
 her one dav to auiddle— spoke of her as I am 
 speaking now, and the jackass told me I was 
 law, and advised a dose of sal-volatile ! How- 
 ever, ’twas by her express desire I hastened 
 
 home. , 0. , -j 
 
 “ ‘ You owe it to yourself and others, said 
 poor Mrs. Hamilton, on her deathbed, ‘ to ex- 
 tend yoUr sphere of usefulness to the best of 
 your means. We have lived, my dear husband, 
 solely for ourselves and our children, and 
 Heaven seems to have visited this upon us as a 
 fault. You are rich— you possess the means of 
 doing good. Go home. Call around you those 
 who are left, and promote their happiness and 
 your own. Robert’s widow has claims upon 
 you. The Hamlyhs, who were parents to your 
 children, have claims upon you. Return to 
 England, therefore, my dear, dear Hamilton, 
 and fulfil the excellent purposes of your kindly 
 nature !’ 
 
 “ At first, compliance with her parting injunc- 
 tions appeared impossible,” resumed the old 
 man, after a pause of deep emotion, “ and I 
 hoped to be spared the pain of resisting, for the 
 first time, a wish of my wife’s, by following her 
 to the grave. But people seldom die of grief, I 
 fancy. The Almighty proportions our trials to 
 our strength. It is in the order of nature that 
 we survive many whom we love, and become 
 consoled for their loss. Providence knows best ! 
 
 “ Before the end of the year I embarked for 
 England. I have not been two years a widow- 
 er, yet already I entertain hopes of making my 
 old age, if not all that I once hoped and expect- 
 ed. at least happy and cheerful with the happi- 
 ness and cheerfulness of others !’’ 
 
 “ Ma}' your prospects be fully realized !” ejac- 
 ulated Mrs. Haml}m, her countenance bearing 
 tokens of deep sympathy in the emotions of her 
 honest-hearted friend. “ You say right. Colonel 
 Hamilton! Providence knows best. Very, 
 very few among us are fated to be happy in the 
 wav we should have pointed out in early youth 
 as the path of happiness, yet scarcely a human 
 being but—” 
 
 She paused. At that moment the dra\nng- 
 Toom door was slowly opened, and the rising 
 colour on her cheek, and words suspended on 
 her lips, denoted Mrs. Hamlyn’s instantaneous 
 lecognition of the noiseless approach of her 
 husband^ 
 
 Colonel Hamilton, without rising from the 
 armchair beside the fire, where he felt himself 
 so thoroughly at home, extended his hand in 
 cordial greeting to his fiiend Hamlyn, the 
 banker. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Lord Angelo is precise — scarcely confesses 
 His appetite is more to bread than stone. 
 
 Shaxsfeare. 
 
 Richard Hamlyn was what is called a most 
 excellent man — a man generally esteemed and 
 respected- a man eminently qualified to figure 
 to advantage on a tombstone; had never been 
 suspected of a vice, or accused of a failing. 
 Not a servant in his establishment, most of 
 whom had lived with him for years, could com- 
 plain of having seen his countenance disturbed 
 
 by anger, or heard his voice raised by excite- 
 ment. 
 
 Such, however, was the force of his calm and 
 immutable regularity, that the most fiery do- 
 mestic tyrant could "not have attained a more 
 absolute sway in his own family. His wife 
 knew him to be averse to all display of sensibil- 
 ity ; his children were early taught that he de- 
 tested noise ; and the banker’s house was, con- 
 sequently, characterized by the silence, cold- 
 ness, and dulness of the Great Pyramid. 
 
 Impossible to see a better regulated establish- 
 ment ! All went as if by clockwork or steam. 
 Whether the perfection of its household-man- 
 agement arose from perseverance in method or 
 readiness of means, the result was admirable. 
 Had any friend of Hamlyn’s, after an absence 
 of many years in the far East or far W^t, 
 thought proper to drop in to dinner in Cavendish 
 Square, or volunteer a visit to Dean Park, he 
 might have been as certain of the hour and the 
 minute to arrive, the number of dishes ori the 
 table and servants in attendance, the disposition 
 of the salvers on the sideboard and decanters on 
 the board, as though he had only vacated his 
 seat in the dining-room the preceding day. But, 
 on the other hand, people of Richard Harnlyn’s 
 class seldom possess a friend suffidenUy friendly 
 to drop in to dinner, or volunteer a visit in the 
 country. 
 
 His wife, when, at eighteen, in all her bloom 
 of beauty and cheerfulness of spirit, she accept- 
 ed the proposals of a handsome young man 
 with whom she had danced through the London 
 season, certainly expected a very different per- 
 sonage in the gay son of a wealthy banker, on 
 whom her parents were so eager to bestow her 
 hand. But scarcely a year after their marriage, 
 the death of the elder Hamlyn, while it assigned 
 independence to the young couple, threw the 
 business of the family and the firm so complete- 
 ly into the hands of the bridegroom as to sober 
 him at once into a man of business. 
 
 From that moment Mrs. Hamlyn lost sight 
 of her husband in the banker and executor; 
 and as her mother-in-law continued till her 
 death, some years afterward, to reside with 
 them in Cavendish Square and at Dean Park, 
 Richard Hamljm had no scruple about leaving 
 his wife alone, and devoting himself exclusively 
 to business. In the city he thenceforth lived, 
 and moved, and had his being. His dreams 
 were of clerkly desks, his visions of loans and 
 Exchequer bills; and when, at the end of the 
 week, he hurried down in summer into the coun- 
 try, or, at the close of the day in winter, retired 
 to his London fireside, he arrived there so jaded 
 in spirits by the pressure of his arduous con- 
 cerns, that' it was clear his idea of dom^tic 
 happiness must consist in tranquillity. The 
 gT63.test proof of kindness his wife could show 
 him was to leave him silent and alone. 
 
 It is surprising how readily the tact of a 
 woman attached to her duties suggests the surest 
 mode of recommending herself to the affections 
 of her husband. The merry, thoughtless Sophia 
 soon saw that, to endear herself to the man or 
 business, she must offer no obstruction to the 
 methodical serenity of one who had net leisure 
 for demonstrations of sensibility, or the frivo- 
 lous pastimes of life. Punctual and acquiescent, 
 she must receive him ever with a smile, seldoin 
 with a laugh. By degrees, the smile subsided 
 into a thoughtful gravity still more acceptable. 
 At thirty, Mrs. Hamlyn had sunk into a mild. 
 
9 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 calm, silent woman, without a vestige of the 
 buoyancy of youth ; and the banker into a stiff, 
 reserved man of business — after the fashion ot 
 most conjugal couples in the money-getting 
 classes of Great Britain. 
 
 Had this sobriety of deportment been a mat- 
 ter of calculation, it could not have prospered 
 better! Richard Hamlyn was the very mirror 
 of bankers— the model-man of Lombard-street ! 
 His father’s city contemporaries nodded their 
 heads approvingly while remarking that Rich- 
 ard was a steady, exemplary young man— his 
 wife a very prudent young woman ; and though 
 their household and modes of life were estab- 
 lished on a footing of almost aristocratic liber- 
 ality, no one was disposed to find fault. So 
 capital was young Hamlyn’s management, that 
 even the most captious of his constituents was 
 fain to admit that the far-sighted financier of 
 Lornbard-street and Dean Park was able to 
 make half a sovereign go as far as a guinea. 
 
 Children, meanwhile, had been born to the 
 prosperous couple ; and the same system of dis- 
 cipline which had converted the gay Sophia 
 Harrington into a domestic machine, rendered 
 the little Hamlyns the mildest and dullest chil- 
 dren in the world. Untaught by the example 
 of others to be capricious or noisy (for the faults 
 of children are far more imitative than grown-up 
 people are apt to allow), they appeared to be as 
 much under the control of the omnipitent banker 
 as any other of his ciphers. 
 
 This unlimited submission on the part of 
 those about him, exercised, by degrees, an evil 
 influence on the character of Richard Hamlyn. 
 In his own quiet way, he was as absolute as the 
 sultan. He djd not understand the slightest op- 
 position to his veto ; and though, having suc- 
 ceeded his father in the representation of the 
 neighbouring borough of Barthorpe, his opinions 
 commanded the respect of the House of Commons 
 on all questions of commercial or financial inter- 
 est, Hamlyn, the banker, had more than once com- 
 mitted himself in Parliament by-outbursts of pet- 
 ulance singularly at variance with the gentle 
 tenour of his private life. In his country neigh- 
 bourhood, on the other hand, he was respected 
 as a just landlord and hospitable neighbour, not 
 spending enough of his time in Warwickshire 
 to nullify the good report of the county by the 
 taciturn reserve of his deportment. By degrees, 
 indeed, his temper afforded evidence in private 
 life of the irritating stress of an anxious voca- 
 tion. But Mrs. Hamlyn had either schooled 
 herself into such apathy as to remain uncon- 
 scious of the change, or was too good a woman 
 to avow, even to herself, that she was aware 
 of the despotic harshness of the father of her 
 children. The concealment was easy. Like 
 the majority of his sex, he was never arbitrary 
 with his wife unless when they were alone. 
 
 “ What were you and Colonel Hamilton dis- 
 cussing to-day, that I found you both so agitated 
 when I came ini” demanded he of his wife, as 
 they awaited together in the drawing-room the 
 announcement of dinner on the day in question. 
 
 “ He was simply describing to me the supreme 
 happiness of his wedded life. Mrs. Hamilton 
 and the old gentleman appear to have been a 
 singularly united couple.” 
 
 “ AU couples are said to have been singularly 
 united, as soon as either husband or wife is in 
 the grave,” replied the banker, coldly. “ The 
 Hamiltons lived very well together, or their 
 in an obscure district in India would 
 B 
 
 have been insupportable. It was their best pol- 
 icy to agree !” 
 
 “ People do not always act from policy;' was 
 the mild remonstrance of Mrs. Hamlyn. “Their 
 dispositions were amiable and well assorted.” 
 
 “ Their means ample, and their uriderstand- 
 ing narrow 1” added the banker. 
 
 “ So much the better for their happiness ! 
 They seem to have entertained no injurious am- 
 bitions,” observed his wife. 
 
 Hamlyn, who was standing magisterially on 
 the rug, with his back to the fire, fix;ed his eyes 
 inquiringly upon her face. But the countenance 
 of Sophia, though open, was sometimes difficult 
 to decipher. The early habit of repressing her 
 emotions into the equanimity of the Hamlyn 
 temperament imparted a look of vagueness and 
 absence to her eyes. Even while uttering a 
 simple answer to a simple question, her thoughts 
 often appeared to be wandering; and when si- 
 lent, it was impossible to surmise from her 
 countenance the nature of her reveries. 
 
 “ Colonel Hamilton must have enlarged un- 
 conscionably on the merits of his late wife,” re- 
 sumed the banker, still scrutinizing the face of 
 his companion ; “ for Ramsay told me, when I 
 came in, he had been sitting with you mpre- 
 than an hour.” 
 
 “Was it so long^ Poor old man! his sole 
 comfort consists in hiS visits here,” replied Mrs. 
 Hamlyn. “ I wish the boys were in town, to 
 enliven him with their society. But between 
 Walter’s hunting and Henry’s Italian tour, we 
 are left this winter quite alone I” 
 
 “ What possible charm could the society of 
 young men of their age have for an old fellow 
 like Hamilton T’ 
 
 “ But since you have no leisure to bestotf ' 
 upon him V' 
 
 “ He bestows his leisure upon you. My house 
 is always open to him.” 
 
 “ Yet you seem surprised he should have been 
 sitting here so long this morning 1” 
 
 Again did Richard Hamlyn fix his eyes in- 
 quiringly on the face of his wife; but he read 
 there no indication of an unusual bitterness of 
 retort. 
 
 “ I fear he is getting sadly weary of London,” 
 added she, with her customary gentleness. “ The 
 solitude of a crowded city, where he knows no- 
 body, oppresses him; and Gluiddle assures him 
 that all his indigestion arises Rom being hypped, . 
 and recommencfs Brighton or Cheltenham. Col- 
 onel Hamilton is himself of opinion that Lon- 
 don disagrees with him.” 
 
 “ Absurd ! London is one of the most salu- 
 brious spots in the world. Portland Place lies 
 very high, and stands upon gravel.” 
 
 “’His spirits, rather than his health, appear 
 affected.” 
 
 “ Do you mean to say, Sophia, that London 
 is not a sufficiently cheerful residence for a man 
 who has been living contentedly for the last 
 forty years, Ute-a-Ute with a valetudinarian wife, 
 in a colony of Gentoos V' 
 
 “ The very reason of his requiring a livelier 
 residence in his old age. I almost agree with 
 him'' added Mrs. Hamlyn, “ that he would be 
 happier in the country.” 
 
 “In short, you have been advising him to 
 settle at Brighton or Cheltenham, where a man 
 oihis sort will be instantly surrounded by toad- 
 ies, to the serious detriment of our children.” 
 
 “ I do not call Brighton or Cheltenham the 
 country. The utmost I suggested was, that he 
 
10 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 Trould have been happier with us this winter at 
 Dean Park 
 
 “ 1 told you before, that Hamilton has impor- 
 tant business in Leadenhall-street !'’ 
 
 “ Which will be settled m a few months. If, 
 iheretbre, instead ol‘ a house in Portland Place, 
 he had purchased Burlington Manor — ” 
 
 “ You might as well say, if he had purchased 
 the Hyde or Dejui Park ! " Burlington Manor is 
 not on sale !” 
 
 “ Yet surely you mentioned the other night — ” 
 'Mrs. Hamlyn paused. It suddenly occurred to 
 her that her husband might not choose to be re- 
 ^minded of what he had mentioned the other 
 night. But she had advanced too far to recede. 
 •The banker’s curiosity was excited. She was 
 -compelled to rise and explain. 
 
 “ You hinted,” resumed his wife, in obedience 
 to his commands, ” that Ladv Burlington had 
 Tesolved against living at the Manor.” 
 
 I certainly said she was apprehensive of the 
 large expenses such a residence must entail on 
 the minor’s estate.” 
 
 “At all events, you seemed of opinion that, 
 before long, the whole place might possibly be 
 •brought to the hammer !” 
 
 Mr. Hamljm had indeed uttered some such 
 denunciation ; but ncjerely in the way of menace 
 against Lady Burlington, who occasionally saw 
 fit to have a will of her own, as co-executrix of 
 her husband, and guardian of her son. He now 
 «eemed struck by a sudden inspiration, and was 
 about to utter some trivial remark by way of 
 distracting the attention of his wife from the 
 subject, when Ramsay, his solemn butler, en- 
 tered with a mysterious air to announce dinner. 
 It was the rule of the house to avoid, during the 
 attendance of the servants at meal-times, all 
 conversation involving the mention of proper 
 names; and nothing, consequently, could be 
 more bald and disjointed than the dinner-table 
 chat of the Hamlyn family. 
 
 On returning to the drawing-room after din- 
 ner, fhb same prohibitory regulations were in 
 force, in deference to the presence of the young 
 ladies and their governess, who made their ap- 
 pearance for tea. Few, therefore, and brief 
 were the moments allotted to conjugal confi- 
 dence by the banker, who, on points where it 
 was his pleasure to maintain reserve, under- 
 stood howto frustrate curiosity by an impertur^ 
 able coldness, more effective than the most in- 
 temperate warmth of other men. 
 
 The experience of four-and-twenty years, how- 
 ever, enabled his wife to form tolerably correct 
 inferences even from his silence ; and her inter- 
 pretation of a few broken words and elevations 
 of the eyebrow prevented her being mvck sur- 
 prised, when, about a month afterward, the mo- 
 ment that Februar}' put forth its usual deceptive 
 mildness. Colonel Hamilton announced one 
 morning to Lydia and her sister that he was 
 about to accompany their father for a day or two 
 to Dean Park. 
 
 “Any message to your pony. Miss Lydia, my 
 dear*?” said the old man to the elder girl (t(> 
 wards whom he had a partial leaning, from the 
 circumstance of his son Jack having been stay- 
 ing, a convalescent child from school, at Dean 
 Park at the moment of her birth, and enlarged 
 mightily in his letters to his mother on the beau- 
 ty of the babe); “ ajiy message to the lambs and 
 primroses on Valentine’s day?” 
 
 “Going to dear Dean? How provoking! 
 Voa will see the place to such advantage at this 
 
 time of year !” cried Lydia. “ And I was so im 
 hopes that at your first visit I should be there 
 show )'ou — ” 
 
 She paused. The warm-hearted girl hesitated 
 about alluding to the flower-garden made for 
 her, in her happier childhood, by her patron^ 
 the young Hamiltons. 
 
 “ Don’t fret yourself, my dear young lady ^ 
 cried Colonel Hamilton. “ 1 shall most likely 
 see the place in all its perfection belbre I die ; 
 ay, and you may chanee to see me there oftener 
 than you care ior. However, mum’s the word! 
 Hamlyn’s such a cautious fellow that he won’t 
 let me blab even about my own afiairs.” 
 Already Mrs. Hamljm foresaw the result of 
 this visit. Within a week the papers were in 
 progress whose signature was to assign Burling- 
 ton Manor to the ex-colonel of Ghazerapore. 
 
 The measure, if accomplished solely at the 
 suggestion of the worldly-wise man in whose 
 hands he was little more than a puppet, was 
 one Colonel Hamilton was far less likely to re- 
 pent than his own precipitate purchase in Port- 
 land Place, though even that evil had been rem- 
 edied by the intervention of the banker, who 
 contrived to persuade a young Irish baronet 
 I (just come into his fortune, and whom an ex- 
 tensive county in Ireland judged of years of 
 sufficient discretion to represent it in Parlia- 
 ment), that Portland Place was an agreeable 
 distance from the House of Commons, and six 
 hundred a year a moderate rent. 
 
 “ And so you see, my dear lady,” observed 
 Colonel Hamilton, on announcing the good 
 news in Cavendish Square, “ my friend Ham- 
 lyn’s put me in the way of being comfortable : 
 found me a house, and found me a- tenant. With 
 a degree of inconsistency I might blush for, if 
 there were any but Pincher to admire my 
 blushes, I’ve let my house to a stranger, and 
 shall reside for the rest of my days under a 
 stranger’s roof. I’d rather have purchased — 
 much rather have purchased. At my time o’ 
 life, to sign a lease for twenty-one years ap- 
 pears like tempting Providence. But within 
 fifty miles of Dean, not a place to be had ; and 
 the idea of going farther away from you all 
 would have broken my old heart. So you must 
 even make up your minds to put up with me. 
 We’re now next-door neighbours. Our park- 
 gates stand cheek by jowl, as it were, and w’e 
 might almost shake hands otier the paling !” 
 
 “ We used to see a great deal of the Burling- 
 I ton’s,” replied Mrs. Hamlyn, with a saddened 
 j eye. “ In poor Sir Roger’s lifetime, not a day 
 I passed without our meeting. As it pmved im- 
 j possible for Lady Burlington to keep up the 
 j place during her son’s minority, I always pre- 
 I ferred its remaining unoccupied to seeing a 
 ! stranger in the room of my friend, little expect- 
 ! ing ever to find a tenant in yourself. You are 
 j nearly the only person I could have been pleased 
 I to welcome to the haunts of my lost friends.” 
 
 I “ Thank ye, thank ye !” cried the colonel. 
 
 1 “ There’s one comfort in talking to you. One 
 knows you mean what you sa)*. Otherwise, I 
 I should be afraid you were already murmuring 
 in the depths of your heart, ‘ Shall I never get 
 ■ rid of this old man of the sea 1 Is he always to 
 j be strapped to my shoulders?’” 
 
 “ I am sure, Cidonel Hamilton, you were 
 j never afraid of an unkind word or thonght from 
 I mamma!” interposed Lydia, almost angrily, 
 j “At all events, I fancy I shall have y<m 
 1 among the grumblers,” renlied the ohl man, 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 11 
 
 turning laughingly towards her; “ for my friend 
 Hamlvn has decided that, instead ot your all re- 
 maining in town till the end of the season— • 
 
 He paused, as if reluctant to unfold the fate im- 
 pending over them. . , T I 0^0 
 
 ^ What have / to do with the London sea- 
 son'?” said Miss Hanilyn, shrugging her shoul- 
 ders. “ Harriet and I want only to get out of 
 this smoky town to our ponies and flower-gar- 
 dens.” „ ^ . . 
 
 “ I wish ye both joy, then! for, as I was just 
 going to tell ye, you are all to be packed off, bag 
 '•.and baggage, into Warwickshire, early in May. 
 
 “ This is good news indeed !” exclaimed Mrs. 
 Hanilyn, who, taking little pleasure in the gay 
 ■world previous to the introduction of her daugh- 
 ter into society, experienced a happy emancipa- 
 tion at Dean Park from the methodical restric- 
 tions imposed by the head of the family. Though 
 ■the same school-hours were observed as m town, 
 •she enjoyed the company of the girls unmolest- 
 ed in her drives and walks, in their intervals of 
 
 recreation. , „ ^ j i ^ 
 
 “ For my part, I start directly, added Colonel 
 Hamilton. “ ’Tis a long time since I saw the 
 grass grow and the trees bud in my own country. 
 .Goody Johnston and her husband swear 1 m not 
 onade for a country gentleman, and try to per- 
 suade me the only thing I shall care for in my 
 .new seat is watching over the wall for the 
 Lon’on mail to go by. But, though Hamlyn 
 n.ccuses me of being managed by my servants, 1 
 showed ’em I was my own master, and hurried 
 the lawyers all the mote with the papers the 
 more they grumbled. I shall soon teach em 
 -how merry we can make the country by cheer- 
 •ful hearts and open housekeeping. And, by-the- 
 -way, my dear ma’am,” continued the exulting 
 ..old gentleman, addressing Mrs. Hamlyn, ‘‘ as I 
 find you’re in correspondence with this Lady 
 Burlington (who must be fretting her poor heart 
 sadly, I should think, to be forced to give up 
 her beautiful place), I wish you’d just tell her, 
 -as such matters don’t read so well in a six-and- 
 oight-penny letter, among the whereases and 
 vforasmuches of the lawyers, that if there s any 
 poor .folks in the village she holds to having 
 cared for, or any favourite plants in the hot- 
 Jiouses she’d like to give to a friend, she has 
 .only to send me a hint, and her will’s as good 
 as done. I saw a fine Newfoundland dog skulk- 
 ing about the offices as though he’d been used 
 .to be petted and had lost a friend, at whom 
 Pincher chose to set up his ears ’cause I patted 
 him on the head.” 
 
 “Poor Carlo!” murmured Lydia: “ feir Ko- 
 •ger’s old favourite ! he must, indeed, miss Lady 
 Burlington.” 
 
 “Well, mind and tell her he sha’n’t be tied 
 •np, but have the run of the place. Carlo shall 
 still find himself at home.” 
 
 “ He was too cumbersome a fellow-traveller 
 -to take with her and the children to Naples,” 
 observed Mrs. Hamlyn. “I shoulc^have bqen 
 glad to give him a home at Dean, and the mare 
 too— Lady Burlington’s favourite mare — but 
 Mr. Hamlyn was not very kindly disposed to- 
 wards her at the moment of her departure, and 
 1 did not dare propose it. I fpcy Lady Bur- 
 lington interfered too much with his arrange- 
 ments a.s executor.” 
 
 “ That’s to say, I suppose, she thought what 
 was her son’.s was hers, and what was her’s was 
 her own. The two best friends that ever were 
 horn seldom remain so when there’s pounds, 
 
 shillings, and pence to be settled between ’em. 
 Joseph’s brethren sold him into slavery; and 
 there’s many a brother left in the world who’d 
 drive the same bargain. However, just men- 
 tion, my dear ma’am, in your next letter, that 
 the mare shall have a paddock to herself till her 
 mistress finds a better master for her; and, but 
 for Pincher’s jealousy. Carlo will have his own' 
 way. I recollect what a twinge it gave my 
 heart to leave behind at Ghazerapore a poor 
 dromedary that worked the well in the garden, 
 lest it should be ill-used after losing its master 
 and mistress. I made up my mind to shoot i^ 
 but my hand failed.” 
 
 Mrs. Hamlyn answered warmly for the grati- 
 tude of her absent friend ; and six weeks after- 
 ward, on her arrival at Dean Park, had the 
 satisfaction of finding her new neighbour in the 
 exercise of all his good intentions, and the en- 
 joyment of more than his expected plea.sures. 
 Moreover, as it was the object of the banker to 
 render Colonel Hamilton as contented as pos- 
 sible in his new residence, he had issued papal 
 indulgences to his family, in accordance with 
 the old gentleman’s wishes, entitling his daugh- 
 ters to accompany their mother whenever she 
 dined at Burlington Manor; besides letters of 
 dispensation to Miss Creswell, the governess, 
 to visit her friends in Ireland for the remainder 
 of the summer, her first leave of absence du- 
 ring ten year’s tuition in the family. 
 
 “ T7m is something like happiness, and some- 
 thing like home !” cried the old soldier, the first 
 time he welcomed his Dean Park friends to his 
 hospitable board, to meet the vicar of Ovington 
 and his wife. “ A very different thing from your 
 ostentatious Lon’on dinner-parties, where people 
 care for nothing but to have it said that they give 
 better venison or more turtle, or can show off’ a 
 finer service of plate than their neighbours! 
 TAts is the England I used to dream of in Indy 
 —green, and fresh, and sociable !” 
 
 “A pleasant refreshment, certainly, sir, to 
 eyes long wearied by the parched sands and 
 scanty foliage of the East,” observed Dr. Mark- 
 ham surprised at such warm enthusiasm on the 
 part of an old gentleman of sixty-five; a bosom 
 friend, moreover, of his saturnine patron, the 
 
 banker. , i • 
 
 “ Ay, and a still greater relief, after being sent 
 gravel-grinding, day after day, for exercise 
 among a parcel of gaudy hussies in Hyde Park ! 
 retorted the colonel. “Just turn round your 
 head, doctor, and look at the deer groped yon- 
 der under the beech-trees, and the gleams of sun- 
 shine flung through the drooping branches on 
 the rich grass ! Lydia, child ! I won’t have you 
 laugh at the ecstasies of your old friend. I dare 
 say you’ll be calling me Peter Pastoral-by-and 
 by. You never heard the Burlingtons, maybe, 
 rim on in praise of the place, ’cause in ihem 
 ’twould have been ostentation. But my raptures 
 are simply an expression of gratitude to God for 
 having secured to the old useless hulk, after the 
 storms and breakers of life, safe anchorage in a 
 pleasant harbour at last!” 
 
 In compliance with a wish expressed by the 
 Hamlyn girls, the colonel ordered coffee to be 
 served in a fine conservatory built by the late Sir 
 Roger in the centre of the flower-garden, te 
 which he was projecting the addition of an avi- 
 ary for his Bengalees; and what a relief to the 
 whole party was that unceremonious evening— 
 the fragrance of the gardens enhanced by a gen- 
 tle dew, and their gorgeous colours subdued by 
 
12 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 the clear-obscure of a midsummer twilight — after 
 the formalities of Dean Park ! 
 
 “ Is not this pleasant and sociable, Dr. Mark- 
 ham'?” exclaimed the happy Lydia, in all the 
 joy of schoolroom emancipation. “We never 
 do anything of the kind at home. Papa so much 
 dislikes having things displaced.” 
 
 “Ay, ay!” interrupted the colonel, “all tha,t 
 sort of household subordination ’s a capital thing 
 for a family-man like my friend Hamlyn. But 
 discipline would be out of place in an establish- 
 ment with an old Indian at its head, accustomed 
 to take things as he finds ’em, too glad to find 
 ’em at all. I like everybody to be free, easy, 
 and comfortable about me — Pincher and all. 
 ‘ Live and let live’ is my motto, or, rather, ‘ Let 
 live, that you may deserve to live.’” 
 
 Such sentiments received a silent “amen” 
 from the gentle wife of the banker, and an audi- 
 ble one from the vicar of Ovington ; who, 
 among the numerous benefits heaped by his pa- 
 tron the banker on his parish, began to con- 
 ceive that the greatest of all might prove the 
 hospitable, open hearted neighbour he had pro- 
 vided for the vicarage. 
 
 Dr. Markham’s prejudices as a high church- 
 man had always rendered the Roman Catholic 
 baronets of Burlington Manor a stumbling-block 
 in his pastoral way; and though the judicious 
 liberality of Richard Hamlyn almost sufficed the 
 needs of the parish, the generous Hamilton had 
 already shown himself a more apt representative 
 of the bounty of Providence, which sendeth its 
 rain on the just and unjust — neither assuming 
 with the poor the severity of a judge, nor with 
 their pastor the pride of a rich man. 
 
 Richard Hamlyn was one of those who meas- 
 ure out their dole with as many conditions to 
 the naked and hungry as though they had in- 
 curred his charity a crime; nor could Dr. 
 Markham disguise from himself that, after only 
 three months’ acquaintance, he was on a pleas- 
 anter footing with Colonel Hamilton than with 
 the more correctly-spoken neighbour at Dean 
 Park, who invariably made him feel that the 
 parson and his wife were invited to dine now 
 and then at the great house to “ keep up the re- 
 spectability of the church in the eyes of the low- 
 er classes ;” or, in other words, to ensure the at- 
 tendance of his servants and lalwurers at church, 
 where they w'ere frightened out of picking and 
 stealing the property of their betters, and inspired 
 with becoming deference for those in authority 
 over them. 
 
 It was a real comfort, therefore, to the heart 
 of the vicar, to find himself respected by Colonel 
 Hamilton as a privileged expositor of the truths 
 of the Gospel, and invited to his table as a 
 neighbour and gentlemanly companion rather 
 than as a professional man. 
 
 Dr. Markham was, however, too well aware 
 of Mrs. Hamlyn’s subordinate importance in the 
 family to attribute to hm- any portion of the 
 overweening purse-pride of Dean Park. 
 
 “ It must many years, madam,” said he, 
 respectfully addressing her, as they sat over- 
 looking the flower-beds from the open door of 
 the conservatory, “since you enjoyed the sight 
 of your owm roses in bloom*? This is the first 
 summer I remember you to have spent in War- 
 wickshire. I often observe to Mrs. Markham, 
 that, while the owners of the three finest seats in 
 the neighbourhood remain pent in the stifling 
 metropol '"s, she and I — a poor parson and his wife 
 •—monopolize the enjoyment of their beauties I” 
 
 “You do not, I hope, grudge my having flw 
 length come to share them with you "I” inquired 
 Mrs. Hamlyn, with a smile. “It has always 
 consoled me for my confinement in London tO' 
 know that the flowers and shrubberies at Dean 
 were at least enjoyed by those who fill my place 
 so kindly during my absence, in duties where it 
 w'ere otherwise difficult indeed to find a repre-^ 
 sentative !” 
 
 Mrs. Markham, a nervous little woman, wha 
 could never be encouraged out of her village 
 timidity by the civilities of the Manor or Dean 
 Park, stammered something nearly unintelligi- 
 ble about her delight in being the dispenser of 
 Mrs. Hamlyn’s benevolence. 
 
 “ But what the deuse do you mean by the 
 three finest seats in the country, my dear doc- 
 tor'?” suddenly interrupted Colonel Hamilton. 
 
 “ I fancy you have not yet visited the Hyde ; 
 which, begging yours and Mrs. Hamlyn’s par- 
 don, is the finest place within tw'enty miles 
 round,” replied the vicar. 
 
 “The Hyde — the Hyde? Never even heard 
 of it,” cried Colonel Hamilton. “ I must really 
 get a map of the county to hang up in my hall 1” 
 
 “ Surely you remember the fine woods I point- 
 ed out to you as Lord Vernon’s, the day we drove 
 over together from Braxham Heath *?” inquired 
 Mrs. Hamlyn. 
 
 “To be sure I do! But how was I to guess 
 they belonged to a family-seat *?” 
 
 “ The Braxham woods clothe a fine acclivity. 
 The Hyde, like most old houses, lies at the foot, ’ 
 said the vicar, in explanation. 
 
 “ Gad ! I’m glad to hear of more neighbours 
 than I counted on !” cried the sociable old gen- 
 tleman. “ The more the merrier — the more the 
 merrier — especially if I persist in my intention 
 of spending my winters in the country. Let me 
 see. The Manor makes up fourteen spare beds ; 
 and besides ourselves,” he continued, glancing 
 at the whole party, but addressing Mrs. Ham- 
 13m, “ there’s your two sons, who I hope will be 
 here at Christmas. Old Gratwvcke of Grat- 
 wycke House tells me he is toa old to sleep out 
 of his own house. But tell me, pray, who is it 
 lives at the H}ffie “I” 
 
 “I might also answer no one,'^ replied Dr. 
 Markham, “so little advantage does the neigh- 
 bourhood derive from the society of Lord Ver- 
 non’s family. His lordship’s principal seat is in 
 Northumberland; and since the present peer 
 came to his title, he has only visited Warwick- 
 shire once or twice, avowedly to hunt with the 
 Duke of Elvaston’s hounds, whose best coverts 
 lie on this side the county.” 
 
 “ The Vernons associate \ery little with their 
 country neighbours,” added Mrs. Hamlvn,. 
 “ which we regret the less, as the ford at Brax- 
 ham is unpleasant enough in wdnter, when they 
 are usually here, and to go round by Barsthorpe 
 bridge doubles the distance.” 
 
 The parson’s wife could scarcelv sufficiently 
 admire the*fluency with which Mrs. Hamlyn 
 accounted for what the lesser thrones and do- 
 minions interpreted into the pride of all the Ver- 
 nons; who presumed upon their length of pedi- 
 gree towards the banker, as much as the banker 
 presumed towards others upon his length of 
 purse. 
 
 “In short, these fine folks are not neighbour- 
 ly!” was Colonel Hamilton’s summary of the 
 case. “Well, there’s room enough in the air 
 for high-flyers and low-flyers! If they can do 
 without us, we must do without them, 'I’m sur- 
 
COURT A 
 
 ®rised, though ! We think a deal of a lord in 
 Indy, ’cause we seldom have more than one at 
 a time. A phoenix is a phoenix, and a gover- 
 nor-general’s a governor-general. Bull fan cied, 
 that in Lon’on, where there’s a whole house full 
 > of ’em, these great lords thought less of them- 
 sclvGS-^^ 
 
 “ We scarcely know what the Vernons think 
 'Of themselves, for they are almost strangers in 
 ihe county,” observed Mrs. Hamlyn. “ They 
 jhave not been here these two years.” 
 
 “ If there’s nobody at the Hyde, then, why 
 >«houldn’t I go and indulge myself with a peep at 
 the place!” cried Colonel Hamilton. 
 
 “ I think you would, perhaps, be more pleased 
 ivith Ormeau,” said Mrs, Hamlyn, timidly. 
 
 “ But Ormeau is out of distance. One can’t 
 •get from Burlington to the Duke of Elvaston’s 
 without post-horses,” interposed the vicar. 
 
 “ And my chief object is the drive,” cried Col- 
 onel Hamilton. “ The first cool day, doctor, 
 suppose we go over in my phaeton !” 
 
 The vicar readily acquiesced. The plan suit- 
 ed all parties. Between the Vernons ' and the 
 Hamlyns there existed a coldness which, the 
 fathers of both having been friends, might be 
 considered enmity; and, even during the ab- 
 sence of the family, Mrs. Hamlyn was not fond 
 ?of appearing an intruder at the Hyde. It was 
 not a regular show-place ; i. e., one of those great 
 houses whose great lords sanction their house- 
 keeper in exhibiting their state apartments and 
 pictures to strangers, on thq mulct of a piece of 
 gold. But on inscribing their names in a book 
 -(kept for the purpose of recording fhese tributes 
 to the family vanity), the country neighbours 
 were privileged ; and one of the pragmaticali- 
 'ties of Richard Hamlyn was a dislike to have 
 his patronymic figure in the register of his 
 haughty neighbour more than a certain number 
 of times in the year, when forced to show off 
 the lions of the Dean Park neighbourhood to 
 visiters of mark and distinction. - Whenever a 
 countess was his inmate, he took care to parade 
 her to the I}yde, uniting the name of her lady- 
 ship by a bracket with those of “ Mr. and Mrs. 
 Hamlyn, of Dean Park.” But his wife was 
 sufficiently cognizant of his weaknesses to sus- 
 pect that he would not wish to appear there as 
 the bear-leader of a new-comer into the county. 
 
 Moreover, there had been of late election- feud 
 fhetween the banker and Lord Vernon; a mem- 
 ber of whose family was usually the Whig rep- 
 resentative of the county, while Hamlyn figured 
 in Parliament as the Tory member for a neigh- 
 bouring borough, in which the Vernon interest 
 was invariably defeated. 
 
 So far from loving his neighbour as himself, 
 Lord Vernon despised Dean Park as much as 
 ’^Dean Park detested Lord Vernon. According 
 !to the Christian custom of modem times, how- 
 
 • ever, they hated each other in civil toleration ; 
 
 • on that sort of visiting acquaintance which ap- 
 proaches nearest to the blood-stained and dead- 
 ly feuds of the Middle Ages, They mutually 
 Shook hands, as if caressing a rattlesnake ; while 
 the ladies of the two families presented compli- 
 ments to each other, or requested the honour of 
 each other’s company, or were each other’s 
 ■“very sincerely,” as occasion needed. 
 
 It was a comfort, therefore, to 'Mr. Hamlyn, 
 when the vicar of Ovington consented to act as 
 cicerone to Colonel Hamilton in his risi-t to the 
 'Stately old mansion of the Hyde. 
 
 ^D CITY. 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 It stood imbosom’d in a happy valley, 
 
 Crown’d by high woodlands, where the Druid oak 
 Stood like Caraciacus, in act to rally 
 His hosts — with broad arms ’gainst the thunder-stroke ; 
 And from beneath the boughs were seen to sally 
 The dappled foresters ; as day a.w’oke, 
 
 The branching stag swept down, with all his herd, 
 
 To quafif a brouk that murmured like a bird. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 ‘‘By George, my dear doctor! these people 
 have a wee bit of excuse for thinking curious 
 old port of themselves,” cried Colonel Hamilton, 
 when, after crossing Braxham lerry, and sweep- 
 ing past a quaint old Gothic lodge, his phaeton 
 entered one of those noble English parks whose 
 oaks are contemporaries of Q,ueen Bess, and 
 over whose richly swarded slopes no plough- 
 share has passed in the memory of man. “Why, 
 this fine avenue must be lull two miles ia 
 length !” 
 
 “ ’Tis the finest in England, next to the Long 
 Walk at Windsor,” replied the vicar, attempt- 
 ing, as became his cloth, a quotation from Cow- 
 per in honour of avenues, which his companion 
 pronounced to be deused fine, and recollected 
 perfectly in Byron. 
 
 “Is that the house!” added he, pointing to a 
 venerable pile of Gothic almshouses, indistinctly 
 seen from the road through openings in a grove 
 of sycamores, whose heavy foliage seemed to 
 impart additional airiness to their slight pinna- 
 cles. 
 
 “ The homeT replied the vicar, smiling; “if 
 the owner of the Hyde could only hear you! 
 That is Vernon College, a charitable endow- 
 ment of the reign of Edward VI. A large por- 
 tion of the Vernon property, in this and other 
 counties, consists of abbey lands— grants from 
 the crown at the Reformation. It was an act 
 of atonement, probably, on the part of Henry 
 VIII.’s favourite, John Lord Vernon, to bestow 
 this gift upon the poor, to repay the injuries of 
 the Church.” 
 
 “ Or, rather, I suppose,” remonstrated Colonel 
 Hamilton, with ex-ecclesiastical interpretation, 
 “ the suppression of the monasteries, expressly 
 endowed by pious persons for the entertainment 
 and succour of the indigent and sick, demanded 
 a substitution from the charity of the wealthy 
 nobility.” 
 
 “ We will not inquire too curiously into the 
 motives and conscience of John Lord Vernon,” 
 cried Dr. Markham, good-humouredly, “ as I 
 fear our sole information must be derived from 
 his brass effigy in Braxham Church. Suffice it 
 that, from his day to the present, the almshouses 
 have been admirably kept up. But look ! before 
 you stands the old Manor House of the Ver- 
 nons.” 
 
 Having now reached nearly the end of the 
 avenue, they were within view of a stately man- 
 sion, of Elizabethan architecture, standing in a 
 spacious court, enclosed with palisades and 
 gateways of enscrolled iron-work. Approa.ched 
 from so vast a distance by a gradually declining 
 avenue, the house, like most ancient mansions, 
 took the traveller by surprise when its full ex- 
 tent of frontage was developed before him. 
 
 “ And Lord Vernon, you say, has a nobler 
 seat than even ihisT^ exclaimed Colonel Hamil- 
 ton, in the simplicity of his admiration. 
 
 “A more cheerful one, I fancy, as regards 
 neighbourhood. Vernon Castle is at no great 
 distance from Alnwick and Chillinghcm.” 
 
 “And the Hyde at no great distance from 
 
14 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 Burlington Manor and Dean Park,” added the 
 colonel. “ ’Tis as broad as it’s long.” 
 
 Dr. Markham was, perhaps, of opinion that 
 it was considerably longer than it was broad ; 
 but a spiritual pastor had no right to enlarge 
 ^pon the vast distinction between lordly castles 
 and squirearchical residences like Dean Park. 
 
 “And you say they reside here only a few 
 weeks in the year, and that all the rest of the 
 time, this noble mansion is un tenanted ex- 
 claimed Colonel Hamilton, when, the courtyard 
 gates being opened by a shabby stableboy, they 
 drove up to the venerable porch. “ Doctor, 
 doctor ! with all the talk one hears against plu- 
 ralities in the Church, I w’onder when a law will 
 
 f iass ’gainst plurality of palaces in private fami- 
 iesl There’s a deal to be said, I suppose, both 
 pro and con the subdivision of inheritance, ac- 
 cording to Boney’s Code ; but, by George, if / 
 were in Parliament, nothing should prevent my 
 getting up and proposing an act compelling every 
 man, having many sons and many family man- 
 sions, to bequeath ’em a country-*house a piece 
 to be happy in, and rid the country of the nui- 
 sance of vagrant younger brothers.” 
 
 “ The chapter is a wide one to embark in, just 
 now particularly,” added Dr. Markham, “with, 
 in the gates of a man who, in addition to his 
 English seats, has a castle in Ireland large 
 enough to contain the village of Braxhara, 
 which, to m}”^ knowledge, he has not visited since 
 lie came to his estate.” 
 
 And, ere Colonel Hamilton could express his 
 indignation in reply, the vicar led the w^ay into 
 the great hall, where the old housekeeper, in her 
 starched coif and lawm apron, aw'aited their ap- 
 proach, with her keys in her hand, and in her 
 mouth the cut^ and dry exposition of the glories 
 of the house of Vernon, a litany of the pomps 
 and vanities of the Hyde. 
 
 All was now paraded in succession ; the grand 
 staircase— the Baron’s gallery — the golden cham- 
 ber — the Gobelin suite — the blue damask — the ' 
 Holbein room — the cedar parlour— the chapel— 
 the painted hall ; and Colonel Hamilton’s rap- 
 tures increased at the exhibition of every chef 
 d’oeuvre displayed by old Mrs. Harkness, with 
 a becoming sense of its importance and — her 
 owm. 
 
 Above all, the series of venerable family por- 
 traits, and a thousand curious relics connected 
 WM'th the olden time, seemed to rejoice his heart 
 almost as much as though he had been born a 
 Vernon. This realization of the past appeared 
 to inspire him, for the first time, with faith in 
 the existence of the Middle Ages. 
 
 “ This is precisely the sort of thing the Yan- 
 kees envy us !” cried he, after surveying the 
 Barons’ gallery, with delight ; “the sort of Ihing 
 that secures Old England against the hubbub of 
 a commonwealth !” 
 
 “A link in the chain of the Constitution, which, 
 by keeping the vassal faithful, renders the noble 
 loyal,” added the doctor, in a phrase so anti- 
 thetical that it sounded replete wnth meaning. 
 
 “ I can’t find it in my heart to forgive the man 
 who owms such a place,” added the colonel, en- 
 thusiastically, “for choosing to live elsewhere.” 
 The old housekeeper smoothed down her 
 apron, but did not smooth her ruffled brows, at 
 hearing the Right Honourable Lord Vernon 
 apostrophized as “a man.” Though the name 
 inscribed by her blunt visiter in the book, and 
 Colonel Hamilton’s reputation in the neighbour- 
 hood for liberality, prepared her for a nabob’s 
 
 fee at paning, and to be patient under any ex- 
 tent of insult or injury in the interim, her wrath 
 nearly exploded on hearing him enlarge to his 
 reverend companion upon the dignity and inter- 
 est of the Hyde, but the vast superiority of Bur- 
 lington Manor. 
 
 “ I should have been moped to death in a 
 magnificent old dungeon like this!” was his 
 ever-recurring exclamation. “ This tapestry 
 would give me the blue devils. People must 
 have had ancestors in Harry the Eighth’s time- 
 to put up with it. Why, the Manor is thrice as 
 airy, and fifty times more convenient; to say 
 nothing that Goody Johnston would have died 
 here of the ague! Hamlyn knew just w’hat 
 w'ould suit me. As a country' gentleman, I am 
 far better off at the Manor.” 
 
 The jerk with W'hich old Mrs. Harkness 
 snapped- the key in the door of the state-apart- 
 ments, after locking out the utterer of these in- 
 solent heresies, probably conveyed but half her 
 contempt towards the presumptuous ofi’ender.. 
 Regarding herself as part and parcel of the illus- 
 trious family of the Vernons, Dean Park was 
 her w'ashpot, and over Burlington Manor did 
 she cast her shoe. 
 
 “ It is enough to keep my lord away from 
 the place,” muttered the stem housekeeper, as 
 she dropped the colonel’s sovereign scornfully 
 into her purse, “ to be troubled writh the intrusioQ 
 of the upstart tribe of Hamlyn the banker !” 
 
 Dr. Markham’s description to his wife of the 
 scarcely-suppressed choler of the irate old lady, 
 served that evening to enliven the homely tea- 
 table of the Vicarage. 
 
 “Colonel Hamilton was pleased, then, with 
 his drive 7” demanded Mrs. Markham of her 
 husband. 
 
 “ Pleased as a child. It does one’s heart 
 good to see a gray-headed man so fresh in spirit. 
 He enjoyed all he saw and heard like a school- 
 boy at home for the holydays.” 
 
 “And what is he else I” inquired Mrs. Mark- 
 ham. “ He tells me he w'ent out to India at 
 fifteen — a raw boy from the Charter House — 
 half educated, and wholly ignorant of English 
 habits and pleasures.” 
 
 “ So much the better for him I To the young 
 men of the present day, on emerging from 
 Haileybury, India is banishment, and banish- 
 ment which their expensive habits lend to pro- 
 long. Hamilton w’as both frugal and content- 
 ed, and now he is come home full of eagerness 
 for the common pleasures with which other men 
 are surfeited.” 
 
 “ His chief pleasure, worthy man, seems to 
 be doing good,” observed Mrs. Markham, who- 
 was bound Colonel Hamilton’s slave forever 
 by the number of yards of flannel and pairs of 
 blankets with which he had already enriched 
 her treasury for the Ovington poor. “Not a 
 particle of self seems to act as a drawback upon 
 his kindly feelings! All is sunshine in his 
 heart ; and he likes to dispense a portion of th© 
 warmth to other people. I cannot understand: 
 the friendship that unites him to so mere a man 
 of business as — ” 
 
 “ Hush ! my dear! It is not for us to enlarge- 
 upon the faults or failings of Dean Park,” re- 
 monstrated the vicar. “Between ourselves, 
 however. I’ve an idea that Hamlyn was not 
 particularly anxious the old gentleman should 
 visit the domain at the Hyde.” 
 
 “ Afraid, perhap.s, of putting him out of con- 
 ceit with his ow'n V* 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 certainly, the good colonel’s resjiect 
 for our Ovington school-houses and infirtnaries 
 vjos a little diminished on observing the priority 
 of such institutions at Vernon College. But to 
 what does this amount'? That the Vernons 
 have been doing for four centuries what the 
 Hamlyns began only forty years ago, but will, 
 
 I trust, persist in for four centuries to come! 
 Napoleon’s marshal, old Lefevre, once said to 
 a nobleman of the ancient regime^ ‘ You are 
 mighty proud of your ancestors.’ Well, I am 
 an ancestor! Some day or other, Hamlyn’s 
 descendants will be in the Upper House.” 
 
 “ But Dean Park will never be the Hyde of 
 2235!” observed the vicar’s wife, shaking her 
 head. 
 
 “ I’m afraid not,” rejoined her husband, laugh- 
 ing at her solemnity of tone. “ Whatever else 
 we do for posterity, we don’t build for them. 
 However, 1 should have been vexed had poor 
 Hamlyn witnessed this morning the surprise of 
 his Indian friend, on discovering that the acts 
 of beneficence he had believed to originate solely 
 in the wisdom and virtue of Dean Park — an es- 
 pecial invention of Richard Hamlyn, Esq., M.P. 
 — are but a modernized edition of the old char- 
 ities of the Vernons.” 
 
 Little did Dr. Markham surmise, debarred as 
 a Protestant minister from the advantages of 
 confession over the parishioners to w'hom he 
 was appointed to preach the Gospel on Sundays, 
 the extent to which this rivalship and jealousy 
 had influenced through life the conduct and 
 character of Mr. Hamlyn'. His disposition and 
 destinies had been literally created by the vicin- 
 ity of Dean Park to the Hyde. 
 
 The only son of a mercantile man unexpect- 
 edly enriched by one of those startling specula- 
 tions which begat and extinguished millions 
 during the early half of the last century, the 
 ^Ider Hamlyn had purchased the estate of the 
 Dean, enclosed the Park, and concentrated the 
 property, leaving to his son, the father of the 
 present proprietor, the care of erecting a family 
 mansion proportionate to the estate. 
 
 People never do build houses in proportion to 
 their estates. Their pride will not let tliem, and 
 their architects will not let them. To build a 
 house is, as it were, to favour the public with 
 the measure of your fortune; and either policy 
 as a banker, or weakness as a man, inclined old 
 Hamlyn to create an exaggerated idea of his 
 property, by providing himself with a residence 
 requiring a nobleman’s income and establish- 
 ment for its support. 
 
 The Lord Vernon of that generation was un- 
 luckily a simple, sociable man, estimating his 
 position as much too low, as the present repre- 
 sentative of the family rated it too high. United 
 to Hamlyn of Dean by the bond of country 
 neighbourship, viz., to preserve foxes, prosecute 
 trespassers, and blunderbuss poachers for the 
 benefit of the community, the moment the bank- 
 er began to build, the peer began to beset him 
 with evil counsel. 
 
 “ There is nothing more mistaken than to 
 stint yourself in the proportions of your rooms, 
 the numbering 3’^ou-r bedrooms, or the accommo- 
 dation of your offices, for the value of a trifle 
 of brick and mortar!” said he. “ A couple of 
 thousand pounds, more or less, covers all the 
 diffierence between an indifferent house and a 
 good one.” 
 
 Acting on this principle, old Hamlyn prefer- 
 led building one that was excellent, and com- 
 
 pleting his establishment on the model of that 
 of Lord Vernon ; and the consequence was, that,, 
 when the new family mansion of the Hamlyns 
 came to be discussed at justice meetings, turn- 
 pike meetings, and quarter sessions, the smaller 
 ’squires of the neighbourhood ventured to pre- 
 dict that, on the death of the old banker and 
 division of his property. Dean Park would provo 
 too much for his son. Old Gratwycke, of Grat- 
 wycke House, quoted from Bacon that a houso^ 
 with wings ofientimes flies away with an estate; 
 while Mr. Barlow, of Alderham, jocosely chris- 
 tened the banker’s lolly “the Lombard-street' 
 Ormeau.” 
 
 These remarks did not happen to reach the- 
 ear of Richard. Hamlyn till he had negatived 
 one auspicious occasion of improving his for- 
 tunes by uniting himself with a woman who,.,, 
 having only ten thousand pounds, passed in the- 
 moneyed circles to which he belonged for being, 
 penniless. The insulting surmises of his coun-^ 
 try neighbours stung him to the soul; yet, on 
 his father’s death, which occurred within a year 
 of his marriage, so far from abandoning Oeatt 
 Park, or allowing the admirable charitable foun- 
 dations created by his parents to decay, Richard 
 Hamlyn, as has been already advanced, increas- 
 ed rather than diminished the liberality of his 
 housekeeping; and by the admirable discipline 
 kept up in his establishment — kitchen, stables,, 
 farm, nay, even in the family circle — was ena- 
 bled to maintain his position in the county, 
 bead and front with the Vernons of the Hyde,., 
 and the Burlingtons of Burlington Manor. No- 
 body bad any farther right to say that the old 
 banker had over-built himself. The only change 
 for the wmrse, perceptible in the household, was 
 in the spirits of its master. 
 
 Meanwhile, as much as the present proprie- 
 tor of Dean Park seemed resolved to walk ia 
 the steps of his predecessor, did the Lord Ver- 
 non, who in process of time — and a slow pro- 
 cess it was — succeeded to the jovial old sports- 
 man, appear determined to institute a new ordec 
 of things at the Hyde. As if he had taken a 
 spite at the old mansion where his father hadf 
 survived so immoderately, he spent all his in- 
 terludes of London dis.sipation at his castle ia 
 the North; and when he did visit Warwicks 
 shire (which, in the old lord’s time, he had rep- 
 resented in Parliament), his attentioris to his 
 neighbours were paid with such punctilious re- 
 gard to their graduated claims upon his notice,, 
 that one or two of the more plain-spoken coun- 
 try ’squires had seen fit to reject as an insulC 
 the notice measured out to them in proportion ta - 
 the exact square of their acres. Old Gratwycke,.. 
 of Gratwycke House, for instance, whose prop- 
 erty consisted of a farm on which his family- 
 had been settled from the days of the Dun Cow,, 
 did not feel, in the opportunity of deciding once 
 a year upon the merit of Lord Vernon’s French 
 cook, Italian confectioner, and German maitra 
 d'hobel^ sufficient repayment for the impertinence- 
 of his lordship’s wife and daughter. Unable to- 
 maintain the same terms with the son on which 
 he had lived with the father, he chose to forget 
 the existence of the Hyde. 
 
 Such was not the case with Richard Hamlyn.. 
 He could not at once renounce the ambition in ■ 
 which he bad been born and nurtured, of living 
 on a friendly footing with the Vernons, tie. 
 fancied that the intimacy had given him impor- 
 tance with his wife’s family— with his city con- 
 nexions — with the county — with the world; and 
 
THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 18 
 
 ■whenever Lord and Lady Vernon were in War- 
 wickshire, smaned severely under ihe undis- 
 guised neglects of the Hyde. 
 
 But while the London banker continued to 
 hunger and thirst after the notice of the great 
 people who had withdrawn the light of their 
 countenance, the rest of the country neigh- 
 bours were satisfied to enlist their sympathies 
 in the long illness and early death of Sir Roger 
 Burlington, and the arrival of a successor at the 
 Manor. A thousand wild surmises went forth 
 touching the new lessee — the strange nabob — 
 the rich widower — who, if too old to mairy 
 again, was at least of an age to die and be suc- 
 ceeded in his fortune. Colonel Hamilton was 
 a perfect treasure to the gossips of Braxham and 
 Ovington ! His couple of native servants — his 
 hookah — his Thibet goats — his Indian curiosities 
 of all kinds — were as great a resource to the 
 parish as the arrival of a show of wild beasts ; 
 and when it became knowm that he talked of a 
 ball for Miss Hamlyn’s d&nd at Christmas, 
 eveiy'body was quite satisfied that Sir Roger 
 Burlington had done wisely to vacate his fami- 
 ly-seat, and that they w^ere under considerable 
 obligations to the widow for having settled in 
 Italy. 
 
 In process of time, the feuds between the col- 
 onel’s factotum, Johnston, and Sir Roger’s head 
 gardener, Anderson, whom, at Hamlyn’s sug- 
 gestion, he had hired with the place, occupied 
 nearly as much attention in the vicinity of 
 Ovington as a county election. The colonel 
 had chosen to give his duplicate key of the gar- 
 dens and pineries to Goody Johnston, and the 
 head gardener to give w'aming. Opinions were 
 divided. Some thought that a gardener who 
 used to ensure the late Sir Roger his green peas 
 at Christmas, his strawberries on Yalentine’s- 
 day, and his peaches on April-fool’s-day, was 
 quite right not to be “put upon,” but to go and 
 seek his two hundred guineas per annum else- 
 where. But the majority were decided John- 
 stonians, and voted that Colonel Hamilton, like 
 the chamberlain-making kings of Germany, had 
 a right to bestow his keys where he thought 
 proper. 
 
 ( Even Mrs. Hamlyn ventured to give an opin- 
 ion, when she understood that the indignant An- 
 derson had offered his services at the Hyde. 
 
 “ I am afraid you will miss him sadly in the 
 flower-garden,” said she. “ From long practice, 
 Anderson understands the Burlington forcing- 
 houses better than any stranger can do.” 
 
 “Mv dear good lady,” cried the colonel, in 
 reply, I would rather all the shrubberies were 
 rooted up, and that never another pineapple 
 should be eaten in my house, than put up with 
 a fellow who has offered offence to Goody John- 
 ston ! What harm would she have done in the 
 gardens, more than my wife or daughter, if I 
 had ’em 'I Let the fellow go to the Hyde, and 
 let the Hyde go to the devil, rather than that 
 . any slight should be shown, under iny roof, to 
 abe faithful attendant of the most faithful wife 
 'that ever bequeathed her memory to the respect 
 of a husband.” 
 
 On this occasion, even the banker exercised 
 his influence in vain. Mr. Hamlyn discovered 
 that though, in matters of business, a puppet in 
 his hands, the old colonel, where his feelirigs 
 were concerned, would display the most mulish 
 obstinacy. 
 
 Satisfied from her letters that his wife was 
 loo high-minded or too indolent to counteract by 
 
 her personal influence that of the favourite ser- 
 vants of whose ascendency over Colonel Ham- 
 ilton he entertained the most mistrustful jeal- 
 ousy, the banker accused himself of improvi- 
 dence in having placed the nabob beyond the 
 reach of his own daily obsequiousness and 
 serviceability. The following week, therefore, 
 he arrived on a visit of investigation at Dean 
 Park. 
 
 “Excuse me, my dear Hamljm,” cried his 
 candid old friend, on seeing him, “ if 1 own that 
 your sallow face and careworn wrinkles put me 
 wonderfully in conceit with my country life. 
 W'hy, you’re young enough to be my son; and, 
 by George! you look old enough to be my fa- 
 ther I” 
 
 “ The late hours and trying atmosphere of the 
 House of Commons make sad inroads into the 
 constitution!” replied Hamlyn, with the air of 
 the martyr. 
 
 “ Come, come, come ! none of your flourish- 
 es in honour of your services to the country. 
 A banker was never known to die of patriot- 
 ism,” cried the colonel. “ Those jaundiced 
 looks have very little to do wuth zeal for the 
 nation. ’Tis all shop, my dear sir — all gold- 
 spinning — all the wear and tear of filthy lucre — 
 all the care and anxiety of money-making — all 
 the yellow leprosy, as 1 call it !” 
 
 “Say, rather, of taking care of other people’s 
 money,” replied Hamlyn, attempting a smile. 
 
 “So long as you take such capital care of 
 mhie, I suppose I must find no fault,” replied the 
 Lord of Burlington Manor, jocosely. “ But I 
 feel that I’m beginning to have over you all the 
 advantage of a country gentleman — not but 
 that the country gentleman’s estate bears its 
 brambles as well as its blackberries. I suppose 
 Mrs. Hamlyn, or dear Lydia, wrote you word 
 that the people hereabouts have been playing 
 the very deuse with me 7” 
 
 This familiar and affectionate designation of 
 his daughter grated disagreeably on the ear of 
 the banker; and, accepting the word “people” 
 in its lowest sense, “Mrs. Hamlyn informed 
 me,” said he, “ that the fishponds at Burlington 
 Manor had been robbed,” 
 
 “ Ay, so the keepers swore, who most likely 
 dragged them themselves. But I alluded to 
 Markham and Gratwycke, who have dragged 
 me into the commission of the peace. The 
 doctor chose to assert, sir, that I had hired the 
 trouble and worry of being a magistrate in 
 hiring Burlington Manor !” 
 
 “Very officious of Markham!” observed the 
 banker, who disliked every measure tending to 
 increase Colonel Hamilton’s connexion with 
 society, and chose, at all events, that the propo- 
 sition should proceed from himself. It seem- 
 ed to him, indeed, as if Gratwycke and the vi- 
 car, in meddling wdth Colonel Hamilton, had 
 encroached upon his property. 
 
 “ Had I been aware of this in time, I should 
 have protested against your incurring so much 
 trouble and responsibility,” said he. “ At your 
 age, my dear sir, I really think — ” 
 
 “Come, come, come! I’ve no great right to 
 take shelter under my age,” cried the coloneL 
 “These gentlemen see that l am young enough 
 to amuse myself by scampering over the coun- 
 try on a pony after my little Lydia, and are 
 kind enough to procure me a more useful em- 
 ployment for my time.” 
 
 “ It is true there is a sad dearth of efficient 
 men among us,” replied Hamlyn, perceiving 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 17 
 
 tliat the colonel chose to be put upon. “The 
 neighbourhood is thin. The Hyde lends us no 
 assistance. Gratwycke is nearly superannua- 
 ted.” 
 
 “ And not an idle man under five-and-sixty 
 for twenty miles round!” cried Colonel Hamil- 
 ton. “ Poor Lydia, sad news for poor dear lit- 
 tle Lydia! I don’t know what you’ll do for 
 your Christmas ball, my dear, unless you can 
 persuade your brother Walter to bring you down 
 some beaux from Lon’on.” 
 
 Richard Hamlyn, though his previous instruc- 
 tions had authorized, on the part of his family, 
 •every sacrifice likely to make the country pleas- 
 ant to his valued constituent, was annoyed at 
 the tone of familiarity which seemed to have es- 
 tablished itself between Colonel Hamilton and 
 his daughters. Before he returned to town, he 
 remonstrated severely with his wife concerning 
 the relaxation of decorum, arising from the ab- 
 
 sence of Miss Creswell. 
 
 “What will the Vernons think,” said he, 
 when they hear of the Miss Hamlyns (after 
 •the care bestowed on their education) scamper- 
 ing — I use Colonel Hamilton’s word — ‘ scamper- 
 ing’ over the country on ponies'? And what 
 -chance has Walter of recommending himself to 
 the colonel’s good-will, if ^ydia is constantly 
 made his first object'?” 
 
 Mrs. Hamlyn was too respectful a wife to 
 vindicate either her girls or herself; but after 
 lier husband’s return to town, she was amused 
 to perceive how much the aid of the country 
 had opened the eyes of the Old colonel to the pe- 
 'Culiarities of his friend. 
 
 “Hamlyn’s quite right to stick to Lon’on!” 
 ■said he. “ Hamlyn’s cut out for a man of busi- 
 ness. Squirefying is not his element. He hasn’t 
 in him the true smack of the country gentleman. 
 '^Tis all dot-and-carry-one with him, even in the 
 middle of a turnip-field. His tenants respect 
 him, but more by name than nature; and, not- 
 withstanding all he has done for the poor, and 
 ■the admirable management by which it has been 
 brought about, they seem to feel themselves 
 ■doubly poor in his presence. He’s too prim and 
 trim for a sportsman, too in-doorish for a farmer. 
 Lombard-street and Cavendish Square, Parlia- 
 ment and city meetings, are the place for Ham- 
 lyn. There are some folks who don’t seem to 
 have been born for the open* air !” 
 
 “ At forty-five, it is difficult to guess what any 
 man is born for,” said Mrs. Hamlyn, with a 
 sigh. “ Grave as my husband now appears, I 
 can assure you, that when I married, he was one 
 ■of the gayest men about town — as gay as his son 
 Walter is now.” 
 
 “Walter’s wild, is he'? I’m glad of that! 
 there’s always hope of a wild young man ! My 
 son Jack was one of the wildest dogs ever turned 
 ■out of Eton. Walter was quartered at Windsor 
 all the time I was in Lon’on, and I’m beginning 
 to want to make his acquaintance. Does he 
 never come down to Dean Park '?” 
 
 “ When the hunting season begins.” 
 
 “A curious reason for visiting his father’s 
 house ! Like my friend. Sir Joshua Alltrump, 
 tvho told me he attended divine service at the 
 •Chapel Royal ’cause the music was so fine.” 
 “My son is, I admit, passionately fond of 
 hunting,” pleaded Mrs. Hamlyn. 
 
 “Well, well, ’tis something in these times for 
 a youngster to be passionately fond of anything ! 
 To me^ all the boys appear as dull and careworn 
 as if they^ spent a life in Lombard-street ; old 
 
 before they’re breeched, and decrepit in their ac- 
 cidence. I should never be surprised, nowa- 
 days, to hear of an Eton boy having the gout. 
 Well! I must wait patient, 1 suppose, till the 
 hounds are unkennelled, to shake hands with 
 Master Watty.” 
 
 Mrs. Hamlyn could scarcely forbear smiling 
 at the idea of the indignation with which (had 
 Sheet-street barracks been within earshot of 
 Dean Park) her superfine son would have heard 
 himself thus familiarly designated, by an indi- 
 vidual who might have travelled from (Captain 
 Hamlyn’s) Dan to Beersheeba, i. e., from St. 
 James’s-street to Whitehall, without receiving 
 a bow of recognition from the club-windows, 
 and whose clothes were so indefinitely cut by 
 his nameless tailor as to have proved an equal- 
 ly good fit for any other man in the county. 
 
 She amended her smile, however, into a se- 
 cret prayer that the time might come when Wal- 
 ter, now the slave of appearances, would recog- 
 nise the sterling merit of a man like the simple- 
 hearted being before her. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Before my gaze I see my youth, 
 
 The ghost of gentler years, arise ; 
 
 With looks that yearn’d for every truth. 
 
 And wings that sought the farthest skies. 
 
 Beside that ghost of time gone by 
 I stand upon the waste alone. 
 
 And if a sunbeam light the sky. 
 
 It wakes no flow’rets from the stone. 
 
 The icy calm that smiles on all. 
 
 But comes from pride that veils the pain ; 
 
 Alas ! how much we fain would call 
 Content, is nothing but disdain. 
 
 E. L. BunwER. 
 
 Meanwhile, the merits of the new resident at 
 Burlington Manor were becoming appreciated 
 in quarters more important than the fastidious 
 fancy of a captain of the Household Brigade. 
 The county gentry already congratulated them- 
 selves on the acquisition of such a coadjutor in 
 their labours of public peace-keeping, as a man 
 accustomed for forty years long to administra- 
 tive functions, yet untried by the disappoint- 
 rnents which are somewhat apt to sour the phi- 
 lanthropy, and distress the patriotism of the con- 
 script fathers of a shire. At turnpike meetings, 
 justice meetings, agricultural meetings, the 
 hearty, active old man was invariably the first 
 and last in the field. 
 
 But, above all, he was recognised by the minor 
 guardians of the public weal as the proprietor 
 of a capacious heart and purse, the strings of 
 which were always open. The circumstance 
 which had first drawn his attention in India to 
 the firm of Hamlyn and Co., was the magnitude 
 and consistency of their subscriptions to all pub- 
 lic charities and institutions; little surmising, 
 good easy man, that these donations were so 
 many advertisements of their solidity, by spe- 
 ciously introducing a commercial name into the 
 columns of the newspapers, to be wafted to the 
 four quarters of the globe on the wings of their 
 well -calculated beneficence. But for this bless- 
 ed iteration, in fact, their name might never 
 have reached Ghazerapore. 
 
 As innocently as he had fallen into the snare, 
 did he now conquer, by similar means, the es- 
 teem of a county predisposed against him as an 
 invader of the property of the ancient house of 
 Burlington. 
 
13 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 “Who is this man, the new tenant of poor 
 Burlington’s place 1” had been eagerly inquired, 
 when hist the news transpired of the desecration 
 of the Manor. 
 
 “ 1 really don’t know. A person who made 
 his money in India, picked up by Hamlyn, the 
 banker, in the course of his city connexion,” 
 W’as the disparaging reply. And the country 
 gentlemen, averse to new-comers in general, and 
 doubly averse to the idea ot a rich upstart, who 
 would crush them by his ostentation, outshine 
 them by his equipage, and corrupt their homely 
 households by the prodigalities of his servants’ 
 hall, entered into tacit combination against the 
 banker’s protege. 
 
 But no sooner did they find in the neighbour 
 whom they had pictured to themselves as a 
 peevish, enervate hypochondriac, the victim of 
 liver and blue pill, a hale, happy-spirited old 
 gentleman, full of child like interest in the me- 
 morabilia of the county, as well as of manly 
 sympathy in its wants and welfare, than they 
 extended towards him the right-hand of fellow- 
 ship, w'ondering only how any bond ol Iriend- 
 ship could subsist between the frank, garrulous 
 old Indian, and the calm, phlegmatic, hard- 
 headed owner of Dean Park. 
 
 For in the county, Hamlyn vras more approved 
 than liked. His gentlemanly deportment, and 
 handsome, orderly establishment, commanded re- 
 spect ; but the neighbouring squires w^ere never 
 sorry, during his absence, to have a fling at his 
 political surfaceism, or the cockney niceties of 
 his model farm. 
 
 Among the foremost ranks of these stood a 
 gentleman of the name of Barlow, who took 
 considerable pains to impress himself on public 
 attention as “ Barlow of Alderham,” lest, being 
 chiefly known in the county as Lord Vernon’s> 
 agent, it should be overlooked that he was an 
 entity by inheritance, an esquire by qualification. 
 That the Alderham in question wms “ a moated 
 grange,” standing on a farm of four hundred a 
 year, signified nothing. The great grandsires 
 of his great grandsire had been born under its 
 roof, and he was consequently entitled to talk 
 loud at the convivial and other meetings of 
 the neighbourhood, about “ county families,” 
 “hereditary rights,” and the “landed interests’’ 
 of the shire. Mr. Barlow, of Alderham, selddm 
 lowered his voice, indeed, unless when Lord 
 Vernon, his principal, happened to be residing 
 at the Hyde; but he was obseiwed never to 
 raise it so defyingly as in the presence of Rich- 
 ard Hamlyn, of Dean Park. 
 
 For in their various election contests, Barlow 
 of Alderham appeared in the field as generalis- 
 simo of the Vernon faction, and being invariably 
 defeated, it was but natural he should aim his 
 avenging darts, on other occasions, at the vul- 
 nerable heel of the banker. In many points, he 
 enjoved advantages over him. He was always 
 on the spot, constantly holding forth wherever 
 twm or three “landed-interest” apostles were 
 gathered together, in daily scud across the coun- 
 try on his well-known brown cob, on Lord Ver- 
 non’s business or his own ; and, above all, as 
 vicegerent of the estate of the H)’’de, he dis- 
 pensed the squirearchical patronage of its shoot- 
 ing, its fishing, and the private keys of the park. 
 Those who wished to stand well with the Ver- 
 nons fancied they could not begin better than by 
 standing well with Barlow of Alderham. 
 
 All this had been fully interpreted by Hamlyn 
 to Colonel Hamilton on'his first arrival in War- 
 
 wickshire ; and as the old gentleman had no 
 disposition for toadying, and w'as disgusted at 
 his very first interview ny the bow-wow tone of 
 the agent, and his perpetual allusions to “ coun- 
 ty families” and “ hereditary rights,” he re- 
 ceived, wdth as much coldness as w as compatible 
 with his humane nature, the civil overtures of a 
 man unfairly represented to him by the banker 
 as the servile slave-driver of a lord. He could 
 not dissever Barlow (of Alderham) in his mind 
 from the salaried tenant-screw of Lord Vernon. 
 
 Surprised at the disregard with which his 
 civilities were treated by one w'hom Dr. Mark- 
 ham and old Gratwycke described as the most 
 courteous and kindly ot human beings, Mr. 
 Barlow, debarred by a sense of duty low'ards 
 the political interests of his patron Irom being 
 resentful, .was careful to issue instructions to 
 the keepers at the Hyde that the land and water 
 privileges enjoyed by the late Sir Roger Bur- 
 lington should be conceded to his successor. A 
 key of the private gates of the park was accord- 
 ingly forwarded to the Manor, specifically in- 
 scribed with the name of Colonel Hamilton, 
 who, ignorant of county customs, and conceiving 
 the right of transit over Lord Vernon’s property 
 to be one of the many immunities incJuded in 
 his leasehold of Burlington Manor, acknowl- ‘ 
 edged the courtesy by a handsome gratuity to 
 the head-keeper, but not a word of acknowledg- 
 ment to the higher powers. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlyn, who, in common with the other 
 neighbouring families, possessed a key, but was 
 scrupulous in using it, in delerence to the uneasy 
 position of her husband with regard to Lord 
 Vernon at every fresh election, was startled to 
 perceive how thoroughly the unsuspecting colo- 
 nel made himself at home at the Hyde. 
 
 “ In dusty weather, that beautiful pinetum is 
 a monstrous resource to the neighbourhood,’^ 
 cried he. “ I delight in the smell of the thyme, 
 crushed under the wheels of my phaeton ; yet, 
 except myself (the head-keeper says, a smart, 
 intelligent, civil fellow !), not a soul ever sets 
 foot in it.” 
 
 Sophia hesitated for a moment w^hether to 
 hint to the old man, so ready to contribute to the 
 pleasures of others, that even he might do well 
 to abstain ; that Lord Vernon was supposed to 
 be tenacious of the privacy of his reserved w'alks, 
 more especially as regarded persons connected 
 with Dean Park. But Colonel Hamilton was 
 not the man to be enlightened by a hint-. His 
 self-love was not of a susceptible or mistrustful 
 kind. Aware that Dr. Markham profited by a 
 short cut across the Hyde every time he had 
 business at Braxham, he would have laughed at 
 the idea of oflending the hauteur of the Vernons 
 by frank acceptance of a favour spontaneously 
 conceded. 
 
 Before Barlow of Alderham had thoroughly 
 recovered his surprise at the coolness of an in- 
 dividual w'ho,so far from belonging to a “coun- 
 ty family,” was unconnected wdth any family at 
 all, the colonel was giving ofience by new in- 
 sults to his flag. 
 
 During the long illness of Sir Roger Burling- 
 ton, the sporting over his estates had been placed, 
 without reservation, at the disposal of his friend 
 and neighbour at Dean Park, the terms of elec- 
 tion enmity betw'een whom and Barlow' forbade 
 any civilities towards the latter on the shooting 
 score. But now', on the opening of the shooting 
 season, though the colonel w'as said to have ex- 
 tended his permissions to shoot over the Manor 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 19 
 
 to a degree horrific to the feelings of every 
 high-principled game-preserver in the county, no 
 opening had been made for the agent of the ad- 
 joining estate of the Hyde— an unneighbourly 
 and monstrous exclusion. 
 
 While Barlow of Alderham was huffing over 
 his sense of injury, tidings of Colonel Hamil- 
 ton’s laxity as a game-preserver proved still 
 more appalling to Richard Hamlyn. So thor- 
 oughly did he reckon upon retaining his privile- 
 ges over the Manor with a tenant who avowed 
 his abhorrence of Nock or Manton, double-bar- 
 rels or single, that he had not made the con- 
 cession a clause of especial reserve in a lease 
 dictated by himself. As a matter of course, he 
 regarded the preserves of the isolated, friendless 
 old man of Portland Place as his perquisite. 
 And to find them thus desecrated — to learn that, 
 for the future, he had only his own miserable 
 shooting to offer to the aristocratic guests whom 
 it was his glory, every winter, to advertise in the 
 papers as “spending the Christmas holydays at 
 the hospitable seat of Mr. Hamlyn, at Dean 
 Park,” was a stroke for which he was unpre- 
 pared. 
 
 All he had hitherto been able to oppose to the 
 galling slights of Lord Vernon, in a worldly 
 sense, was the choiceness of an aristocratic cir- 
 cle under his roof fully rivalling that of the 
 Hyde. As an active member of the Tory party 
 in the House of Commons, Hamlyn possessed 
 a certain degree of influence ; while, as a bank- 
 er, he had found means of obliging various of 
 the nobility, who obliged him by their notice 
 in return, dined with him in town, and shot 
 with him in the country. The Ormeau hounds 
 and the Burlington preserves had placed Dean 
 Park among the most desirable places on which 
 lordly placemen or dukes, debarred by distance 
 from sporting at their Scotch or Irish seats, 
 could quarter themselves for the holydays. And 
 now what was to be done'? How was he to in- 
 vite his customary guests, or Walter to bring 
 down to Dean his showy brother officers, with- 
 out the promise of a battue? Colonel Hamilton 
 had done him irreparable injury by his incon- 
 siderate liberality to strangers ! 
 
 In his private room in Lombard-street, while 
 apparently engaged in calculations involving 
 the fate of millions and the welfare of his cli- 
 ents, the banker pondered heavily upon these 
 things. In that gloomy, silent retreat, the den 
 of his leisure, divided by a wainscot only from 
 the vast counting-house, wherein twenty assid- 
 uous clerks were engaged in the active transac- 
 tion of business, greasing the wheels of public 
 traffic, and amassing grain by grain, the golden 
 sand destined to fill the auspicious hour-glass of 
 th® Hamlyn destiny — in that silent retreat, of 
 which, once at least in every day, some trem- 
 bling petitioner crossed the threshold, referred 
 by the chief clerk to the head of the house for 
 the fiat which was to pronounce his bill dishon- 
 oured, or inscribe his check with “ no effects” — 
 did Richard Hamlyn, blind to the rise or fall of 
 stocks, indifferent to the fate of Exchequer-bills, 
 and careless of the fluctuations of the money- 
 market, sit cursing his own oversight in having 
 failed to secure to himself the sporting over 
 Burlington Manor. 
 
 Though the atmosphere discernible through 
 the skylight of that little chamber was obscured 
 by city smoke, divided from.»the pure ether of 
 heaven as by the interposing of a blanket, the 
 baffled proprietor of Dean Park beheld, in his 
 
 mind’s eye, the clear blue sky of his country- 
 seat, and heard, in his mind’s ear, the popping 
 of hundreds of percussion-guns, ehgaged in 
 shooting away his prospects in life. 
 
 Never could this reverse of fortune, as a land- 
 ed proprietor, have come more inopportunely ! 
 His jealous hatred of the Vernons, so far from 
 mellowing and dropping from the tree, had of 
 late acquired new aggravation. Though he 
 had defeated the predictions of the Hyde that he 
 would be forced to sell an estate where his fa- 
 ther had over-built himself, Hamlyn’s indigna- 
 tion against the family had been renewed by 
 learning that, at a political London dinner, on 
 being questioned concerning the honourable 
 member for Barthorpe (his Tory opponent), 
 Lord Vernon had spoken of him in terms the 
 most indulgently insulting. 
 
 “Of Mr. Hamlyn, personally, I really know 
 nothing,” was his lordship’s insolent reply. “ We 
 exchange cards, bows, dinners, and I believe 
 him to be a well-intentioned person; but my 
 agent (Barlow of Alderham) assures me that 
 Mr. Hamlyn’s petty, money-spinning system 
 has done infinite harm in my neighbourhood. 
 Since the introduction of Savings’ Banks, Loan 
 Societies, and premium companies of all sorts 
 and kinds at Ovington, all the small farmers 
 in the county fancy themselves on the road to 
 become Rothschilds. It is amazing how mer- 
 cenary and grasping the very labourers’ are be- 
 coming, since this notion of percentage gained 
 ground. All their idea is money-7-money — mon- 
 ey! Natural enough, perhaps, on the part of 
 Mr. Hamlyn, to follow the bias of his calling 
 even in his charities ; for I verily believe that, 
 were you to drop a London banker out of a 
 caravan in the Desert, his first notion would be 
 to establish a water-company at the nearest 
 well I Mr. Hamlyn will, however, perhaps be 
 the first to repent having introduced the mystery 
 of money-making into his bewildered county.” 
 
 If Hamlyn, by sacrifices the extent of which 
 was known only to himself, had discountenanced 
 Lord Vernon’s former prediction that his father’s 
 memory would be disgraced, and his estate 
 brought to the hammer, he was now scarcely 
 less intent upon proving that his children were 
 likely to maintain their footing, if not exactly on 
 the same level, exactly in the saiiie circles as 
 Lord Vernon’s own. He had authorized his son 
 Walter to invite, for a week’s shooting at Christ- 
 mas, the cornet of his troop, the young Marquis 
 of Dartford, certain members of whose family 
 he numbered among his constituents, and con- 
 templated adding to the Dean Park party pur- 
 orting to rival the festivities of the Hyde. But 
 ow was he to phrase his invitations to the Earl 
 of Rotherwood, and his brother-in-law Lord 
 Crawley, uncles of the marquis, unless enabled 
 to make honourable mention of the preserves of 
 Burlington Manor'? 
 
 Little did poor Colonel Hamilton surmise the 
 evils to which he had given rise by an extension 
 of sporting liberality, which, as far as numbers 
 were concerned, had created a popularity that 
 might have enabled him to stand for the county. 
 While Dean Park and the Hyde (in the person 
 of Barlow of Alderham) complained bitterly of 
 a weakness, exposing more rigid landed pro- 
 prietors to blame, and involving the keepers of 
 the neighbouring estates in endless affrays and 
 squabbles, he delighted to s6e the neighbouring 
 squires, and even farmers, enjoy a day’s shoot- 
 ing on the Manor. Though thoroughly ds- 
 
20 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 spising, as became a practised hog-himter, the 
 puny field-sports of Great Britain, he was not 
 sorry to find that the note of preparation from 
 the Ormeau kennel was about to reassemble the 
 scattered families of the neighbourhood. The 
 turf being now brown, and the woods bare, it 
 was indeed time that people should return from 
 touring and the seaside to enjoy the beauties 
 of the country. 
 
 “More wood, Johnston! more wood!” cried 
 the hospitable old man, one evening, when the 
 ladies of Dean Park and their friends from the 
 Vicarage had been driven behind screens and 
 into recesses by the blaze of a roaring fire of 
 roots at Burlington Manor. “ Merry Christmas 
 is coming, and let us welcome him with a bon- 
 fire ! Well do I remember the bitter mornings 
 when I used to get up by candlelight at Charter 
 House, blowing my fingers all the time to save 
 ^em from being frostbitten ! But if we don’t 
 make a good, jolly season of it now, ’tis nobody’s 
 fault but our own !” 
 
 “You have taken care at least, sir, that the 
 poor shall have no reason to complain,” observed 
 Mrs. Markham, gratefully. 
 
 “I seldom find that they do complain half so 
 much as the rich. But this year, even the rich 
 must not grumble ! Lydia, for instance, shall 
 have her ball, and her sledge, and her drive to 
 covert every time the hounds meet in the neigh- 
 bourhood.” 
 
 “ I fear Miss Creswell will interfere with some 
 portion of these arrangements,” interposed Mrs. 
 Hamlyn, satisfied that they would incur the en- 
 tire disapproval of her husband. 
 
 “Why, what the deuse! The governess 
 coming back again, is sheT’ said Colonel Ham- 
 ilton. “ I was in hopes she was pensioned off! 
 I’m sure there’s nothing Miss Harriet wants 
 teaching but she might learn from her sister.” 
 
 “ We are expecting a large Christmas party 
 at Dean next week,” she replied, not choosing 
 to cite Mr. Hamlyn’s opposition, “ and I should 
 scarcely know what to do with the girls.” 
 
 “ Do with ’em '1 Why, let ’em help you to en- 
 tertain the large party, to be sure !” cried the 
 colonel. “ I dare say Lydia would have no ob- 
 jection !” 
 
 “ Her father would. Lord and Lady Rother- 
 wood, and their brother-in-law, Lord Crawley, 
 are coming to us.” 
 
 “The Home Secretary'? By George! I’m 
 glad on’t ! I want to badger him about having 
 remitted the sentence of that rascal Saltash. But 
 what exception are they likely to take to the so- 
 ciety of an agreeable girl like Lydia'?” , 
 
 “ As she will not be presented for some months 
 to come, it is scarcely according to etiquette for 
 her to join so large a party.” 
 
 “ And what have such folks as we are to do 
 with etiquette at all '? What signifies to any 
 human being whether a Miss Hamlyn have or 
 have not kissed the hand of her majesty '? My 
 dear good lady, when great lords think proper to 
 come and sleep under your roof, depend on’t, 
 among the people they expect to meet at your 
 table are your own sons and daughters !” 
 
 “ I am happy to say that Walter vM be with 
 us,” replied Mrs. Hamlyn, unwilling to own her 
 perfect coincidence in his sentiments. “ He is 
 coming on the 20th, accompanied by one of his 
 brother officers; and I trust, dear sir, that while 
 our house is enlivened by these guests, you will 
 join our party. The weather is too uncertain 
 for you to return to Burlington at night.” 
 
 “ Faith, I should have no objection !” cried the 
 colonel; “but, unluckily. I’ve asked Gratwycke’s 
 grandson to come over to me for a few days’ 
 shooting, and I suppose you’ve no room to take 
 him ini — though Walter might like his com- 
 pany, may be, for I fancy he’s to be a brother 
 soldier of the captain’s !” 
 
 “ The idea of that silly, lanky Tom Grat- 
 wycke being a brother-any-lhing of Walter’s!” 
 exclaimed Lydia, unable to restrain her mirth. 
 
 “ Dear, dear Colonel Hamilton ! you little know 
 my brother — the pink of fine gentlemen !” 
 
 “ Is he '? He was a deused bad shoeblack at 
 Eton, I know ! Jack, whose fag he was, wrote 
 me word he could make nothing of him. As to 
 Tom Gratwycke, I am afraid the lad was a bit 
 of a spoony. But the old gentleman’s been won- 
 derful civil in asking me a dozen times to din- 
 ner (though I’d as soon dine in the Ovington in- 
 firmary as his hot rooms), and the least I could 
 do was to show kindness to his grandson in re- 
 turn. The lad we think nothing of is a world’s 
 wonder to him, the future Gratwycke of Grat- 
 wycke— A m Watty— A m pink of fine gentlemen !” 
 On the banker’s arrival at Dean, a day or two 
 previous to that of his visiters for the holydays, it 
 was a source of considerable mortification to 
 him that Colonel Hamilton was not of the party. 
 He had reckoned upon his friend’s company as 
 prematurely as upon his shooting, and was 
 greatly disappointed to find that the old gentle- 
 man was not fated to make acquaintance with 
 his son under all the advantage (to a young man 
 of Walter’s brilliant appearance and address) 
 of doing the honours of his father’s Jiouse to a 
 party of distinction. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlyn perceived that her husband was 
 sovereignly displeased ; that he thought she 
 might have secured the company of their neigh- 
 bour by an earlier invitation. Hamlyn was un- 
 usually absent and out of sorts. Christmas is 
 an epoch equally unpropitious to the temper of 
 men of business and their debtors ; and the har- 
 ness of Lombard-street cares in which the banker 
 arrived in Warwickshire, so far from being laid 
 aside, as he had intended, on joining his family, 
 was buckled on anew on learning that an insig- 
 nificant boy, like Tom Gratwycke, could become 
 an obstacle to his deep-laid projects. 
 
 “ The Vernons are coming down next week !” 
 said he, fixing a stern eye upon his wife. Then, 
 finding that she did not utter so much as an 
 ejaculation of surprise at an announcement 
 wholly indiflferent to her, he added, “ and what 
 willAhey think on finding that a man of Hamil- 
 ton’s property could command no better resource 
 for his Christmas circle than a vulgar hobble- 
 de-hoy like young Gratwycke '?” 
 
 “ I should think they would trouble themseVes 
 very little about the family arrangements of a 
 perfect stranger !” replied Sophia, finding he in- 
 sisted upon an answer. 
 
 “But we are not perfect strangers to them. 
 We should have derived some consequence in 
 their eyes from the domestication at our fireside 
 of a man of Hamilton’s enormous property, who 
 is supposed to care for nobody but ourselves. I 
 had flattered myself our Christmas party would 
 be a matter of some envy at the Hyde.” 
 
 “I have little doubt,” observed Mrs. Hamlyn, 
 struck by what she considered a brillant inspira- 
 tion, “that if you really had Colonel Hamdton’s 
 company at heart, it might be obtained by L'ydiajs 
 intervention. If you will compromise with his 
 whims, by allowing her to join the party, as 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 
 when we are alone, he might surely be persuaded 
 to defer young Gratwycke’s visit till the follow- 
 ing week T’ 
 
 Mr. Hamlyn, who had been traversing the 
 room in a fit of mental irritation, now advanced 
 close to his wife, as if to ensure the exact hear- 
 ing of her words. 
 
 “ Lydia V’ cried he ; “ Lydia possess sufficient 
 influence over Hamilton to induce him to grant 
 a request he has denied to us 
 
 “You are aware of his fondness for young 
 people,” replied Mrs. Hamlyn, composedly; 
 “and his indulgence towards the girls, having 
 ensured their affection in return, they have spent 
 much of their time together during Miss Cres- 
 well’s absence.” 
 
 “ It was for this, then, that you persuaded pie 
 to allow that woman leave of absence V' cried 
 the indignant banker. 
 
 “You expressly desired we should do our ut- 
 most to render the country agreeable to Colonel 
 Hamilton !” 
 
 “Not to the injury of Walter! I never de- 
 sired to find Lydia his favourite. But I see how 
 it is ! Aware of my inability to make a provis- 
 ion for my daughters tending to their settlement 
 in life in the brilliant position you desire, you 
 want to bespeak the old man’s fortune for them ! 
 It would not suit you to see Lydia become, like her 
 mother before her, the wife of a poor, drudging 
 man of business. No, no ! you know too much 
 of the miseries and privations of such a position. 
 You want her to be a fine lady, 'iou wish Col- 
 onel Hamilton’s heiress to marry a nobleman. 
 You have had enough of city men. What pride 
 have you in my family name'? The respecta- 
 bility of Hamlyn of Dean Park is nothing to 
 
 Mrs. Hamlyn raised her gentle eyes towards 
 the angry man in utter consternation. 
 
 “ But once for all, madam, know this /” con- 
 tinued he ; “ that sooner than Walter should not 
 be enabled to preserve his fitting station in so- 
 ciety, and keep up his family place in the style 
 that his father-and my father did before him, I 
 would — ” 
 
 Mr. Hamlyn paused suddenly, and his wife, 
 breathlessly interested in these singular revela- 
 tions concerning the destinies of her children, 
 riveted her eyes on his, as if to ascertain the 
 motive of his hesitation. His face had become 
 suddenly blanched, and the words seemed frozen 
 on his lips; when, lo! following the direction 
 of his eyes towards the window, she beheld, 
 leaning against its single pane of plate-glass, 
 the glowing, happy countenance of Colonel 
 Hamilton. The object of their critical conver- 
 sation stood intently regarding them, having 
 trudged in snow-shoes across the park to wel- 
 come his friend to the country. ^ 
 
 “On with your greatcoat, and come out to 
 me, Hamlyn !” shouted the old man. “ I want 
 to show you some draining-tiles I’ve had made 
 for me at Ovington, on a plan I’ve often tried 
 in Indy with success, and the fellow’s waiting 
 with ’em in the stable-yard.” 
 
 Relieved by this cordial appeal from the ap- 
 prehension that his incautious words might have 
 reached the ear of Colonel Hamilton, yet so un- 
 accustomed to be detected in a state of mental 
 disturbance that he fancied his whole secret 
 must be betrayed in his countenance, Richard 
 Hamlyn stood for a moment, dreading to ap- 
 proach the window. 
 
 “ Why not come in, my dear colonel T said 
 
 he, having ascertained by a glance that nis wife 
 had resumed her usual air of enforced serenity. 
 
 “No, no !” was the reply. “ I have conquer- 
 ed my first startle from the cold, and am in a 
 fine glow. I’m not going to have my nose nip- 
 ped again H)y a second sortie, after coddling my- 
 self in your hot rooms.” 
 
 “ I will be with you in a minute, then,” said 
 Hamlyn. “ Take a turn in the shrubbery, and 
 I will meet you at the offices.” 
 
 But instead of obeying, Colonel Hamilton, 
 after his friend’s exit, chose to remain at the 
 window, talking through it to Sophia. 
 
 “ Are you very angry, my dear lady, at my 
 carrying off your good man so soon?” cried he, 
 so loud as to be audible not only to herself, but 
 to the gardeners who were sweeping the snow 
 from the gravel-walks. 
 
 “ Never mind, never mind ! The sledge is to 
 be finished in a day or two (Lydia’s sledge — 1 
 mean to call it the Royal Lnjdia), and then she 
 and I will drive about the country together all 
 the morning, and leave you to yourselves. I 
 like young Iblks best! I’m such a frisky old 
 boy myself, that I always want something in its 
 teens about me, to keep my foolish old face in 
 countenance !” 
 
 Accoutred for his walk, Hamlyn now made 
 his way along the gravel-walk towards the 
 colonel, who, having at that moment inclined 
 his ear close to the window to catch the faint re- 
 ply of Mrs. Hamlyn, the banker had no means 
 of surmising the subject of their conversation. 
 
 “ Ready so soon I Come along with ye, then !’* 
 cried Hamilton, starting round on being tapped 
 upon the shoulder, and little aware of the mis- 
 trustful glances which his friend was at that 
 moment darting through the window at the con- 
 fused countenance of his wife. Then seizing 
 the arm of Hamlyn, he dragged him along at a 
 brisk country gentleman pace, somewhat at va- 
 riance with the dignified habits of the Londoa 
 banker. 
 
 Scarcely had they disappeared round the an- 
 gle of the house, when Mrs. Hamlyn sank heav- 
 ily into a chair. Clasping her hands together in 
 utter despondency, she felt scarcely equal to 
 confront the new sources of grief and anxiety 
 opening in her long-imbittered existence. 
 
 Had certain of her London associates been 
 required to point out a woman enjoying to the 
 utmost the prosperities and contentments of life, 
 it would have been Mrs. Hamlyn of Dean Park. 
 With a seemingly attached and honourable hus- 
 band, and promising children growing up around 
 her, the career of such a woman was to many a. 
 matter of envy. Yet, in reality, her fate was 
 one of those instances of personal disappoint- 
 ment which convert so many cheerful girls inta 
 silent and repining women. 
 
 Within a year of her happy marriage, withia 
 a year of the passionate protestations which, as 
 usual, preceded it, Sophia Hamlyn discovered 
 that she had sunk into nothing in the estimatioa 
 of her husband. Absorbed by worldly interests, 
 by sordid calculations, by the anxieties of a crit- 
 ical business suddenly devolving on his shoul- 
 ders, he began to regard a wife and increasing' 
 family as domestic encumbrances — a burden 
 upon the onerous honours of Hamlyn of Dean 
 Park — an additional embarrassment to the house 
 of Hamlyn and Co. Still, his deference to the 
 decencies of society and his own high character 
 kept him scrupulously exact to his duties as a 
 husband and parent, and it was only the craving 
 
22 
 
 THE BANKS 
 
 eye of affection that discovered the alteration of 
 his mood. 
 
 Luckily for all parties, Mrs, Hamlyn was a 
 woman of principle; and just as deterence to 
 worldly opinion made Richard Hamlyn a re- 
 gardful husband, the sense of duty ^lenced all 
 complaints upon her lips. She felt herself to be 
 in the enjoyment of too many of the comforts of 
 life to murmur against Providence. She had 
 married for better for worse ; and the worse was 
 not so much the worst that could have befallen 
 her, as to justify rebellion against her destinies. 
 
 But Sophia was only in her first lesson of the 
 education of the heart. By degrees, she found 
 that, though she might content herself with a due 
 discharge of the duties of her mission as a wife, 
 a mother, a member of the community, it was 
 difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile them 
 with the exactions arising from the worldly- 
 mindedness of her husband. She was required 
 to sacrifice her influence over her children and 
 enjoyment of their society to his notions of the 
 formal propriety becoming his situation in life; 
 to select her associates in deference to his pecu- 
 niary interests ; to regulate her loves and likings 
 according to the fluctuations of the money-mar- 
 ket; convert life into a speculation; and, even 
 in the holy retirement of the country, calculate 
 her acts of benevolence so as at once to benefit 
 the firm, and substantiate her husband’s position 
 in the county of Warwick. Having discovered 
 all this, Sophia could no longer disguise from 
 herself that her early marriage had perilled her 
 happiness in this world — perhaps in the next. 
 
 To conceal the discovery from her own fami- 
 ly and the world was her first consideration. 
 Never, in a single instance, had she swerved in 
 deference towards the husband of her children. 
 If an unhappy, she was never a complaining 
 wife. 
 
 Meanwhile she had ample consolations. The 
 time must come when her children would afford 
 her the companionship her heart so much need- 
 ed. Their personal and moral endowments 
 were such as to gratify, meanwhile, her utmost 
 maternal pride; and with such prospects before 
 her, she became fortified in her patient forbear- 
 ance. 
 
 But scarcely had the period of their maturity 
 arrived, when she was beset by new apprehen- 
 sions. In the handsome Walter, the idol of his 
 father’s vanity as the future head of the firm and 
 owner of Dean Park, she soon discerned fatal 
 traces of the influence of the world-seeking ed- 
 ucation bestowed upon him by his father. Her 
 affection for her warm-hearted girl, on the other 
 hand, was frustrated by the jealousy and mis- 
 trust of Mr. Hamlyn; and she. now foresaw, in 
 the connexion of Colonel Hamilton with the 
 family, an endless source of mistrust and dispu- 
 tation. 
 
 But it was a still deeper cause for apprehen- 
 sion that at present depressed the heart of the 
 thoughtful mother. Aware that the man, so 
 mild and self-controlled under the observation 
 of society, could, if opposed, indulge in private 
 in the most frantic irritation, she trembled at 
 the idea that the most gifted, if not most beloved 
 of her children, was about to incur, for the first 
 time, the penalty of filial disobedience. Her son 
 Henry was on the eve of drawing down upon 
 himself the utmost violence of parental dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 While his two sons were still arrayed in jack- 
 ets and nankeen trousers, Hamlyn, after the 
 
 R’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 fashion of most modern fathers, had decided 
 upon their future career. Walter was to suc- 
 ceed him in the borough and banking-house, an 
 eldest son in every sense of the word ; Henry 
 to go out to India, under the auspices ol his ma- 
 ternal uncle, an India Director. But the bank- 
 er, far-sighted as he was, was fated to defeat his 
 own projects. 
 
 “You will, of course, send your eldest son to 
 Eton 'I Eton is the only place for making con- 
 nexions. I would not have sent Vernon to any 
 other school than Eton for millions,” sound- 
 ed, on the part of the old Lord Vernon, too friend- 
 ly an admonition to be disregarded ; and from 
 Eton to Oxford the transition was inevitable. 
 The future member for Barsthorpe was accord- 
 ingly entered at Christ Church ; and as his pre- 
 possessing exterior and handsome allowance 
 recommended him to what was called the first 
 society of the University, the heir of Dean Park 
 speedily contracted such aristocratic tastes and 
 predilections as, on the attainment of his major- 
 ity, created a demand of some thousands upon 
 his father for his losses at hazard and on the 
 turf. Legal claim there was none; but the har- 
 pies who prey upon the boyish vices of the Uni- 
 versity represented so clamorously that the cred- 
 it of Messrs. Hamlyn, of Lombard-street, and 
 the honour of Squire Hamlyn, of Dean Park, 
 were inextricably involved in the issue, that the 
 worldly-wise banker conceived it more prudent 
 to be a silent victim. 
 
 On such trying occasions, most fathers in- 
 dulge in an outburst of fury and insult that suf- 
 fices to provoke farther rebellion on the part of 
 the prodigal. Richard Hamlyn bore it like- a 
 Spartan, or, rather, like a banker; and his sys- 
 tem of cold-blooded self-command afforded him 
 singular advantages over the offender. Walter 
 was touched by what he considered his father’s 
 generous forbearance; and, affected above all 
 by his ready payment of claims which the letter 
 of the law enabled him to dishonour, resolved 
 to accept with respect whatever penally might 
 be imposed upon his fault. 
 
 Thus prepared', it was a considerable relief 
 to his apprehensions to learn that his punish- 
 ment consisted in expulsion from his father’s 
 lucrative career — an object of abhorrence to 
 himself, and contempt to his fashionable associ- 
 ates. 
 
 “The irregularity of your conduct in this 
 money transaction,” observed Mr. Hamlyn to 
 his son, in his usual mild, benevolent tone, 
 “evinces such total deficiency of the principles 
 I had hoped to find you— principles doubly and 
 vitally important in a man devoted to the re- 
 sponsible career in which your father and grand- 
 father have acquired the respect of the commer- 
 cial world— that I dare not place the interests of 
 my constituents in your hands. Henry, there- 
 fore, will take the place reserved for you in the 
 firm. You must content yourself with the army.” 
 
 A gleam of joy irradiated the eyes of the 
 young Oxonian. But the visions of a guards- 
 man’s St. James’s-street life, which were the 
 origin of his self-gratulation, faded in a mornent 
 on learning that he was to be an ensign in a 
 marching regiment; and that, in the event of 
 his exceeding his allowance, or compromising 
 anew his father’s credit as a man of business, 
 his bills on the firm would be dishonoured with- 
 out hesitation. 
 
 To this terrible denunciation the prodigal son 
 had the good grace to submit without a murmur. 
 
 
23 
 
 COURT AND CITY.. 
 
 To be gazetted iuto a marching regiment was 
 mortifying enough; but, on the whole, it was 
 Jess vilifying than the city. The subservience 
 in which he had been reared by his father to- 
 wards the opinions of the Hyde had brought 
 forth such good fruit, that even at Eton Walter 
 had been put utterly out of conceit of his pros- 
 pects in life by the name of “ Young Discount 
 pestowed upon Jiim by his lordly companions ; 
 and, satisfied thft his father had too much value 
 for his own consequence in life to leave his son 
 and heir exposed to the chance of being sent to 
 . Sydney or Jamaica, submitted so prudently to 
 the sentence imposed upon him, that, twelve 
 months afterward, the enfranchised ensign had 
 progressed into a cornet of the Household Bri- 
 gade. 
 
 Henry, meanwhile, whose fortunes were thus 
 satisfactorily subverted, was not sorry to ex- 
 change his prospects of banishment from his 
 . family and friends for the certainty of a provis- 
 ion at home. Henry Hamlyn was a noble fel- 
 low. Less gifted in person than his singularly 
 handsome brother, his mental accomplishments 
 were of a far higher order. The darling of Mrs. 
 Hamlyn, the idol of his sisters, as if in vindica- 
 tion of the unjust favouritism which rendered 
 the heir of Dean an object of exclusive interest 
 to his father, Henry was the only member of 
 the family over whom its methodical routine 
 had exercised no unfavourable influence. Guile- 
 less and fearless as a child, enthusiastic as a 
 woman, in the days when there were no poets 
 on the earth he would probably have become a 
 poet. As it was— but Mrs. Hamlyn never al- 
 lowed herself, even in the depths of her heart, 
 to reflect how little he was calculated to become 
 a banker. 
 
 On learning at Haileybury his sentence of re- 
 prieve from India, Henry had been enchanted, 
 and received with affectionate joy the eager 
 congratulations of his mother that they were 
 never to lose sight of each other. ^ 
 
 “ You will see, mother,” said he, exultingly, 
 
 that in time I shall make a capital banker. In 
 the spirit of contradiction, I suppose, I have al- 
 ways had a great leaning towards the vocation. 
 Such a position as my father’s is not sufficiently 
 appreciated ; such a position as my father’s is a 
 most important one; requiring the exercise of 
 the highest faculties, and a thousand virtues, be- 
 ginning with that of patience. Think of the 
 number of persons a banker has it in his power 
 to oblige — to assist from indigence into prosper- 
 ity — to reclaim, to comfort ! Think of the num- 
 ber of important schemes he is able to forward 
 into existence; the number of useful inventions 
 — of—” 
 
 “My dear Henry,” remonstrated his moth- 
 er, “you are, as usual, too enthusiastic! Un- 
 less your views become more practical, you 
 will make me tremble for you and for the 
 firm.” 
 
 “Don’t be afraid. For some time, at least, 
 your flighty boy’s hands will be tied, and he 
 will be unable to do mischief Besides, with 
 such an example ever before me as my father’s 
 prudence, my father’s integrity, my father’s use- 
 fulness, my father’s good citizenship, it will be 
 hard, dearest mother, if I do not progress into a 
 model-banker, and the best man of business in 
 the United Kingdom.” 
 
 Such were the dispositions of Henry Hamlyn 
 at nineteen. • Unluckily, the harangues of the 
 late Lord Vernon in favour of the necessity of a 
 
 college education to every young man destined 
 to figure in Parliament, had not lost their pos- 
 thumous influence over the mind of his neigh- 
 bour at Dean Park. To increase the connex- 
 ions of the family, Cambridge was preferred to 
 Oxford for the second son; and at Cambridge 
 Henry speedily afforded evidence of such rare 
 abilities as signalized his name in the Univer- 
 sity beyond all expectation. 
 
 But in proportion as his scholarship and its 
 honours increased, his zeal for the vocation of 
 money-making became less ardent. The sla- 
 very and abject occupations of a banking-house 
 appalled him. With a decided taste for litera- 
 ture, and a passionate love of travel, how was 
 he to reconcile the routine of a city life, or the 
 devotion to business which he knew would be 
 exacted by his father 1 
 
 At every fresh avowal of these sentiments, 
 Mrs. Hamlyn, to whom alone his disgusts were 
 confided, implored him to exercise his high fac- 
 ulties of mind in the noblest manner, by submit- 
 ting to the career appointed for him by Provi- 
 dence and his father. She entreated him at least 
 to forbear from any precipitate declarations — to 
 make the attempt; satisfied that, once embarked 
 in his calling, the usual influence of Mr. Ham- 
 lyp’s calm but potent despotism would prevail, 
 and that he would unconsciously sink into sub- 
 ordination. 
 
 Unfortunately, an excursion to Italy between 
 his Cambridge terms more than ever unsettled 
 his mind, and Henry was now on the eve of ta- 
 king his degree; resolved that if, according to 
 general expectation, it proved a high honour, he 
 would seize the opportunity of throwing himself 
 on his father’s indulgence, and imploring re- 
 demption from a career of all others the most 
 distasteful to his feelings. 
 
 Such was the dilemma which now wrung 
 tears of bitterness from the gentle eyes of Mrs. 
 Hamlyn, of Dean Park. All she had hitherto 
 undergone was nothing to the trials she might 
 henceforward have to bear, in the persons of her 
 children. She had not courage to contemplate 
 the vials of wrath about to be poured upon the 
 head of the imprudent Henry ! 
 
 Till that moment she had never allowed her- 
 self to appreciate all that was repellant in the 
 character of her husband. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 We understand the splendid host intends 
 To entertain this Christmas a select 
 And numerous party of his noble friends : 
 
 ’Midst whom we’ve heard, from sources quite correct, 
 The Duke of D. his shooting season spends, 
 
 With many more by rank and fashion decked. 
 
 Morning Post loquitur in 
 
 Byron. 
 
 By a singular weakness in the character of 
 the prudent banker, though fully conscious of 
 the superior abilities of his second son, the mem- 
 ber of his family of whose understanding he 
 thought least highly was the only one who pos- 
 sessed the least influence over his mind, while 
 the son who had seriously thwarted his projects 
 was the only one who had any real ascendency 
 over his heart. 
 
 Walter Hamlyn, though vain and frivolous, 
 was one of the most popular young men of the 
 day. His good manners and personal attrac- 
 tions rendered him a general favourite. Manly 
 
24 
 
 THE. BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 as well as gentlemanly, his athletic address in 
 the field and tennis-court recommended him at 
 Oxford and in town to the fellowship of the 
 most fashionable young men of the day. “ Ham- 
 lyn of the Blues” was, in short, a kno’WTi man ; 
 member of several of the best clubs, and moving 
 in the highest circles of London society. 
 
 That under such circumstances he should 
 consider himself a personage of first-rate im- 
 portance was not very wonderful. Most empty- 
 headed fellows think the same. The wonder 
 was that the steady banker of Lombard-street 
 should share his infatuation. For Hamlyn was 
 proud of Walter; proud of his acceptance in 
 society ; proud of the connexions he had form- 
 ed ; proud of Walter’s pride in his own position. 
 In his person, the honours of Dean Park were 
 sure to experience augmentation. Lord Vernon 
 and his family would never presume to extend 
 their disparagements to a fashionable young 
 man like Hamlyn of the Blues. 
 
 That he had personally neglected the oppor- 
 tunity of promoting himself in life by an inter- 
 ested marriage, had long been a source of re- 
 gret to the ambitious banker. But he felt satis- 
 fied that his future representative would efiect 
 something for the emblazonment of the family 
 escutcheon, by connecting himself, at some fu- 
 ture time, with the Order, the object of his jeal- 
 ous worship at the Hyde. 
 
 Though Richard Hamlyn kept cautious guard 
 over himself against any betrayal of these weak- 
 nesses, the unconscionable value he affixed to 
 his fashionable son caused him to render the 
 epochs of Walter’s visits matters of the highest 
 moment at Dean Park. Even in Colonel Ham- 
 ilton’s presence he was unable to disguise this 
 weakness; but the good old man, attributing 
 Hamlyn’s constantly recurring phrase of “We 
 will talk of it when’ my son Walter arrives” — 
 “ Walter will settle what horse would be safest 
 for the sledge” — or “ Better not think of a ball 
 till Walter has informed us how long he can 
 stay!” — to a father’s natural partiality for his 
 firstborn, smiled aside at Lydia whenever his 
 friend repeated the too-often reiterated name of 
 “ Walter.” 
 
 “ It is clear,” said Colonel Hamilton, with a 
 knowing glance, “ that my young master is top- 
 ^ sawyer at Dean Park.” 
 
 On the other hand, the banker had either en- 
 larged considerably in his letters to Windsor on 
 the importance of conciliating their new neigh- 
 bour, or the gossip of the world had magnified 
 fourfold the cipher of the colonel’s fortune ; for 
 the fine gentleman of the Blues astonished his 
 valet and his boots considerably by walking 
 over with his father to the Manor within a 
 couple of hours of his arrival at home, even be- 
 fore he had examined the weekly card of the 
 appointments of the Ormeau hounds. 
 
 By the results of the visit, the banker’s hopes 
 were almost exceeded. The easy good-will of 
 the old soldier was instantly conciliated by the 
 easy good manners of the young one, and the 
 spell attached to the gentlemanly demeanour of 
 the handsome Captain Hamlyn wrought its' 
 usual miracle in his favour. His egotism was, 
 in fact, so quiet, so free from fuss or ostentation, 
 that it had the art of passing unnoticed. In 
 this, the age of selfishness, there exist almost as 
 many varieties as of dcihlias or piccolees ; and 
 ordinary minds being on their guard only against 
 the loud, outspoken selfishness that appropriates 
 the thigh of the woodcock, the wing of the 
 
 chicken, and the best place by the fire, -less 
 glaring demonstrations of the same vice, the. 
 silent egotisms of personal vanity, intellectual 
 pride, domestic self-seclusion, sordid calcula-r 
 tion, and divers others, glide through the world 
 undetected, or arrayed in the iliask and domino 
 of virtue. 
 
 Colonel Hamilton was not a sufficiently nice 
 observer to discover that Captain Hamlyn, in- 
 stead of considering himself a part of his family,, 
 considered his family a portion of himself; that 
 he looked upon the firm of Hamlyn and Co., 
 of Lombard-street, as the mere springs and 
 wheels of a timepiece, whereof the handsome 
 captain in the Blues constituted the enamelled 
 dial. 
 
 But if the designing banker triumphed in the 
 result of his son’s visit to Burlington, Walter 
 was thoroughly disgusted. A few hurried inter- 
 views in London had not prepared him for the 
 reckless, good-humoured familiarity of the man 
 thus established in the bosom of his family. He 
 was annoyed at the idea of exhibiting the un- 
 polished eccentricities of Hamilton to the quiz- 
 zing of his young friend Lord Hartford, and his 
 noble relatives. But, above all, he was deeply* 
 vexed to think of the impression their intimacy 
 with this strange old man might create on the 
 minds of the Vernons. 
 
 “We really are not sufficiently well estab- 
 lished in the county to commit ourselves by re- 
 sponsibility for the oddities of a man so ignorant 
 of the common forms of the world,” was his 
 secret reflection on quitting Burlington Hatch. 
 “ However, my father knows what he is about 
 better than most men ; and, since he decides old 
 Hamilton’s company to be an inevitable evil, I 
 fear we must submit. A vulgar uncle or god- 
 father, if equally rich, were supportable ; for the 
 gift of a hundred-pound note, or a charger now 
 and then, would plead his apology. But a 
 stranger, a man from whom one can accept 
 nothing in return for being bored, is a charge 
 beyond permission. I heartily wish this Christ- 
 mas party were over, and the Rotherwoods re- 
 lieved from the corvk of old Hamilton’s vulgar 
 jocularity.” 
 
 To live in the world without the faculty of 
 observation advances a man no farther in tact 
 than to spend his days at Ghazerapore; and 
 poor Walter, though established in the coteries 
 of fashionable life, understood quite as little of 
 their impulses as the simple-hearted object of" 
 his contempt. With the noble guests who, in 
 the course of the day, assembled at Dean Park, 
 Colonel Hamilton had the greatest success. So 
 far from being shocked at his bluntness, the- 
 Rotherwoods were inexpressibly amused by the- 
 sallies of a person so untrammelled by the mo- 
 notonizing influences of iashionable life. As 
 something exceedingly new to them, he was ex- 
 ceedingly welcome; and his pungent criticisms 
 upon the follies of the day were applauded by’ 
 involuntary bursts of merriment, such as had 
 never before echoed under the stuccoed ceilings 
 of Dean Park. 
 
 Lord Crawley, on fhe other hand, a man who 
 had set up for statesmanship on a shallow stock 
 of reading and information, and whose knowl- 
 edge consisted of facts ably abstracted from the 
 experience of others, contrived, in the course of 
 their first day’s gossip, to extract a world of in- 
 formation from the colonel touching the seat of 
 war in India, and the state of public opinion in 
 the East. While Walter Hamlyn was endeav-- 
 
25 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 ouring to cover, by dexterous manoeuvres, the 
 quizzicalities of the oldfashioned Nabob’s method 
 of taking wine at dinner and dealing at whist — 
 peculiarities of no moment in the eyes of people 
 of the world — Lord Crawley and his noble 
 brother-in-law were chiefly anxious that the tri- 
 fling young man they tolerated as their banker’s 
 son should hold his peace, that they might give 
 their attention to the amusing anecdotes of the 
 veteran. 
 
 Even Mrs. Hamlyn, though far superior to 
 the weakness of blushing for a homely guest 
 because she happened to have great personages 
 under her roof, had been a little apprehensive 
 that the Oriental anecdotes, so often repeated at 
 Dean Park, might prove as tedious to her visit- 
 ers as to herself. 
 
 “ Afraid I shall be tired of listening to Colonel 
 Hamilton’s amusing Indian stories !” exclaimed 
 Lady Rotherwood, to whom she expressed her 
 apprehensions, “Are you in earnest T’ Why, 
 I never heard anything so interesting in my 
 life ! What an agreeable, chatty old man ! and 
 how much of the world he has seen !” 
 
 Mrs. Hamlyn, accustomed in her own family 
 to hear Colonel Hamilton’s oddities attributed 
 to having seen nothing of “ the world,” could 
 scarcely refrain from a smile. The good-natured 
 countess’s interpretation of the word was clear- 
 ly that of the Statistical Society rather than of 
 Almack’s ! 
 
 “ It is like reading an amusing book to talk 
 to Colonel Hamilton,” persisted Lady Rother- 
 wood; “I literally held my breath, last night, 
 when he was giving us that charming account 
 of the lion-hunt at Chinderabad !” 
 
 Sophia, who had been listening three times a 
 week to this very narrative for the last six 
 months, as one of the colonel’s crack stories, 
 and been debarred by politeness only from in- 
 terrupting what she feared must form a disa- 
 greeable obstacle to the political discussions of 
 the parliamentary men present, recognised her 
 own misconception. It had not before struck 
 her that the eminence of Lady Rotherwood’s 
 position in life rendered a thousand things new 
 and strange to her which constituted the stale 
 daily bread of Cavendish Square and Dean 
 Park. Refined to inanity in her habits of life, 
 the excitement afforded by the hair-breadth- 
 ’scape inventions of a novelist, or the stirring 
 anecdotes of a pilgrim in the wilderness, such 
 as Colonel Hamilton, was an agreeable relief 
 to the ennui of the languid countess, 
 
 “ When my nephew joins us,” she observed, 
 on the eve of Lord Dartford’s arrival, “ I entreat 
 you, my dear Mrs. Hamlyn, to get that dear old 
 man once more into the Ghaznapore chapter. 
 Hartford has not heard the stories of the Lion 
 Hunt, or the Natch-girl, or the Serpent Charm- 
 er, and will be absolutely enchanted. Captain 
 Hamlyn ! pray promise me the Lion Hunt for 
 your friend Hartford. My nephew is such an 
 enthusiastic sportsman! My nephew will de- 
 light in your lively, chatty old neighbour!” 
 
 Thus encouraged. Colonel Hamilton became 
 the star of the little party ; and the enthusiasm 
 of his auditory seemed to develop a thousand 
 new or forgotten sources ^information. Beset 
 by the young marquis with inquiries concerning 
 the wild sports of the East — by Lord Crawley, 
 touching its tribunals and institutions — by the 
 countess regarding its climate, fruits, and flow- 
 ers, its suttees and incantations — his replies 
 were so fluent and so varied, that Walter Ham- 
 D 
 
 lyn had the mortification of finding the evening- 
 pass away without a single allusion to London 
 politics or fashionable scandal, in which he 
 fancied himself qualified to take a distinguished 
 part. 
 
 Farther consideration satisfied him that, since 
 it was his object to render his father’s house 
 agreeable to the society prized by the London 
 banker only as conferring importance upon Deark 
 Park in the eyes of the county, and enabling 
 him to make a stand against the impertinence 
 of the Vernons, they might consider themselves 
 lucky that, while following up their system pf 
 courtesy to the nabob, they had unconsciously 
 engaged for the amusement of their friends a. 
 first-rate conversation man ! 
 
 In the sequel, the Rotherwoods were persua* 
 ded to stay a day longer than they had promised 
 for the sole purpose of a visit to the Oriental 
 museum of their new friend at Burlington Manor. 
 As to the Marquis of Hartford, he was half 
 afraid of allowing it to be perceived how much, 
 he considered Dean Park (which on a former 
 visit he had felt to be the acme of dulness and 
 formality, endured only in deference to its vicin- 
 ity to the Ormeau kennel) improved by the ac^ 
 cession of a neighbour whose warmth and sin- 
 gleness of heart might have infused sociability 
 into a gallery of statues. 
 
 On the morning fixed for the Rotherwood s*^ 
 departure, Walter found the countess so exclu- 
 sively engrossed by her pet wonder-monger that 
 he could find no opportunity to pay her his part- 
 ing compliments, 
 
 “What can Colonel Hamilton be bothering 
 Lady Rotherwood about nowT’ he exclaimed, 
 pettishly, to his sister Lydia, who, at the instiga^ 
 tion of her indulgent friend, had been admitted 
 into the party. 
 
 “Excusing himself from accompanying my 
 father and mother, next week, to Rotherwood 
 Castle.” 
 
 “ You do not mean that the Rotherwoods have 
 invited old Hamilton T’ 
 
 “ Urgently. There is to be a battue — ” 
 
 “ But he is no sportsman; and I and Hartford 
 have not heard a word of it !” interrupted Wal- 
 ter. 
 
 “Perhaps Lord Rotherwood may not wish to 
 have too many sportsmen of the party.” 
 
 “ But what on earth would poor old Hamilton 
 do in the midst of a circle oi official men, like 
 that assembled at Rotherwood Castle I” 
 
 “Just what I heard him answer. He said he 
 would rather visit Lord and Lady Rotherwood 
 when they were alone, and sociable; that he 
 liked a snug party best !” 
 
 “What a man!” ejaculated Walter, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders. “And what must Lady 
 Rotherwood have thought of him T’ 
 
 “ Probably that he paid her house a great com- 
 pliment ! It is not often the Rotherwoods have 
 found their company preferred to their pheasant- 
 shooting,” 
 
 “How little are such people to be depended' 
 upon!” was Captain Hamlyn’s secret reflection. 
 “ The last time the Rotherwoods were here, my 
 father was at the trouble of inviting the most 
 amusing set in London to meet them : Flimflam, 
 the reviewer, and Augustus Brag, the best chit- 
 chatterer in town; yet Lady Rotherwood never 
 came down to breakfast, and was, I suspect, 
 bored to death ! And now, to be engouie by this 
 dreadful old bore ! Caprice de grande dame, I ■ 
 suppose ! It will be most annoying, however^: 
 
THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 126 
 
 if she should not ask me to the castle for this 
 laUue; for I understood, and gave Dartford to 
 iindersiand, that I was to accompany my father.” 
 
 At that moment Lady Rotherwood advanced 
 towards Mr. and Mrs. Hamlyn with her part- 
 ing compliments, the travelling carriage having 
 been announced; and Walter, overhearing cor- 
 dial expressions of hospitality, felt satisfied that 
 all was right. 
 
 He was mistaken, however, and disappointed. 
 “ I will not hear of her being left at home,” were 
 the unwelcome words that met his ear. “ Col- 
 onel Hamilton has just been telling me,” con- 
 tinued the countess, glancing kindly towards 
 Lydia, in answer to her mother’s excuses for the 
 
 unpresented” young lady, ‘ that she is the most 
 charming companion in the world !’ that he 
 does not know how he should get on without 
 her!” 
 
 To refuse the pressing invitation that followed 
 was impossible. But no sooner had the Rother- 
 woods departed, and Colonel Hamilton and the 
 two young sportsmen left the room, than the 
 W'rath of Mr. Hamlyn exploded. 
 
 “ Lydia invited in the place of her brother 1” 
 cried he; “a most unaccountable slight to be 
 offered to my son, and to be offered in Colonel 
 Hamilton’s presence. But I have to thank ycm 
 for it!” he continued, angrily, addressing his wife. 
 “ It is all the result of your most mistaken and 
 pernicious system! Unable to invite the whole 
 party, it was inevitable that Lady Rotherwood 
 must give the preference to one whom you chose 
 to impose upon her as a woman !” 
 
 “ Indeed, dear papa, I would a thousand times 
 rather stay at home,” pleaded Lydia, tears fill- 
 ing her eyes at hearing, for the first time in her 
 life, her kind mother reprehended. But Mrs. 
 Hamlyn, dreading to see the w'rath she had in- 
 curred transferred to her daughter, for the pre- 
 sumption of having a choice on so grave a sub- 
 ject, instantly dismissed the offender to her prac- 
 tising. 
 
 ‘‘Next year,” said she, when the door had 
 closed upon the poor girl, “ Lydia will, of ne- 
 cessity, accompany us everywhere, and Walter 
 experience the same chance as a supemume- 
 xary.” 
 
 “Next year I shall care nothing about the 
 matter! Next year the Rotherwoods may fol- 
 low their own senseless fancies. At present, it 
 is essential that Walter should stand on the high- 
 est ground in the estimation of Colonel Hamil- 
 ton.” 
 
 “ Forgive me for saying that I believe Colo- 
 nel Hamilton to be wholly above being influ- 
 enced by the notice of great people !” mildly re- 
 joined Mrs. Hamlyn. 
 
 “ Not of great people whom he respects,” re- 
 torted Hamlyn, biting his lips, which were 
 growing paler and paler. “ Do you suppose that, 
 in the choice of an heir to his property, he would 
 not be influenced by the worldly standing of a 
 young man whom he knows only from report 1 
 •On settling in Warwickshire, he finds us slight- 
 ed — pointedly slighted — by the leading family 
 of the neighbourhood ; and it was on the cour- 
 tesies of the Rotherwoods I depended, as the 
 most effectual counterbalance to the evil. Look 
 at the result — the result brought about by your 
 imprudence! The Vernons are expected down 
 to-day, and in a week’s time Hamilton will 
 have discovered us to be on distant terms of 
 civility, more humiliating than a decided cut!” 
 added Mr. Hamlyn, in a tone of bitterness. 
 
 “He is aware that we associate familiarly 
 with their equals in station and respectability,” 
 urged his wile. 
 
 “ Fifty Earls of Rotherwood in distant coun- 
 ties do not amount in value to Lord Vernon, re- 
 siding almost in the same parish. Hamilton will 
 have a right to conclude that these people know 
 something to my discredit. Ten to one that, 
 while keeping us at a -distance, jthey will be ex- 
 tremely civil to him as a stranger in the county.” 
 
 “ I see no possible line of connexion between 
 them.” 
 
 “ There is always a line of connexion between 
 country neighbours whose lands adjoin: foxes to 
 preserve, poachers to repel, trespassers to prose- 
 cute. Barlow threw out a feeler by his atten- 
 tion about the keys of the park. Lord Vernon 
 expects to be lord-lieutenant of the county, and 
 a man of Hamilton’s fortune is always an object 
 for conciliation.” 
 
 “ On his first arrival, you seemed anxious that 
 his residence here should become as pleasant as 
 possible.” 
 
 “ Of course, as a means of uniting him more 
 closely with ourselves. Consider what might 
 be the consequence, were he left to run about the 
 country in search of amusement, making pro- 
 miscuous acquaintance at watering-places ! But 
 I neither wish to see him feted by the Rother- 
 woods at Walter’s expense, nor by the Ver- 
 nons, in whose house he would be sure to bear 
 us named slightingly.” 
 
 “ By the Vernons, I am convinced his opinion 
 would be uninfluenced,” cried Mrs. Hamlyn, 
 warmly. 
 
 “Few people are sufliciently firm to remain 
 uninfluenced by hearing persons daily dispar- 
 aged. At all events, to become intimate at the 
 Hyde would estrange him from our fireside, 
 where it is essential to me he should be anchor- 
 ed — at least till Walter’s interests are secure. I 
 shall give him vaguely to understand, however, 
 that my son expressly avoided an invitation to 
 Rotherwood Castle.” 
 
 The wistful expression of Mrs. Hamlyn’s 
 countenance evinced her disgust at any attempt 
 at imposition on their frank-hearted friend. But 
 her husband might have spared his designs ! At 
 the desire of Colonel Hamilton, the two young 
 men, in the course of their morning’s shooting, 
 had taken luncheon at the Hyde, and while 
 pledging his cordial host in an equally cordial 
 bumper of old Madeira, Lord Dartford’s discon- 
 contents had burst forth. 
 
 “And so, my dear sir,” cried he to Colonel 
 Hamilton, “ this audacious aunt and uncle of 
 mine have invited you to a battue^ and presumed 
 to omit Walter and myselH I feel outrageous- 
 ly insulted, both in my own person and my 
 friend’s. What can they mean by it'? Though 
 I had the ill luck to shoot Lord Rotherwood’s 
 favourite setter by mistake, the last time I en- 
 tered his preserves, I sha’n’t stand being snubbed 
 by my own lawful uncle. Unless he make 
 amends by an early invitation, I have serious 
 thoughts of cutting him off with a shilling !” 
 
 “Never mind, never mind,” was Colonel Ham- 
 ilton’s cheerful exhortation in reply. “ If this 
 weather last, you’ll have little to regret in the 
 battue ; and if h don’t, why, as you informed me, 
 my lord, you had given up an expedition to Italy 
 this winter solely that you might enjoy the sport 
 of fox-hunting, you’ll amuse yourself a plaguy 
 deal better with the Ormeau hounds than in 
 shooting the setters of the earl.” 
 
27 
 
 COURT A 
 
 -«I do prefer hunting to shooting, certainly, 
 ;and I suppose my uncle will make that preier- 
 ence a pretext lor his rudeness,” cried Lord 
 Dartford. “ But there would have been no harm 
 in giving one the option, eh, Hamlyn 'I” contin- 
 ued he, addressing Walter, who was deep in his 
 own reflections and a chicken-pie. “For my 
 part, I would give the best run the Duke of Ei- 
 vaston is likely to have this season for the cer- 
 tainty of a pleasant party, such as will be as- 
 sembled next week at Rotherwood Castle.” 
 
 “ Oh ! oh !” cried Colonel Hamilton, who, like 
 most jovial old gentlemen, was apt to suspect a 
 pretty girl as the latent object of every good- 
 looking young gentleman, “ I’m beginning to see 
 now what sort of bird you’re wanting to take aim 
 at at Rotherwood Castle ! But if that’s the case, 
 my lord, why not be satisfied where you arel 
 Haven’t you the game in your own hands, pray, 
 at Dean Park V\ f 
 
 Walter Hamlyn, shocked by the indiscretion 
 of this allusion, yet aware ihat to silence the old 
 man’s reckless garrulity when once an idea had 
 taken possession of his fancy was out of the 
 question, attempted to change the conversation 
 by exaggerated praise of Hodgson’s pale ale at 
 table, which was the object of his disgust. But 
 the attention of Colonel Hamilton was not so 
 •easily diverted, 
 
 “ Ay, ay ! I knew Hodgson would make a con- 
 Tert of’y^u in time,” cried he. “ Worth hogs- 
 Jheads of your heavy home-brewed ! The Dean 
 Park ale sends me to sleep like one of Twad- 
 dlem’s speeches. I’m expecting my ne^ sledge 
 over from Birmingham,” continued he, turning 
 to the marquis; “and by George, my lord, you 
 and Miss Lydia shall have the seasoning of it. 
 I’ll send it to Dean to-morrow after breakfast; 
 and as the park roads are famously beaten by 
 the coals they’ve been leading this morning, you 
 can’t do better than refresh my old eyes with a 
 sight of you both, by driving to Burlington to 
 lunch. A snug drive in the snow, eh ! my lord 1 
 jNo cross chaperon, no fussy governess, only 
 two happy young faces glowing in the frosty air. 
 Well ! what say ye to my proposition.” 
 
 “A tempting one, certainly,” replied Lord 
 Dartford, more embarrassed than he had ever 
 felt in his life by/ this indiscreet allusion, in the 
 presence of Lydia’s brother, to a preference he 
 had scarcely yet avowed even to himself. “ The 
 'Only obstacle is the improbability of Miss Ham- 
 lyms accepting it, and the im.possibility of my 
 even venturing to name it at Dean Park.” 
 
 “ Pho, pho, pho ! What is there to prevent 
 two young people from enjoying a harmless di- 
 version, pray, who have a mind to each other’s 
 company 1 A hundred miles, too, from the pry- 
 ing and scandal-mongering of Lon’on 1 Where’s 
 the harm of a drive, I should like to knowl” 
 
 “ None, I hope, my dear sir!” cried Lord Dart- 
 ford, rising from table, and snatching up his 
 shooting-cap to depart. “For which reason, I 
 trust you will not forget your kind offer of the 
 sledge, that I may make an attempt to enjoy one 
 ■with Mrs. Hamlyn, if she will do me honour of 
 trusting my sledgemanship. Priority of age, you 
 know! Mrs. Hamlyn and I first, her son and 
 daughter next. I have a year and two months 
 the advantage over Walter there, and claim 
 precedency with the new toy. Come, Hamlyn, 
 ■we shall have just time for the coveys we mark- 
 ed down in the turnips as we go home.” 
 
 On their way back to Dean Park, Walter 
 Hamlyn made divers attempts at apology for 
 
 ND CITY. 
 
 the eccentricities of their host. But Dartford , 
 discouraged all by pronouncing him, in round 
 term.s, to be “ a capital old fellow.” 
 
 ‘^What an acquisition you must find him in 
 your thin neighbourhood!” exclaimed the mar- 
 quis. “ When I heard from Copington that you 
 were to have the Vernons here this winter, I real- 
 ly pitied you ! Lady Vernon and her daughter 
 are the two most restless, plotting women of my 
 acquaintance! Lord Vernon is a pompous ci- 
 pher, an ‘in-the-name of the prophet. Figs’ sort 
 of fellow ; and AlbeTic, a Frenchified prig ! I 
 could not stand such neighbours as the Vernons. 
 But this pleasant, open-hearted old soldier is 
 really a resource.” 
 
 Walter Hamlyn, the ambition of whose life it 
 was to become the bosom friend of the French- 
 ified prig — the favoured admirer of the restless, 
 plotting girl— replied evasively that, as the Ver- 
 nons lived chiefly in Northumberland, and there 
 were election feiids between the families, their 
 comings or goings were a matter of no moment 
 to Dean Park. 
 
 So thoroughly disingenuous, however, was 
 this statement, that at that very moment the 
 banker was engaged in deliberating on the day 
 and the hour when, without positive compro- 
 mise of his dignity, it became him to leave a 
 card of courtesy on his arrival upon the un- 
 conciliating peer with whom he was forced to 
 keep up the semblance of neighbourship, ti- 
 dings having already reached him that the fam- 
 ily coach of the Vernons had been seen making 
 its dogged way along the Ovington road, bring- 
 ing the august family to spend a discontented 
 winter at the Hyde. 
 
 Though the severe definition hazarded by the 
 young marquis of Lord Vernon was somewhat 
 exaggerated, it would have been difficult to 
 point out a man less happy in himself, or less 
 disposed to administer to the happiness of others. 
 A victim to the moral dyspepsy arising from 
 the repletion of prosperity, the great man mur- 
 mured away his useless life, ringing the golden 
 bells of his gorgeous rattle with as doleful a 
 measure as though they were solemnizing a fu- 
 neral. 
 
 The sullen discontent of his lordship did not 
 rise, indeed, to the dignity of misanthropy, or 
 pretend to base itself On consciousness of per- 
 sonal superiority. But whereas his father, the 
 late noble lord, had enjoyed estates to the value 
 of thirty thousand a year, he thought himself a 
 much injured man to succeed to two thirds only 
 of that amount, in consequence of the absorp- 
 tions of a long dowagerhood, and superabound- 
 ing family of brothers and sisters. But had 
 Lord Vernon been quite candid with himself, 
 which few people are in this world, he would 
 have admitted that his chief quarrel against 
 destiny consisted in the good old age to which 
 his father had survived. 
 
 “ I did not come into my property,” was one 
 of his favourite complaints, “ till I was past the 
 age for enjoying it.” To which he did not think 
 it necessary to add that, when at length made a 
 happy man . by the death of his octogenarian 
 parent, he had considerably encumbered an al- 
 ready diminished rent-roll by the amount of his 
 post-obits. 
 
 Concerriing the only real calamity of his life 
 he was equally silent: the fact, namely, that 
 soon after attaining his majority he had become 
 a dupe to the designs of a fashionable match- 
 hunter, who, having falsely estipaated the eldest 
 
28 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 son of a peer having already numbered three- 
 score years as an excellent parti, 'resented it 
 almost as a crime against herself and her chil- 
 dren when, a few years afterward, the old lord 
 saw fit to discountenance her appraisements by 
 a second marriage, followed by a numerous 
 progeny. This worldly-minded wife had exer- 
 cised, through life, considerable influence over 
 the shallow mind of her husband; and, com- 
 pelled to pass the first twenty years of their 
 married life in modest competence, in lieu of 
 the brilliant existence they had mutually pro- 
 jected, Lord Vernon, when at length his vener- 
 able parent obliged him by dropping into the 
 grave, had lost the power of enjoying with due 
 zest the death of his father. Such, at least, was 
 the plain English interpretation of his murmurs. 
 Indignant as he would have been had any one 
 now suggested that his survival might become an 
 obstacle to the pleasures of his children, certain 
 it is that his father’s length of days had been a 
 burden to him. Let Christian moralists deter- 
 mine whether such sentiments on the part of an 
 enlightened man be not more culpable in the 
 sight of God than the outrages of physical vio- 
 lence so heavily visited in lower life by the re- 
 tributive justice of the law. 
 
 Until, at the age of forty-five. Lord Vernon 
 accomplished the long-coveted enjoyment of 
 what he called independence-- namely, a house 
 in town, three country-seats, and a suitable es- 
 tablishment — his poverty seemed to aflEbrd suf- 
 ficient subject for his grumblings. His “wretch- 
 ed allowance” (of three thousand a year), scarce- 
 ly enabling him to enjoy his hunting in Leices- 
 tershire, maintain his son at college, and be- 
 stow upon his pretty afiected daughter her due 
 excess of the superficial accomplishments of 
 the day, placed him, in his own estimation, in 
 indigent circumstances. But on the attainment 
 of twenty thousand per annum, albeit the annu- 
 al amount of seven thousand had been abstract- 
 ed for evermore from the family rent-roll by the 
 weakness of the old lord in favour of his junior 
 branches, it seemed almost time he should find 
 some more legitimate cause for discontent than 
 pecuniary distress. 
 
 A new evil opportunely presented itself. Gov- 
 ernment began to use Lord Vernon almost as 
 ill by its precariousness as his father had done 
 by His longevity. The administration to which, 
 for naany years past, he had pawned his vote in 
 Parliament, on the private understanding of re- 
 ceiving an earldom, in redemptiofi, on the death 
 of his father, thought proper to resign a few 
 months previous to that long-procrastinated 
 event — with malice prepense, of course. Min- 
 isters could have' no stronger incentive for their 
 resignation of office than to baffle the ambition 
 of a newly -inheriting peer. 
 
 Conscious that he had forborne to press his 
 father’s advancement to the earldom, solely un- 
 der an apprehension that the old man might be 
 tempted to increase the portions of his eight 
 daughters when promoted into ladyships, Lord 
 Vernon felt too angry with himself for having 
 allowed the long-coveted object to slip through 
 his fingers, not to contemplate the addition to 
 his family honours with increased and increas- 
 ing avidity. The gloomy turn of countenance 
 acquired by brooding over his domestic calami- 
 ties during the lifetime of the late lord became, 
 accordingly, more morose than ever; till the 
 world, unaware of his secret sources of dissat- 
 isfaction, began to attribute to pride his lord- 
 
 ship’s ill-humoured reserve. The surliness of a 
 great man who has no justifying or ostensible 
 cause for being out of sorts is usually so attrib- 
 uted. 
 
 Nevertheless, the individual supposed by his 
 country neighbours to wear so sour a visage 
 simply because qualified by the peerage as 
 “John, fourteenth Lord Vernon,” stood in reali- 
 ty so low in his own conceit, that he thought 
 himself nothing because unable to accomplish 
 the coveted object of writing himself down John, 
 the first earl. He clearly felt that he should 
 have lived in vain unless he achieved a step oF 
 precedency over his predecessor. 
 
 The very motive of his lordship’s preference 
 of Vernon Castle as a residence over the Hyde 
 was of similar instigation. So far from caring' 
 about the sociability of the neighbourhood, or 
 despising the Warwickshire squirearchy, he 
 took less pleasure in his anciept seat only be- 
 cause overshadowed in the county by the su- 
 perior distinctions of his noble neighbours at 
 Ormeau. The Duke of Elvaston was a greater 
 personage than himself, and a more popular 
 person. Having succeeded to his family hon- 
 ours at an early age, his grace’s connexion with 
 the neighbourhood was an affair of forty years 
 long ; and he had, consequently, obliged twenty 
 times as many people as Lord Vernon, and giv- 
 en away ninety-and-nine times as many haunch- 
 es of venison to the rich, and chaldrons of coals 
 to the poor. Moreover, the duke had one of the 
 best seats in England, and was master of a 
 crack pack of fox-hounds ; and Lord Vernon, 
 even had he been a worthier and better-temper- 
 ed man, might have vainly attempted to contend 
 against these truly great British elements of 
 popularity. 
 
 Next to the superior greatness of Ormeau, 
 Lord Vernon was jealous of the officious activ- 
 ity of Dean Park. In his rare visits to the 
 Hyde during the lifetime of his father, he had, 
 always felt annoyed at meeting among the guests 
 a man, a banker, who presumed to differ in pol- 
 itics from the noble house of Vernon; a house 
 already moss-grown with antiquity at a time 
 when that of Dean Park was still an unenclosed 
 comnaon ; and now that he bore in his own per- 
 son the dignities of the peerage, he intended, by 
 his chilling reserve, to replace the individual 
 who exercised such unjustifiable influence in 
 that part of the county, in the obscurity he con- 
 sidered to be Richard Hamlyn’s appropriate el- 
 ement. The Duke of Elvaston was, in short,, 
 the upas over his head, and Hamlyn the fungus 
 at his feet. 
 
 The offspring of Lord and Lady Vernon par- 
 took of the nature of their parents, and were of 
 the world, worldly. To form a desirable matri- 
 monial connexion was the object of the one, to 
 avoid a disadvantageous one the object of the 
 other. From the day Lucinda Vernon was pre- 
 sented, it had been the absorbing ambition of 
 the d^tante and her mother to hail her as a 
 marchioness ; and the son of the Duke of Elvas- 
 ton happening to be married, they mutually 
 shared Lord ‘Vernon’s antipathy to a* neighbour- 
 hood presenting no facilities for the realization 
 of their favourite project. 
 
 Under such circumstances, the beautiful seat 
 of the Hyde might, perhaps, have been alto- 
 gether deserted by its ungrateful proprietor but 
 for the influence of the son and heir over the 
 mind of his mother. Alberic Vernon, by dex- 
 terous allusions to the improvidence of an ah- 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 
 'S€nteeisn> that might have the effect of 
 
 his father from the lord-lieutenancy, which 
 he represented as a step towards the earldom, 
 continued to bring his parents, during the hunt- 
 ing season, within reach of the advantages of 
 Ormeau. . , 
 
 That the environs of the Hyde contained jwwrg 
 than the Ormeau fox-hounds, not one of the 
 party cared tp remember. The indigenous fam- 
 ilies were no more in their estimation than the 
 oaks or beeches of the neighbourhood — its 
 cauliflowers or spinach ; people with whom they 
 had no interest in common — no possible con- 
 nexion. With the exception of the Hamlyns ot 
 Dean Park, none of them were even specihc 
 •enough to be hateful. , i i j 
 
 Whenever questioned in Northumberland or 
 town touching their Warwickshire neighbours, 
 Lady Vernon or Lucinda would reply, ‘‘We 
 have no one with whom we can associate, being 
 out of visiting distance from Ormeau;” while 
 Alberic was often heard to boast that the sole 
 advantage of the Hyde was its utter isolation. 
 
 “ No booby squires thereabouts, thank Heaven, 
 to ride over the hounds, or try to hook one for 
 their daughters. We have it all our own way 
 at the Hyde.” 
 
 Though Lady Vernon and her daughter had 
 a slight ballroom acquaintance with Walter 
 Hamlyn, there seemed so little affinity between 
 the fashionable captain of the Blues, and the in- 
 significant family at Dean Park that they had 
 actually never been at the trouble of connecting 
 him in their mind with thefr offending War- 
 
 wickshire opponents. 
 
 The Vernons were now visiting the halls of 
 their ancestors with renewed disgust. Her lady- 
 ship and her daughter had been vainly attempt- 
 ing to persuade Lord Vernon into passing the 
 winter in Italy, in order to follow up at Rome 
 what they fancied to be one of the promising 
 match-hunts of the London season; while his 
 lordship, frustrated in his hopes that a change 
 of ministry was about to renew his prospects of 
 promotion, felt more than usually aggrieved by 
 the limited number of balls in his coronet. At 
 such a moment, it required all the selfish perse- 
 verance of young Vernon to determine his fa- 
 ther to come and be shone upon by the superior 
 resplendence of Ormeau. 
 
 “ My dear Inda, we must make some sacri- 
 fices to your brother!” was Lady Vernon’s re- 
 ply to the peevish remonstrances of the repining 
 young lady. “ Alberic cannot, of course, dis- 
 pense with his hunting — it is the chief business 
 of life to a young man of his age ; and were 
 your father to enable him to set up an independ- 
 ■ent establishment at the Hyde, w'e should be 
 having him marry, or do some silly thing or 
 •other. No great sacrifice for us to spend six 
 weeks there ! Indeed, as we always get ill with 
 the damp or dulness of the place, it will afford 
 an excellent excuse for taking a house at 
 Brighton, for Easter, to recruit our health,” 
 
 “ I suppose, then, we must make the best of 
 it,” sighed Miss Vernon, shrugging her shoul- 
 ders. “ One comfort is that there is no visiting, 
 no going out, no call upon one’s attention. So, 
 with plenty of new novels from Ebers’s, and a 
 new piece of braid work .from Brydon’s, I trust 
 I may be able to f et through my period of pen- 
 ance.” 
 
 Before the expiration of a couple of days, the 
 young lady began to assert this with less cer- 
 'tainty of survival. Never had the Hyde ap- 
 
 peared so insupportable. The weather was 
 against them. A deep snow confined the Or- 
 meau hounds to their kennel, and Lord Vernon 
 and his son to their fireside ; and Lucinda had 
 ail the ermui of her brother to support, in addi- 
 tion to her own. Lady Vernon, too, still smart- 
 ing under her disappointments of the season in 
 the non-marriage of her daughter, was forced to 
 listen, hour after hour, to the ejaculations of the 
 listless, useless, graceless husband, who pro- 
 tested that, from the moment he was born, he 
 had been a football for the fates, and thwarted 
 in all his objects of existence. 
 
 “ It only required for me to determine to spend 
 a few weeks at the Hyde to bring such a winter 
 as this!” grumbled Lord Vernon, as he stood 
 roasting himself before the breaktast-room fire, 
 
 “ But ’tis the last time I ever risk the annoy- 
 ance. It is too absurd to be making the sacri- 
 fice of one’s time and health in this detestable 
 house, on pretence of giving Alberic his hunt- 
 ing, when the hounds will probably not be out 
 of their kennel half a dozen times in as many 
 weeks. 
 
 “ My father always labours to impress upon 
 me the vast self-sacrifice of his visit here,” was 
 the comment on this text, after Lord Vernon 
 had left the room, of one who had been taught 
 by his own parents the lesson of unfiliality. 
 
 “ But, after all, what but his own stinginess 
 brings us to the Hyde I Were he to make a 
 proper addition to my allowance, nothing would 
 be more agreeable to me than to spend the win- 
 ter at Melton. The Ormeau hounds are a very 
 fair pack, the Ormeau county, is tolerable ; but 
 as Hartford was saying yesterday, the idea of 
 comparing them with Melton is — ” 
 
 “ Darlfm-df’ interrupted Lady Vernon, to 
 whom, though apparently engaged in perusal 
 of the Morning Post, her son’s observations were 
 addressed, 
 
 “ He was saying to me yesterday, I observed, 
 resumed her son, “ that if—” 
 
 “ Lm-d Dariford was saying to you yester- 
 day!” again remorselessly interrupted her lady- 
 ship. “ Why, whpre on earth did you see him !” 
 “ At Ovington.” 
 
 “ Changing horses, of course ! but I fancied 
 he was halfway to Italy by this time.” 
 
 “ He could not get leave, I fancy, for the 
 scheme fell to the ground. He has been staying- 
 in this neighbourhood.” 
 
 “ At Ormeau, I conclude. How unreasona- 
 ble it is, Alberic, that your father should persist 
 in being on such unsociable terras with those 
 people ! It is all very well to give out in the 
 neighbourhood we come here for retirement — do 
 not wish to go out on account of your father’s 
 gout, and so forth ; for there is not a soul within 
 reach with whom we have the least object in 
 associating. But there might surely be found 
 some plea of exception for the Elvastons.” 
 
 “ I’m sure I don’t know wMj. The Warwick- 
 shire people are unexceptionably odious, and 
 the Ormeau set worst of all. As far as sporting 
 goes, the duke is a valuable man, but his fami- 
 ly bores are of the first magnitude. Those 
 dreadful Irish nieces of the duchess, who are 
 quartered at the Castle regularly every hunting 
 season, in hopes that some unhappy fellow may 
 be netted during a long frost, or when laid up 
 with a broken collar-bone. No, no, my father 
 is quite right to relieve us from the hospitalities 
 of Ormeau.” 
 
 “You never consider for a moment the in- 
 
80 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 terests of your sister,” cried Lady Vernon, pet- 
 tishly. 
 
 “ What advantage could Inda possibly derive 
 at Ormeau'? Cossington is married, poor fel- 
 low ! and all the young men in the house are 
 marked with a white cross, to be cut down for 
 the Irish nieces.” 
 
 “ You very well know, however, what atten- 
 tion he paid to Inda last season.” 
 
 “ Who, Cossington 1” 
 
 “ What nonsense ! I am talking of Lord 
 Dartford.” 
 
 “ But what has Dartford to do with the El- 
 vastons, mother 
 
 “ You said you spoke to him yesterday, on his 
 road from Ormeau.” 
 
 “ Indeed I said no such thing.” 
 
 “ What did you say, theiLl” 
 
 “ That he advised me strongly to join him in 
 February, at Melton.” 
 
 “ But where has he been staying, then, in 
 Warwickshire 1” 
 
 At Hamlyn the banker’s.” 
 
 “ How very strange ! He can’t be in difficul- 
 ties already ! What takes him to a banker’s, I 
 wonder 1” 
 
 “ The son is in the Blues, you know. Dart- 
 ford is in Hamlyn’s troop.” 
 
 “ That good-looking Captain Hamlyn we met 
 at dinner at Elvaston House T ■ 
 
 “ Precisely.” 
 
 “ Why did you never tell me so before'? We 
 ought to return those Dean Park people’s visit. 
 The grandfather was a great friend of the late- 
 Lord Vernon.” 
 
 “ Grandfather I I thought they were people 
 of yesterday.” 
 
 “ And so they are ; but Lord Vernon was 
 what is called a good neighbour, that is, caring 
 not a straw with whom he associated, so that 
 he was sure of society. But I really believe 
 these Hamlyns are inoffensive, good sort of 
 people. How long was Lord Dartford there 1” 
 
 “ I did not ask him. Some days, I believe.” 
 
 “ How very provoking !” 
 
 “ Why provoking 1” 
 
 “ Because we have been sitting over the fire 
 for the last two mornings, wearying our hearts 
 and souls out for want of something to do, and 
 might just as well have driven over to Dean 
 Park.” 
 
 “ In such weather?” 
 
 “What signifies weather when one has an 
 object in view ?” 
 
 “ It signifies very much to the horses. And 
 what object can you possibly have in driving, 
 in a deep snow, to call upon a vulgar banker’s 
 vulgar wife 7” 
 
 “ To invite Lord Dartford here, to ]pe sure.” 
 
 “ Take out your horses and servants in such 
 weather to accomplish what a note by the post 
 would have settled equally well.” 
 
 “ I beg your pardon. I should have had no 
 objection to ask 'him to the Hyde in an offhand 
 sort of way, but, on the terms we are, I do not 
 choose to write him a formal letter of invitation. 
 You know yourself, Alberic, what remarks you 
 always make when asked to a country-house 
 where there are unmarried daughters.” 
 
 “ That is, what remarks yo^i make, mother, 
 which I am forced to echo. However, if you 
 really wish to invite Dartford in what you call 
 an offhand sort of way (of diW impromptus fait a 
 loisir the most treacherous — a positive gicet-a- 
 pens .'), you have still time. I met him yesterday 
 
 at Ovington, not, as you surmised,, changing- 
 horses ; he was sirnply shopping for the people 
 at Dean Park, buying a skein of white worsted^ 
 or some nonsense of that description. He is 
 not off these three days.” 
 
 “ What can possibly keep him loitering on in. 
 such a house as that 7 Mrs, Hamlyn is a dull, 
 motherly sort of woman ; the daughters are not 
 grown up. My dear Alberic, if you are going: 
 to the stables, say the carriage w’ill be wanted 
 after luncheon to drive over to Dean.” 
 
 Mr. Vernon rang the bell, and reiterated the 
 order to the groom of the chambers, 
 
 “ I have too much regard for old Robson to 
 make his wig stand on end by any such outra- 
 geous instructions,” said he ; and, on pretence 
 of letters to write, he proceeded to shut himself 
 up in his own room, to enjoy the morning, in an 
 easy-chair before the fire, with his dog at his 
 feet, a cigar in his mouth, and iri his hand the. 
 last new novel of Eugene Sue. 
 
 Meanwhile, furred to the chin, and with their 
 feet ensconced in well-warmed Chancelieres^ his 
 mother and sister set forth upon their arctic ex- 
 pedition ; a visit which, the preceding day, 
 would have been pronounced as unaccomplisha- 
 ble as one of the labours of Hercules, having 
 suddenly become a trifle light as air when con- 
 nected with the castles in the air dependant 
 upon the capture of a marquis. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 If a man be gracious and courteous to strangers, it 
 shows that he is no island cut off from other lands, but a 
 continent joined to them. If he easily pardon and remit 
 offences, it shows that his mind is planted above injuries. 
 — Bacon. 
 
 Little aware of the motive of Lady Vernon’s 
 unusual condescension, Mrs, Hamlyn received 
 her guests with a quiet courtesy that not even 
 her husband’s ardent desire to conciliate the 
 family at the Hyde had ever availed to render 
 servile. She was very sincere, however, in her 
 expressions of regret that her ladyship should 
 have attempted so long a drive in weather so 
 severe, for the^ mere ceremony of a morning 
 visit. 
 
 “ I had business at Ovington, and a mile or 
 two, more or less, makes no great difference,” 
 was the ill-bred explanation of the manoeuvring 
 lady, afraid that her latent object might be sus- 
 pected, and scarcely knowing how to introduce 
 the name of Lord Dartford, so as to ascertain, 
 whether her son’s information were correct; 
 for already she perceived herself mistaken in 
 the supposition that the banker’s wife would be 
 unable to refrain from some allusion to so desi- 
 rable a guest within the first ten minutes of their 
 interview. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlyn’s polite expressions of satisfac- 
 tion at the return of the Vernon family to the 
 Hyde were met with an equally ill grace, 
 
 “We scarcely hoped to have the pleasure of 
 seeing your ladyship in Warwickshire this win- 
 ter,” observed the hostess. “The newspapers 
 had announced that you were on the point of 
 starting for Italy.” 
 
 “Oh! pray do not mention it — the disappoint- 
 ment w\as too trying!” intem^ted Miss Vernon, 
 with an affected sigh. “After anticipating the 
 delights of that charming climate, a winter in 
 Warwickshire seems doubly insupportable, I 
 do believe it always snows at the Hyde. Every 
 
31 
 
 COURT AND 6iTY. 
 
 Christmas we have spent there, at least, the snow 
 has been a foot deep on the ground.” 
 
 And both mother and daughter fell upon their 
 family place as ferociously as though poor Mrs. 
 Hamlyn were accountable for all the crimes 
 and misdemeanors of the county! 
 
 “For my part, I suffered so severely from 
 rheumatism the last winter I spent at the Hyde,” 
 resumed Lady Vernon, languidly, “that 1 had 
 fully made up my mind never again to set foot 
 in the house, unless in summer, as a resting- 
 place on our way to the North.” 
 
 The house is certainly better adapted for 
 a summer residence,” replied Mrs. Hamlyn, 
 scarcely considering it civil to be too severe 
 upon the family-seat of her visiter. 
 
 “ Better adapted 7 Say rather more bearable 
 retorted Miss Vernon^with a shudder. “ I know 
 nothing for which the Hyde is adapted, unless 
 to figure in one of Charlotte Smith’s equally old- 
 fashioned novels. I found one yesterday in the 
 library, describing the place as though the Hyde 
 had sat for its picture I” 
 
 “ It would, however, have been cruel upon nay 
 son to leave him alone there, his first winter in 
 England,” added Lady Vernon. “Alberic is 
 passionately fond of hunting; and in these days 
 everything is sacrificed to young people, and by 
 young people to their pleasures. I dare say 
 you have the mortification to find that Dean 
 Park owes a considerable portion of its attrac- 
 tion, in the eyes of Captain Hamlyn, to its vi- 
 cinity to Ormeau'l” 
 
 This was the longest and civillest speech Mrs. 
 Hamlyn had ever yet heard from the lips of 
 Lady Vernon, who had not deigned to notice, on 
 previous occasions, her relationship to Walter. 
 
 “ My son is certainly fond of hunting,” was 
 Sophia’s meek reply. “ But later in the season 
 he usually enjoysi a few weeks at Melton.” 
 
 “He is with you at present, however, I be- 
 lieve 1” resumed Lady Vernon, fancying she 
 was veering round unperceived towards the 
 marquis. 
 
 “ He will be here, I hope, till next week.” 
 
 “ In that case, pray tell him he must lose no 
 time in riding over to see us at the Hyde,” was 
 the gracious rejoinder of the great lady. “Al- 
 beric and Captain Hamlyn were schoolfellows. 
 But there is some difference of age between 
 them ; and my son has been so little in England, 
 that he has had no opportunity of cultivating 
 the acquaintance of young men of his own 
 standing: a circumstance I regret more espe- 
 cially in the case of those connected with him 
 by the common ties of interest in the county. 
 Perhaps Captain Hamlyn will come over to- 
 morrow without ceremony, and dine and sleep 
 at the Hyde I lam expecting my sister. Lady 
 Middlebury, and her family.” 
 
 “My son would doubtless have had much 
 pleasure in accepting your ladyship’s invitation,” 
 replied the astonished Mrs. Hamlyn, “but — ” 
 Terrified by the sound of a disjunctive con- 
 junction so sinister to her hopes. Lady Vernon, 
 interrupting, her hostess, recommenced her at- 
 tack. 
 
 “ Lord Vernon would have done himself the 
 honour of calling on Mr. Hamlyn, or accompa- 
 nying me here to-day,” said she, “but he has, 
 unfortunately, flying symptoms of gout, which 
 confine him to the house. The last time he was 
 at the Hyde he experienced a very severe at- 
 tack.” 
 
 “ My son would, 1 am sure, have 'had great 
 
 pleasure in waiting upon his lordship withoue 
 any preliminary of the kind,” resumed Mrs. 
 Hamlyn, unable to account for this excess of 
 courtesy, “ but at present we have a friend stay- 
 ing with us in the house.” 
 
 “In that case, it will only give us additional 
 pleasure if he will consent to accompany Cap- 
 tain Hamlyn,” added Lady Vernon. “ But I 
 fear I must now ask leave to ring for my car- 
 riage,” said she, with sudden recollection ; “my 
 coachman made it an earnest request, in behalf 
 of his horses, that he might not have to put up 
 in your warm stable for so short a time, and I- 
 do not like to keep him out, poor old man, in. 
 this bitter cold.” 
 
 “ There is always so much more fuss about 
 horses taking cold than human beings !” ob- 
 served Miss Vernon, aside to Lydia (with whom 
 she had been exchanging a few insignificant 
 sentences, in hopes to avoid overhearing the 
 nervous mention of Lord Dartford’s name) ; 
 while the simple-hearted girl, in her plain morn- 
 ing-dress, sat contemplating with admiration 
 the number of ways and means by which fur 
 could be rendered ornamental to the human form 
 divine, as exemplified in the fanciful winter-dress 
 of the London belle. 
 
 “You will, I hope, have the goodness to ex- 
 press all this to Captain Hamlyn and his friend,” 
 added Lady Vernon, a guilty conscience render- 
 ing the name of the marquis unpronounceable. 
 “ We dine at seven — a liberal seven. But it will 
 be perhaps better if I write the hour on the tw» 
 cards I was about to leave in the hall, on the 
 part of Lord Vernon.” r».; 
 
 “ I can only promise to deliver them,” observed 
 Mrs. Hamlyn, while her guest, who had risen 
 to take leave, hastily inscribed in pencil on the 
 visiting-cards the date of the invitation. “ The 
 gentlemen must, of course, answer for them- 
 selves.” 
 
 “Since you have kindly consented to part 
 with them, I consider the engagement accepted, 
 said Lady Vernon, a tall, square-shouldered^ 
 law-laying-down woman, to whom, when she 
 chose to carry a point, it seemed difficult to per- 
 sist in opposition. “ One really has scruples 
 about sending men and horses across the coun- 
 try with superfluous notes at such a season I 
 Unless, therefore, I hear to the contrary, we 
 shall expect the honour of seeing Captain Ham- 
 lyn and his friend to-morrow, to dine and sleep 
 at the Hyde.” 
 
 With a shake of the hand fully qualified to 
 frostbite the fingers of Mrs. Hamlyn and her 
 daughter, the Vernons now took leave. 
 
 “ What extremely disagreeable people I And 
 what could bring them out to call upon us in. 
 such weather!” exclaimed Lydia, the moment 
 the carriage drove from the door, this being 
 Miss Hamlyn’s first interview with the family. 
 
 “ It is not always easy to dive into the motives 
 of so worldly a woman as Lady Vernon!” was 
 her mother’s reply. “ That she had some un- 
 avowed motive, I fear I must conclude, for she 
 is not a person who acts upon ordinary impulses 
 of good nature. Lord Vernon may wish to con- 
 ciliate your father concerning some election 
 difficulty, or there is some private bill, perhaps, 
 he wants to carry through the House. I know 
 they are talking of enclosing Alderham Gorse.’* 
 
 “ In that case, surely papa would have been 
 ineluded in the invitation. It seems almost rude 
 that Lady Vernon should pointedly omit him^ 
 yet invite others out of his house !” 
 
THE BANKEl 
 
 “ Had your father been invited, we must all 
 liave been included in the party, and with the 
 present family at the Hyde we are only on 
 terms of rare and formal dinner-parties. We 
 have never been offered beds. With Walter 
 they may relax from these formalities. They 
 meet him everywhere in town — he was at Eton 
 with young Vernon. They will probably estab- 
 lish a footing of intimacy with your brother.” 
 
 “I only trust Walter will have the spirit to 
 Tefuse ! Become intimate with people who have 
 iept systematically aloof from his parents !” 
 “When you have seen more of the world, 
 Eydia, you will find that those who devote them- 
 selves exclusively to high society (as Walter 
 .seems inclined to do), do not analyze too curi- 
 ously the motives of their associates. Walter 
 must take the Vernons’ civilities as he finds 
 them, or he will not find them at all.” 
 
 “But why not learn to dispense with them'? 
 Surely there is nothing very .charming in the 
 family I” 
 
 “ Miss Vernon and her brother are the only 
 young people in the neighbourhood. When Mr. 
 Vernon marries, his father will perhaps estab- 
 lish him at the Hyde. It is certainly desirable 
 that your brother, as the future owner of Dean, 
 should be on amicable terms with so near a 
 neighbour.” 
 
 “ From something Lord Hartford said yester- 
 day, I should think Mr. Vernon n&v ex would 
 marry !” observed Lydia. “ He fancies, it 
 seems, that every young lady he sees has de- 
 signs upon him, and is constantly refusing in- 
 vitations, and runni^ away from country- 
 houses, on pretence that some family or other is 
 trying to entrap him into a match!” 
 
 “Did Lord Hartford tell you all this'?” in- 
 quired Mrs. Hamlyn, with a heightened colour, 
 vexed at the idea that a tone of such familiar 
 pleasantry should have established itself, with- 
 out her knowledge, between the young marquis 
 and her daughter. 
 
 “ No, mamma I He told me nothing. While 
 he was here, nothing passed between us you did 
 not hear. But yesterday, the billiard-roon\ door 
 being open while I sat reading in the library, I 
 heard Lord Dartford mention to my brother that 
 he had met Mr. Vernon at Ovington (when he 
 rode over to inquire for letters), and had almost 
 ersuaded him to take Dean Park on his way 
 orae to the Hyde.” 
 
 “ I am very glad he did notf ejaculated Mrs. 
 Hamlyn. 
 
 “Walter, however, seemed vexed that Mr. 
 Vernon had^ not accepted the proposal, and 
 spoke of inviting him to dine and sleep here the 
 first time the hounds met in the neighbourhood. 
 
 * He won’t comef observed Lord Dartford, con- 
 tinuing his game. ‘Why not'?’ rejoined my 
 brother. ‘Because Alberic never shows his 
 jiose in a country-house where there is an un- 
 •married daughter.’ Walter laughed at the idea 
 of a child like myself being any obstacle to the 
 movements of Mr. Vernon. ‘ And why not '?’ 
 persisted Lord Dartford. ‘ As there is nothing 
 Xo prevent your sister becoming his wife, except 
 that Miss Hamlyn appears to have too good 
 taste to throw herself away on a prig, I am pret- 
 ty sure he would order post-horses and fly the 
 country on the strength of your invitation 1’ 
 Both Lord Dartford and Walter then began to 
 .quiz Mr. Vernon as a coxcomb. So that, in 
 spile of Lady Vernon’s anxiety to promote her 
 son’s intimacy with Walter, and spare the ex- 
 
 ;S WIFE; OR, 
 
 posure of our groom to the weather she was 
 not afraid to encounter, I fear an excuse will 
 have to be forwarded to-night across Braxham 
 Ferry !” 
 
 Most probably; but from Colonel Hamilton, 
 not from your brother. I am persuaded Walter 
 will go. Even were he disinclined for the party, 
 his father would persuade him.” 
 
 Ai that moment Mr. Hamlyn, who had been 
 occupied with business in his justice-room, made 
 his appearance to inquire the purport of Lady 
 Vernon’s visit; and in the mere consciousness 
 of having just uttered his name, the cheeks of 
 his wife became suffused at his sudden entrance. 
 The suspicions of the mistrustful man were in- 
 stantly awakened. Certain that he was the 
 subject of the conversation which had stopped 
 short on his arrival, and unaccustomed at pres- 
 ent to regard his daughter as more than a child, 
 he could not support the idea of confidence be- 
 tween Lydia and her mother in which his name 
 had mention. 
 
 “ Lady Vernon appears to have communi- 
 cated very astounding intelligence,” said he, 
 examining the countenances of both with a de- 
 gree of severity that increased their confusion. 
 
 “ She surprised me, certainly,” replied Mrs. 
 Hamlyn. trying to rally her spirits, “by com- 
 ing out in such weather merely to invite Colonel 
 Hamilton and Walter to dine to-morrow at the 
 Hyde I” 
 
 Colonel Hamilton? Why, they are not even 
 acquainted,” retorted her husband. 
 
 “ She left Lord Vernon’s card for him in prop- 
 er form, and a written invitation for both.” 
 
 “ Very unaccountable I” cried Mr. Hamlyn, 
 shrugging his shoulders, stung with his usual 
 jealousy at the idea of the nabob receiving at- 
 tentions likely to extend his connexions with 
 society. A moment’s reflection, however, sug- 
 gested that, since it was impossible to suppress 
 the invitation, his best policy was to assume the 
 credit of having suggested the civility of the 
 Vernons towards a friend and guest of his fam- 
 ily. 
 
 “ I have to ask a favour of you, my dear col- 
 onel,” cried he, addressing the old gentleman, 
 who at that moment made his appearance wi^ 
 Walter, after whom he had been hobbling in his 
 morning’s duck shooting. Lord Vernon is anx- 
 ious you should waive ceremony as a country 
 neighbour, and accompany my son to-morrow, 
 in a friendly way, to dine and sleep at the Hyde. 
 His lordship is an invalid, or would have made 
 the invitation in person. Lady Vernon, how- 
 ever, has been here as his delegate, entreating 
 Mrs. Hamlyn’s interference to obtain your as- 
 sent.” 
 
 Poor Lydia, amazed at this fluent exposition, 
 gazed in utter consternation, first at her father, 
 and then upon the old gentleman it purported to 
 deceive. 
 
 “ It was my Lady Vernon’s carriage, then, we 
 saw passing the lodge as we came out of Woods- 
 field Hanger,” cried he. “Such folly, such 
 ostentation! outriders in a frost that might split 
 a flint !” 
 
 “ She came only to leave these two cards of 
 invitation for yourself and my son,” resumed 
 Mr. Hamlyn, in an extenuating tone. 
 
 Walter, who had been disencumbering him- 
 self of his shooting paraphernalia in the hall, 
 now entered, his handsome face radiant with 
 exercise, to receive his share of the explana- 
 tion; but the self-possessed London man was 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 33 
 
 cautious not to' betray his surprise in exclama- 
 
 cool, upon my word,” said he, to 
 fancy any one would leave a comfortable flre- 
 Sd"efin Juch weather as this, to mm a fam. J 
 dinner-party half a dozen miles off! 
 fha? his^father would not hear of his refusing an 
 HvitatLn from the Vernons, and that he should 
 compelled to follow his inclinations, he threw 
 MmseTnnto an armchair with an air of mdig- 
 S at the unexpected presumption of the 
 
 ^AvTth all the candour of gi’^^^ood, Lydin ex 
 ' changed a triumphant glance with 
 exultingly implying, “You were wrong. My 
 b?other\ls to^o^mu^ch spirit, 
 ther, to be at the beck of such people as the 
 
 ??"^certainlv a somewhat unceremonious in- 
 vitatom” gmldy observed Mr. Hamiyn. “ But 
 at your age, Walter, weather or distance sel- 
 dom form an obstacle to a pleasant engagement, 
 and Lord Vernon, having known you from a 
 boy, feels, of course, entitled to treat you with 
 
 ^’^ffgu/he^^hS'not known 
 sir, from a boy,” remonstrated Walter, and 
 
 ^ TlwaJTof the long-standing friendship be- 
 tween Hamilton and myself, 
 banker, “ he builds perhaps upon the old adage, 
 
 * the friends of my friends are my own. At all 
 events, it is clear that the liberty he has taken 
 arises from the commendable desire of establish- 
 ?ngl footing of good neighbourship between 
 Burlington Manor and the Hyde. 
 
 “ ’Tisn’t the want of ceremony would prevent 
 mv going,” observed Colonel Hamilton, heartily ; 
 ^^^on the contrary, the only thing that pleases 
 me in the invitation is the free-and-easy style 
 7nh which is belter than I expected from the 
 g?eat don at the Hyde. I’m beginning to have 
 I handsomer notion of the family, pen “^7 
 However, this weather is not the thing for a lon^, 
 drive in pumps and silk stockings. 
 
 - As tLre are beds offered, you would, of 
 course, drive over to dress,’’ pleaded Mr. Ham- 
 iyn. “ My horses would take you there m forty 
 
 Lydia fixed her eyes anxiously on ^ce of 
 the old man thus plausibly tf «aP^ed. 
 wholly unconscious of the bi*inder which had 
 occurred concerning Lord Dartford’s invitation, 
 she felt that the warm, frank nature of her ex- 
 cellent friend would be out of place among all 
 these artificial people. Nothing but awe of her 
 father prevented her from darting forward wi h 
 an entreaty to Colonel Hamilton ^at he would 
 not be beguiled into a visit to the Hyue. 
 
 Aware of his innate sociability, she discern- 
 ed with regret, symptoms of relenting 
 countenance. An invitation of kind had 
 been for many years so unattainable a pleasure 
 il, tha[ tie abstract idea had not yet ost 
 its charm. He could not bear to say “ no to 
 any man sufficiently well-disposed towards him 
 to invite him to dinner. ^ 
 
 “Well, Master Watty, what say ye to all 
 thisT’ cried he, addressing Captain Hamiyn, 
 who sat balancing himself with a supercilious 
 air in his chair, divided between his inclination 
 to snatch the olive-branch tendered by the V er- 
 nons, and his dread of appearing at the,Hyde in 
 company with such an Ostrogoth as the colonel. 
 If you choose to take the chance oi a damp 
 B 
 
 bed in Lord Vernon’s old ghost-hole of a Manor- 
 house l°n your man! From the day of my 
 arrival in the county, these people have always 
 teerdoing one civil thing to me or another 
 Moreover, this is the first opportunity 
 of seeing your high-flying London 
 to mv notion, isw^orth the hazard of a cai^rn. 
 
 On hhint from his father, Walter suffered 
 
 himself to be victimized. y.«rplpsslv 
 
 “ It is unlucky enough, said he, 
 as he left the room to dress for dinner, that 
 Hartford shodld have bGen forced to hurry away 
 this morning by the news of his mother s nl- 
 ness for AiAeiLg here would have afiorded a 
 pretext for refusing; a pretext not very satisfac- 
 tory to the Vernons, however, for 1 rememb^ 
 thal in London,^ they were always besetting him 
 
 ^^Sren ^under the heavy infliction of a great 
 fall of snow at Christmas, the country-houses of 
 Eno'land are unquestionably the comfort- 
 
 S^[|‘ residences^n the world; ineffable temples 
 of egotism, whereof the most scientific archi- 
 Kcte Md ipholsterers of the day tax their in- 
 vention to polish the corners so as to defy the 
 influence of all seasons and their Ijl 
 
 these cozy burrows of pnyileged 
 is effected with patent precision , and miracles 
 are wrought by the more than magic influence 
 of the goUen rod, to confer upon some isolated 
 mansion and its park those 
 
 tions and enjoyments which other countries seeK 
 in the colonization of cities, or the sparkle and 
 animation of the courts of kings. 
 
 To the influence of fox-hunting, a 
 which under the molestations of railroads and 
 other modern contingencies, is said (laud we the 
 f^odsn to be on the decline, is usually attributed 
 the peculiarity of taste which exiles English 
 famihls into the denuded country at the mos 
 unpropitious moment of the year. But the real 
 secret^of their delight in their country-seats is 
 an instinct of exclusivism; a 
 sufficient dignity of a well-ordered home, m 
 wh“T?he siciai circle may fie as fasttdiously 
 
 ^^T^e'^noM^owneVo?^^^^ fine castle glories 
 in making it almost as agreeable to h.s ^ests as 
 a manston in Grosvenor Square, by bnngmg 
 down daily from town the freshest London fish 
 a^rLondL scandal, the last new books and 
 eno'ravings, periodicals and caricatures. Ju^>t 
 as^the Chinese embellish their little, flat, sandy 
 gardens with artificial rocks and factitious moun- 
 tains, the hard-working 
 
 able Christmas party exercises his laborious m- 
 genuity that nothing may be wanting m h s 
 
 Country house (“his country-house”) which his 
 
 friend might not have enjoyed better in town. 
 
 With the thermometer below freezing point,, 
 so as to neutralize the effect of any possible 
 superiority of atmosphere, and imp^son he 
 weary guests within the over-stoved house the 
 captives continue to smile encouragingly upon 
 S other’s sufferings; ^nd thoii^gh mexpre . 
 blv weary of themselves and each other, persist 
 in congratulating their host on 
 ciability of a country party in winter time, en- 
 deavouring by their laboured vivacity to ms- 
 guise the growing oppression of thnr • 
 
 ^ “After all, we shall not find it so dreadfully 
 dull here!” was Lady Vernons consolatniy 
 apostrophe to her daughter on the morning they 
 were expecting their new guests, cf fP“ 
 
 proving glanc? at the exotics with which the 
 
34 
 
 THE BANKE 
 
 zealous groom of the chambers had decorated 
 the apartments, and the blazing fires which dif- 
 fused a cheerful glow o^er the costly but gloomy 
 hangings. “Your father, in one of his fils of 
 hypochondriacism, determined that (in conse- 
 quence of the expenses of Alberic’s election, 
 and those few miserable fHes he authorized me 
 to give in London for your dibut we should 
 have no regular Christmas party here this win- 
 ter, that is, no one but my family and his. But 
 the Middleburys will fill the house for a week, 
 and afford a pretext for inviting stragglers from 
 the hunt, and persuading Dartford to prolong his 
 visit; luckily enough, by-the-way; for Lord 
 Vernon is always so out of spirits or so out of 
 humour (which Ae calls a fiyinggout), that, had 
 we been quite alone, I should scarcely have ven- 
 tured the invitation.” 
 
 “Have you said anything about it to papal” 
 inquired the fair Lucinda, arranging her work- 
 table in elegant confusion, so as to secure being 
 discovered in a becoming attitude. 
 
 “ I told him it was indispensable to invite a 
 few young men; for that, if Alberic were oiir 
 only beau, he would find his cousins a horrible 
 corvee'^ 
 
 “Papa would certainly like few things less 
 than a match between my brother and Susan 
 or Fanny Middlebury,” replied Miss Vernon. 
 “Family intermarriages I have always heard 
 him attack as lopping oflT the main branch of 
 a tree.” 
 
 “ Not more than he disapproved my having 
 invited young Hamlyn. He has had election 
 squabbles with the family, and dislikes the 
 Dean Park people as upstarts and pretenders.” 
 
 “ But papa cannot call Lord Dartford an up- 
 start or pretender'!” 
 
 “ He seems to think all the less of him for be- 
 ing the bosom friend of the banker’s son. In 
 order to avoid being obliged to talk to young 
 Hamlyn, therefore, he insisted on having to 
 dinner to-day the Barlows of Alderham, whom 
 we never ask above once during our stay at the 
 Hyde, as a matter of ceremony, to keep up the 
 agent’s respectability in the county.” 
 
 “ What people to meet Lord Dartford ! And 
 do they comeT 
 
 “ The woman Barlow is ill, and excuses her- 
 self (I do not suppose she finds her visits here 
 m-y agreeable.) The husband comes, I am hap- 
 py to say, for he is a rational sort^ of person, 
 who helps one amazingly through 'the dinner- 
 talking, and will be at the trouble of answering 
 Sir Henry Middlebury’s eternal questions. One 
 is obliged to have somebody belonging to the 
 house qualified to discuss farming and poor- 
 laws (which Lord Vernon will not trouble 
 himself to do) for the country gentlemen.” 
 
 “Sir Henry is certainly a dreadful bore,” ob- 
 served Lucinda. “And then he looks so like a 
 churchwarden — so spruce, and wiggy, and re- 
 spectable. But how are we to manage, dear 
 mamma, about Lord Dartford'? Of course he 
 must take you out, and Aunt Middlebury and 
 Fanny will sit on either side papa. But fray 
 tell Alberic to place Susan Middlebury on the 
 .side opposite the fire; upon which, on pretence 
 of being cold, I can take the vacant place next 
 to Lord Dartford. Sir Henry, who will take 
 me in to dinner, is much too great a wiseacre to 
 notice what is going on.” 
 
 Scarcelv was the plan of the opening cam- 
 paign adjusted, when the clang of the hall bell 
 became audible. 
 
 [I’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 “ The Middleburys so early r’ exclaimed Miss- 
 Vemon. “ What manque d’usage!’' 
 
 “ They could not well manage otherwise, 
 said Lady Vernon. “ My sister wrote me wt^d 
 they were to sleep at Uplands, which is only 
 thirty miles from hence; and, being obliged to 
 start 'after breakfast, as there was a party in the 
 house, she is forced to arrive here an hour too 
 soon. With her sister, she felt privileged to 
 take such a liberty.” 
 
 The Middleburys were not people qualified to 
 make the embarrassing hour, when newly-arri- 
 ving guests are neither at horiie nor company, 
 pass more pleasantly ; or, rather, there was some- 
 thing in the hollowness and heartlessness of the 
 ‘Vernons which imposed constraint even on their 
 family connexions. Sir Henry was simply a 
 painstaking and rather solemn country-gentle- 
 man, so eager to do everything in the right way, 
 and according to the most approved principles, 
 that he stretched himself upon a rack of perpet- 
 ual experiment. Absorbed in the study, of all 
 the new systems aqd patent inventions of the 
 day, he was either absent in society, or roused 
 himself only to bore people, till they wished 
 him absent, by the development of his crotchety 
 speculations. 
 
 His lady-wife was a coUet monte of prudery 
 and rigid education-monger, who, having lived 
 for the last twenty years enveloped in a .severe 
 course of governesses and masters, regarded her 
 two pretty daughters rather as the result of hep 
 excellent Trimmerism than as pleasant com- 
 panions or affectionate children. Every careless 
 word uttered by Susan and Fanny was instantly 
 submitted by their mother to rigid analysis, and 
 referred back to some entry in her education- 
 leger. Any rash notice of a rainy day was 
 connected by mamma with their early doses of 
 Mrs. Marcet’s Conversations on Atmospherical 
 Phenomena ; nor could Susan take out her lead- 
 ed netting-cushion without producing a cross- 
 examination from her mother on the first prin- 
 ciples of mechanics, as imbibed (with their 
 bread and milk) from the dialogues of Joyce. 
 
 Held in this precise maternal .subordination, 
 the two girls, though naturally cheerful, unaf- 
 fected creatures, had become as stiff" and starch- 
 ed as the farthingaled maids of honour of Q,ueen 
 Elizabeth, This was their first visit to the 
 Hyde; and, being still guiltless of a London 
 season, they stood in considerable awe of their 
 cousin, Lucinda Vernon, whom they knew to 
 be one of the fashionable beauties of the day. 
 Seated on the edges of their chairs, glancing 
 ever and anon at Lady Middlebury for signals 
 to regulate their answers and deportment, the 
 two poor girls looked almost as much in tor- 
 ment as if undergoing the process of thumb- 
 screwing. 
 
 Miss Vernon was, however, in the mood to be 
 gracious, even to her country cousins. Flutter- 
 ed into high spirits by Lord Dartford’s unexpect- 
 ed arrival in Warwickshire, she entertained lit- 
 tle doubt of bagging her bird while thus sporting 
 on her own manor, and upheld by her own keep- 
 ers. A high-bred girl is never seen to greater 
 advantage than when assisting to do the honours 
 of her father’s country house; and the good-hu- 
 moured, open character of Dartford rendering it 
 indispensable to eschew all imputation of cold- 
 ness or hauteur, she welcomed Susan and Fan- 
 ny as cordially as though she were about to 
 stand for their county, inquired cousinishly after 
 their little brothers and sisters, hoped they had 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 35 
 
 brought their music with them, and tned to be- 
 guile the time till the dressing-bell by exhibiting 
 the facetiffi of Messrs. Jabot, Vieuxbois, Crepin 
 De la Linoitidre, and the divers other albums ot 
 platitudes invented to supply topics oi conver- 
 sation lor a tongue-tied country house. 
 
 The two simple-hearted girls were enchanted. 
 Already the numbness engendered by a long 
 drive in a severe frost, and the repeated exhor- 
 tations of Lady Middlebury, previous to their 
 ■arrival, that they should sit straight, hold up their 
 heads, and attend to the use of the subjunctive 
 mood, was beginning to give way, and the lung- 
 dreaded visit to Aunt and Uncle Vernon, which 
 was to be the crowning probation of their ac- 
 .complishments, to lose a portion of its terrors 
 The Hyde, though mentioned m history, and 
 ■engraved in picture-books, was no such wry 
 alarming place after all; and, provided their 
 cousin Alberic, the travelled man, did not ex- 
 amine them very severely in their Italian and 
 German, -or Lord and Lady Vernon stand be- 
 hind them during their execution of their grand 
 duet in C minor, they trusted they might get 
 through their week without mtch agony ot body 
 or spirit. 
 
 Just, however, as they were becoming ac- 
 climatized to the snug morning-roqm, and be- 
 ginning to wonder whether the chaise-seats were 
 unpacked, and the maid waiting in their dress- 
 ing-room, in stalked Lord Vernon, looking a 
 thousand domestic tragedies, and with the coun- 
 tenance of Count Ugolino on.the eve of devour- 
 ing his children. . 
 
 In vain did the Middleburys rise from their 
 ■ seats to be welcomed and noticed. With every 
 previous disposition to bear with fortitude the vis- 
 itation of his wife’s family, his lordship could 
 scarcely command his feelings of irritation sui- 
 ficiently to be civil. 
 
 “ Will you be so very obliging as to peruse 
 this, and explain its meaning,” said he, address- 
 ing Lady Vernon in a tone of woupded dignity, 
 startling even to his unimpressable daughter, 
 and placing an open note in her hand ; where- 
 upon the lady of the house, amid the general si- 
 lence of the room, cast her eyes over a few 
 dines, indited on thick wire-wove, in a clerkly 
 hand, to the following tremendous purport: 
 
 “ Dean Park, Thursday morning. 
 
 ‘‘Colonel Hamilton and Captain Hamlyn will 
 bave the honour of dining with Lord and Lady 
 Vernon this day, at half past seven; and of ac- 
 cepting her ladyship’s polite ofi'er of beds at the 
 Hyde.” 
 
 Nothing very obscure or involved in the, phra- 
 sing of the note ! Yet, succinct and straight- 
 forward as it was. Lady Vernon chose to read 
 it over a second time ere she formed any very 
 decided conclusions about the matter; and, on 
 once more attaining the full stop following the 
 fatal words “ the Hyde,” almost wished it could 
 have been prolonged into the prolixity of one pf 
 Sir Charles Grandison’s epistles, so embarrassing 
 did she find her situation with regard to her 
 justly irritated spouse. 
 
 The preceding night, she had duly announced 
 to Lord Vernon .that the Marquis of Dartford 
 was coming to join the Middlebury party at the 
 I ' yde ; hinting that, with such a snow on the 
 ground, and such a capital billiard-table in the 
 tiou.se, it would be their own fault if he quitted 
 them otherwise than as the declared lover of 
 
 their daughter, which exposition must be fresh 
 in the remembrance of the indignant Lord Ver- 
 non. Nor was the impression less vivid in her 
 own, that, a few days before their journey into 
 Warwickshire, his lordship had observed io her ^ 
 
 “ We have got a new neighbour at the Hyde — 
 a purse-proud nabob — a vulgar friend of Ham- 
 lyn the banker. 1 find from Barlow that he has 
 been intruding, and making himself troublesome 
 to the keepers, having, as a tenant of the Bur- 
 lingtons, been allowed the usual privileges. We 
 must, of course, exchange cards with this per- 
 son, but I shall take especial care that the ac- 
 quaintance goes no farther.” _ 
 
 And it was after this marital warning she 
 had to account for inviting the purse-proud 
 nabob to dine and sleep in the most familiar 
 manner at the Hyde ! 
 
 “ I fear there must have been some unfortunate 
 mistake,” said She, at length summoning cour- 
 age for the confession of her offences. “ Alberic 
 informed me yesterday that Lord Dartford was 
 slaying at Dean Park, and I thought the oppor- 
 tunity a good one for inviting him here. I was 
 mistaken — my son was mistaken — we were all 
 mistaken. My card of invitation appears to 
 have reached the wrong person.” 
 
 “ Wrong indeed !— the horrible Bengal tiger 
 of Burlington Manor ! However, since it was 
 a mistake, a mistake it shall remain. I will in- 
 stantlv write and explain for whom the invitation 
 was really intended. No occasion for_ us to be 
 entangled in so unsatisfactory an acquaintance.’ 
 
 “ Certainly not!” burst in faint murmurs from 
 the lips of all present, in reply to an interroga- 
 tory glance addressed by Lord Vernon in suc- 
 cession to the whole circle. 
 
 But Lady Vernon, though apparently assen- 
 tient among the rest, no sooner saw her husband 
 direct his steps towards the writing-table, and 
 open the lid of the envelope case, evidently with 
 the most epistolary intentions, than she expe- 
 rienced qualms of conscience. ^ ^ , , 
 
 “ After all,” said she, “ it is no fault of Colonel 
 Hamilton’s that Mrs. Hamlyn should have 
 fancied it was him I intended to designate as 
 ‘ the friend staying with them at Dean.’ ” 
 
 “ 1 am convinced the whole affair is an im- 
 pertinent mystification, preconcerted on the part 
 of the Hamlyns,” persisted Lord Vernon. “ It 
 is only to me such adventures ever happen. I 
 am certainly- the most unlucky person in the 
 world. A man actually invited to dine in my 
 house, whom I never beheld in my life, and 
 whom I had expressly pointed out to my family 
 as an object of avoidance.” 
 
 “ Colonel Hamilton is universally respected 
 in the neighbourhood, I find,” pleaded Lady 
 Vernon. “ Even Mr. Barlow was mentioning 
 yesterday how active and useful they found 
 him as a magistrate.” 
 
 “ There is, surely, no occasion for me to have 
 all the useful piagistrates in the county quar- 
 tered in my house,” snarled her lord, still rust- 
 ling the blotting-book. 
 
 “ Any insult offered to such a man, hoivever, 
 would only recoil upon ourselves.” ^ 
 
 “ Who talked of offering him an insult . I 
 simply intend to state that the invitation he has 
 received was intended for the Marquis of Dart- 
 ford, and that he is under a mistake. 
 
 “ Which amounts to a request that he w'lll not 
 come and dine here to-day. What is such a 
 prohibition iw/ an insult 1” exclaimed Lady Ver- 
 non, 
 
36 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 “It is your own fault. You should have been 
 more explicit. People cannot be too explicit 
 about dinner-invitations. Why, so vague a 
 definition as ‘ the friend staying at Dean Park’ 
 might have brought down upon us something 
 far less reputable in the way of acquaintance 
 than this East India colonel — some of Mr. 
 Hamlyn’s city connexions, for instance.” 
 
 “ Certainly, it was very careless ; on the 
 whole, we may consider ourselves fortunate that 
 it is no worse,” said Lady Vernon, trusting that 
 her husband was beginning to mollity, so venj 
 fastidious did he show himself in the. selection 
 of a pen. 
 
 “We met Lord Dartford changing horses at 
 Barsthorpe this morning", the first stage from 
 Uplands,” said Sir Henry Middlebury. “ The 
 postmaster asked leave to give his lordship the 
 first turn-out, as he had been sent for express, it 
 seems, to Dartford Hall, the marchioness being 
 dangerously ill. 1 noticed his lordship’s car- 
 riage ; because, to my surprise, it had neither 
 Collinge’s axles, nor grasshopper springs. I 
 was assured that, in London, no carriages were 
 built nowadays without Collinge’s patent axles 
 and grasshopper springs. I had anew one from 
 Leader last spring, 'solely with a view to a 
 crane neck (the Comte de Bambis, when he 
 _ was staying at Middlebury Park, having been 
 greatly surprised that, with our narrow*^ tum-in, 
 we should venture on a carriage without a crane- 
 neck) ; and I was beginning to be afraid I was 
 again in the wrong box, my new coach having 
 neither Collinge’s axles nor grasshopper springs. 
 But when I saw that the Marquis of Dartford, 
 who, as one of the richest, is, I conclude, one of 
 the most fashionable young men of the day, had 
 neither Collinge’s axles nor grasshopper springs, 
 I instantly observed to Lady Middlebury — ” 
 
 “ If I might venture to hazard a remark on the 
 subject,” observed Lady Vernon aside to her 
 husband, lowering her voice and leaning over 
 his chair, so as not to interrupt the drow'sy 
 prosification of her brother-in-law, “ I should 
 strongly advise your receiving Colonel Hamil- 
 ton as though no error had occurred. Reflect 
 what a triumph it would afford the people at 
 Dean Park to find that we had been anxious to 
 attract a guest like young Dartford out of their 
 house. Think what a history they wmuld make 
 of it in their vulgar circles. But if they w'ere 
 able to add that we had treated with ill-breeding 
 an old gentleman, an old soldier, guiltless of 
 ofience towards us, and no less than ourselves 
 betrayed into the scrape, the fault wmuld be 
 wholly on our side in the opinion of the world.” 
 
 “ I should certainly be sorry,” replied Lord 
 Vernon, whose first explosion of ire having sub- 
 sided, he was beginning to sink into his usual 
 apathetic distaste for scenes and explanations, 
 or the exertion of note-writing and sending ; “ I 
 should be seriously annoyed, indeed, that any 
 occurrence at the 'Hyde justifiet Mr. Hamlyn, 
 the banker, in mixing up my name with the his- 
 tory of his hospitalities at Dean Park. Perhaps, 
 therefore, on the whole, it will be best to pass 
 over this oflensive mistake as lightly as possible.” 
 “ A man of Colonel Hamilton’s age can never 
 be so objectionable an acquaintance as a young- 
 er person, particularly as regards Alberic and 
 Jnda,” pleaded Lady Vernon, greatly relieved. 
 “ Be.sides, it will be easy to receive this new 
 neighbour of ours in so formal a manner as to 
 give him little inclination for returning to the 
 Hyde.” 
 
 “I fear you are right,” rejoined his lordship, 
 tearing up the note he had commenced, .and 
 crossing the room to throw the fragments into 
 the fire. “All that remains for us is to submit 
 heroically to the evil. If Colonel Hamilton be 
 an intentional intruder, my coldness will afford 
 him a proper rebuke, and preserve us from 
 farther advances should the whole affair have 
 been as accidental as you suppose.” 
 
 The dressing-bell having now rung, the party 
 dispersed, the poor Middlebury girls horror- 
 struck anew by the grandeur of so august an un- 
 cle and aunt, and fearing they should never hold 
 their heads high enough, preserve sufiicient de- 
 corum, or execute the chromatic scale with suf- 
 ficient accuracy for the satisfaction of a family 
 so fastidious. 
 
 Such was the circle into which the warm- 
 hearted and hospitable Colonel Hamilton w'as 
 about to become an involuntary intruder. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The highest life is oft a dreary void, 
 
 A rack of pleasures where we must invent 
 A something wherewithal to be annoy’d. 
 
 Bards luiiy sing what they will about “ Content 
 “Contented,” when translated, means but “ cloy’d,” 
 And hence arise the woes of sentiment. 
 
 , Byeon. 
 
 By George ! these nobs know how to manu- 
 facture a pleasant berth for themselves,” ex- 
 claimed Colonel Hamilton to his young com- 
 panion, when, after emerging from the long, dark 
 avenue, after a drive of three quarters of an hour 
 over the moonlit snow, they came upon the fine 
 famde of the venerable mansion, every window 
 of which seemed radiant' with reflected light. 
 “Your father was quite right. The distance is 
 a mere trifle. In my fur cloak, I vow I’ve been, 
 as snug as by iny parlour fire. After all, what 
 signifies a frostbitten nose when a pleasant, so- 
 ciable party’s in the wind T’ 
 
 The glowing hall into which they were now 
 ushered, and the troop of highly-disciplined 
 servants in attendance, perfected his elation of 
 spirit. It had been settled that, unaccustomed 
 at present to the ways of the house, they should 
 arrive dressed for dinner; and, as they had 
 made their appearance with military exactness, 
 the drawing-room contained, on the entrance of 
 the punctual guests, only a blazing fire, a pro- 
 fusion of light, and the morning papers just ar- 
 rived from town, which the groom of the cham- 
 bers ofliciously placed on the table nearest the 
 old gentleman, whose liberal housekeeping and 
 open-handed habits secured him far higher re- 
 nown in the steward’s roomS of the neighbour- 
 hood than awaited many a man of loltier an- 
 nouncement. 
 
 “ The Morning Chronicle of to-day, I vow and 
 declare,” cried Colouel Hamilton, instantly en- 
 sconcing himself in an armchair, which he drew 
 towards the fire, to the serious detriment of the 
 symmetrical arrangements of the room; then, 
 taking out his spectacles to make himself per- 
 fectly comfortable, “I wmnder I never thought 
 of getting dowm the morning papers by the day- 
 coach !” said he, addressing over his shoulder 
 the dismayed Walter, who stood elegant and 
 graceful on the hearth-rug, in his w’ell-slarched 
 white cravat and well-cut black coat. “ Why, 
 ’twould have shortened by half those deused 
 1 long winter evenings. Ay, ay, let these lords 
 
COUKT A 
 
 alone for taking care of themselves ! But, bless 
 me ' what have we got here 'I ‘ Overland 
 Mail from IndyT Why, ’twasn’t expected 
 these three davs. By George ! ‘ By Extraor- 
 
 dinary Express.’ And I shouldn’t have known 
 an item about the matter afore to-morrow morn- 
 ing but for coming here. So, so, so !” 
 
 “ And, with his legs comfortably crossed, and 
 a heavy silver candlestick taken from the table 
 interposed between his spectacled nose and the 
 newspaper, the colonel gave himself up, heart, 
 soul, and body, to the ecstatic enjoyments of a 
 quidnunc — enjoyments Only fully understood by 
 those who have passed their lives in a remote 
 colony: when, lo ! the drawing-roorn door was 
 thrown open by the page, and in stalked Lady 
 Vernon, majestic in point and black velvet, ar- 
 rayed in costume and countenance as for the 
 part of Lady Macbeth. Closely following came 
 the Middlebury girls, like her pale and awe- 
 struck maids in waiting, having been loitering 
 in the vestibule for want of courage to enter the 
 drawing-room uncountenanced by one of the 
 
 Never had the good address of Walter Ham- 
 lyn proved more available than at that moment. 
 His gentlemanly and unembarrassed manner 
 of accepting the formal welcome of the lady of 
 the house placed him at once before her eyes as 
 Captain Hamlyn of the Blues, the friend of Lord 
 Dartford, and effaced all trace of the banker’s 
 son of Dean Park ; thus affording to the poor old 
 colonel leisure to recover his equilibrium, and 
 perform his part, in due form,- in the ceremony 
 of presentation to Lady Vernon. 
 
 It was only the Middleburys who, while 
 Walter was undergoing the interrogatory of the 
 lofty lady in black velvet concerning the health 
 of his family, had opportunity to note the em- 
 barrassed attitude oi the startled guest, not 
 knowing how to disencumber himself of the 
 silver branch and newspaper, or the spectacles 
 on his nose, in time to execute his obeisances, 
 with becoming alacrity, to the lady paramount 
 of the Hyde. 
 
 Luckily, the page, who was now holding Open 
 the door for Lady Middlebury, rustling forward, 
 like a ship in a north easter, arrayed in a dozen 
 breadths of well-flounced Gros de Naples, per- 
 ceived the old gentleman’s embarrassment, and 
 hastened to relieve him of at least one portion 
 of his burden; so that, by the time Walter 
 Hamlyn, after casting an agonized glance at 
 the colonel to ascertain his present whereabout, 
 ventured" to ask leave to present to her ladyship 
 Colonel Hamilton, of Burlington Manor, he 
 was quite prepared to offer his acknowledgments 
 for the friendly and unceremonious manner in 
 which, as a new comer into the neighbourhood, 
 he had been invited by Lord Vernon to his 
 house. 
 
 To impute any connivance in a scheme of 
 imposition to this outspoken, gray headed old 
 soldier, was out of the question. His delinquen- 
 cy was consequently limited, for the present, in 
 Lady Vernon’s eyes, to the free and easy man- 
 ner in which he seemed to recognise his right 
 to be at home under her roof. Though previ- 
 ously resolved to meet the friend of Lord Dart- 
 ford’s friend with a degree of formal courtesy, 
 rendering it equally impossible for him to com- 
 plain or encroach, she had scarcely patience 
 with the ready freedom with which the stranger 
 had drawn her own pet fauteuil of ebony, in- 
 crusted with ivory, into the trying blaze of a 
 
 ND CITY. 37 
 
 tremendous fire, iq order to read her own paper 
 by the light of her own candelabrum. 
 
 Sir Henry Middlebury and Lord Vernon soon 
 made their appearance. Entering the room side 
 by side, like tne two kings of Brentford, and be- 
 ing unluckily presented at the same time to the 
 colonel by his ikdy hostess, an involuntary con- 
 fusion arose in his mind as to the identity of the 
 parties. He knew not which was Prince Vol- 
 scius, which Prince Pretyman; and Sir Henry, 
 a tall, good-looking, sententious, portly man, 
 happening to imbody his preconception of the 
 noble owner of the Hyde, he set down as the 
 country baronet the stunted peer, who, in spite 
 of his efforts to appear with a degree of dignity 
 fitting the occasion, had contracted, from his 
 habitual dissatisfaction at the things of this 
 world, so sour an expression of countenance, 
 that he looked only a little more mean and sul- 
 len than usual. 
 
 It was to the former, therefore, as the more 
 promising interlocutor, that the colonel begaa 
 instantly to unfold the excitement of his mind, 
 under the influence of the news brought by the 
 overland mail; and he talked, of course, with 
 all the prejudice and exaggeration of a man of 
 moderate judg;ment, who had been contempla- 
 ting, through lite, a single side of a single ques- 
 tion, unmodified by the qualifying influences of 
 society. 
 
 Overflowing with the righteous indignation 
 enkindled by a fiery leading article commenting: 
 on the Indian news brought by the express, over 
 which he had scarcely found time to glance, his 
 ardent feelings relieved themselves in a philip- 
 pic against the governor-general for his sanction 
 of certain local abuses, concerning which no 
 mortal present was more interested than if they 
 had occurred among the natives of Nootka 
 Sound. Amazed by this sudden explosion of 
 politics and petulance, the party listened in si- 
 lent and contemptuous wonder, as they would 
 have done to the rantings of a provincial Sir 
 Giles Overreach. 
 
 “ His lordship ought to be instantly recalledy. 
 impeached, condemned — his lordship ought to> 
 be hanged, drawn, and quartered!” was the un- 
 meaning denunciation of the mildest man on 
 earth, under the contagion of newspaper viru- 
 lence ; and as it happened that the sole interest 
 experienced bv the Vernon family in the affairs 
 of the East consisted in cousinship to the offend- 
 ing governor-general in question, a frown con- 
 tracted the brows of the elder, and a smile 
 the lips of the younger members of the aston- 
 ished family, while listening to the diatribes of 
 the colonel. 
 
 At that moment (the fair Lucinda and Bar- 
 low of Alderham having made their appearance) 
 dinner was luckily announced; when, alas I the 
 previous ceremonial, decreed with more than 
 a lord-chamberlain’s exactness of etiquette hy 
 Lady Vernon, in honour of Lord Dartford’s ex- 
 pected presence, was afflictingly superseded by' 
 •the exit of Lady Middlebury on the arm of her 
 lord, and her own on that of her brother-in-law. 
 
 “ Darby and Joan fashion, I protest !” was 
 .Colonel Hamilton’s secret commentation on the 
 order of the procession. “And so the folks 
 here go in to dinner in couples, for all the world 
 like Mr. and Mrs. Hem, Shem, and Japhet, ia 
 the children’s toy of Noah’s Ark t Well, among 
 such high-flying people, hang me but ’lis a bet- 
 ter feeling than I should have expected.” 
 
 While musing, however, on this singularly 
 
33 
 
 THE BANKER'S WIFE; OR, 
 
 conjugal arrangement, he forgot to offer his arm j 
 to Miss Vernon, who, gladly accepting that of j 
 Walter Haml}Ti, waited politely for her cousins I 
 to pass before her. In this dilemma, the two 
 poor, shy Middlebury girls glanced at each other j 
 awkwardly for mutual instructions, and hav- 
 ing suddenly agreed to edge their way onward | 
 together like decanters in a coaster, the gallant j 
 ■old gentleman, roused from his revery, pushed 
 forward to the rescue, offered an arm to each, [ 
 with many jocular expressions of regret that he I 
 could not cut himself in two for their sakes; 
 and, on reaching the dining-room door, which, 
 iike those of most ancient houses, was ill adapt- 
 ed for the admission of three abreast, produced 
 new confusion and delay by his boyish hilarity 
 with the young ladies. 
 
 Walter Hamlyn, who was following close 
 behind with the supercilious Lucinda on his i 
 a.rm, of whose persiflage he stood more in awe | 
 than became his inches and martial calling, had ^ 
 scarcely patience with the ill-timed, practical ; 
 pleasantries of the veteran, to whom he was re- j 
 Juctantly officiating as bear-leader; more espe- 
 cially as, on reaching the brilliantly-lighted and j 
 sumptuous table, so calculated to impose deco- 
 rum on its guests, the colonel’s jokes were re- j 
 newed in taking his seat and unfolding his nap- j 
 Vin between the two stiff, frightened girls, whom ' 
 the good old man unconsciously addressed in 
 something of the fatherly tone he was in the 
 habit of assuming towards his favourite Lydia 
 at Dean Park. 
 
 The sole consolation of Walter in this predic- 
 ament arose from the absence of the hyper- 
 fastidious and super-impertinent young gentle- ; 
 man of the house ; but, as an unexplained chair j 
 still stood vacant opposite, he indulged in justly- | 
 founded apprehensions that the pleasure of Al- i 
 beric’s company was an evil still impending | 
 over them. His doubts on this point were speed- 
 ily resolved. I 
 
 “ I have not seen Alberic,” observed Sir Hen- i 
 37 Middlebury to his hostess, “ since his return 
 from the Continent.” 
 
 “ He will probably be here in time for the sec- 
 ond course,” observed Lady Vernon, in a tone 
 of injured dignity. “We never wait for my 
 son. Alberic is systematically unpunctual. Al- 
 beric is too late for everything.” 
 
 “ Then I must say that is a fault which, for 
 bis own sake, I should be loth to pass over in a 
 son of mine !” exclaimed Colonel Hamilton, not 
 understanding that, being under the ban of the : 
 empire, he had no voice in the diet. “ It may : 
 seem an exaggerated assertion, but I vow to my 1 
 Maker I’ve never known an unpunctual man 1 
 come to good in public life ; and, vice-versa, look 
 at the punctual ones — look at Nelson and Wel- 
 lington !” j 
 
 As if in answer to the cue, Alberic Vernon. ! 
 at that moment sauntering in, honoured his 
 friends and relatives, as he took the vacant : 
 chair, with a nod of recognition, and Colonel ; 
 Hamilton with a blank stare of amazement, , 
 which, when the courteous old man replied by 1 
 an instinctive bow, assumed the form of one of 
 John Kemble’s salutations. 
 
 “ Where is Hartford % I thought we were to 
 have Dartford'?” said he, addressing his sister 
 across Walter Hamlyn; when Lady Vernon, 
 dreading farther inquiries and explanations, 
 abruptly silenced her son with “No; he was 
 suddenly called away into Shropshire by the 
 illiiess of his mother.”' 
 
 The question and answ?f, neither of which 
 happened to be overheard by Colonel Hamilton 
 (who was just then equally amused and bewil- 
 dered by the multiplicity of fish-sauces pressed 
 upon his choice b)' the maitre dhoteT), and which, 
 even had they reached his ear, would have con- 
 veyed nothing but regret that a youngster he so 
 much liked as the marquis might have accom- 
 panied him to the Hyde but for his family af- 
 fliction, contained a world of enlightenment for 
 Walter Hamlyn. All that had beeA inexplica- 
 ble in the invitation of Lady Vernon was now 
 accounted for ; and the pang inflicted upon his 
 self-love was only exceeded by his uneasiness, 
 at finding himself an appendage to so every- way 
 an unwelcome guest as the unsuspecting Colo- 
 nel Hamilton. 
 
 Instead of redoubling his endeavours to make 
 himself acceptable to his fair neighbour, Wal- 
 ter could not a moment divert his attention fh)m 
 the old gentleman opposite. Every syllable 
 uttered, every gesture hazarded by the colonel, 
 became a source of consternation. Before a 
 sentence had half escaped his lips, Walter began 
 to modify or explain its purport. He expe- 
 rienced, m short, aU the trepidation endured by 
 the proprietor of an ill-taught dog, which has 
 accidentally made its way into a lady’s drawing- 
 room, and is tolerated by the politeness of the 
 lady of the house every time the intruder seems 
 about to perpetrate some new offence. 
 
 The . candid nature of the old colonel secured 
 him, however, from all participation in these 
 perplexities. His innate sociability of spirit 
 was expanding. In that well-warmed, well- 
 lighted room, with a capital dinner before him, 
 a glass of generous wine in his hand, and on 
 either side a pleasing, modest-looking girl, he 
 found himself perfectly happy ; talked unre- 
 serv^edly, laughed cordially, and, after bantering 
 Barlow of Alderham (who officiated as substi- 
 tute for his patron in muttering the benedicite 
 and carving the haunch of South Down) on 
 divers petty points of county jurisdiction, ended 
 by infringing another etiquette of the Hyde by 
 inviting bis hostess {avd by the name of “'my 
 ladv !”) to take a glass of Sherry. 
 
 Of all these enormities Lord Vernon remain- 
 ed a mute spectator, resigning himself to his 
 injuries as if far too well-accustomed to the 
 evil entreatmeht of Providence to resent being 
 sprighted by a troublesome and intrusive guest. 
 His ever sullen face was compressed almost to 
 ■ sternness, however, by his firm resolve not to be 
 : betrayed into open reprehension of Colonel 
 ! Hamilton’s vulgar familiarity. 
 
 1 To Walter Hamlyn’s susceptible self-love, 
 however, the conduct of Alberic Vernon on the 
 occasion was still more mortifying. Assuming 
 j towards the stranger an air of ironical defer- 
 ! ence, he affected to regard him with the indul- 
 gence due to the newly-caught native of some 
 ; uncivilized quarter of the globe, whose peculi- 
 i arities form a matter for philosophical s^cula- 
 j tion to the world of broadcloth and brocade. 
 I Walter Hamlyn almost writhed under the super- 
 I cilious expression of Mr. Vernon’s countenance 
 I while affecting to draw out the eccentricities of 
 ! their semi-savage guest 
 
 j It was torture to the banker’s son every time 
 ' the poor colonel apostrophized his stately hostess 
 i or her sister as “ my lady nor could he forgive 
 I his mother for having omitted to school her care- 
 : less friend on this and other futile points of con- 
 ' ventional usage, with which the seclusion of 
 
39 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 ■Colonel Hamilton’s early life rendered him un- 
 
 ^^Ts\he Champagne and Burgundy went round, 
 the joviality of the sociable old man increased 
 into the most chirruping garrulity. He talked 
 only as he had talked to the Rotherwoods— only 
 .as he had talked when commanding the admi- 
 ring attention of young Dartford, little suspecl- 
 Tng how thoroughly his anecdotes and mirthful 
 ejaculations were out of place. Struck by the 
 beauty of Lucinda Vernon, who was seated op- 
 posite, exhibiting an elegance of dress and de- 
 portment new to his unsophisticated eye, and 
 naturally attributing to one so young and fair 
 the inward and spiritual grace appropriate to in- 
 nocence, youth, and beauty, he was overjoyed 
 at the good fortune of his friend Walter in hav- 
 ing so charming a companion. 
 
 “Well, Master Watty,” said he, across the 
 table, after inviting him to join him in a glass 
 of the Hock which was just then carried round, 
 
 “ do you stiU repent your frosty drive 'I No, no, 
 my boy ! I suspect you know too well what’s 
 what, to quarrel with suc/i a dinner, enjoyed by 
 the side of such a young lady !” 
 
 The higher Colonel Hamilton’s spmts, the 
 more offensive, of course, became his company 
 to those who, even had they found his manners 
 more consonant with their own nature— “ like 
 .iaJbU-land, high and would have been 
 
 equally ill inclined to see him seated at their 
 board. 
 
 In the course of the evening, matters grew 
 worse and worse. The Vernons remained stud- 
 iedly cold and silent; the Middleburys, who, had 
 Colonel Hamilton been a new settler in their 
 own neighbourhood, would have welcomed him 
 as a pleasant, chatty old gentleman, considered 
 it a becoming token of respect to the displeasures 
 of their noble relatives to treat him with distant 
 civility. Alberic, who affected the fashionable 
 insouciance of a miss-hater, afraid of compro- 
 mising himself by exchanging a syllable with 
 his cousins, devoted himself to the assiduous 
 study of the new annuals (in which his own 
 honourableship figured as the contributor of 
 some amusingly muzzy “ Musings in the Colis- 
 eum”); while Captain Hamlyn and Lucinda, 
 having their London friends to canvass and cry 
 down, talked in whispers, and exclusively to 
 each other. Thus thrown out of the circle, the 
 colonel, with a happy knack accommodating 
 himself to whatever circumstances he was placed 
 in, and to extract “sermons from stones and 
 good from everything,” took refuge in a grave 
 discussion between Sir Henry Middlebury and 
 Mr. Barlow on the Briarean question of pauper 
 legislation, which, in the true country-gentle- 
 man spirit of worrying an argument as dogs 
 worry a bone, they were fighting over inch by 
 inch, and act of Parliament by act of Parlia- 
 ment. 
 
 The Benthamisms of Hamilton, fresh with the 
 Taw philosophy of a new and not very enlight- 
 ened settler in England, were expressed with a 
 degree of warmth, almost of indignation, abso- 
 lutely startling to his sober hearers. Never be- 
 fore had Mr. Barlow heard the well-bred insipid- 
 ity of that state apartment insulted by the emis- 
 sion of sentiments and principles so nearly ap- 
 proaching to Radicalism. With all due respect 
 for the somewhat short-sighted benevolence of 
 the old Indian, he considered his manifesto out 
 of place, and declared his projects to be wholly 
 inapplicable to the state of the county. 
 
 “I tell ye what!” cried Colonel Hamilton, 
 suddenly appealing to Lord Vernon — the real 
 Lord Vernon— whose identity he had discover- 
 ed through the “my lording” of the servants, 
 and who now sat exchanging short, cold sen- 
 tences, as round and smooth as marbles, with 
 Lady Middlebury, as though the political econ- 
 omy tearing to rags within their hearing were 
 frivolous, vexatious, and beneath his notice — 
 
 “ it may sound very wise and statesmanlike to 
 say that such and such principles are inap- 
 plicable to a particular county or particular 
 crisis ; but, by George ! human natur’ is human 
 natur’ all over the world— ay, my lord, and from 
 King Pharaoh’s time till our own ! One’s fel- 
 low-creatures are one’s fellow-creatures — one’s 
 brethren— whether they live in Lancashire or 
 Cornwall ; and, to my thinking, such measures 
 as were shown up t’other day at the Union at 
 Braxham, and the county member who defend- 
 ed the county magistrates when the question 
 was mooted in Parliament, will have something 
 to answer for afore God 1” 
 
 A dead silence followed this awful denuncia- 
 tion, from which Sir Henry Middlebury justly 
 concluded that Barlow of Alderham was one of 
 the magistrates in question, Alberic Vernon 
 the offending county member; and being by no 
 means anxious to figure as second in a duel to 
 any of the parties, he accordingly hastened to 
 hint, with precipitate incoherence, that “ by the 
 time Colonel Hamilton had been a few years 
 longer in England, he might probably alter his 
 views considerably on many points connected 
 with the giant-striding claims of the poor.” 
 
 “ I hope not — I humbly hope not!” was Col- 
 onel Hamilton’s eager rejoinder. But Sir Henry 
 heard him not. He was now exemplifying in a 
 double sense his love of harmony by inquiring 
 of Miss Vernon whether she and his daughters 
 would not “favour them with a little music;” 
 the country baronet avowing himself so great a 
 rustic as to treat of “ a little music” as “ a great 
 favour!” . . . . j 
 
 Unaware that a request of this kind, in mixed 
 society, implies a desire to put a stop to rational 
 conversation. Colonel Hamilton was not to be 
 so silenced. Resuming his appeal to Lord Ver- 
 non, after toddling across the room to throw 
 himself beside his lordship on the sofa, “ I’ve 
 often thought, since I came into this neighbour- 
 hood,” said he, in a more confidential tone, “ that 
 if you and I, my lord, and a few more of the 
 influential landed proprietors, were to—” 
 
 “ I was not aware, sir,” gravely interrupted 
 Lord Vern'on, drawing away the knee on which 
 his strange neighbour had inflicted a familiar 
 tap, in the exuberance of his philanthropic zeal, 
 “ that you were a landed proprietor of the county 
 of Warwick.” 
 
 “ Pho, pho, pho ! you know what I mean ! 
 I’ve got to live, and die, and spend fifteen thou- 
 sand a year among ye; and if that isn’t an 
 equivalent to landed proprietorship, I don’t know 
 what is ! I’ve thought many a time, my lord, 
 as I was saying just now, that if we were all to 
 lay our heads together, some plan might cer- 
 tainly be hit upon for — ” 
 
 “ You must do me the favour to excuse me, 
 sir!” said Lord Vernon, coldly, rising from his 
 seat. “I am so unfortunate as to hear these 
 questions too often debated in my place in Par- 
 liament, and among the responsible representa- 
 tives of the throne, to have much appetite for 
 bringing them on the tapis of my own drawing- 
 
40 
 
 THE BANKET 
 
 room. Points of which the collective wisdom 
 of the realm is perpetually engaged in the con- 
 sideration, are scarcely likely, I fear, to derive 
 much elucidation from our puny attempts at de- 
 velopment. If you are fond of parochial legis- 
 lation, I must beg to refer you for rmj share of 
 the argument, as I universally do your friend 
 Mr. Hamlyn, to the abler hands of my worthy 
 agent, Mr. Barlow of Alderham. Mr. Barlow, 
 sir, will, I am sure, be happy to meet you in any 
 discussion you may wish to promote. Lady 
 Vernon! we are waiting your commands for 
 whist. Alberic ! may I ask the favour of you to 
 ring for cards T” 
 
 Whist levels all distinctions, and sil^ces all 
 argumentation. Under its influence, the dull, 
 constrained evening at length concluded ; and 
 but that, on stepping out of the carriage. Colonel 
 Hamilton had given orders that his own might 
 be sent for him at eleven the following day, 
 gladly would he have returned to sleep at Dean 
 Park. Though still unsuspicious that he was 
 an uninvited guest, he could not stand the re- 
 pellani reserve of the Vernons. It was the first 
 specimen of fashionable superciliousness he had 
 ever met with, and the hollowness of such a 
 reception wounded him like a poisoned krees. 
 
 “ I could almost fancy the old don intended 
 to be uncivil to-night 1” mused the colonel, in 
 silence, while his faithful Johnston was assist- 
 ing him to undress. Yet hoio could that he'l 
 Why invite me to his house 1 Why make me 
 free of his park on my first arrival ? Why send 
 his wife to leave a card upon me, if he intended 
 to be uppish^ No, no, ’tis the way of these 
 fine folks 1 They’re born so— they’re nat’rally 
 ungracious. By George! Mrs. Hamlyn was 
 right. These Vernons are as little suited to me 
 as I to them.^^ 
 
 In spite of all his distaste, however, for the 
 hauteur of the house, Colonel Hamilton was not 
 blind to its merits. He was f 9 .vourably impress- 
 ed by the peculiar air of distinction of the ladies 
 of the family, and the admirable organization of 
 the household. It had not before occurred to 
 him as possible that anything so perfect in its 
 details as that dinner could be produced, served, 
 and enjoyed with such mechanical noncha- 
 lance. The step or voice of a menial was un- 
 heard in the establishment; the servants ap- 
 peared to be no more than ingenious machines ; 
 yet even his unspoken wishes had been divined 
 and accomplished. He would have been sorry 
 to mortify Johnston by avowing how thoroughly 
 he recognised the merit of those well-powdered 
 magicians. 
 
 “’Tis vexatious enough these folks should 
 turn out so deused disagreeable !” was his con- 
 cluding reflection, as he closed his eyes for the 
 night. “ It would have afforded a pleasant 
 change for us all, to be on friendly terms with 
 the family at the Hyde.” 
 
 The morrow’s sun rose glitteringly over fresh- 
 fallen snow, as bright and cheerful as a day in 
 June; and it was, consequently, difficult for a 
 man of good dispositions, like Colonel Hanjil- 
 ton, to rise from a good bed to a good breakfast 
 after a good night’s rest, in an ill humour with 
 himself or his neighbours. Colonel Hamilton 
 was not in the habit of living on bad terms with 
 Providence. While viewing the varied afflic- 
 tions of the human kind, h£ had not courage to 
 sulk, like Lord Vernon, with his. prosperous for- 
 tunes, and accordingly proceeded, with a heart 
 over-brimming with milk and honey, to the 
 
 WIFE; OR, 
 
 breakfast-room, where the uncongenial crew 
 were gradually reassembling. 
 
 “ This is all mons’ous pleasant !” said he, af- 
 ter going through the customary morning sal- 
 utations, and slapping Walter Hamlyn on the 
 back, while inquiring whether no pretty face 
 had embellished the tenour of his dreams. “ One 
 could almost fancy one’s self in summer, or in. 
 Indy,” he continued, pointing with his breakfast- 
 fork to a beautiful conservatory opening from 
 the room, and bright with Persian lilachs, ca- 
 mellias, and hyacinths of every dye. 
 
 “ The march of science has unquestionably 
 enabled us to defy the influence of the seasons,” 
 replied the sententious Sir Henry Middlebury, 
 perceiving that no one was at the trouble of an- 
 swering an observation addressed to all. “ The- 
 Epicureans of the ancient world would in all 
 probability be somewhat startled, could they 
 arise from their tombs and survey the luxurious ^ 
 improvement of our social habits. As regards,, 
 however, the introduction of conservatories 
 among the adjuncts of domestic architecture, I 
 am inclined to believe the gaseous emanations 
 of the majority of the floral tribes decidedly in- 
 imical to the salubrity of the atmosphere.” 
 
 Colonel Hamilton, who seldom bothered his 
 brain with«polysyllables, and knew no more of 
 “ gaseous emanations” than a New Zealander,, 
 pursued his own view of the question, address- 
 ing his observations, however, to the real Simon. 
 Pure, to whom he was indebted for the cup of 
 smoking coffee before him. 
 
 “ I often used to think, my lord,” said he,, 
 “when I came driving and strolling about your 
 place, while you were away at t’other castle in 
 the North, that this must make a mighty grim,, 
 damp sort of winter residence. But I vow and 
 protest you’ve not only banished the blue devils,, 
 but made it every bit as liveable a place as Bur- 
 lington Manor or Dean Park. It must have 
 cost a mint of money to modernize it as you’ve 
 done, inside, without altering the cut of its coun- 
 tenance. But the attempt has answered — by 
 George ! it has answered. I was saying last 
 night to Mr. Thingumee, your agent, that, if 
 the place had been on hire. I’d almost as lief 
 have taken it as Burlington Manor. I would^ 
 upon my life and soul !” 
 
 Walter Hamlyn glanced instinctively at the 
 silver coffee-pot, standing at Lord Vernon’s el- 
 bow, as if half expecting to see it hurled at the 
 head of the offender. But his lordship contented 
 himself with replying, with a deadly smile and 
 livid complexion, “ Sir, you do me infinitely too 
 much honour,” 
 
 “ Not a bit — not- a bit,” cried the colonel, full 
 of good faith and feeling; “you may believe 
 every syllable that falls from my lips. I’m 
 a rough diamond, I know, but true as unpol- 
 ished.” 
 
 Though he had almost determined, on leaving 
 his room that morning, not to exchange another 
 syllable while they remained at the Hyde with 
 his unpopular companion, Walter now judged 
 it prudent to interfere, and draw off^ the attention 
 of the parties. 
 
 “I have charming news for your sledging 
 project. Colonel Hamilton,” said he, “ Lord 
 Vernon’s venerable head-keeper has just an- 
 nounced to me that the frost has set in for a 
 fortnight— and old Tom Giles is an oracle ! _ A 
 sad prospect for us!” continued he, addressing, 
 young Vernon, who had just sauntered into the 
 room, and was asking for rizzered haddocks 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 41 
 
 “No chance of a run;* I fear, for some time to 
 
 come!” . , „ 
 
 “ By George ! if I’d known of this last night, 
 cried the colonel, “ Fd have sent word to Bur- 
 lington by your people, Watty, to bring round 
 the sledge here this morning instead of the ,car- 
 
 “ There’s almost time w>w to send over for it,-, 
 if one of your lazy stable fellows could be 
 spared.” 
 
 Mr. Vernon hesitated, for the proposition 
 really took his fancy; yet he was ashamed to 
 accept a civility from the man they had been con- 
 
 . ;i lono-tK 
 
 riage. 
 
 “ You have mounted a sledge, then inquired 
 Alberic Vernon, almost with interest. “ V astly 
 spirited, certainly, considering there are not 
 half a dozen days in an English winter to render 
 it available ! Always too much frost for hunt- 
 ing, seldom enough for skating—' de trop ou de 
 trap pm, partout da7is ce monde /’ ” 
 
 “ I mounted a sledge only because I’ve a 
 pretty little friend who had set her heart upon 
 one,’’ rejoined Colonel Hamilton, wondering 
 why the avowal should produce so singular a 
 smile on the lips of Alberic Vernon. 
 
 “ I trust your pretty little friend will prove 
 properly grateM,” said he, with a plausible 
 face. “You seem bent, my dear sir, on en- 
 lightening the darkness of our obtuse county. 
 No end to the curious spectacles with which 
 you have already favoured the neighbourhood !” 
 
 “ Ah 1 you mean my hookahbadar and the 
 Thibet goats V' replied the colonel. 
 
 “Not exactly,” was Alberic Vernon’s reply; 
 when Sir Henry Middlebury, perceiving (though 
 by no means a miracle of discernment), from 
 the confusion of Captain Hamlyn’s countenance, 
 that his nephew was perpetrating impertinences, 
 wit^ a becoming deference to Colonel Hamil- 
 ton’s age, calling, and income, brought up his 
 heavy forces to the assistance of the weaker 
 party. The baronet’s minute and prolix inqui- 
 ries concerning the constructipn of the sledge, 
 its cost, and principles of draught, allowed time 
 to Alberic to recover his sense of decency. On 
 this occasion, Sir Henry’s powers of prosifica- 
 tion proved as valuable as those of a pompous 
 Mr. Speaker in the House of Commons, who, 
 in the midst of an uproarious debate, rises to 
 expound some point of law, and afford breathing 
 time to the infuriated belligerents. 
 
 Already it had glanced into Alberic Vernon’s 
 mind that, though Colonel Hamilton did not be- 
 long to White’s, was not in Parliament, and 
 neither employed a quotable tailor, nor under- 
 stood a syllable of French, it was unbecoming 
 his chivalry to insult a gray-headed, man under 
 his father’s roof ; and with his usual glibness of 
 speech, and pretended interest in the subject, he 
 accordingly began to descant upon sledges in 
 general, torch-races in Germany, sleighing par- 
 ties in America, and the brilliant traineaux of 
 Moscow and the Bois de Boulogne. 
 
 “We had some charming sledge-races at 
 Ratisbon last winter,,” said he, addressing Lady 
 Middlebury, lest he should be suspected of ci- 
 vility to her daughter. “ I remember, one night, 
 that mad Hungarian, Prince Keglies, in pre- 
 tending to cross the Danube at full galloj), turned 
 over the trainean of one of the young princes of 
 Saxony, and broke his arm.” 
 
 “ For mischief sake I” abruptly inquired Col- 
 onel Hamilton. 
 
 “ No, for a wager. I made my whole jour- 
 ney through Styria last Christmas in a sledge, 
 and flatter myself I drive one like a Laplander. 
 But the horses are too heavy in this country^ for 
 anything of the kind — a great deal too heavy.” 
 
 “By George! I wish you’d try mineT^ cried 
 Colonel Hamilton, .cordially, wholly unaware 
 of the young gentleman’s previous impertinence. 
 
 p 
 
 federating together to keep at arm’s length from 
 the foot of their throne. 
 
 “ If you choose to make the experiment this 
 morning,” continued the colonel, still and ever 
 intent upon promoting the pleasures of, other 
 people, “you must even compromise with dri- 
 ving over to Dean to give Miss Hamlyn a turn j. 
 for I promised her she should have the first 
 day’s enjoyment of the Royal Lydia, which was 
 built solely to please her, poor dear, and t 
 wouldn’t have her disappointed for a Jew’s eye.. 
 However, I suppose a pretty girl’s company 
 will be no obstacle to the pleasure of the drivel’"' 
 The whole party looked aghast, Alberic at. 
 so audacious an attack upon his hand and 
 heart. Lady Middlebury and her daughters at 
 the immorality of such a project as a tUe-a-ttce 
 between a young gentleman and young lady I 
 “ My sister will easily bear the privation tor 
 a single day,”- cried Walter Hamlyn, in utter 
 confusion. “ Mr. Vernon has far too many 
 agreeable companions at his disposal, my dear- 
 colonel, to render it necessary to seek one so far’ 
 from home.” 
 
 “ But I won’t hear of Lydia’s being put off!” 
 cried the colonel, stoutly. “I settled it t’other 
 day with the young marquis that Ae was to be 
 the first to drive her, and a sad vexation ’twas tO' 
 him, poor fellow, to be forced to go off at a mo- 
 ment’s warning, before the sledge was off the 
 stocks. The very last thing he said to me, as 
 he stepped into his char’ot, was a wish the snow 
 might last long enough to enable me to drive it 
 over to Dartford Hall. ‘ But even then, my dear 
 lord,’ said I, nudging his elbow, ‘ you won’t have 
 Miss Lydia along with it;’ on which (between 
 friends) he turned as red as scarlet, for he 
 didn’t suspect, poor lad, that any one had been 
 noticing how plaguy sweet he was upon the 
 young lady all the time he was staying at Dean 
 Park. But he’s a fine fellow, any way, Lord 
 Dartford— a fine, hearty, manly, unaffected fel- 
 low; and, by George, I wdsh there were more- 
 like him in the world !” 
 
 This rambling speech, which seemed almost 
 intended to convey reproach to the two young 
 men present, was followed by a profound silence.. 
 Lady Vernon and her daughter seemed petrified. 
 Regarding the Marquis of Dartford as almost a 
 portion of their goods and chattels, they consid- 
 ered the mere junction of his name with that of 
 the banker’s daughter as positive profanation. 
 Still, the man on so familiar a footing with the 
 marquis was not altogether to be coughed down. 
 
 Already Sir Henry Middlebury was coming 
 to their aid, in his usual laudable spirit of prosy 
 investigation, begging to know in what particu- 
 lar consisted the superiority of Lord Dartford, 
 whether he had taken his seat in Parliament, 
 and were likely to distinguish himself in the 
 
 House 1 .11 
 
 Before the question had been jealously an- 
 swered by Alberic, and scoutingly by Captain 
 Hamlyn. as inconsistent with the well-known 
 habits of their friend, the breakfast party broke 
 up, the carriage being announced for the depar- 
 ture of the visiters for Dean Park. 
 
 By a strange but not unnatural revulsion of 
 feeling, no sooner did Lord Vernon behold Col^ 
 
43 
 
 THE BANKER'S WIFE; OR, 
 
 onel Hamilton m the act of taking leave, previ- 
 ous to quitting his house forever, than the in- 
 stincts of English nature were roused for a mo- 
 ment in his stubborn heart, suggesting a regret 
 that he had been templed into ungraciousness to- 
 wards any guest under his roof Conscious that 
 the old soldier was guiltless of intentional in- 
 trusion on his hospitality, Lord Vernon felt that, 
 ^o long as the stranger remained within his 
 gates, he was entitled to courtesy and protection. 
 -As regarded the question of their acquaint- 
 anceship, according to the policv of the Thane 
 of Fife, 
 
 There might have come a time for tkai. hereafter ! 
 
 These scruples of conscience were only in- 
 creased by the openness of heart and hand'with 
 which Colonel Hamilton, unsuspicious as guilt- 
 less of offence, expressed at parting his cordial 
 -hopes to Lady Vernon and her daughter that 
 they would shortly visit him at Burlington Man- 
 or, bringing with them the Middlebur}* family. 
 Sir Henr^' having expressed his usual pains- 
 taking curiosity concerning the complexion of 
 raw betel-nuts,’ and the fleece and feeding of the 
 Thibet goats. 
 
 At that moment Lord Vernon felt almost 
 Texed at the repellant coldness with which his 
 -lady received these neighbourly demonstrations. 
 -Like Alexander the Great, he began to reckon 
 it among the many miseries of his destiny that 
 -his orders were too punctiliously obeyed. 
 
 “ Hey day ! what, an’t we to’ travel home To- 
 gether, ’ then 7” cri^ the colonel, addressing 
 Waller, as they traversed the hall, esconed by 
 Sir Henry and Alberic, who were projecting a 
 walk to look after snipes in the neighbourhood 
 of Braxham Mere, on perceiving that his own 
 carriage and W'alters hack were in attendance, 
 
 “You mentioned, sir, that you were not re- 
 luming to Dean, but to Burlington; and, as I 
 have business at Ovington on my way home — ” 
 Captain Haml)Ti was beginning, 
 
 “Ay, ay, ay! I see how 'tis, I see how ’tis!’’ 
 good-humouredly interrupted the colonel. “ You 
 threw over the old man, tecause you’d a mind to 
 give yourself a chance of being invited to stop 
 another day in a house containing three pretty 
 girls, eh! instead of keeping company with a 
 lonesome hermit through this dull evening 7 At 
 your age, my boy, I should ha’ done just the 
 same ! But come, Watty, drive back with me; 
 -and if you’ll stay and dine, by George ! Goody 
 Johnston shall toss you up one of those famous 
 dry mango curries I was thlking about yester- 
 day at dinner, of which not a soul in England 
 knows the secret but herself. I promise you 
 that one of Mrs. Johnston’s prawn-curries, wash- 
 ed down by a glass of my old Madeira, is a 
 thing not to be sneezed at, even by a fine gentle- 
 man of the Blues. By George ! it whets an ap- 
 petite that would carry you through three cour- 
 ses and a half of French’ kickshaws.” 
 
 Afraid of hazarding a glance towards Alberic 
 Vernon's impertinent face, Walter Hamlvn po- 
 litely excused himself. While the colonel was 
 -assisted into his well-appointed carriage, he 
 mounted and rode hastily from the door, secret- 
 ly blessing his stars that his visit was at an end, 
 to which, for many years past, he had been look- 
 ing forward as an admost unattainable pleasure. 
 
 I CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The best composition and temperature (for worldlj suc- 
 cess) is to have openness in fame and opinion, secrecy- 
 in habit, dissimulation in seasonable use, and a power to 
 fogn if there be no remedy.— Bac ox. 
 
 Though the morning was one of the brightest 
 of winter mornings, and his hack one of the best 
 reputed in the county, Captain Hamlyn’s ride 
 homeward was far from a pleasant one. For 
 whatever he might have been intended by nature, 
 Walter was, by the influence of education, more 
 worldly and artificial than is generally supposed 
 compatible with the warm impulses of four-and- 
 twenty. Not “ Nature,” but Art, was his “ god- 
 dess.” 
 
 Trained by his father in abject deference to 
 the opinion of the world, the verdict of the co- 
 teries (the “ world” with which he was chiefly 
 acquainted) comprehended his Alpha and Ome- 
 ga, His likings and dislikings had long been 
 regulated by fashionable favour, and a suspi«ion 
 was just arising in his mind that a sentiment 
 stronger still was about to originate under a 
 similar influence. 
 
 From the moment of his introduction to Lu- 
 cinda Vernon, at a royal ball, where he had 
 been account^ the handsomest man, and she 
 the best vclseuse in the room, he had regarded her 
 with strong admiration — admiration not a little 
 enhanced by the consecration of the name of 
 Vernon to his early reverence by the worship of 
 Dean Park. In the days of the old Lord Ver- 
 non, the inhabitants had lived on terms of inti- 
 macy, which did not prevent their mutual risi- 
 tations from being gaudy days and domestic 
 epochs in the archives of the Hamlyn tribe. 
 
 To such a slave of appearances as Walter, 
 the grace and elegance of Miss Vernon were, 
 in fact, a sufficient merit; and now that he had 
 beheld her deriving new charms from the digni- 
 ties of her father’s house, yet accepting his at- 
 tentions far more propitiously than she had ever 
 done in town, his prepossession in her favour 
 was complete. Young, pretty, animated, there 
 was something in Lucinda’s smUe, when she 
 did choose to smile, peculiarly ingratiating ; and 
 as she had chosen to dispense her smiles to the 
 intimate friend of the fortunate man whose mar- 
 chioness she was bent on becoming, the deluded 
 guest had every reason to suppose himself an 
 object of interest in her fastidious eye. 
 
 In London, Walter was a general favourite. 
 Hamlyn of the Blues had conquests to boast of 
 far more graufrung to dandy vanity than the 
 preference of Lord Vernon’s daughter; and ir 
 was, therefore, no exorbitant stretch of self-love 
 to infer that, had other contingencies prospered 
 the intention, his homage might not have proved 
 unacceptable to the daughter of his noble neigh- 
 bour. 
 
 Lucinda was precisely the worldly wife for 
 so worldly a husband — for a man who took as 
 much delight in appearances as others in reali- 
 tv. Lucinda sympathized in all his pretentious 
 finery. Lucinda, like himself, had not an aim 
 beyond the narrow horizon of fashionable life. 
 With such a bride, he felt that he should be in- 
 describably happy ; no longer the humble Ham- 
 lyn of Dean Park, but son-in-law to the Right 
 Hon. John Lord Vernon, and appurtenant to the 
 noble family at the Hyde ; no longer fated to 
 figure by inscription in daybooks and legers, 
 but included in the flattering pages of Burke, 
 Lodge, and Debrett 1 
 
 But, above all, to be beloved by that thrice- 
 
43 
 
 COURT a; 
 
 .refined being, to whom the vulgar earth seemed 
 scarcely good enough to tread — who cultivated 
 impertinence as an accomplishment, and pride 
 as a virtue ! It was really ’too flattering an unc- 
 tion to be laid to any mortal soul; and Walter, 
 
 . as he proceeded to recall, smile by smile, and 
 repartee by repartee, their delighful conversa- 
 tion of the preceding evening, suddenly uttered 
 so deep a sigh^ as sent his warm breath into the 
 •frosty atmosphere like the burst of extra steam 
 discharged from a tender. 
 
 For, alas! it occurred to him at the same 
 moment, that, though any decided avowal of 
 preference on the part of Miss Vernon might, in 
 •the early days of their London acquaintance, 
 have mollified her father in favour of a gentle- 
 manly young man, the heir to an unencumbered 
 estate of six thousand a year; all was now frus- 
 trated by the degrading light in which he had 
 made his debut at Hyde, as the esquire to a 
 foolish knight; henceforward to be inextricably 
 connected, in the minds of the family, w'ith the 
 old Ostrogoth who had proposed to hang for in- 
 competency their right honourable cousin, the 
 Earl of Clanswaney, and addressed Lady Ver- 
 non as “ my lady,” after the fashion of her foot- 
 men, 
 
 “ I was certain the intimacy of that blunder- 
 ing old blockhead boded us no good,” murmured 
 Walter, in the bitterness of his heart. “ How 
 shall I ever manage to make my father under- 
 stand the irreparable injury he may do us by en- 
 tailing such a nuisance on the family. Useless 
 to appeal to my mother, I fear—utterly useless! 
 The seclusion of her life renders T\er compara- 
 tively indifferent to the verdict of society ; be- 
 sides, the old gentleman’s foolish partiality for 
 my sisters has enlisted her as his warmest par- 
 tisan, But the governor, thank Heaven, is a 
 man of the wmrld ; and on hearing how Hamil- 
 ton has been committing himself and us, may 
 grow less fond of his company. Na time to be 
 lost in broaching the subject. After to-morrow, 
 my father and mother start for Rotherwood Cas- 
 otle, and thence for town ; where, once settled to 
 business, it is impossible to abstract the gover- 
 nor’s attention a moment from his consols and 
 Exchequer-bills. But we shall be alone to-day, 
 nnd after dinner, over our wine, I will not lose 
 the opportunity of relating Hamilton’s prepos- 
 terous allusions to Hartford and Lydia, which, 
 in the presence of Lady Vernon, positively made 
 < ^my blood run cold !” 
 
 On arriving at home, however, Walter saw 
 that his father was in no mood for trifling expos- 
 tulations. Rarely save in the intimate privacy 
 of wedded life, never with his favourite son, did 
 Richard Hamlyn give way to the irritations of 
 temper; but by the saddened looks of his mother, 
 Walter saw, the moment he entered the house, 
 that something was amiss. He could almost 
 Lave fancied, indeed, that her eyelids were swol- 
 len with weeping — a painful suspicion; for he 
 loved his mother, if not as she deserved, as 
 much as was compatible with the shallow self- 
 ishness of his heart. He would have prized 
 her more highly had she been the ofispring of 
 nobility than as the daughter of a family of hered- 
 itary merchants, who entailed upon him the 
 opprobrium of having his second name (for he 
 was “Walter Harrington Hamlyn”) engraved 
 upon brewers’ drays and warehousemen’s wag- 
 ons. But, as is usually the case, the parent 
 who had never flattered his foibles was the one 
 nearest to his heart. 
 
 ID CITY. 
 
 “ What is the matter to-day with my mother 
 he inquired anxiously of Lydia, when Mrs. 
 Hamlyn suddenly left the room in which he had 
 found them sitting together engaged at .work. 
 
 “ Nothing that! am aware of,” replied his sis- 
 ter, to whom it was no imusual occurrence to 
 see her mother out of spirits. 
 
 “ She was cheerful enough when we drove off 
 yesterday to dinner,” persisted Walter, “and 
 now she will scarcely utter a word,” 
 
 “Mamma had no opportunity to say much 
 while you were giving us your lively account of 
 the party at the Hyde,” observed Miss Ham- 
 lyn ; “but it does not strike me that she is more 
 silent than usual. The house appears duller, of 
 course, than when filled with company at your 
 first arrival. You miss Lord Dartford— you 
 miss Colonel Hamilton,” 
 
 “Miss Colonel Hamilton T’ -exclaimed Wal- 
 ter, shrugging his shoulders, a suspicion glan- 
 cing into his mind that, according to the old man’s 
 surmises, the departure of the marquis might at 
 least be a source of regret to his sister. “ No, 
 no, 1 miss nobody. I nqiss only my mother’s 
 usual smile, which is certainly the sweetest in 
 the world. Either I have offended her, or some- 
 thing is going wrong in the family.” 
 
 “What can be going wrong'?’’’ cried Lydia. 
 “My dear Walter, the change is in yourself, 
 not in mamma. By-the-way, now I think of it, 
 she -may be a little out of spirits ; for she was 
 telling me, as you came in, that we should have 
 to go to Rotherwood Castle without my father, 
 who is obliged to return to London to-morrow.” 
 “To-morrow*? How provoking ! On that eter- 
 nal plea of business, I suppose. I wish the word 
 city were utterly effaced from the language !” 
 
 “ Might not the name of Hamlyn chance to 
 disappear in its company 1” replied Lydia, who, 
 under the encouragement of Colonel Hamilton, 
 had of late -sometimes hazarded a retort upon 
 her brother. 
 
 “ Nonsense ! Do you suppose that Mr. Ham- 
 lyn, of Dean Park — Mr. Hamlyn, the member 
 of Barsthorpe, has no existence out of Lombard- 
 street'?” inquired Walter, taking up his usual 
 station in the rocking-chair, as if for the com- 
 posure of his irritation. “ I wish to Heaven,” 
 he continued, pursuing his train of sinister re- 
 flections, “ that I had made up my mind to pro- 
 ceed at once to Melton with Dartford, instead 
 of deranging my plans with Warwickshire and 
 Ormeau! I see how it will happen. Here 
 shall I be, in case the frost sets in, weather- 
 logged at Dean, with that insufferable old man 
 constantly buzzing about us like a huge insect, 
 and profiting by my father’s absence to bore us 
 eternally with his company ! Yesterday, on our 
 way to the Hyde, he had literally the coolness 
 to invite me to dine and sleep at Burlington, to 
 meet — guess whom *?” 
 
 , “ The Markhams, perhaps *?” 
 
 “ A thousand times worse I TomGratwycke: 
 a vulgar, silly, lanky boy, with whom my tiger 
 would scarcely associate !” 
 
 “ It was easy to excuse yourself” 
 
 “ Not so easy as you may fancy, A man so 
 provokingly friendly and hospitable as this 
 worthy colonel of yours, is as hard to throw 
 over as the Tower of Pisa. If the weather 
 were not so detestable, I would start for Melton 
 when you are off to Rotherwood sooner than 
 remain here.” 
 
 “ Why not return to town with my father*?” 
 “When I have just got two months’ leave 1 
 
44 
 
 THE BANKEK 
 
 Absurd ! I had so thoroughly counted on a 
 fortnight here, and a month at Melton with 
 Dartlbrd !” 
 
 “It is really most inconsiderate of Lady 
 Hartford to fall ill during the hunting season !” 
 cried Lydia, laughing. “ But perhaps, when it 
 becomes generally known how much you are 
 bored here, and what an infliction you find Col- 
 onel Hamilton, Providence may send us a thaw, 
 or better health to the marchioness.” 
 
 Walter surveyed the saucy girl with some 
 surprise; but the result of his examination 
 was favourable to Lydia. Though sharing his 
 father’s indignation that a child of seventeen 
 should presume to have an opinion of her own, 
 he was startled by the discovery that, while his 
 attention was absorbed by his London pleasures, 
 his sister had been expanding in the school- 
 room into a lovely and intelligent girl, to a de- 
 gree that fully accounted for the imputed admi- 
 ration of his friend the marquis. 
 
 “ Meantime,” said he, resuming the train of 
 his reflections, “ be assured that I shall not dis- 
 grace myself by again appearing before the Ver- 
 nons in company with your friend the colonel, 
 and so I mean to announce this very day to my 
 father.” 
 
 The torporific influence of a family dinner, 
 enjoyed after the taciturn fashion of Dean Park, 
 produced, however, some modification in Wal- 
 ter’s heroic intentions. On the present occasion, 
 Mr. Hamlyn not only abstained from the men- 
 tion of proper names, but remained altogether 
 silent so lopg as Ramsay and the footmen were 
 in attendance. During dessert, he did not ex- 
 ceed monosyllables; and by the time the ladies 
 withdrew, Walter’s confidence in himself and 
 in his influence over his father was somewhat 
 shaken. Had he possessed a single sin unwhip- 
 ped of justice, in the form of a play-debt or dis- 
 graceful affair of gallantry, he would have trem- 
 bled at the idea of being left alorie with “ the 
 governor !” 
 
 Scarcely, however, had Mrs. Hamlyn quitted 
 the room, when the spirits of her husband ap- 
 peared suddenly to revive. Drawing his chair 
 nearer the fire, he rang for a fresh bottle of Clar- 
 et, specifying to Ramsay a particular binn — the 
 favourite Mouton which had been in requisition 
 for the recent Rothe.rwood party. 
 
 “After all,” thought Walter, “the discomfi- 
 ture of my father and mother arose probably 
 from one of those conjugal misunderstandings 
 common to the best-regulated families. Most 
 likely, they disagreed about my sister, whom 
 her mother brings as much too forward as her 
 father wants to keep too much in the back- 
 ground. My mind is relieved. I think I may 
 venture to announce my visit to Melton,'and 
 throw down the gauntlet to Burlington Manor.” 
 
 Nevertheless, to his own surpnCe, Walter, 
 who was the only member of the family unre- 
 strained by the habitual gravity of his father, 
 found it for once difficult to open the conversa- 
 tion he meditated; not from finding him, as he 
 expected, out of sorts, but from the vein of un- 
 usual loquacity in which Mr. Hamlyn saw fit 
 to indulge. 
 
 No sooner did the favourite Claret arrive, than 
 he expanded, with reckless fluency, on a thou- 
 sand trivial subjects, which, in his ordinary 
 mood, he would have scorned as unworthy men- 
 tion ; such as the merits of Lord Vernon’s French 
 cook, the fine proportions of Lord Hartford’s 
 figure, and the bad taste of the Etruscan library 
 
 ’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 at the Hyde. Gratwyckes, Barlows, Markhams 
 — Ovington, Braxham, Barsthorpe — all and sun- 
 dry — everything and nothing — elicited in suc- 
 cession some flighty remark from the habitually 
 taciturn banker. But that Walter could have 
 numbered the glasses swallowed by his ever 
 sober parent, he could almost have supposed 
 him under the influence of wine. 
 
 “ As you say, old Middlebury is a mouthy,. 
 pompous, empty fellow !” said he, cheerfully ad- 
 dressing his son. “ I remember him at college 
 — a pains-taking ass, even then — wearing his 
 soul out, and other people’s, to ascertain, chap- 
 ter and verse, the cause and eflfect of things that 
 wiser people are content to take for granted^. 
 Another glass of claret, Walter ! This Mouton. 
 is not to be despised. But Sir Henry is a man 
 highly respected in his county — always in the 
 chair at public meetings, and so forth. Lady 
 Middlebury used to be a devilish pretty woman 
 — far prettier than Lady Vernon. The late 
 Lord Vernon was often heard to say that his 
 son had been taken in by the wrong sister. The 
 late Lord Vernon had an aversion to the whole 
 family. Your health, Walter ! your friend Lord 
 Dartford’s health. What sort of girl has the 
 present Miss Vernon grown upl Better look- 
 ing than her eight ugly aunts, I hope — as old 
 Gratwycke' used to call them, the eight foolish, 
 virgins. I have not seen Miss Vernon since 
 she was a child.” 
 
 “ She is considered one of the prettiest per- 
 sons in London,” replied Walter, more warmly 
 than was his wont, so contagious is the influence 
 of good wine and good spirits. “.Miss Vernon 
 possesses an air of distinction and high-breed- 
 ing, in my opinion, far superior to beauty.” 
 
 “ She will marry well, I dare say — though I 
 doubt whether her father will be inclined tO' 
 come down with the ready,” said Hamlyn. “ I 
 think I heard Lord Crawley, the other night,, 
 quizzing his nephew about the fair lady of the 
 Hyde.” 
 
 “ Dartford I” exclaimed Walter Hamlyn.. 
 “ Dartford 7 No, no, that would never do,” added 
 he, with the significant smile that overspreads^ 
 the face of a handsom® man when naming a 
 rival to whom he supposes himself preferred. 
 “ Dartford is' an excellent fellow ; but (as you 
 must have perceived) fond only of horses, dogs, 
 driving, sporting, billiards — ” 
 
 “ In short, not a lady’s man!” interupted his 
 father, summing up. 
 
 “ Whereas Miss Vernon is refinement and 
 elegance itself; the sort of girl whom, were it 
 your wish I should marry, and our prospects m 
 life were equal, I should prefer above all others 
 for a wife.” 
 
 Mr. Hamlyn, fancying, perhaps, that he had 
 not distinctly understood the words uttered by 
 his son, drew his chair a little closer; and, as he 
 poured out another glass of Claret, glanced in- 
 terrogatively at his face. 
 
 “ I said, sir, that were I at liberty to make a 
 choice, of all the girls of my acquaintance I' 
 would marry the daughter of Lord Vernon.” 
 
 Mr. Hamlyn replied by a sudden burst of 
 laughter, that sounded hysterical. He. was a 
 person who seldom laughed. When he did, his 
 mirth had almost the appearance of a convul- 
 sion. 
 
 “ Youf' cried lie; yeni marry the daughter 
 of Lord Vernon 1 you, Walter Hamlyn, unite 
 yourself with a penniless fine lady ? you, th& 
 son of Hamlyn of Lombard-street — of Hamlym. 
 
45 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 the banker*? Think of the tone in which that 
 stiff-necked pharisee, Lord Vernon, would pro- 
 nounce those very words, ‘ the son of Hanilyn 
 the banker /” 
 
 “ I am not likely to afford him the opportuni- 
 ty of insulting us, sir,” replied Walter, coolly. 
 “ So far from deeming it possible I could be re- 
 ceived at the Hyde as a suiter, I never expect 
 to enter the house again, even as a guest. After 
 the offensive conduct of your friend Colonel 
 Hamilton,” he continued, nettled by the reitera- 
 ted laughter' of his father, “ I shall consider 
 Lord Vernon fully justified in cutting our ac- 
 quaintance. It required ail my self-command 
 and forbearance towards every friend of yours, 
 sir, not to tell the old fellow, when we left the 
 Hyde this morning, how great a savage I con- 
 sider him.” 
 
 The merriment of Mr. Hamlyn instantly 
 ceased. A moment before, he had been raising 
 his glass to the light, as if in admiration of the 
 hue and clearness of his claret. He now sud- 
 denly set down the glass, 
 
 “ Better cut your tongue out, Walter Ham- 
 lyn,” was his stern reply, “than let it convey 
 offence to Colonel Hamilton !” 
 
 The banker had all the air of being as abrupt- 
 ly sobered as he had before been suddenly exci- 
 ted. Yet Captain Hamlyn, on raising his eyes, 
 in amazement, to his father’s face, fancied he 
 could discern about the mouth spasmodic twitch- 
 es of suppressed passion. 
 
 “ Be assured, sir,” he resumed-, in a pacifying 
 tone, “ that I did not hazard so much as an un- 
 gracious syllable to the old gentleman. We 
 parted the best friends in the world. Be under 
 no apprehensions.” 
 
 “ AppreKeTisions ! What apprehensions 'I and 
 apprehensions of what 7^^ repeated Mr. Hamlyn, 
 with kindling eyes. “ Of whom do you suppose 
 I am afraid 1 All I desire is, that a poor old 
 man, who has not a relation in the world — who 
 has survived his kith and kin — his wife and 
 children — should derive, in his declining yeajcs, 
 such comfort as our society is able to afford 
 him. A mere matter of Christian charity, 
 Walter — a mere matter of Christian charity! 
 Hamilton is viery fond of you ; he admires you, 
 he appreciates you. You were his son’s fag, I 
 fancy, at Eton; and your very name refreshes 
 his heart with reminiscences of his children.” 
 
 “ His name brings back to me reminiscences 
 of the blacking-brush, which Jack Hamilton 
 used to fling every morning at my head when 
 his shoes were not ready!” cried Walter, ho- 
 ping to divert the serious view his father had 
 for a moment seemed inclined to take of the case. 
 
 “ Robert Hamilton was nearer your age, I 
 fancy T’ resumed Mr. Hamlyn, with an air of 
 abstraction. 
 
 “ Robert, however. Hiked even less than his 
 brother. Bob was always a peevish, sickly 
 fellow.” 
 
 “ His sickliness, my dear boy (between our- 
 selves), may prove the origin of singular good 
 fortune to yourself,” said Mr. Hamlyn. 
 
 “ To we?” reiterated Walter, with a smile. 
 
 “ I have reason to know,” persisted his father, 
 lowering his voice to a still more confidential 
 pitch, “ that the widow is coming to spend the 
 spring at Burlington Manor.” 
 
 “ What widow?’ inquired Walter Hamlvn, 
 beginning to fear that what he had at first mis- 
 taken for tipsiness might be in truth mental 
 aberration. 
 
 “ Robert Hamilton’s widow. That beautiful 
 Ellen Somerton, whom his father (at my insti- 
 gation) did so much to prevent his marrying, 
 and who made him so good a wife.” 
 
 “Well, sir!” demanded Walter, still per- 
 plexed by his father’s incoherency of manner. 
 
 “PEeZ/, sir*? Why, I say that a pretty wife 
 and a good wife, when converted into a widow, 
 may make a good and pretty wife again. Mrs. 
 Robert Hamilton’s health, Walter ! Drink it, 
 my boy, in a bumper ! Mrs. Robert Hamil- 
 ton’s health ! till she become Mrs. Walter Ham- 
 lyn.” 
 
 “What can you possibly mean, my dear 
 father?’ exclaimed Walter, now almost* hoping 
 that his father’s mind might be disturbed. 
 
 “ Mean ! why, that Hamilton is about to be- 
 queath her every guinea of his three hundred 
 and fifty thousand pounds, that is, if she should 
 marry to please him.” 
 
 “I trust she mayf was Walter’s cold reply, 
 “ but it certainly will not be through my offering 
 her my hand.” ' 
 
 “ Impossible to say, till you become acquaint- 
 ed with the lady,” pleaded his father, still un- 
 discouraged, 
 
 “ I can both say and swear it,” persisted Wal- 
 ter Hamlyn. 
 
 “The eloquence of three hundred and fifty- 
 thousand pounds may induce you to forswear 
 yourself.” 
 
 “ Not where there exists a counterbalance of 
 vulgarity and pretension,” cried the young man, 
 his feelings warm with claret and the recol- 
 lection of Lucinda Vernon’s bright eyes. “ No- 
 thing on earth — no, my dear father — I swear that 
 nothing on earth wmuld ever induce me to unite 
 myself with a widow !” 
 
 “Nothing on earth! not even your father’s 
 entreaties, your father’s danger, your father’s 
 misery, your faflier’s ruin !” demanded the elder 
 Hamlyn, trembling in every limb, and appa- 
 rently on the verge of distraction. “ Take heed 
 of what you are saying, Walter,” added he, 
 with a glance that froze the young soldier’s 
 blood within his veins, “ You know not what 
 it is to live stretched on the rack of a responsi- 
 bility such as mine. Very well for you, your 
 mother, your brother, \yho glide through life en- 
 joying without an effort the fruit of my labours, 
 the fruit of my joyless days, my sleepless nights, 
 my perilled salvation ; all very wmll for you, I 
 say, to disparage my labours, and recede from 
 this sacrifice, or refuse the other exertion, while 
 your father is wearing himself down to the grave 
 by his endeavours to preserve the honour of the 
 family.” 
 
 Pausing for a moment in his impetuous volu- 
 bility, Mr, Hamlyn suddenly filled his glass 
 with wine, and swallowed it almost at a mouth- 
 ful. 
 
 ' “ But you may tax a man’s faculties too far,’* 
 cried he, with renewed fervour ; “ and beware, 
 Walter, beware of driving me to utter distrac- 
 tion. I have this day cursed your brother — 
 cursed him with a bitter and cleaving (furse. I 
 have this day raised my hand against my wife, 
 because she ventured to defend his disobedience. 
 Do not tempt me into farther outrages, do not 
 bring me to farther shame. Walter, yoU are 
 my eldest-born — you are ray heir. I have ever 
 loved yo^i better than the rest. You bear my 
 father’s name — you will one day be my father’s 
 representative. For you I have toiled, for you 
 I have suffered, for you I have sinned. Though 
 
46 
 
 THE BANKERS WIFE; OR, 
 
 the others are conspiring to bring do^ra ray hairs 
 vitb sorrow to the grave, ray son, my son. lei rae 
 not have to reckon you among my enemies.’' 
 
 Convulsive sobs bursi Irooi Ihe bosom of 
 Richard Hamlyn ns he concluded ibis frantic 
 apostrophe : and Waiter, who no longer enier- 
 lained a doabi of the mental inUrmuy of his 
 companion, knew not whether to soothe or chide . 
 the morbid emotions of the simerer. But, though ‘ 
 apprehensive of augmeniing ihe evil by any ex- ^ 
 pressions of sympathy, the impulse of nature , 
 was not to be resisted ; and, taking the hand of ; 
 his lather, he held it for some minutes in silence 
 between his own, till warm tears gushed Irom ! 
 the eyes of the b^ker. | 
 
 Thus relieved, he seemed by degrees to re- 
 cover some ponion of tranquiiliiy. j 
 
 Forgive me ibr having agitated you, my ■ 
 dear boy," faltered he, at length, though, in fact, ' 
 it was himself alone who had given evidence of j 
 agitation. have this day, 'Walter, gone; 
 lluough much to disturb my mind — much to ■ 
 depress my courage. Your brother has griev- i 
 ously disappointed me. Bat we will talk of it 
 another time — another time, when I am more : 
 composed. Not a word on the subject to your : 
 mother. It is unfair and bootless to entangle 
 women in one’s perplexities. They can ahord 
 no support — no counsel — and only increase the . 
 mischief by their c’nic ken -heartedness." 
 
 “ Aly dear father, I entreat, I implore you to i 
 explain youmeli," cried Walter, becoming moie 
 and more alarmed, in proportion as his father j 
 appeared more rational. Is there anyt'ning in , 
 which I can afford you the least comfon, ihe | 
 least assisiance V’ j 
 
 Nothing,” replied Mr. Hamlyn. “ Did you 1 
 not tell me, just now, that my utmost entreaties i 
 and three hundred and filly thousand jwunds • 
 would not determine you to marry a widow “I | 
 such is the extent of your filial piety. But, as 1 1 
 said, before, we will discuss the matter thorough- 
 ly another time.” 
 
 “ No ! noK, now ! What is there to prevent 
 it"? ’ cried Walter Hamlvn. 
 
 “ The irritation of myTeelin^. I cannot talk 
 of it with patience — I cannot t^k of it with rea- 
 son. Your brother — your cold-blooded, selfish 
 brother, presumes to — but no matter, 'no matter. 
 When the stroke of retribution comes, it will 
 fall on all — root and branch, sapling and tree, 
 L-ord Temon may u-iumph then to his heart’s 
 content over H aml yn. the banker." Then, sud- 
 denly ringing the bell, as if to put a decisive 
 stop to his own rash disclosures, let us go in 
 to coffee, W'alter, mritx>y," said he, “let us go 
 in to coffee. They are expecting us — they are 
 waitiog for us. But, remember, not a syllable 
 of all this to your mother." 
 
 This prohibition was, perhaps, as uyiag to 
 Captain Hamlyn’s feelings as any part of the 
 painful scene by which it was preened. For 
 the first time in his life, Walter was undergoing 
 severe mental uneasiness; because witnessing 
 for the first lime inconsistency and incoherency 
 on the part of one whom he had hitherto re- 
 garded as utterly passionless, utterly immovable, 
 ruthless as destiny, bat steady as lime. And to 
 behold the man of stone thus passion-stricken, the 
 man of business thus lost to all considerations of 
 prudence, filled him with alarm. 
 
 Scarcely, however, had be been five minutes 
 in the drawing-room, where Mrs. Hamlyn and 
 Lydia were pursuing their customary evening 
 avocations, when his father, undisturbed in voice 
 
 or mien, made bis appearance, and joined cheer- 
 fully in conversation; exhibiiing no trace orjbis 
 dignty excitement aJier dinne^ or his subsequent 
 depression. 
 
 Tne cold, calm, leaden-eyed banker was hiiu- 
 seif again ; and as Walter contemplaied ibis 
 miraculous transition, he irembied tj consider 
 how much of his lather's hatiiual serenity might 
 be a matter of hypocrisy — how mucu of nis 
 decorum an effort of sell'-comrol. It was, per- 
 haps, only wiihin the last half hour he ban wit- 
 nessed indications of the real character of Ham- 
 lyn, the banker. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 To be loved by men, a man must appear to love them ; 
 and, for preserving the appearance. I cannot think of any 
 means so sure as ihe reality. — S eldex. 
 
 Walter Hamltx retired to rest that night 
 with the fixed deierminatioD of entreating a full 
 explanation from his father early on the mor- 
 row ; but his rest having been singularly disturb- 
 ed by anxieties arising from the mysterious com- 
 municaiions of Mr. ELamlyn, iniermingled with 
 reminiscences of Miss Yemon’s unusual gra- 
 ciousness and surmises touching the atrrac lions 
 of lae " beauiilul Ellen,” his nigSt was prolonged 
 so far into the morning, that, when he reached 
 rhe breakfast room, his father had already start- 
 ed for town, and the post-horses arrived to con- 
 vey his mother and sister the first stage towards 
 Rotherwood Castle. 
 
 Indignant with himself for having lost the op- 
 portunity of satisfying his misgivings, Walter 
 resolved to address himself by letter to his father, 
 and would probably have persisted thronghoot 
 the day in his quarrel with his own ill-iimed 
 laziness, but for the consolations imparted to his 
 feelings as a sportsman by a sodden thaw. Al- 
 ready the slopes of the park, half covered with 
 snow, were assnming the sort of piebald com- 
 plexion so cheering to the. eye of a desponding 
 tbx-hunter; and, to crown his contentment, the 
 Ormeau hounds were to meet the following 
 morning at Alderham Gorse, a capital covert 
 within three miles of Dean Park. 
 
 “ Your father begged me to tell you, Walter,” 
 said Mrs. Hamlyn, embracing her son with a 
 dejected air, as she was about to enter the car- 
 riage for her jonmey, “ that he had half promised 
 Colonel Hamilton you would dine with him to-' 
 day. Do, my dear son, if not very disagreeable to 
 you ! You have no reasonable excuse, for the 
 colonel is aware that you are slaying here alone.” 
 Pray dc, dear "Walter! he will be so very 
 glad of your company,” added Lydia, who was 
 following her mother through the portico. “ He 
 really feels towards us as if we were his children. 
 Make the old man happy, therefore, by dining 
 at Burlington lo-day.” 
 
 Though averse at that moment to society of 
 any kind --for Waller, though worldly and frivo- 
 lons, had too honourable a spirit to have already 
 shaken off the painful impressions produced by 
 the rash and alarming ccmmonicalions of his 
 father — he promised, ere the windows of the 
 chariot were drawn up and a last signal of adieu 
 exchanged with the travellers, to comply with 
 their urgent request; and a joyful man wa.s the 
 old colonel that day, on finding that, instead 
 sitting down to his solitary dinner, a claw 
 made on bis bosfdtality for the promised paws- 
 cnirie and Bombay Madeira. 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 47 
 
 But if Walter had indulged in raomentary ex- 
 pectaiiuos of obtaining from Ixvm. the explanation 
 he was prohibited Irotn seeking from his mother, 
 he was speedily undeceived. Before he had 
 been five mmuies at Burlington Manor, he dis- 
 covered that no intcr\'iew had taken place be- 
 tween the colonel and his friend since their un- 
 lucky visit to the Hyde. 
 
 Mrs, Robert Hamilton’s society will enable yoa 
 to dispense with that of my mother and sister, 
 on their departure for Cavendish Square for the 
 season.” 
 
 “ How the dense do yon know that 1 How do 
 I know it mytdf? It doesn’t follow that this 
 daughter-in-law of mine is qualified to reconcile 
 me to the loss of Lydia’s preuy prattle, and Mrs. 
 
 “ Hamlyn tipped me a chit, late last night,” Hamlyn’s sound sense and pleasant company, 
 said he, in the colonial slang to which the Ham- 1 1 know she is handsome, for I’ve her miniaiare 
 lyns were now accustomed, “ that he was forced - 
 to be off to towm by daybreak this morning. 
 
 Business, I suppose ! a slice of the loan in the 
 market, or some trifle of that sort: a Riga corre- 
 
 yonder in the bureau (a present from Bob to his 
 poor mother); and her influence over my boy, 
 which carried ’em through all the difficulties we 
 threw in the way of their marriage, proves that 
 spondent wanting patching, eh 1 or a soap manu- ! she’s clever. But I matTi’t like her for all that. 
 
 1 1 inn m l*vtiWfnlAC* l-T m I Tm i tnlr'n 
 
 factory blown up in bubbles, leaving Hamlyn 
 and Co. in the suds! Ha, ha, ha, ha! Why 
 
 One selddm does like people hy whom one’s 
 aware of having dealt unkindly ! One behaves 
 
 bless your soul and body ! these great money- • all the handsomer to ’em, bv way of atonement, 
 dealers sleep as uneasily in their beds as so many but there’s never a cordial viking. And so, you 
 paupers in the Braxham Union. But, now 1 : see, if }^r Ellen don’t happen to take my fancy, 
 think on’t, he mentioned something of an extra- her visit here will be more a punishment than "a 
 ordinary ballot at the Indy House for the elec- ^ pleasure. However, no need to go in search of 
 
 tion of your unde, Andrew Harrington.’ 
 Captain Hamlyn, aware that no terms of cor- 
 diality subsisted between his father and uncle, 
 saw at once that this announcement was a mere 
 pretext for his abrupt departure. 
 
 “ And did my father- say nothing farther T' 
 said he, with assumed unconcern. 
 
 “ Only that, as you and I were left solitary 
 sparrows, we’d better perch to-day on the same 
 branch ; that maybe you’d dine with me, in com- 
 
 misfortunes. Time enough to take offence when 
 offence is given.” 
 
 All this was strangely different from Mr. 
 Hamlyn’s account of the colonel’s disposition 
 towards his daughter-in-law. But the old gen- 
 tleman’s projects might, perhaps, have under- 
 gone some modification in consequence of his 
 recent observations on men and manners at the 
 Hyde. 
 
 Meanwhile, Walter had no cause to repent 
 
 pas.sion to my lonesomeness. And, by George ! bis conces.sion. Though disappointed in the 
 1 was mons’ously kindly thought of; for, with main object of his visit, the dinner was exeel- 
 nothing better in prospect than a tete-a-iSte with | lent, the colonel chatty and social, and the en>- 
 Pincher, I was beginning to repent I’d shirked ; barrassing, taciturn meal at Dean Park the pre- 
 ihe RothePood party. Though I’m not fond of j ceding day was still too fresh in bis recollec- 
 greai lords or gaudy days (and the Hyde’s been ; tion not to impart a charm to the plain-spoken 
 an additional sickener oir that score), I’m still frankness of his host. His fathers dispiriting 
 
 ^Xn/4 rtf" Kovnrr ol/>no c- i- vwi-n «r 
 
 less fond of being alone.’ 
 
 and unnatural reserve placed strongly in relief 
 
 But you are not to be alone long, I under- ' the warm, cordial nature of the good old colonel, 
 stand,”observed Waller, half desirous, half afraid ! whose heart was open to God and man simplv 
 to hazard a direct reference to the beautiful ; because it contained nothing demanding con- 
 Ellen.” “ My father tells me, sir, that your cealment. 
 
 He saw that, though the abrupt truisms of 
 Hamilton might be out of place in such stilted 
 society as that of the Hyde, in the every-day in- 
 tercourse of life he was worth a whole wilder- 
 ness of VemoDS. rvo bidden motives — no co- 
 
 daughter-in-law is likely to become your in 
 mate 1” 
 
 Ay, so she writes me word,” replied the old 
 man, in anything but a tone of exultation. “ On 
 my poor boy’s death, I wrote from Indy, doubling 
 her join tur’, as I had Iken no home to offer her, * quetting with his power — no crooked policy in 
 or next to none ; and feeling she might entertain * the old soldier! Though fnl’y aware of the im- 
 a grudge against the family, which had shown ! portance of the Hamlyns to his declining vears, 
 itself, in the first instance, so loth to receive her. | he made no secret of his sense of dependanee 
 But I told her, poor thing, at the same time, that i on their society, but welcomed Walter to his 
 if ever old John Hamilton had an English roof ; house with the overflowing glee of one who can- 
 over his head, there was bed and board, and a not do too much to prove his consciousness of 
 hearty welcome for her, when she’d a mind to obligation. 
 
 try ’em. No occasion for her, just then, to make ! “I’ve had that mealy-montbed coxcomb, 
 up her mind, for her own health was delicate young Vernon, here this morning;* said the col- 
 wiih nursing him; and so she’d the wisdom to onel, after thanking Walter hearittv, at the close 
 abide her two years’ widowhood in Italy (where of dinner, for having bored himself with such a 
 she’d seen him drop into the grave !), and there’s “I can’t abide that young fellow! 
 
 luckily beeu time for all unpleasant. feelings to ^ There’s nothing reai about him — nothing I 
 
 subside between us afore our meeting.' 
 
 “ You expect her shortly, then 1” 
 
 “ As soon as maybe, I fancy. I suspect your 
 good raothePs friend. Lady Burlington (with 
 whom she made acquaintance last summer, was 
 a twelvemonth at Lucca), has been firing up her 
 
 ' remember at Ghazerapore a native, who saw his 
 black face for the first time in my looking-glass, 
 insisting upon taking it down from the wall to 
 search for the substantial figure behind the im- 
 age. Now. when I am talking to Master Alberic, 
 I feel as if I should like to hoist out the red man 
 
 fancy with fine descriptions of the beauties of the . instead of the pretence afore me ! 
 
 ^ t M ^ ^ JX — A A ■ * A «« J ■ 11 1 A _ __ _ — 1 
 
 Manor, for this visit to Elngiand is quite a sud- 
 den resoiotioa.” 
 
 “ A very fortunate one for you, sir,” said Wal- 
 ter, couneously. “ Since you have made up 
 
 Did you expect him here to-day 1” inquired 
 Walter, not a little mortified that Vernon should 
 have found his wav to Burlington Manor wiih- 
 om so mneh as leaving a caid at Dean Pa*; 
 
 your mind to scend the sptiog in the coontry, \ an omissiem which he attribnted, on second 
 
the BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 48 
 
 thoughts, to Colonel Hamilton’s indiscreet pleas- 
 antries concerning his sister Lydia. 
 
 “I invited ’em all, if you remember. He 
 came with their apologies, and a pretence of ex- 
 amining the sledge; and had the grace to say 
 that, for a Brummagem build, ’twas by no 
 means a 'bad turn-out. So 1 promised him, it 
 there comes more snow while Lydia’s away, to 
 send it over for the ladies at the Hyde.” 
 
 “You told hip, then, that my mother and sis- 
 ter were gone to Rotherwjod 1” said Walter, his 
 ruffled plumes smoothed by the hope that the ac- 
 knowledged absence of the family had been the 
 origin of the slight. 
 
 “ He knew it, he knew it ; for the very first 
 question he asked was, whether ‘my friend the 
 Marquis of Dar’ford, was to be of the Roth- 
 er’dod party?’ Now that’s just one of the fel- 
 low’s saucy wTirealities. He knew Dar’ford was 
 Twt to be of the party, inasmuch as he’s attend- 
 ing his sick mother in another county. But he 
 chose to hint a make-believe of Mrs. Hamlyn 
 and Lydia’s posting off after a young nobleman 
 with forty thousand a year, and said as much as 
 that' he wished they might get it, only in quality 
 terms. On which I gave him to understand 
 there was no need of any such waste of turn- 
 pike-tickets, for that I’d never seen k young 
 gentleman more spoony, more loth to leave a 
 place, or more anxious to get back again, than 
 my Lord Dar’ford to Dean Park.” 
 
 “ I am. sorry you alluded to the subject at all, 
 said Waller; “for the Vernons, and even others 
 less worldly, would consider it the height of 
 presumption on our part, sir, to conjecture the 
 possibility of such a prefmence, which, to do 
 my mother and sister justice, never a moment 
 entered their heads.” 
 
 “ And why not, pray ? And what right have 
 the Vernons, or e’er a body else, to call it pre- 
 sumption? Lydia’s as pretty and pretty-be- 
 haved a girl as any in the British dominions, let 
 t’other be whom she may !” 
 
 : . “ But the disproportion of rank and fortune— 
 
 '! “ What’s fortune to a young fellow with forty 
 thousand a year? W^hat’s rank to a marquis, 
 who may make any Joan a lady ? If Lord 
 Dar’ford can’t marry to please himself, w/io can, 
 I should like to know ?” 
 
 “He will probably please himself and his 
 family at the same time, some day or other, by 
 choosing a wife in his own order of society.” 
 
 I “Nonsense, nonsense! Do you pretend to 
 arrange men and women in classes, on the Lin- 
 naean system, like plants and insects ? Do you 
 want to make society a kitchen-garden, all the 
 spinach in one bed, and all the endive in t’other ? 
 Lydia does belong to his order of society. They 
 are both young folks of cultivated minds and 
 refined manners; though in both respects, be- 
 twixt ourselves, our little girl has a plaguy 
 deal the advantage I” 
 
 “Yours is a very philosophical view of the 
 case,” replied Walter, wishing it had proceeded 
 from the lips of Lord Vernon rather than of the 
 colonel, “but I fear it will not stand against 
 the battle-array of public opinion. The Roth- 
 erwoods, for instance, are worthy, unassuming 
 people, and on friendly terms with my family ; 
 but rely upon it. Lady Rotherwood would be in- 
 dignant at the idea of a marriage between her 
 nephew and my sister.” 
 
 “ More shame for her, then, to have sat by sim- 
 pering as she did, while the marquis wa^ rec- 
 ommending himself to dear Lydia with all his 
 
 might and main. Why, what the deuse is there 
 against the match? That the girl’s a banker’s 
 aaughter? What then! If she was a banker’s 
 ieiress, with fifty thousand a year to her fortune, 
 we should have all the dukes in the land run- 
 ning after her, and folks would praise their pru- 
 dence. My dear Watty! the day’s past when 
 noblemen thought it a fine thing to sacrifice their 
 own and their children’s happiness to the glory 
 of having a titled name inscribed on a sham ap- 
 ple, in the family-tree hung up in their hall (to 
 my thinking, as bitter an apple as the one that 
 tempted Mother Eve to sin!). Life isn’t long 
 enough for such empty potter. The March of 
 Intellect has left such rubbish behind it, among 
 other useless baggage. You might as well pre- 
 tend to believe in witchcraft or the philosopher’s 
 stone, as in the right divine of lords and ladies.” 
 “You need not reprove waj credulity,” said 
 Walter, with a smile. “ On the contrary, it is 
 my interest to hope you may gain proselytes to 
 your doctrines wherever you see fit to play the 
 apostle; but, depend on it, pride of birth was 
 never more influential in England than at this 
 moment. All our institutions have an aristo- 
 cratic tendency. The increasing fusion or con- 
 fusion of classes necessitates a sort of fanati- 
 cism in the order whose privileges are invaded, 
 just as religious persecutions beget religious en- 
 thusiasm.” ^ j 
 
 “ Mighty plausible and famously well- word- 
 ed,” said the colonel. “ ’Twouldn’t read amiss in 
 a quarterly review, from which, inaybe, you 
 cribbed it, eh, Master Watty ? But ’tisn’t sound, 
 ’tisn’t sound, my boy ! ’Tis as hollow as a bub- 
 ble. You know, as well as I do, that the most 
 stiff-necked of these aristocrats would marry his 
 son 'or daughter, at any time, to mine or your 
 father’s, on a sufficient amount of temptation; 
 and then, what becomes of their principles? 
 Never was there a great heiress in England, be 
 she whom she might, that all the lords in the king- 
 dom didn’t run after, to say nothing now and 
 then of princes of the blood !” 
 
 “ I believe you are right. But, though facts 
 may justify your assertion, you will never per- 
 suade the world, sir, that the daughter of Mr. 
 Hamlyn, of Lombard-street, with five thousand 
 pounds, is a suitable wife for the Marquis of 
 Dartford.” 
 
 “ If he's persuaded of it, let the world go and 
 be— hanged. As to the five thousand pounds 
 fortune, my dear boy— but of that hereafter. I 
 tell you what, Walter, I’m sick of seeing so 
 much of the happiness of God’s creatures sacri- 
 ficed to big words. ‘The World!’ What on 
 earth does the wedlock of two young folks, of 
 independent circumstances and irreproachable 
 conduct, matter to ‘the world,’ which, after all, 
 is like the wind, more talked of than seen, ex- 
 cept by the pigs. In the first place, what is the 
 world ? A few court cards, with finer faces 
 than the rest of the pack, eh ? A few fine gen- 
 tlemen, who’ve jockeyed each other out of the 
 right of deciding who’s fit company to eat his 
 dinner, or play his rubber, in certain houses in 
 St. James’s-street?- and a few fine ladies, whom 
 the said fine gentlemen consider worth touching 
 their hats to ? That’s the long and short o’ the 
 world, Watty, according to your vocab’lary. 
 And what’s more, there’s many a first-rate pro- 
 fessional man, ay, and many a first-rate Parlia- 
 ment man, whose opinion or company you 
 v/ouldn’t give a whiff o’ yopr cigar for, only 
 ’cause they don’t exactly belong to what such 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 49 
 
 titmice as you and young Vernon — and your el- 
 ders and betters too — think proper to call the 
 \forld!” 
 
 Walter Hamlyn, who, during this harangue, 
 had been enjoying a cigar and a glass of whis- 
 ky-toddy such as the steps of Crockford’s never 
 .afforded to their amateurs, secretly congratula- 
 ted himself that these Hottentotisms of the wor- 
 thy old gentleman had not startled the ears w- 
 lite of the Hyde, instead of producing in his 
 own a gentle titillation, forming an agreeable 
 counteraction to the soothing fumes of his fra- 
 •grant Havana. 
 
 “ I dare say you are very right, sir !” said he, 
 throwing the stump into the fire, and taking 
 from the silver salver by his side a steaming 
 -goblet, a few concluding sips from which com- 
 pleted the unusual expansion of his feelings. 
 “ It is a field I have often fought over with my 
 brother Harry, and been invariably defeated. 
 Harry pretends that those whp live out of soci- 
 ety (such as himself, as a scholar, or yoii, as a 
 hermit) are in the position of aeronauts looking 
 'down upon the earth and beholding all things 
 on the same level — the mountain and the mole- 
 ihill, the city and the village.” 
 
 “And a plaguy good notion too! That was 
 .Harry’s idea, was it ! I suspect he and I should 
 .hit it off famously.” 
 
 “ Harry is an original, as I heard my sister 
 telling you the other day.” 
 
 “ Why, I hope you don’t call yourself a cofyl 
 Xydia was saying, if you remember, that no 
 eople on earth could differ more than her two 
 rolhers !” 
 
 “According to Harry’s doctrines, the differ- 
 ence arises from the pressure of the atmosphere 
 we live in, as the weight of objects differs in or 
 ■out of the receiver of an airpump. So strong, 
 however, is the influence of our second nature, 
 that, I admit, few people would take us for 
 brothers. Harry is quite a bookworm.” 
 
 “ And ym a siM:worm, eh"? Well, 1 can’t ap- 
 prove his taste in that particular Reading’s a 
 jfamous thing when talking’s not to be had. 
 Books are good company enough where there 
 are no men and women. At Ghazerapore, for 
 instance, a new magazine or amusing tour was 
 manna in the desert. But, thanks to the Bond- 
 street booksellers, yonder table’s covered with 
 ”em, and ’twould be along time afore I thought 
 -of cutting open the leaves, so long as I’d your 
 pleasant company at hand, or the choice of 
 dropping in to a rubber at Dean Park. By-the- 
 way, I suppose we shall be having your brother 
 at home here shortly 1 He’ll be of age, won’t 
 be, next month V 
 
 “ Next month 1 February 1 Yes, I believe 
 io. But coming of age is an expression seldom 
 :<used in a family, unless for an eldest son. Har- 
 ry will certainly be one-and-twenty on the 19tb 
 of February.” 
 
 “ And in another month or so, I think Lydia 
 ^told me, he’s to take his degree 1” 
 
 “You may rely on Lydia’s information on 
 any point regarding her brother. They are 
 mearer of an age, and nursery friends. I have 
 dived less with my sisters, and Harry is deci- 
 dedly the favourite.” 
 
 “ ’Tis but fair the poor lad should be a fa- 
 vourite with somebody or another!” observed 
 the colonel; “ for, between you and me and the 
 fire, Watty, you have it all your own way with 
 your father.” 
 
 “ I should have thought you had now seen 
 
 enough of the family, sir,” replied Walter, “ to 
 be aware that no one has a grain of influence 
 with my father! In his own quiet way, he is 
 the most arbitrary man on the face of the earth.” 
 “A pretty thing for you to say, my young 
 spark, when you chose to be a soldier (more’s 
 the credit to you) in spite of his teeth ! ’Tis 
 my notion that all eldest sons are born with the 
 bump of contradictiveness. There was wy poor 
 boy. He, too, chose — but no matter ! How- 
 ever, from something your mother hinted to me 
 t’other night (as a reason for begging me not to 
 mention Harry’s name just now afore his father), 
 I suspect my friend Hamlyn’s ibund cause to 
 regret he did not pop him into the banking- 
 house three years ago, instead of sending him 
 Greek-mongering to college.” 
 
 “ Has Harry been getting into scrapes, then, 
 at Cambridge 1” eagerly inquired Walter, sit- 
 ting down again, though he had just risen to 
 depart. “ Very unfair of him not to apply to 
 me ! Very unfair of him — very unkmdP 
 
 “ Maybe he mighty if they were money- 
 scrapes !” replied the colonel, forgiving young 
 Hamlyn his French essences and varnished 
 boots in favour of his prompt brotherly affec- 
 tion. “ But Vm afraid he’s likely to cross his 
 father’s purposes, just as his brother did afore 
 him. Neither of ray friend the banker’s sons 
 seem to inherit much taste for the shop ; one, 
 ’cause he’s a fine gentleman — t’other, ’cause he’s 
 a whimsical gentleman. The proverb doesn’t 
 always hold good, that ‘ As crows the old cock, 
 so crows the cockerel.’ ” 
 
 “ Do you mean to say, sir,” demanded Wal- 
 ter, in great surprise, “ that Harry rebels against 
 going into the bank 1” 
 
 “ Something of that kind, I fancy ?” 
 
 “ Why, he must be out of his senses !” 
 
 “ Were you mad, pray, when you raised the 
 same objection 7” 
 
 “ I sometimes think sp !” replied Walter, 
 good-humouredly. “ But, though my father 
 compromised with the insanity of his elder son, 
 I fear he has not a sufficient stock of patience 
 for two^ Consider what a loss to the family, 
 should anything happen to my father, if none of 
 us succeed him in the business,” 
 
 “ I suppose that^s what he pleaded to you, eh ! 
 and has now got to plead to Rebel the Second 
 Mrs. Hamlyn, I can tell you, is miserable about 
 the matter, and wanted me to use my influence 
 in softening her husband. But, faith. I’m far 
 more disposed to try my hand at melting the ob- 
 stinacy of the delinquent. On this occasion, 
 Hamlyn has all the reason on his side.” 
 
 “ To be sure he has! What a provision for 
 Harry to reject ! Such a standing as my fa- 
 ther’s ! Such a position as that of an eminent 
 London banker.” 
 
 “ Then why scout it yourself, Mister Jes- 
 samy 1” 
 
 “ Harry and I are differently situated. His 
 alternative was an appointment-in India.” 
 
 “ Was and is are two things! Harry Ham- 
 lin, they tell -me, has distinguished himself pro- 
 digiously at the University. The learned pro- 
 fessions are open to him. Public life’s open to 
 him.” 
 
 “So it will be if he fulfil my father’s inten- 
 tions. The great object of my brother’s going 
 to Cambridge was to qualify him for the House 
 of Commons (for which I have not the smallest 
 vocation), so that, one day or other, my father 
 may resign him his seat for Barsthorpe.” 
 
so 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 ‘■PendiD* wUch. he's to wear away the best , FewcouDirTspectaclesmoreejcitmg.inshorti 
 of his dav3° in Lombaid-street, trying to prove than the rendezvous of a fevtMnie pack, to 
 to Uie money changers that two and two make 1 which, on all sides, equipages ot evep- sort are 
 fivrwiT a quill llhind his ear, and the price ' repairing in full ammaiion, from the lamily- 
 r \ rinmntr in if See what such coach oi the squire to the knowing dog-cart of 
 
 into a mummv ' Why. at eight-and-lorty, your , ter s nor^b, uui jcaiuu^.^ « ak-u.a.g 
 fXr'ra“olJer manf kt heart, than I at sixty- : of the grooms and horses of other masters; the 
 2ren after griUing kway my constitution be- ; sportsmen themse ves, arriving smglv, doubly,, 
 ween the trofics. However, tor all that, I don't or in groups, on their road-hacks-in 'heir moutbs- 
 ^^“10 back up your brotheJl 1 only mean to a cigar, or a repnmand for the Incktes lad who 
 «v as his mother did to me, that there are ei- 1 is sure to be too late or too early, or have heated 
 Ssks to made for the lad; that at A« age, a | their hunters in zeal to prove over-punctual; 
 fellow of spirit thinks twice afore chaining him- and, finally, the wea.her-beaien, shrewd-faced 
 Sf to°he'^ar- and that, over a mind like his, old huntsman and wnipper-in-part and parcel 
 one has a tettkr chance by the influence of ar- i of their well-known steeds -centaim. whore 
 miment, than by throwing his dependance in his man-moiety is encased m scarlet and black lel-- 
 S Md seeinv who can talk loudest. But vet-followed by, or following, the pack of eager, 
 mind Waster AVattv 1 All this is as confiden- j high-couraged ho nds, who move together, vii a- 
 flal as a -ovemor-gkneral’s despatch. So don't cions and compact, as though a quarter of au 
 no Md lit the cat out of the bag, and get me ; acre of snow were suddenly endued with lile 
 ^ wT-or fhp rnaU for blabbin*^.” 1 and musculanty — all conspire to impart to the 
 
 is a poor compliment to"* my head and winterlandscapeadegreeofvigourandvitaluy- 
 hearL”-aid Walter (bUterly enough for a dandy). ' such as, amid the rnore vivid impulses of sum- 
 iha'i 1 am the last ^rson to be made acquainted ; mer, a race-couree alone avails to call mto acaon. 
 
 the troubles of^^^ 1 All the world, animate or inanimate, is m 
 
 ‘4?ch v4y ane gemlemen as yon are som^^ spirits. Care is forgotten, business 
 
 times supr^sed to care less what is passing in i laid aside. The statesman renoimces his po^ 
 
 t^fr fanXs than elsewhere, » cried the old col- tics, the countrj^ doctor neglects his patients, the 
 onel, who took as much pleasure in putting him ; bndegroom 
 
 on his mettle as is found by many m ^tling up ^ ^ kidded wife vest®en^ 
 
 ou'eZl the farmer defies his wife's proh[bkion., and the 
 Wattv^ my bov ' I ask your pardon ! farmer’s son the farmer’s, the moment the hoxin<^ 
 ^w H ^ ^ are heard or seen making their way towards the 
 
 I I ^ iniustice of mv mother spot where from two to four hundred healthy^ 
 
 vi^iTMvpr Sr rather than yours ” replied happv individuals are met together for the anm- 
 
 and brother sir, rather tnan yours, repueu ^ 
 
 » And^Sn’^ see that they might feel a offence against the community consists in rob- 
 
 delicacy l^^lyTomTlain ' if wa^SiTfiWt time in his life Colonel Hamil^ 
 
 filial refieilion| H^y could witnessed this cheering spectacle, and 
 
 ^“^B^euer 
 
 brother. t mav snare mv^elf the trouble ■ and curiosity. Havmg persuaded alter to- 
 
 worth consulting, I P . , - Colonel Ham- bear him company in tne barouche, the young 
 ofgiviugan opmiou ^od-bigh^ fobbd ■‘>i"'^blf every uiouienl com- 
 
 you conntiT Lfore us^’ to satisfy the inquisitiveness of his companion, 
 
 ten, and have » heavy ^ “Who the deuse is that crossing the turnip. 
 
 q.rn^“''Thrmee?s a. Aid’ Elm I field 1" cried the eokmel. •■ ’IVhy, by George ft 
 
 man. 1 he meet s at a , qjg Barlow himself; looking as iresh as a 
 
 mean to dnve over to coverb shouldn’t ' four-v’r old, and all the more consequential to- 
 
 mg days am over, J ^ ^ j^rn- day that the meet’s on his own ground. I didn’t! 
 
 give myself the treat of looking at a neat turn ^ sportsman: yet his hunt- 
 
 hEre,M“a E?h” 
 
 MW, my *"• ^/°s”|Eii!E?"h,“Md ’ EbEEraM" I\ifof ptofthEriMk^L 
 
 hours UMb fow. So good ni,bt. and ^ 
 
 pleasant omatn- lye^ , strawberry and cream complexion to match V 
 
 E'F'SlSS'ss'.i;’?.;: ; i:C? 
 
 emn M^rf'the AlSa” Ifamefs,’ wh^ had a^mhid 
 
 tired from 'b' i show off his stock ia the field, aud unite busi- 
 
 “ErT:UE KVS«wUhlu reasonable dis- ^ 
 tai.ce. 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 61 
 
 panying, in his 6wh carriage, the man so out- 
 rageously contemned at the Hyde. But there 
 was no fear of his guileless companion mis- 
 doubting his pitiful motives. The colonel was 
 engrossed, both heart and soul, both eye and ear, 
 by the stirring scene before him, 
 
 “ By George ! what a splendid creator’,” cried 
 he; “that bay, I mean, from which the helper 
 has just shifted the saddle-cloth. Why, ’tis a 
 pictur’ for an artist! Worth three hundred 
 guineas if it’s worth a pound I Whose is it, I 
 wonder V* 
 
 “ This is only the third time I have been out 
 this winter,” replied Walter, “and I scarcely 
 know a horse in the field. Lord Cossington is 
 usually the best-mounted of the Ormeau party ; 
 but he would have had one of the hunt-grooms 
 in attendance. The bay probably belongs to a 
 strangerj There are always fellows over from 
 Leamington, who make a grand show and pro- 
 digious noise. We are pretty sure to have some 
 wonderful turn-outs from Leamington.” 
 
 The stir and bustle were now every moment 
 Increasing, till they reached the outskirts of the 
 gorse, whose dingy verdure looked almost as 
 gay in the midst of winter nakedness as its gold- 
 en blossoms rendered the spot at midsummer 
 amid surrounding verdure. Many a manly, 
 weather-beaten face was turned benignantly to- 
 wards Colonel Hamilton, as they drove through 
 a jolly group of fustian-suited but famously- 
 mounted sportsmen, the farmers of the neigh- 
 bourhood; and Walter w‘as almost piqued to 
 perceive that, among them, as well as among the 
 country gentlemen, his companion, though so 
 new a comer into the county, was better recog- 
 nised than his father's son, the hereditary ’squire 
 of Dean Park. There was something peculiar- 
 ly cordial in their mode of touching their hats 
 to the old soldier, with whose manly calling and 
 liberality as a lord of the manor they experienced 
 more sympathy than was compatible with the 
 demure, cautious, and sedentary nature of the 
 banker; whom, though affecting the War’ick- 
 shire squire, they could never prevail on them- 
 selves to regard otherwise than as Hamlyn of 
 Lombard-street. 
 
 A thousand friendly greetings and uproarious 
 “ how are ye’s” were exchanged between the 
 colonel and the lesser squirearchy of Braxham 
 and Ovington, of whose existence, after the 
 fashion of the Hyde, the Hamlyns aflecied to 
 have no cognizance, till W alter found himself 
 so much embarrassed by their familiarity with 
 his companion, that he was right glad to descry 
 his groom and hunter leisurely walking to- 
 wards the appointed spot. 
 
 In a moment he was out of the carriage, which 
 the colonel, in compliance with the advice of 
 his jocose friend, had caused to he drawn up on 
 a rising ground, commanding a view of the cov- 
 ert and of the vale of Alderham, which the fox, 
 when found, was most likely to take. 
 
 “ What a thousand pities yOur mother and 
 sister were forced to go to Rother’ood I” ex- 
 claimed the colonel, in the utmost glee and ex- 
 citement, as Walter turned, on the carriage-step, 
 to give him a parting nod. “ Lydia would have 
 enjoyed all this. By George ! it almost tempts 
 me to call out, like the man in the play, for ‘ a 
 horse — a horse!’ I shouldn’t be surprised, afore 
 the season’s over, to find rnyself in the saddle, 
 among the best of ye, galloping like the tailor to 
 Brentford, or John Gilpin to Ware.” 
 
 At that moment Walter Hamlyn sincerely 
 
 wished the noisy old man, whether mounted or 
 on foot, anywhere but where he was ; for a 
 carriage with the Vernon liveries was fast ap- 
 proaching; and sooner than be found in com- 
 pany with the obnoxious arraigner of the Earl 
 ofClansawney, the Bayard of the Blues resolved 
 to flee before the face of the lady of his knightly 
 thoughts. 
 
 By the time the blooming cheeks of Susan 
 Middlebury and her cousin were perceptible 
 from the carriage window, screening their eyes 
 with their hands from the trying glare of the 
 winter sunshine as they gazed with eager curi- 
 osity upon the motley group, Walter was appa- 
 rently absorbed in a highly-interesting discus- 
 sion with his groom, touching the stirrup-leath- 
 ers of his hunting-saddle. 
 
 “ Good-morning, Colonel Hamilton — a charm- 
 ing day for the field ! I think I may venture to 
 point out the scene before us to your admiration, 
 as one of the most national and characteristic 
 in Great Britain,” shouted Sir Henry Middle- 
 bury, who was enacting the part of chaperon to> 
 his daughters and niece. And while the cour- 
 teous old soldier attempted to mingle with his 
 interjectional replies to the mouthy baronet a 
 succession of salutations to his lovely compan- 
 ions, Walter Hamlyn stood obstinately afar off, 
 resolved on no account to be confounded by the 
 fair Lucinda with his homely friend. 
 
 At that moment a general buzz and murmur 
 announced an occurrence of some importance — 
 some luckless sportsman unhorsed, or some pre- 
 suming bumpkin chastised. Equestrians rose 
 in their stirrups, and pedestrians on their tip- 
 toes, while the inmates of the half dozen car- 
 riages on the ground peered out with an air of 
 interest. “ The duke ! the duke !” was instant- 
 ly passed like a watchword from lip to lip, as a 
 gentlemanly, middle-aged man, mounted on a 
 horse (whose value was equal to that of a mod- 
 erate farm), rode hat in hand through the knot 
 of sportsmen assembled at the lower extremity 
 of the covert, accommodating the pace of his 
 noble steed to the amble of a crop-eared, strange- 
 looking, old shooting-pony, bestrode by the 
 scarecrow figure of old Gratwycke of Grat- 
 wycke, who rode beside his Grace of Elvaston 
 with the air of something between an earth- 
 stopper and the clown’s assumption of a cock- 
 ney sport.sman in a Christmas pantomime ; for 
 the duke entertained the highest respect for Mr. 
 Gratwycke of Gratwycke : first, as the head of 
 the most ancient family in the county ; next, as 
 the stanchest preserver of its foxes ; and, thirdly, 
 as the most active and conscientious seconder 
 of the politics of the house of Ormeau. Finer 
 gentlemen were at all timas disregarded by the 
 Elvastons, to make way for a Gratwycke of 
 Gratwvcke. 
 
 “ What on earth brings old Grat and his 
 pony out to-day 1” muttered Mr. Barlow of Al- 
 derham. 
 
 “ What under heaven keeps the duke maun- 
 dering yonder with Gratwycke, when Bowie is 
 putting the hounds into the covert I” exdaimed 
 in his turn Alberic Vernon, as the great man of 
 the moment pushed his way side by side with 
 the queer-looking old gentleman straight to- 
 wards the carriage of Colonel ETamilton, within 
 a few yards of which stood young Vernon, ad- 
 mirably mounted, and, in spite of his horror of 
 the duchess’s Irish nieces, greatly in hopes of 
 catching the eye of the duke, and obtaining an 
 invitation to Ormeau. 
 
52 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 But the “ Frenchified prig” was precisely the 
 sort of youth to move, at the utmost, an indul- 
 gent smile on the countenance of the noble 
 sportsman. Passing with a slight bow of recog- 
 nition the unpromising son of one of his least 
 estimable neighbours, his grace fulfilled his pre- 
 concerted purpose of soliciting an introduction 
 from old Gratwycke to his friend the new lessee 
 of Burlington Manor. Though Ormeau was 
 situated in another county, whereof it formed 
 the leading influence, the habits and character 
 of Colonel Hamilton were fully understood and 
 appreciated by the Duke of Elvaston, who ad- 
 mired tus liberal politics and active benevolence, 
 as much as he despised the narrowness of mind 
 of the ennobled rather than noble lord ol the 
 Hyde, who was known to have driven a Smith- 
 field bargain with his vote and conscience as a 
 peer of the realm. 
 
 By this spontaneous mark of respect on the 
 part of a man so universally beloved as the 
 Duke of Elvaston, the old colonel was inexpress- 
 ibly gratified, and he sat leaning with a bright- 
 ened countenance from the carriage to receive 
 the thanks of the duke for his attention to the 
 only covert on the Burlington estate, and a 
 hearty invitation to him to improve their ac- 
 quaintance at Ormeau the first opportunity. 
 
 “ If you will come and see me,” said his 
 grace, cordially, “ I will show you the height 
 we consider the right thing for thorns in the 
 coverts on my side the county. The late Sir 
 Roger Burlington being at variance with me on 
 political and other matters, always decided that 
 we lived out of visiting distance; which is so 
 far true, that a range of fourteen miles is con- 
 venient or inconvenient, according to the liking 
 of the parties. I shall sincerely rejoice if Col- 
 onel Elamilton will permit me to account him 
 among my near neighbours.” 
 
 And as he courteously raised his hat while 
 receiving the worthy cdlonel’s equally frank re- 
 ply, and then rode on towards the huntsman, 
 leaving old Gratwycke to potter with his friend, 
 not a man in the field but experienced a certain 
 accession of deference towards the stranger 
 whom the duke they so dearly valued delighted 
 to honour. , 
 
 But of all present, Walter Hamlyn was the 
 •one on whom his grace’s attentions produced 
 the strongest impression. At one moment, 
 mortified to see civilities volunteered by the no- 
 ble owner of Ormeau to a perfect stranger in 
 the county, in which his father, an established 
 landed proprietor, had never obtained from him 
 more than a distant bow — he was inclined 
 to rejoice, the next, at a mark of distinction 
 which he was certain had equally astonished 
 and vexed the supercilious heir-apparent of the 
 Hvde. . 
 
 “It is all the result of that malicious old 
 Gratwvcke’s representations,” was Walter’s 
 first reflection. “This will teach the Vernons 
 to think twice before they insult a friend of my 
 ffther’s!” was his second. And while accusing 
 The Middleburys of meanness for the pains they 
 were already taking to enter into conversation 
 with the colonel, he forgot to blush for the still 
 • Tspr inconsistency which had prompted him, to 
 shrink fiom the side of his good old friend, in 
 the riread of exposing himself to the quizzing of 
 nnre fashionable associates. 
 
 >nring the silence that now superseded the 
 boisterous gossip of the groups of sportsmen, 
 while the hounds were pushing their way into 
 
 the prickly covert, Walter was musing in most 
 unsportsmanlike guise upon the singular popu- 
 larity of Colonel Hamilton. 
 
 “ ’Tis altogether unaccountable,” murmured 
 he. “Ordinary in appearance— unpolished (not 
 
 to say vulgar) in manners — moderate in abili- 
 ties, uncultivated, illiterate — neither a sports- 
 man, nor an agriculturist, nor a politician— he 
 comes hither, an utter stranger, and instantly 
 makes the conquest of every family of rank or 
 eminence in the neighbourhood ! The Duke of 
 Elvaston rarely troubles himself to be civil to 
 any but foxhunters; Lord Rotherwood cares 
 only for faimers; Lord Crawley for Tories; 
 Dartford for his brother officers'. Yet one and 
 all have singled out Colonel Hamilton for a fa- 
 vourite ! Just as my mother and Lydia are 
 ready to fetch and carry for him, like a brace of 
 spaniels, do four of the most marked men in 
 England put themselves out of their way to be- 
 set him with attentions ! W^hat is the meaning 
 of this 1 'To them his fortune is nothing! It 
 must be the genuine cordiality of the old man’s 
 nature which begets cordiality in return! One 
 might almost fancy that some malignant coun- 
 ter-charm had arisen from my father’s desire to 
 keep him on terms of exclusive intimacy with 
 our family, which serves to attract towards him 
 the officious attentions of the whole world 1 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Still harping on my daughter ! 
 
 Shjlxspkauk 
 
 “ 1 MUST say, my dear W'alter,” observed Col- 
 onel Hamilton, when they met the fidlowing 
 day at dinner, at the humble but cheerful board 
 of Ovington Vicarage, “ that your good father’s 
 promises concerning a winter in War’ickshire 
 were quite on the safe side o’ things ! W^hy, in 
 proposing to me the tenancy of his ward’s seat 
 of Burlin’ton Manor, Hamlyn expressly said it 
 had little to ofier in the way of society beyond 
 his own fireside, which was open to me at all 
 times ; and our good friends, the present com- 
 pany, who he promised me w'ould be charitable 
 enough to put up with the intrusions of a troub- 
 lesome old fellow, likely to beat the doctor at 
 backgammon, and be less grateful than he 
 ought for the prescriptions of the doctor’s good 
 lady. He told me frankly I might whistle for 
 the civilities of the Hyde; while Ormeau, be- 
 ing in another county, might as well be in ano- 
 ther kingdom. Well, sir! I wasn’t daunted. I 
 signed, sealed, and delivered, in spite of all he 
 said to prove I was going to be as lonesorne at 
 Burlin’ton as Robinson Crusoe, with only him- 
 self for my man Friday.” 
 
 “We have all the more to thank you, ray 
 dear sir,” said Dr. Markham, cheerfully, “lor 
 your confidence in our good-will to make you 
 happy among us.” , . . 
 
 “ But just admire, doctor, how much better 
 my friend Hamlyn has been than his word. See 
 how he’s managed matters for me! Invitations 
 to Rother’ood Castle, to Dar’ford Hall, to Lord 
 Vernon’s, to the Duke of El vaston’s— twice as 
 many, in short, as I care to accept. This is 
 acting the part of a friend by one. However, I 
 can do verv well without these lords and ladies. 
 What with Dean Park, and my friends here and 
 at Gratwvcke, I needn’t spend an evening a 
 week at home more than I please.” 
 
63 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 At this undeserved compliment, Walter Ham- 
 lyn felt the colour rise to his temples. No one 
 knew better than the Markhams Mr. Hamlyn’s 
 utter inability to work the miracles imputed to 
 him. The doctor was, however, sufficiently 
 considerate towards his embarrassment to de- 
 vote himself assiduously at that moment to the 
 study of the glass, predicting rain from a tri- 
 fling rise, while Captain Hamlyn, aware of the 
 importance attached by his father to his influ- 
 ence over the nabob, dared not hazard more 
 than a slight disclaimer. 
 
 “ My father has every disposition, sir, said 
 he, “to secure you all these accessions, and 
 more, to your comfort at Burlington. But the^ 
 will is not always the power.’* 
 
 “ ’Tisn’t for my own share I care about the 
 matter !” cried the colonel. “ As far as I’m con- 
 cerned, I vow to my Maker that Dean Park and 
 Ovington Vicarage comprise all I ever wish to 
 iee of society. The Hyde is about as cheerful 
 as a model-penitentiary or family vault; and 
 though the Rother’oods are excellent folks. I’ve 
 seen faster coaches in my time. But I’m mighty 
 glad to have secured a little change for poor 
 Ellen ! After living abroad, she’ll find the Manor 
 as dull, maybe, as I find Lord Vernon’s state- 
 prison. But now, if she wants younger faces 
 than mine and my friend Hamlyn’s, at Rother- 
 ’ood she’ll have a sight of the young marquis, 
 and at Ormeau of the young marquis multiplied 
 by ten. If among ’em all she find nothing to 
 suit her, the devil’s in’t!” 
 
 Walter Hamlyn felt surprised, almost indig- 
 nant, at the idea of this exposure of the “ beauti- 
 ful Ellen,’’ who had been all but offered to him- 
 self, the presumptive heiress of three hundred 
 and fifty thousand pounds in ready money, to 
 the coveting of the rm6 sportsmen somewhat 
 freely mingled with the stately circle of Ormeau. 
 But it was not for hvni to remonstrate. 
 
 “Any news to-day from the travellers'?” in- 
 quired Dr. Markham of Walter, though of opin- 
 ion that Mrs. Hamlyn was more likely to have 
 addressed her communications to her Burlington 
 neighbour than to her dandy son. 
 
 “None,” replied Walter; “ but with such roads, 
 such carriages, and such weather, the journey 
 ■was not very alarming.” 
 
 “ There rhight have come ill news short of a 
 break-down, however,” replied the colonel, vexed 
 at his listlessness. “ My good friend, Mrs. Ham- 
 lyn, was but so-so in spirits when she left home.” 
 “ My mother wanted change of air and scene. 
 She leads too sedentary a life.” 
 
 “A life of duty and diligence,” said the vicar. 
 “ Her candle goeth not out by night. Like the 
 wise matron of Solomon's time, ‘she maketh 
 herself coverings of tapestry, and layethher hand 
 to the spindle.’” 
 
 “ I hope for a letter from Rotherwood to-mor- 
 row,” observed Walter, who always fancied, 
 when people quoted Scripture in his presence, 
 that they were talking at him. “ I am most anx- 
 ious to know about Lady Dartford, on the state 
 of whose health depends whether Dar is likely 
 to meet me at Melton next week.” 
 
 “ Next week '? Why you’re surely not going 
 to start next week?^* cried the colonel. “ Sha’n’t 
 you wait till Madam Hamlyn and Lydia come 
 back'? Sha’n’t you be here to make acquaint- 
 ance with Ellen '?” 
 
 “ I think of returning to Dean Park, sir, a few 
 Weeks hence. This is the best part of the season 
 for Melton. All my friends are there just now.” 
 
 “ By George ! that puts me deusedly out in my 
 plans,” cried Colonel Hamilton, unreserveuJy. 
 
 “ I was going to ask a favour of you, Ma&ier 
 Watty. I’ve a mons’ous mind to have a peep 
 at one of your fine universities, and thought of 
 giving myself a scamper over to Cambridge, and 
 asking you to be my dragoman.” 
 
 “ Had it been in my power to accompany you, 
 my. dear sir, 1 should, of course, have pleaued 
 for Oxford,” replied Captain Hamlyn. “ Bound 
 to be faithful to Alma Mater, are we not^ Dr. 
 Markham'? I, you know, am a Christ Church 
 man.” 
 
 “And little the better for it. I’m afraid, eh. 
 Master Watty'? But I want to see a thing or 
 two at Cambridge besides King’s College Chapel. 
 
 I want to see Henry Hamlyn— I want to have 
 a talk with your brother.” 
 
 “ In that case, sir, you are infinitely better 
 without me,” replied Walter, dreading a more 
 distinct allusion, in presence of the Markhams, 
 to the critical state of his family, and still smart- 
 ing under the want of confidence of his brother. 
 “ It would take me a hundred miles out of my 
 way to attempt Cambridge on my road from 
 Ovington to Melton Mowbray.” 
 
 “ Ay, ay '? Well, I’ve made a circumbendibus 
 of a thousand miles in Indy, afore now, to serve 
 a friend; and, to my thinking, a brother’s the 
 friend given us by God. However, I won’t in- 
 sist upon a plan that seems to derange your fox- 
 hunting. I dare say Johnston and I can manage 
 to settle with the postboys, and find out the road 
 to Trinity College by following our own long 
 noses.” 
 
 “ I was thinking—” said Mrs. Markham, as if 
 about to unfold some serious project, then sud- 
 denly stopping short, tmder the influence of the 
 awe which habitually prevented her from ex- 
 pounding her thoughts except to the vicar. 
 
 “ Well, my dear ma’am,’’ persisted the col- 
 onel, incapable of suspecting shyness on the part 
 of a full-grown woman of two-and-thirty, “ what 
 were you thinking 1” 
 
 “ Oh ! nothing, sir— nothing very particular,”^ 
 she resumed, glancing at Dr. Markham for en- 
 couragement; “ only it is a great many years since 
 the doctor was at Cambridge— but once since 
 he married, when he took his doctor’s degree.” 
 “You’re a Cambridge man, then, are you, 
 doctor,” interrupted the colonel, not seeing her 
 drift, because little surmising that his presence 
 could so far impose on any person as to induce 
 concealment of any kind. 
 
 “An old Johnian,” replied Dr. Markham: 
 “and my little wife has it in her head, I see, 
 that I should enjoy a trip to my bachelor 
 haunts, if you would engage me, instead of Cap- 
 tain Hamlyn, to show you the lions.” 
 
 “By George! a capital thought,” cried the 
 colonel. “ My dear lady, why didn’t you speak 
 out'? Is Markham such a bully behind the 
 curtain that you daren’t call the tongue in 
 your head your ovm '? But, I say, doctor, how 
 are we to manage about the shop '? Who’s ta 
 make the poor folks of Ovington the wiser and 
 better for their wisdom and’ goodness on Sunday 
 next, during our frolic 
 
 “ As I have not been a day absent from home 
 for the last three years,” replied Dr. Markham, 
 “I have many debts of service to my clerical 
 brethren to call in. Having done duty some 
 thirty times for my good friend Hurst of Brax- 
 ham, he will scarcely grudge me a single Sun- 
 day in return.” 
 
64 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 ThM's well settled then !” cried the colonel, 
 setting down a cup of tea, which, by the care 
 of his thrifty hostess, he fancied a thousand 
 times better than he drank at home. “ 1 like the 
 thought of our excursion mons’ously, doctor. 
 And mind, on our return. I’ll tell no tales, no 
 histories about favourite old laundresses with 
 cherry-coloured ribands. You started the hare, 
 my dear ma’am, and I can’t promise you when 
 or where ’twill sit. And now, what say ye to a 
 hit at backgammon 1” 
 
 “What command of countenance you must 
 have, my love, not to laugh outright this evening, 
 when Cc^onel Hamilton was thanking young 
 Hamlyn so cordially for his father’s interposition 
 with the Duke of Elvaslon !” said Mrs. Mark- 
 ham to her husband, an hour or two afterward, 
 when the sound of the colonel’s chariot-wheels 
 on the gravel announced the departure of their 
 guests. 
 
 “ It was no act of imposition on Captain Ham- 
 lyn’s part that the old gentleman chose to ac- 
 count for his grace’s civilities in his own way.” 
 
 “ Not on Captain Hamlyn’s. But it is clear 
 to me that the father never lets slip an occasion 
 of magnifying the extent of his services and 
 power. Mr. Hamlyn fancies himself almost as 
 much the guardian of Colonel Hamilton and his 
 fortune as of poor little Sir Hugh Burlington.” 
 
 “ My dearest Kitty !” 
 
 “ I am certain he has made up his mind to se- 
 cure every guinea of the colonel’s property for 
 his children.” 
 
 “ Which of us would Twt, were it in our pow- 
 er 1 Between three and four hundred thousand 
 pounds, Barlow assures me (and he has a ne- 
 phew a clerk in the India House), in ready 
 cash too ! Worth twice as much as an estate 
 of the same nominal value, as times go. Why, 
 a single year’s income would make a noble pro- 
 Tision for our boys.” 
 
 “ The more reason, my dear Markham, that 
 Mr. Hamlyn, who is rolling in riches, should 
 have the generosity to leave a chance for other 
 eople. What is there in this world that man 
 oes not enjoy 1 What is there invented, year 
 after year, in England, to promote health, com- 
 fort, or enjoyment, that does not find its way to 
 Dean Park 1 Town and country, Ovington and 
 Braxham, Birmingham or Warwick, every- 
 thing that is best is bespoken for the Hamlyns. 
 Who is served first, pray, the Duke of Elvaston, 
 or Lord Vernon, or Richard Hamlyn, Esq. 1 
 Why, the banker! the banker, with his money 
 down on the nail! the banker, who has no 
 knowing steward to extort per centage from the 
 tradespeople, but always his hand in his pocket, 
 and a good long purse at the bottom of it !” 
 
 “ I am sure we have no reason to find fault 
 with his good fortune,” observed Dr. Markham, 
 warmly. “ Never were the church’s dues kept 
 back a quarter of an hourby Richard Hamlyn — as 
 punctual as the parish-clock in all his payments ! 
 And then, such an example to the poor: never 
 l^etrayed into an angry word or harsh measure; 
 his family as constant to divine service as Rug- 
 son the clerk. Fair or foul, rain or shine, when 
 was the Dean Park pew ever empty 1 The very 
 servants might be cited for their exemplary be- 
 haviour ; and as to the banker’s wife, show me 
 her equal for sterling sense and equability of 
 temper ! Verily, her price is above rubies.” 
 
 “An easy matter for people to keep an even 
 temper who are never ruffled by the difficulty of 
 making two ends meet,” observed poor Mrs, 
 
 Markham, a leetle jealous. ‘^Life goes glib 
 enough for those who roll through it on golden 
 castors !” 
 
 “ I am sure, my dear love, we have little cause 
 to complain,” cried the conscientious vicar, 
 “ The living is moderate, ’tis true — four hundred 
 a year, and the Easter offering, is not an arch- 
 bishopric. But it is competence, my dear Kitty ! 
 and then think of the incalculable advantages 
 we derive from having such a friend as Mr. 
 Hamlyn. Think how kindly he has managed 
 our little fortune for us, with as much interest as 
 if we had belonged to his family. Your three 
 thousand pounds my dear, and the fifteen hun- 
 dred of my college savings, would have remain- 
 ed je4500 to the day of doom, for any power I 
 had of multiplying the product; but, instead 
 of the miserable hundred and sixty pounds a 
 year we should have got from the public funds 
 (which, between ourselves, Kitty, have been so 
 shifted about of late years that one never feels 
 certain a government sponge may not be applied 
 some fine morning to wipe them out altogether), 
 Hamlyn managed to obtain me two hundred per 
 annum, at once, by an excellent mortgage. For 
 the last five years the interest has been accumu- 
 lating, for I had rather go without butter to my 
 bread than touch a shilling of what I always 
 promised you to lay by as a provision for the 
 boys — ” 
 
 “ And poor little Kitty,” interposed the wife, 
 stoutly. 
 
 “ So that, in addition to what now amounts to 
 two hundred and forty pounds per annum, we 
 have nearer six thousand pounds than five to 
 bequeath to the children, if it pleased the Al- 
 mighty to call us to himself. Now all this, my love, 
 as you ought never to forget, is Hamlyn’s doing !” 
 
 “I never do forget it!” replied poor Mrs. 
 Markham, “and I suspect he never forgets it 
 either; at least, when anything goes wrong in 
 the parish, or the -churchwarden gives him trou- 
 ble, he addresses you in a tone far less respect- 
 ful than he does Mr. Ramsay, his butler.” 
 
 “ But for this security for our family,” added 
 Dr. Markham, earnestly, “ we should be unable, 
 out of my small living, to do half we now do for 
 the poor.” 
 
 “We should certainly be obliged to think 
 twice about a thousand trifles which are now 
 never missed!” replied Mrs. Markham, almost 
 softened. 
 
 “ Not that there is much call upon, us for more 
 than trifles,” added her husband, in a tone of 
 compunction. “I wish you could hear all 
 Hurst of Braxham says to me about my good 
 fortune in having such a parishioner as Hamlyn 
 the banker! The schools and infirmaries of 
 Ovdngton supported by him were cited in the 
 Education Committee before the House, and 
 mentioned in the duarterly Review! More- 
 over, Hamlyn’s connexion with the County In- 
 stitution, the Lunatic Asylum, County Hospital, 
 foundation schools, and so forth, is of inestima- 
 ble advantage to the poor people of Ovington.’* 
 
 “ Very true ! Still I cannot divest myself of 
 the idea that his connexion with these charities 
 is purely a matter of business. To one he is 
 treasurer; the others bank with his firm. It is 
 not, for instance, like the good Samaritan out- 
 of-the-heart sort of charily that opens the purse- 
 strings of Colonel Hamilton !” 
 
 “My dearest wife, I could almost fear you 
 were getting envious of the prosperity of the 
 Hamlyns !” said the vicar, gravely. “ Must I 
 
55 
 
 COURT A 
 
 ;8ay to you, like the preacher of old, ‘ Instead of 
 ,;a friend, become not an. enemy; for thereby 
 4 shalt thou inherit an ill name, even as a sinner 
 ithat hath a double tongue r ” 
 
 “ I dare say I am very wrong,” replied his 
 wife ; “ if ycm say so, I vmst be wrong. But for 
 that, I cannot help feeling that Mr. Hamlyn 
 i(to use Mrs. Johnston’s expression) has fixed 
 his fangs into the good old man at Burlington 
 .Manor.” 
 
 “ Mrs. Johnston 7 What! the colonel’s house- 
 • 'keeper'? You don’t mean to say you have al- 
 lowed that gossiping old woman to run on to 
 •you, as she sometimes tries to do to we, about the 
 • colonel’s private affairs'?” 
 
 “ It was no fault of mine, Markham. You 
 •invited her to tea, to hear the school-children 
 . sing their hymn, on Christmas eve. I have no 
 'housekeeper’s room, like the Hamlyns, nor 
 could I ask a lady in a real India shawl and 
 Leghorn bonnet to sit down in my bricked kitch- 
 en so, as you were dining at Dean Park, she 
 ..took her tea in the parlour.” 
 
 “ And there you sat together, seasoning your 
 i' hyson with scandal about my friend Hamlyn !” 
 
 “ Indeed, I did no such thing ! Mrs. Johnston 
 maturally spoke of her master, whom, having 
 been in his service thirty years, she loves like a 
 brother; and she -declares, poor woman, that 
 ; nothing has gone right in the Hamilton family 
 '.from the moment Mr. Hamlyn got the manage- 
 srnient of his affairs ! The children were sent off 
 s.to Europe, fine healthy babes, and one after the 
 other all dropped off.” 
 
 “ Does the old lady accuse poor Hamlyn, then, 
 -of poisoning his friend‘s children'?” cried the 
 .doctor, laughing outright at the earnest tone of 
 , his wife. 
 
 “Not quite. But I believe she realty thinks 
 Ahim gifted with the evil. eye! Because it suited 
 >'fhe banker, she says, to stake down her master 
 within the clutch of Dean Park, away from 
 •London and his friends, the poor old man was 
 -hustled out of his fine house in^Portland Place, 
 •^vhere there was a housekeeper’s room fit for an 
 •-empress.” 
 
 “ At his age, hustled out of his house ! My 
 -dear Kitty 1” 
 
 “ And now they are down in the country, she 
 -complains, all his rarities, all his good things, 
 -find their way to Dean Park — mangoes — buffa- 
 loes’ -humps — oranzetas. Day after day, the 
 finest flowers in the conservatory are cut for 
 Miss Hamlyn; and whenever, in Anderson’s 
 time, there used to be a dish of early fruit or ve- 
 :^etables, off it went in a basket to Dean, as — ” 
 
 “ Come, come, come I” interrupted the doctor, 
 “we can testify that a vast number of those 
 -baskets found their way to the Vicarage I” 
 
 “ I don’t deny it, and so would double the 
 ‘Humber were it not for the Hamlyns, who, 
 Heaven knows, have forcing-houses enough of 
 fheir own. They certainly manage to feather 
 •their nest, while other birds, less active, are 
 driven forth from theirs ! Poor Lady Burling- 
 ton 1 Poor little Sir Hugh ! Little did I think, 
 when ten guineas were sent down to the village 
 to ring for that dear boy’s birth, as son and heir 
 t6 one of the finest estates in the county, that, 
 within five years afterward, the child and moth- 
 er would be in exile, and the father in his grave !” 
 “ I suppose you are now wanting to prove 
 that Hamlyn is the cause of Sir Roger Burling- 
 „ton’s flinging away his money on the turf'?” 
 
 “ I might, perhaps, without much difficulty ! 
 
 ND CITY. 
 
 If Mr. Hamlyn had not facilitated the mortga- 
 ges on his estates. Sir Roger would not have 
 been able to embarrass his property to such an 
 extent.” 
 
 “ Where there is a will to be extravagant 
 there is always a way. At all events, Hamlyn’s 
 capital management in letting the manor will 
 bring the minor round, so that he need never be 
 the w'orse for his father’s improvidence.” 
 
 “ I shouldn’t be much surprised if it were to 
 prove that Mrs. Hamlyn was a trifle the better 
 for it,” murmured Mrs. Markham, but in so low 
 a voice (as she finished replacing in their velvet 
 partitions the handsome ivory backgammon men 
 presented to the doctor by Colonel Hamilton) 
 that the vicar, finding his spouse in an unredu- 
 cible humour of opposition to his patron the 
 banker, judged it better to turn a deaf ear, and 
 light his candle for bed. 
 
 The vicar might have spared all attempt at 
 defence ! The blame of stewards’-rooms or par- 
 sonage-parlours was about as important to the 
 well-established and self-sufficing reputation of 
 Hamlyn the banker, as the ripple of a midsum- 
 mer sea to the stability of the Eddystone Light- 
 house I Established on his Lombard -street 
 throne as firmly as the sovereign on that of St. 
 James, Richard Hamlyn might boldly bid defi- 
 ance to petty slanders. All about him was fair 
 and prosperous. His house was built upon a 
 rock. 
 
 The firm of Hamlyn and Co., if unsupported 
 by enormous capital in the private property of 
 the partners, so as to connect it with the great 
 financial operations of the kingdom, wa.s trebly 
 secure in its own moderation, steadiness, and 
 good renown. Bernard Hamlyn, the junior and 
 virtually sleeping partner, was the son of an 
 uncle of Richard’s, who, dying at the same pe- 
 riod as the rash constructor of Dean Park, had 
 left a schoolboy — and a remarkably dull one — on 
 the hands of his nephew, as his successor to a 
 moiety of the business. Luckily for the comfort 
 of the more qualified cousin, Bernard, on attain- 
 ing his majority, experienced no ambition to 
 disturb the tenour of his excellent management. 
 All he desired was, that his cousin should be 
 punctual in his quarterly surrender of half the 
 profits of the concern, deducting two thousand 
 per annum for his own trouble in adjusting what, 
 for treble that amount, Richard would not have 
 remitted to any other hands than his own. 
 
 Richard Hamlyn was consequently .sole mon- 
 arch of all he surveyed in his temple of Mam- 
 mon in Lombard-street. Not that it exhibited 
 much superficial splendour to excite his vain- 
 glory. If it had “ that within which passed 
 show,” show it disdained. The house was of 
 dingy brick/ with low-browed, smoke-stained 
 ceilings, and desks and counters of discoloured 
 mahogany ; unlike those gorgeous banking- 
 houses of the day (resembling gin-palaces in 
 more particulars than one), which seem to have 
 thriven, like ^rasite plants, out of the substance 
 of others. The walls of the counting-house 
 were of stucco, discoloured to a sallow sootiness 
 of complexion almost rivalling that of their 
 proprietor. Even the timepiece appended there- 
 unto was an oldfashioned piece of goods, mon- 
 optical and full-orbed, like the staring cyclopean 
 eye of Time, keeping watch over the quill-dri- 
 ving community below. 
 
 Whenever a defaulter entered that grim tab- 
 ernacle of money-changing to account for a dis- 
 honoured acceptance, explain away an ugly 
 
56 
 
 THE BANKEIi 
 
 balance-sheet, or implore indulgence for a pend- 
 ing claim, the rigidly business-like character 
 of the spot insinuated in iron wiiispers, as in 
 Dante’s Inferno, that ogni ^peranza^' might as 
 well be left on the threshold. Whereas, when 
 a new client, w^ell to do in the world, and about 
 to make a heavy deposite, pushed hh way 
 through the swing-doors, whose panes were 
 fiercely defended by a strong network of brass, 
 he was apt to murmur, “ Good ! business-like, 
 and good ! No show, no flummery, no take in.” 
 Even the mechanical demureness wherewith the 
 middle-aged clerk took down his name and ad- 
 dress, returning, in the same unconcerned man- 
 ner, his own receipt for the thousands or tens of 
 thousands “ to account for on demand,” inspired 
 more confidence than the whipper-snapper mop- 
 pings and mowings of West End obsequience. 
 
 In that vast, dingy, dreary chamber, however, 
 with its double row of desks and stools, its lead- 
 en standishes and buff-bound folios, its foul at- 
 mosphere and factory-like whirring murmur — 
 in that chamber, presenting no single object 
 pleasing to the ear or eye, a mere organ, as it 
 were, among the viscera of commerce, a foul, 
 unsightly thing indispensable to the vitality of 
 the civic frame — in that joyless, loveless, grace- 
 less spot, whatever the banker might become 
 among the domestic irritations of Dean Park, 
 “ Richard was himself again !” the Napoleon 
 of the numeration-table, the Talleyrand of ad- 
 miring stockbrokers and bewildered cashiers. 
 
 Strange to relate, little as the banker was 
 liked elsewhere, in his house of business he was 
 beloved. His clerks had either grown gray in 
 the house, or were the sons of its antecedent 
 graybeards. Among these, the banker was a 
 demigod ; partly because, in a region where 
 pelf was the one thing needful, a strong box the 
 ark of the covenant, and the multiplication-table 
 the table of the law, the moneyed man, the man 
 possessed both of the substance. Property, and 
 the shadow. Credit, was a prophet— yea, more 
 than a prophet ; but also, in some measure, on 
 account of his fair and generous dealings with 
 all persons in his employ. 
 
 In the first place, he was a sultan without a 
 vizier — “ Vetat dest mod' being his Bourbonic 
 rule of government. There was no confidential 
 clerk to “ principal” it over the rest ; and the 
 counting-house was the only republic in Europe 
 smaller than that of San Marino, or possessing 
 a more absolute president. Scarcely one of the 
 clerks, however, who had net, at some moment 
 or other, become the object of munificence on 
 the part of his master, either at his marriage, 
 the sickness of a child, the death of a parent, or 
 some other domestic exigency, which appeared 
 to reach the ears of the head of the firm as if 
 carried thither by a bird of the air. Nay, on 
 two occasions within the experience of those 
 who at present plied their quills in the service 
 of Richard and Bernard Hamlyn and Co., a 
 sprouting Courts — (for, after all, the renowned 
 Thomas Coutts, out of whose substance dukes 
 and duchesses have sprung like mushrooms, 
 was but a banking-house clerk !)— a sprouting 
 Coutts, on the eve of falling into the abyss of 
 dissipation, or, rather, the quagmire of lowborn, 
 vulgar vice — had been reclaimed by a private 
 and fatherly admonistation on the part of the 
 grave banker, accompanied by the means of 
 wiping ofl* the pecuniary portion of the stigma 
 incurred. These were acts of great mercy, or 
 strokes of great policy j like the tisit of Napo- 
 
 ,’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 leon to his plague-stricken soldiers, or of Loui» 
 Philippe to a cholera hospital. At all events^ 
 the clerks thus gratuitously obliged became the 
 faithful freedmen of a new Caesar. 
 
 Every day, when Hamlyn passed through the 
 counting-house — spruce, black, lustrous — with a - 
 brow serene as that of Canning, and a smile as 
 bland as that of Peel — to issue forth into the- 
 city-throng (where wealth modestly walks the 
 streets, and the shabby fellow you run against at 
 the corner of Coiuhill carries, perhaps, sixty 
 thousand pounds, in bank-notes, in the inner • 
 pocket of his well-buttoned but seedy surtout), 
 the clerks nearest the window would peer over 
 the blinds to watch, with eyes of afiection, his 
 exit into the street, where hats were respect- 
 fully touched to him by all the men of sub- 
 stance, while the sweeper at the crossing for 
 once forbore to be vociferous, so certain was he 
 of receiving a spontaneous gratuity from gooi 
 Mr. Hamlyn !” 
 
 Though the head of the firm of Hamlyn and 
 Co. scrupulously refrained from flourishing at 
 any moment in the eyes of his people the insignia 
 of his opulence — though he arrived in Lombard- 
 street from Cavendish Square in the same shab- 
 by cabriolet which had made its journey thither 
 daily for years, so punctual to its minute that, 
 had Hamlyn and his groom been wanting, the 
 old bay horse w'ould doubtless have conveyed 
 the vehicle in safety among the coal-carts and 
 omnibuses of the Strand, and stopped, from the^ 
 force of habit, at precisely eleven minutes and a. 
 half past two at the compting-house door, they 
 loved to know that an admirably-appointed equi- 
 page would convey their respected principal at 
 half past seven to his dinner at the Speaker’s, . 
 or the Archbishop of Canterbury’s, or some 
 wealthy country baronet of a client’s in Curzon- 
 street or Eaton Square. Rejoicing in the solid 
 comfort of his establishment, they were proud to 
 feel that dukes were his guests, and privy coun- 
 cillors his claret companions; and, on the morn- 
 ings following a debate, of which “ Mr. Hamlyn 
 next rose” formed a prominent feature in the 
 columns of the daily papers, the Times and 
 Herald belonging to the neighbouring chop- 
 houses assumed an additional coating of thumb- 
 grease, thanks to the diligent and reiterated 
 perusal of the clerkhood of Hamlyn and Co. 
 
 It was indeed gratifying, after efforts ol' elo- 
 quence such as had drawn forth the thanks of 
 the Chamber of the Exchequer, and groans of 
 anguish from the opposition benches, to find 
 their great man calm and affable as usual ; w'hen. 
 even the clerk, whose function it wms to inscribe 
 the names of Hamlyn and Co. in the subscrip- 
 tion lists brought round to the merchants and 
 bankers of the metropolis, whether for the erec- 
 tion of a statue to some eminent slayer of men, 
 or hospital for the sick and maimed created un- 
 der his slaughter, could scarcely refrain from 
 adding an additional flourish to the “ Co.,” which 
 at present represented only the refractory Henry, . 
 and a sickly son of Bernard Hamlyn, still under 
 birchment at Harrow. 
 
 In his dingy little skylighted back shop or 
 parlour — the consulting room of his financial 
 science, the boudoir of his moneyed leisure — 
 Richard Hamlyn, surrounded by his iron safes 
 and 'deed chests, was entitled to seclude himself 
 like some alchemist or necromancer of the olden, 
 time, saving that he. was successful in producing, 
 amid its gloomy solitude, that magic gold in. 
 which the crucibles of .the former were fataUy 
 
 
 
67 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 wanting. It was only in case some grand exi- 
 gency, some claim of unwonted, magnitude, or 
 the appeal of some powerful constituent having 
 advice to ask as well as money to deposite, that 
 the head clerk presumed to knock at the door 
 of this sanclitm, with intimation that “ Mr. Ham- 
 lyn was wanted.” 
 
 On the day, for instance, when Colonel Ham- 
 ilton and Doctor Markham were bowling away, 
 as merrily as four horses could carry them, 
 across Northamptonshire towards Cambridge, a 
 modest “ May I speak to you, if you please, sir, 
 for a moment T’ had enabled Spilsby, the bald- 
 headed chief clerk, to usher into the consulting- 
 room one of their favourite clients. Dr. Gran- 
 tham, an eminent physician, whose practice of 
 ten thousand per annum placed him, in the opin- 
 ion of the firm, on a level with Boerhaave or 
 Galen. 
 
 “ I am intruding, I fearT’ said he, addressing 
 Hamlyn, who rose to press him affectionately 
 by the hand. “But I want, my dear sir, to ask 
 you a little word of friendly advice, “We doc- 
 tors,” continued he, with a, smile, “are accused 
 of making quick work with patients who ask tis 
 for a bit of friendly advice ! But with you I will 
 dare my fate.” 
 
 “ Pray sit down !” exclaimed Hamlyn, push- 
 ing forward the lea^t uneasy of two uncomforta- 
 ble arm-chairs. “ How is Mrs, Grantham V’ 
 
 “Well, I thank you — that is, as well as the 
 anxious mother of twelve children can ever pre- 
 tend to be. I have brought you, not my week’s 
 fees to carry to account, but a lump of money 
 for investment — a lump of money, the possession 
 of which one of my driblet-earning calling ought, 
 perhaps, to explain, lest he be suspected of hav- 
 ing taken earnest for the despatch of a bishop or 
 a cabinet minister! The truth is, my dear sir, 
 that these ten thousand pounds comprehend the 
 whole of my scrapings together till I was two- 
 and forty, when I sold them out of the five per 
 cents, (for there were five per cents, on the earth 
 in those days !) for a very sacred purpose. My 
 brother, Dick Grantham, had an opportunity of 
 purchasing a prothonotaryship, and not a guinea 
 in the world for the purpose. An insurance on 
 his life, and his promise to repay me in ten 
 years, determined me to risk what then consti- 
 tuted the sole provision for my children. You 
 don’t know my brother Dick, I fancy 1 The 
 finest fellow breathing — the soul of a king, sir ! I 
 could hardly prevail on him to take the money, 
 for he knew its importance to my family. How- 
 ever, through my solicitors, I got the business 
 settled without his knowledge; and the conse- 
 quence was, that Dick married and settled, and 
 instead of a pettifogging attorney, became a 
 gentleman, and the happiest man on earth ; and 
 last week, sir (a year within the term prescribed), 
 my ten thousand pounds were paid over to the 
 hands of my men of business ! Now they sug- 
 gest a mortgage by way of investment, and 
 have got one to the tune of six per cent, oh the 
 estate of an Irish earl. But I don’t like mort- 
 gages — least of all, on the estates of Irish earls 
 — and so have come to ask your advice.” 
 
 During this apostrophe, an ordinary observer 
 would have seen nothing in Richard Hamlyn 
 but the attentive, courteous banker, wishing his 
 client to be a little more sparing of family de- 
 tails (time being money, as poor Richard says) 
 but prepared to give his grave and disinterested 
 verdict in the sequel. A more discerning eye 
 would have discovered, in the recesses of his 
 
 deep-set eyes, varying indications of triumph^, 
 rapacity, and mistrust. The banker evidently 
 hated to hear of moneys being paid over to any 
 man of bi^siness but a banker, just as Dr. Grant- 
 tham would have been indignant had Hamlyn 
 talked of consulting Keate or Brodie about a 
 child sick of the scarlatina. 
 
 “ I dare say you fancy,” resumed Dr. Gran- 
 tham, attributing his silence and hesitation to 
 unconcern, “you, with your millionary, Roths- 
 childish, stock-exchange ideas, that the disposal 
 of a little fleabite like these ten thousand pounds 
 ought not to disturb my night’s rest, or spoil my 
 appetite for my roast mutton ! But let me tell 
 you, my dear Hamlyn, that we poor lellows, who 
 pick up our guineas as pigeons peas, one at a 
 time, instead of accomplishing thousands as yon, 
 do by a lucky turn of the money-markets or 
 news of an insurrection at Barcelona, are obliged 
 to look sharp after our farthings! I’m in the 
 receipt of a noble income! but Land it may 
 drop to-morrow; for, as in most professions, we 
 doctors wear ourselves out in working for noth-- 
 ing, so that, when something comes, we are al- 
 most past our labour! The insurance offices- 
 try to make me believe that, in spite of my jolly 
 face. I’m a poor crazy fellow ; and that, instead 
 of living to the age of Methuselah, as I threat*- 
 en, my apoplexy stares them in the face. In 
 short, my dear sir, I am not so well ofi' but that 
 these ten thousand constitute a vital object to 
 my bantlings. What do you advise me to do! 
 Government securities'! East India bonds 'I- 
 Railway shares 1 What'?” 
 
 “ If you will give me leave, I will think it 
 over,” replied the banker, unknitting the brows^ 
 which had assumed an attitude oi cogitation. . 
 “ These kind of investments depend, of course,, 
 in a great measure, on the position of the par- 
 ties; whether a small, steady, certain income 
 be the object, or sure eventual profit of lai^eir 
 amount. 1 was offered the other day, on my pri- 
 vate account, an occasion of partnership in one 
 of the most lucrative concerns in the city. My 
 responsibilities as a banker forbidding me to in- 
 volve myself in any speculation which could,, 
 by any chance or possibility, affect the interests 
 of the firm, I could not entertain the proposal, , 
 concerning which I am, at present, bound to se- 
 crecy. But I will consult the parties, and should , 
 they sanction me in extending the offer to a 
 friend with the same facilities, believe me, my 
 dear Grantham, few things in this world would 
 afford me sincerer pleasure than to prove the 
 means of obtaining so good a thing for a man 1 
 so truly value as yourself. The investment 
 would secure a provision for two of your sons 
 hereafter, by a share in — but I fear I must say 
 no more ! Be assured only that I shall regard 
 and cater for your interest as. I wmuld for my 
 own. I need not tell you that I am a family- 
 man, and qualified to Yeel for the father of a 
 family.” 
 
 “ My dear Hamlyn,” cried the doctor, extend- 
 ing his hand (which he was rarely in the habit, 
 of doing, unless for the purpose of feeling 9. 
 pulse or taking a fee!), “how shall I thank 
 you for entering so readily into my views '?” 
 
 “Not another word on the subject ! Wait till' 
 I have been able to make good my promises,” 
 replied the banker. “Meanwhile, you had 
 best leave the money with us. I fancy we caa 
 let you have exchequer-bills for it, if you think 
 proper.” 
 
 . “Scarcely worth while, as a more durable in*' 
 
THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 vestment is so shortly to be made,” replied the 
 fdoctor, producing from his pocket-book ten i'air- 
 •complexioned notes lor ©ne Sbousanli each, 
 -Which he had just received at Coutts’s in ex- 
 xihange lor the check of his solicitors in Lin- 
 coln’s Inn. 
 
 “ i will give you a simple receipt, then, and 
 ask the favour of you to look in on Saturday,” 
 :said Hamlyn, taking from the desk before him a 
 .file of paper Ibrms, one of which he filled up 
 with an acknowledgment for ten thousand 
 pounds, and signed in the name of Hamlyn and 
 Oo. 
 
 “ A thousand thanks,” cried the doctor, as 
 grateful as though he were accepting, instead of 
 conferring an obligation. “ On Saturday, then !” 
 continued he, taking his consultation-book from 
 -his pocket, and inscribing the date among those 
 of his professional visits ; “ on Saturday, at 
 three.” 
 
 To such a man as Grantham, it was indispen- 
 sable to do the honours of the house ; and Ham- 
 Jyn accordingly suited the action to the word, 
 after saying, '•'■Pray let me see whether your car- 
 ariage is" in waiting!” In spite of his visiter’s 
 prohibitions, he accompanied him through the 
 banking-house towards the door, more than one 
 of the clerks squinting upward from his labori- 
 ous ink-letting to examine the outward man of 
 the client honoured by the personal escort of the 
 >head of the house, while a girl with a shabby 
 *hawl pinned over her still shabbier gown, and 
 a porter with a knot on his head, both of whom 
 were staring away their impatience in the back- 
 ;ground, with small checks to be cashed after 
 •their betters had been served, stood aside for the 
 -passage of the spruce, comely, well-fed gentle- 
 jnen, as respectfully as though majesty itself 
 •were in presence. 
 
 “Mr. ’amlyn, I b’lieve, sir. Please, sir. I’d 
 'be glad of a few minuts with you,” said a de- 
 cently-dressed woman in black, intercepting the 
 passage of the banker on his returii through the 
 counting-house to his private room, after part- 
 ing with the doctor. 
 
 “ My clerk, ma’am, will attend to you instant- 
 'ly. Here, Spilsby I” cried Mr. Hamlyn, beck- 
 oning over the counter the bald-headed clerk, 
 who was at that moment assisting the cashier in 
 the payment of checks; trying, as he spoke, to 
 escape from her detaining hand into his sanckLm 
 . sanctor um. 
 
 “ I’d rather a deal, sir, with your leave, settle 
 with one o’ the partners, sir,” persisted the wom- 
 an ; and something in the wilfulness of her ap- 
 peal instantly relieved the experienced banker 
 from an apprehension, inspired at the first glance 
 by her mourning suit and withered face, that he 
 ■was about to be bothered with the dolefuls of 
 a widow with one of those prodigious families 
 of orphans, which newspaper advertisements 
 are constantly providing, in their largest capitals, 
 for the tender mercies of “the humane whom 
 Heaven has blessed with affluence.” 
 
 “ Be good enough to step this way, madam,” 
 said he, his countenance relaxing from its sud- 
 den contraction; and releasing Spilsby by a nod, 
 he opened the door of the Blue Chamber, which 
 his companion seemed scarcely less awe-struck 
 at entering than if it were the royal closet. 
 
 “ You remember me now, sir, I dare say ! Jane 
 Darley, sir,” said she, hesitating about taking 
 the ofered chair, and fumbling with her cloak 
 as though her hands were trying to knead her 
 into courage ; “ widder of John Darley, sir, as 
 
 kept the tap o’ Lemon-tree Yard,” she contin- 
 ued, seeing that the stony-faced banker made no 
 sign of recognition ; “ John Darley, sir, as bank- 
 ed with you, and the good gentleman your father 
 as was, afore you.” 
 
 Richard Hamlyn bowed thankfully, as ex- 
 ecled ; having been long aware that people of 
 ane Darley’s class, who have ever deposited a 
 hundred pounds in the hands of a banker, corv- 
 sider themselves thenceforward main props of 
 the solidity of the firm. 
 
 “ I was swre you’d recollect, sir, when you was 
 once put upon rememb’ring!” resumed the wid- 
 ow, with growing confidence, “ ’cause you an’t 
 likely to have forgot the four hundred pouns, 
 sir, you sold out for me when I had to set up 
 my son Tummas in business.” 
 
 Again the banker bowed, though less thank- 
 fully. 
 
 “ Which was the reason, sir, I axed partici>- 
 lar to see yourself, instead of leaving matters of 
 such consequence to the young gentlemen I 
 spuk to without. John Darley, sir, if you re- 
 member, left me his hegs-heke tricks, and a deal 
 of trouble it’s been to me, with the debts to call 
 in — many on ’em bad uns. I’m sorry to say — 
 besides the tap t’ attend to.” 
 
 “ I rather think, madam,” interrupted Hara- 
 lyn, “ that my clerk, Mr. Spilsby, has made 
 vour affairs his especial consideration, and he 
 is therefore, perhaps, belter qualified to — ” 
 
 “ I ax your pardon, sir,” replied the widow 
 Darley, again driven to the resource of fumbling 
 her cloak for a countenance. “ I don’t think 
 he’ve studied ’em at all; for when I wanted 
 to give him the four ’undred poun to sell back 
 into the funds — ” 
 
 “ To b^iy into the funds,” amended the bank- 
 er, in a low voice. 
 
 “ He wanted to give me a receipt, sir, all as 
 one as if I was paying a debt ; which, as you 
 know, sir, neither John Darley nor me was 
 ever a farden beholden to the firm,” continued 
 the widow, with an air of injured dignity. 
 
 “ You wish, in short, that we should purcha^ 
 for you the value of four hundred pounds, in 
 consols 1” demanded Hamlyn, coming to the 
 point. “ In the name of Jane Darley, widow, I 
 presume 1” 
 
 “ Yes, sir ; in the name of Jane Darley, wid- 
 der, sir, of Lemon-tree Yard ! for I still keep 
 the tap, sir. After poor John Darley was taken 
 away, sir, I found myself with — ” 
 
 “ You have brought the amount in question, 1 
 think you said, madam 1” persisted the banker. 
 
 “ I’ve brought the money, sir, and the stock- 
 receipts for the last sums as John Darley sold 
 in — ” 
 
 “ Benight in,” again amended the banker. 
 
 “ Just in order to show }mu, sir, ■w’hereabouts 
 mv stock lies, that they may all be lumped to- 
 gether. For I’ve a hard matter, as it is, sir, to 
 make out the queer ways of the Bank, when I 
 goes to receive my half-hearly dividend ; a lone 
 woman, sir, is sure to be put upon in places like 
 the stocks ; and as I’m not in circumstances to 
 employ an attorney for every trifle, I — ” 
 
 “ If it were agreeable to you, madam, we 
 should be most happy to relieve you of the trou- 
 ble,” observed Mr. Hamlyn, gravely. “ Your 
 dividends may be received with those of the 
 house, and either carried to your account, or 
 paid over to you, as most agreeable.” 
 
 “ I’m sure, Mr. ’amlyn, sir, you’re most kind 
 and consid’rate, sir,” replied the widow Darley, 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 59 
 
 ^her nervous twitchings of the cloak subsiding: 
 -into a series of grateful courtesies ; “ and I return 
 •you many thanks, sir. John Darley always 
 used to say, sir, poor feller, that yom bank was 
 .as safe as the Bank of England ; and, God 
 knows, ’tis a deal civiller, for ik&re they snap 
 one up as if one came shop-lifting instead of 
 -only wanting to ax for one’s own.” 
 
 “ If you will intrust these papers to me, mad- 
 .am, I will take care to hare a power of attorney 
 ■drawn out, and forwarded to you for signature,” 
 -said Hamlyn, with the most conciliating bland- 
 .••ness. 
 
 “ I return you many thanks, sir. I am sure, 
 sir, when I come to you about buying out the 
 four undred poun’ when I set up poor Tummas 
 in the Borough, sir (as tallow-chandler, sir, and 
 -a very comfortable bus’ness he’s made of it !), I 
 little thought I should get my money back 
 cagain, out of the fire, as a body may say. How- 
 ever, please God, I did my duty to him, as John 
 Parley’s hegs-heketricks, and — ” 
 
 “ Four hundred pounds !” said Mr. Hamlyn, 
 in a sonorous, business-like voice, after having 
 counted over eighty crumpled, greasy five- 
 .pound notes, conveying both to the smell and 
 touch indications of their transit through the 
 ■hands of Thomas Darley, the Borough tallow- 
 chandler. “ My clerk will wait upon you to- 
 anorrow morning in Lemon-tree Yard.” 
 
 “ And with that, my dear Mrs. Snaggs,” said 
 .the widow Darley (when relating the scene, an 
 ■hour afterward, over a tumbler of brandy and 
 water, in the dark cupboard denominated a 
 back-parlour by her friend and neighbour, Mrs. 
 Snaggs, the corn-chandler’s wife of the Lemon- 
 tree stable-yard), “ with that, my dear, he wait- 
 ed upon me to the door with the look of a lord, 
 -and yet so affable and so brotherly-like, as if 
 "^twas a pleasure to him to do a service to the 
 widder and fatherless ! And so you see, Mrs, 
 Snaggs, I’m to be spared the trouble of rigging 
 myself out twice a year, and omnibus fares, and 
 what not, to go bobbing up and down them 
 hank offices — shoved in here, and pushed out 
 there — and a surly clerk axing me at last (after 
 looking at my papers) whether my name was 
 Jane Darley, as if ’twas like to be anything 
 else ! And all’s to be done for me as if I was a 
 lady in the land !” 
 
 “ And a mint o’ money you’ll be charged for 
 the doing on it 1” cried Mrs. Snaggs, who was 
 keeping an eye to the shop through the glass 
 partition, the chocolate-coloured window-cur- 
 tain being carefully pinned aside to facilitate 
 the good lady’s watch over her binns of peas 
 ■^nd beans, and sample-sacks of corn. 
 
 “ Not I ! Leave me alone, Mrs. Snaggs, to 
 take care o’ the main chance ! ‘ Kind words 
 butter no parsnips,’ thinks I ; so I ’spressly 
 asked what would be the charge. And what 
 d’ye think was his ans’erl Why, that ’twas 
 the dooty o’ the firm to obleege the widder of an 
 old and respectit constit’yent like John Dar- 
 ley ! I vow to goodness I could have kissed 
 Mr. ’amlyn’s precious feet at that moment, for 
 the sort of heavenly smile with which he talked 
 of respecting my poor dear good man as is dead 
 and gone !” 
 
 And, thanks to the touch of nature, or the 
 mahogany-coloured glass of brandy and water 
 she had gradually emptied, the widow proceeded 
 to bathe with tears the memory of John Darley 
 of Lem(m-tree Yard, and the urbanity of Ham- 
 iyn the Banker. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 “ Why did I change my college life,” 
 
 He cries, “ for benefice and wife 7” 
 
 Llots. 
 
 On the day appointed for Colonel Hamilton’s 
 excursion to Cambridge, the travellers set tbrth 
 with the spirits of boys of fifteen rather than of 
 threescore. They were the very men to take 
 delight, like Dr. Johnson, in being whirled along 
 a good road in an easy chaise, and still greater 
 in chirrupping away the evening at a crack inn, 
 over a roaring fire, amid the ringing of bells, 
 the scuffling of waiters, the rattle of night- 
 coaches, and the fumes of Port-wine negus and 
 brandy punch. 
 
 With Dr. Markham, the expedition amounted 
 to a party of pleasure. For the good vicar had 
 not lost sight of his own sober fireside half a 
 dozen times in as many years; and though 
 somewhat formalized in deportment by the 
 gravity of his functions, and still more by hav- 
 ing officiated as a college tutor during the early 
 part of his life, was by nature almost as genial 
 of temper and temperament as the old colonel. 
 
 Many were the merry anecdotes mutually 
 confided of a subaltern’s life in the East, and a 
 sizar’s pariaship at home, which enlivened the 
 fireside of “ the best inn’s best room” in the good 
 town of Northampton, where they stopped for 
 the night; and Dr. Markham retired to rest, al- 
 most ashamed to reflect in how different a mood 
 of mind he was about to re-enter Cambridge from 
 that in which he had departed, with his bride, 
 nine years before, to take possession of his college 
 living. The worthy man did not, of course, per- 
 ceive that he was by no means the worse Chris- 
 tian for being somewhat less of a prig. 
 
 On the morrow they were off early, intending 
 to arrive for an hour’s daylight before dinner- 
 time, that Colonel Hamilton might engage his 
 young friend to join them at the Hoop. 
 
 “ A queer fancy of this lad of Hamlyn’s !” 
 said the colonel, after settling himself in a com- 
 fortable corner of his easy chariot. “A very 
 queer fancy, to spend his last vacation scamper- 
 ing over Italy, and this one at Cambridge, with 
 such a home as Dean Park open-armed to re- 
 ceive him !” 
 
 “He is reading hard for his degree,” replied 
 the doctor, always cautious in his remarks where 
 the family at Dean was concerned (for the bene- 
 factions of Hamlyn to the parish placed him be- 
 fore the vicar in the light of a patron), “and 
 may find it necessary to repair the idleness pro- 
 duced by his summer’s pleasures.” 
 
 “But with Henry Hamlyn’s talents, doctor, 
 he might have been pretty sure of passing 7” 
 
 “Not, however, of attaining the high honours 
 expected of him.” 
 
 “ But why the deuse must he attain high hon- . 
 outs'? What’s the use on’t'? He don’t pre- 
 tend to a mitre or the woolsack ; and what the 
 plague a better banker will he make for having 
 strained every nerve lor university distinctions V* 
 
 “A man is never the worse thought of in pub- 
 lic or private life for having proved himself a 
 first-rate scholar,” replied the vicar. “ Loo-k at 
 Macauley, look at Canning, look at — ” 
 
 “At present I only want to look at Henry 
 Hamlyn, my dear doctor!” interrupted Colonel 
 Hamilton; “and I see as plain as a pikestiiff 
 that all these classics and metaphysics have 
 served to put him sadly out of conceit of Cock- 
 er’s Arithmetic! Is there common sense in it, 
 
60 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 I only ask youl is there common sense in it, 
 for a young fellow to give up five or six of the 
 best years of his life to the acquirement of two 
 languages talked nowhere on the face of the 
 globe ; whose works are all translated into good, 
 sensible English; and which, to my thinking, 
 since they’re called the dead languages, were 
 just as well buried and put out of the way V' 
 
 The doctor’s pride ot scholarship forbade all 
 affectation of acquiescence in this illiberal propo- 
 sition; and if Walter Hamlyn had decided the 
 eolonel to be a Goth, the vicar was beginning to 
 regard him as a Vandal! 
 
 “ I tell ye what, doctor,” resumed the old 
 gentleman, vexed at his silence, “in my opinion, 
 if all the time and brains expended upon Latin 
 and Greek for the last five hundred years had 
 been applied to the study of the sciences, which 
 really forward the progress of mankind, we 
 should have been millions of miles nearer the 
 moon, and thousands nearer the centre by this 
 time ; and so, maybe, have given the poor their 
 eoals, this bitter winter, for sixpence the chal- 
 dron, and sold ’em their linsey-woolsey at two- 
 pence a yard 1” 
 
 Doctor Markham ventured a word or two 
 eoncerning the value of moral enlightenment 
 and mental civilization to the welfare of man- 
 kind, but was speedily interrupted. 
 
 “ Pho, pho, pho ! If your law-makers or gos- 
 pel-preachers require the addition of Plato and 
 Socrates to teach ’em their bus’ness, what be- 
 comes of Christianity “I” cried Colonel Hamil- 
 ton. “ The Bible, sir, and algebra, afford ballast 
 enough for any man’s understanding that wants 
 settling! As to the influence of learning on in- 
 dividual prosperity, look at wc, doctor! As 
 there was then no Haileybury by way of prep- 
 aration for Indy, I was dunced over Greek and 
 Latin at the Charter House from ten till fifteen, 
 and from that day to this have never opened a 
 classic! Fortunately for me, I happened to 
 have what is called a turn for mechanics (as my 
 family might have found out from my having 
 managed to manufactur’ a redcap’s draw-bucket 
 afore 1 was breeched !). So, on reaching Bom- 
 bay, having already a crotchet in my head which 
 determined me to fight like a dragon to conquer 
 an independence, I set my shoulder to the wheel, 
 and studied at the college there till I made some 
 figure in the engineering department. Once 
 employed, I’d the luck to compass a great hit by 
 the invention of a caisson for a lock on the mili- 
 tary canal at Chinderapore, where I was sta- 
 tioned ; and my fortune was made, sir. I got 
 employment, and employment begot spirits and 
 zeal. And now pray tell me, what would all 
 the Homer and Horace in the world have done 
 towards helping me to scrape together a plum 7 
 whereas, if I’d gone out to Indy a first-rate 
 mathematician, a first-rate civil engineer — ” 
 
 “We do rather pique ourselves at Cambridge 
 on our mathematical proficiency !” slyly rejoined 
 the doctor. “ However, to return to the present 
 pursuits of young Mr. Hamlyn, I fancy that, 
 being less pampered by his father than his hand- 
 some elder brother, Henry may find his college 
 life a pleasanter thing than the formality of 
 Cavendish Square or seelusion of Dean Park. 
 You don’t know what an exciting existence is 
 that of a young man distinguished in the Uni- 
 versity, and endowed with Henry Hamlyn’s 
 means, both worldly and intellectual !” 
 
 And forthwith the good doctor began to en- 
 large anew, as though he had never before 
 
 touched upon the subject, on the pleasures oi 
 college cheer, college honours, college sociality^ 
 — the ale, milk-punch, and aristocratic “■wd- 
 nings” of Trin. Coll. ; which, having the usual in- 
 fluence of a thrice-told tale, the sonorous breath- 
 ings of Hamilton in his cozy corner (as if keep- 
 ing cadence to the rising of the postboys in their 
 stirrups) soon announced that he was happy in. 
 the land of dreams. 
 
 W'hile enjoying himself in that aerial region, an 
 unlucky change came over the face of the earth. 
 A drizzly rain began to beat against the carriage- 
 windows, shutting out the scarcely more cheering 
 prospect of the county of Hums; and when the 
 colonel began rubbing his eyes at last, on being 
 jogged by his companion as they entered the 
 High-street of Cambridge, there was unques- 
 tionably nothing in the scene to justify the ex- 
 citement and exultation beaming in the looks of 
 the D.D. of St John’s. The plashy pavement 
 and streaming kennels of a dingy, tortuous street-,, 
 along which a few draggle-suited collegians- 
 were straggling through the mists of a rainy 
 evening, amid half-lighted shops, whose twink- 
 lings were scarcely discernible through the dim 
 windows, imparted no enlivenment to a spot, the 
 quaint antiquities of which require fresh air and 
 broad daylight to assume their more imposing 
 dignity in the eyes of the stranger. 
 
 “By George, doctor! you deserve to have 
 lived and died the fellow of a college — if you 
 compare this close, fusty town with the open 
 pastures of Dean Park !” cried Colonel Hamil- 
 ton, as the carriage bowled onward to the Hoop, 
 where the jingling bell called forth the alacrity of 
 landlord and waiters to do homage to the pro- 
 prietor of so handsome a carriage; some old 
 gentleman of fortune, they decided, come to 
 matriculate his son and heir at Cambridge, un- 
 der the instructions of the reverend private tu- 
 tor, his companion. 
 
 Either his nap or the rainy afternoon had op- 
 erated unfavourably on his spirits; for Colonel 
 Hamilton began on the very threshold to insti- 
 tute unfavourable comparisons with the comfort- 
 able, wholesome, hearty country inn of the day" 
 before. 
 
 Instead of the straight-combed hair, blue coat, 
 and corduroys of the half-host, half-farmer off 
 their last halting-place, the head-waiter and his 
 subs displayed an impertinent facsimile of the 
 young men whose cigars they were in the habit 
 of lighting, and whose current accounts for 
 broiled fowls, devilled kidneys, bishops, and 
 cardinals, they were in the habit of “ leaving,” 
 so as to authorize an entry in their master’s 
 books of— “ to bill delivered.” 
 
 Ushered into a gaudy parlour, scented with 
 spirits and tobacco so as to resemble the bar- 
 rack-room of a marching regiment far more 
 than was compatible with the decorum of Alma 
 Mater, the colonel was pursued by the head- 
 waiter, who stirred up the already roaring fire 
 till it emulated the blast furnace of a foundry, 
 while the subordinates followed, with officious 
 zeal, bustling in the chaise-seats and dressing- 
 boxes they knew must be instantly removed int» 
 the bedrooms, before Johnston, who was paying 
 the postbovs, could prevent their interference. 
 
 While Colonel Hamilton stood as near the 
 hearth-rug as the tremendous fire of glowing 
 cinders would allow, wondering when the exit 
 of these troublesome bustlers would admit of 
 shutting the door to the exclusion of t^e damp 
 draught of evening air, the crimson- faced host^ . 
 
61 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 rattired in a cobalt blue stock, m^de his appear- 
 ance, bearing in his hand a strip of paper half 
 a yard long, which, to any but a new comer 
 within his gates, would have assumed an alarm- 
 ing, aspect. 
 
 “Will you please to order dinner, sirl said 
 he, with the deference due to a traveller with 
 Tour horses and an “ own man” of Johnston’s 
 respectability. 
 
 “ Can you tell me, pray, where Mr. Hamlyn of 
 Trinity is to be found I” inquired the colonel in 
 Jiis turn, preoccupied with the object of his 
 journey. , , 
 
 “ No, sir, I cannot, sir. Will you be pleased 
 to order dinner, sir T persisted the host, equally 
 intent upon his object of the moment. 
 
 “1 will thank you to inquire,” said Colonel 
 Hamilton, accepting the ofiered protocol as his 
 •best chance of obtaining immediate attention. 
 
 “ John, inquire whether a Mr. Humbling’s in 
 •college,” said the host, addressing his head 
 waiter ; who, having in his turn commissioned 
 3 . sub. Boots, or one of the “ somebodies” al- 
 ways hanging about an inn yard, was despatch- 
 ed in search of information which nobody was 
 interested to irnpa’ft, leaving the hero in the blue 
 stock to hazard a few observations to the sup- 
 posed private tutor on the vexation of the after- 
 noon having turned nut rainy ; while the eye of 
 vColonel Hamilton wandered vacantly over the 
 strip of paper in his hand, setting forth, with a 
 perfection of caligraphy that did honour to the 
 rclerkship of the University, a catalogue of all 
 ihe soups included in Mrs. Rundeli’s Domestic 
 Cookery, all the fishes of the sea, and all the 
 fowls of the poultry-yard, besides made dishes 
 in endless variety. 
 
 Insufficiently versed in the habits of such re- 
 sorts to know that the turbot he ordered would 
 probably make its appearance in the shape of a 
 brill, and the promised gravy soup as washy 
 broth, with a dogger-bank of black pepper at 
 the bottom, Colonel Hamilton, in the expecta- 
 tion of Henry Hamlyn’s arrival,' issued orders 
 for as good a dinner as the yard of foolscap be- 
 fore him undertook to promise ; and having so 
 far benefited by the measure as to rid himself of 
 the presence of the gentleman who so much re- 
 sembled one of his own porter-butts dressed out 
 by an advertising clothes-warehouse, waited 
 patiently the return of his messenger. 
 
 A new persecution, however, now commenced. 
 The bustling waiters, having removed the lug- 
 gage, reappeared with trestles and trays, cruet- 
 stands and bread-baskets; again leaving open 
 the door, and beginning to lay the cloth and re- 
 fold the napkins with as much fuss and empha- 
 sis as for a dinner-party of fourteen.^ 
 
 Still no answer arrived. The intelligence 
 that “ no Mr. Humbling was known in Trinity” 
 .not being likely to add an item to the bill, was 
 withheld in order to be brought in by the land- 
 lord with the soup-tureen; nor was it till after 
 repeated rings at the bell, and the despatchal of 
 as many messengers as issue per diem from 
 Downing-street during the session of Parlia- 
 ment, that intelligible answer was at length de- 
 livered to Colonel Hamilton, to the effect that 
 “Mr. Henry Hamlyn, of Trinity, was not in 
 college, having quitted Cambridge some days 
 before for London.” 
 
 “ So, so, so 1” cried Colonel Hamilton, “ This 
 is the way these youngsters impose upon the old 
 fogeys. This admirable Crichton, who fancies 
 himself too learned for a banker, and persuades 
 
 his poor, fond, foolish mother and sister that he’s 
 sapping his brains out at Trinity, is most likely, 
 at this moment, lounging on the Chain Pier at 
 Brighton, or resolving the problems of the 
 Christmas Pantomime ! A pretty couple o* 
 blockheads we look like, doctor, to have come 
 so far on such a fool’s errand !” 
 
 “Pray do not include me, my dear sir, in any 
 such category !” cried Dr. Markham, good-hu- 
 mouredly. “iWy object will be fully answered 
 in a pleasant journey, and a peep at the old spot 
 where, before I became the happiest husband 
 and person in England, I was the most content- 
 ed old bachelor. Looking forward to a cheer- 
 ful dinner and glass of wine with you, and beat- 
 ing up the quarters afterward of a few old col- 
 lege chums who still stick to their fellowships, 
 
 I can afford latitude for my young friend’s vaca- 
 tion rambles,” 
 
 “ I can’t help wishing, however, that his dear 
 good mother had contrived to get better in- 
 formation concerning the lad’s movements, be- 
 fore she stimulated me to this wild-goose expe- 
 dition !” was the colonel’s secret but ever recur- 
 ring reflection during dinner; and, deeply im- 
 pressed as he was by the importance of his in- 
 terposition, at such a crisis, to the happiness of 
 the family he so dearly valued, the colonel, 
 though cautious of avowing the extent of his 
 uneasiness, could not altogether conceal from 
 his companion his vexation at the disappoint- 
 ment. Already Dr. Markham had privately 
 resolved to abstain from his threatened visit to 
 St. John’s, in order that the old gentleman 
 might be comforted by his usual game at back- 
 gammon. 
 
 “I tell ye what, doctor,” cried the colonel, 
 when the waiters had delivered the travellers 
 from their officious presence, “ if it didn’t v&y 
 much signify to you, now you’ve got your fur- 
 lough where you spent your leave of absence, 
 I’d ask the favour of you to accompany me to- 
 morrow to town (I’ve a vast mind for an inter- 
 view with this boy before I’m a week older); 
 and after a day or two in Lon’on, we’ll back to 
 Ovington, and surprise the good lady at the 
 Vicarage with an account of our scapegrace ex- 
 ploit !” 
 
 “ With all my heart— with all my heart !” re- 
 plied Dr. Markham, readily conceiving that 
 these precipitate movements had a more serious 
 motive than the old gentleman was at liberty to 
 avow. “ I am prepared, like a faithful esquire, 
 to follow the wanderings of my own liege knight, 
 on condition, however, that you take a glance 
 at King’s College Chapel, and allow me one at 
 my old shop, to-morrow, before we get into the 
 carriage.” 
 
 So reasonable a request was, of course, cheer- 
 fully acceded to, and at an earlier hour than the 
 head -waiter judged it by any means becoming 
 for “ gemmen as travelled with four osses” to 
 be astir, Markham was approaching the sober- 
 suited home of his bachelorhood, preparatory to 
 escorting the colonel to Trinity Chapel. ^ 
 
 To Dr. Markham, it was like pressing the 
 hand of an old friend to pass under the venera- 
 ble gateway of St. John’s ; and, lo ! on raising 
 his eyes towards the narrow windows of the old 
 rooms, through which, during sixteen years of 
 his life, he had gazed, day after day, on that 
 uneventful quadrangle, the contrast afforded by 
 the loneless, cheerless gloom of the spot to his 
 own happy, affectionate, independent home, ex- 
 cited such feelings of thankfulness in the heart 
 
THE BANKER’S WIPE; ORr 
 
 of the good vicar, that he was almost glad to be 
 secure from encounter with his college Iriends 
 while under their influence. 
 
 At that moment the past was revived, warm 
 and like life around him, by the magic force of 
 association. Not an angle of those ancient struc- 
 tures but had some peculiar interest in his eyes, 
 not a tree in those college gardens but was con- 
 nected with some incident of earlier years. The 
 sound of the long-familiar bells recalled throng- 
 ing thoughts and half-effaced aspirations. Ech- 
 oes, long silent, were awakened in the depths of 
 his heart. He seemed to live over again the 
 days when his hopes of happiness w^ere com- 
 prised in the acquiring of a modest home, over 
 which a certain gentle Cousin Kitty was to pre- 
 side, and become the mother of the olive- 
 branches round about his table. 
 
 Heartfelt was the gratitude of the good vicar 
 when he considered that the home, and the 
 Cousin Kitty, and the olive-branches had been 
 fully vouchsafed him, the prospects of his chil- 
 dren, as well as the welfare of their parents, 
 being secured, under the will of Providence, by 
 the zealous aid of his friend, Hamlyn the banker. 
 
 Still overflowing with thankfulness were the 
 good man’s feelings when he rejoined Colonel 
 Hamilton, who, having recovered, in a good 
 night’s rest, his disappointment at Henry Ham- 
 lyn’s absence, was quite as ready to admire and 
 praise as the most enthusiastic of Cantabs could 
 desire. On emerging from the Chapel of Trin- 
 ity, after a passing glance at Roubilliac’s noble 
 statue of Newton, into the imposing quadrangle, 
 the colonel’s ecstasies burst forth. 
 
 “ By George ! I begin to feel ashamed of all 
 the treasons I uttered yesterday !” cried he. 
 “ Either the grave aspect of yonder solemn old 
 dons, or the atmosphere of the place has be- 
 ■witched me ; for I feel disposed to recant my 
 anticlassical heresies. In this quaint old spot, 
 that seems proud to bear record of the greatness 
 of the minds which, for so many centuries, have 
 devoted themselves to study within its wmlls, 
 one must not pretend to underrate the value of 
 learning. In flashy, noisy Lon’on — amid the 
 bustle o’ business and whirl o’ pleasure — one 
 comes to fancy the gravity of philosophy all 
 gammon. But here, it seems to attain a sort of 
 Bible sanctity ! One is forced to acknowledge 
 that if it do not forward the labour of money- 
 getting, or the sport of money-spending, it af- 
 fords at least consolation to a solitary life. Old 
 dunce as 1 am, I could find it in my heart to un- 
 cap, like an under-graduate, to yonder solemn 
 old dons, who look as if nothing could move 
 ’em that has happened on the face of the earth 
 since the days of Herodotus.” 
 
 “ Yes, I remember fancying myself a prodi- 
 gious philosopher so long as I was one of them!” 
 replied the doctor. 
 
 “ ‘ Ilium non populi fasces, non purptira regum 
 Flexit, et infidans agitans discordia fratres.’ 
 
 Though I doubt w'hether aught in their morning’s 
 reading pleases them as well as the last bulletin 
 from Cabool.” 
 
 Colonel Hamilton, startled by the sound of a 
 language which had rarely greeted his ears since 
 he left the Charter-House, now proposed that, 
 before they quitted Trinity, they should visit the 
 rooms of Henry Hamlyn. 
 
 “ I should like to inscribe my name with his 
 own pen on his own table 1” said he, “ in proof 
 hereafter of the reality of my visit.” 
 
 And, having ascertained that during their ab- 
 
 sence Johnston was to settle the intt-accourff- 
 and see the horses put to. Dr. Markham, well 
 acquainted with young Hamlyn’s college tutor,- 
 obtained such credentials as opened the door of 
 his rooms. Prom the same respectable source,, 
 the friends of the truant were supplied, unasked,, 
 with an earnest tribute to his merits. They 
 had the satisfaction of hearing that, with the' 
 highest distinctions of the university, young 
 Hamlyn conciliated a larger share of its afllec- 
 tions than is usually accorded to the pet of the 
 bigwigs. 
 
 “ Henry is a general favourite,” said Dr. 
 Markham’s learned friend; “so general, that E 
 sometimes almost wonder at the severity of hfs 
 application. Even at Cambridge, as Erasmus 
 has it — ^ Non desunt crassi guidem qui studiosos- 
 a libris deterreant;' and I sometimes fear the best 
 head in Trinity may come, like the thickest, to 
 be broken, out of a tandem ; and I confess I am 
 as fond of my pupil as I am proud. By-and-by, 
 when his imagination is a little sobered, and his. 
 warm-hearted enthusiasm tamed down into a 
 more practical view of the things of this world, . 
 it will go hard but we hear of Hamlyn as one 
 of the most distinguished men of his time. He 
 has been a little overset by his foreign excur- 
 sion. I never know what to make of my young 
 men when they come back wit'h their brains 
 turned by Switzerland and the Rhine ; but the 
 brief madness usually flies off in the fumes of a 
 few odes. They rhyme themselves sober again,., 
 and, after producing a new canto to Childe 
 Harold, not quite as good as the first, fall to, as - 
 before, upon their more important studies. 
 
 After this indication to the leading foible of 
 poor Henry, it did not surprise either the vieaif 
 or Colonel Hamilton, on being admitted by th« 
 gyp into his rooms, to find them, in addition to 
 their simple, solid furniture, adorned with some 
 admirable sketches of the Abruzzi, bearing the 
 initials of H. H., and a selection from the finer 
 engravings of Raphael Morghen after the cheP 
 d’oBUvres of the ancient masters ; in place of the* 
 glaring portraits of actresses and opera-dancers 
 constituting the usual embellishment of a young 
 man’s lodgings. On a bracket between the 
 windows, intended to support a clock, a highly- 
 necessary companion of a student’s leisure (but 
 which, in half the other rooms of the college, 
 would have exhibited a statuette of Taglioni or 
 Fanny Elsler, or, at best, of the chaster graces 
 of Mademoiselle Rachel), stood the cast of a. 
 splendid original bust by Gibson ; a female head^ 
 purporting, as announced by the crescent on its 
 brows, to represent the severe beauty of the God- 
 dess of Night: the “ queen and huntress, chaste 
 and fair,” of Ben Jonson. On the table stood 
 a china vase, or flower-pot, containing what, at 
 first sight. Dr. Markham pronounced to be a 
 stump of blacklead pencil, so slight was the 
 trace of foliage confirming the assurance of the^' 
 gyp that it was a myrtle-tree, brought with great 
 care and trouble by Mr. Hamlyn from some fa-- 
 mous place in foreign parts, which he had strict 
 orders to water carefully during his absence. 
 
 “A sprig of rubbish from Virgil’s tomb, or 
 the Grotto of Egeria, I’ll be bound !” cried the 
 colonel, with a hearty laugh. “ Doctor, doctor, 
 why don’t you perform your salam to so classi- 
 cial a relic 1 Ten to one, the poor lad has got 
 a sonnet to’t in his note-book, and expects his 
 verses and stunted laurels to flourish together. 
 But God be gracious to me, what have we here 1” 
 cried he, a moment afterward, congratulating 
 
63 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 himself that his rash exclamation had probably 
 been unheard by the vicar, who was staring his 
 eyes out at Henry’s fine sketch of the ruins of 
 Tusculum, classically explained by the gyp, 
 •watching over his shoulder, to be “ Tullus’s Wil- 
 low at Room.” 
 
 The letter, a single glance at which had ex- 
 torted so vehement an ejaculation from Colonel 
 Hamilton, was lying unopened on Henry Ham- 
 lyn’s desk, accompanied by a note or two, and a 
 slip of paper having the appearance of a bill, all 
 of which had evidently arrived during his ab- 
 sence. 
 
 With a degree of indiscretion (pardonable or 
 unpardonable, who shall decide I), Colonel Ham- 
 ilton, perceiving that the doctor was still thor- 
 oughly absorbed by a splendid print of the Trans- 
 figuration which constituted the masterwork of 
 this Hamlyn Gallery, raised it from the desk, and 
 deliberately examined the superscription and 
 seal, the paper and postmark; forming inferen- 
 ces, perhaps, from its thickness and complexion, 
 of the length and nature of the epistle. Nay, af- 
 ter laying it down once, as if he had satisfied 
 himself fully on these points, such was the old 
 gentleman’s pertinacious interest in the corre- 
 spondent of the young graduate of Trinity, that 
 he actually took it a second time from the desk ; 
 and, after a renewed and still more careful ex- 
 amination, replaced it on the table. 
 
 “ Of all the strange things I ever knew in this 
 world, this is the strangest !” muttered he, when, 
 after a liberal gratuity to the gyp, and a request 
 that, on Mr. Hamlyn’s arrival, *the visit of Col- 
 onel Hamilton and** Dr. Markham might be in- 
 stantly announced to him, they quitted the rooms; 
 nor could the utmost endeavours of Dr. Mark- 
 ham to revive his previous enthusiasm while 
 prpceeding through a hurried visit to King’s Col- 
 lege and Downing, obtain more than monosylla- 
 bles from the preoccupied colonel. 
 
 So silent and mechanical were his movements, 
 when, on reaching the Hoop, he hurried into his 
 carriage, wailing at the doOr with the postboys 
 in their saddles, that the pursy gentleman in the 
 claret-coloured velvet girth felt convinced the 
 brill of the preceding day had been detected, or 
 that the charge of fifteen shillings a bottle for 
 claret moved the old gentleman’s displeasure; 
 and, but that the waiters had the donation of 
 Johnston safe in their pockets, they would have 
 trembled for their half-crowns. 
 
 Dr. Markham was luckily too much absorbed 
 by the numberless interests and associations re- 
 viving every moment around him to take heed 
 of the colonel’s absence of mind, and the car- 
 riage reached the Trumpington turnpike ere a 
 syllable escaped his lips after the memorable ex- 
 clamation betraying his discovery of some as- 
 tounding mystery connected with Henry Ham- 
 lyn’s correspondence. “By George! the vei-y 
 strangest thing in the world 1” were fated to be 
 his “ few last words” in Cambridge. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 “Good-nature has an endless source of pleasure in it ; 
 and the representation of domestic life filled with its natu 
 ral gratifications (instead of the vexations generally insist- 
 ed upon in the writings of the witty) will be a very good 
 office to society. It would be a lamentable thing that a 
 man must be a philosopher to know how to pass away his 
 time agreeably.’' — Steels 
 
 “ I WAS determined to take you by surprise, 
 
 my dear Hamlyn,” cried Colonel Hamilton, as,. 
 following close the footman who announced him; 
 and followed closely in his turn by Dr. Mark- 
 ham, he entered the drawing-room in Cavendish 
 Square, at what he supposed to be a late hour 
 for tea. 
 
 But if he had calculated on seeing an express 
 sion of joyful astonishment portray itself in the 
 countenance of the banker, he was speedily un- 
 deceived. After a stammered greeting to t-vi’O 
 such unexpected visiters, nothing remained ap- 
 parent in Hamlyn’s face and deportment but an 
 air of embarrassment and chagrin. 
 
 The tea-tray had been already removed ; and,, 
 on their arrival, Hamlyn was seated in his slip- 
 pers, in all the disarray of domestic ease, beside- 
 a writing-table, covered with papers, amid 
 which stood a reflecting lamp. It was dear tu 
 the observant eye of Dr. Markham, that the 
 banker, intently occupied in some important cal- 
 culation, upon which he judged it worth while 
 to expend his leisure hours, wished them back 
 at Ovington, or anywhere else, a hundred miles 
 from Cavendish Square. 
 
 It was, in fact, the good colonel himself who 
 was ijaost “ surprised” on the occasion ! For he 
 had felt assured of finding Henry Hamlyn with 
 his father, most likely engaged in bitter alterca^ 
 tion ; instead of which, it was clear, from the first 
 two or three words uttered by the banker, that 
 he was unaware of his younger son being in 
 town. 
 
 “ Whom did you expect to find with me, m)r 
 dear colonel, that you appear so astonished at 
 my being alone 1” said Hamlyn. “Believe me, 
 so long as my family remains at Dean, 1 am 
 quite as great a solitary in town as you at Bur- 
 lington. Between the sporting turn of Walter 
 and the studious turn of Harry, I am as much 
 left to myself as though I had not a son to call 
 my own!” 
 
 Luckily, the colonel had forewarned Dr. 
 Markham that, on account of a disagreement in 
 the Hamlyn family, no allusion must be made 
 to his proposed visit to Henry Hamlyn. 
 
 “ I’m not fond of mysteries and concealments, 
 my dear doctor!” said he. “But between our- 
 selves, it may enable me to serve all parties w’ith 
 a surer chance, if we say nothing at present of 
 our little madcap trip to Cambridge. Luckily, 
 poor Hamlyn is not given to asking idle ques- 
 tions, like that burly baronet of a brother-in-law 
 at the Hyde. He’ll take our journey as a mat- 
 ter of course. For I told him afore he left War- 
 wickshire I must be up in town shortly, to look 
 out for my daughter-in-law’s arrival. So, if 
 you love me, not a syllable in allusion to poof 
 Harry !” 
 
 This prohibition having been enforced anew 
 by a significant look, on learning from Ham- 
 lyn’s grave announcement that his son was 
 “reading hard at Cambridge,” the vicar was 
 not a little amused at the bungling elForts made 
 by .so poor a dissembler as the colonel to con- 
 ceal that they had reached London by the nor- 
 thern instead of the western road. 
 
 Still, old Hamilton might have blundered and 
 blundered on, without attracting the notice of 
 his companion. For the greater the efforts of 
 Hamlyn to talk chattily and do the honours of 
 the tea-table, already replenished, the plainer it 
 became, from sundry glances at his writing-ta- 
 ble covered with papers, that his mind was ever 
 and anon reverting to the occupation from which, 
 he had been disturbed by his friends. 
 
64: 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 “ I conclude you have not yet had time since 
 your arrival,” observed the host, with a vague- 
 ness of eye that must have struck a more per- 
 spicacious man than Hamilton, “ to make in- 
 quiries concerning Mrs. Robert’s arrivalV’ 
 
 “ Faith, I scarcely know xokere to make ’em, 
 till I obtain the information from replied 
 
 the colonel. 
 
 “ From me? I thought you were in frequent 
 correspondence. I have not had the smallest 
 communication with her (except the formal no- 
 ting and payment of her jointure through the 
 banking-house) for the last two years.” 
 
 “ I know it, 1 know it! Her last letter to me 
 was dated from Florence, and told me I might 
 look out for her about the middle of January. 
 The middle will probably turn out the end. No 
 woman with a journey of a thousand miles afore 
 iher was ever punctual to a week or so. But 
 Ellen never told me what hotel she should stop 
 at in her way threugh town.” 
 
 “ Hamilton seems to lake me for a conjurer, 
 and fancy I have the art of divining people’s in- 
 .tentions 1” said Hamlyn, addressing Dr. Mark- 
 ham, as if suddenly afraid of appearing to neg- 
 lect his humbler guest; but, in reality, to dis- 
 tract the observant eye of the vicar from some 
 object on which it appeared to settle near the 
 writing-table. 
 
 “ Don’t flatter yourself I I don’t think you a 
 greater conjurer than myself, unless where scrip 
 and omnium are concerned. I simply fancied 
 you might be able to tell me to what hotel Lady 
 Burlington was in the habit of resorting I” 
 “Lady Burlington I I thought you were talk- 
 ing of Mrs. Robert Hamilton 1” 'interposed Dr. 
 Markham, with a puzzled air. 
 
 “ And so I am! They’ve been travelling to- 
 gether in Italy. When Ellen came down to vis- 
 it you at Dean Park, my dear Hamlyn, oh her 
 marriage, she made acquaintance, it seems, with 
 Lady Burlington; and meeting together thus 
 strangely in a foreign country, already widows, 
 and, as it were, in exile, they nat’rally struck up 
 a friendship, poor things !” 
 
 Mr. Hamlyn appeared disagreeably startled 
 
 by this explanation. 
 
 “ It is therefore more than probable,” pursued 
 the colonel, “that Ellen, who knows little or 
 nothing of Lon’on, will profit by her friend’s ex- 
 perience about such a matter as the choice of a 
 ’hotel.” 
 
 “ Likely enough !” observed Dr. Markham, 
 seeing that Hamlyn was unprepared to reply. 
 -“And Lady Burlington, if I remember, always 
 went to Mivart’s. In Sir Roger’s time, at least, 
 I certain they frequented Mivart’s; for I well 
 remember seeing them start from thence one 
 morning for Ascot races; and I, who knew 
 : something of the entanglement of their aflairs, 
 
 ' could not help feeling sore at heart as 1 stood 
 watching their showy four-in-hand turn the cor- 
 ner of Grosvenor Square.” 
 
 “ It is a most extraordinary thing that he 
 should never have mentioned to me having made 
 .her acquaintance!” cried Hamlyn, after some 
 minutes’ silence, as if musing aloud. 
 
 “ Who 1 Markam 1 Why, surely, you must 
 have known pretty well the degree of acquaint- 
 ance that subsisted between Overton Vicarage 
 and Burlington Manor V’ cried Colonel Hamil- 
 ton, becoming alive to the absent, hurried man- 
 ner of his friend. 
 
 “ I — I was talking of — ” 
 
 “ I think you scarcely know %DJi-ai you’re talk- 
 
 ing of, my dear fellow !” cried the colonel, slap- 
 ping him on the back. “ Were you o’ Watty’s 
 age, I can tell you, I should fancy you were 
 over head and ears in love !” 
 
 “I was talking of my son Henry and your 
 daughter-in-law,” said Hamlyn, stoutly, think- 
 ing it more prudent to speak out than incur the 
 suspicion, in Colonel Hamilton’s mind, of being 
 a musing visionary. “ I was expressing my 
 surprise that my son should never have alluded 
 to having met Mrs. Robert Hamilton in Italy.” 
 
 “And how the plague d’ye know they did 
 meet "I” cried the colonel, on this point almost as 
 curious as his friend. 
 
 “ Because Henry spent some time in company 
 with Lady Burlington. He brought me letters 
 from her, and papers of consequence. But 
 though, ere he hurried to Cambridge for the 
 commencement of term, he spent a day with me 
 here in town, alone, and freely discussing all 
 the occurrences of his tour, I am certain, quite 
 certain^ he never hazarded the remotest allusion 
 to a person so peculiarly interesting to the feel- 
 ings of us all as — as — Mrs. Robert Hamilton.” _ 
 
 “ There’s no accounting for the mysteries of 
 young folks ; or, rather, what they may or may 
 not think worth mentioning. As Harry knew 
 you’d not, in the first instance, shown yourself 
 mighty partial to my poor daughter-in-law, he 
 might fancy you did not care to hear of her in- 
 timacy with your friend Lady Burlington ; or, 
 maybe, to hear of her at all !” 
 
 “ Still, a person so singularly beautiful and 
 accomplished as Mrs. Robert cannot but have 
 attracted the greatest attention abroad; and it 
 would have been only natural to say how he 
 found her looking, and whether as much admired 
 as we suppose.” 
 
 “ She is strikingly beautiful, ehl” cried Ham- 
 ilton. “How the deuse, then, came you to* be 
 always so indignant at what you called Bob’s 
 infatuation 7” 
 
 “I might think her singularly lovely, yet an 
 imprudent match for a young man of poor Rob- 
 ert’s brilliant prospects.” 
 
 “You’re queer fishes, vastly queer fishes, you 
 money-spinners!” cried Colonel Hamilton, al- 
 most pettishly. “ You seem to think there’s no- 
 thing better to be bought with money than mon- 
 ey ! What the plague could my poor boy get 
 better, in exchange for his heirship to fifteen 
 thousand a year, than a pretty young wife? 
 However, we won’t fight that battle over again, 
 the only point ever in mspute between us ! And 
 since you say Mivart’s is the place, we’ll go and 
 look after Ellen to-morrow morning, doctor, if 
 you’ve no objection.” 
 
 After a few inquiries on Hamilton’s part about 
 the party at Rotherwood Castle, and the health 
 of the Marchioness of Dartford, purporting to 
 change the conversation, and a little parish gos- 
 sip between the banker and the vicar, the visit- 
 ers re-entered their hackney-coach, and return- 
 ed to Fenton’s Hotel, to sleep soundly after three 
 days of exertion so unusual in the even tenour 
 of their sober lives. 
 
 But the sleep of the banker wa.s fated to be 
 less easy. His heart was disquieted within him. 
 By nature mistrustful, and his mistrusts aggra- 
 vated at times to torture by the consciousness 
 of a load of concealments, new anxieties had 
 been created in his mind by the sudden discovery 
 of this unsuspected intimacy between the two 
 women he liked least on earth. 
 
 Richard Hamlyn, whatever else might be his 
 
C:OURT AND CITY. 
 
 65 
 
 weaknesses, had, it must be admitted, little lean- 
 ing towards the gentler sex. A harassed, anxious 
 life either inclines a man to put unlimited trust 
 in the virtues of women, and derive his chief sol- 
 ace from their affectionate companionship, or 
 to endure them as an inevitable encumbrance. 
 Hamlyn, such was his austere nature, had 
 adopted the latter alternative. Instead of rever- 
 encing the meek submission of his wife, he re- 
 garded her as an obstacle which he had con- 
 quered. Incapable of appreciating the greatness 
 of her self-abnegation, he estimated her as mere- 
 ly one of the passive portions of his social ex- 
 istence. But Lady Burlington and Mrs. Robert 
 Hamilton had thwarted his purposes; and these 
 two women he loathed — yea, loathed — in spite of 
 the “ baited breath and whispering humbleness” 
 with which, in their enforced intercourse, he was 
 in the habit of accosting them. 
 
 Nevertheless, the widow of Sir Roger Burling- 
 ton, young, fair, gentle, was a singular object lor 
 antipathy! It was scarcely possible to see a 
 sweeter, more timid, or more feminine woman. 
 Infirm of health, still more infirm of purpose, she 
 was naturally at the disposal of those surround- 
 ing her who chose to be at the trouble of regu- 
 lating her movements. But as the dove, in the 
 exercise of its domestic functions, is said to ac- 
 quire the ferocity of the eagle, as a wife and 
 mother, a bereaved wife and anxious mother. 
 Lady Burlington had assumed sufficient cour- 
 age to defend the rights and interests of her only 
 child from the somewhat arbitrary disposal of 
 the banker; and, unused to opposition, least of 
 all from a woman, Hamlyn had no patience with 
 the fair and fragile-looking thing in its widow’s 
 cap and weeds, that presumed to have a will of 
 its own touching the sale of an estate or paying 
 off of a mortgage. Business was to him too 
 solemn and peremptory a matter for a hand so 
 slight and fair as Lady Burlington’s to dare ex- 
 tend itself towards the ark of the covenant. 
 
 The “ beautiful Ellen” was the very reverse 
 of all this; and if in his soul he despised the 
 gentle lady of Burlington Manor, the soul of the 
 banker sank rebuked under the penetrating eye 
 of Bob Hamilton’s widow. He was positively 
 afraid of her. She was the Ellen Somerton he 
 liad persecuted, the Ellen Somerton he had in- 
 jured; and she was also the Mrs. Robert Ham- 
 ilton who might injure and persecute him in re- 
 -tum. He had braised her head; he felt that 
 she might still bruise his heel. 
 
 I For there was the spirit of no ordinary chSrac- 
 ter in Ellen Hamilton ; so for the future let us 
 name the fair widow, who, even now, had not 
 completed her twenty-second year. Accomplish- 
 ed in mind as she was beautiful in person, she 
 exhibited a striking instance of the equalizing 
 justice of Providence; for with these rare en- 
 dowments, she united no favour of fortune. El- 
 len was the only child of her mother, and she 
 was a widow — the widow of a naval officer of 
 modest connexions, who had bequeathed nothing 
 besides his small pension for the maintenance 
 of their child. The rare beauty and still rarer 
 intelligence and self-possession of her daughter 
 served at once to obviate the evils of such a po- 
 sition, and render them harder to be borne. El- 
 len had high courage; Ellen had a devoted 
 heart ; and, from the moment she became aware 
 of the cause of her poor mother’s privations, re- 
 solved to work for her independence. But hoio 
 is a young girl to achieve “independence” by 
 her own labours 1 As a seamstress, by which, 
 
 with assiduous application, she may obtain a 
 shilling a day 1 Asa fritterer of fancy articles, 
 the sale of which (except in novels) is so pre- 
 carious 1 As a teacher of music, as a nursery 
 governess 1 Alas I for these latter vocations 
 recommendations must be procured ; and even 
 had they been forthcoming, at sixteen Ellen 
 Somerton was so eminently beautiful, that any 
 duty requiring her transit through the open street 
 was a service of danger as well as of humilia- 
 tion. 
 
 With features delicately chiselled as those of 
 some Grecian muse, she united a clear olive 
 complexion that might have been deemed too 
 brown, but for the darkness of her raven hair 
 and finely-marked eyebrows ; but, above all, for 
 the onyx-like hue of those expressive eyes, 
 which, depressed by a sense of early affliction, 
 were habitually fixed upon the ground. But 
 when she did condescend to raise them, and fix 
 her looks upon the people with whom she was 
 con versing, what depth of expression ! Whether 
 tenderness or thankfulness gleamed from their 
 olive depths, or the sternness of scorn were en- 
 hanced by the contemptuous arching of her up- 
 per lip, the person who had ever glowed with 
 affection or writhed with shame underjhe search- 
 ing glances of Ellen, felt that the influence of 
 that potent sentiment was to abide ibr evermore ! 
 
 Had such charms and qualifications existed 
 in combination with birth and fortune, poor 
 Ellen would have been pronounced the most 
 beautiful woman of the day. Her portrait would 
 have figured in exhibitions and annuals; and 
 the likeness of her finely-developed form attract- 
 ed crowds to the print-shop windows. But in 
 humbler life, such beauty becomes an object of 
 mistrust. Ellen was far too handsome for a gov- 
 erness, far too handsome for a teacher. Again 
 and again, with her mother’s sanction, she had 
 attempted to obtain such an employment. Im- 
 possible I The cautious or prudish were afraid 
 to embarrass themselves with so beautiful an 
 inmate as Ellen Somerton. One had a brother — 
 one a son — one a husband. Not a woman of 
 them all was to be persuaded ! 
 
 Time,* as it passed on, did but aggravate the 
 evil. But while it perfected the charms, it 
 served also to strengthen the mind and stimulate 
 the courage of the unfortunate girl. The widow 
 and her daughter, too poorly off to reside in the 
 metropolis, had retired to York, where they 
 boarded in the house of a maiden lady, an in- 
 firm relative of the deceased Captain Somerton ; 
 and there it happened that the accidental peru- 
 sal of some dramatic memoirs revealing the pro- 
 digious fortunes to be acquired by the aid of 
 genius and steadiness on the English stage, fell ' 
 into the hands of the girl who saw her mother 
 languishing amid the bitter struggles of poverty. 
 
 “ And w% should not I, too, be an actress i” 
 said she, in the earnestness of her heart and 
 consciousness of her genius. “ The stage does 
 not necessarily convey degradation! Women 
 have risen to the height of their profession with- 
 out forfeiting the esteem of society. Why might 
 not I, too, become a Mrs. Siddons — a Miss 
 O’Neiin” 
 
 Without consulting her mother, whose sus- 
 ceptibility as a woman, or, rather, as an officer’s 
 widow, would, she knew, rebel against such a 
 proposition, Ellen Somerton accordingly set 
 about diligently studying for the stage. Already 
 familiar with the spirit of our great dramatist, 
 she made herself mistress of the leading parts in 
 
66 
 
 THE BANKER'S WIFE; OR, 
 
 ^haksTjeare’s plays: and Juliet became once 
 ^oreTqu 4 e^UivM by the rich mnes of 
 her yoaihfQl TOice, and the f ^ 
 
 one of the finest of human forms. All she await- 
 ed for the accomplishment of her project was the 
 arrival at Yorh of one of the most enunent ac- 
 wsJes of one of the winter theatres-a woman 
 equally esteemed for her respectabdity itt pri- 
 vate life, and her more than respectability on the 
 boards • who was engaged for a few mgh^ rep- 
 resentation on her way to Edinbuj^h. To her 
 Ellen had resolved to apply for advice and in- 
 Ttmction, looking hopefuUy forward to the means 
 
 o^dep^ndence for herself and competence for 
 
 the declining years of the kindest of “O^^rs , a 
 consideration sufficient to alleviate all that was 
 painful to her feelings in the 
 ^ It was at this crisis she became accidentally ac- 
 quainted with Robert HamiUon who was qu^- 
 tered with his regiment at Aork. On her wa> 
 hoS^ from the lodgings of Mrs. _ , 
 by the impersonificaiion she had ® 
 
 Jthe astWshment ^,.^UsL?e to 
 
 used London actress, who did not ^^^rtate^to 
 predict miracles of fame and lonune to ffie de- 
 fro-hted Ellen, she was followed by two officers ; 
 nor did her modest demeanour serve as a securit} 
 against the compliments usually paid under sucn 
 circumstances to a beautiful girl, emergmg, un- 
 protected, from the lodgings of an actress. 
 
 ^ Ellen Somerton was sumcienuy mistress of 
 herself to express her contemptuous disg^. ai 
 this ungenUemanly intrusion ; and young Ham- 
 ilton luckily, of a turn of mmd to be only the 
 fanher prepossessed by the rebuke of the indig- 
 nant be4t^ WTth some difficulty, he shonly 
 Sward o\,taioed 
 
 er and was permitted to visit at the house. 
 With greater d^culty still, his devoted atmch- 
 
 ment found favour in the sight of EHen t^o 
 uieui J.UL1U ^ >n<! timid nature 
 
 Ukelv to restore to the theatres all that fashiona- 
 ble vo'^ue admitted to have been withdrawn from 
 the time a first-rate actress was wanting on the 
 boards The rumours of what are called the 
 “theatrical circles” have usually their echoes in 
 the public press; and the consequence was that, 
 before the project of poor Ellen was developed, 
 even to her mother, the Sunday papers, whenever 
 in want of a paragraph for their theatrical arti- 
 cles indulged in predicuons concerning the un- 
 paralleled Juliet— the new Phmnix-the beau- 
 tiful Miss Ellen Somerton, of A ork ! 
 
 What a discovery for Richard Hamlyn ! He, 
 who had fixed his heart upon keeping smgle arid 
 heirless the only surviving and sickly son of his 
 
 wealthy client at Ghazerapore, whose softne^ 
 
 of nature was sufficiently revealed in his open-- 
 hearted correspondence, instead of makmg the 
 ffiqufrL demLded of him, did not hesitate to 
 describe the threatened daughter-m-law as nei- 
 ther more nor less than “ a country actress . 
 
 “A Country Actress! A thing oi rouge 
 and rant-spangles and false ringlets, 
 of the barracks— some artful baggage who had 
 enthralled the feelings of an inexperienced l^ 
 of twenty-one !” No wonder that such a piciu^re 
 
 Se 'that tetter reached England, tte 
 interference of Robert Hamilton had obtain^ 
 a public contradiction of the 
 the appearance of the new Juliet. But the- 
 4chffifwas done. 
 
 of suspense patiently endured by all parfre:>, alter 
 snhmission of that humble domestic 
 
 ... , puen to SeS^sub^^^^ 
 
 “roL'p“nofoIe“eh^acrerrfis fmid n^nrl ^rcle came this cruelty, this insult, thts sentence- 
 wrr^nth wpre -rievous disQuaUfica- it proved to more 
 
 than one of the parties interested m Colonel 
 Hamilton’sdecLsion. The Mgh-mjnded 
 
 from whom Ellen and her plighted lo't er had 
 magged to conceal the reports m question ig- 
 norant till that moment of a project frustrated b) 
 Ste auered prospects of <de family a proj^t 
 which her own greater experience ot *e word 
 would have forbidden her to sanction, sank under 
 the influence of Colonel Hamilton s humdiatin 
 insinuations. Had poor Ellen reaiiy^me aa 
 actress, the power of genius, the meed of public 
 approbation, would, perhaps, have sanctified the 
 
 callin=^ in the eyes ot her mother. But tne 
 mtwVcouvey'ed without its exfrnuatm^ The 
 bane had no assuaging antidote. Ellen^ h^^ 
 pure, virtuous, gifted, <i“tiful. spotle s EH 
 was branded as the “protegee of the barracks , 
 and the poor woman, long harassed by , 
 
 povertv 4d care, laid her head on the pillow of 
 ?ickne?s after perusing that bitter letter, and 
 4 ver raised it again. Her next restmg-place 
 
 ^ By ffie^’inffiscreet frankness of Colonel Ham- 
 ilto/ the source of his injurious Jtiformation had 
 been suffered to transpire in his letter to his ^o^ 
 ^d the reLnstrances addressed to Richard 
 Hamlyn bv the aggrieved orphan ^ 
 
 might^be supposed to flov^ from the T^n of a 
 woman injured in the dearest points of her ^x^ 
 senffibilities. Abstaining from ail 
 Infective, she calmly laid before him the suffer- 
 ings of her mother’s life, the fortitude of her 
 
 ^"d°4tS“ w^e gSvo;; disquaufica 
 ^ns For the rash lover had not yet atiamed 
 his maj^ty ; and nearly a year must elapse te- 
 fore hi could obtain such a 
 father as might entitle him to demand her hand 
 During the lapse of that year, howeter, the 
 constancy of Robert Hamilton s attentions, aiffi 
 the g^tle submission with 
 
 dated himself to the exactions of ner moffierts 
 file fireside, wrought 
 have desired upon the proud heart ol Eu^u * 
 Son Regardless of the supenority of his pros- 
 pect or position, she became warmly atmched 
 w him ; and, when the period approached for 
 ffie arrival of Colonel Hamilton s answer to his 
 
 son’s application. 
 
 JUCl jj.auaxxwv** 
 
 was almost as nervous and 
 
 
 
 , anxious as ffie devoted lover. ^.,,0 
 
 That answer, however, impo^ ft Ji-totn 
 pense Colonel Hamilton 3 udiciously 
 S that his son was too young to a° 
 
 mind-too young to marry; ^ 
 
 ffie same time, a private commission to his co 
 respondent, Hamlyn the banker, to 
 ■neciallv into the connexions, situation, and con 
 Suet of a certain Mrs. Somerton and her daugh- 
 ter the widow and daughter of a ft 
 
 na W residing in reduced circumstances at A ork. 
 
 S’ a singular stroke of ill-fortune the lady 
 to whom Ellen had applied the preceding } ear 
 f^p^ofessional advice", with a fuU d sclosura ffi 
 her poverty and plans, conceived herself to ^ 
 rendering a service to her interesting by 
 
 STnounclng, on her return to town, the existence 
 of a theatrical phoenix in the provinces, who was 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 67 
 
 mother’s character, the wretchedness of her moth- 
 er’s end ; and then bade him search his heart for 
 vindication of the murder he had committed. 
 
 Every compensation was offered by Robert 
 Hamilton in his power to bestow. Having in 
 the interim attained his majority, he was eager to 
 make the calumniated orphan his wife, and share 
 with her the liberal allowance made him by his 
 father. But this was firmly refused by the high- 
 minded girl. She would not force her way into 
 the family by which she had been so ignomini- 
 ously rejected. 
 
 She wrote, however, to Colonel Hamilton. In 
 defence of her own and her poor mother’s char- 
 acter, she laid before him an explicit account of 
 the circumstances of her unhappy fortunes ; and 
 even obtained an attestation froni the clergyman 
 who had ofiiciated at her mother’s deathbed, and 
 assisted them for the last fifteen years in their 
 diligent observance of the duties of the Protestant 
 communion. The pious man who had prepared 
 her for confirmation, and bestowed on Mrs. Som- 
 erton the last consolations of religion, warmly 
 and indignantly resented the accusations of the 
 banker; declaring his young charge to be not 
 only irreproachable as one of his own children, 
 but exemplary in all the relations of life. 
 
 Till the answer to this communication should 
 arrive, Ellen steadily declined even a friendly 
 intercourse with Robert Hamilton. Maintain- 
 ing herself by the labours of her needle, in ad- 
 dition to the scanty pension allotted to the sail- 
 or’s orphan, she persevered patiently and cour- 
 ageously in her determination. And verily she 
 had her reward ; for when, at length, the answer 
 of Colonel Hamilton arrived from Ghazerapore, 
 it was that of a “ father who pitieth his own 
 children.” It conveyed happiness, comfort, in- 
 dependence, wealth ; it conveyed all she could 
 desire save what was gone forever — the tender 
 mother she had lost — the broken constitution of 
 her afiianced husband. 
 
 The happiness of the young couple was, 
 however, for a time sufficing. The good pas- 
 tor, who had stood the friend 6f poor Ellen in her 
 adversity, gave her away; and Robert, who, 
 from the delicacy of his health, had been forced 
 to quit the army, proposed that they should pass 
 their first winter in Italy. 
 
 As yet unaware of the fatal presentiments by 
 which the proposition was suggested, the happy 
 bride prepared herself to enjoy, beyond all her 
 early dreams of earthly enjoyment, the beauty 
 of the loveliest country under the sun, hand in 
 hand with the dearest and most devoted of hu- 
 man beings; and, already surrounded by the 
 luxurious comfort secured by the liberality of 
 the good colonel, they were preparing for imme- 
 diate departure, when Robert Hamilton, after 
 due appeal to her indulgence, hazarded an ear- 
 nest petition. 
 
 On the strength of the remonstrances forward- 
 ed to England by Colonel Hamilton, the repent- 
 ant banker, in despair either at the result of his 
 rash slander, or at having risked the displeasure 
 of his valued client, had thrown himself with- 
 out reserve on the forbearance of the young 
 couple ; offered the most plausible explanations 
 of his error, and appealed so forcibly to the feel- 
 ings of Robert as his father’s friend, and the 
 kindly fosterer of his boyhood, that young Ham- 
 ilton, secretly conscious of his approaching end, 
 and desirous to exercise the last act in his pow- 
 er of Christian forbearance, not only forgave his 
 enemy, but obtained from the reluctant Ellen 
 
 her consent to pass a few days, preparatoiw to 
 leaving England forever, with the banker’s fam- 
 ily at Dean Park. 
 
 Once there, Richard Hamlyn spared no hum- 
 bleness of adulation to obtain forgiveness of his 
 fault. Already, he had despatched to Ghazera- 
 pore an account of his promptitude, of atone- 
 ment ; and it must be admitted that he comple- 
 ted his sacrifice of expiation by rendering every 
 word he addressed to Mrs. Robert Hamilton, 
 while under his roof, an effort of self-abasement. 
 
 But while Ellen recognised with admiration 
 the gentle, self-controlling virtues of the bank- 
 er’s wife, and, in deference to these, suppressed 
 all betrayal of hatred and disgust towards the 
 husband, Richard Hamlyn was painfully con- 
 scious that he had effected nothing towards the 
 obliteration of the uncharitable feelings his mal- 
 ice had created. He saw that in Ellen Hamil- 
 ton he had an enemy for life ; that between him 
 and her, as regarded the favour of her father-in- 
 law, there would be perpetual warfare.; and 
 when, within a year from his marriage, tidings 
 reached England from Naples of the untimely 
 death of the young husband, the banker fore- 
 saw that his grasp upon the coveted inheritance 
 of his friend the nabob, though strengthened by 
 the event, might still be baffled by the infl^uence 
 of the beautiful widow. 
 
 Her apparent indifference to pecuniary ad- 
 vantage afforded his sole consolation. Of Colo- 
 nel Hamilton’s arrival in England, his daughter- 
 in-law, so far from hastening to profit by the of- 
 fers of a home he instantly vouchsafed her, kept 
 aloof; as if unconscious or careless of her pow- 
 er to become the heiress of three hundred and 
 forty-two thousand pounds ! 
 
 On a sudden, however, after the lapse of more 
 than a year, her return to England was an- 
 nounced; announced, too, at a moment when 
 her presence portended peculiar defeat to the 
 plottings of the banker. Having located himself 
 in peace and quietness for the remainder of his 
 days, the colonel, as became his advanced age, 
 began to talk of making his will. His Will t 
 a will disposing of nearly three hundred and 
 fifty thousand pounds ; a sum involving the hap- 
 piness, credit, honour, solvency of Hamlyn and 
 Co.! 
 
 In the present crisis of his affairs, two things 
 appeared essential to accomplish the defeated 
 projects of Richard Hamlyn’s care-worn life: 
 .first, that one of his family should be ready to 
 succeed him in his business, and become the de- 
 positary of its mysteries and conservator of its 
 fortunes; and, secondly, that the property of 
 Colonel Hamilton should be secured to him 
 as head of the firm. If, indeed, his hopes of 
 direct inheritance were to be frustrated by the 
 ill-omened arrival of the widow, her marriage 
 with his son Walter seemed to present the sole 
 alternative. But what was to be hoped, if all 
 her former aversion to the Hamlyn family had 
 been recently renewed by a sudden intimacy 
 with Lady Burlington, to whom he knew him- 
 self to be an object of suspicion and dislike? 
 
 But worse than all — far, far worse, and more 
 perplexing than all — was the surmise recently 
 suggested by Colonel Hamilton, that, during 
 Henry’s visit to Italy, his son might have be- 
 come intimate with this dangerous pair, and un- 
 consciously imbibed their sentiments of mis- 
 trust. Was not this a sufficient explanation of 
 the sudden aversion conceived by Harry for the 
 career he had been previously satisfied to era- 
 
THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 68 
 
 brace*? How otherwise, indeed, could he ac- 
 count for the precipitate change of sentiments 
 announced to him by his wife on the part of the 
 refractory young man, in his recent visit to Dean 
 Park; the cause of so much conjugal irritation, 
 as well as the origin of his singular self-betray- 
 al to his favourite son*? 
 
 Richard Hamlyn was, as the experienced 
 reader has long ago discovered, a systematic 
 dissembler. He was one of those who not only 
 “ let not their right hand know what their left 
 doeth,” but was in league wjth his left hand to 
 deceive and defraud his right. His whole life 
 was a system of semblance — of careful and 
 consistent deceit. For his interests’ sake, hav- 
 ing once launched upon the sea of imposture, 
 he was unable to recede from acts of dissimu- 
 lation towards his customers and mercantile 
 associates. But the deception in which he per- 
 severed for the gratification of his personal feel- 
 ings, was the attitude he assumed towards his 
 family. The only thing he cared for in public 
 life was to be cited as Hamlyn the great banker 
 — son of Hamlyn the great banker— head of one 
 of the most substantial firms in the city. The 
 only thing he desired in private, was to appear 
 before his sons as the most upright and honour- 
 able of the human race — a conscientious man 
 of business— a disinterested politician — a virtu- 
 ous citizen— a benevolent Christian — a great and 
 good man. He cared as much for this as others 
 more deeply imbued with a sense of moral re- 
 sponsibility — others with a more deep-felt awe 
 of the terrors of eternal punishment — care for 
 the exercise of those very virtues of which he 
 ambitioned the pretence. 
 
 Some excuse may be ofiered for this infatua- 
 tion. There is an exquisite charm in filial ten- 
 derness, to which many a nature inaccessible 
 to every other species of human affection is 
 open at every pore. The love of a young child 
 for its parents — the trustful, uninquiring, pious 
 love that can neither imagine a fault nor resent 
 an injustice — approaches nearest to the expan- 
 sion of adoration we render to the Supreme 
 Being; and to those who have suffered under 
 the aspersions of the world, or been wounded by 
 the scorn of their fellow-creatures, this unwont- 
 ed tenderness conveys a balm, devised, as if by 
 the express mercy of God, for the healing of 
 their souls. While others mistrust, the confiding 
 child has faith as in the stability of Heaven. 
 While others disdain, the grateful child pre- 
 serves its attitude of kneeling submission. The 
 criminal, who goes to his death with the cer- 
 tainty that the faith of his children in his inno- 
 ceiice is unshaken, loses half the anguish of 
 the gallows. 
 
 By the same rule, the apprehension of a con- 
 scious falterer in the path of rectitude that ru- 
 mours of his errors will reach the ears of his 
 children — that their suspicions, like those of the 
 world, will be awakened ; that the eye in which 
 he has been accustomed to read the fulness of 
 love and faith will become averted like the 
 rest; that the fond pressure of the hand will be 
 qualified, the kiss imbittered, the warm, warm, 
 trusting, heart-felt, soul-felt, filial embrace de- 
 layed — is, of all the punishments of human 
 frailty, the hardest to be borne. 
 
 Such was the apprehension which caused 
 Richard Hamlyn to pace with perturbed steps 
 the noble proportions of his handsome drawing- 
 room, shuffle his unexamined papers together, 
 replace them peevishly in his secretaire, and re- 
 
 treat to his anxious pillow with even a heavier 
 pressure than usual upon his heart. 
 
 Long as had been his career of worldly anxi- 
 ety, acute as was on many occasions the agony 
 of his fears, he began to feel that the shame of a 
 ublic bankruptcy were trivial compared with 
 aving to stand in presence of his gentlemanly 
 sons, as one whose honour and honesty have giv- 
 en way amid the struggles which only serve to 
 strengthen the courage and steadfastness of gen- 
 uine worth. 
 
 No rest that night for the throbbing head of 
 Hamlyn the banker ! 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 “As great and exalted spirits undertake the pursuit of 
 hazardous actions for the good of others, gratifying at the 
 same time their own passion for glory, so do worthy minds 
 in the domestic way of life, undervaluing the ordinary 
 gratifications of wealth, exercise the great civil virtue of 
 self-denial for the comfort of others. Such natures one 
 may call the stores of Providence ; for they are actuated 
 by a secret celestial influence.” — Addison. 
 
 Though Colonel Hamilton was considerably 
 vexed by the thwarting of his projects in Hen- 
 ry Hamlyn’s favour through his mysterious ab- 
 sence from Cambridge and London, the san- 
 guine tone of the old gentleman’s mind was 
 such as to prevent all pondering over his vexa- 
 tions. In the lesser as in the great events of 
 life, his general principle, that “ whatever is, is 
 right,” reconciled him to his infructuous jour- 
 ney of three hundred miles. 
 
 “ No doubt,” said he, as he sat discussing an 
 oyster-omelet for breakfast with the good vicar, 
 the following morning, “no doubt the stupid 
 gyp, or your friend, the learned Pundit of a tu- 
 tor, made a mistake. ’Twas to Dean Park, not 
 to Lon’on, the boy was going. However, here 
 we are ; and though we’ve been misled a bit in 
 our calculations, no need to make bad worse by 
 not taking ‘ the goods the gods provide us,’ and 
 enjoying ourselves when we’re in the way of 
 enjoyment.” 
 
 i Dr. Markham, already somewhat discounte- 
 nanced by the brilliancy and bustle of St. 
 James’s-street, felt almost alarmed at the grow- 
 ing spirits of the joyous veteran. But there was 
 no help for it, during their sojourn in the metropo- 
 lis, but to follow the guidance of his merry leader. 
 
 “ By George ! you shall come with me after 
 breakfast, doctor, and visit the museum of our 
 club,” cried he. “ Then, after we’ve skimmed 
 the morning papers, we’ll have a peep into the 
 Practical Science concern, and you can have 
 your very long face daguerreotyped, to take back 
 to your good little wife. After that, we’ll look 
 in at Hatchard’s, and see what they’ve got new 
 on the counter; and, by-the-way, those patent 
 ventilators that the Sir Pompous, at Lord Ver- 
 non’s, was prosing about, and which I thought 
 would be such an improvement for the Oving- 
 ton workhouse— they’re sold somewhere in the 
 Strand, I think? The first hackney-coachman 
 ’ll show us the way; for in Lon’on, wisdom 
 cries aloud in the streets. So on with your great- 
 coat, my dear doctor, and let’s be stirring.” 
 
 At that moment the Colonel was unusually 
 in conceit with “ Lon’on,” for it was no longer 
 the dreary Lon’on of Portland Place or Caven- 
 dish Square. He was now in the centre of stir, 
 bustle, movement— trade, throbbing with all its 
 arteries— pleasure, giggling with all her coquet- 
 ries. Such a “Lon’on” as St. James’s-street 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 presented at that moment was, for a time, ex- 
 citing enough. 
 
 There must surely be something unusual 
 going on this morning?’ said Dr. Markham, 
 when, having turned the angle of St. James’s- 
 street, Pall Mall lay before them, enlivened b^ 
 its bustle of intermingling palaces and exhibi- 
 tion-rooms, auctions and public offices, with all 
 the motley array of lounging guardsmen and 
 rigid sentries ; to say nothing of the luxury of 
 wealth or wealth of luxury in the shop-windows, 
 gorgeous jewels, glittering clocks, shapely chi- 
 na, brilliant glass, noble engravings and costly 
 furniture, besides a rainbow variegation of silk, 
 satin, and brocade. The eyes of the rustics were 
 almost dazzled as they mingled with the throng 
 of well-dressed people hurrying joyously along 
 the pavement on either side. 
 
 “Don’t talk so confoundedly like a country 
 put!” cried the colonel, in reply. “You remind 
 me of the Yorkshireman in the story, who stood 
 aside all day long in the Strand to let the crowd 
 go by. Recollect you’re not on Ovington cause- 
 way, man, and pluck up your spirits.” 
 
 His sense of the superior rusticity of the vi- 
 car inspired him, in short, with all the sauciness 
 of a practised cockney. Nevertheless, by the 
 time they reached the bottom of Waterloo Place, 
 the colonel himself' was struck by the unusual 
 hurry of the streets. 
 
 “Here’s what the Lon’oners have the prig- 
 ism to call their modern Athens 1” said he, point- 
 ing out the Carlton quarter to the .admiration of 
 the vicar, who stood transfixed and wondering, 
 much as the colonel himself had done in the cen- 
 tre of the Trinity quadrangle the preceding day. 
 “All pasteboard and stucco! all sham and 
 show ! though an improvement, certainly, on the 
 old brick walls, pierced with windows, we used 
 to call streets! These clubs, these joint stock 
 society-companies, as I call ’em, are a mighty 
 addition, aren’t they, to the splendours of the 
 town 'I They gave the example of improvement, 
 I’m told, in domestic architecture-. ’Twas only 
 by force of public subscription people found out 
 they could afford to have brackets to their win- 
 dows, and columns to their doors. Some day 
 or other, let’s hope the Carlton will be rich 
 enough to build itself a marble palace, like the 
 one they tell of at Petersburg, or t’other that’s 
 stopped short at its second story, in the tarnation 
 grand city of Washington. The Reform Club’s 
 a fine thing, if t’were not for its little pig-eyed 
 windows, though even those, the judges tell me, 
 are according to book. Is anything out of the 
 way going on this morning, pray ?’ demanded 
 the colonel, in his turn, suddenly addressing a 
 waiter, standing on the steps of the United Ser- 
 vice Club, to whom he was known. 
 
 “Nothing, sir, that I’m aware of, besides the 
 meeting of Parliament,” replied the man, taking 
 his hands out of his pockets in deference to the 
 gray hairs and soldierly demeanour of the vet- 
 eran, who, heedless of his respect or disrespect, 
 and exclaiming, “ Gad, my dear doctor, what a 
 couple of famous old blockheads we are to have 
 I forgotten that the eighteenth was the meeting of 
 Parliament !” pushed onward with the unresist- 
 ing vicar towards the more densely-crowded 
 neighbourhood of Charing Cross. The bells of 
 St. Martin’s Church were ringing merrily, its 
 fag was hoisted, a troop of life-guardsmen was 
 arriving, and a detachment of police had already 
 arrived to regulate the movements of the throng ; 
 while at the top of Cockspur-street, inspectors 
 
 e? 
 
 were stationed to decide on the exhibition of 
 tickets, what aristocratic equipages were to pass 
 down Whitehall, to deposite their inmates at the 
 door of the House of Lords, and what carriages 
 to be sent sneaking round to Westminster, by 
 the Strand and Waterloo Bridge. 
 
 “ We’re in luck, my dear Markham ! we’re in 
 famous luck !” exclaimed the colonel, now more 
 than ever satisfied that, notwithstanding his dis- 
 ointment about Harry, all was for the best, 
 fine story you’ll have to tell when you get 
 back to the Vicarage, that we saw the queen, 
 and court, and ministers, to say nothing of the 
 great lords and pretty ladies, and all without 
 being a pinch of snuff the worse for it, or putting 
 ourselves a step out of the way.” 
 
 Brilliant equipages, crowded with officers in 
 uniform, or lovely women in full array of feath- 
 ers and diamonds, were in fact every moment 
 glancing past, on their way to the House of 
 Lords; while the windows and balconies of the 
 houses in Whitehall and Parliament-street were 
 thronged with well-dressed spectators, on the 
 look-out for the royal procession. Though the 
 gorgeous Life Guards were active in keeping the 
 streets, it was difficult to restrain within due 
 bounds the eager crowds pushing their way to- 
 wards Westminster, in the hopes of securing a 
 view of the annual show. 
 
 “Let us station ourselves hereabout,” said 
 the colonel, immediately after passing the Horse 
 Guards ; “ from hence we shall have a capital 
 view of the pageant.” 
 
 But for the mere pageant the good vicar 
 avowed little interest. 
 
 “ A state coach,” said he, “ is, after all, but a 
 piece of gilt gingerbread; a cumbrous, tawdry 
 affair, fit only to figure as a frontispiece to a 
 child’s story-book. But I own I rejoice in the 
 opportunity of obtaining a glimpse of the 
 queen.” 
 
 “ What the deuse ! you don’t mean to say that 
 you’ve never seen her ?’ cried the colonel, in de- 
 lighted surprise. 
 
 “ This is my first visit to London these seven 
 years.” 
 
 “ Then, by George ! I’d have travelled three- 
 times three hundred miles, and welcome, to af- 
 ford you the pleasure,” added the colonel. “ I 
 hope I’ve been a loyal man all my life, and pray- 
 ed heartily for those that were put in authority 
 over me. I was thankful to King George, in 
 whose time the French were so preciously beat- 
 en ; and thankful to King William, for granting 
 us the blessing of Reform. But I never under- 
 stood the real thrill and glow of loyalty to my 
 sovereign, doctor, till I found myself in the pres- 
 ence of that fair young creatur’, and felt that I, 
 a grayhaired man, shrunk to nothing in her 
 resence. Blessings be upon her, say I, doctor ; 
 lessings be upon her ! Till she was married, 
 
 I felt somehow as though ’twere a daughter of 
 my own; and I’ll be bound, if they’d own it, half 
 the pottering old blockheads in England experi- 
 enced the same! And now she’s a wife and 
 mother, I don’t love her the less, because I re- 
 spect her the more ! Gad ! I’m gladder than I 
 can say, doctor, that you’ll be treated with a look 
 at the queen.” 
 
 At that moment the discharge of the Park 
 guns announced the departure of the royal cor- 
 tege from the palace, and the bells of St. Mar- 
 garet’s chimed out a merry peal. Again a few 
 minutes, and the cheers of the populace in the 
 Park became audible in the distance; gradually 
 
70 THE BANKEP 
 
 augmenting, till vehement shouts and loud huz- 
 zas, overpowering the trampling of the horses 
 that formed the royal escort, announced that her 
 majesty was at hand, on her way to open in per- 
 son the session of Parliament so momentous to 
 the welfare of the realm. 
 
 Unaccustomed to the throng of cities, Dr. 
 Markman felt almost dizzy under the pressure 
 of that tumultuous assemblage ; the sea of faces 
 beating up against him, the roar, as of its surges, 
 deafening his ears. His feelings, were over- 
 powered. While Hamilton was elated with a 
 degree of joy, rivalling almost that of the boys 
 clambering upon the lamp-posts to command a 
 view of the procession, the vicar felt that he had 
 scarcely voice to ^out among the rest, “ Long 
 live the queen !” 
 
 Already uproarious cries to that effect resound- 
 ed on all sides. Already the leaders of the 
 state- horses, with their gorgeous housings of 
 crimson, were in sight, emerging from the gate- 
 way of the Horse Guards — when Colonel Ham- 
 ilton was suddenly startled by an exclamation 
 from his companion of, “As 1 live, there is 
 Henry Hamlyn !” 
 
 “ Where 1 where cried the colonel, instant- 
 ly preparing to join him, though the dense pres- 
 sure of the crowd must have prevented him Ifom 
 stirring an inch. 
 
 “ In yonder carriage ; the shabby yellow cha- 
 riot stationed on the opposite side of the gate- 
 way !” said Dr. Markham, pointing to one in a 
 knot of carriages which, as usual on such occa- 
 sions, had straggled to the scene of action through 
 the oversight of the police, either at Charing 
 Cross or Westminster; and, though buffeted by 
 inspectors and reviled by the officer on duty, 
 contrived to stand their ground. The one point- 
 ed out by Dr. Markham appeared to have be- 
 come unintentionally hemmed in ; for the young 
 man whom he asserted to be Henry Hamlyn 
 was at that moment engaged in altercation with 
 the police, entreating an order to pass, and 
 escape from the file. 
 
 “ As if they’d allow e’er a carriage to move, 
 just as the percession is going by !” was the ob- 
 servation of several persons in Colonel Hamil- 
 ton’s neighbourhood, who had noticed the young 
 man’s appeal. “ There the carriage must stick 
 till the queen has reached the Parliament House, 
 and no mistake !” 
 
 Secure at last of finding his young friend, the 
 colonel allowed his whole attention to be en- 
 grossed by the pageant; nor did the deafening 
 cries that now rent the air leave him much lei- 
 sure for reflection. Among the hearts throbbing 
 around him at that moment with the excitement 
 of the scene, no two, perhaps, were more fervent- 
 ly inspired by genuine warmth of loyalty, than 
 Colonel Hamilton and the worthy doctor. 
 
 “And now,” cried the former, the moment the 
 trampling escort of Life Guards, closing the pro- 
 cession, had passed onward towards Whitehall — 
 
 and now for this scapegrace. Master Harry !” 
 
 But the group of carriages, again visible in 
 consequence of the disappearance of the inter- 
 vening objects, had shifted its juxtaposition. A 
 hackney-coach now occupied the station taken 
 up before by the yellow carriage ; and a butter- 
 man’s cart was the next vehicle in sight. Car- 
 riages there were in abundance : green, choco- 
 late-coloured, crimson, blue, and yellow — but 
 not tAe yellow — not the shabby-genteel equipage 
 containing the object of his search. 
 
 “ By George ! I do believe the fellow’s again 
 
 .’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 escaped me !” cried Colonel Hamilton, in a 
 pet. 
 
 “ I fear, indeed, that we have lost sight of him,” 
 replied the vicar, obeying the impulsion of his 
 companion, and following the stream of idlers 
 moving towards Cockspur-street. “We are 
 scarcely likely to come up again with the yellow- 
 carriage !” 
 
 “Who the deuse was the scapegrace withT’ 
 resumed Colonel Hamilton. “ Did you notice, 
 doctor, wffio were his companions '1” 
 
 “ Two ladies in deep mourning.” 
 
 “What! a lady with a remarkably fine east 
 of countenance, in a black velvet bonnet per- 
 sisted the colonel. 
 
 “ Precisely.” 
 
 “ I noticed ker as the carriage passed us to 
 take up its position, but without at all suspect- 
 ing that the young fellow in her company was 
 Hamlyn’s son. At that time I might almost 
 have laid my hand upon his coat-sleeve ! By 
 George ! it is too provoking,” 
 
 To give a new turn to the. colonel’s ideas. Dr. 
 Markham proposed that they should now pro- 
 ceed to Mivart’s, to inquire for Mrs. Robert 
 Hamilton. But the colonel had already de- 
 spatched Johnston thither on a similar errand, 
 who brought back the unsatisfactory answer 
 that no lady of that name was either there, or ex- 
 pected. 
 
 Still, there was no occasion for despondency. 
 The two far from uncongenial companions con- 
 trived to spend the morning in a succession of 
 interesting visits and surveys ; and, as Dr. Mark- 
 ham was desirous of passing the remainder of 
 the day with a sister of his wife, settled in the 
 neighbourhood of Russell Square, to whom he 
 had already intimated his arrival in town. Col- 
 onel Hamilton dined at his club, and had the 
 satisfaction to perceive that its ultra- Oriental 
 cuisine was unequal to the production of a prawn- 
 currie, rivalling that of Goody Johnston ! 
 
 “ See here, my dear doctor — I entreat of you 
 just look at my luck!” cried he, when Dr. 
 Markham made his appearance at the breakfast- 
 table the following morning. “ Cast your eyes 
 upon this deuse of a Morning Post !” 
 
 “News of Mr. Henry Hamlyn T’ demanded 
 the vicar, taking the paper into his hand, and 
 perceiving that the finger of the colonel pointed 
 to the list of “ Fashionable Changes.” • 
 
 “ Worse a thousand times — of my daughter- 
 in-law !” 
 
 And thus enlightened, the doctor had no dif- 
 ficulty in discovering an announcement among 
 the “Departures” of “Mrs. Robert Hamilton 
 from Coulson’s Hotel, to the seat of Colonel 
 Hamilton in Warwickshire.” 
 
 “ Vexatious indeed !” cried the vicar, “ that 
 you, w'ho so seldom leave home, should have 
 been absent on her arrival at the Manor !” 
 “She’ll think, maybe, I did it o’ purpose, poor 
 soul! She’ll fancy me wanting in respect. I 
 wouldn’t have it happen for the world ! As if I 
 hadn’t enough to answer already towards her! 
 Poor Ellen!” 
 
 “ We may reach Burlington Manor by dinner 
 time, if we start by the'first train!” said the doc- 
 tor, a leetle disappointed at this precipitate depar- 
 ture from London. 
 
 “ Of course ! The moment I read this cursed 
 paragraph, I told Johnston to pack up. I ven- 
 tured it without consulting you, my dear doctor, 
 knowing how plaguy glad you’d be to get out of 
 this smoky metropolis, and back to your flock. 
 
COURT A 
 
 We shall be off in an hour or two. Still, ’tisn’t 
 like being on the spot with open arms to wel- 
 come the poor girl to her strange home. Ten 
 to one, she wrote to announce her arrival to me, 
 and the letter miscarried ! One’s never sure of 
 foreign letters! Poor Ellen! ’tis rather hard 
 upon her, though harder still upon me!'’ 
 
 And Dr. Markham readily discerned, by the 
 flutter of the old gentleman’s spirits, how greatly 
 he was excited by the anticipation of this meet- 
 ing with the widow of his last remaining son. 
 
 Throughout their journey down, which was 
 chiefly performed on the railroad, instead of be- 
 ing cheerful and chatty as usual, he was almost 
 silent, tiis thoughts were thoroughly preoccu- 
 pied. He was back again at Ghazerapore, re- 
 ceiving his son’s first letter announcing that dis- 
 astrous attachment. He was listening to the 
 mild remonstrances and intercessions of his 
 wife. He was alone with Mary, and Mary 
 with him. Dusky figures in Oriental garbs 
 were loitering in the distance. Balmy smells 
 of tropical plants were in the air. He was 
 again an exile, again a husband, again a father; 
 and a happy and contented exile, because a fa- 
 ther and a husband. And, lo ! as all these 
 scenes and interests passed before his mind’s 
 eye, heavy sighs burst unconsciously from his 
 bosom ; so deeply was the old man moved by a 
 thousand tender associations of affection and re- 
 morse connected with the name of Ellen Som- 
 ■ erton. 
 
 “ I’ll make her happy yet ! By George ! she 
 shall be happy yet!" was his_ concluding reflec- 
 tion. “ So long as Mrs. Hamlyn and dear 
 Lydia remain at Dean, she’ll find no occa- 
 sion for moping at the Manor; and a’ter’ard, 
 we may still manage well enough. At all 
 events, she’ll have her own way ; and, for nine 
 women in ten, that’s almost happiness enough. 
 But though I’d give my little finger to know 
 what brought about her intimacy with ''Harry 
 Hamlyn, so as to correspond with him (as I 
 saw at Cambridge by her own handwriting), 
 I’ll not force myself upon her confidence. I 
 shall soon see whether she intends to be a heart 
 in heart daughter and a dear Ellen to me, or 
 whether there’s a spice of rancour at the bottom 
 of her heart that will still keep her Mrs. Robert 
 Hamilton.” 
 
 As usually the case with travellers in an in- 
 ordinate hurry, delay occurred. In consequence 
 of an accident to the preceding train, they were 
 kept three hours , at the Weedon station, when 
 the impatience of the poor colonel was at its 
 highest; and as, on arriving at Rugby, there 
 were still twelve miles to be accomplished 
 across the country, they did not reach the out- 
 skirts of Ovington till the village-clock was 
 striking ten. All was still. A few straggling 
 lights were alone perceptible in the cottages ; 
 and so tardy were the unprepared inmates of 
 the vicarage in answering the gate-bell rousing- 
 ly rung by the postboy, that, in pity to the impa- 
 tience of his companion. Dr. Markham insisted 
 on getting out to await the coming of his ser- 
 vant, while the colonel proceeded post-haste to 
 the Manor. 
 
 After the usual delay at the park-lodge of an 
 early to bed and early to rise gatekeeper, and 
 the ordinary exclamations of wonder on the part 
 of Goody Jolinston, when at length the colonel 
 obtained admittance into his own house, she 
 hastened to acquaint her master that Mrs. Rob- 
 -eit had arrived that morning, and already, worn 
 
 ND CITY. 71 
 
 by the fatigues of her journey, had retired for 
 the night. 
 
 “Plague take it! I’d have given anything for 
 a sight of her afore I slept !” cried the old man. 
 “But no matter! The poor soul’s safe under 
 my roof at last ! Better late than never ! I 
 must wait till morning. I hope you made her 
 feel herself completely at home 1” cried he, sud- 
 denly addressing his housekeeper. 
 
 “ I don’t know why you should suppose me 
 wanting in respect, colonel, to poor dear Master 
 Robert’s widow,” replied Mrs. Johnston, with 
 some indignation ; and as she toddled out of the 
 room to issue orders for tea and supper for the 
 belated traveller, her master perceived that she 
 had arrayed herself in her utmost pomp of silk 
 and laces, to do honour to their guest. The old 
 lady felt, perhaps, that. Master Robert’s lament- 
 ed mother being in her grave, it became her duty 
 to exercise the motherly feelings of her late mis- 
 tress in behalf of the stranger. 
 
 “ Perhaps ’tis as well, poor thing, she should 
 be abed and asleep !” mused Colonel Hamilton, 
 as he sat down to tea, for, in spite of this self- 
 consoling ejaculation, his disappointment had 
 deprived him of all appetite for cold fowl and 
 partridge-pie. And he patted Pincher anew 
 upon his grizzly head, and master and dog were 
 looking wistfully into the fire — as if both were 
 thinking of Ghazerapore, and of how fondly 
 poor Mary would have delighted in welcoming 
 her poor daughter-in-law under her roof— when 
 the drawing-room door was gently opened, land 
 in glided a slender figure in a white dressing- 
 gown, who advanced towards the colonel nei- 
 ther with the impetuosity of a heroine prepared 
 to throw herself into his arms, nor with the hes- 
 itation of a person uncertain of her reception. 
 She approached, however, with extended hands, 
 as if conscious of her right to be there, _ and to 
 welcome him, as the last comer, to their com- 
 mon home. 
 
 “I could not wait till to-morrow morning!” 
 said she, after being folded to the old man’s 
 heart, with a degree of fervour that brought 
 tears into her fine eyes— not, however, upon her 
 cheeks, for Ellen was a person too accustomed 
 to subdue her emotions, to indulge, as she felt 
 inclined, in the luxury of a flood of tears ; “ I 
 was so disappointed, sir, at not finding you this 
 morning (having stupidly travelled by night for. 
 the purpose of surprising you), that I retired to 
 bed earlier than usual to sleep off my ill-hu- 
 mour. I have only had time, as you perceive, 
 to throw off my nightcap. I know you will for- 
 give me for not having waited to dress!” said 
 she, in broken sentences, which had all the 
 grace of coming warm from the heart. 
 
 As soon as his own eyes were clear enough 
 from tears, the old man drew back to contem- 
 plate the daughter-in-law whose fatal beauty 
 had been the cause of so much family trouble ; 
 and instantly admitted to himself that in this 
 utter dishabille, with her white gown folded 
 loosely round her, and her black hair fastened 
 in perfect simplicity round her head by a single 
 comb, Ellen had the air of a duchess. 
 
 “ Poor Bob was right,” said he, in the aching 
 depths of his heart. “ By George ! she’s the 
 most beautiful creatur’ on the face o’ the earth . 
 
 These sentiments of genuine admiration did 
 not diminish when, while drinking his tea, he 
 sat watching the ever-varying expression of 
 her fine countenance as, in answer to his hur- 
 ried inquiries, she described her arrival in town 
 
72 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 ty an Antwerp steamboat, escorted by her two 
 servants, the day before, alter pursuing her way 
 from Switzerland by the Rhine. 
 
 “ I am a perverse creature, or, rather, an ob- 
 stinate one, as you will soon find, dear sir, to 
 your cost,” said she, already placed perfectly at 
 her ease by the blunt cordiality of her father-in- 
 law ; “ and having always made up my mind to 
 return through Germany to England, 1 perseve- 
 red in my intentions, though the R,hine presented 
 nothing to my admiration but blocks of ice and 
 leafless forests.” 
 
 Such was her mode of evading the avowal that 
 she had been unwilling to pursue, on her home- 
 ward course, the same route she had taken to 
 Italy, three years before, in company with her 
 unfortunate husband. 
 
 “ And so, my dear Ellen, you and I, who have 
 neither of us any more call to Lon’on than though 
 we were foreigners, were actually in town at the 
 same moment without a guess at it !” cried he, 
 in his turn. And as he. uttered the words, some 
 peculiar turn of expression in the beautiful face 
 on which his eyes were riveted suddenly recall- 
 ed to mind a similar countenance on which they 
 had lately rested ; lately, that he felt puzzled, 
 as if by the realization of a recent dream. 
 
 At length, the truth darted into his mind. It 
 certainly was his own Ellen he had seen in the 
 carriage at the Horse Guards! The contrast 
 between her white wrapper and the mourning 
 weeds in which she was then attired had alone 
 prevented the recognition from being immediate. 
 
 He was about to burst into an exclamation 
 announcing their curious and unsuspected en- 
 counter, when, suddenly reverting to the letter he 
 had discovered at Cambridge on the desk of 
 Henry Hamlyn, and the presence of his young 
 friend in the carriage he firmly believed to have 
 contained his lovely guest, he conquered his nat- 
 ural impulse of frankness, and forbore. 
 
 “ I won’t force myself on their confidence,” 
 was his secret determination. “ I w^on’t force 
 myself on their confidence. Neither of ’em 
 know me yet enough to be aware w^hether I’m 
 trustworthy. If, at the end of a week or so, she 
 don’t speak out, ’twill be time enough to inquire 
 why she should make a mystery of her acquaint- 
 ance with Harry Hamlyn.” 
 
 It was a long time since the colonel had re- 
 tired to his pillow so happy or so comforted with 
 the sense of not being quite alone in the world, 
 as he felt that night, under the certainty that his 
 son’s widow was enjoying a comfortable night’s 
 Test in the chints-room at the end of the corridor. 
 
 Next morning the good old gentleman’s wa- 
 king was a still happier sensation. To come 
 down to breakfast with the expectation of hav- 
 ing that pure, open forehead on which to imprint 
 a parental kiss of benediction, w’-as a comfort in- 
 deed to the kindly heart so long debarred the 
 solace of female companionship ; and as he con- 
 templated her again from head to foot, he could 
 not help admitting, with mingled pain and pleas- 
 ure, how proud poor Mary would have been of 
 such a daughter-in-law. 
 
 It was a happy morning for them both. The 
 sun was civil enough to shine as brightly on 
 their walk after breakfast as it had done on the 
 Whitehall pageant; and the colonel felt that he 
 had seldom had a companion more to his taste 
 than when Ellen leaned upon his arm to visit 
 the Thibet goats, and accompany him, escorted 
 by Fincher and Carlo, to his usual haunts in the 
 park and poultry-yard, where two or three fa- 
 
 vourite deer came ambling forward from the 
 herd to be fed by his hand, while the peacot»i5, 
 after creeping to his feet, set up their tails, in 
 vainglorious rivalship, to attract his attention. 
 
 “ I’m fond of dumb animals — fond of ’em as 
 a child 1” said the colonel, as he led her oft' to- 
 wards the stables, to exhibit his stud, unaware 
 how purely childlike w'ere aU his ta.stes and af- 
 fections. “ I mustn’t plague you, though, with 
 showing off my favourites, I’ond of riding, eh ! 
 Ellen 'I Anything of a horsewoman 1 Then, by 
 George ! yoa shall have the most perfect lady’s 
 horse in the county. There’s a half-bred Ara- 
 bian I heard of at Leamington, out of thd Or- 
 meau stud, which I was inquiring about for my 
 little Lydia’s birthday. ’Twas too tall for her ; 
 but you shall have it afore we’re a week older. 
 I’m afraid you must put up with the old snob- 
 by’s company by way of escort, my dear; for 
 the only beau we’ve got hereabout, young Ham- 
 lyn, has just started for Melton Mowbray.” 
 
 ' As this allusion had no ulterior motive (what 
 allusion of the colonel’s ever had 7), he was star- 
 tled by the sudden suffusion of Mrs, Hamilton’s 
 cheeks, as he just then confronted her for a mo- 
 ment in opening the door of uis fine, air^’^, roomy, , 
 thirty-stall stable, one of the many surviving evi- 
 dences of poor Sir Roger Burlington’s extrava- 
 gance, He had not conceived it possible that a 
 woman naturally .devoid of colour could blush so 
 deep a scarlet. 
 
 From the stable they proceeded to the conser- 
 vatories; and, had the pragmatical Anderson 
 still presided over their arrangements, he w'ould 
 have been indignant at the recklessness with 
 which Colonel Hamilton tore down the fairest 
 blossoms, and stripped the air-plants of every 
 semblance of bloom, the moment his daughter- 
 in-law expressed a desire for a nearer view of 
 their curious organization. All the devastations 
 he had ever committed to please Miss Hamlyn 
 were nothing compared with the result of the 
 quarter of an hour spent by Ellen in the Bur- 
 lington Conservatory, 
 
 “ I wish to goodness Almighty you’d seen it in 
 summer time, with the fountains playing and 
 the birds singing 1” said he, “ But ’twas your 
 own fault, Ellen. Why not come home at once, 
 when you heard the old man had a roof over his 
 head, and was all alone under it 7 We’ve lost a 
 many pleasant months together, my dear girl; 
 but we’ve a many, I trust, in store for us yet ! 
 I’m glad you’re fond o’ flowers, Ellen 1 ’Tis a 
 nat’ral womanly liking; accustoms ladies to out 
 o’ door pleasures, and makes ’em healthy, and 
 happy, and wise. Lydia and her mother are 
 fond o’ flowers ; and if it hadn’t been for them^ 
 last summer, m)^ roses might as well have been 
 blooming at Ghazerapore. You’ll love Lydia, 
 and her mother, Ellen ! Lydia must have been 
 a mere child when you were at Dean afore? 
 She’s now a fine, promising young creature. 
 You mustn’t take a prejudice against L)'dia 
 ’cause she’s my friend Hamlyn’s daughter.” 
 
 “Why should you suppose me likely to be 
 unfavourably influenced against a daughter of 
 Mr. Hamlyn 7” inquired Mrs. Hamilton, in a 
 ^graver tone than she had yet assumed towards 
 her father-in-law. 
 
 “’Cause you’re a woman, my dear ! a good 
 one and a charming, I’m fain to believe; but 
 still, a woman ; and I never saw the petticoat 
 yet, from a Begum down to a cobbler’s wife, 
 that didn’t hide a heart having a little ugly cor- 
 ner for the resentment of injuries. There’s no- 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 73 - 
 
 thing a woman understands so little, I take it, 
 as how to forgive.” 
 
 Spontaneously, poor Ellen pressed the arm on 
 which she was leaning, in token that there were 
 some offences she had fully forgiven. 
 
 “Nay, on the whole, my dear,” resumed the 
 colonel, “ I’m not sure that I like you the less 
 for the frown I saw contract your brows last 
 night, when I accidentally stumbled on the name 
 of Richard Hamlyn ; ’cause so long as you vent 
 any little anger you may still feel upon him, I’ve 
 the better chance of being let off easy. The 
 banker shall be my whipping-boy, if you please, 
 and you may flog away to your heart’s content. 
 Only I claim exemption for the banker’s wife.” 
 
 “ You cannot claim it more warmly than I am 
 disposed to grant it,” said Ellen, frankly. “ For 
 her, my short visit to Dean impressed me with 
 sincere liking and respect.” 
 
 “You’ll walk over with me, then, to see her, 
 after breakfast to-morrow '? if, as I suppose, they 
 arrive from Rotherwood Castle to-night.” 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton made no reply; and the colo- 
 nel, fancying his voice had been drowned just 
 then by the click of the swing-gate of Ovington 
 Vicarage, which they were entering, reiterated 
 his question. 
 
 “ It will be scarcely according to etiquette for 
 me to call on Mrs. Hamlyn first,” said she. “ I 
 had better wait, perhaps, for her visit.” 
 
 “Well! I never should have fancied you the 
 sort of a girl to stand on such idle ceremony 1” 
 cried he. “ I thought you’d too much sense and 
 too much feeling. You don’t know how I loved 
 you, my dear, for tumbling out o’^ bed in your 
 dressing-gown and slippers last night, to make 
 ' my acquaintance.” 
 
 “ Mrs. Hamlyn is not a connexion,” replied 
 Ellen, somewhat embarrassed. “Mrs. Hamlyn 
 has not my poor Robert’s blood in her veins.” 
 “Oh! if it is but thatf^ retorted the colonel, 
 pressing her arm in his turn. “ Only as you 
 made no objection to accompany me here, to 
 visit good Mrs. Markham, who!s no more re- 
 lated to us than t’other — ” 
 
 “The wife of the clergyman of the parish 
 must always be the first personage in it,” ob- 
 served Ellen, calmly, “ and as such, entitled to 
 the utmost deference.” 
 
 “ And Mrs. Hamlyn—” the colonel was be- 
 ginning. But at that moment they were receiv- 
 ed on the doorsteps by Dr. Markham, who cor- 
 dially conducted the beautiful stranger to be in- 
 troduced to his wife. A cheerful conversation 
 ensued, which satisfied the Markhams of the 
 important addition achieved by their little circle. 
 ■Mrs. Hamilton was open, kind, intelligent ; and 
 when (according to Vicarage-custom whenever 
 the colonel paid them a visit) the children made 
 their appearance, and Ellen took the youngest 
 into her arms and made much of it, so lovely did 
 she look with the crimson cheek of little Kitty 
 nestling against her own, that tears arose, for 
 the tenth time that day, in the eyes of the poor 
 colonel. 
 
 “Ah! if he’d only left a child!” murmured 
 the old man to himself, as he turned towards the 
 window to conceal the emotion — “ if he’d only 
 left a child! Poor Bob! ’twas all Hamlyn’s 
 doing. He meant no harm, I dare say, but ’twas 
 all Hamlyn’s doing! Well! God’s will be 
 done ! ’Tis something to be able to press the 
 hand of his widow.” 
 
 CHAPTER XIV, 
 
 “ Those cherish’d torments of onr lives, 
 
 The best of daughters and of wives.” — V ane. 
 
 Inexpressible was the vexation of Richard 
 Hamlyn at finding, on his arrival at home to 
 a late dinner from the house, a couple of days 
 after the meeting of Parliament, that his wife- 
 and daughter were waiting for him in the draw- 
 ing-room. Like Lord Vernon, he felt indignant 
 at being too punctually obeyed ; for it was onl 3 r 
 because, on the colonel’s sudden visit to town, 
 he had written to desire they would not proceed 
 from Rotherwood to Dean Park, but at once ,to 
 Cavendish Square, that his family had acceler- 
 ated their departure to London for the season. 
 Mrs. Hamlyn’s eager inquiry of, “Where is 
 Colonel Hamilton, when is his daughter-in-law 
 expected T sufficiently proved that her husband’s 
 supplementary letters of instruction had crossed 
 her on the road. 
 
 Now they were come, however, leaving the 
 artful Mrs. Hamilton to establish herself fully 
 and firmly in the good graces of her soft-hearted 
 father-in-law, all that remained was to make the 
 best of it. The London season had already be- 
 gun, for that middle-class order of parliamentary 
 men whose pleasures consist in their W ednes- 
 day and Saturday dinners, rather than in balls 
 and parties. Ministerial cards were out — a levee 
 and drawing-room announced — the Opera about 
 to open. Mr. Hamlyn felt that he had no good 
 reason to assign to his favourite “ world” for 
 prolonging the sojourn of his family at Dean. 
 
 A London banker, having a handsome estab- 
 lishment in town, is held b^ound to reassemble 
 his domesticities about him as soon as may be 
 after the meeting of Parliament. It would “ look 
 odd” were his usual dinner-parties suspended. 
 It would “ look odd” were his wife to be without 
 an opera-box during the season of his daughter’s 
 debut. It would “look odd” were his pew in 
 Mary-le-bone Church to be empty, when the 
 Christmas holly adorning that in Ovington 
 Church was dried up and withered ; and a banker 
 is bound to eschew all and anything that “ looks 
 odd.” Everything about him, both in public and 
 rivate life, should be as even as the balance of 
 is books. 
 
 On the morning following Mrs. Hamlyn’s ar- 
 rival in town, just as her husband was setting 
 ofi( to the city, she was startled beyond measure 
 by his placing in her hand notes to the amount 
 of four hundred pounds. 
 
 “ I consider it necessary,” said he, “ that my 
 daughter should make her first appearance in 
 society with all the advantages becoming Miss 
 Hamlyn of Dean Park. She must have every- 
 thing that is handsome and suitable ; and let half 
 the money in your hand be appropriated in ad- 
 dition to your own usual allowance.” 
 
 “ I assure you we neither of us require any- 
 thing of the kind,” exclaimed Mrs. Hamlyn, en- 
 deavouring to replace the notes in his hand. “ I 
 am not likely to incur any additional expenses.” 
 
 “ It is my wish that you should do so. I de- 
 sire that no expense be spared in — ” 
 
 “Surely, surely,” interrupted Mrs. Hamlyn, 
 unable to repress her amazement, “ you informed 
 me the other day, at Dean (in reference to your 
 disappointments with regard to Harry), that the 
 house was in no condition to support any addi- 
 tional stress on its resources at the present mo-- 
 ment !” 
 
74 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 “ Are you mad cried her husband, suddenly 
 seizing her arm, and drawing her away Irom the 
 study-door, near which they were standing, to- 
 wards the distant window. “ The men are in 
 the dining-room removing the breakfast things. 
 If Ramsay should hear you — ” 
 
 , “ I fancied myself speaking low.” 
 
 “You spoke like a fool, as all women do the 
 moment they pretend to talk about business!” 
 cried Hamlyn, in reckless irritation. “Once for 
 all, take these notes and employ them according 
 to my instructions. It is my wish that you make 
 arrangements for presenting Lydia at the next 
 drawing-room.” 
 
 “ Still, there will be no occasion for such an 
 expenditure as this. The utmost she requires is 
 twenty guineas for a court dress. She has the 
 fine pearls presented to her by Colonel Hamil- 
 ton ; and I am sorry to say I have accidentally 
 discovered that he is having a pair of splendid 
 diamond ear-rings reset for her at Rundell’s !” 
 
 I “I shall not allow her to accept them!” ob- 
 served Mr, Hamlyn, sternly, “ Such a display 
 on the person of a girl "would be considered an 
 act of profligate extravagance on the part of a 
 banker’s family; and to explain them every- 
 where as the ^ft of Colonel Hamilton would be 
 like announcing intentions towards her, on his 
 part, which I neither expect nor wish to see real- 
 ized to the injury of my son. Any one who 
 wants to marry Lydia must be satisfied with her 
 five thousand pounds.” 
 
 “ With such prospects it is surely unneces- 
 sary to indulge in a foolish outlay for her intro- 
 - duction to society,” observed the banker’s wife, 
 
 ' “ No outlay is foolish that serves to advance 
 
 my ulterior projects,” replied the banker, with a 
 sneer. “ Do you suppose I sacrifice these four 
 hundred pounds for the maintenance of Lydia’s 
 vanity, or of my own credit in the world 1’"’ 
 
 “ In that case I am less disposed than ever to 
 create in my poor girl a taste for expense at va- 
 riance with your intentions in her behalf, and, 
 incompatible as you have given me to believe, 
 with the state of your affairs,” replied Mrs. 
 Hamlyn — the wife having at length borrowed 
 courage from the mother to assert principles of 
 her own. 
 
 The banker stood gazing upon her in utter as- 
 tonishment. It was the first resistance to his 
 will she had hazarded in the course of five-and- 
 twenty years of married life ; and her resolution 
 was now too calmly and mildly asserted to af- 
 ford him any hope of putting down her opposi- 
 tion by violence. 
 
 “ You will follow your own devices in this !” 
 he resumed, in a voice as moderate as her own. 
 “ Perhaps it ought not to surprise me that, at a 
 moment when my interests in life are sinking, 
 and all the world seems in league to press upon 
 and overwhelm a falling man, my own family 
 should be the first to rush in and give the signal 
 for the insults of the rest.” 
 
 By the involuntary start of the distressed So- 
 phia, Hamlyn perceived that this stroke had told 
 — that the feelings of the wife of his youth were 
 touched to the quick, 
 
 “You shall be obeyed!” said she, extending 
 her hand, with a desponding air, to receive the 
 notes he was still holding. “ AU I have to en- 
 treat is, that when the tree of evil shall bring 
 forth its bitter fruits, you wdll not accuse me of 
 having fostered its growth.” 
 
 “ I thank you — you shall be accused of no- 
 thing!” replied Hamlyn coldly, yet apparently 
 
 surmounting conflicting emotions. “ We must 
 stand or fall together. At our time of life, the 
 standing or falling are of less consequence. The 
 better half of our days is over ; and, as far as I 
 am concerned, the best they have afforded in- 
 spires me with little interest in the remainder. 
 But the children demand our utmost exertions. 
 The children have a long career before them. 
 The fair prospects of Walter — the — the — ” 
 
 He could not proceed. In naming his son, he 
 was on the point of giving way to a weakne.ss 
 very unusual on the part of Hamlyn the banker. 
 The heart of his wife thrilled within her as she 
 contemplated what seemed to afford hope that 
 the barren rock might still be touched, to yield 
 forth the waters of life. 
 
 “ By those prospects, then,” cried she, clasp- 
 ing her hands in earnest entreaty — “ by the fu- 
 ture prosperity and happiness of your son, I im- 
 plore you involve yourself no farther in difficul- 
 ties beyond all power of extrication ! If the firm 
 be embarrassed, as you owned to me at Dean, 
 let us retrench : let us cut short all idle expenses. 
 We might reduce to a fifth part our present out- 
 lay. Why not, for instance, instead of com- 
 mencing a showy, extravagant season, let this 
 house to some advantageous tenant, and retire 
 to Dean Parkl You have apartments at the 
 banking-house which — ” 
 
 “ I thank you,” replied Hamlyn, with a bitter 
 smile, “ If you desired to place the names of 
 Richard and Bernard Hamlyn in the Gazette, 
 you could scarcely suggest a surer course of pol- 
 icy. I thank you ! When I desire to rouse the 
 anxieties of my customers, and point myself out 
 to the mistrust of the city, I v/ill apply to you 
 for the speediest method of assuring my riiin. 
 Till then, I will not trouble you for farther in- 
 terference in my affairs than I have been hither- 
 to in the habit of asking. I endeavour to render 
 your life as easy as prosperity can make it. I 
 have never sought to burden you with partici- 
 pation in my cares.” 
 
 “I know it,” replied Mrs. Hamlyn, in deep 
 emotion ; “ and it is that very knowledge which 
 makes me accuse myself as in some measure 
 the origin of the position in which you stand. 
 But for your desire to place your family in an 
 honourable position in society, you — ” 
 
 “ Compose yourself — t/ou have no share in 
 the responsibility,” was the banker’s bitter an- 
 swer. “But since you have become thus reck- 
 less in allusions to what cannot be even whis- 
 pered in safety in the stillest watches of the 
 night, I am to conclude that you adduced as an 
 excuse for my breaking my engagement with 
 Lord and Lady Rotherwood, that 1 was ibrced 
 to hurry to London to parry the consequences 
 of the recent failure at Liverpool” 
 
 “You will scarcely accuse me of having ever 
 injured your interests by my indiscretion,” re- 
 plied Mrs. Hamlyn, with a sinking heart and 
 voice. “ For the last twenty years, I have been 
 keeping watch, with painful caution, over my 
 words and actions. I excused you to the Rother- 
 woods on the general grounds of unlooked-for 
 city business. But the countess was too much 
 occupied by her sister’s illness to take much 
 heed of the affairs of any other person.” 
 
 “ The Marchioness of Dartford, then, is dan- 
 gerously ill I In that case, her son wdll scarce- 
 ly be able to join Walter at Melton'?” 
 
 “I should think not. I was sorry to find 
 Walter had so hastily quitted Dean, and for a 
 place so likely to increase.his expenses !” 
 
75 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 "My son acted with my perfect approval/’ 
 -said the banker, coldly. 
 
 " Lady Rotherwood spoke to me with great 
 re<’’ret of the dissipated habits of life in which 
 her nephew is beginning to indulge. It is the 
 desire of his family, it appears, that the marquis 
 should settle young. He is an only child.” 
 
 "And you fancy, perhaps, that the aunt who 
 grudges him a few weeks’ hunting at Melton, 
 would promote his alliance with a girl having a 
 few thousand pounds for her fortune !” 
 
 “ It is not the cost of Lord Dartford’s pleasures 
 that creates the uneasiness of his family. With 
 respect to Lydia, Lady Rotherwood was gener- 
 ous enough to express to me, in plain terms, that 
 it would give her pleasure should her nephew 
 attach himself to so sensible and prudent a girl 
 as my daughter. I tell you this since you have 
 thought proper to allude to the subject. But, 
 having no reason to suppose the marquis’s in- 
 tentions serious, I shall dismiss it from my 
 thoughts. Those of Lydia, I am certain, it has 
 never entered.” 
 
 "So much the better!” was Mr. Hamlyn’s 
 surly reply, as he prepared to quit the room for 
 the shabby cabriolet, which, for nearly the first 
 time, had been kept waiting by the unusual com- 
 municativeness of poor Sophia. 
 
 " I do not wish to see her head turned by va- 
 garies so preposterous. Even were the match 
 so possible, which it is not, it would ill suit me, 
 at such a moment as this, to produce the sum 
 indispensable for the dowry of a Marchioness 
 of Dartford 1” 
 
 Prepared by this painful interview for the 
 course of policy her husband persisted in pur- 
 suing, it did not surprise Mrs. Hamlyn to find 
 that a handsome new carriage was building for 
 her, to be launched at the drawing-room, an ex- 
 cellent opera-box engaged; and that arr^ge- 
 ments were already made for dinners twice a 
 week in Cavendish Square, for three weeks to 
 come. 
 
 "You certainly are the happiest woman in 
 the world, my dear! You decidedly have the 
 -greatest jewel of a husband,” cried Lady Bond- 
 well, the wife of a brother banker, who was 
 usually neck-and-neck with the Hamlyns in 
 their course of ostentation. "I was at Storr 
 and Mortimer’s yesterday, and must say that 
 your new wine-cistern is the most perfect thing 
 I ever beheld ! I might torment Sir Benjamin 
 from now till the day of judgment, before he 
 would give 'tne anything of the kind ! But what 
 is there you have not got I Whenever I want 
 -to know what is to be the fashion for the season, 
 
 I hasten to Cavendish Square.” 
 
 This was, to a certain degree, true ; but the 
 luxuriousness imposed upon her was a matter of 
 pain and grief to Mrs. Hamlyn. Though she 
 might not presume to recur to the subject of pe- 
 cuniary difficulties adverted to in the first in- 
 stance by her husband, under the influence of 
 the excitement produced by Henry’s unlooked- 
 for opposition to his wishes, she had reason to 
 infer from the additional expenditure daily in- 
 '■ curred by Mr. Hamlyn, and the forced spirits he 
 exhibited in society, that his anxieties were un- 
 diminished. But for this, she would have been 
 almost inclined to hope that her husband’s ap- 
 prehensions were assumed for the purpose of in- 
 ducing her to influence the resolution of his son. 
 Such, at least, was the result of his strange 
 confidences. Though she had failed in procu- 
 jing Colonel Hamilton’s interference with Hen- 
 
 ry, her own letters had reached her son during 
 his absence from Cambridge ; her own letters— 
 full of the persuasive eloquence of maternal 
 love ; imploring him (without any prohibited al- 
 lusion to the difficulties of the firmj for her sake 
 —for the sake of the brother who loved him so 
 dearly, to abstain from opposition to his father’s 
 will, 
 
 " I have reason to know,” she wrote, " that 
 the welfare of the family, of your brother and 
 sisters (for of your mother, dearest, I will not 
 even plead the claims) depends upon the certainty 
 of a successor in the business, interested to pro- 
 tect their property in the event of your father’s 
 demise. Your cousin Bernard is weak— weak, 
 alike in health and intellect, and every way in- 
 competent for such a responsibility, I entreat 
 you, therefore, my Henry, sacrifice your disin- 
 clination, and do the part of a son and brother 
 towards us all ! Your generous disposition can- 
 not be better exercised than in such a self-sacri- 
 fice ; your noble mind cannot exhibit its strength 
 more usefully than in surmounting the reluc- 
 tance you have so eloquently expressed. My 
 son ! your mother asks it of you on her knees ! 
 Make the trial— make the attempt! Do not— 
 do not wantonly oppose your unhappy father !” 
 To such an appeal the answer of Henry was, 
 of course, a promise of implicit submission ; and 
 Mrs. Hamlyn had the satisfaction of being the 
 first to convey to her husband intelligence of his 
 son’s acquiescence in his plans. But poor Hen- 
 ry, while despatching to the admonitress he so 
 reverently loved his dutiful compliance, was 
 only too painfully aware that, like Coriolanus 
 of old, submission to his mother conveyed ruin, 
 to himself. Compelled to resign his shortlived 
 hopes of an enfranchisement from the calling he 
 detested, which was to secure him the hand of 
 the woman he adored, he sank; his mind be- 
 came comparatively disabled. Those who were 
 watching with interest his course of study, now 
 so nearly approaching its crisis, saw, with grief 
 and wonderment, that, at the eleventh hour, the 
 young man’s courage was deserting hip. His 
 exertions were flagging. There seemed no long- 
 er an incentive for study, now that the utmost 
 distinctions he could obtain would avail him no- 
 thing towards the redemption of his destinies ! 
 
 " She will never be mine ! She has told me 
 she will never be mine if I involve myself in the 
 hateful speculationskwhich have so hardened the 
 heart and dried up the very nature of my fa- 
 ther,” was his ever-recurring reflection. " To 
 have marred my own prospects in life by com- 
 pliance with her peculiar prejudices on this 
 point, I should not, Heaven knows, have hesita- 
 ted. But my mother— my poor, dear mother, 
 appealing to me in behalf of her children, was 
 not to be denied. Scarcely more painful to me 
 to renounce all hope of Ellen’s affections, than it 
 would have been to refuse the request of my in- 
 estimable mother. 
 
 Still, the result of the conflict in his mind was 
 not the less injurious. He could no longer cona- 
 mand his attention to the abstruseness of sci- 
 ence; no longer apply the sterling faculties of 
 his mind to the conquest of difficulties which he 
 held mere trifles so long as he presumed hope 
 that university distinctions were to pave the way 
 to professional success ; and professional stic- 
 cess to entitle him to independence and the hand 
 of the most beautiful and most beloved. 
 
 "Oh! that I had never attempted that mad 
 expedition to Naples !” he would exclaim, fling- 
 
76 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 ing down his books, and pacing with hurried 
 steps the quiet room, so long and so successfully 
 devoted to the abstraction of study. “ But for 
 my enthusiastic desire to look once more upon 
 that lovely face, the object of my dreams from 
 boyhood (from the moment when, as a happy 
 bride, she spoke so soothingly to the young en- 
 thusiast who beset her at Dean with his flighty 
 fancies !) I might now be happy — the same dull, 
 contented bookworm as of old, the same pros- 
 pective man of business. Till Ellen Hamil- 
 ton placed the picture of a banker’s calling fair- 
 ly before me, with all that eloquence of look and 
 speech with which no breathing woman was 
 ever gifted .like herself, I was contented with my 
 prospects. But now — even if she would con- 
 sent to share them (and I know that no earthly 
 persuasion or representation would shake her 
 resolution !) — even if she would consent to share 
 a mode of existence she detests and despises, I 
 feel that I could never be hapj^y deriving my 
 livelihood from perpetual risk of the property of 
 others. Wretched man that I shall be, the mo- 
 ment I quit these quiet walls, to plunge into all 
 the vulgar strife and chicanery with which 
 henceforward I must live surrounded. Wretch- 
 ed, wretched man ! Without leisure to open a 
 book — without the power to forget or to renew 
 those blessed hopes and impressions, which seem 
 to have been vouchsafed me for a moment only 
 to constitute the ruin and torment of my life !” 
 
 Instead of persevering in the course of study 
 pointed out as indispensable to repair the omis- 
 sions produced by his Italian tour, the dispirited 
 Henry wasted his days and nights in perpetual 
 recurrence to the past, in cultivating associa- 
 tions derived from the relics around him — the 
 sketches— the engravings— and, above all, the 
 luckless myrtle branch — the first pledge of an ill- 
 fated attachment— which he had received from 
 the hands of Ellen when visiting with Lady 
 Burlington and herself the Grotto of the Sybil 
 at Cumm. 
 
 “ What matters it now how I go through my 
 examination!” cried he, shrugging his shoul- 
 ders, oil receiving a dispiriting announcement 
 that others were getting the start of him in the 
 race. “ If I could carry olf all the prizes in the 
 university, of what avail % What signify col- 
 lege honours to Henry Hamlyn, the banker!” 
 
 In writing to announce to Mrs. Hamilton the 
 retractation of his engagement with herself, and 
 his compliance with the injunctions of his moth- 
 er, Henry had not presumed to give vent to these 
 imbittered feelings. 
 
 “ She used to call me boyish and inconsist- 
 ent,” was his cruel reflection. “ How often did 
 she remind me that she is nearly two years older 
 than myself in age, and ten years older in char- 
 acter ! When I pledged myself to comply to the 
 letter with her exactions about the firm, she pre- 
 dicted all that has happened; she told me I 
 should never have strength of purpose to carry 
 through my opposition to a man so coldly arbi- 
 trary as my father. Again and again did she 
 prognosticate all that has happened; while I, 
 strong in the encouragement of her presence — 
 in the happiness of being near her — of listening 
 to that stirring voice— of gazing upon that heav- 
 enly face — felt certain of my own resolution, 
 and pledged myself heart and soul to the stip- 
 ulations under which she promised at some fu- 
 ture time to become my own. Dear, precious 
 Ellen ! It is something that even for a moment 
 she deigned to recognise the existence of such a 
 
 nothing as myself! But I will not attempt to 
 move her compassion by the pitiful avowal of all 
 1 am sufiering. If unable to redeem my word to 
 her, if unable to act the part of an honourable 
 man, I will not sneakingly content myself with, 
 obtaining the abnegation of her principles and 
 feelings. She was frank with me — she opened 
 her inmost heart — she owned she could not be 
 happy with me if the greater portion of my days 
 were spent in my father’s counting-house. It 
 were despicable to attempt to overcome these 
 scruples by the picture of my misery — my de- 
 spair.” 
 
 Cold, therefore, almost to formality, were the 
 terms in which the high-minded young man an- 
 nounced a sacrifice, the mere anticipation of 
 which was tearing his heart-strings asunder;, 
 and Ellen was fully justified in feeling, in the 
 bitterness of her mortification, that already the 
 spirit of his future vocation was upon him, and 
 that he “ wrote like a banker.” Not a word of 
 appeal to her aflfections ; not a loophole left for 
 her relenting. So firmly did he speak of him- 
 self, so coolly of his projects, that there was ev- 
 ery reason to suppose he rejoiced in the difficul- 
 ties she had thrown in the way of their attach- 
 ment by imposing unaccomplishable conditions. 
 
 “ If my poor,' dear mother only surmised the 
 extent of the sacrifice she was exacting from her 
 son !” was Henry’s ejaculation, after perusing 
 for the twentieth time the measured, the almost 
 haughty reply of Ellen Hamilton to the letter 
 acknowledging his altered intentions, and re- 
 nouncing their brief engagement. “ If she only 
 knew ! But may she never know it ! As it is,, 
 her life, I fear, is not a happy one. It would 
 only be a thousand-fold more grievous for learn- 
 ing that she has broken my heart.” 
 
 “ I’m most afraid, my dear girl, that you cal- 
 culated too far on your own patience I” observed 
 the colonel, on the other hand, to his lovely 
 daughter-in-law, when, at the end of a fort- 
 night’s sojourn at Burlington Manor, he per- 
 ceived that her steps were growing less light- 
 some in their walks, and her voice less joyous 
 in their conversations, than on her first arrival. 
 “You didn’t reckon what ’twould be to live 
 cooped up, morning, noon, and night, with an 
 old codger like myself!” 
 
 “ I do not experience the slightest want of so- 
 ciety,” she replied, and with sincerity, to this 
 apolog}^ 
 
 “I can promise you, however, that when I 
 pressed you so hard to come and stay at the Ma-- 
 nor, I wouldn’t have done so for worlds, hadn’t 
 I thought that Lydia and her good mother would 
 be on the spot, to cheer you with their constant 
 company, as they did me through the summer 
 and autumn. Poor Madam Markham is al- 
 ways taken up (and the more’s the credit to her) 
 with her bantlings and her poor; and as to those 
 great folks at the Hyde, I believe you might 
 get as good companionship out of the alabaster 
 effigies of their forefathers on the tombs in. 
 Braxham Church !” 
 
 “ If all the rest of the family resemble Mr.. 
 'V’emon,” replied Ellen, “ I cannot express much, 
 regret for the want of their acquaintance.” 
 
 “They dorCt resemble him, my dear; they’re- 
 ten times worse! Alberic’s the best of the 
 bunch. However, he gave me a welcome piece 
 of news yesterday, when he stopped my phaeton 
 as I was driving through Ovington. Walter 
 Hamlyn will be at Dean' Park to-morrow; that 
 is, youDg Vernon told me Lord Dartford was 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 77 
 
 coming ; and I don’t suppose the captain would 
 leave him to be entertained by me servants. So 
 my dear, you’ll be able at last to extend 
 your rides beyond the park-paling of Burlington 
 Manor.” 
 
 “ I have not the least desire to play truant,” 
 she replied, with a melancholy smile, how dif- 
 ferent from those which brighthened her fine 
 features on her first arrival from Italy. “ It is 
 'not the want of knight or esquire that keeps me 
 faithful to the old avenue. 1 am quite satisfied 
 with Carlo’s protection, if I had it at heart to 
 scour the country.” 
 
 “ Without scouring the country, you may ex- 
 tend your excursions to see something of the 
 neighbourhood. However, you must look to 
 your heart, Ellen, I can tell you, when this young 
 soldier comes flourishing his mustaches by our 
 fireside ! Watty’s the handsomest young fellow, 
 perhaps, you ever set eyes on in your life.” 
 
 “ My weakness does not happen to be in fa- 
 vour of handsome young fellows,” replied Mrs. 
 Hamilton, trying to assume the cheerful tone she 
 knew to be so acceptable to her father-in-law. 
 
 “ The beauty of the Neapolitan peasants is quite 
 enough to put one out of conceit with handsome 
 men for the remainder of one’s days. Since I 
 travelled in the Abruzzi, an involuntary asso- 
 ciation of ideas always depicts a handsome man 
 to me as weak, superstitious, cowardly, dirty, 
 and sensual.” 
 
 “A true picture, I dare say, my dear, as re- 
 gards the Italian brigand ! But W atty wouldn’t 
 thank you, I take it, for applying the ‘likeness to 
 him. To own the truth, Ellen,” continued the 
 colonel, determined to approach nearer to the 
 subject upon which he had consistently imposed 
 silence on himself than he had yet adventured, 
 
 “ to own the truth. I’ve more than half a wish at 
 the bottom of my heart, that if you should ever 
 make up your mind to marry again—” 
 
 “ I never shall /” interrupted Ellen, in a low 
 but steady voice. “ You may rely upon it that 
 I never shall !” 
 
 “lam sorry to hear you say so, 'Sacred as is 
 my son’s memory in my eyes, I feel that you 
 didn’t live long enough with ray poor Robert, 
 and that you’re yourself too young and hand- 
 some, much too young and handsome, to tie your- 
 self down to widowhood for the remainder of 
 your days. ’Tisn’t nat’ral, my dear, and ’tisn’t 
 what anybody has a right to expect of you. So, 
 as I was saying, if you ever were to take another 
 husband, I can’t but own that my friend Ham- 
 lyn’s son would be more acceptable to me as a 
 son-in-law than e’er another. For a son-in-law 
 your husband would seem to me ! Now that 
 I’ve come to see, and know, and love you, Ellen ! 
 trust me, I feel as if you were a born daughter 
 of my own.” 
 
 As the colonel had confidently expected, the 
 cheeks of his lovely companion were deeply 
 crimsoned at his allusion to his “friend, Ham- 
 lyn’s son.” But he would have wanted courage 
 to push an inquiry intruding on her confidence, 
 even had not his own heart enlisted itself in 
 what he was saying, before the conclusion of his 
 sentence, to a degree that utterly precluded all 
 artful examination of her symptoms of emotion. 
 
 “ And so, my dear,” he resumed, after a mo- 
 mentary pause that produced not a syllable of 
 reply from his companion, “.if this Household- 
 brigade chap should happen** to take your fancy, 
 so much the better for all parties. ^ Hamlyn 
 would be proud, I’m sure, to ask for his own son 
 
 the hand he was so idly scrupulous about be- 
 
 stowing upon mine." 
 
 “ I have no doubt he would, after hearing your 
 paternal declarations in my favour,” replied the 
 young widow, with a swelling heart and bitter 
 smile, “ Your heiress^ my dear Colonel Hamil- 
 ton, whether actress, seamstress, or any other 
 disreputable thing, would be welcomed on his 
 bended knees into the family of the banker.” 
 “Come, come! don’t be too hard upon my 
 friend 1 Hamlyn’s the most .honourable fellow 
 upon the face of the earth I I could tell you 
 some of the finest traits of Hamlyn that do hon- 
 our to the name of man ! Surely, my dear Ellen, 
 since you’ve been down in these parts, you niust 
 have seen and admitted the value of an active, 
 benevolent, steady, thoughtful man of business, 
 to all the varied interests of the neighbourhood 
 under his protection V 
 
 “ I have no doubt Mr. Hamlyn is a man of 
 considerable influence and importance. He 
 contributes largely to the local charities. So 
 does Mr. Gratwycke (the fourth part, I am told, 
 of his very moderate income!), which does not 
 prevent my thinking the old gentleman a far 
 from satisfactory companion.” 
 
 “ Ay, ay ! a man may pay a large subscrip- 
 tion to the treasurer of an hospital, and be 
 none the better Christian for that. Gratwycke, 
 for instance, a case in point, is always boasting 
 that, though his estate is reduced to half by the 
 badness of the times and excellence of the poor 
 laws, he contributes to a guinea what his father 
 did afore him to the support of the county insti- 
 tutions, invariably adding, ‘ It shall never be said 
 that the name of Gratwycke of Gratwycke for- 
 feited its rank among the county families in my 
 time !’ I’m not such an old oaf, Ellen, my dear, 
 as to mistake that sort o’ thing for benevolence I 
 But Hamlyn’s another description of felloAV. 
 Hamlyn sets his wits to work as well as his 
 purse, for the benefit of his fellow-creatures 1 
 Look at the number of useful measures he has 
 brought into Parliament. See here !” continued 
 the colonel, suddenly snatching forward the 
 Times newspaper that lay upon the table, and 
 commencing as fluently as the absence of his 
 spectacles would permit, a recital of the pro- 
 ceedings of a grand “ Meeting of the Merchants 
 and Bankers of the City of London,” held at the 
 Mansion House the preceding day, “ Richard 
 Hamlyn, Esq., M.P., banker, in the chair, for 
 the relief of the sufferers by a recent inundation 
 at St. Petersburg,” &c., &c., &c., prefaced by an 
 eloquent preamble, and followed by a pompous 
 list of subscriptions, at the head of which stood 
 the firm of Hamlyn and Co. for £105. “ What 
 d’ye say to that, eh, my dear Ellen 1” 
 
 “ I should say, were I not afraid you would 
 call me prejudiced and illiberal, that Hamlyn 
 and Co. are probably extensively connected with 
 the Russia trade.” 
 
 Colonel Hamilton, who knew this to be actu- 
 ally the case, could neither refrain from a laugh, 
 nor from patting her approvingly on the back. 
 
 “You’re a cunning little gipsy!” said he. 
 “ Let a woman alone for diving into motives.” 
 
 “Let a woman alone for diving into mo- 
 tives who has been cast alone and unprotected 
 on the evil-dealing of the world ! Had I never 
 been vilified and injured by Mr. Hamlyn, I had 
 probably been content to take his virtues, as 
 others do, on trust. As it is, our paths happily 
 lie separate ; nor should I have hazarded these 
 remarks, sir, upon a man whom you regard, but 
 
78 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 for your recommendation of Captain Hamlyn to | forced to own there’s noting in nature Hamlya’ 
 
 my' affection. Even here, even in this house, 
 from which I consider my poor friend Lady Bur- 
 lin^’ton to have been, driven into exile by the cun- 
 ning of her husband’s executor, I have never 
 before presumed to lift up my voice against him ; 
 and in order to secure perfect unanimity betw^een 
 us (for 1 would fain that, during my stay with 
 you, not even a difference of opinion should 
 manifest itself), I promise to avoid all farther 
 mention of his name.” 
 
 “ A kind and a good resolution, my dear, and 
 I thank you heartily,” rejoined the colonel. 
 
 “ However, as this is the last time we’re to have 
 my poor friend on the spit, let’s even give him 
 another turn and roast him to rags ! Tell me, 
 Nelly, like an honest soul as you are, have you 
 any quarrel against the banker beyond a wom- 
 an’s nat’ral unforgivingness, for his unhand- 
 some usage of you more years ago than I care 
 to remember 
 
 “No qiMrrel, sir. But I own myself guilty 
 of strong prejudice against a man whose only 
 thought and object in life is the lucre of gain.” 
 “Then, my dear girl, you must dislike vie! 
 For you may rely upon’t that, for more than 
 forty years of my life, my sole object was to heap 
 up lacs of rupees, obtain the best interest for 
 ’em, and — ” . • 
 
 “But for what purpose, my dear sirT inter- 
 rupted Ellen ; “ and to what end 1 What did 
 you sacrifice towards the acquisition of wealth, 
 beyond your own time, convenience, comfort, 
 and abilities'? or to what was the wealtff thus 
 acquired, destined, but to secure the well-^eing 
 of your family,- the happiness of all around you 'I 
 Whose property did you put in peril by your 
 speculations'? whose substance did you waste by 
 your transactions ^ to whom did you lend money 
 on usurious interest, facilitating the extrava- 
 gance that wrought their undoing, till the place 
 of their forefathers knew them no longer '? and 
 w^hen were the riches thus vilely acquired ap- 
 plied to the scarcely less contemptible purpose 
 of dazzling the eyes of society by false appear- 
 ances, and figuring among the shifting throngs 
 of London life '? Show me the object of Mr. 
 Hamlyn’s domestic affections, show me the 
 household happiness created by the hollow os- 
 tentations of his ill-earned wealth ! A broken- 
 spirited wife, a daughter who scarcely uplilts 
 her eyes in his presence, and one, at least, among 
 his sons thwarted in the dearest and brightest 
 ambitions of his heart, in order to fulfil the nar- 
 row purposes of parental policy !” 
 
 “And how the plague do you know all this?” 
 cried the colonel. “ God knows such is not the 
 picture I ever painted you of Dean Park !” 
 
 “ You forget,” replied his daughter-in-law, dis- 
 appointing his expectations of having betrayed 
 her into the avowal of her intimacy with Hen- 
 ry Hamlyn, “ that I was a whole w^eek the in- 
 mate of Mr. and Mrs. Hamlyn, only three years 
 ago.” , , 
 
 “All I can say is, then, that you made the 
 most of your time ! However, as you mention- 
 ed before, Walter was away with his regiment 
 when you were at Dean ; and of his position as 
 regards his father, you had no means of judging. 
 Of Walter, believe me, Ellen, Hamlyn’s as fond 
 as ever I was of e’er a child of mine ! To Wal- 
 ter he would make any sacrifice !” 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton shook her head with an in- 
 credulous smile. 
 
 “ Well, well ! Some day or other you’ll be 
 
 knows how to refuse to his eldest son.” 
 
 “Right, sir — to his eldest son! Those two 
 words explain the whole secret of Walter Ham- 
 lyn’s influence. I see by your face that already 
 you accuse me of illiberality. But I declare to 
 you I should as soon expect to plpck a living, 
 fragrant flower from under the scorching lava 
 effused by a volcano, as detect a tender, human 
 feeling in the heart systematically devoted to 
 money-getting by the slave-trade, or by specula- 
 tion with the means of others !” 
 
 “ Nay, but surely — ” 
 
 “ No, no, no ! I will not hear a single exten- 
 uating w'ord !” cried Mrs. Hamilton. “ I loath 
 the hard, unsympathizing nature created by per- 
 petually deafening the ears to the cries of our fel- 
 low-creatures, or by incessant contact with mon- 
 ey — money — money ! In my view, Mr. Ham- 
 lyn is less than a man— a mummy created by 
 the Gannalizing process of injecting his very ar- 
 teries with met^lic fluid. I could no more ex- 
 perience sympathy with such an individual than 
 with — ” 
 
 “ The Marquis of Dartford and Captain Ham- 
 lyn!” announced Johnston, throwing open the 
 drawing-room door. 
 
 And it was with her fine face glowing under 
 the influence of her recent denunciations that 
 Ellen had to do the honours of Burlington Manor 
 to the two handsome young strangers now hasti- 
 ly presented to her by her father-in-law. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 “ The portion of the world which I at present 
 Have taken up to fill the following sermon,. 
 
 Is one of which there’s no description recent ; 
 
 The reason why is easy to determine, j 
 
 Although it seems both prominent and pleasant, | 
 There is a sameness in its gems and ermine.” 
 
 Byron. 
 
 “ By heavens 1 my dear Hamlyn, I am begin- 
 ning to twig what Vernon was after, this morn- 
 ing, when we found him lounging along the Ov- 
 ingion Road, in spite of an east wind that might 
 have cut the county jail asunder, and craning 
 over the park-palings of Burlington Manor!” 
 said the marquis to his friend, as they rode back 
 together to Dean Park. “What a beautiful 
 woman !” 
 
 “ I told 5 ’^ou you would lose your heart !” re- 
 plied Walter, \wth a forced smile. 
 
 “ But I have not lost my heart ! The widow 
 is a splendid creature, but I should as soon 
 think of falling in love with Homer’s ox-eyed 
 Juno! I hate your Grecian, Medea-like beau- 
 ties, who look like the tragic muse walking in 
 silk attire ; and who ought to carry a dagger and 
 bowl, instead of a caudle-cup and bodkin. I 
 should always expect to find this beautiful Ellen 
 of yours wandering about Dartford Hall in her 
 sleep, like Lady Macbeth! My blood curdles 
 at the thought ! No, no ! not the least fear of 
 my trying to cut you out with the rich widow.” 
 
 “Nor of my resenting it, if you did!” replied 
 Walter. “ I have no pretensions in that quar- 
 ter.” 
 
 “ Why, I heard the old gentleman hmting to 
 my Aunt Rotherwood, whp I was last at Dean, 
 that nothing would suit him better than to have 
 you for a son-in-law !” 
 
 “ One don’t marry a woman for the sake of 
 pleasing her father-m-law.” 
 
 “ Why, one docs, sometimes, when the father- 
 in-law happens to have four hundred thousand 
 
79 
 
 COURT AND^ CITY. 
 
 pounds to make ducks and drakes of; besides 
 being so capital a fellow as old Hamilton. Why, 
 you might buy out the Burlingtons (their proper- 
 ty’s famously embarrassed, I’m told), and throw 
 the manor into a ring-fence with Dean Park.” 
 
 “As another ring fence must be accomplished 
 at the same time,’^said ^Valter, laughing, “the 
 prospect does not charm me. 1 should never 
 feel at my ease with such a wife as Mrs. Ham- 
 ilton. She would reduce one to too complete a 
 pigmy.” 
 
 “Ay, ay! I see we agree about her in the 
 main. To paraphrase the old fellow they mis- 
 quoted, the other night, so outrageously in the 
 house, she — 
 
 is too bright and good 
 For human nature’s daily food. 
 
 To my taste a woman cannot be too common- 
 place. The commonplace of a genuine wom- 
 ’ an— that is, a feminine, gentle, lovely, lovely edi- 
 tion of man — is perfection. I like it as I like the 
 commonplace of an oak-tree, or of ‘ a rose-tree 
 in full bearing.’ ’Tis a thing that can’t be ini- 
 roved upon. The case of woman ought not to 
 e declinable— there is nothing better than good. 
 Besi is a pleonasm, a work of supererogation. 
 Good ought to suffice for man ; that is, every 
 man ought to fancy his own ‘good’ the best.” 
 
 “ You are splitting your straws somewhat fine 
 this morning, my dear Har!” cried Walter. “Is 
 it to revenge yourself that ’tis dies non with the 
 hounds with such weather for a run'?” 
 
 “Why, you see I’ve been shut up at Hartford 
 Hall for the last fortnight, with only my poor 
 mother and her chaplain, my old tutor; with 
 whom I was forced to chop logic, to prevent my- 
 self from chopping off his head — and so much 
 for Buckingham. But seriously, my dear fel- 
 low (if one ever can talk seriously where petti- 
 coats are concerned), don’t you think that in 
 every-day life Mrs. Hamilton would be apt to 
 pile up the agony too high'? There are three 
 leading points to consider in a woman — heart, 
 soul, body (that’s my interpretation of the alle- 
 gory of the three graces). Not a woman in a 
 million unites perfection in the three. Two, 
 therefore, are as much as a moderate man ought 
 to pretend to, and one might, on a pinch, suffice. 
 A pretty woman with a good heart, therefore, 
 constitutes my irresistible. As an enemy to mo- 
 nopoly in all shapes, I dispense with the soul; 
 so, while / content myself with a warm-hearted, 
 pretty little wife, you shall have the handsome 
 widow, with her great soul, all to your own 
 share.” 
 
 “ How easy it is to perceive, in your estimate 
 of women and wives, the notions of a man to 
 whom birth and fortune offer no temptations 1” 
 said Walter, almost with a sigh. “Very few 
 are able to abstract themselves from such con- 
 siderations. Very few of us can afford to choose 
 a woman for herself. Half our regiment (pray 
 admit) would rate the three graces of a wife as 
 ‘ beauty, rank, fortune.’ ” 
 
 “ ’Tis clear, however, my dear Hamlyn, that 
 you do not subscribe to the doctrine, since you 
 will have nothing to say to a beautiful creature 
 with twelve or fifteen thousand a year.” 
 
 “ / require something a little more refined than 
 Bob Hamilton’s widow,” replied Walter, imper- 
 tinently. “I should be very fastidious, I fear, 
 about the dress and manners of my wife.” 
 
 “ Pho, pho ! the dress and manners of a wom- 
 an may be fashioned into what you please.” 
 
 “ Not where there is a deficiency of natural 
 
 taste. For instance, you would never teach the 
 beautiful Ellen to come into a room with the in- 
 stinctive elegance of Miss Vernon.” 
 
 “ Instinctive fiddlestick I Miss Vernon is 
 made up of what you call elegance — a mere 
 empty egg-shell! She has not even the wom- 
 anly dignity of Mrs. tlamilton ; far less the 
 natural feeling and untaught grace of your sis- 
 ter Lydia. By-the-way, Hamlyn, I bet you a 
 pound we receive an invitation to the Hyde be- 
 fore this time to-morrow.” • 
 
 “ I’ll double the stake if you promise to ac- 
 cept it when it arrives,” said Walter. 
 
 “What! after engaging ourselves to the old. 
 colonel ; and when I’ve set my heart on getting 
 that Lion Hunt out of him again "? I tried to^ 
 give it to old Parson Buckingham at Hartford 
 Hall. But I suppose I failed, for I couldn’t get 
 his wig to stand on end, as poor dear Lord and 
 Lady Rotherwood’s did, while they were listen- 
 ing to Colonel Hamilton.” 
 
 “Didn’t I tell you so'?” cried the marquis, 
 when, that very evening, cards of invitation to 
 the two young men arrived from the Vernons.. 
 “ I wish Alberic had staked his chin on the park- 
 palings of Burlington Manor this morning, be- 
 fore he carried back news of our arrival to the 
 Hyde! Blessed, however, be the said manor 
 among the nations ! for it affords us an undeni- 
 able excuse to these officious people.” 
 
 And with the utmost glee Lord Hartford pro- 
 ceeded to plead a previous engagement in his 
 answer to the Vernons, while Walter could 
 scarcely repress a sigh at having to confess a 
 similar disqualification. It was almost too mor- 
 tifying to have to renounce a visit to the Hydq„ 
 in company w’ith the Marquis of Hartford, whea 
 qualified by his recent visit to Melton to charm, 
 the ears of Lucinda by a thousand inedited an- 
 ecdotes of fashionable gossip, for the mere pur- 
 pose of joining a humdrum family dinner-party- 
 at Burlington Manor. 
 
 On the other hand, the excuse of the young 
 men was received with as ill a grace as Wal- 
 ter’s was despatched. 
 
 “Was ever anything so provoking!” cried 
 Lady Vernon, tossing Lord Hartford’s formal 
 note into her daughter’s workbasket. “Enga- 
 ged, they write word, to those people at Burling- 
 ton ! And after all the difficulty, I had to obtain 
 your father’s sanction to my inviting young 
 Hamlyn here again 1” 
 
 “ We must take Lord Hartford as we can get 
 him,” replied Lucinda, coolly. “ Love me, love 
 my banker, or, rather, my banker’s son !” 
 
 “ But you see we do not get him the more for 
 tolerating his banker’s son ! It appears likely 
 we shall have to love his Colonel Hamilton inte 
 the bargain.” 
 
 “ Impossible, now the Middleburys are gone I 
 One could bear the old savage diluted with Mid- 
 dleburys. Out of the question to have him here 
 now. Papa wmuld be obliged to have recourse 
 to his colchicum, as he does against a flying 
 gout ! Heigho !” 
 
 “Barlow of Alderham was telling me the' 
 other day that this daughter-in-law, who is stay- 
 ing with Colonel Hamilton, is one of the mo-st 
 beautiful women in England,” observed Lady 
 Vernon. , , , , 
 
 “ Daughter-in-law 1 I thought he had ne 
 children, and that the horrid Hamlyns were ta 
 inherit his fortune 1” 
 
 “ This i-s his son’s widow, whom they want ta 
 marry to the banker’s son.” 
 
THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 80 
 
 “ And a very suitable match,” replied Lucin- 
 da. “ But very suitable matches seldom take 
 place. And supposing, as the Dean Park girl is 
 out of the way, that Dartford himself should be- 
 come attracted by this new beauty T’ 
 
 Mother ! you should really make the sacri- 
 fice of calling at Burlington !” cried Lucinda, 
 after a long pause for reflection. “ It is essen- 
 tial we should see what this Mrs. Hamilton is 
 like, and ascertain what she is about. You will 
 scarcely believe that Mr. Barlow had the cool- 
 ness to hint to me she would be a capital match 
 for Alberic, who appeared immensely smitten 
 on seeing her the other day at the meeting of the 
 hounds at Braxham Heath.” 
 
 Mr. Barlow had better be more cautious in 
 his observations,” said Lady Vernon, rising 
 stern, tall, and square, from her cabriolet fav^ 
 tewl. “Lord Vernon’s son ally himself with 
 the daughter of the person who proposed that j 
 
 “ I cannot guess. Alberic told me he noticed 
 an intimacy, at covert, between the duke and 
 that dreadful old colonel. I must repeat that I 
 think it rather hard of Lord Vernon to have 
 placed impediments in the way of our intimacy 
 with the only family fit to associate with in this 
 part of the county. Judge, by their taking up 
 these strange people, how glad the Elvastons 
 and Cossingtons would have been, had j'our fa- 
 ther 'seemed disposed to be sociable ! \ ou see 
 they have never invited Alberic.” 
 
 “ They could scarcely ask hint without us.” 
 
 “ Unless I am much mistaken, they will in- 
 vite Captain Hamlyn, with Lord Dartford ; yet 
 the Dean Park people, I know, are on the most 
 distant terms at Ormeau.” 
 
 “ What a charming party they will have !” 
 mused Lucinda Vernon, deeply mortified; “ and 
 what a winter have we brought upon ourselves 
 _ __ by coming hither ! Thank goodness, next week 
 '^oo^C\^sR^iney should be hangedi A non- 1 will put an end to it; and if ^ 
 descript Mrs. Robert Hamilton become Vis- I lor my patience by a month at Brighton, I will 
 countess Braxham'? for, between ourselves, my i appeal to Sir Henry, next year, and et m> s.if 
 dear Inda, there is every chance of a change of \sermisly ordered to Naples. Alter all, de^ 
 ministry, and then, you kmow, your father’s j mamma, don t you think we 
 earldom is safe'” I 1° “^ke the six weeks seem a little less 
 
 “ So much th& better, mamma. It is almost | Uke twelve, if we had be^ on ple^anter terms 
 too hard to be called Miss Vernon, like a Miss I with our neighbours 1 Had we ^en toendl> 
 Hamlyn, or a Miss Barlow ! But about this I with the Hamlyns we shoifld have met Lord 
 visit to Burlington Manor 1” * Dartford at their house ; had we been friendly 
 
 “ You know I can refuse you nothing. If ; with the Elvastons, at theire , had we ^en 
 your father will consent, we can drive there to- ! friendly with Colonel Hamilton, even at Bur- 
 morrow To say the truth, Alberic has been i lington Manor ! And since we thought Loqi 
 Sreadv at me on the' subject. Alberic has only Dartlord’s company worth a journey to Napl^ 
 
 ■ j" 4~:ii 1C anrl want's T tO 56011X6, SUFCly ttl6 l6SS6r SECrifiC6 01 3. I6%\ OO- 
 
 ring country visits was no consideration ! My 
 
 paired' off till the hunting is over, and wants, * 
 suspect, to see something of this Oriental beauty 
 before Jie goes to town. As to marijing her ! 
 Of course he means nothing but a flirtation.” 
 
 To Lady Vernon’s surprise, she obtained from 
 her lord not only permission to proceed to Bur- 
 lington Manor, but, having proceeded thither 
 without finding the beauty at home, to invite her 
 and Colonel Hamilton to dinner, as a pretext for a 
 new invitation to the young fox-hunters at Dean 
 Park. 
 
 This really exceeds belief!” was her lady- 
 ship’s exclamation on receiving an answer from 
 Mrs. Hamilton, which, while opening, she had 
 not an instant doubted must be one of accept- 
 ance. “ These ipeople are engaged, Lucinda, 
 actually engaged; and I will give you a month 
 to guess to whom 1” 
 
 “ To the Barlows, or Gratwyckes, of course. 
 There is no one else at present in the neighbour- 
 hood ; for the Hursts, I conclude, do not invite 
 people to assist them and their hungry locusts 
 of children, with their boiled mutton and tur- 
 nips 'I Papa ordered a neck of venison, yester 
 day, to Alderham, as we were riding home by 
 the keeper’s lodge.” 
 
 “ Country gentlemen do not give dinners on 
 the strength of a neck of doe-venison !” said 
 Lady Vernon, with a smile of contempt. “ Guess 
 ^ain !” 
 
 “ Such people are scarcely worth the trouble. 
 They cannot come, and there is an end of the 
 matter.” 
 
 » By no means the end of it 1 They will be 
 able to boast to the Elvastons, on arriving at 
 Ormeau, of having refused in their favour an 
 invitation to the Hyde. Just conceive what a 
 triumph for that impertinent Lady Cossington, 
 who, I have reason to know, fancies she cut you 
 out with the marquis !” 
 
 “ But what in the world can take these people 
 to Ormeau?” 
 
 X A XJ J w * w * 
 
 father dislikes the Duke of Elvaston as a greater 
 man than himself, and despises the other two, as 
 infinitely below him. Where are we to find the 
 level which is to enable us to enjoy society ? As 
 the German emperor observed, when requested 
 by his nobles to exclude all but the higher class- 
 es from the Augarten at Vienna, ‘You insist, 
 then, upon meeting none but your equals ? 
 Were I to attend to this rule, I must shut my- 
 self up in the family vault of my ancestors in 
 the Augustine Church !’ Next winter, accord- 
 ingly, if papa persists in his unsociality, Alberic 
 and I will be driven for society to the old gentle- 
 men and ladies in armour and farthingales on 
 the monuments in Braxham Church! ’ 
 
 The invitation which proved thus aggrava- 
 ting to the ire of Lucinda Vernon had produced, 
 meanwhile, little emotion at Burlington, unless 
 as affording a satisfactory excuse for evadmg 
 a visit to the Hyde. Colonel Hamilton was 
 averse, as he had stated in apology to the Roth- 
 erwoods, to all large parties of strangers, and the 
 same plea would probably have been again 
 brought forward but for his desire that his charm- 
 ing Ellen should enjoy something more suitable 
 to her age than the seclusion of his dull fireside. 
 
 As regarded her natural inclinations, on the 
 other hand, Mrs. Hamilton found more attrac- 
 tion in the cheerful domesticity of the manor 
 than in all the excitements of fashionable life. 
 But she was Twt now in a natural state of mind. 
 She was mortified, restless, resentful. Her 
 heart was weary with incessant reflections. 
 Site began to believe that some peculiar destiny 
 attached the Hamlyns to her path, to injure her 
 and molest. From them came all the bitterness 
 of her life ; from them her sole humiliations. 
 Richard Hamlyn had been the means of injur- 
 ing her fair fame ; of bringing down the gray 
 
81 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 iaiTS of her mother with sorrow to the grave ; 
 of developing in the slight frame of her hus- 
 band the germe of mortal infirmity. Scarcely 
 had she raised her head from the deep despair 
 produced by this series of calamities ; scarcely 
 had she begun to find anew in life those gleams 
 of domestic happiness rarely extinguishable in 
 the. prime of youth and beauty, when a being 
 had thrown himself in her way, endowed to ex- 
 cess with the qualities most likely to captivate 
 her imagination and attach her heart: tor the 
 young widow had already become painfully con- 
 .scious of the loneliness of her social position. 
 The passionate atfection of which she had been 
 for years the object served only to render her 
 more sensible of her present isolation j and when 
 the young enthusiast, with whom she was unex- 
 pectedly brought into contact in the domestic 
 circle of Lady Burlington, surrendered himself 
 as devoted a‘ slave to her beauty as in better 
 days that gentle reserved sufferer whom she had 
 seen sink into the grave, the only drawback to 
 the hopes of renewed happiness was, that the 
 man so passion-struck, and so qualified by the 
 highest endowments of nature to render his pref- 
 erence a blessing, was the son of her enemy, the 
 future successor of Hamlyn, the banker ! 
 
 And now, all that in the first moment she had 
 dreaded, was fatally- come to pass. She had 
 predicted Henry’s strengthlessness against the 
 iron will of such a father. She had announced 
 to him that, on his return to England, he would 
 be compelled to adhere to a calling and career 
 which she was firmly resolved shofild never ob- 
 tain an influence over her wedded life. And 
 thus compelled to abjure her hopes of happiness, 
 she was alone again — more alone, more isolated 
 than ever — because aroused by the recent man- 
 ifestations of Henry Hamlyn’s respectful but 
 passionate attachment to a sense of the unequal- 
 led happiness of confiding, mutual love. 
 
 Against his father, as the origin of Henry’s 
 change of feeling and the sudden relinquish- 
 ment of his generous intentions, all her resent- 
 ment was directed; but she was not the less 
 wretched, the less deeply humiliated; that she 
 was able to attribute this new blighting of her 
 destinies to the malignant influence of her for- 
 mer enemy. 
 
 Thus disappointed in the hopes which had 
 accelerated her return to England, thus imbit- 
 terred in her feelings against Dean Park, even the 
 sincere affection she was beginning to entertain 
 for her kind father-in-law did not reconcile her 
 to herself or to her mortifications. She felt con- 
 scious of having too easily bestowed her heart ; 
 she accused herself of faithlessness to the mem- 
 ory of the dead. Rebuked by the supposed fick- 
 leness of Harry, she fancied that she was only 
 justly punished for having, after all her earlier 
 vows of perpetual widowhood, again inclined 
 her ear to the blandishments of worldly affec- 
 tion. 
 
 Amid these morbid recriminations of self-re- 
 proach, the quiet seclusion of Burlington ceased 
 to charm. She hated to find herself exposed, in 
 all the familiarity of its tranquil fireside, to the 
 curious examination of Walter. Suffering and 
 dispirited, she dreaded the idea that he would 
 describe, in his letters to his brother, her swollen 
 eyelids and tear-stained cheeks; and it was, 
 consequently, a relief to be invited from home 
 while Captain Hamlyn was the inmate of Dean 
 Park. 
 
 For Lady Vernon was premature in her sup- 
 
 position that Walter and his friend would be 
 asked to meet the Hamiltons at Ormeau, No 
 such project had been a moment entertained. 
 The Elvastons were plaindealing and some- 
 what oldfashioned people, \T^ho, never having 
 been on terms of intimacy with either Richard 
 Hamlyn or his father, would have conceived it 
 impossible suddenly to establish a familiarity 
 with Walter, merely because he happened to 
 have their young friend. Lord Hartford, as his 
 guest. 
 
 That the old gentleman for whom his grace’s 
 friend, Mr. Gratwycke of Gratwycke, had in- 
 spired him with such sincere respect, should 
 produce such additional recommendations as a 
 country neighbour as having for his inmate the 
 beautiful Mrs. Hamilton, warmly commended 
 to the Marchioness of Cossington by hev sister, 
 Lady Devereux, the wife of the English minis- 
 ter at Florence, was an unexpected delight to 
 all parties ; and in welcoming Ellen to Ormeau, 
 the ladies of the family soon made her aware of 
 their opinion that all they had previously heard 
 in her favour fell far short of the impressions 
 created by herself. 
 
 In the large and multifarious party assembled 
 at th^e Duke of Elvaston’s, Colonel Hamilton, 
 meanwhile, found himself far more in his place 
 than in the ultra-fashionable circle of the Hyde. 
 Lord Cossington, the heir-apparent of the fami- 
 ly, was little more than a good-humoured coun- 
 try gentleman, who devoted half the year to his 
 duties as a member of Parliament, and the oth- 
 er half to his pleasures as a sportsman; while 
 the Duke of Elvaston himself was but the best 
 of family-men, lord-lieutenants, and masters of 
 fox-hounds. Moreover, the father of Lady Cos- 
 sington, Sir Robert Maitland, who was fortu- 
 nately staying in the house, was not only an old 
 general of brigade, but had commanded in In- 
 dia, in a country, and among troops, familiarly 
 known to Colonel Hamilton. With such com- 
 anions, he was instantly at his ease, without 
 eing too much at his ease. No boys like Dart- 
 ford to tempt him into buffoonery ; no solemn 
 prigs like Lord Vernon to taunt him into petu- 
 lant reproof! 
 
 There was something in the solid but noble 
 simplicity of the house, that enchanted him. 
 ^Ormeau exhibited neither the imposing histori- 
 cal dignity of the Hyde, nor the modern ele- 
 gance of Dean Park and the manor. It was a 
 vast commodious mansion, built by Inigo Jones, 
 and furnished half a century ago with a degree 
 of taste and richness precluding all interference 
 with its arrangements ; till, at the close of anoth- 
 er half century or so, and another growth and 
 fall of timber, sentenced to be furnished again. 
 There were no nicknacks, no modern pretti- 
 nesses, no fashionable fauteuils at Ormeau. 
 The huge Nankin vases on the pier-tables had 
 probably been bought in CLueen Anne’s time at 
 the New Exchange or India House; the rich 
 Japan screens, at the toy -shop of Mrs. Chenevix. 
 The last portrait of the family collection was 
 the present duke, when a boy, by Hoppner, Not 
 so much as one of the graceful and emasculate 
 pictures of Lawrence to connect the square, 
 roomy simplicity of Ormeau with the flimsy el- 
 egances of the day ! The duchess deposited her 
 crochet- work, every night, in the huge, oldfash- 
 ioned Tonbridge- ware workbox presented to her 
 by the duke, on the birth of one of her children 
 twenty years before; and, by way of writing- 
 desk, a little inlaid ebony letter-case, w^hich she 
 
THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 S2 
 
 had used as a bride, still served her correspond- 
 ence with her grandchildren. 
 
 The same stand-still order of things pervaded 
 all the habits and connexions of the house. The 
 Duke and Duchess of Elvaston stood too sub- 
 stantially in the world to veer about with every 
 wind of doctrine. The people With whom they 
 had associated in their youth were their associ- 
 ates in their age. They used the same trades- 
 people, and entertained the same friends. No 
 running after new systems or patent inventions. 
 Happy, respectable, dignified, they desired no 
 changes save such as were forced upon them by 
 the progressive spirit of the times. 
 
 A totally difierent view of the business of life 
 held good among these people, and among the 
 Vernons. The Elvastons conceived themselves 
 to- live at Ormeau, and looked upon London as 
 a place of pastime ; whereas the family at the 
 Hyde regarded the country as a place reluctantly 
 endured, during the intervals of glorious London. 
 Much of this arose from the circumstance that 
 the Elvastons were not court-haunters; that they 
 had no rank to intrigue for— no daughter to 
 marry. Their chief pleasure in life consisted in 
 that princely hospitality which affects no display, 
 but knows no intermission. Ormeau was liter- 
 ally what is called an “open house.” For 
 months, nay, years together, the family nevp 
 sat down to dinner alone. As to the hounds, in 
 which the duke was supposed to take such in- 
 tense delight, and which had obtained an almost 
 proverbial name in England, they were, in fact, 
 merely an item in the amusements he felt bound 
 to provide for his friends and neighbours. Im- 
 possible for a man to have a more kindly or so- 
 ciable idea of the duties connected with the rank 
 and fortune assigned him by inheritance. 
 
 Nevertheless, the service of plate on his grace’s 
 table was what Lord Vernon would have con- 
 sidered oldfashioned and mean. There was no 
 splendid dessus de tahle, as at the Hyde ; no effi- 
 gies of ancestors on war-horses in gold or gilt 
 plate ; nor any of the little table fopperies dear 
 to the systematic dinner-givers of the day. The 
 sideboard of the very Hamlyns was more showy ; 
 for the phrase “ living in good style” would have 
 passed for a sad vulgarism at Ormeau. 
 
 The colonel was as much delighted as amused 
 to perceive in what a different light men and 
 things were considered by his new friends and by 
 the, flashy Vernons. At Ormeau, the lights and 
 shadows of life were .broader, and motives as 
 clearly laid open as actions. All was fair and 
 aboveboard. No subterraneous story to the ed- 
 ifice— no masked attic ! The sun shone search- 
 ingly into the whole structure. 
 
 Among other peculiarities, he found that 
 Hamlyn never was depreciatingly alluded to, as 
 by the Vernons, as a mere man of business — a 
 city banker. In the eyes of the Duke of Elvaston 
 and his son, he was simply a political influence 
 — the Tory member for Earsthorpe — one of the 
 ayes or noes of their party. Even the Vernons, 
 great as they were in their own conceit and that 
 of the sexton of Braxham Church, represented 
 at Ormeau only the Whig member for an ad- 
 joining county, and the defeated Whig interest 
 for Earsthorpe. 
 
 The colonel had not been many minutes m 
 the house, before he found himself engaged in 
 earnest conversation with Lord Cossington and 
 his father-in-law, concerning the very questions 
 on which he had been able to afford information 
 to Lord Crawley. Aware that the question of 
 
 the Indian war was about to be brought before 
 Parliament, the two painstaking Tory members 
 were eager to make themselves masters of the 
 subject from the fountain head ; little suspecting 
 that the Home Secretary himself had drained it 
 dry, and that any intelligence they might extort 
 from Colonel Hamilton was only robbing their 
 poor friend, Crawley, of hiaparliamentary “ thun- 
 der.” 
 
 A little later, and Colonel Hamilton was star- 
 tled by an inquiry from the duke himself, of 
 whether he intended to get into Parliament. 
 In that house, it was held that a man of fortune 
 had no civil existence, unless he was in the house. 
 The Ormeau interest carried with it six votes. 
 The Ormeau interest constituted a little party ; 
 and it seemed impossible to the marquis and his 
 father that any man could feel engaged in the 
 active business of life, unless connected there- 
 with by that wisp of straw called parliamentary 
 influence. Nevertheless, the duke’s simple ques- 
 tion of “ Have you no thoughts, my dear sir, of 
 getting into the house sounded in the old gen- 
 tleman’s ears much as if his grace had said, 
 “When are you likely to be consecrated Arch- 
 bishop of YorkT’ He excused .himself, there- 
 fore, with a laugh, wondering how the Duke of 
 Elvaston could possibly have formed so exag- 
 gerated a notion of his consequence. 
 
 “ I tried to persuade our friend Mr. Gratwycke 
 to meet you here to-day,” said the duke, glancing^ 
 round a dinner-table of thirty people, and half 
 afraid that the party might contain too many 
 fox-hunters to be altogether agreeable to the In- 
 dian veteran. “ But I fancy he has entirely given 
 up dining out. At least, he would not hear of 
 honouring us at Ormeau.” 
 
 The colonel replied by a few words in confir- 
 mation of the supposition that old Gratwycke 
 had ceased to dine out of his own house; but, 
 while pilzzling himself to, recollect whether it 
 were gout or chronic rheumatism, or simply that 
 worst of distempers old age, by which poor Grat. 
 had been disabled, his attention was arrested by 
 a question addressed by the Marchioness of Cos- 
 sington, bbside whom he was seated, to his 
 daughter-in-law, who sat nearly opposite. 
 
 “My sister Devereux wrote me word, last 
 spring,” said she, “that all Rome was running; 
 ,to Gibson’s aielwr, to see a magnificent bust, for 
 which you had sat to him in the character of 
 Diana, the most beautiful of his works 1 Ma)r 
 I inquire whether you have brought over a cast 
 of it ? My father is one of Gibson’s earliest pa- 
 trons !” 
 
 “Lady Devereux was in some degree mis- 
 taken,” replied Mrs. Hamilton, greatly embar- 
 rassed; but whether at having to give such an. 
 explanation before a large party of strangers, or 
 because conscious of guilt in the Henr)’’ Hamlyn 
 chapter, the colonel could not determine. “ Gib- 
 son had an order for a group of Diana and Oa- 
 listo, from Prince Wirzakin, a Russian noble,, 
 who is doing wonders in Italy as a patron of the 
 arts. It occurred to him that my head might 
 serve as a modej for his principal figure ; and 
 having been a frequent visiter to his atelier with 
 Lady Burlington, I was happy to oblige him.. 
 Such was the origin of the work. I should, 
 scarcely, otherwise, have had the presumption 
 to sit for my bust, in the character of a classical 
 divinity!” added Mrs. Hamilton, with a smile. 
 
 “You have told us the origin of the work,” 
 replied Lady Cossington. “ But you must leave 
 it for me to add that this beautiful head, when. 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 83 
 
 finished, excited raptures among the Italians, 
 and that an enormous price was offered for a 
 copy of the bust by the King of Bavaria for the 
 Glyptotheca.” •' . 
 
 “ All this is fine news to me, my dear ! cried 
 
 home a copy - r 
 
 judge of the arts; but I’m a warm admirer ot 
 the beauties of nature; even where my whole 
 heart is not enlisted in the object, as in the pres- 
 ent instance.” 
 
 “ I knew you possessed a miniature of me, 
 sir, and thought it might appear presumption to 
 return to England laden with such a very cum- 
 brous trophy !” replied Ellen. And she forth- 
 with entered into conversation with her neigh- 
 bour Lord Edward Sutton, a younger son of the 
 duke, and travelled man, touching the state of 
 sculpture in Europe, and the high rank main- 
 tained by English artists among their Continent- 
 al brethren. When next the colonel was able to 
 catch a few words of their conversation, she was 
 describing, in language that did justice to the 
 subject, the exquisite statue just completed by 
 Geefs, for the tomb of Malibran at Lacken, 
 which she had visited in her recent transit 
 through Brussels. The unequalled beauty of 
 the spirit of Harmony ascending to its native 
 skies, adorned with all the ethereal grace of that 
 triumphant chef-d'oeuvre, was aptly described, 
 
 “ I had not before conceived it possible,” said 
 Mrs, Hamilton, ‘'to impart to such. a substance 
 as marble the action of soaring. One knows not 
 which most to admire in this beautiful work, 
 the ecstatic and rapturous expression of the coun- 
 tenance, or the buoyancy of the attitude.” 
 
 The colonel was disappointed. \ There was no 
 bringing her back from this to a graduate of 
 Cambridge, or a set of rooms in Trin. Coll. ! 
 
 ‘ In the evening, there was music ; music which, 
 to the Italianized ears of Mrs. Hamilton, sound- 
 ed strangely enough. The Duke of Elvaston 
 and his son were directors of the Ancient Con- 
 cert and patrons of the Catch Club ; and Han- 
 del, Pupcell, Locke, Scarlatti, Bach, still found 
 favour in their ears. The most modern music 
 tolerated at Ormeau was the graceful shallow- 
 ness of Mozart, the quips and quirks of Arne, or 
 the tender monotony of Cimarosa. 
 
 With Lady Cossington’s admirable perform- 
 ance of one or two of Handel’s songs Ellen 
 was unfeignedly delighted ; but when the w^orthy 
 duke, his sons, and two or three habitual stagers 
 at Ormeau, betook themselves to violins and vi- 
 oloncellos, and murdered a very learned sym- 
 phony of Salomon’s, she recurred to her Neapol- 
 
 ilan evenings of Donizetti, Bellini, and Merca 
 dante with a sigh that borrowed, perhaps, some 
 sadness from the personal reminiscences with 
 which it was connected. 
 
 Still, the evening was a very pleasant one. 
 There was a whist-table in an adjoining draw- 
 ing-room, so as to form no obstacle to the noise 
 of the amateurs, or the conversation of the anti- 
 melodists ; among whom was the good colonel, 
 who had actually beguiled Sir Robert Maitland 
 from his favourite Purcell, to talk over Cabool 
 and Dost Mohammed. The two veterans had 
 established themselves in two oldfashioned chairs 
 (which had probably been privy to arguments 
 touching the War of the Succession, and the 
 manoeuvres of Dettingen), to fight over the re 
 cent Indian campaign; and having this time 
 found a Ixiend to sympathize in his indignation 
 
 against the policy of the Earl of Clansawney, 
 the colonel could do no less than reward his new 
 ally by bestowing the most patient attention on 
 an account now given by Sir Robert of a system 
 he was pursuing to reclaim a vast tract ot land 
 on his estates in the Hebrides, chiefly with a 
 view of bestowing employment upon and pre- 
 venting the emigration of his Highland tenhnts. 
 
 “ I flatter myself we have done wonders !” said 
 the old soldier; “ and for these two winters past, 
 
 I have had the comfort of knowing that sixty or 
 eighty families had warm beds to lie on, and 
 plenty of good food in their stomachs, who, be- 
 fore, had barely rags to cover them or victuals 
 to eat ! One sleeps the sounder, my dear Colo- 
 nel Hamilton, for such a consciousness. How- 
 ever, my agent warns me that I must not go far- 
 ther than I can feel my way back again. I hdve 
 had four girls to portion off; and py younger 
 sons have a right to all my hoardings. I am 
 forced, therefore, to crawl, when 1 would much 
 rather walk. However, I have just received the 
 welcome news of some Bhurtpore prize-money, 
 to be paid off; so there will be joy in Glen Coil, 
 and among the poor fellows at Usk. My daugh- 
 ter Cossington is very angry with me because I 
 talk of going up to town to-morrow to look after 
 it. But as I don’t visit London ^bove once in 
 five years, I have no banker there, and only iny 
 Edinburgh factors to manage my business for 
 me, who scarcely understand that sort of thing. 
 We are told that the way to have our boots shine 
 is to be our own shoeblacks ; so I must even vex 
 poor Flora, and rail it to town.” 
 
 “ I wdsh to Heaven I’d known it t’other day, 
 when I was in Lon’on!” cried the colonel. 
 
 “ ’Twould have been a pleasure for me to look 
 in at the Indy House, or War Office, or wherev- 
 er you’ve been referred to. ’Tis a thousand pit- 
 ies to leave this pleasant house and party to do 
 what any honest man might do for you I” 
 
 “ Why, I should not be sorry to spare myself 
 the journey,” replied the veteran. “I have an 
 old wound that is too apt to trouble me if I be- 
 stir myself too much in cold weather, which is 
 the reason I’m so seldom able to come south’ard, 
 and visit the girls. However, business must be 
 done.” 
 
 “ By George ! I think I could manage it tor 
 ye 1” cried the colonel, elated by the idea. “ I’ve 
 a right-hand man o’ my own, not to say a bosom 
 friend as well as one of the warmest men in the 
 city, who has managed, such matters for me half 
 - hundred times before.” 
 
 “ Indeed'!” cried Sir Robert Maitland, already 
 expanding into the kindest congenialit)^with his 
 grayheaded brother soldier. 
 
 “ ’Tis one o’ the partners in Hamlyn’s house ; 
 a fellow with a head long enough for a chancel- 
 lor of the exchequer. At least I ought to say as 
 much to a man who secures me five and a half 
 per cent, for my money in times like these.” _ 
 
 “ Faith ! this is indeed a man worth inquiring 
 after,” cried Sir Robert. “ I have long been in 
 want of some practical man, in London, who 
 could give me a notion, at a pinch, of the state 
 of the money-market. I’m guardian to two dear 
 girls, the orphans of an old Highland neighbour 
 of mine, whose small portions are none the worse 
 for having abided in my hands. But, as they 
 are advancing into womanhood, I sometimes re- 
 proach myself for not having done better for 
 them ; and by a little management, and a friend 
 at court I have no doubt I might still make their 
 little sum rounder, before they are marriageable. 
 
84 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 This would be a great satisfaction. Suppose, 
 colonel, you give me a line to your wonder- 
 working banker.” 
 
 “ ril do better than that, if you’ll allow me,” 
 said Colonel Hamilton. “ If you will make my 
 excuses acceptable to the duke. I’ll run up to 
 town with you to-morrow (I’ve taken up the 
 trick o’ gadding lately, 1 think); and we’ll go 
 and say our say to Hamlyn, dine at the United 
 Service, look in, if you like, at the pantomime, 
 and be back again to dinner here the following 
 day.” 
 
 “ You take away my breath, my dear sir !” re- 
 plied Sir Robert, not a little amused at his im- 
 petuosity. “Though some years your junior. 
 I’m not quite up to such electric movements! 
 However, throw me in another four-and-twenty 
 hours into the errand, and I’m your man, and 
 most gratefully. You are here, I know, till Mon- 
 day. Leave your charming daughter-in-law, 
 without fear or anxiety, to the care of Flora. I 
 will go and talk it over with Lady Cossington 
 and the duchess.” 
 
 Colonel Hamilton was, in fact, far from re- 
 gretting an excuse for a second journey to town, 
 without having to leave Ellen alone at the Man- 
 or. Highly as he prized her society, it did not 
 altogether console him for the loss of Mrs. Ham- 
 lyn’s severe and subdued companionship. The 
 loftiness of character revealed in the thoughtful 
 brow of his daughter-in-law often repressed upon 
 his lips those familiar pleasantries which were 
 sure to find an echo in Lydia’s girlish laugh, or 
 meet with smiling indulgence from her mother. 
 He wanted to see them both again. He wanted 
 to congratulate Mrs. Hamlyn on the submission 
 of her son Henry, and ascertain whether the 
 young Cantab had been more frank with her in 
 his avowal of acquaintance with Ellen than El- 
 len to himself of her intimacy with him. 
 
 Between a fribndly visit to Cavendish Square, 
 and a business visit to Lombard-street, his little 
 excursion to the metropolis was likely to be ex- 
 clusively devoted to the Hamlyns. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 “ Such meu are dangerous.” 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Richard Hamlyn was, as it has been already 
 asserted, as absolute in his firm as Richard Cceur 
 de Lion at the head of his army. His nominal 
 partner had not crossed the threshold of the 
 counting-house for years ; and over his subordi- 
 nates, the active partner exercised ail the influ- 
 ence arising from a character of the highest in- 
 tegrity, and eminent ability as a man of busi- 
 ness. For the probity of the counter is distin- 
 guishing as the honour of knightly spurs ; and 
 the pen of Hamlyn the banker was glorious as 
 the lance of Bayard. 
 
 Whenever a hitch occurred in the progress of 
 business, the clerk in perplexity had only to ask 
 five minutes’ conversation with the head of the 
 house, and all was unravelled, the funds in de- 
 mand were forthcoming, and the question in sus- 
 pense decided. 
 
 Few bankers’ clerks have leisure to inquire 
 more curiously into the private affairs of their 
 principals than regards the due payment of their 
 salaries and the replenishment of the till. All 
 that the establishment in Lombard-street knew 
 or cared to know about those of the Hamlyns, 
 was, that they were very opulent people, whose 
 
 wealth, aided by the strong and speculative mind 
 of Richard, was always on the increase ; and the 
 quill-drivers were accordingly happy, overbear- 
 ing, and self-sufficient, as it becomes the clerk- 
 hood of a thriving house to he. 
 
 Still, there was one among them, Spilsby (the 
 baldheaded clerk, to whom the “ widder o’ John 
 Darley, o’ Lemon-Tree Yard,” had been turned 
 over by his master), who had a somewhat 
 shrewder eye and more calculating mind than 
 the rest. To him there were peculiarities in Mr. 
 Hamlyn’s mode of keeping the accounts. There 
 were evidences of mistrust in his mode of re- 
 ceiving the dividends and disposing of the se- 
 curities of the house, unsatisfactory to one who 
 conceived that nearly twenty years of diligent 
 service ought to have placed him nearer on a 
 level with the head or heart of his employer. 
 
 His suspicions on these points once awaken- 
 ed, he had no hesitation in profiting by the fa- 
 cilities afforded by his situation to pursue a va- 
 riety of trifling investigations to which he had 
 never hitherto given a moment’s attention ; or, 
 rather, to which, had he been on more confiden- 
 tial terms with his master, he would not have 
 permitted himself to direct his notice more than, 
 comported with his duly to the firm. But, on 
 the very first occasion of his placing his finger 
 on one of the suspected spots, Mr. Hamlyn had 
 taken him up so haughtily, and imposed upon 
 him so vexatious and difficult an account to 
 wind up, in order to direct his attention else- 
 where, that Spilsby, instead of being grieved that 
 the firm should have occasion to condescend to 
 artifices, and zealous to assist their temporizing, 
 was resolved to wait with patience, but pursue 
 with perseverance, the substantiation of his sus- 
 picions. 
 
 But the mistrust of Richard Hamlyn was now 
 also awakened. He had not the slightest doubt 
 the head-clerk was more than half aware that 
 all was not well with the concern ; and his agony 
 of anxiety to discover to what extent Spilsby 
 was enlightened, was torture indeed ! Every 
 day, as he passed through the banking-house, 
 his first glance was directed towards the 'bald- 
 headed clerk. Every evening, when they left 
 off business, his first care, when the keys were 
 delivered to him, was to examine the eyes of 
 Spilsby, to discover whether anything had trans- 
 pired — whether a triumphant expression gleam- 
 ed under his overhanging brows — or whether 
 despondency depressed the corners of his mouth. 
 A domestic traitor, such as this, was a million 
 of times more to be dreaded than the Italian gos- 
 sipings of Ellen Hamilton and Sir Roger Bur- 
 lington’s widow. 
 
 As is usual in such cases, the object of ap- 
 prehension soon became aware of his power. 
 Though unable to penetrate to the root of the 
 matter, or surmise the exact source of the ir- , 
 regularities wffiich placed his employer in fear 
 of investigation, Spilsby saw that he had, at any 
 moment, the means of discomposing the self- 
 possession of Mr. Hamlyn, by a certain dry 
 sneer, accompanying h^ manifesto of the pros- 
 
 erous state of their aJwts. He had only to fix 
 
 is eye searchingly and insolently on his master, 
 when announcing a large deposite, to render 
 Richard Hamlyn’s countenance infirm, and his 
 answers incoherent. 
 
 All this was anguish to the banker. His pride 
 in Lombard-street autocracy was altogether de- 
 stroyed. He could not stir, speak, write, move, 
 
 1 but he fancied himself under the surveillance of 
 
85 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 Spilsby. During the private conversations held 
 in his back-room, he always pictured to himself 
 the ear of the baldheaded clerk affixed to the 
 keyhole ; and when alone with him, sometimes 
 felt inspired with a gladiator-like desire to spring 
 upon him and crush out of the offender’s breast 
 the extent of his knowledge and detections. He 
 lost his cool shrewdness and common powers 
 of calculation whenever Spilsby was present. 
 With the eye of the baldheaded clerk fixed upon 
 him, Hamlyn was no longer able to combine 
 the mysteries of Austrian Scrip and London 
 Omnium. Othello’s occupation was gone ! 
 
 Meanwhile, every step of self-possession ceded 
 by the banker was a step of advance to Spilsby. 
 The life of the clerk became one of prying and 
 groping, surmise and scrutiny. At one moment 
 he fancied he had discovered an immense defi- 
 ciency in the Exchequer securities of the firm. 
 But the trap had been laid for him by Hamlyn, 
 in order to determine whether he were or were 
 not engaged in investigating the private affairs 
 of his employers; and no sooner had he hinted, 
 with due deprecation, his fears that Mr. Hamlyn 
 had been made the victim of some knavery, than 
 the banker quietly produced the missing securi- 
 ties, and knew as well how to interpret the crest- 
 • fallen surprise of Spilsby as he had before inter- 
 preted his ill-disguised and contemptuous ex- 
 ultation. 
 
 From that moment the baldheaded clerk be- 
 came stern in his purpose of detection. He saw 
 that his suspicions had been understood and 
 frustrated by the superior cunning of his em- 
 ployer; and from his knowledge of the deter- 
 mined character of Hamlyn, was satisfied that 
 he would spare no pains to destroy the man 
 who had dared uplift the veil concealing his gan- 
 grened member. It had, in short, become a 
 strife for life or death of character between the 
 two. Though retaining towards each other the 
 external courtesies becoming their mutual posi- 
 tion, the looks of each spoke daggers. They 
 often conversed together smilingly of the weath- 
 er, when each was thoroughly aware that the 
 other would willingly denounce him to the 
 world— the law— the jail— the hangman ! 
 
 Such was the intimate position of the man 
 who was entertaining ambassadors and home 
 secretaries at his table, and commanding the 
 cheers of the House of Commons ! 
 
 It was after enduring, as he would have borne 
 the fangs of a rattlesnake, the furtive glances of 
 Spilsby, while passing through the counting- 
 house to his private room, at his usual early 
 hour, one toe morning in February, that Rich- 
 ard Hamlyn, on seating himself before his desk 
 to examine a file of letters marked private, and 
 a series of slips sent in for inspection for the 
 cashier, sank back in his chair, incapable of 
 giving his attention to the smallest of these doc- 
 uments ; so deeply was he moved by the poison- 
 ous smile which had traversed the face of Spils- 
 by, on perceiving his entrance. Like Haman, 
 he would willingly have issued orders at that 
 moment for the construction of a gibbet fifty cu- 
 bits high, to exterminate the Mordecai of his 
 abhorrence. 
 
 At that moment a card was sent in to him re- 
 quiring attention. Miss Cresswell, for the last 
 ten years the governess of his daughters, and for 
 the last six months absent, on leave, with her 
 family in Ireland (at the express entreaty of 
 Colonel Hamilton), having just arrived in town 
 by the mail, had thought proper to wait upon 
 
 her patron in the city, believing the family to be 
 still at Dean Park, for instructions and greeting 
 on her road ; that is, for rudiments of instruction 
 in the financial line, in return for all the geog- 
 raphy and use of the globes she had lavished 
 on Lydia and Harriet. To accord the interview 
 requested, was no gratuitous sacrifice on the part 
 of the banker; for poor Miss Cresswell had 
 been one of the most passive instruments in his 
 hands, regarding him, in the awestruck venera- 
 tion of her heart, as a politician little inferior to 
 Metternich, and a financier superior to all me 
 Rothschilds of all the capitals in Europe. By 
 long experience, therefore, Mr. Hamlyn was 
 aware that he could silence her by a word, and 
 dismiss her by a nod. " 
 
 But he was not prepared for the changes et- 
 fected in an Irish nature by a renewal of the cor- 
 dialities of an Irish home ! The poor little de- 
 pendant, so long refrigerated by the proprieties 
 of Cavendish Square, was now thawed into a 
 human being. For six whole months the hum- 
 ble governess had been thinking and feeling for 
 herself, till, at the last, “she spoke with her 
 tongue.” Hamlyn would very much rather she 
 would have held it; for he was ill prepared, just 
 then, to bear with idle talking. He was in no 
 humour for her rhapsodies, scarcely even in a 
 humour for her gratitude. The arrival, at that 
 moment, of the fussy little woman, excited by 
 the prospect of rejoining her beloved pupils, was 
 like the importunate buzzing of a gnat round the 
 head of a traveller who is lying on his guard in 
 ambush against the attack of a lion. 
 
 “ The kindness you have always shown me, 
 sir,” said she, after a long preamble about hoping 
 to have merited his esteem and good opinion by 
 her conscientious devotion to the care of the 
 minds, morals, manners (geography and the use 
 of the globes included), of his daughters, “ im- 
 boldens me to intrude upon your valuable time, 
 with a few questions relating to interests exclu- 
 sively my own. Mr. Joseph Cresswell, my un- 
 cle, sir (I fancy I have before apprized you that 
 I have an uncle an eminent legal practitioner, 
 that is, a thriving attorney in Limerick), has 
 always been in the habii' of receiving and in- 
 vesting the amount of my stipend, transmitted 
 through your hands, sir, to his credit in La- 
 touche’s bank. These little savings, sir, thariks 
 to your generosity and the indulgence with which 
 Mrs. Hamlyn favours my prudent parsimony by 
 her disregard to — ” 
 
 Hamlyn groaned in spirit at the prolixity of 
 the professional phrase-maker. 
 
 “ In short, sir,” resumed Miss Cresswell, per- 
 ceiving his impatience, “ I am now mistress of 
 a sum little short of one thousand pounds— a 
 considerable one, indeed, when it is considered 
 that 1 came into your house a penniless young 
 woman, with nothing to depend upon but my 
 own industry and abilities for my future support 
 in life. I ask your pardon for detaining you, sir, 
 but I am coming to the point. My uncle is ad- 
 vancing in years, and being about to dispose of 
 his business, has suggested it to me that (the 
 various members of my family being far better 
 off than myself) I should sink the little capital 
 in question in a life annuity.” 
 
 ' “A very prudent suggestion ! ^ observed the 
 banker, still seeing before him, interposed be- 
 tween his eyes and the little prim, skinny face of 
 Miss Cresswell, the significant smile and pene- 
 trating eyes of the clerk, so that the phantom ai- 
 1 most deprived him of his reasoning powers. 
 
86 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 “ My uncle Joseph assures me, sir, that this 
 sort of business is more practicable, that is, more 
 securely practicable in London ; that a word from 
 you to your man of business would procure me 
 some favourable occasion for a safe investment ; 
 and, as a preparatory step to the proposition, he 
 is desirous of remitting to you, for my benefit, 
 the whole amount of the small sum in question. 
 If, therefore, I am not taking too great a lib- 
 erty — ” 
 
 “ My dear madam, there is no service in my 
 power to render you which you have not the 
 fullest right to claim at my hands,” said Ham- 
 lyn, much relieved, and in his blandest accents. 
 “Your inestimable services to my daughters, 
 your judicious watchfulness over their educa- 
 tion, entitles you to my utmost gratitude and re- 
 spect.” Then, as if satisfied that he had repaid 
 her, sentence for sentence, fudge by fudge, he 
 drew forth from the blotting-book a quire of ofli- 
 cial-looking note-paper, and indited to his so- 
 licitor, Mr. Crossman, of the firm of Crossman 
 and Slack, of New Norfolk-street, a recom- 
 mendation of the bearer to his utmost consid- 
 eration, and .begging that the professional ser- 
 vices rendered her might be placed to his own 
 account. 
 
 This act of munifiicence, if probably intended 
 as a bouquet d'adieu to curtail the somewhat 
 lengthy negotiations of the prolix wholesale 
 dealer in Lindley Murray’s Entire, failed of ef- 
 fect. Under the influence of relief from the op- 
 pression of six-and-eightpences to an amount 
 untold, poor Miss Cresswell burst forth into ben- 
 edictions and rejoicings still more diflfuse. 
 
 “ This generosity is no ipore than I might have 
 expected, sir,” said she, “ from your father’s son. 
 My uncle Joseph was saying to me the other 
 day (when congratulating me on my good for- 
 tune in maintaining for so many years my place 
 in your establishment and good opinion), that, 
 when he had occasion to visit the English me- 
 tropolis, on business, thirty years ago, the name 
 of Walter Hamlyn was a by- word for all that 
 was distinguished in worth, probity, and intelli- 
 gence. My poor uncle, sir, had once a money 
 transaction with the late Mr. Hamlyn, which 
 left an ineflaceable impression on his mind. 
 Nearly about the same time he had an audience 
 of the late Mr. Pitt, and declares that, of the 
 two, Mr. Hamlyn, of Lombard-street, struck 
 him as by far the most competent man of the 
 two.” 
 
 Longer the governess would have spoken, and 
 far longer would Hamlyn have listened; for 
 praise bestowed upon the name and memory of 
 his father was, in his ears, as the charming of 
 the charmer. Filial reverence constituted the 
 sole redeeming virtue of his life; and no sooner 
 did Miss Cresswell treat of the late banker as 
 superior to Mr. Pitt, than he began to regard her 
 as superior to Miss Edgeworth. But at that mo- 
 ment, the face of Spilsby, the real, substantial 
 Spilsby, peered into the room, requesting to 
 speak with Mr. Hamlyn. 
 
 There was nothing unusual in his voice or 
 aspect ; yet such was the nervous trepidation of 
 Hamlyn under existing influences, that he seem- 
 ed to hear in those simple words a mysterious 
 denunciation. 
 
 “ Mrs. Hamlyn is expecting you every mo- 
 ment in Cavendish Square, w’here I shall have 
 the pleasure of seeing you this evening,” said he, 
 by way of dismissal to the governess, who in- 
 stantly gathered up her gloves, velvet bag, and 
 
 umbrella, for a hasty exit; on which Spilsby no 
 longer hesitated to acquaint the agitated banker 
 that “ Colonel Hamilton and a gentleman were 
 waiting for him without.” 
 
 Inexpressibly relieved, Hamlyn desired they 
 inight be instantly shown in ; then, ere there was 
 time for the execution of his order, hurried into 
 the counting-house, with outspread hands, to 
 welcome the most highly valued of his friends, 
 and receive an introduction to Sir Robert Mait- 
 land. Another moment and all three were seat- 
 ed in the banker’s room ; where Colonel Hamil- 
 ton, with his usual aptitude for rushing in rue^ 
 dim res, was already in the midst of his Ormeau 
 chapter of politics and fiuiance. 
 
 “ If you’ve heard lately from Watty, you didn’t 
 expect to see me here to-day, I calculate, my 
 dear Hamlyn T cried he. You scarcely fan- 
 cied me likely to leave my quarters in a land 
 overflowing with milk and honey, to run up 
 care-crazing to Lon’on, to break my head against 
 your strong boxes! But I’ve brought you a 
 friend, that is, a good customer, which is the 
 best kind o’ Iriend — who wants you to put him 
 in the way you put all the rest of us, of finding 
 five-and-twenty shillings in a guinea.” 
 
 Richard Hamlyn, at present ignorant with 
 whom he had to deal in the stranger, and scarce-» 
 ly hoping that Providence would supply him 
 with a second open-handed old soldier knowing 
 no more of business than a cartouch-box, felt 
 rather nervous at the effect these preposterous 
 announcements might have on his new client j 
 and, accordingly, began inquiring after the health 
 of Mrs. Robert Hamilton, with a view of elicit- 
 ing general particulars' respecting his visiter. 
 
 The attempt prospered. While the stranger 
 assisted Colonel Hamilton in replying to the 
 banker, by allusions to the care of his daughter, 
 Lady Cossington, under which Mrs. Hamilton 
 was residing at Ormeau Castle, Hamlyn was 
 enchanted to find that he had to deal with Sir 
 Robert Maitland. 
 
 Few things would have gratified him more 
 than the notice of the Duke and Duchess of El- 
 vaston, as a set-off to the insolence of the Hyde. 
 Under the fosterage of Ormeau, he might still 
 look down upon Barlow of Alderham, defy 
 Gratwycke of Gratwycke, and stand his ground 
 against the united squirearchy of the county. 
 Nothing, in short, more desirable to him than 
 the acquaintance of the stranger, by obliging 
 whom it was possible to secure the gratitude of 
 Lady Cossington, and the future favour of the 
 Elvastons. 
 
 By the time Sir Robert had half explained 
 his views, Hamlyn was taking down notes of 
 his Bhurtpoor claims, suggesting a certificate, 
 by affidavit, of his life, a power of attorney en- 
 titling Hamlyn and Co. to receive, and under- 
 taking to manage the whole business for him at 
 the several periods at which the prize-money 
 was to be made payable to the claimants. 
 
 The money-interests of Sir Robert’s wards 
 were considered with equal alacrity ; the ques- 
 tion of the reclaimed lands with deferenti^ in- 
 terest. , 
 
 “I perfectly remember the bill for the sea- 
 enclosures of Glen Coil being brought before the 
 House,” said Mr. Hamlyn. “ I was even on 
 the Committee for the Improvement and Benefit 
 of the Western Islands, in which the ameliora- 
 tion of the Maitland estates was brought under 
 the notice of Parliament. Your factor, a Mr. 
 M‘Causley, a very superior man, was examin- 
 
87 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 cd; and infinite credit did he do both to himself 
 
 and his employer.” , . , ^ . . 
 
 “ God bless my soul ! to think of your having 
 been present at poor M'Causley’s examination, 
 of which I have since heard no end !” exclaim- 
 ed Sir Robert. “ A most curious coincidence, 
 my dear Colonel Hamilton ! How little I ima- 
 gined that your friend, Mr. Hamlyn, had ever 
 heard mention of my poor fellows at Glen Coil! 
 "Well, to be sure, the ramifications of business, 
 in this commercial country, are a most astound- 
 ing thing!” . 
 
 “ I remember deeply regretting at the time, 
 my dear sir,” resumed the banker, with increas- 
 ed and increasing suavity, “ that I had not the 
 honour of your acquaintance, or that of some 
 member of your family, in order to suggest to 
 you the feasibility and great advantage to all 
 parties of establishing at Usk a company not 
 only for the burning of kelp, but for the manu- 
 facture of iodine, on the Konigsburg system— a 
 mineral the value and importance of which is 
 becoming daily more appreciated in Great Brit- 
 ain and the British colonies.” 
 
 The two old soldiers were becoming every 
 moment more impressed by the legislative per- 
 spicacity of the banker ; who now proceeded to 
 examine and cross-examine Sir Robert Mait- 
 land touching the nature and capabilities of his 
 Highland property; till the veteran began al- 
 most to fancy that the nest-egg he had been keep- 
 ing so snug for the benefit of the more impover- 
 ished portion of his clan, was a golden egg at 
 the least ; and that he should be a goose unless 
 he brooded it with the steadiest incubation. 
 
 Suddenly interrupting himself, as if recalling 
 to mind, on mention of Bhurtpoor, the interest 
 experienced by the two soldiers in the alFairs 
 of India, he asked leave to examine one of the 
 letters marked private and confidential, which 
 was lying on his table when he arrived ; the 
 handwriting of which apprized him that it pro- 
 ceeded from an individual occupying a place of 
 trust in the India House, to whom he paid large 
 doucewrs for priority of information on the ar- 
 rival of the mails ; and, lo ! as he had ardently 
 hoped might prove the case, the letter in his 
 hand announced most important intelligence 
 only to be made public in the evening papers, 
 Both Colonel Hamilton and Sir Robert were en- 
 raptured. They were of an age when public 
 news acquires threefold importance. Old men, 
 in proportion as their participation in wordly 
 pleasures slackens, seem to take double delight 
 in tidings of sieges, insurrections, earthquakes, 
 treaties, or declarations of war, as if conscious 
 that the night is approaching when no man shall 
 work; that a time is at hand when even the 
 “‘Times” newspaper shall manoeuvre its col- 
 umns for them in vain. 
 
 Ere their glee had abated at hearing of a petty 
 victory on the borders of Tatary, important only 
 as likely to raise the price of consols from 74| 
 to 74|, Hamlyn expressed his earnest desire that, 
 instead of returning into the country by the four 
 o’clock train as they threatened, now that their 
 business was accomplished, they would do him 
 the honour of dining with him in Cavendish 
 Square. He expected a few friends, he said- 
 one or two remarkably pleasant men. It would 
 afford him sincere pleasure to enable these gen 
 tlemen to make an acquaintance so interesting 
 lo all the friends of humanity, as that of Sir Ro- 
 bert Maitland, of Glen Coil. 
 
 The old general was almost bewitched by 
 
 such flattering unction of adulation ; and the 
 
 colonel desired no better. For they had arrived 
 late the preceding evening, and as yet accom- 
 plished none of their projects in London, except 
 dining at the club, and looking in at the panto- 
 mime ; and Colonel Hamilton was really anxi- 
 ous for a little private conversation with his 
 friend, the banker’s wife, ere he returned to the 
 country. 
 
 The consent of both, therefore, was readilj^ 
 obtained. 
 
 “ Upon my life, I never met with a pleasanter 
 or more sensible man !” exclaimed Sir Robert, 
 as they drove back to the West End. 
 
 “ A very remarkable man, sir— a man of such 
 general information! A son in the Blues, I 
 think you sayl Glad to hear it! One of the 
 finest regiments in the service ! I like to see a 
 man who has been grinding down his own life 
 and spirits at the desk, have the pluck to put his 
 boy into a crack regiment, to wear triumphant- 
 ly in the world the trophies of his father’s hum- 
 bler labours. I’m pleased at the thoughts of our 
 dinner, my dear colonel. It has not often fallen 
 in my way to be behind the scenes of Mr. Ham- 
 lyn’s order of society. I shall be really glad to 
 witness the domestic life of so important a body 
 as the mercantile aristocracy of this commer- 
 cial metropolis.” 
 
 Had Lord Hartford been present, he would 
 certainly have rewarded with a “hear, hear, 
 hear !” the pompous manifesto of the worthy old 
 general, who had scarcely an idea beyond the 
 horizon of the Highlands. But even the mar- 
 quis would have admitted it to be singular 
 enough, that at half-past seven that day, Lieu- 
 tenant-general Sir Robert Maitland, K.C.B., 
 should be accompanying to dinner to a house 
 he had never entered before, a friend of whose 
 existence he had been ignorant three days pre- 
 ceding. Such, however, was the familiarizing 
 charm attached to the honhommie of Colonel 
 Hamilton, that nothing seemed strange in the 
 arrangements to any of the parties concerned. 
 
 They were the first to arrive, for the colonel 
 was eager to shake hands with Mrs. Hamlyn 
 and her daughter ; and while he entered eagerly 
 into conversation in a low voice with the former, 
 touching the news she was receiving from Cam- 
 bridge, Sir Robert good-naturedly replied to 
 Lydia’s inquiries concerning the recent news of 
 the Ormeau hounds, and the sport enjoyed by 
 her brother. She said nothing, of course, of that 
 enjoyed by the Marquis of Hartford ; but as the 
 two young men were now seldom a hundred 
 yards asunder, it was probable that all that was 
 good for Peter, in her solicitudes, was also good 
 for Paul. 
 
 The banker, unprepared for the premature 
 visit of his new acquaintance, and having ar- 
 rived late from the House of Commons, to 
 which he had made a hurried visit in the inte- 
 rim, appeared in the drawing-room just as the 
 carriage of the succeeding comer drove up to 
 the door ; and Sir Robert, while shaking hands 
 with his agreeable host, now transformed froin 
 the seedy city drudge into the well-dressed, smi- 
 ling, assiduous man of the world, fully antici- 
 pated from the bustle the announcement of some 
 brother-merchant — some Baring, Robarts, Smith, 
 Drummond, or Hoare. But, to his great sur- 
 prise, the guest announced was one of the lead- 
 ing members of the Tory cabinet! Lord Craw- 
 ley shortly followed. Then came Flimflam, the 
 reviewer, by way of sippet to the ragout ; then, 
 
88 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 the Earl of Harringford, a nobleman who might 
 have worn a professor’s gown had he not been 
 born to a peer’s robes ; then, the Earl and Count- 
 ess of Rotherwood ; and, lastly, two men rarely 
 seen out of the House of Commons — one of 
 them a learned lawyer, whom Flimflam accu- 
 sed of living within the rules of the Temple, and 
 only being suiFered to go out by a day-rule. 
 
 The K.C.B, was a little surprised. He could 
 almost have fancied himself in the lordly circle 
 of Ormeau, except that he soon heard the arts 
 and sciences, and politics, which, though neither 
 an art nor science, possess the power of crush- 
 ing and extinguishing them all, discussed under 
 the banker’s roof with fifty times the connaissance 
 de cause that ever enlightened such arguments at 
 the table of his grace the father-in-law of his 
 daughter. Sir Robert Maitland began to dis- 
 cover that bankers of London were a race as 
 distinct from the bankers of the “ gude town” as 
 Highlanders from Lowlanders ; or that they had 
 altered strangely during his absence from Eng- 
 land, fighting her battles in the peninsulas of 
 India and Spain. 
 
 Still less could he have imagined himself at 
 the table of the Duke of Elvaston, when they ar- 
 rived in the dining-room. Hamlyn, like all who 
 have their way to make in society, was a pro- 
 fessed dinner-giver, and studied the vocation as 
 a science. 
 
 On his refined board, the lordly sirloin, so dear 
 to the Duke of Elvaston and Sir Roger de Cov- 
 erley, would have been out of place. But his 
 fish course had been pronounced by the greatest 
 epicure extant to be the most perfect in London ; 
 and the finest of the many fine gentlemen who 
 honoured Walter Hamlyn with their company 
 had been heard to say, that, though there might 
 
 be finer plate and a vaster locale at D House, 
 
 S House, or B House, nothing could 
 
 exceed the elegant savoir vivre of Cavendish 
 Square. It was the very boudoir of the temple 
 of gastronomy. 
 
 Sir Robert, as became his age and calling, was 
 fond of a good glass of wine, and fancied that 
 the cellars at Ormeau afforded him glorious oc- 
 casion for the indulgence of such a taste. But 
 .he now found himself nonplussed. Claret was 
 no longer Claret, nor Burgundy Burgundy ; so 
 various was the nomenclature, and so numerous 
 the flavours under which each of his favourite 
 wines pretended to recommend itself to his no- 
 tice ! He found that even Moselle was a house 
 divided against itself; and that Champagne, like 
 man, in its time played many parts — 
 
 Wearing strange shapes, and bearing many names. 
 
 But the old rhan was not partial to innova- 
 tions ; and the iced pineapple water, handed 
 round between the courses, was, in his opinion, 
 a wretched substitute for the lime-punch of his 
 own Glasgow ; and w^hen the dessert came on 
 table, the difficulty of deciding between the re- 
 ality of the iced-cream fruits lying cold and de- 
 ceptions on their napkins, and the splendid 
 prize-fruit, fresh from the forcing houses of Dean 
 Park, put him out of conceit even with the gi- 
 gantic strawberries and cherries before him. 
 
 Meanwhile, pleasant greetings had taken place 
 between Lord Crawley and the old worthy of 
 Burlington Manor, who was not slow to claim 
 the congratulations of the Home Secretary on 
 the early verification of his predictions respect- 
 ing the Indian war. 
 
 “ I own I agreed with you in believing that 
 
 the thing was nearly over,” replied his lordship, , 
 gayly, “ seeing that the newspaper-press had ta- 
 ken to designating it as ‘interminable.’ Ever 
 while you live, mistrust the cut-and-dry phrases 
 of leading articles, which are mere tubs for the 
 whale. The ‘ designs of Russia,’ for instance I 
 For the last thirty years have these phrase- 
 merchants been accusing Russia of ‘ designs !* 
 Russia, whose policy is the coarsest, most per- 
 emptory, and most insolently straightforward in 
 the world ! As if' were Russia cunning enough, 
 to have designs, she would not be shrewd enough 
 to prevent their becoming the fable of Europe !” 
 
 “ Perhaps,” interposed Flimflam, “ she may 
 be aware of the advantages of a bad reputation, 
 and assume the part of a plotter in order to dis- 
 concert the machinations of other cabinets ; just 
 as people circulate reports at Christmas of hav- 
 ing the typhus fever or smallpox in their coun- 
 try neighbourhood, to discourage the intended 
 visits of their friends.” 
 
 Sir Robert gazed with amazement on the little 
 man, whom he alone of all the party did not 
 know to be* a professional diner-out, engaged, 
 like the pyrotechnist of a public f4te, for the 
 discharge of squibs and crackers; and, taking 
 Flimflam’s assertion to the letter, expressed a 
 doubt that might have become the lips of my 
 uncle Toby, whether there existed a true-born 
 Englishman capable of inhospitality so flagrant. 
 This was glorious to the wit, who thereby earn- 
 ed an anecdote of provincial simplicity to be re- 
 tailed at his next dinner-party ; embellishing, of 
 course, the simple assertion of the general with 
 a broad Scotch accent, that would have made 
 the fortune of a low comedian at the Surrey 
 theatre. 
 
 Perceiving by this sortie, and the spirit with 
 which it was backed by Colonel Hamilton, that 
 there were country gentlemen at table. Flimflam 
 now put forth the strength which often failed . 
 him in company with men of Lord Crawley’s 
 shrewdness and knowledge of the world, of the 
 technical memory of the clever Templar, who 
 was apt to place people somewhat unceremoni- 
 ously in the witness-box, and the grave ratioci- 
 naciousness of the Earl of Harringford, who re- 
 duced all things, from a new mineral to a new 
 pun, to analysis and demonstration. Assuming, 
 from that moment, his real part in the play, 
 which was that of an indifferent mezzotint copy 
 of the great Sidney Smith, satisfied to retail in 
 society not frequented by the clerical wit the 
 pungencies which told all the better for the 
 aplomJ) with which they were rehearsed by the 
 stepfather of the joke. 
 
 “ I suppose you heard what Sidney Smith 
 said the other night'?” was, however, as fair- 
 dealing an indication of the source of his bon-^- 
 mots, as the name of Cousins or Doo inscribed 
 on the corner of one of Lawrence’s or Wilkie’s 
 pictures, as circulated print- wise through millions 
 of hands, by comparison with the treasured ori- 
 ginal ; and people like the Rotherwoods were as 
 thankful to the dapper little gentleman who pro- 
 cured them an opportunity of hearing what 
 “Mr. Smith had said so amusingly about the 
 island of Hong Kong,” as to the martyr who 
 sleeps in a leathern suit at the tops of trees in 
 Mexico to preserve himself from beasts and rep- - 
 tiles of prey, in order to provide orchideous plants 
 for the conservatories, of lords and ladies. 
 
 All this time, while the two old soldiers sat 
 listening open-mouthed to the echoed faceti® of 
 what they conceived to be a revived edition of 
 
89 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 Mr. Joseph Miller, Hamlyn was noting, unno- 
 ticed, the countenance of Lord Crawley, from 
 whom, for the first time in the course of their po- 
 litical ’acquaintance, he had written the prece- 
 ding day to ask a favour. From his long expe- 
 rience m deciphering the hieroglyphics of the hu- 
 man countenance, the banker fancied he should 
 be able to foresee as readily as the teller of a di- 
 vision the “ ay” or “ no” of the official, in the 
 courtly smile assumed to cover a negative, or the 
 forced unconcern purporting to neutralize the 
 dignity of conferring a favour. Between the 
 Plombieres and its accompanying glass of 
 Malmsey, Richard Hamlyn flattered himself 
 that the intentions of the Home Secretary would 
 betray themselves. 
 
 Nevertheless, the practised Crawley ate, drank, 
 and digested, with a face as inexpressive as a 
 whited wall; and Lord Harringford might as 
 well have attempted to work a problem upon the 
 constellated dried cherries on the surface of the 
 Nesselrode pudding before him, as the anxious 
 solicitor to infer anything concerning the success 
 of his suit from the blank countenance of the 
 great man. 
 
 Nor were matters more lucent when the ladies 
 and servants disappeared. The circle narrow- 
 ed, and the jokes grew broader. The two offi- 
 cials whispered together, the templar grew strong 
 and pungent as a summer radish, the Earl of 
 Harringford snored, and Colonel Hamilton and 
 Sir Robert Maitland mentally whispered their 
 regrets that the real Simon Pure, the ediiio pin- 
 ceps of Sidney Smith, had not been laid before 
 them that day, instead of the flimsy fellow who 
 represented him much as the fiddle and harp 
 mangling one of Rossini’s overtures for the dis- 
 traction of the passengers in a Ramsgate steam- 
 er represent the orchestra of Her Majesty’s The- 
 atre. Yet still Hamlyn made no advance in his 
 discoveries; and, with his usual tact, exerted 
 himself to prose plausibly on, through a long 
 series of social truisms and political surfaceisms, 
 as a man is privileged to do at the head of his 
 own table, in order to disguise his watchfulness : 
 trusting that, while assisting the digestion of the 
 Earl of Rotherwood by the emission of a dulcet 
 morality such as daily forwarded his lordship’s 
 evening nap at Rotherwood Castle, under the 
 care of his domestic chaplain, he might also 
 catch Lord Crawley napping by throwing him 
 off his guard. 
 
 If unsuccessful in this object, his eloquence 
 was not wholly thrown away. The colonel and 
 the general listened with their eyes, ears, and 
 mouths ; and at the close of every neatly-turned 
 sentence, nodded approvingly to each other, as 
 much as to say, “With such men as this in Par- 
 liament, how can the affairs of the country go 
 amiss ! Long live the Conservative interest and 
 the Constitution ! Long live Church and State, 
 army and navy, the queen and the British Gren- 
 adiers !” 
 
 “ T7iere’s a head to settle a frontier treaty for 
 you!” murmured Colonel Hamilton to Sir Rob- 
 ert, who had been tasting a fifth kind of claret. 
 
 “ There’s a conscience to intrust with our lives 
 and liberties, our consols and exchequer-bills !” 
 was the rejoinder, or thereabout, of the K.C.B., 
 who was topping up with cura<joa. And by the 
 time they reached the drawing-room, both were 
 in that mood of ineffable content produced by the 
 digestion of a dinner too perfect to engender re- 
 morse in the stomach by the fumes of the mel- 
 lowest of wine and mildest of sophistry. At 
 M 
 
 that moment, had either of them had in his pock- 
 et twenty thousand lacs of rupees for invest- 
 ment, he would have placed it in the hands of 
 Hamlyn the banker with as little hesitation as in. 
 those of St. Paul. 
 
 By the peculiar manner in which Lord Craw- 
 ley looked about him as they traversed the hall 
 to go to coffee, as if to ascertain that his great- 
 coat and servants were in attendance for imme- 
 diate departure so soon as he should have made 
 his bow to his hostess, Hamlyn perceived that 
 there was some serious call on the time of the 
 minister; that he was going either to a cabinet 
 council or the opera. Hoping to nail him as 
 they proceeded together up stairs, while Ham- 
 ilton and Maitland paused to admire a princely* 
 stand of exotics on the landing-place, he attempt- 
 ed. to enter into conversation, 
 
 “ Flimflam was not as good as usual to-day !” 
 said he, in the apologetic tone in which a host 
 alludes to a bottle of corked claret. “ Flimflam 
 never tells in a party where he has no confeder- 
 ate to whom to throw the ball. He requires a 
 chum, just as a juggler requires his clown. 
 Flimflam cannot carry off a party on his single 
 shoulders.” ' > 
 
 “I believe he is an able man in his profes- 
 sion,” observed Lord Crawley, vacantly, attach- 
 ing no more importance to a man so politically 
 uninfluential as Flimflam than to Ramsay the 
 butler. Then, as they entered the drawing-room 
 together, he drew off his host towards an inner 
 boudoir, where a fire was blazing, and the caric- 
 atures of H. B. lying scattered, for the recrea- 
 tion of loungers ; aware that a Ute-a-Ute in whicff 
 one of the Utes is that of a secretary of state, is 
 as sacred from intrusion as the Ute-d-Ute of a 
 pair of engaged lovers. 
 
 “I need not tell you, my dear Hamlyn,” said 
 he, opening the palaver in an off-hand way,, 
 “ that I gave immediate attention to the object 
 of your letter of yesterday. I am half inclined 
 to quarrel with you, by-the-way, that the first 
 thing you have ever asked me to attempt for 
 you should lie so thoroughly out of my depart- 
 ment as to afford any possibility of failure. Con- 
 sulships, as I you are well aware, lie wholly at 
 the disposal of the Foreign Office. Neverthe- 
 less, as you justly observed in your note, my in- 
 terference might exercise a secondary influence j, 
 and I therefore lost no time in addressing myself 
 to my noble colleague. I need not remind you, 
 however, that we are obliged to observe exces- 
 sive punctilio in this sort of interference, or the 
 patronage of no office would be sacred.” 
 
 “ Believe me, I am most sensible of your kind- 
 ness,” replied Hamlyn, satisfied that a consul- 
 ship asked for by her majesty’s Secretary of 
 State for the Home Department was as good as 
 granted. 
 
 “ Not at all, my dear sir ! You have claims 
 upon the courtesy of government, independent 
 of the still warmer ties of private friendship 
 which unite you with myself!” replied Lord 
 Crawley, with a becoming recollection of the 
 number of braces of pheasants he had bagged at 
 Dean Park, and looking as benignant as became 
 so high an official. “ As far as regards my own 
 feelings, I need not tell you that any request of 
 yours, in my power to grant, would be grant- 
 ed unconditionally. But, as I said before, this 
 thing is entirely and absolutely out of my depart- 
 ment.” 
 
 “The application, then, was unsuccessful?” 
 inquired Hamlyn, in a low voice, feeling as ff 
 
90 
 
 THE BANKEE 
 
 all the claret and grapes he had been swallowing 
 were suddenly acidulating within him. 
 
 “ Unsuccess! ul is scarcely the word. Encum- 
 bered as the hands of her majesty’s government 
 are at the present moment, by long-existing 
 pledges and serious obligations — ” 
 
 Hamlyn’s hopes sunk lower and lower at this 
 'plausible preamble. Already he felt in his eyes 
 the dust about to be thrown into them by minis- 
 terial circumlocution. 
 
 “ Encumbered as we are, I say, and forced, as 
 it were, to divide by a miracle five barley-loaves 
 and three small fishes among a hungering mul- 
 titude, it becomes impossible for us to consider 
 our several leanings and inclinations. When 
 reminded of this by my friend, the foreign sec- 
 .retary, I did not fail to put forward your claims 
 . as a zealous supporter of the administration, as 
 well as the least importunate of our parliament- 
 ary succours. I leave you to guess what was 
 his reply.” 
 
 “ I I'ear I am too little skilled in the mysteries 
 of patronage to conjecture!” observed the crest- 
 fallen banker. 
 
 “Nay, there was no political trickery in it. 
 -All was as straightforward as if issuing from 
 your Temple of the Mammon of unrighteous- 
 ness, Threadneedle-street. His lordship’s poli- 
 cy is as practical as Lear’s — ‘nothing for no- 
 thing 1’ In one word, he told me that it was re- 
 ported we had everything to fear from you on 
 the foreign securities’ question ; and that, in the 
 event of your petition being granted, we must 
 have your pledge to support this as well as all 
 other government measures.” 
 
 Richard Hamlyn was conscious of an invol- 
 untary clinching of his hands as he listened. 
 The measure in question (to which, with the 
 fear of a treasury prosecution before our eyes, a 
 hctitious name and nature has been assigned) 
 was one of his political pets, the only point on 
 which he differed from the views of the party 
 with which he was as closely amalgamated as a 
 -Smyrna fig to the fellow-figs in its drum, because 
 the only political question that happened to hedge 
 upon his private interests. He had cultivated 
 it as a favourite plant j watered it, pr\med it, 
 supported it with sticks. Whenever it was be- 
 .fore the House, he felt inspired ; and it was in 
 the maintenance of this darling measure that 
 be had indulged in those ebullitions of petulance 
 to which allusion was formerly made. In city 
 meetings, composed of the friends of its policy, 
 he was invariably called into the chair. It was 
 Ais department, as much as Ireland is that of 
 O’Connell, factory martyrdom of Lord Ash- 
 ley, or quarantine of Tydus Pooh-pooh'. To 
 abjure, to recant, was as for Peter to deny his 
 master; and with a sense of magnanimity he 
 had not experienced since he last figured on the 
 Barsthorpe hustings as “ Hamlyn, the friend of 
 the poor,” he prepared to reject the flagitious 
 proposition of government, and renounce the 
 ■ consulship of Tangier. 
 
 At that moment, however, there rose up clear 
 and distinct before him, as the spectrum said to 
 haunt the solitude of a late premier, a human 
 head, a bald head, the head of Spilsby, the clerk; 
 producing in that warm and elegant chamber a 
 far more glacial effect than the death’s-head of 
 the Egyptian feasts! To rid himself of the 
 haunting of such a presence, he felt that he would 
 have renounced all that Faustus is said to have 
 assigned away by post-orbit, to the Evil One of 
 old. 
 
 ,’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 Another minute, and the bargain was struck. 
 Virtue was gone out of the banker, and the dis- 
 posal of one, of her majesty’s richest consulships 
 in his hands. 
 
 “This ofldce is, I presume, to be filled by 
 some near relative of your own, since you at- 
 tach so much importance to ill” said Lord 
 Crawley, inwardly chuckling, as Delilah had 
 done while beholding the strength of her victim 
 cut off”, and lying scattered at her feet. 
 
 “ It is for one who has served me and my fami- 
 ly faithfully for a period of twenty years !” re- 
 sponded the banker; and Crawley, whose word 
 was pledged whether this faithful servant hap- 
 pened to be Ramsay the banker’s butler or one 
 of his coach-horses, felt a little anxious for far- 
 ther information. 
 
 Though unaddicted to the weakness of aston- 
 ishment, he was greatly surprised to find his 
 friend Hamlyn of so humane a disposition as to 
 be content to sacrifice the valuable services of 
 the faithfullest head-clerk in the universe to the 
 desire of procuring him an independence. At- 
 tributing the Downing-street policy of “ Nothing 
 for nothing,” even to the un ministerial residue 
 of the human race, he could not help surmising 
 that the future consul must have rendered inor- 
 dinate services to the banker, to suggest such 
 excess of self-sacrifice ! 
 
 The equivalent, however, whatever it might 
 be, was no affair of Ais. If the future consul of 
 Tangier had withdrawn Ais opposition from 
 some Lombard-street measure, promising for 
 the future to keep his long speeches against the 
 question in his pocket, and himself out of the 
 chair, the balance of counting-house power and 
 obligation was no affair of the Home Office. 
 With emulsive urbanity, therefore, he now took 
 leave; and the two old soldiers, who had been 
 watching the interview through the folding-doors, 
 could scarcely restrain their reverence for the 
 banker, whose opinion Lord Crawley had evi- 
 dently been sifting with deference, and whom 
 they half surmised had received oflTers of office, 
 the chancellorship of the exchequer, for aught 
 they knew to the contrary. 
 
 While glancing round the drawing-room, so 
 much more splendidly furnished than that of 
 Ormeau, and allowing their eyes to rest at last 
 upon the grave, mild. Canning-looking man of 
 whom the home secretary was so gratefully 
 pressing the hand at parting, they felt proud of 
 human nature and themselves, that merit and 
 worth should find so noble a level, in the first 
 commercial country in the universe ! Ahem ! 
 
 That night was the very longest to Richard 
 Hamlyn he had ever spent, save the I6th of De- 
 cember every year, ere he was sixteen years of 
 age, when breaking up for the Christmas holy- 
 days was depending on the daybreak of the 
 morrow. Ere the cheeping of those callow 
 blackbirds, the London chimney-sweeps, had 
 commenced in the streets, he was astir, and for 
 the first time in his life chided the groom in 
 charge of his cabriolet for announcing himself 
 to be at the door two minutes and a half a/ler 
 the half hour ! 
 
 Unapt as he was to indulge in pleasantries, , 
 fain would he have parodied Imogen’s invoca- 
 tion with 
 
 in “ Oh ! for a cab with wings, 
 
 to bear me in its sides to Lombard-street !” 
 
 Vainly did poor Miss Creswell apply for a 
 few minutes’ interview, prior to his departure, 
 in order to acquaint him with the result of her 
 
91 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 •■conference in New-Norfolk-street, the preceding 
 day. Unable to express to the decorous gov- 
 erness the indecorous wish that rose to his lips, 
 concerning a journey he sincerely wished to 
 send her at that moment, he contented himselt 
 with graciously begging to postpone their inter- 
 view to the evening. 
 
 “ Oh ! that Strand ! that long, long Strand, 
 with its coal-carts, wagons, drays, its intrusive 
 churches thrusting themselves forward, like 
 highwaymen, to arrest the passenger; its Tem- 
 ple Bar, its thousand of meaningless incum- 
 hrances. Never had he felt the throng and 
 pressure of Fleet-street so importunate as that 
 morning. His breath was oppressed; his heart 
 almost ceased to beat under the shifting great- 
 ness of his emotions. 
 
 At length he .stopped before his own door; 
 and the groom accustomed to deposite him there 
 three hundred and eleven days in the year, could 
 scarcely understand how it happened that the 
 banker omitted his usual parting phrase of, “ You 
 will be here at half past four.” He could not 
 surmise that there was no such thing for his 
 master, at that moment, as time or place ; that 
 be knew not Lombard-street from Cavendish 
 Square, or four o’clock post meridian from four 
 f'O^clock cintc 
 
 Nevertheless, Richard Hamlyn contrived to 
 subdue his outward mien to a degree of decency 
 becoming the occasion. He entered the count- 
 ing-house with the same air he would have as- 
 sumed in entering the Ovington Infirniary, or 
 Ovington Church on Christmas day, or the li- 
 brary of Ormeau, at any time of the year; an 
 bumble consciousness of the power of doing good 
 ..attenuating his habitually grave countenance. 
 
 Five minutes afterward, instead of waiting 
 for the ordinary torturing knock and intrusion 
 of the baldheaded clerk, he coolly desired one of 
 the quill-driving subs, who brought in his silver 
 . standish duly replenished, to acquaint Mr. Spils- 
 by he wished to speak with him; and when 
 Spilsby came, and beheld the banker standing on 
 the hearth-rug, with his coat-tails upturned, 
 master of himself, and apparently about to pro- 
 claim himself master of those in his employ, 
 be felt sure that some lucky stockbroking stroke 
 bad righted the house ; and that the firm of Ham- 
 clyn and Co. was solvent as that of Coutts. 
 
 “ I have sent for you, Spilsby,” said Richard 
 Hamlyn, “to communicate to }mu a piece of 
 agreeable news — agreeable news, which the in- 
 terest created in your favour in my mind by 
 twenty years of laborious and faithful service 
 renders doubly gratifying to my feelings.” 
 
 Spilsby, who possessed an infirm cousin in 
 the North, from whom he had great expectations, 
 entertaining little doubt that Spilsby, of Newcas- 
 tle, was gone forever, leaving his shares in the 
 Wallsend Company to his nearest of kin, sank 
 into a chair. Just as agitated as his unfortunate 
 ^employer had been every time he entered that 
 private room for the last eighteen months, the 
 clerk was becoming in his turn. 
 
 , “ I am aware,” pursued Hamlyn, in a tone 
 
 that would have done honour to the Treasurer 
 -of the Philanthropic Institution, while addressing 
 the patrons of the charity, at an annual dinner, 
 “lam aware, my dear Spilsby, that you have a 
 large family; and that, in these times, a large 
 family is not maintained for nothing. I do not 
 mean to call your salary in this house nothing; 
 but four hundred per annum scarcely affords the 
 paeans of effecting those ensurances on your life 
 
 essential to the well-being of a numero\is family 
 hereafter,” 
 
 Poor Spilsby felt himself revive painfully. 
 His cousin was not dead! There would be 
 no occasion for all this fudge on the part of the 
 head of the firm, to announce to him that he was 
 come into a little family property. 
 
 “ In short, Spilsby,” resumed Richard Ham- 
 lyn, “having taken all these things into my con- 
 sideration ; and having, I am happy to say, some 
 trifling claim upon the good offices of the present 
 government, 1 have been so fortunate as to ob- 
 tain for you a far more lucrative, as well as more 
 honourable employment, than that of remaining 
 all your days a banking-house clerk. On Sat- 
 urday night, you will be gazetted her majesty’s 
 consul at Tangier.” 
 
 Less practised than the banker in the arts of 
 simulation, the astonished clerk instantly started 
 to his feet. 
 
 Nominated, without solicitation, to a consul- 
 ship, a consulship that would remove him so far 
 from home, that would exile him from his na- 
 tive country ! 
 
 “ The salary is between seven and eight hun- 
 dred a year,” added Hamlyn. “ The climate 
 salubrious — the duty light — ” 
 
 “ Seven hundred a year T’ murmured Spilsby ; 
 
 “ expend his parliamentary interest to the value 
 of between seven and eight hundred a year, or 
 ten thousand poupds'l The mystery, whatever 
 it be, is worth thirty thousand to him, at the least 
 farthing.” 
 
 “ I am infinitely indebted to you, Mr. Ham- 
 lyn, sir,” he resumed aloud, rising respectfully 
 from his seat, to resume the attitude of clerkly 
 subordination—" indebted to you to a degree my 
 poor heart might vainly attempt to express. 
 Your most merited goodness, sir, is a thing which, 
 I trust, will never be forgotten by me or mine. 
 But — ” 
 
 Richard Hamlyn gasped for breath at this 
 ominous conjunction. 
 
 “My family prospects are of a more cheering 
 nature than you have the means to conjecture, 
 I have relations well to do in the world, whose 
 good-will towards me is mainly supported by 
 knowing me to occupy a situation of trust in 
 one of the first establishments in the moneyed 
 world, and who would resent my leaving Eng- 
 land. I have no ambition to become independ- 
 ent. I shall be content to live and die, sir, at- 
 tached to the house.” 
 
 Almost spasmodically, the banker wiped from 
 his forehead a rising dew; and Spilsby, seeing 
 his advantage, peered out significantly from 
 under his overhangingeyebrows, as he proceeded. 
 
 “ So long as the firm exists, Mr. Hamlyn, so 
 long as the house remains open, I hope to be 
 found at my post. I can never be happier than 
 as the faithful servant of the most upright and 
 honourable of masters. Permit me, therefore, 
 without a moment’s hesitation, respectfully to 
 decline the lucrative appointment you have thus 
 generously procured me upon the coast of Af- 
 
 It was noyr the turn of Richard Hamlyn to 
 sink unmanned into the chair. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 “ Mv ‘ riErht honourable’ daughter !” 
 
 New Way TO Pay Old Debts. 
 
 Distracted as Mrs. Hamlyn had been by ap- 
 prehensions of various kinds at the moment of 
 
THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 her return to town, her well-regulated mind be- 
 came gradually restored to -composure on ob- 
 serving the perfect self-possession of her hus- 
 band, his unmitigated attention to his parlia- 
 mentary duties, and a thousand minor evidences 
 of the cessation of all pressure in his affairs. 
 The crisis, from whatever cause it might have 
 arisen, was evidently passed. Under such cir- 
 cumstances, even the methodical regularity of 
 her household proved an advantage, soothing 
 her spirits as by the measured rocking of a lul- 
 laby. 
 
 Moreover, all was so bright, so prosperous, so 
 sunshiny around her, that it seemed absurd to 
 look out for breakers when launched on that 
 glassy sea, and under a sky so propitious. Flat- 
 tering as was her position in London life, the 
 banker’s wife had never felt the value of her 
 acceptation in society till called upon to present 
 her daughter. The kindness with which Lydia 
 was welcomed into the world filled her mother 
 with gratitude towards the frivolous circles she 
 had hitherto regarded with indifference; and 
 she had the satisfaction to perceive that the 
 girl so flatteringly noticed in compliment to her 
 parents soon became a general favourite from 
 her own merits. Seldom had a debutante equal- 
 ly lovely appeared in the beau-monde so free 
 from the affectations -of the day ; and the fash- 
 ionable world, forewarned in her favour by Lady 
 Rotherwood (who, having taken a fancy for her 
 at Dean Park, and having no children of her 
 own to occupy her attention, was doubly inter- 
 ested in her success in life), accorded to Mrs. 
 Hamlyn a new species of consideration as the 
 mother of the most popular beauty of the sea- 
 son. 
 
 At all this Mrs. Hamlyn could afford to re- 
 joice ; for she saw that the adulation of the 
 world exercised no evil influence on the dispo- 
 sition of her right-minded child ; that by the ma- 
 turity of Lydia, she had gained a friend ; that, 
 in whatever circle they found themselves, she was 
 the first object to her daughter; that her slight- 
 est opinion outweighed the whole chorus of flat- 
 terers and adorers ; and that she had only to ap- 
 pear thoughtful or indisposed, to impose an 
 instantaneous sadness upon the lighthearted 
 young girl. Her perception of this determined 
 the banker’s wife to exert herself to the utmost 
 to anpear cheerful and contented, while escort- 
 ing her daughter to those scenes of fashionable 
 resort, in which it was Mr. Hamlyn’s desire 
 tiiey should attain an honourable distinction.^ 
 
 For there existed a source of anxiety which 
 rendered it difficult for the affectionate mother 
 to array herself in smiles for the opera or ball- 
 room. Aware that the submission of her son 
 Henry to his father’s requirements had been a 
 matter of compulsion, she was not slow to dis- 
 cern, from the tone of his correspondence, that 
 he was giving way to despondency. As much 
 as the pride of the banker , was centered in 
 the prospects of his eldest son, was that of 
 Mrs. Hamlyn embarked in Harry’s high reputa- 
 tion and noble elevation of character. She rev- 
 erenced almost as much as she loved this child 
 of her affections ; and while noticing with anx- 
 iety the growing incoherency of his letters, felt 
 indescribably mortified in the conviction that, 
 by the relaxation of his efforts and infirmity of 
 his health, he was about to disappoint the well- 
 known confidence of the university in his power. 
 
 Aware, from certain harsh expressions haz- 
 arded by her husband at the moment of Henry’s 
 
 refractoriness, that Mr. Hamlyn was out of con- 
 ceit of the academic honours which he regarded- 
 as the origin of his 'second son’s conceiving him- 
 self too aci^omplished a gentleman for Lombard- 
 street, it was not to him she could turn for com- 
 fort in her cares ; and whenever letters arrived 
 bearing the Cambridge postmark (how different 
 in style, in spirits, nay, even in handwriting, 
 from those she had received from the exulting 
 traveller during his Italian expedition !), all she 
 could do was to retreat in silence to her room, 
 and weep unsuspected over the blighted pros- 
 pects of the most gifted of her children. 
 
 For such indulgence of her feelings, however, 
 she had little leisure. Day after day, evening 
 after evening, the anxious mother had engage- 
 ments to keep. No fashionable party was con- 
 sidered complete without the presence of the 
 beautiful Miss Hamlyn, whose healthy, happy,, 
 intelligent countenance seemed to renovate the 
 consciousness of youth and enjoyment for all 
 whose hearts were brightened by her smiles.- 
 The table in Cavendish Square was covered 
 with invitations ; and at the first royal ball given, 
 after Lydia’s presentation at court, the wife and 
 lovely daughter of the member for Barsthorpe 
 were noticed by the papers as having attracted 
 universal admiration. 
 
 Richard Hamlyn’s desire that his family should, 
 maintain a distinguished place in the fashion- 
 able world was, consequently, gratified — perhaps 
 exceeded. All he ambiiioned was that his wife 
 and daughter should reflect credit upon the firm 
 of Hamlyn and Co., and assist in the support of 
 that aerial fabric which through life he had 
 been labouring to uphold. That they would do 
 more, he neither calculated nor desired. Like 
 most people whose attention is absorbed by a. 
 vital interest, he had no thought to bestow on 
 collateral projects. All he had cared for during 
 the last five-and-twenty years, was to preserve 
 the credit of a ruined family, and save from the 
 Gazette— by fair means or foul— an insolvent 
 firm ; and, engrossed by the fatal nature of his 
 expedients, had not leisure to indulge in any 
 luxury or complication of ambitions. It had 
 never struck him, for instance, while labouring 
 to gild the worldly prospects of the future Ham- 
 lyns of Dean Park, that the name might derive 
 lustre from the brilliant marriage of his daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 The only brother of the banker was a digni- 
 tary of the Church, who rarely quitted his pre- 
 ferment in the county of Durham. ^ His sisters 
 were married in a moderate sphere of life — the 
 one residing also in the North, the other in Dev- 
 onshire ; and, accustomed to regard the alliances- 
 of his family with unexulting eyes, he had al- 
 ways settled it with himself that Lydia and Har- 
 riet would become the wives of country gentle- 
 men, or mercantile men of solid condition.. To 
 aspire beyond this would have been at variance 
 with his plans. 
 
 When, therefore, soon after Lydia’s debut, he 
 found her attract to his house a higher order of 
 guests than had yet sought his acquaintance, he 
 was more startled than pleased. It appeared 
 inconceivable to the banker that personal dis- 
 tinction should accrue to him from so insig- 
 nificant a source ! Nor, absorbed as he was at 
 that moment by personal cares of the most poig- 
 nant nature, had he yet found time to accommo- 
 date his views to the new position of his femily,. 
 when the startling intelligence was communi- 
 cated by his wife, that the Marquis of Dartlor-i 
 
93 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 Tequested permission to pay his addresses to 
 •Iheir daughter! 
 
 The proposals were made in the most natter- 
 ing manner. A letter from the marchioness 
 was delivered by her sister, Lady Rotherwood, 
 to the banker’s wife, fully authorizing the views 
 of her son, to whom her consent had been ap- 
 plied for at the moment of her recent convales- 
 cence. All she requested, in the event of his 
 being so fortunate as to make himself acceptable 
 to one described by various members of her 
 family as the most charming girl in England, 
 was, that the marriage should be delayed till the 
 expiration of Gerald’s minority, early in the en- 
 suing month of June. 
 
 It was one night, on returning from a minis- 
 terial party, and learning that Mr. Hamlyn was 
 still up and writing in his study, that this intel- 
 ligence was communicated by his wife. 
 
 “ Ramsay informed me you were busy wri- 
 ting!” said Mrs. Hamlyn, almost hesitating 
 whether to enter the room, on perceiving that 
 ■the banker’s table was covered with papers. 
 
 “ I have only been half an hour returned from 
 the House, and have letters to answer!” was 
 his cold reply; for it was an understood thing 
 that none of the family were to intrude upon his 
 retirement, unless by special invitation. When, 
 therefore, he saw his wife, unabashed by his 
 abruptness, quietly take her seat by the fireside,^ 
 in spite of the lateness of the hour and the fuir 
 dress of w'hich it was time to disencumber her- 
 -self, he felt that something important must have 
 transpired; and almost dreaded lest, through 
 the indiscretion of Lord Crawley and gossiping 
 of Lady Rotherwood, something might have 
 reached his wife of his extraordinary solicita- 
 tions in Spilsby’s favour, and their still more ex- 
 traordinary frustration by the opposition of the 
 clerk. 
 
 This unpleasant surmise was strengthened by 
 the first words uttered by Mrs Hamlyn. _ 
 
 “You have perhaps been already apprized by 
 Lord Crawley,” said she, “ of the circumstance 
 for which Lady Rotherwood this morning af- 
 forded me some preparation !” 
 
 Satisfied that the mischief was done, the bank- 
 er was nerving himself to rebut, by harsh re- 
 proof, any comments or inquiries his wife might 
 seem disposed to hazard on an affair peculiarly 
 within his province, both as a man of business 
 and politician ; when, little aware of the alarm 
 she had excited, Mrs. Hamlyn hastened to ex- 
 plain herself; and the intelligence struck with 
 double force upon the father’s mind, after the 
 humiliating panic by which it had been prece- 
 ded ! For once, he was overpowered by natural 
 emotion. 
 
 To accord his unqualified consent was a mat- 
 ter of course. All that was at present required 
 of him was to sanction the more familiar visits 
 at his house of the noble suiter ; Mrs, Hamlyn 
 'having conditioned with the young lover that 
 iio positive answer should be exacted from Lyd- 
 ia till a month’s intimate companionship en- 
 abled her to judge the nature of their mutual 
 impressions. Scarcely another father in Lon- 
 don, however, but, under such circumstances, 
 would have been moved to seek an interview 
 with his daughter, in order, before he slept, to 
 congratulate her upon her brilliant prospects, 
 and fold more tenderly and anxiously to his 
 heart the girl thus trembling on the verge of 
 womanhood with its matronly responsibilities. 
 But Hanilyn, with his wonted circumspection, 
 
 contented himself with expressing to his wife 
 his conviction that so “ capital a match” would 
 in the sequel be circumvented by the interference 
 of prudent friends ; or by the natural fickleness 
 of a boy of Lord Dartford’s age, for whose hand 
 all the mothers and chaperons in London were 
 barefacedly manoeuvring, 
 
 “ Do not let Lydia set her heart upon it !” was 
 his parting counsel, as his wife, after due discus- 
 sion of the measures to be adopted on the mor- 
 row, prepared to retire for the night. “ I have 
 a presentiment that something will occur to 
 blight so brilliant a prospect. The thing is too 
 preposterous— too utterly out of our sphere — and 
 will raise up against us too many enemies and 
 animosities, to admit of hoping that all will end 
 as we desire. Tell her, however, that nothing 
 shall be neglected on my part to forward her in- 
 terests on the occasion.” 
 
 Alas! it was not on her “interests” that ei- 
 ther Lydia or her thoughtful mother were immt 
 at that moment ! At such an epoch of her life, 
 the young girl wished to find herself folded for 
 the first time with paternal warmth to the heart 
 of her father; and deep was Mrs. Hamlyn’s 
 mortification at having to return to^ the dressing- 
 room, where her daughter was anxiously await- 
 ing her, unaccompanied by him who, as the 
 comptroller of the destinies of the family, ought 
 also to have been the leading influence of its af- 
 fections. 
 
 “ Your father, dearest, gives his gratified con- 
 sent, and will in all things second our wishes !” 
 said Mrs. Hamlyn, in a subdued voice, unwil- 
 ling to damp the joy of the agitated girl by a 
 more explicit transmission of his message. 
 
 “ But he is pleased with Lord Dartford’s con- 
 duct on the occasion!” persisted Lydia. “He 
 feels as you do, dearest mother, that nothing 
 can have been more feeling or considerate than 
 his conduct towards us all throughout the af- 
 fair!” 
 
 “Your father expressed the highest opinion 
 of him, and his unqualified approval. As Wal- 
 ter’s friend. Lord Dartford has long commanded 
 an interest in Mr. Hamlyn’s mind. To-mor- 
 row, at dinner, they will meet, and everything 
 be mutually expressed which can confirm this 
 'friendly feeling.” 
 
 “To-morrow, at dinner!” thought Lydia, 
 whose young heart was naturally excited to un- 
 usual emotions of tenderness by all that was 
 passing. “What! not ow day’s respite from 
 business — not one day’s abstinence from the city 
 —to afford his countenance and support to his 
 daughter at such a moment !” 
 
 Moderate, however, as was the banker’s 
 avowal of surprise and triumph in presence of 
 his wife, no sooner had he bolted himself anew 
 within the privacy of his study, than he gave 
 way to the wildest emotion. His daughter a 
 marchioness! The grand-daughter of Walter 
 Hamlyn the banker — a marchioness ! in the en- 
 joyment of forty thousand a year— high prece- 
 dence-noble estates — gorgeous jewels — all the 
 pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious rank! 
 The name of Hamlyn, of Dean Park, about to 
 be connected with the hereditary peerage of the 
 realm! What would the Vernons say; and 
 how, henceforward, would the Elvaston family 
 preserve their frigid distance! Already, he 
 seemed to behold the future Marquis and Mar- 
 chioness of Dartford arriving in triumph at Or- 
 meau ! 
 
 “ My father would have been proud indeed 
 
the BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 94 
 
 Lad he lived to see this day !” naturally escaped 
 him But those words and that inauspicious 
 name recalled him to the bitterer realities ot 
 life ' An involuntary shudder betrayed the sud- 
 den’ chill arresting the unusual expansion ot his 
 heart, as he reflected on all he had to fear, on 
 all that might overtake both him and his during 
 the interval to elapse before this splendid alliance 
 could be accomplished! The consciousness 
 which, for years past, had tinged with bitter- 
 ness the luscious cup of his enjoyments every 
 time he attempted to raise it to his lips, exer- 
 cised its usual influence; and the head of the 
 ambitious banker, which for a moment ha.d up- 
 lifted itself with proud and gratifying anticipa- 
 tions, was again humbled to the dust. For he 
 knew that a touch, a word, a whisper, might at 
 any moment destroy the glittering fabric ot his 
 fortunes, and overwhelm beneath its ruins him- 
 self and all who bore his name I 
 
 In the anguish of his heart, he now cursed 
 the rashness which had induced him to make 
 his recent overtures to government, ere certain 
 of reaping the fruits of his self-abasement ; and 
 the surprise with which Lord Crawley had a 
 few days before received his announcement that 
 the person for whom he had so eagerly solicited 
 the consulship was prevented by unforeseen 
 circumstances from profiting by the concession, 
 recurred disagreeably to his mind. 
 
 “ This clerk of yours, my dear Hamlyn, must 
 have a prodigious idea of the advantages to be 
 derived from sticking to your strong box . said 
 he, with a smile. “ Your patronage, I suspect, 
 carries more weight with it than ours. How- 
 ever, having, through your propositions, placed 
 my paw upon this little windfall, I shall clinch 
 it fast for one of my nephews— a poor Honour- 
 able with a wife and half a dozen children, who 
 is not quite so sure as this Mr. Spilsby of yours, 
 of the crumbs that fall from the table of Hamlyn 
 
 Every syllable of this, though uttered at ran- 
 dom, spoke daggers to the diseased mind of the 
 banker. Imputing undue significance to the 
 idle banter of a man whose success in political 
 life was mainly owing to the pungent pleasant- 
 ries and slapdash recklessness of his parliament- 
 ary eloquence, Richard Hamlyn trembled to 
 reflect that he whose suspicions were thus un- 
 luckily awakened was uncle to the Marquis ol 
 
 Hartford ! , , j .r ^ 
 
 On the morrow, however, he had so tar re- 
 covered his presence of mind, and chalked out 
 the path to pursue, as to bear his part, in the 
 aptest manner, in the ceremonial of receiving 
 Lord Hartford for the first time in the character 
 of a son-in-law ; and the young lovers, already 
 gratified by the affectionate warmth of Mrs. 
 Hamlyn and triumphant joy of Walter, had no 
 fault to find with the calmer but scarcely less 
 strongly-expressed approval of the hanker. 
 
 The whole establishment in Cavendish Square 
 seemed suddenly startled into life, as by the 
 touch of the torch of Prometheus, by this sur- 
 prising glorification. Already, Lady Rother 
 wood had confided it in strictest secrecy to a 
 sufficient number of intimate friends to secure 
 the report being bruited through all the clubs ol 
 the West End ; while Captain Hamlyn was, on 
 his part, too deeply interested that it should 
 reach the ears of Lord and Lady Vernon to op- 
 pose a very firm contradiction to the rumour. 
 That it did reach their ears, a very few days 
 sufficed to demonstrate. Apprehensive that 
 
 their bitter disappointment on the occasiori 
 might be suspected, and expose them to ridi- 
 cule, Lucinda and her mother hastened with 
 their congratulations to Cavendish Square ; as 
 if of opinion that th,ey could not efface by too 
 prompt or too servile assiduity their previous 
 slights towards the long- contemned family at 
 Hean Park. . • 
 
 No sooner, however, was it understood m the-, 
 coteries of London that an engagement between 
 the beautiful debutante, “ the lovely and accom- 
 plished Miss Hamlyn,” and the young Marquis 
 of Hartford was avowed by all parties, than. 
 malice began to whet the weapons usually ex- 
 ercised on such occasions by the idle and maU- • 
 cious; the former to divert their leisure— the 
 latter to gratify their spite. Not a dowager at 
 Almack’s but whispered confidentially to her 
 sister chaperons that » the young marquis had 
 been shamefully taken in-that he was not oi 
 age — a mere boy — a mere child — weak in intel- 
 lect, though strong in wilfulness ; whereas the’ 
 Hamlyns were crafty, artful people, who Irom 
 his boyhood had been trying to entrap him ^ 
 profiting for the purpose by the influence ot 
 their eldest son over the poor lad— first as ms 
 Eton fag, afterward as his cornet in the Blues. 
 The whole was a scheme— a cunning scheme- 
 devised among these presuming parvenus ! The 
 artful banker, conniving with the manceuvnng^ 
 mother, had compelled their vain, silly son to 
 bring down this young nobleman perpetually to 
 Hean Park, where Miss Hamlyn was inces- 
 santly thrown in his way ; till, in the sequel, 
 the V would not hear of the marquis s quitting 
 the'house before he had made formal proposals- 
 to the young lady.” _ .. 
 
 Such was the mendacious version of the affair 
 sanctioned by the smiles and nods of the Ver- i 
 nons wherever they went; Lord Vernon having 
 accused himself at Brooks’s of being Ae most 
 unfortunate of mankind — not because his wile 
 was again unsuccessful in netting a marquis, 
 but because this disproportioned alliance of the- 
 Hamlyn family would thrust them forward so 
 offensively in the county, that he feared ne 
 should be no longer able to overlook the vicinity 
 of Hean Park to the Hyde 1 
 
 There were those, it is true, who, moved by 
 the genuine representations of Lady Rother- 
 wood, viewed the aflTair in a more legitimate 
 light ; and saw that it was precisely because she 
 had never been forced upon his notice, that the. 
 young marquis, proud of his own good taste in 
 discovering the merits of the natural and unpre- 
 tending Lydia, had resolved to assert his inde- 
 pendence of the flimsy prejudices of fashionable 
 fastidiousness by making her his wife, yl^ers, 
 warned by their parental experience, applauded 
 the wisdom of the Hartford family in according 
 their unhesitating consent to a respectable mar- 
 riage ; considering that the marquis was an 
 only son, the last of his race, and with a suffi- 
 cient tendency towards the break-neck and 
 knocker-wrenching exploits of the day, to ren- 
 der his early settlement in life a matter of first- 
 rate importance. . . . , 
 
 Meanwhile, all was happiness in CavendisH 
 Square! Few spots and few moments more 
 bright and auspicious than the home of opulent 
 parents, under the excitement of the happy be- 
 trothment of a beloved daughter ! On all sides, 
 congratulations— gifts— flowers— the affection- 
 ate welcome and professions of new connexions, 
 and the triumphant joy of old ! Mrs. Hamlyn, 
 
95 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 instead of lamenting the premature settlement 
 in life that was to deprive her of her daughter’s 
 company, felt inexpressibly relieved by the cer- 
 tainty of placing her Lydia in a happy home, 
 under the protection of an adoring husband, in- 
 stead of seeing her exposed to the precarious 
 chances of her present fortunes. Walter was 
 almost wild with delight at a connexion pur- 
 chased by no degrading sacrifices, yet at once 
 securing happiness to his sister and support to 
 his own projects of alliance; while Henry wrote 
 from Cambridge an expression of melancholy 
 delight that at least one member of his family 
 was happy and prosperous. 
 
 Even poor Miss Creswell lost sight of the fate 
 of her annuity, in the expectation of beholding 
 her beloved pupil a marchioness ; and when 
 Lydia’s letter, announcing her perfect happiness, 
 reached Burlington Manor (accompanied by a 
 few lines from Lord Hartford, containing arch 
 allusions to the sledge-party, and a certain dried 
 branch of Arabian jessariiine, which existed, 
 and was to exist so long as he lived, in his 
 pocket-book, after having originally flourished 
 and been presented to him, in the conservatory 
 at Burlington), the good old colonel not only 
 shed tears of joy at the news, but protested that 
 the moment he had got through his engage- 
 ments to his neighbours at the Vicarage, Or- 
 meau, and Gratwycke House, he would hurry 
 up to town to be'stow his blessings upon the 
 kind-hearted and lovely girl, who was dear to 
 him almost as a daughter. 
 
 “ You must bear me company, Ellen,”' said 
 he, “and make my little Lydia’s acquaintance. 
 
 I have always been in hopes you would come 
 to love each other as sisters. Though you 
 weren’t over and above civil to the young cap- 
 tain when he was at Dean, you had certainly 
 so far an excuse, that whatever attention you 
 might show to Am, you were obliged to extend 
 to the marquis. However, ’tis some comfort, at 
 all events, that you agree with me in thinking 
 young Dar’ford a trump — a fine, ^free-hearted 
 young fellow — gentleman to the backbone! So 
 the sooner we go and offer our congratulations 
 to poor dear Mrs. Hamlyn (who won’t know 
 whether to laugh or cry at losing such a daugh- 
 ter, bless her poor heart ! and gaining such a 
 son-in-law) the better. I’m free to own that I 
 love to see two young folks a-courting, when 
 there’s nothing likely to thwart their courtship ; 
 and as you won’t promise me the pleasure of 
 any billing and cooing by my ovm fireside, faith, 
 I must go and make the best use of my specta- 
 cles at my friend Hamlyn’s !” 
 
 Opportunity for observation was certainly 
 not wanting; for every day, punctual to the 
 moment sanctioned by Mrs. Hamlyn, the mar- 
 quis’s Brougham drove up to the door ; and it 
 would have been difficult to decide which looked 
 the brighter, gayer, or sweeter — the young lover, 
 or the boquet of rare flowers with which he 
 came provided to propitiate the happy Lydia. 
 Till the hour arrived for Lydia to ride with her 
 brother Walter, or drive with her mother. Lord 
 Dartford remained, listening to her sweet singing 
 or sweeter conversation. Dinner-time brought 
 him again, when no engagements interfered, to 
 rejoin the family circle for the remainder of the 
 day. 
 
 It is true, the family circle was rarely a pri- 
 vate one; and now, in addition to Mr. Haralyn’s 
 usual formal dinner-parties and political ban- 
 quets, it became necessary to return the series 
 
 of entertainments by which Lord Dartford ’s 
 family chose to mark their approval of a match,., 
 which, unable to prevent, they were wise enough 
 to take the merit of sanctioning. In addition to> 
 Lady Rotherwood, who really loved both her 
 nephew and the object of his choice, and re- 
 joiced in their prospects of happiness, a variety 
 of noble cousins made eager interest for the 
 eventual civilities of Dartford Hall, by the 
 promptitude of their attentions to the future 
 bride ; and day after day did the Morning Post 
 record, for the edification of the polite world, 
 that the “ Duke and Duchess of This, or Earl, 
 and Countess of That, with the Earl and Count- 
 ess of kotherwood, the Marquis of Dartford,,, 
 and Lord Crawley, had honoured Mr. Hamlyn 
 with their company to dinner, at his mansion in. 
 Cavendish Square.” 
 
 “Did you ever see anything to equal the pre- 
 tensions of those Hamlyns !” was now the cry 
 of Lady Bondwell and her class. “ See how 
 they have gradually wormed themselves into 
 the very highest place in the fashionable world I : 
 Step by step, how all their progress has been 
 calculated ! How cunningly must they have ' 
 crawled, and crept, and smiled, and whispered,, 
 to stock their acquaintance with a sufficient, 
 quantity of lords and ladies to enable them to 
 cut all their old friends I First, they pushed, 
 their son in the world, that the son might push., 
 his sister ; and the children, having established 
 themselves so brilliantly in .life, will push on> 
 their parents in return I” 
 
 “ Ay, ay, ay !” was Sir Benjamin Bondwell’s 
 reply to these insinuations of his indignant 
 spouse ; “ but you won’t get me out of Russel P 
 Square a day the sooner for that ! / know the' 
 
 cost of these lordly acquaintances to a banker.. 
 One must pay through the nose for a duke, and 
 be out of pocket many a long hundred to secure' 
 a pack of royal highnesses to the list of one’s 
 fetes, after the fashion of that poor deluded man,, 
 Hamlyn. ‘Keep your shop, and your shop 
 will keep youf says the proverb; but while 
 keeping such cursed fine company, a banker 
 has a hard matter to keep himself out of the 
 Gazette ! They tell me Hamlyn’s to be made a. 
 baronet in the next batch I Why not a peer at 
 once I A lord, on ’change, would be a novelty V 
 If I did sell myself to government, it should not 
 be too cheap 1” 
 
 But Lady Bondwell, as the lady-consort of a 
 mere Peg-Nicholson-knight, was overwhelmed 
 at the idea of having to yield precedence to> 
 Lady Hamlyn. 
 
 “ Tis a hard matter to guess where their am- 
 bition will stop 1” cried she. “ But I’ve heard 
 of people who, by putting all their silver into 
 the tankard, had nothing left to drink in it when 
 ’twas turned out of the mould.” 
 
 By the expiration of the month, at the end of 
 which Lord Dartford was enabled to announce' 
 to his mother the certainty of her speedily be- 
 coming a dowager— since he was an accepted 
 man, and happier in Lydia’s affections than in- 
 his numberless sources of earthly happiness--ai 
 thousand ill-natured attacks had been made in 
 the Sunday papers, and other outlets of the en vy,, 
 hatred, and malice of society, upon the mesaU 
 liance of the young marquis, and the presump- 
 tion of a banker’s family in pretending to com- 
 mingle its three emblematic balls of Lombardjr 
 with those of a coronet 1 
 
 Unused, in the respectable obscuritv of h)S' 
 earlier days, to this species of notoriety, Richard 
 
THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 9^3 
 
 Kamlyn shrank in agony from the blistering ^ 
 touch of the branding-iron, and even performed 
 a pilgrimage to the house of the solicitors to 
 whom he had referred Miss Creswell and her 
 annuity, to consult them respecting the prosecu- 
 tion of the offenders. But Messrs. Wigwell 
 and Slack had, fortunately, sufficient business 
 of the firm of Hamlyn and Co. already on their 
 hands to be able to dispense with the job; and, 
 .consequently, disinterestedly advised the banker 
 to pocket the affront of being called a banker, 
 in English somewhat less courtly than that he 
 was in the habit of hearing at his dinner-table 
 in Cavendish Square. ^ „ 
 
 “ The operation of clearing out a cesspool, 
 observed the shrewd lawyer, “ though essential 
 to the well-being of the community, is often 
 fatal to those who charge themselves with the 
 disagreeable duty. As the prosecutor of one 
 of these prints, you will have to suffer a thou- 
 sandfold more indignities than by allowing them 
 • an occasional fling at you. I recommend you 
 to compound for the lesser evil. A character, 
 such as yours, my dear sir, a name which sheds 
 lustre on the man wffio bears it, a renown lor 
 integrity and worth such as few noblemen but 
 would barter their coronets to obtain, may well 
 •enable you to hear a few idle twittings concern- 
 ing your connexion with Lombard-street,” 
 
 At this exposition, Mr. Hamlyn, as in grati- 
 tude bound, extended his hand to his solicitor, 
 and a squeeze of becoming fervour and duration 
 was exchanged between them; although the 
 "banker was every way entitled to a prodigality 
 of praise measured out to him, per Lincoln s Inn 
 tariff, at a ratio of thirteen and fourpence per 
 
 fudge. , . ... 
 
 A far more interesting subject, meanwhile, 
 was beginning to occupy, for his behoof, the at- 
 tention of his legal delegate. The solicitors of 
 the Marchioness of Dartford had forwarded to 
 them, immediately after the formal betrothment 
 -of the young couple, a precis of the liberal inten- 
 tions of the young bridegroom ; and it was, of 
 •course, more agreeable to examine, with Messrs. 
 Wigwell and Slack, a schedule of the splendid 
 and unencumbered Dartford property, than to 
 grope in the mysteries of the newspaper press. 
 
 On all sides, the matrimonial plot was thick- 
 ening. The noble invalid from Dartford Hall 
 arrived in town, to make the acquaintan^ of 
 lier future daughter-in-law; while Colonel Ham- 
 ilton was hourly expected at Fenton’s with Ms, 
 to become an eyewitness of the general happi- 
 ness. All was mirth, and promise of mirth, in 
 Cavendish Square. ^ , 
 
 There was some difficulty in recognising, 
 under its present brilliant and aristocratic as- 
 pect, the sober dulness which, for so maiiy 
 _years, had enveloped the methodical household 
 .of Hamlyn the banker ! 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 “ It were better to meet some dangers half way, though 
 'they come nothing near, than to keep too long a watch 
 upon their approaches : for if a man watch too long, it is 
 odds he will fall asleep.”— B acon. 
 
 “ I HOPE and trust my young friend the mar- 
 quis won’t be jealous, my dear, when he hears 
 that your mother (who stopped the carriage 
 just now to welcome me to Lon’on, at the cor- 
 ner of Holles-street), told me I should find you 
 .alone, and gave me warrant for a tete-a-tete 
 
 “ Gerald is very indulgent at present,” replied 
 Miss Hamlyn, with a -smile. _ “ These are 
 courtship days, you know ! I will not promise 
 you, dearest Colonel Hamilton, that he will 
 allow me to tell you a year hence, how truly 
 glad I am to be again sitting by your side !” 
 
 “ I must try and keep him in good-humour 
 with me, by some more Lion-hunts !” said the 
 colonel, laughing. “As you say, these are 
 courtship-days ; and I couldn’t help feeling glad, 
 my dear, when I heard they were to be spun out 
 a bit, by making you wait for the wedding ! F or 
 even in the happiest marriages, wedlock has as 
 many thorns as courtship roses.” 
 
 “ Are you trying to cast a gloom upon my 
 bright prospects T’ 
 
 “Rather, my dear Lydia, to put you into 
 conceit with the old marchioness s whimsi- 
 cality.” , , . j 
 
 “I assure you that among the many kind 
 things Lady Dartford has done towards me, 
 she replied, “ her postponement of our wedding 
 has been the kindest. Gerald and I are allowed 
 to see each other daily ; and I do not mind say- 
 ing to you, who so dearly love and appreciate 
 my best of mothers, that I should not have been 
 happy to leave her here alone, till Harry is es- 
 tablished at home to keep her company. My 
 sister will be two years longer in the school- 
 room ; and my father’s time, between the bank- 
 ing-house in the morning and House of Com- 
 mons at night, is so thoroughly taken up, ffiat I 
 fear dear mamma would miss me, unless Harry 
 were at hand to take my place.” ^ 
 
 “Why to say the truth, I fancied just now 
 that Mrs. Hamlyn looked a little paler and 
 thinner than usual. Though she said a thou- 
 sand fine things about her new son-m-law, i 
 fancied I saw tears in her eyes !” 
 
 “ Not on our account — for I can assure you 
 that she is beginning to love Lord Dartford as 
 if he were a child of her own! And so she 
 ought, for it is impossible to be more dutifully 
 attached than he is to mamma. But I fear she 
 is uneasy about Harry.” ^ 
 
 “ What the deuce 1 the senior wrangler has 
 not been turning restiff again, has he 1 not been 
 bitten anew, with the bankerphobia, I hop i 
 “ Poor mamma fancies he is ill and unhappy, 
 because he has written to prepare her for being 
 deeply mortified at the result of his approaching 
 
 examination.” « o i 
 
 “ Why, ’tisn’t that frets her, I hope % Surely 
 a woman surrounded with every earthly blpsing 
 can afford to dispense with a few chprs in the 
 Cambridge Senate House, for one of her sons 1 
 “ Not when their absence is a proof of his 
 spirit being broken, as in the present instance. 
 With Henry’s brilliant abilities, it is impossible 
 not to attribute the sudden change in his college 
 standing to the disgusts by which his mind is 
 overpowered. However, it is uselps to 
 it I My father’s will is as that of the Medes 
 and Persians, and the less said about it the bet- 
 ter ! So talk to me about Mrs. Hamilton— talk 
 to me about EUen ! Why didn’t you bring her 
 
 with you to-day ^ 
 
 “ She has caught a sad cold on the railway— 
 the cold of an opera-singer, in my private con- 
 viction. I’ve a notion, my dear, that the poor 
 girl is particularly tenacious of forms and cere- 
 monies as regards your family, from whom she 
 formerly received a bit of a slight. Unless I m 
 much mistaken, Ellen will not set foot m Cav- 
 endish Square till you’ve some of ye been to 
 
97 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 ??ay, ‘ How d’ye do’ to her, at our Hotel in St. 
 
 may be very easily managed !” cried 
 T vflia laughing. “ As soon as mamma comes 
 home, ’we will drive straight to Fenton’s. But 
 I hope Mrs. Hamilton is not a formal person . 
 
 It is^ my hope that we may see very much ot 
 each other ; and — ” 
 
 Thank ye, thank ye, my dear 1 She won t 
 be formal with you, Lydia. She s prepared to 
 love you with all her might and mam. And 
 what’s more, she’s very fond of your handsome 
 young marquis, my dear, ‘Gerald, as you v 
 the sauciness to call him. She was quite sorry 
 when he left Dean Park ! For he often walked 
 over to the Manor, -and used to amuse Eben 
 
 Tor hours, rhodomontading about you; how much 
 
 better you talked and walked, rode drove a 
 pony-chaise, shot at a mark, played billiards, and 
 did all sorts of tomboy things, that would shock 
 Mis3 Creswell to hear of— than any othei 
 charmer of his acquaintance ! Nay, don t look 
 so angry ! He didn’t accuse you, perhaps, ol 
 quite all these accomplishments. But he said 
 that one of your great charms consisted in riot 
 being missish; in speaking your mind imnkly, 
 and enjoying life cordially; not like wax doll 
 stuffed with bran, after the fashion of halt the 
 young ladies or ladyships of his aequamtarice. 
 
 “And pray is his account of Mrs. Hamilton 
 equally to be, relied on'?” cried Lydia, much 
 amused. “For he pronouncp her the most 
 beautiful woman in England ; in proof of which 
 he asserts that Alberic Vernon, of woman-hating 
 renown, has fallen desperately in love with her. 
 
 “ 1 hope he’d the grace 'to tell you, at the sarne 
 time, that the passion is anything but mutual . 
 He and I used to amuse ourselves for hours 
 watching Master Alberic making the agreeable, 
 and she, snubbing him every moment, as it he 
 cost nothing; while your brother Watty, who 
 has a mighty leaning towards^ these Verrions, 
 used to look as if he were sitting on Imt iron, 
 for fear the young spark should take offence at 
 Ellen’s plain speaking.” 
 
 “ I think Walter has rather a partiality lor 
 the Hyde /” said Lydia, gravely. , 
 
 “ Lord Dartford used to swear he was in love 
 with that pretty die-away damsel of a daughter. 
 So I don’t suppose he’ll be particularly pleased 
 at hearing what has happened since he and the 
 marquis left Dean Park.” 
 
 1 “To Miss Vernon T’ , . . . 
 
 “No, to her popinjay of a brother ! After 
 all he’s perpetually saying against matrimony, 
 the coxcomb actually popped the question to 
 Helly ! To be sure, she didn’t give him an op- 
 portunity to make quite as great an ass of him- 
 self as I could have wished ; for she desired rm 
 to convene him as decided a negative as one 
 could well express without knocking him down. 
 So I lost all the fun I’d promised myself in a 
 long courtship, which I knew would end with 
 having to bow him out at last.” 
 
 “ What ! not tempted by that fine^old place 1 
 Why, I don’t think that I, dearly as I love 
 Gerald, could have withstood the Holbein Gal- 
 lery and golden grove of oaks at the Hyde ! 
 cried Lydia. “ Seriously, however, dear Colo- 
 nel Hamilton ! what consternation must it have 
 caused in the Vernon family, to hear of their 
 unparalleled son and heir being rejected by a 
 person so unconnected with the peerage !’ 
 
 “ I know only one thing that would have 
 created greater consternation, my dear — i. e., he^ 
 N 
 
 accepting him ! Bless your soul, that man and 
 woman in armour— his father and mother— 
 would have died no other death than seeing Al- 
 beric the Great united with a commoner’s 
 widow ! There would have had to be as fine a 
 funeral at Braxham Church, as I hope there’ll 
 be a wedding at Ovington, come next June ! 
 By-the-way, my dear, it would have done your 
 heart good to see how proud the worthy doctor 
 was when your letter arrived, apprizing him of 
 your marriage, and asking him to perform the 
 ceremony, which was just like one of yours and 
 your mother’s kind and pretty thoughts ! For, 
 you see, Markham fancied that your father, 
 being up to his ears in dignitaries of the Church, 
 would be wanting a bishop at least, for the 
 grandeur of the thing.” 
 
 “On the contrary— but for my respect for Dr. 
 Markham— Lord Dartford’s tutor, old Mr. Buck- 
 ingham, would have been the man.” 
 
 “ Well ! some of these days, my dep, you 
 must find a good living for Markham, in your 
 lord’s list of preferment ! He wants it, I suspect, 
 poor fellow! for there’s another little olive- 
 branch coming some time this spring! One 
 could almost, fancy there was some especial 
 grace in parsonage-houses, to favour their sprout- 
 ing I I’m to be godfather. I’d have you to know ; 
 and I shall be having Lord Dartford next asking 
 me to be bridesman ! Poor Jack is everybody’s 
 odd man— everybody’s dirty dog ! But good- 
 by. good-by, my dear! I’ve promised to be 
 home by three, to beau Ellen to the Panorama 
 of Naples. She’s always hankering after Italy 
 — foolish girl !” . 
 
 “And is not afraid, it seems, of increasing 
 her cold by a visit to Leicester Fields !” 
 
 “ Ah ! Well ! I see I’ve let the cat out of 
 the bag ! Never mind ! You will know how 
 to make allowances for her, my dear Lydia, 
 and persuade your mother to be prompt in giving 
 
 us a call.” ^ ^ 
 
 But there was no farther need of th& sugges- 
 tion. In the course of the day. Colonel Hamil- 
 ton (who, living in a circle composed of persons 
 mutually interested in each other’s affair^ was 
 apt to repeat all that he heard) related to Ellen, 
 after describing the great happiness of Lydia, 
 the uneasiness entertained by her mother on 
 Henry’s account. Having at that inoment 
 wholly forgotten the Trinity letter and White- 
 hall encounter, it did not occur to him that his 
 lovely companion was peculiarly interested in 
 knowing that, so far from turning out first man 
 of his year, Henry Hamlyn was likely to prove 
 a failure, so thoroughly wds his spirit damped 
 by having been forced by his father into a career 
 the most distasteful to his feelings; and Colonel 
 Hamilton having expressed himself with all his 
 usual warmth concerning the disappointment 
 experienced on the occasion by his excellent 
 mother, Ellen instantly made up her mind to 
 volunteer a visit with him to Cavendish Square 
 the following day. • * 
 
 In the interim, however, even this project was 
 forestalled. Mrs. Hamlyn wrote to request that 
 the Colonel and Mrs. Hamilton would accom- 
 pany her to her box at the Opera, which was a 
 double one ; and Ellen, who a few hom's before 
 would certainly have declined the invitation, 
 hastened to comply. She felt bound to abstain 
 from all ungracious dealing towards one tor 
 whom she had been the innocent cause ot so 
 
 cruel a disappointment. , . 
 
 Harassed as Richard Hamlyn was at this 
 
the BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 iancUire by the unspoken menses of Spilsby, 
 ind his deep regret at having afforded^ a per- 
 son so nearly connected with his noble son-in- 
 law as Lord Crawley the remotest clue to his 
 anxiety to disencumber his banking-house of 
 one of its confidential servants it would have 
 afforded him some comfort, could he have sur- 
 mised the degree of mortification unintention- 
 ally inflicted that night by his wife upon the 
 
 obnoxious family of Vernon! 
 
 In selecting an opera-box for her, his choice 
 had been solely dictated by his det^^m^tion 
 that it should be within view of Lady ’ 
 
 in order that the haugnty ladies ot the Hyd 
 might learn by ocular demonstration that how- 
 ever insolently they might rise in Warwickshire 
 above the banker’s family, in London, the ac- 
 quaintanceships of Mrs. Hamlyn were pretty 
 Nearly their own ; and from the commencement 
 of the season, it was, consequently, wormwood to 
 Lucinda to see the marquis — Aer marquis — 
 seated by the side of the lovely and elegantly- 
 dressed Lydia, whom a few months before she 
 had treated as an insignificant sclwol-girl ; more 
 -especially as, whenever Mrs Hamlyn felt too 
 mhch out of spirits to attend the 
 Rotherwood ofliciated as chaperon to the tuture 
 marchioness, and, within \iew of the Vernons 
 treated her future niece with all the affection ot 
 a mother, >and far more than the consideration 
 she had ever testified towards any inmate of the 
 Hvde ! Lord Vernon resented it, of course, p 
 a new injury on the part of Providence, that the 
 lessee of her Majesty’s Theatre- should have 
 presumed to let one of the boxes within four o^f 
 his own, to such people as the family of Ham- 
 lyn the banker. But there was no remedy! 
 Either Lucinda and her mother must renounce 
 the enjoyment of the opera, or find all their de- 
 light in Grisi and Rubini imbittered by this in- 
 famous misappropriation of the Marquis of 
 Dartford, and Box 27^! 
 
 But on the night in question an aggravation 
 of evil was in store for them. On their way to 
 their box. Lady Vernon had claimed the arm 
 of the Due de Montmorency, one of the diplo- 
 matic attaches; a person whom, in the absence 
 of a promising match as the attendant oi her 
 daughter, she regarded as an ornament and ad- 
 dition to her box ; and, as the duKe was too 
 well-bred to take an immediate leave ol the 
 lady who honoured him by so pointed a prei- 
 erence, he sat down patiently to be flirted with 
 and smiled upon by Lucinda. , 
 
 Scarcely, however, had he been five minutes 
 seated, when his double glasses were levelled 
 steadily at the seat usually occupied by the 
 Hamlyns ; and, unwilling to provoke the obser- 
 vations certain to be made by a dozen different 
 visiters, every opera-night, touching the great 
 good fortune of Lord Dartford and the striking 
 beauty of his intended bride. Miss Vernon took 
 no notice of the preoccupation of her cbmpanion. 
 
 But persons of the Duc. de Montmorency s 
 nation seldom keep their impressions to them- 
 selves. His admiration soon burst forth m ex- 
 clamations of “ charmante “ diviTiemeTd bell£ ! ’ 
 “ un port de dksse /” “ une taiUe de nymphe ! 
 
 “ She is very pretty, certainly ; and how ad- 
 mirably Persian! is singing to-night,” observed 
 Lucinda, in hopes of moderating his enthusiasm. 
 
 “ Admirably ! But who is this lovely neigh- 
 bour of yours ^ ^ 
 
 » The daughter of a banker, a person of whom 
 you are likely never to have heard.” 
 
 “Vow are speaking of Miss Hamlyn, the 
 beautifuf creature the Marquis of Dartford is to 
 marry,” said the duke, eagerly. I have seea 
 her hundreds of times, and been enchanted as , 
 often. In my opinion, she is nearly the pret- 
 tiest, and quite the best-dressed girl in town. 
 But the lady I am admiring is a thousand times 
 more beautiful. Juste del! If such a wornaa 
 were to appear at our opera in Paris, not an ey& 
 in the house but would be fixed upon her box 1 
 EUe feraU fureur-! But nothing makes a sensa- 
 tion in London ! In London, it is scarcely 
 worth while to be a beautv, or a comet, or a cat 
 with six legs. You chilly hwdaires would 
 scarcely be at the trouble of an interjection, 
 were Cleopatra herself to arrive sailing in her 
 galley on the Thames. And, by-the-way, yon- 
 der lovely being gives one rather the idea ot 
 
 Cleopatra!” , , ^ u • 
 
 Lucinda Vernon, afraid, perhaps, of being 
 classed among her uninterjection al country peo- 
 ple now affected some interest in the subject j. 
 and, instead of being satisfied with her own 
 loro-non, borrowed the huge Parisian ivory doub- 
 le barrels of the duke, to examine the new 
 
 “ She is, indeed, wonderfully handsome 1” was 
 her irrepressible exclamation. “ Look, mamma I 
 the most beautiful woman I ever saw in my 
 life ” 
 
 ‘‘A fine woman, certainly,” responded Lady 
 Vernon in her turn ; “ doubtless some vulgar 
 city connexion of the Hamlyns !” 
 
 “ City connexion, perhaps, but not vulgar, 
 was the duke’s remonstrance ; and m anouier 
 minute,, as if unable to restrain his curiosity 
 concerning her, he rose, and was about to leave 
 them when the box-keeper’s key grated in the 
 lock, and Alberic made his appearance. 
 
 “ I dare say my brother can inform us who 
 she is!” said Miss Vernon, eager to detain him 
 “ He knows the people she is with. Alberic . 
 who is the lady with Mrs. Hamlyn and tier 
 
 daughter to-night T’ . ^ r 
 
 Alberic Vernon, who had come straight from 
 his cab to his- mother’s box from a holy horror 
 of committing himself by promiscuous lounging 
 in the boxes of other ladies, protested that he 
 had not yet had time to look rqund the house ; 
 but, after a fussy adjustment of his glasses, as 
 thouo'h for the discovery of a planet, and regard- 
 less (in order to satisfy the curiosity of a man 
 so fashionable as Montmorency) of his usual 
 terror of placing himself prominently forward in 
 his family-box, leant over the head of his sister 
 to examine the contents of “ the menagerie of 
 
 Hamlyn the banker.” i .eOJet- 
 
 To have encountered the eyes of a basilisk 
 would not have produced a more electrical 
 effect upon his nerves. Instantly receding into 
 his place, instantly withdrawing his gasses, 
 and losing all colour from his cheeks, and all 
 assurance^from his address, he began to stain- 
 mer forth remarks upon the riew ballet But 
 the duke wms not to be thus distanced and re.- 
 newed his inquiries. WJto was the lady . ^ ^ 
 
 “ A widow,” was Alberic’s hurried reply ; a 
 woman you have probably never met, and are 
 never likely to meet in society. , 
 
 And again he fastened upon the ballet, but 
 Montmorency persisted m 
 of the lady he was never destined to meet ui 
 
 society. 
 
 “Hamilton!” 
 
 “ Ha ’ a very good name — an historical namcr 
 
99 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 The English name of all others best known on 
 the Continent,” cried Montmorency. Your Scot- 
 tish Duke of Hamilton is the representative ot 
 one of our French duchies.” 
 
 “ But this person has nothing to do with our 
 , Scottish Duke of Hamilton,” cried Lady Ver- 
 non, vexed beyond her patience. “You are 
 probably unaware that the names of the great 
 Scotch families extend to all the retainers of 
 their clan ; and there is no more connexion be- 
 tween these vassals and the head of their house 
 than there would be between your coachman 
 and you, were it the custom of your great 
 French houses to give their patronymic to their 
 servants. 
 
 “ I am quite aware of it !” cried the duke. 
 “But, while contemplating yonder beautiful 
 creature, I am inclined to parody the observa- 
 tion of your famous comedian, and say, ‘ If God 
 writes a legible hand, that woman is a lady !’ ” 
 
 “ She shall be an empress, if you like !” pet- 
 tishly rejoined Lucinda; “but I can assure you 
 that she is a person we should very reluctantly 
 admit into our society.” 
 
 Montmorency, too well-bred a man to gain- 
 say the dictum of so fair a lady, uttered some 
 commonplace remark concerning the ballet, by 
 way of changing the cpnversation, and, un- 
 luckily, addressed his sally to Alberic Vernon, 
 who, with his natural susceptibility of egotism 
 of a Frenchified prig, concluded that his secret 
 was known, and the duke talking at him. 
 
 “ The lady is cruel, I see !” said Montmorency, 
 adverting to the gorgeous bai’on in front of the 
 stage, who had just flung himself at the feet of 
 Cerito, “ The Herr Baron yonder is too great 
 a barbarian to perceive that it requires some- 
 thing besides his empty grandeur to subdue the 
 heart of a pretty woman. I hate a fellow who 
 makes love on the strength of his sixteen quar- 
 terings ! So, apparently, does our bellissima 
 ballerina.^ , , . , . ^ 
 
 Before Mr. Vernon could rousn himself from 
 the shock of what he considered a stroke of 
 persiflage, Montmorency had left the box in 
 search of some friend of Dartford’s, who would 
 perhaps put him in the why of a presentation to 
 the beautiful friend of the Hamlyns ; and no 
 sooner was he gone, than Lucinda and her 
 mother burst into exclamations of wonder at 
 the want .of tact exhibited by foreigners in de- 
 tecting the characteristics of high and low in 
 English society. 
 
 “ I should really have thought that a Mont- 
 morency — a member of the family of the first 
 baronial family in Christendom-— might know 
 better than throw away his admiration on the 
 Vulgar widow of a son of that upstart Colonel 
 Hamilton !” said Lady Vernon, swelling with 
 ruffled majesty, and fanning herself with such 
 fervour of indignation, that Alberic entertamed 
 little doubt the news of his unhappy passion 
 had already reached his family. His only hope 
 was that— thanks to the ladylike discretion of 
 its charming object — tidings of his rash decla- 
 ration and immediate rejection might be some- 
 what longer on the road. 
 
 Still, though he would willingly have con- 
 demned poor Ellen Hamilton to be thrown into 
 the caldron of boiling oil in which the Jeyfess 
 of Constance was made to atone for the bright- 
 ness of her eyes, he thought proper to vindicate 
 his choice by the force of lordly example. 
 
 “ You were wrong to say that Mrs. Hamilton 
 was a woman you should be sorry to associate 
 
 with, Inda !” said he, addressing his sister; “ for 
 nothing is more likely than that you will have 
 her next winter at Ormeau, to which place you 
 seem bent upon despatching an olive-branch.” 
 
 “ At Ormeau '1 Yes ! I remember now that 
 the Hamiltons had worked themselves into an 
 acquaintance with the Duke of Elvaston before 
 we left the country !” said Lady Vernon, unable 
 to avoid, without retreating into the back of her 
 Idox, the vexatious spectacle of the Due de 
 Montmorency presented in form to Mrs. Ham- 
 ilton and) Lydia Hamlyn by the Marquis of 
 Hartford. 
 
 “And since you left the country, they have 
 spent a fortnight there to so much purpose, that 
 ■ Lord Edward Sutton is wild to marry Colonel 
 Hamilton’s daughter-in-law, and his family 
 equally eager to promote the match.” 
 
 “Lord Edward Sutton '? What can he mean 
 by debasing himself in such a way 1 Why, he 
 inherits the Wrottesley property, and is in pos- 
 session of six or seven thousand a year ! Lord 
 Edward can aflbrd to marry whom he pleases !” 
 “The reason, I suppose, that he wishes to 
 marry Mrs. Hamilton.” ^ i 
 
 “ I can understand,” continued his mother, 
 not heeding his interruption, “ that a young man 
 in the situation of Captain Hamlyn, who has 
 no pretension to connexion, and only just enough 
 money to wish fqr more, might be .tempted by 
 Colonel Hamilton’s fifteen or twenty thousand 
 a year (what has he 1) to make up to his daugh- 
 ter-in-law. A very suitable match on both 
 sides ! But for a man of family and fortune 
 like Lord Edward Sutton— it is really digusting ! 
 
 I should just as soon expect, Alberic, to hear 
 her talked of for yon /” 
 
 This was said wholly without design; for 
 Lady Vernon was precisely the sprt of woman 
 whom a gossip must be endued with more cour- 
 age than usually falls to the lot of that sneaking 
 tribe, to accost with intelligence at the degrada- 
 tion of her son. Barlow of Alderham, the only 
 man aware of what had been going on between 
 the Hyde and Burlington Manor, no more dared 
 advert to the subject in his letters to Grosvenor 
 Place, than lay a sacrilegious finger upon the 
 monuments in Braxham Church ! But young 
 Vernon, accustomed to hear the sparring of 
 innuOndo systematically carried on between his 
 father and mother (who were apt, like the popu- 
 lace of Rome during the Carnival, to knock 
 each other down with flints fermed into the 
 semblance of sugarplums !), had little doubt that 
 he was being flogged over the shoulders of Lord 
 Edward Sutton. 
 
 While this uneasy family were studying how 
 to convert even the pleasures of life into pains, 
 and ingrafting hyssop on the rose, the inmates 
 of Mrs. Hamlyn’s box were enjoying one of 
 those pleasant evenings which arise for people 
 of well-regulated minds from the elements ot 
 iimusement around them — agreeable friends, 
 fine music, exquisite dancing, and a succession 
 of fair faces lining the saUe de spectate for the 
 recreation of their eyes during the interval of 
 the performance. The musical taste of Mrs. 
 Hamilton, which was not only of the mighest 
 order, but refined by three years’ residence and 
 instruction in Italy, enabled her to appreciate 
 the high merits of a company which, after the 
 London fashion, the casual visiters to the box 
 made it a point’to decry and disparage, though 
 certain to revert to it five years afterward, 
 when no longer attainable, as the finest in the 
 
ioo the bankei 
 
 world. Those well-known airs of the Lucia 
 were to her ears familiar and precious as ^ome 
 rich shrine to the eyes of a votary ; nor did the 
 plaintive character of the music lose by the 
 companionship of those with whom she lound 
 herself in association. 
 
 While, in the eyes of Lydia, whose heart was 
 softened by the perfect and unalloyed happiness 
 of her situation between the mother of her ven- 
 eration and the lover of her choice, this beautiful 
 stranger derived the highest interest from her 
 relationship to their excellent friend the colonel, 
 Ellen could not forbear regarding Mrs. Hamlyn 
 and her daughter in the light of a sister and 
 mother lost to her forever ! All she had heard 
 from Henry of the womanly excellences ol the 
 former— all she saw in the face of the latter to 
 remind her of the intelligent beauty, the frank 
 cordiality of the object of her affection impart- 
 ed new interest in her heart to the kindness 
 with which she was welcomed by both. She 
 felt herself, in short, to be.vone of the family ; 
 and even Colonel Hamilton, though tolerably 
 accustomed now to the effect c5f her rare beauty, 
 was struck by the exquisite expression imparted 
 by the awakened sensibilities of her heart to one 
 of the finest faces in the world. 
 
 While he sat conversing between the acts 
 with Mrs. Hamlyn, the marquis was engaged 
 in eliciting from Ellen instructions for his med- 
 itated bridal tour. , i i * r 
 
 “ Admit that I am every way the luckiest of 
 the human race, my dearest Mrs. Hamilton . 
 said he, “ In these times, when everybody has 
 seen everything, and half the angelic beings in 
 London are as blase in the pleasures of life as 
 old gentlemen of fifty, to have found a little wife 
 who knows no more of the world than I do my- 
 self— who is just as vulgarly delighted as I am 
 with a good opera — and just as enthusiastic in 
 her desire to see something more of valley and 
 mountain in the way of landscape, than> old 
 England '.—sensible people, like your friends 
 the Cossingtons — or fashionable people, like my 
 friends the Vernons— would, I dare say, despise 
 us as a couple of silly children, whose rawness 
 and newness are something unaccountable. But 
 I assure you that, if there be one thing more than 
 another for which*I am obliged to my friend, 
 Mr. Hamlyn, it is for having secured me pretty 
 nearly the only wife with whom I could com- 
 mence, hand in hand, my experience of the 
 pleasures of life. So you see that, if we are 
 children together, we shall be very happy ones ! 
 Indeed, I am beginning to think that we two 
 and Colonel Hamilton are the only children left 
 in the world !” 
 
 Miss Hamlyn interrupted him to entreat Mrs. 
 Hamilton’s indulgence towards his egotism, 
 
 “I beg to say that I do not apologize! per- 
 sisted the young lover, fixing his eyes admiringly 
 on the lovely face that borrowed new charms 
 from the blushes by which it was now over- 
 spread. “ I look upon Mrs. Hamilton, my dear 
 Lydia, as one of the family ; and shall be only 
 too happy to listen when she favours me, in re- 
 turn for my selfish confessions, with sisterly 
 confidences of a similar nature.” , 
 
 k Though this was said at random, and with 
 reference to Colonel Hamilton’s avowed proj- 
 ects in favour of Walter rather than to Henry, 
 with whom at present Lord Hartford had little 
 acquaintance, it sufficed to alarm the womanly 
 dignity of Ellen Hamilton; and her counte- 
 nance forthwith assumed that quiet gravity 
 
 ;S WIFE; OR, 
 
 which so well became its chaste but somewhat 
 severe expression. 
 
 It was at this pause in the conversation that 
 the door of the box was opened to admit Cap- 
 tain Hamlyn and the Due de Montmorency, 
 who had applied to Walter to present him to 
 his family ; and Hartford, who, with all his dis- 
 positions to be brotherly, had not quite forgotten 
 his friend’s avowals of contempt for the rusticity 
 and want of refinement of Colonel Hamilton’s 
 daughter-in-law, could scarcely repress a smile 
 at the deferential manner in which he was al- 
 ready beginning to address the lady whom he 
 found to be an object of adoration to- dukes and 
 the sons of dukes. 
 
 It is true that the marquis, prevented by his 
 advantages of birth from appreciating the in- 
 fluence of mere rank upon certain dispositions, 
 attributed the altered manner of Walter Hain- 
 lyn to the growing ascendency of Ellen Hamil- 
 ton’s beauty over 'his feelings ; and took an op- 
 portunity to whisper to Lydia, when the others 
 were engaged in conversation, that he suspected 
 his friend Sutton would have to run a neck- 
 and-neck race with his friend Walter for the 
 hand of the “ beautiful Ellen.” 
 
 Too slavishly fashionable, meanwhile, was 
 the captain, to be seen at his mother’s opera- 
 box longer than the time necessary for the pre- 
 sentation of his dipldmatic friend ! Intending 
 to return, towards the close of the ballet, and 
 offer his arm to Mrs. Hamilton through the 
 crush-room to the carriage, while his mother 
 was escorted by the colonel and his sister by 
 her affianced lover, he proceeded on a short visit 
 to the Vernons; justly calculating that the fair 
 Lucinda would scarcely exhibit her usual hau- 
 teur towards him, with Hartford and Montmo- 
 rency engaged before her eyes in the most cour- 
 teous homage to his family. Nor was he deceived 
 in his hopes off a gracious reception. Miss V er- 
 non and her mother were not popul ar. Lucinda, 
 being one of those heartless London girls who, 
 while engaged in pursuit of a particular object, 
 are indiscreet enough to disregard all others, 
 and care little whose feelings they wound, found 
 herself, when thrown out in her rnarquis-chase, 
 alone in her glory — without a single suiter 
 without a single admirer. She had avowedly 
 pitched her ambitions so high, that men of mod- 
 erate pretensions were afraid to give way to any 
 dawning feelings of preference. , . , 
 
 It was, consequently, a relief when the fash- 
 ionable Captain Hamlyn presented himself to 
 occupy the place vacated by the recreant duke ; 
 affording the certainty of an attendant to call up 
 the carriage. To detain their visiter, with this 
 selfish view, Lucinda accordingly exerted her- 
 self to “ look and talk delightfully with all her 
 might;” and her smiles and bonmots were as 
 brilliant and fascinating as if they had been or- 
 dered, new, bright, and shining, from some 
 jeweller in Pall Mall. _ 
 
 The consequence was, that Walter remained 
 enchanted in his chair during ndarly the last 
 act of the ballet ; nor was it till a prodigious 
 rustling of satin cloaks and fluttering of swans- 
 down, in an opposite box, apprized him, by the 
 departure of a royal party, that the evenings 
 entertainments were drawing to a close, that fie 
 suddenly replaced in their morocco case the 
 huge glasses with which opera-goers are now 
 condemned by the force of fashion to encumber 
 themselves, though they would be voted heavy 
 baggage by a retreating army. Lady Vernon 
 
101 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 and her daughter had the mortification to per- 
 ceive by the farewell nature of his bow in quit- 
 ting the box, that they had nothing to hope from 
 his assistance in steering through the crush- 
 
 room ! i j i 
 
 But, alas ! scarcely had Walter reached the 
 box which bore the name of Mrs. Hamlyn in- 
 scribed on the blue label over the door, when he 
 saw, winding along the lobby before him, its 
 parting inmates— Mrs. Hamilton leaning on the 
 arm of Lord Edward Sutton ! All he could see 
 of her was the rich Indian shawl which envel- 
 oped her fine shoulders, and the diamond comb 
 presented to her that morning by her father-in- 
 law, sparkling among the raven braids that en- 
 circled her classically-formed head. 
 
 While the family of the bariker occupied this 
 prominent and brilliant position in the eyes of 
 the fashionable world, the fountain-head of their 
 pomps and vanities was sorely troubled. Rich- 
 ard Hamlyn had dined that day at the Bankers 
 Club, enjoying to a degree appreciable only by 
 hollow, worldly natures, the congratulations of 
 his brother bankers on the approaching mar- 
 riage in his family. 
 
 Some few, who had lived in the professioiial 
 interchange of services with him, shook ^ him 
 heartily by the hand — sincerely rejoicing in an 
 event likely to increase his domestic happiness 
 by that of his daughter. Others — the eques au- 
 rati, or new-fangled bardnets of the order of the 
 Golden Calf, who looked upon financial opu- 
 lence only as a bridge of ingots, whereby^ to 
 crawl into the ranks of the aristocracy — ex- 
 ressed, by more deferential salutations, their 
 efight at an alliance ennobling the whole bank- 
 erhood of Great Britain. One or two, of genu- 
 inely philosophical views, were moderate in 
 their congratulations on a marriage which they 
 regarded, like all other disproportions, as a 
 source of social disorder; while Sir Benjamin 
 Bondwell, and certain of his confraternity, who 
 contemplated with a jealous eye the advance- 
 ment of the Hamlyns, their pretensions to the 
 notice of royalty and fashionable notoriety, seiz- 
 ed upon the occasion for launching against him, 
 under the guise of compliments, a thousand 
 covert sneers on his 
 
 sliowing dolphin-like above 
 The element he hved in. 
 
 All that a very vulgar-minded man could string 
 together in allusion to coronet-coaches stopped 
 in Newgate Market on their way to call in Lom- 
 bard-street, or to the Goldsmiths' Company walk- 
 ing in peers’ robes at the coronation, was levelled 
 at poor Hamlyn ; who, like some novice exposed 
 for the first time to the unmerciful roasting of a 
 dinner at the Steaks, had only to smile, take all 
 in good part, and exercise his utmost ingenuity 
 to restore the conversation to its usual channel. 
 It was a relief indeed to his soreness when he 
 found himself overlooked, and his companions 
 engrossed by the consideration of politics, in a 
 light how ditferent from that in which he was 
 forced to view them as a Warvt^ickshire squire ! 
 Like a certain rich Jew, who, in appreciating a 
 matchless goblet from the hand of Cellini,, esti- 
 mated the metal, per ounce, at melting price — 
 parliamentary eloquence was rated at so much 
 a scruple; wars, and rumours of wars, were 
 talked of according to their influence on the mon- 
 ey-market ; a massacre was described at its price 
 current; and an inundation deplored according 
 to its fall in consols ! / 
 
 At length, when such of his brethren as were 
 
 neither involved in Parliament nor connected 
 with the more attractive clubs of the Carlton 
 quarter, sat down to finish the evening at whist, 
 battling for half-crown points with as much waste 
 of cogitation and earnestness as had enabled them 
 in the course of the morning to nett thousands by 
 a successful stroke of speculation, Richard Ham- 
 lyn hurried away to the House, There had been 
 a time when almost the only social pleasure he 
 really enjoyed consisted in those club-meetings. 
 
 It was his House of Peers — his Heralds’ College. 
 There was the name of his forefathers had in re- 
 membrance. There sixW. lingered two or three 
 grave, grayheaded men, who had begun life as the 
 bosom-frmnds of Walter Hamlyn, and still kept 
 among tlmir sacred family relics the mourning- 
 rings they had worn on his decease. 
 
 But now,’ the societv of these men was becom- 
 ing hateful to Him of Dean Park ; not because 
 he felt elevated by his new connexions above 
 their level, but because, by his recent policy, he 
 had sunk immeasurably below it. He trembled 
 at the idea that rumours might transpire, not, in- 
 deed,. of the fearful nature likely to be set afloat 
 by the intermeddling of Spilsby, but of the 
 course he had pledged himself to pursue in Par- 
 liament on a question of financial policy deeply' 
 involving the interests of his moneyed colleagues, 
 his systematic protection of which had for years 
 assigned him immense importance in their eyes. 
 
 The discovery must come ! He knew that, in. 
 the course of a few weeks, he should be pointed 
 out among them as having sold them to govern- 
 ment for thirty pieces of silver; though the ex- ^ 
 press mintage of those pieces, and alloy of that 
 silver, they were as yet unprepared to point out. 
 But he dreaded the first indications of the com- 
 ing storm. He shrunk frbm the exposure of the 
 political baseness into which he had been betray- 
 ed by the latent terrors arising from still deeper 
 turpitude. While undergoing the coarse banter- 
 ing of old Bondwell, he dreaded every moment 
 lest the uncompromising Sir Benjamin should 
 assail him by the name of J udas ; for a remote 
 allusion to his filthy bargain with gbverninent 
 would have wounded him deeper than the direct 
 accusation of tuft-hunting. 
 
 Getting hastily into the carriage, he proceeded 
 to the House of Commons ; conscious, however, 
 that even that dignified retreat would shortly be- 
 come less consolatory to his feelings, and that 
 the conciliations of the Treasury Bench would 
 offer poor compensation for the general respect 
 hitherto commanded by his altitude of parlia- 
 mentary independence. 
 
 Still, the tale of his apostacy was unbruited; 
 and he accordingly brushed past the humpback- 
 ed auasimodo of the house, and ascended the 
 shabbiest and dirtiest staircase in the metropolis, 
 with his usual consciousness of the dignity at- 
 tached to every component item of the first body- 
 corporate in enlightened Europe. And, by-the- 
 way, Richard Hamlyn having now been twenty 
 years in Parliament, had not only progressed mto 
 the dignity of an old member, but, by the chan- 
 ges of the times, come to find himself remarkable 
 for the spruceness, the utmost dandyism of his 
 dress, compared with the less Londonized toong 
 of his compeers of the Reformed House of Com- 
 “'lons. . , „ . ^ 
 
 After spending an hour in the House, in a 
 whispered colloquy over the shoulder of Loro 
 Crawley (which, if the truth must be told, bore 
 little reference to the very longwinded and la- 
 boured speech with which an honourable oppo- 
 
103 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 sition member was favouring his constituents 
 north of the Tweed, through the wearied ears of 
 the Reporter’s gallery — one of those dreary par- 
 liamentary passages that lead to nothing), the 
 banker finding there was to be no division, re- 
 turned to Cavendish Square ; attributing some- 
 thing of the charm just then to the name of home, 
 which every man of business connects with the 
 leisure he has only enjoyed for five hasty min- 
 utes since the hour of an early breakfast. 
 
 His family was not yet returned, from the op- 
 era; and Ramsay, as he hurried before his mas- 
 ter into the study to light the lamp, took occa- 
 sion to mention that “ a person had called twice 
 in the course of the evening, requesting to see 
 Mr. Hamlyn.” 
 
 “ Did not the gentleman leave his name 1 in- 
 quired the banker, who was seldom molestbd at 
 his private residence by the intrusion of “ per- 
 sons,” unless nowand then a Barsthorpe constit- 
 uent, who could not be made to understand that, 
 in London, business hours conclude with the 
 hrst stroke of the dinner-bell. 
 
 “ The first time he came, sir, he left no name, 
 but merely said he would call again, as we rath- 
 er expected you home early,” replied Ramsay, 
 proceeding as leisurely with his task of remo- 
 ving and replacing the globe of the Carcel lamp 
 as if the enlightenment of the' universe depended 
 upon the evenness*of its wick and steadiness of 
 its light 1 “ The second tipie, sir, as he seemed 
 
 so very persewering and determined, in making 
 his inquiries of John as to where you had dined, 
 and whether you were likely to be met with at 
 the House to-night, I came to the door myself; 
 and unless I am mistaken, sir, it was one of the 
 banking clerks from Lombard-street.” ; 
 
 “A baldheaded man T’ inquired Hamlyn, in 
 a low voice, and with assumed unconcern. , 
 
 “ He had his hat on, sir— I really can’t take 
 upon me to say, But now I think of it, John 
 told me he had written his name.” 
 i “ Where is John'? Send him hither.” 
 
 * ■ “ The footmen are gone with the carriage to 
 fetch my mistress from the opera,” replied Ram- 
 say ; and as he replaced the carcel on the study- 
 table, its light fell direct upon an open blotting- 
 book, beside the bronze standish, where lay a 
 strip of paper, evidently deposited by John, be- 
 fore he proceeded to his duties of the evening. 
 
 It scarcely needed for Mr. Hamlyn to cast 
 his eyes upon the name subscribed in good 
 clerkly text, with due regard to the open loop- 
 ing of the Ys and curling of the Ss, to learn that 
 his untimely and unfortunate visiter was no 
 other than— Spilsby ! 
 
 But what could be the meaning of this unau- 
 thorized intrusion into his private residence '? 
 A short time before, and Richard Hamlyn would 
 sooner have expected Birnam Wood to come to 
 Dunsinane, or the Monument on Fish-street 
 Hill to pay a morning visit to the Duke of 
 York’s Column, as for any member of his Lom- 
 bard-street establishment to make his appear- 
 ance, on business of his owii devising, at his 
 private residence; the consecrated groves of 
 Dodona being less sacred in the sight of the 
 priesthood of Apollo, than in theirs, the scaly- 
 barked plane-trees of Cavendish Square. 
 
 But, alas ! Richard Hamlyn was not unpre- 
 pared for so singular an infraction of subordina- 
 tion on the part of his head-clerk. The coun- 
 tenance of Spilsby was a book in which he was 
 beginning to read strange things, as distinctly 
 as though its characters were as legibly inscri- 
 
 bed as the raised letter-press invented for the 
 use of the blind ; and from the day his daugh- 
 ter’s marriage was publicly announced, the 
 banker had deciphered in the eyes of his rebel- 
 lious vizier a determination to turn to account 
 the peculiar situation of his sultan. The higher, 
 in short, the position attained by Hamlyn, the 
 greater the power of the man who was able to 
 precipitate him from his high estate into an abyss 
 of infamy. 
 
 From the apex of his present prosperity, hav- 
 ing a daughter about to form an alliance with 
 one of the first nobles in the realm — a son dis- 
 tinguished by the general favour of society, and 
 occupying a commission in one of the first regi- 
 ments— another on the eve of attaining the high- 
 est academic honours preparatory to assuming 
 his place in that house of business, to maintain 
 the credit of which his father had attempted 
 such terrible sacrifices — from the eminence of 
 all this, to be precipitated into the dust, would 
 be, indeed, a bitter reverse ! The consequence 
 was, that for every step of worldly progress ef- 
 fected by the banker, he fancied he could discern 
 in the menacing looks of his enemy an additional 
 unit augmenting the appraisement of his silence. 
 
 For a week past, the clerk had exhibited 
 symptoms of desiring a private interview with 
 his master; and it was with agony of spirit 
 scarcely describable, that Hamlyn had watched 
 him making his exits and entrances ; expecting 
 nothing less, every time he made his appear- 
 ance in the private room, than an explanation, 
 than which death itself wmuld have been more 
 wmlcome, if death could have ensued without 
 withdrawing the curtain from the disgraceful 
 position of his affairs. 
 
 So certain, however, did he now feel of a 
 forthcoming crisis, that, instead of indulging in 
 his usual prayer for a respite — for time — for the 
 delay of a few years— in the hope that the frui- 
 tion of some of his numerous schemes or a con- 
 siderable bequest from Colonel Hamilton might 
 enable him to fill up certain deficiencies in his 
 accounts, the consciousness of which “ appalled 
 his spirit like a night-shriek,” he satisfied him- 
 self with murmuring, between his grinding teeth, 
 in the watches of the night— “ but a few months! 
 Only let it be delayed a few months— till Lydia’s 
 marriage shall have been solemnized, and a shel- 
 ter be thus provided for the others — and I will 
 submit myself to the worst ! That worst would 
 scarce be harder to bear than this accursed 
 persecution I” . 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 “ Men are but children of a larger growth.” 
 
 “Bless my soul and body! who wmuld ever 
 have thought of finding yon here, with the Vere- 
 street clock striking the half hour to twelve as I 
 came past !” cried Colonel Hamilton, addressing 
 Richard Hamlyn, on entering the dining-room 
 in Cavendish Square the following morning, as 
 the family were rising from breakfqst.^ “For 
 don’f fancy I came to see yo^t! I fancied you 
 .safe in the parish of St. Sepulchr^ or I wouldn’t 
 have set foot in your house !” , , 
 
 “It is not often I am idling at the West End 
 at this hour of the day,” replied Hamlyn, wdth a 
 smile, affecting to humour the cheerful old 
 man’s bantering. “ But I have an appointment 
 with my lawyers at twelve, and wish to take it 
 in my way to the city.” 
 
103 
 
 COURT aKD city. 
 
 » Don’t let me be any hinderance to you, then. 
 Get into your cab with you, and be off!” cried 
 the colonel, taking the offered seat besi(^ Mrs. 
 Hamlyn “ or we shall be having Messrs. Pounce 
 and Parchment in a pucker, and all along, un- 
 less I’m mistaken, of the marriage settlenients 
 a certain Miss Lydia Hamlyn, who sits there, 
 looking as demure and unconcerned as it sne 
 had never heard the words jointure or pin-money ! 
 As soon US' you’re gone, I shall expound my 
 business to your good lady ; and a flagrant case 
 of gossiping it is, as was ever whispered over 
 a caudle-cup. By-the-way, however, my dear 
 Hamlyn, as you’ve ten minutes on hand over 
 your mark to reach Norfolk-street (for I con- 
 clude the clause-spinners who made such a des- 
 perate long job of our Burlington lease are still 
 your men 1), I may as well tell you some news 
 that reached me this morning from our part ot 
 the world. There’s a report of a bankruptcy 
 afloat, which has made poor Ovington’s hair 
 
 stand on end.” , , ^ _ 
 
 At the word bankruptcy, Richard Hamlyn, 
 who was gathering together his hat and gloves, 
 winced unconsciously, and made a step back to- 
 wards the breakfast-table. 
 
 “ Jacob Durdan, they say, poor fellow, will 
 be in the Gazette in no time. ‘ Malster,’ I sup- 
 pose they’ll c^ll him 3 But that’s not affair ! 
 The’ thing is, that his farm is actually in the 
 market; and lying, as it does, betwixt Burling- 
 ton and Dean Park, like the keystone of an arch, 
 
 I suppose you won’t like it to slip through yc^^ 
 Angers % Buy it you«must — either for yourself 
 .or as young Burlington’s trustee.” 
 
 “ I am afraid not /” replied Hamlyn, much 
 surprised at the intelligence. “ Durdan used to 
 ■value his property at between eleven and twelve 
 thousand pounds; and the bona fide value cannot 
 be much less than seven.” 
 
 “ Then if the bonA fide value’s seven, to you 
 »tis worth nearer fourteen 1” persisted the colonel, 
 and I shal> think you a deused lucky dog if you 
 get it at ten.’’ ^ , 
 
 “ Perhaps so ; but I fear I must be satisfied to 
 do without it. A man in business finds it a hard 
 matter to lay his hands on ten thousand pounds 
 for his private purpose.s.” 
 
 “ Not when he’s got an old friend at his elbow 
 with thirty times ten lying idle, and the grace to 
 -be thankful when an opportunity presents itself 
 of making a portion of it useful to better men 
 fhan himself.” . , . ^ * 
 
 Hamlyn felt every nerve in his frame vibrate 
 ■at this critical declaration. 
 
 “ Be assured, my dear_ sir, that you are as 
 welcome to invest my India bonds, or any other 
 tangible thing of mine, in land, and in your own 
 name, as though John Hamilton were under the 
 turf and Watty Hamlyn standing in his shoes 1” 
 Tiersisted the colonel, fancying himself misun- 
 derstood. 
 
 The hand of the banker became spasmodically 
 xlasped in that of his generous friend, as Ham- 
 
 ^^“Tfeel all this as it ought to be felt; but Dur- 
 dan’s farm, at the price likely to be put upon it 
 •under such circumstances, would be a prepos- 
 terous purchase 1” 
 
 “Well ! I suppose you know best!” cried the 
 colonel. “ I haven’t enough of the country gen- 
 tleman in me yet to know how many years pur- 
 chase one ought to give for land. Only I con- 
 cluded this must be a windfall, as Robson writes 
 me word (with a basket of Wilmot’s Superb, 
 
 that he sent up by the rail this morning, which 
 I can promise you would put all Covent Garden 
 to the blush, and Gunter’s shop to the back of 
 it !) that Barlow of Alderham is nibbling already 
 — for Lord Vernon, of course. Barlow is no 
 great capitalist, I take itl But ’twould really 
 be a nice little tit-bit to tack to the skirts of the 
 Braxham property !” „ , t, i. 
 
 “ Certainly — beyond all doubt! And Rob" 
 son tells you that Barlow has made an offer T’ 
 
 “ So it is supposed. But I remember Robson 
 saying one day, as we were pottering together in 
 the copse adjoining Durdan’s, that if ever the 
 property was in the market, you’d be sure to 
 snap it up ; and now, he writes word, the people 
 at Ovington look upon it as already gone so 
 sure are they that you’ll overbid Lord Vernon. 
 
 “ They will prove mistaken,” said Hamlyn, 
 gravely. I should not consider it justifiable to 
 make the purchase.” 
 
 “ Then I think you’ll' live to repent it when 
 ’tis too late, and you find Lord Vernon growing 
 up like a grain of mustard-seed under your nose, 
 with all the Barlpws of Alderham roosting in his 
 branches ! Barlow is looking out for a farni to 
 enable that cub of a son of his to prove what 
 deused bad farmers, what he calls ‘ a country 
 family,’ can produce !” 
 
 “ However sorely tempted, I feel it my duty 
 to forbear,” still persisted the banker. ' 
 “What! when the thing takes the form of a 
 profitable investment'? Why you know very 
 v/ell how difiicult it is, nowadays, to get even 
 four per cent, for money ; and if Robson s esti- 
 mate be correct, Durdah’s farm, even at the price 
 named, will bring five! In a month or so, 1 
 shall be having one hundred, and fifteen thousand 
 pounds thrown upon my hands (if Moonjee and 
 Company are true to their engagements), and 
 then you’ll be telling me that, instead of the six 
 per cent, my friends at Chinderapore have hither- 
 to secured me, I might whistle for five ! How- 
 ever, don’t let me detain you with my Oving- 
 ton news ! Go, and settle Lydia’s business lor 
 her ! Go and lay down the faggots on your line 
 of road, and leave Mrs. Hamlyn and me to chat 
 about what concerns us more than dot-and- 
 
 carry-one!” i 
 
 A glance which followed the direction oi Col- 
 onel Hamilton’s eyes at that moment exhibited 
 to Richard Hamlyn the face of his wife, as pale 
 as ashes— though inclined ovpr the plate in 
 which she was unconsciously smashing an egg- 
 shell with a gold egg-spoon into the aspect of a 
 choice bit of crackled china; and in his alarm 
 lest her agitation should betray itself injuriously 
 to Colonel Hamilton, after his departure, which 
 was now inevitable, he felt almost inclined to 
 reduce her \o the same helpless consistency. 
 For Hamlyn was gradually approaching the 
 pitch of menial irritation which is produced by 
 a concat;enation of adverse advents by constant 
 brooding over evil— by terror— by sleeplessness 
 — ^by remorse, which, like the desperation oi the 
 scorpion surrounded by flaming spirits, 
 gates frantic ferocity. In humbler life, excited 
 bv the coarser struggles of so harassing a situ- 
 ation,, he would probably have become guilty 
 of a crime! , 
 
 But he was a banker— a man of whom calm- 
 
 out liC a ucuiim'^x xx*— . 
 
 ness, serenity, plausibility, constitute a portion 
 of the stock-in-trade. He was a banker— a man 
 who, so far from being “passion s slave, _ must 
 be as steadfast in phlegmatic self-possession as 
 deipure in demeanour. He accordingly took 
 
104 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 from his servant his v’ell-b rushed hat and steady- 
 looking beaver gloves; and, after a benignant 
 nod to his family, and smile to Colonel Hamil- 
 ton (the blandness of which Howard the philan- 
 thropist might 'have envied !), withdrew to his 
 cabriolet — overmastering the strife of mingled 
 fear, shame, haired, misery, and desperation 
 contending in his tortured breast. 
 
 For, alas ! there are more Laocoons to be met 
 with unsuspected, among the haunts of daily life, 
 than all the united galleries of Great Britain af- 
 ford to our inquiring view ! 
 
 Colonel Hamilton followed him to the door 
 with his eyes, as one loves to dwell upon the 
 aspect of a friend in the fulness of his prosperity 
 and joy ; satisfied that if there existed a man on 
 the face of the earth whose virtues had their re- 
 ward in the attainment of perfect worldly happi- 
 ness, it was that upright and self-denying indi- 
 vidual, Hamlyn the banker ! 
 
 Even Ramsay, as he waited upon his master 
 to the snow-white steps of his stately doorway, 
 contemplated him with the abject deference paid 
 by the vulgar only to great capitalists, or great 
 lords ; and would have denounced as a slander- 
 ous libeller the wretch who presumed to espy a 
 spot in such sun of glory, as the church-gomg, 
 rate-paying, orphan-school-presiding, propaga- 
 tion-of-the-Gospel-subscribing, mild, virtuous, 
 punctual, liberal, Richard Hamlyn, the banker! 
 
 Yet this man of universal credit was but a 
 more polished, more cautious, more solid swin- 
 dler in the amount of thousands, where swin- 
 dlers in the amount of tens or hundreds are sen- 
 tenced to the hulks. 
 
 Such was the man who was proceeding into 
 the city, overcome with dread -at the idea of an 
 impending interview with his own clerk; and 
 while the sober, lumbering cab of the , man of 
 business was starting from the door, Colonel 
 Hamilton proceeded to unfold the purpose of 
 his visit, by placing in the hand of Mrs. Ham- 
 lyn a check for one hundred pounds, on her hus- 
 band’s bank. 
 
 “ You’d do me a mons’ous favour, said ne, 
 “by looking me out this trifle’s-worth of fallals 
 for a lying-in lady and her bantling, as a present 
 for my good friend, Mrs. Markham, to whose 
 babe I’ve proposed myself as godfather. I should 
 look like an old ass were I to present myself at 
 one of the Bond-street frilleries, where such mat- 
 ters are ticketed up; and even Ellen (the more s 
 the pity) knows nothing about caudle-cup finery ; 
 so 1 thought it might vex her, poor dear, if I put 
 lier upon executing my commission. But as I 
 know you are going about just now, my dear 
 ma’am, among linen and lace shops, in order to 
 give my lady, our young marchioness yonder- 
 a few rags to her back at parting, I thought, may 
 be, you’d give yourself so much trouble on my 
 account.” j ,, 
 
 “ And with the more pleasure,” replied Mrs. 
 Hamlyn, “ that I have an unfeigned respect and 
 regard for the object of your kindness. No one 
 can better than myself appreciate all that has 
 been effected at Ovington by the ififluence of her 
 example and vigilance. The late vicar was a 
 widower; and though, during his incumbency, 
 everything was done by Dean Park for the vil- 
 lage that we are still doing, or in fact considera- 
 bly more, the poor people were not half so 
 healthy or happy as now— a sufficient proof that 
 it is the care of the Markhams, and not the 
 money we provide, which ministers to their wel- 
 fare.” 
 
 “ Nothing can exceed the activity and thought- 
 fulness of that good woman,” added Lydia. 
 “Go where one w'ill, at Ovington, or exercise 
 what charity one may, the vicar’s wife has al- 
 ways been beforehand with us — not only with 
 food and alms, but useful advice, far more diffi- 
 cult to bestow. Mrs. Markham is a very model 
 for parsons’ wives !” 
 
 “ Well, my dear, as I said t’other day, you 
 must get Hartford to reward the virtues of the 
 vicarage \frith a fat living.” 
 
 “ On the contrary,” said Miss Hamlyn, hu- 
 mouring his raillery. “It strikes me that her 
 excellences are more appropriate to a lean one. 
 
 It would be very unpatriotic in me to remove 
 the second providence of my native Ovington ! ’ 
 
 “ But being thus disposed towards Mrs. Mark- 
 ham,” resumed the banker’s wife, “ believe me, 
 you would please and prosper her much more 
 by converting your gift into a more solid form. 
 The Markhams are not well off. They have 
 secured, I understand, a small provision for their 
 children. But their family is increasing; and 
 a hundred pounds laid by on compound interest 
 would give your godchild a couple of hundreds 
 to help him on, if a -boy, in the outset of life.” 
 
 “ By George 1 I do believe you’ve caught the 
 money-itch of Hamlyn !” cried the colonel, al- 
 most vexed. “ Can’t I do something for a god- 
 child, against it wants putting out in life, with- 
 out denying myself the pleasure of seeing it tidy 
 and smart, in its long clothes and cockade 7” 
 “Just as you please!” replied Mrs. Hamlyn, 
 who loved the colonel too sincerely to be affront- 
 ed by his occasional pettishness; “but take a 
 woman’s word for it that Mrs. Markhffin has 
 too much sense to care for lace and lawn ; and 
 that, if you wish to make this money a source 
 of satisfaction to her, you had better let me pur- 
 chase some more useful present— plate, linen, 
 furniture, rather than finery, which has little 
 charm for those who have no admiring eyes to 
 be delighted by the exhibition. Even the cap 
 and robe that Lydia embroidered for little Kitty 
 have not, I am sure, been taken out of the ward- 
 robe a dozen times !” , , , 
 
 “ I’m afraid you’re right,” cried the colonel ; 
 “ I wish you’d be sometimes in the wrong, it 
 ’twas only for a change. Well, well ! go to Run- 
 dell’s, and look out a sober parsonage-house-like 
 teapot and coffee-pot, and a cantine of spoons and 
 forks. Will that suit your ’ ^ 
 
 “ It will suit the Markhams, which signifies 
 much more !” said Mrs. Hamlyn, good-humour- 
 edly: and while she was yet speaking, there 
 dashed up to the door the well-appointed cab of 
 her son Walter— the equipage of the man of 
 pleasure, forming a singular contrast to that oi 
 the man of business, which had just rumbled 
 
 off in a contrary direction. 
 
 “By George! here’s Watty himself, in the 
 nick of time!” cried Colonel Hamilton, rising 
 and going to the window. “ He shall drive me 
 to the silversmith’s at once, and take the trouble 
 off your hands. Lydia, my dear, what will you 
 give me to tell you who the captain s brought 
 with him from the barracks r’ 
 
 This intimation of Lord Dartford s arrival 
 sufficed to send Miss Hamlyn to the drawing- 
 room to meet their visiter; and as the colonel 
 and Mrs. Hamlyn prepared to follow her lighter 
 footsteps, the veteran could not forbear exclaim- 
 ing that, next to the pleasure of being eighteen 
 and in love one’s self, was that of witnessing so 
 charming a juncture in so charming a person . 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 105 
 
 “ Her happiness is almost too great '.’’ replied 
 her mother, with a sigh. “ I sometimes tremble 
 to think what would be the consequence, should 
 any unforeseen event frustrate this hopeful rnar- 
 riage ! Her whole heart and soul ar« embarked 
 
 happen to prevent 
 itl” cried the colonel. “I hear the old mar- 
 chioness is as pleased Punch at the idea oi 
 her son’s settling ! As to him, if Lydia s a wee 
 bit in love. Lord Dartford’s a better specimen 
 of a Romeo than I fancied was left upon this 
 
 '"^.^lT?sTru?J?e;iied Mrs. Hamlyn. -Bnt one 
 cannot account for one’s presentiments , and 
 mine hang all the heavier on my heart that 1 
 love this warm-hearted, noble-minded boy as it 
 he were a child of my own. I never could have 
 expected to obtain from a son-in-law the dutiiui 
 atihction with which Lydia has already mspired 
 Lord Dartford towards her rnother.^ 1 teel that 
 to number him among my children in my pray- 
 ers to Heaven, would be an addition to the hap- 
 piness of my life.” - j . 
 
 “ Will be— say will be— my- dear ma am . 
 There’s no would in the case,” cried Colonel 
 Hamilton. “ I hate what nervous folks pretend 
 to call ‘ presentiments.’ What are they but a 
 mistrusting of Providence ! Lydia will be hap- 
 py with her husband, and yo^i with your son-in- 
 law ; and then you’ll feel ashamed of having al- 
 lowed yourself to glance at your bright sunshiny 
 prospects in life, through the medium of a black 
 crape veil! So come along into the drawing- 
 room, anA let me hear whether W alter will have 
 anything to say to me. If we should happen 
 to meet some of his smart brother officers, you 
 know, he can say, I’m a quizzical old uncle from 
 the north, from whom he has expectations. 
 
 And chuckling at his own joke against him- 
 self, the colonel hob’oled into thp drawmg-rooni, 
 and, much in the same terms, made his proposi- 
 tion to Walter Hamlyn. 
 
 “ There’s no fine folks astir- yet, Watty, my 
 boy said he. “What if you were to take me 
 as far as Ludgate Hill, to choose some plate 1 
 If I hayen’t the benefit of better taste than my 
 own, they’ll be putting me off with sorne old- 
 fashioned rubbish, and making me pay for the 
 last new kick.” ^ 
 
 But for his viyid recollection of the “beauti- 
 ful Ellen,” as he had seen her leaning on the arm 
 of Lord Edward Sutton the night before, Walter 
 would, perhaps, have deprecated Lord Dartford s 
 exhortations to take no farther thought of him, 
 as he was quite content to remain in Cavendish 
 Square during their expedition into the city. 
 But as his future brother-in-law had previously 
 announced a visit from the marchioness, at two 
 o’clock, which must keep the rest of the party 
 at home to receive her, there was no excuse for 
 non-compliance with the request of Colonel 
 Hamilton. , „ , ^ 
 
 “ And I tell you what you shall do for me, my 
 dear fellow, if yop are really going to Run- 
 dell’s,” said Lord Dartford. “ Tell them that the 
 paste model they sent me yesterday for the dia- 
 dem they are resetting, is much too broad for 
 the prettiest dittle head in England ; and that 
 they had better let one of their fellows take an 
 exact measure, w*ith gold wire or something of 
 that kind, before they set to work. I must say,” 
 continued he, turning to Miss Hamlyn, “ I think 
 Rundell rather gone by, for anything beyond a 
 mere necklace, though they have, unquestiona- 
 O 
 
 bly tbe finest choice of diamonds. But I saw 
 that my mother would be affronted .if I took the 
 family jewels anywhere but to the house which 
 has been in charge of them for more than hall, 
 
 ^ “^auite* right !” said Lydia. “ After all, what 
 does, it signify '1 Diamonds are only valuable 
 as the insignia of a certain rank and fortune ; 
 and whether arranged in a manner more or less 
 becoming to the wearer, is of little conseqi^nce 
 compared with the chance of vexing Lady Dart- 
 ford. After wearing them so long, she natumlly 
 looks' on them as her own; and I should have 
 been far, far better pleased had you left them at 
 her disposal during her lifetime.” 
 
 “ By which I should have deprived her of a 
 great pleasure in seeing you wear them I Where- 
 as even without having a pretty daughter-in- 
 law as a motive for leaving them off, my mother 
 has never worn the family jewels since the death 
 of her husband. One- word more, Walter Tell 
 the foreman he must apply to the Heralds Of- 
 fice for the Hamlyn arms he wants to qimrter la 
 the new desk-seal they are making for Dartford 
 Hall; or, if you’ve one by you, perhaps you It 
 
 give him an impression r-’ 
 
 These commissions, so soothing to the vanity 
 of the worldly-minded Walter, reconciled hmi 
 to the idea of a drive with an old gentleman m 
 a low-crowned hat, who had not the excuse for 
 his originality of costume of being a county 
 member; and having determined to make his 
 way along those dreary Boulevards called the 
 City Road, as a security against an encounter 
 with his fashionable friends, he proceeded, at a 
 slapping pace, through Pentonville andClerken- 
 well, towards Gray’s Inn Lane ; how gloomy a 
 contrast to the brilliant, gorgeous, animated ex- 
 citing line of road that divides the capital or 
 FraiTce from its gay suburbs ! ' 
 
 “ That’s as fine a young fellow as ever I saiv 
 in my life !” cried Colonel Hamilton, after a 
 prolonged meditation upon the excellent temper 
 and warm affections of the young marquis. 
 
 “ A perfect gentleman, in every respect, ad- 
 ded Walter — giving to the word “gentleman 
 its most extended and best interpretation. 
 
 “Your good mother, with a mother s natural 
 partiality, always adds, ‘as perfect as is com- 
 patible with a defective education.’ She, you 
 know, has been a little Greek-and-Latm hfiten, 
 ever since your brother began to carry off the 
 Cambridge prizes! I always observe, by-the- 
 way, that women are twice as proud of the sol- 
 diership or scholarship of their sons as the fa- 
 thers. If you'd been one of the heroes of Wa- 
 terloo, for instance, instead of one of the cheese- 
 mongers, 'poor Madam Hamlyn would have 
 been desperately in love with ‘gnns, drums, 
 trumpets, blunderbuss, and thunder for the re- 
 mainder of her days !” 
 
 “Lucky, then, that I have fallen on times 
 more pacific !” said Captain Hamlyn somewhat 
 nettled, as is usual with the household brigade 
 at any allusion to his qualities as a carpet 
 knight. “ But apropos to Harry, my dear colo- 
 nel you, who are in my mother’s confidence, 
 which is the next thing to being in rny brother s, 
 for they are one and indivisible, whereas with. 
 me he is beginning to establish something of an. 
 Esau and Jacob jealousy—” 
 
 “Are you sure, Watty, that the grudge is not 
 a creation of your ownT’ interrupted the colo- 
 nel, turning suddenly towards him. 
 
 “ Q,uite sure, as regards my will and feelings ! 
 
•108 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 I love Harry with all my heart and soul? But, 
 somehow or other, I have always noticed that, 
 between only brothers, an intuitive rivalship is 
 apt to spring up.” 
 
 “ Cain-and-Abelship, I call it—” 
 r “ Which so far exists on Harry’s part towards 
 myself, that, ever since his return from Italy, he 
 has not been the same brother to me!” 
 
 “ Why, I thought you’d scarcely met?” 
 
 ' “ We meet by letter, every now and then,” re- 
 plied Waller; “ but not as we used ; and of aM 
 the painful things in the world, comrnend me to 
 a half-confidential letter from one with whom 
 you have been accustomed to communicate 
 openhearted and without reserve 1” 
 
 “But are i/ou as frank as ever with Mm? No- 
 thing but confidence ever begets confidence ; and 
 if Harry has found out that there’s a blue cham- 
 ber in your own mind, of course he’s right to 
 lock the door of Ms ! To tell you my honest be- 
 lief, Watty, my boy. I’m half afraid there’s no- 
 thing more difficult than for brothers to main- 
 tain total unreserve. Between two friends there 
 are no jarring interests, no mutual delicacies of 
 a pecuniary kind to produce closeness or hesi- 
 tation. But what were you beginning to say, 
 just now, about confidences likely to have been 
 made me by your mother on Harry’s account?” 
 “ Simply that, as she called in your influence 
 to mediate between my brother and father about 
 the partnership in the bank — and successfully, 
 as it appears, on one side — I thought it probable 
 she might have been more explicit with you 
 than myself concerning the origin of Harry’s 
 indisposition.” 
 
 ‘‘What the deuse! is he iZZ, then?” cried the 
 colonel, becoming more interested in a conver- 
 sation which at first appeared only a little out- 
 burst of Iraternal spleen on the part of the hand- 
 some captain. 
 
 “Have you not heard it? No! by-the-way, 
 I remember now, to my shame, that my mother 
 begged me to say nothing to you on the subject.” 
 “Nothing to me? why, surely, this mystery- 
 mania is not becoming epidemic ? W ell, to be 
 sure! If I find my dear good straightfor’ard 
 Madam Hamlyn beginning to deal in zigzag, I 
 shall feel sure that Truth has sunk much deeper 
 cut of sight than the bottom of a well !” 
 
 “To exonerate my mother,” observed Wal- 
 ter, making so close a shave against the wheel 
 of an omnibus at Battle Bridge, that involunta- 
 rily the colonel laid his hand upon the reins, “it 
 is but fair to say that her reserve about Harry’s 
 sltered state o|‘ health and mind arises from a 
 sense of delicacy to others. My brother, it seems, 
 has some strong attachment — ” 
 
 “ The deuse he has !” 
 
 “ And an unprosperous one. In some way • 
 cr other-pbut the how is precisely the point con- 
 cealed from me — his compliance with my fa- 
 ther’s natural solicitude about the banking-house 
 has been fatal to his hopes as a lover ; and my 
 mother declares that, since he gave in, he has 
 been broken-hearted, broken-spirited, incapable 
 of pursuing his studies. Instead of distinguish- 
 ing himself and taking the high degree expect- 
 ed of him, his tutor has seriously recommended 
 him to withdraw from college for a term, for the 
 recovery of his health.” 
 
 “God bless my soul! this is bad news in- 
 tleed!” cried the colonel, sinking back into the 
 corner of the cabriolet to collect his thoughts, 
 with a view of retracing all he was hearing to 
 the concealments practised upon him by his 
 
 daughter-in-law concerning her intimacy with 
 Henry Hamlyn, and, after some minutes’ cogi- 
 tation, giving it up as a bad job ; so hard a mat- 
 ter was it, to his simple mind, to dive intc mo- 
 tives or ccmnect a broken chain of evidence, 
 where his affections were concerned. “And 
 what does your father say to it all?” resumed 
 he, after a long pause. 
 
 “ Nothing ; for no one dares molest Mm with 
 the history of his son’s qualms of conscience 
 or dilemmas of the heart ! My father is so very 
 practical a man, and so unapt to allow his own 
 feelings to interfere with the discharge of his 
 duties, that it requires some courage to ask his 
 indulgence for any frailty of the kind.” 
 
 “But if this attachment of your brother’s be 
 of an objectionable nature — ” 
 
 “Of course it is,” interrupted Walter Ham- 
 lyn, warmly, “or he would not have presumed 
 to make a confidante of my mother 1” 
 
 “ That’s true, indeed ! Then, by George'! I’ll 
 speak to Hamlyn about it myself!” 
 
 “As we know nothing certain on the subject, 
 interference might, perhaps, do more harm than 
 good,” observed his companion, afraid of the 
 evil influence which Colonel Hamilton’s want 
 of tact might produce over the destinies of poor 
 Henry. “ My father would be furious at the 
 idea of a young fellow of his age pretending to 
 form a serious attachment. Why, even I, whose 
 prospects are so much more positive than Hen- 
 ry’s — ” / 
 
 “Well, even you?'^ cried the colonel, perceiv- 
 ing him hesitate, as if afraid of having gone 
 too far. 
 
 “ Even I, my father says, must not venture to 
 think of marrying, unless I can make up my 
 mind to an interested connexion.” 
 
 “ SeU yourself, eh ? By George ! Ellen is 
 right ! The trade of banking incrusts a man’s 
 soul with a yellow leprosy. However, I can’t 
 fancy that Hamlyn, who professes so warm a 
 friendship for me, would take oflTence at my sug- 
 gesting to him that his son wants respite and 
 recreation. It would be a sin that Harry should 
 lose all the ground he has been gaining as one of 
 the first scholars in the land, only that his father 
 might have a little work taken off his hands a 
 a few months sooner than he wishes.” 
 
 “ If you succeed in persuading him, you would 
 do us all a genuine kindness,” cried Walter. 
 “Harry is a noble fellow, sir! as you said just 
 now of my friend Hartford ; and the mere idea 
 of his being over-weighted in study, in order to 
 gratify the vanity of his friends, or satisfy the 
 impatience of my father for his assistance in the 
 banking-house, is a real affliction to me.” 
 
 “ Suppose we push on to Lombard-street, then, 
 after I’ve settled my business at Rundell’s?” 
 said the colonel. “I can make a pretence of 
 wanting money to pay for my purchase, and so 
 have a few minutes chat with your father in his 
 sanctum. He’ll fancy I was afraid of alarming 
 your mother by speaking out this morning in 
 Cavendish Square.” 
 
 “ With all my heart!” replied Captain Ham- 
 lyn, touching the flank of his fine horse as they 
 emerged from Gray’s Inn Lane ; and the noble 
 animal evinced some symptoriis of displeas- 
 ure at finding himself arrested in his speed by 
 brewers’ drays and other unaristocratic vehi- 
 cles. strange in shape and alarming in sound to 
 an habitual lounger of the ring. In spite of the 
 hurry and tumult surrounding him, the colonel 
 soon sunk into a revery, whereof Henry Ham- 
 
107 
 
 COURT A 
 
 4yn and his lovely daughter-in-law supplied the 
 absorbing interest. 
 
 Who does not know, or, rather, who did not 
 Icnow, the glittering fishes of Ludgate Hill, pre- 
 siding over the doorway of that temple of pomps 
 and vanities, which, after aiding to bribe thou- 
 . sands of precious souls to perdition— -damsels, 
 per force of diamond necklaces, and diplomats, 
 per force of diamond snutF-boxes— while making 
 the fortune of half a dozen partners, has disap- 
 peared from the face of the commercial ^rth, 
 leaving its high priests in the House of Com- 
 mons, to be hereafter translated, perhaps, to 4he 
 House of Peers ! ^ 
 
 Into the inner sanctuary of this gorgeous tab- 
 ernacle did Walter Hamlyn conduct Colonel 
 Hamilton, ensuring him all the deference await- 
 ing the friend of a son of Hamlyn the banker, 
 Ihe future brother-in-law of a marquis, whose 
 family diamonds were resetting in the houses 
 To customers of such importance, it was oi 
 course essential to display a thousand things 
 they did not want, in place of the one asked for; 
 and instead of teapots, forks, and spoons, the 
 colonel, accordingly, found himself called upon 
 to admire gilt candelabra on their way to the 
 palace, and pieces of presentation-plate, in the 
 form of vases, groups, shields, salvers; each 
 purporting to be a -tribute of respect, by private 
 .subscription, to the most virtuous, most able, or 
 most active of the human race. The genuine 
 exclamations of wonder and delight of the wor- 
 thy nabob were so vociferous as to cause the 
 -cheeks of the apathetic man of Crockford’s to 
 .tingle with shame, as well as to justify the shop- 
 men in farther exhibitions while Captain Ham- 
 Jyn was engaged in the execution of his broth- 
 .er-in-law’s commission ; exhibitions ending with 
 the purchase of an opal bracelet for his daugh- 
 ter-in-law, and a diamond fan-mount for the 
 marchioness elect, which Colonel Hapiilton was 
 easily persuaded were the most elegant and fash- 
 ionable trinkets that ever dazzled the eyes of an 
 .enlightened public. 
 
 “ To think what elements of human happiness 
 4 ire lying swamped and hoarded up in yonder 
 ■Vanity-fair!” ejaculated he, as they took their 
 j)laces again in the cabriolet, after issuing in- 
 structions for the engraving of the teapot with 
 .the crest they conceived must be the Markhams’, 
 as figuring on a very extraordinary-looking gig 
 which had been dying a natural death by inches 
 in the open coach-shed of Ovington Vicarage, 
 for the^ last half dozen yeafs. “ Why, if the 
 plate, on sale or in deposite there, were melted 
 down, and the jewels sold at prime cost, one 
 might buy up St. Giles’s with the proceeds ; and 
 establish on the spot an Irish city of refuge, too 
 clean, airy, light, and decent for people to die in 
 of drunkenness or typhus, or cut each other’s 
 throats for pastime !” 
 
 “ I fear it will not do to refine on such points 
 of moral economy!” replied Walter. “ I fancy 
 that, to complete the balance of society, we must 
 have both diamond setters and rookeries.” 
 
 “ To complete the balance of society as at pres- 
 ent constituted!'^ interrupted the colonel. “But 
 things may mend! Your grandchildren may 
 see (for, though I’m to be the last of my race, 1 
 suppose you won’t) the institution of sumptuary 
 laws ; or, maybe, a scientific discovery for the 
 chemical creation of diamonds, neutralizing their 
 value. There may be a philosopher’s stone in 
 the crucible yet ! The light ages may discover 
 what the dark ones failed to put together ; and 
 
 CITY. 
 
 ’tis my opinion, that if all these metropolitan col- 
 leges and universities, conservative or destruc- 
 tive, don’t manage to blow-pipe us a new metal 
 or two, in addition to their new gases, they’re 
 not worth their brick and mortar !” 
 
 “ Still, luxury would assume some other 
 shape!” pleaded Walter, 
 
 “Luxury itself may become vulgar!” cried 
 the colonel. “ The march of enlightenment may 
 make it vulgar. There would be a triumph for 
 the Great "Unwashed! Why, after all, Watty, 
 Time is only a great rubbish-hole, which man- 
 kind are always labouring to fill up with dust 
 and ashes— broken prejudices and fragments of 
 old abuses— in order to create a solid level for 
 future ages to walk steady upon, eh'l But, ^ 
 George, one musn’t be too speculative here, m 
 Lombard-street ; or we may chance to get shot 
 out on the pavement, and find a level more sol- 
 id than agreeable ! Shan’t you' come in with me 
 at the bank V’ . . ^ 
 
 “ If you give me leave, I will wait for you in 
 the cab. My presence would be a constraint 
 upon your conversation with my father,” replied 
 Walter, drawing up before the door of Hamlyn 
 and Co. ^ , , 
 
 A couple of minutes, however, after Colonel 
 Hamilton had disappeared through the oaken 
 swing-doors with their brass network, one of the 
 junior clerks made his appearance (taking his 
 pen from behind his ear, out of respect to his em- 
 ployer’s son and heir, as any other man would 
 have touched his hat), begging, in Colonel Ham- 
 ilton’s name, that Captain Hamlyn would please 
 to step out, as he wished to speak with him. 
 
 Walter had nothing to do but comply ; though 
 he had a particular objection to exhibit his re- 
 cherche style of dress and admirable getting-up to 
 the wonder or sneers of his father’s sober house 
 of business ; and, on reaching the compting- 
 house, he had the additional vexation to find 
 the concession superfluous. 
 
 “ Why, Hamlyn’s not come to business yet !” 
 said Colonel Hamilton ; “ and all his clerks seem 
 to think he’s been run away with by the old 
 brown horse, who’s as likely to have taken a 
 start as Meux’s brewhouse ! However, I’ve put 
 the head-clerk (that smooth-tongued fellow with 
 a bald head) out of his pain, by telling him your 
 father is only gone to his lawyer’s in Norfolk- 
 street; and, as 'the consultation must have last- 
 ed this hour and a half, he can’t be much long- 
 er. So we’ll even wait for him in his room.” 
 Walter would much rather have retreated to 
 his cab. But he saw that the eyes of all the 
 clerks (except one or two who were engaged in 
 noting the items of an account or numbers of a 
 note, with their finger on the numerals) were 
 fixed 'admiringly upon him, while Spilsby stood 
 surveying his inches with as close a scrutiny as 
 though he were measuring him for a coat, and, 
 consequently, had not courage to contend against 
 his companion’s decision. In a moment they 
 were ushered by Spilsby into the banker’s I'oom 
 — cold, neat, sunless, dull — with its eternal half- 
 dozen horse-hair chairs, its faded writing-table , 
 and oldfashioned silver standish. 
 
 “ And you wonder that I should have disliked 
 the idea of wasting my life in this dreary den T’ 
 exclaimed Walter, casting his eyp round the 
 untempting scene of his father’s daily labours. 
 
 “Indeed I don’t! I only wonder that you, 
 should presume to wonder at Harry’s entertain- 
 ing the same antipathy.” 
 
 The expression of his surprise was silenced 
 
108 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 by the re-entrance of Spilsby, who came to bring 
 Colonel Hamilton the three hundred and fifty 
 pounds he had asked for, and request his signa- 
 ture to the receipt. And lo ! just as the colonel, 
 after having had the notes told into his hand by 
 the pragmatical clerk, had thrust them some- 
 what irreverently into his pocket-book, and his 
 pocket-book into his pocket, the door was sharp- 
 ly opened, and Hamlyn made his appearance, 
 with a face nearly as colourless as the paper of 
 the notes ! With a single glance, he examined 
 the countenance of the three — his son, his client, 
 and the clerk — who had intruded into his dwell- 
 ing the preceding night. Having already learn- 
 ed in the compting-house that they awaited him 
 together within, he trembled to surmise the mo- 
 tives which might have united such a heteroge- 
 neous assemblage. 
 
 That one look suificed ! Walter was dispo- 
 sed to salute with unusual tenderness the father, 
 the disagreeables of whose habits of life were 
 displayed around him in such prominent relief; 
 while as to the colonel, the idea of having mon- 
 ey in his pocket which was about to melt out of 
 it in payment for gifts to three of the people he 
 loved best in the world, imparted a double share 
 of benignity to his comely countenance. With 
 respect to the clerk — who could pretend to deci- 
 pher the ambiguous expression of so mere a 
 mask ! At all events, however hostile Spilsby’s 
 ulterior intentions, his master saw that, at pres- 
 ent, all was safe. 
 
 Meanwhile, the mood of the banker was very 
 different from that in which, two hours before,, 
 he had made his agitated exit from his house in 
 Cavendish Square. He had been spending the 
 interim in one of the spots where his person was 
 sacred as those pf the gods, and his ipse dixit 
 as authoritative. The house of Wigwell and 
 Slack fattened upon the litigations and legaliza- 
 tions of that of Hamlyn and Co., as certain in- 
 sects on the trees from whence they imbibe their 
 pitiful vitality. The constituents of the banker 
 progressed into the clients of the solicitor ; the 
 latter being as much the obedient, humble ser- 
 vant of the former, as the oak-apple is fluttered 
 resistjessly about by every vibration of the oak 
 on which it is incrusted. Hamlyn was, in 
 short, the sun in whose rays, reflected in the 
 golden sands, the crocodiles’ eggs of the law 
 were hatched into existence. 
 
 It necessarily follpwed that though, in support 
 of his unblemished reputation as a great London 
 banker, he maintained in his transactions with 
 them the tone of the rigidly upright man — the 
 punctual, methodical Mr. Hamlyn— -he was often 
 obliged to insist upon the prosecution of petty 
 delinquencies ; often compelled to borrow the 
 strong arm of the law to crush those wretched 
 vermin, those poor defaulters, called needy men, 
 who, if suffered to prey unmolested, would be- 
 come fatal in the moneyed world as the legions 
 of rats which in Whittington’s time devoured 
 the substance of the King of Barbary. This, 
 though a necessary, was not a flattering occu- 
 pation ; and, after the endless unsavoury confer- 
 ences which Hamlyn was forced to hold with 
 Messrs. Wigwell and Slack, it was like “mu- 
 sic after howling” to listen to the recital of the 
 Hartford rent-roll, in connexion with the marriage 
 settlements of his “right honourable daughter.” 
 After the villanous John Doe and Richard Roe- 
 isms — the processes of outlawry — the persecu- 
 tions, prosecutions, and incarcerations — which 
 constitute the killing and v/ounding of financial 
 
 fight, to hear of an estate set apart in the days pf 
 King Stephen for the dowry of the “ Baronesses^ 
 of Dartetbrde” being taxed for the future main- 
 tenance of a spinster named Lydia Hamlyn, 
 was a satisfaction indeed ! 
 
 But this was not all ! Scarcely had he cross- 
 ed the threshhold of his house in Lombard- 
 street, when he was accosted with the glad ti- 
 dings that a Riga house, whereof that of Ham- 
 lyn and Co. held bills to the amount of ;610,000 
 (concerning which unsatisfactory rumours had 
 been for a week past prevalent in the city j, was 
 not only solvent, but that the report which had 
 created so much consternation in his mind bore 
 reference to another Schreiber and Co., of Arch- 
 angel, with whom they had no concern. Had 
 the head-clerk been in the compting-house at the 
 moment of his transit, this gratifying intelligence 
 might have been held suspended over his head- 
 But Spilsby being engaged with Colonel Ham- 
 ilton, one of the juniors — one of those who loved 
 and was grateful to his master — communicated 
 the glad tidings, bre.athless with the joy he was 
 about to impart. 
 
 The tranquillized banker was accordingly 
 able to listen with exemplary serenity to the 
 representations of Colonel Hamilton ; and as it 
 happened to suit his plans that Henry should 
 not commence his duties in the House till after 
 the ensuing Christmas, he had no difficulty in 
 sitting down before them to indite a most pater- 
 nal epistle to his son, offering him every pecu- 
 niary facility towards absenting himself from 
 Cambridge for six months, for the recovery of 
 his health, by perfect leisure or Continental 
 travel. 
 
 For this sacrifice, he was more than repaid 
 by the affectionate warmth with which Walter 
 started up to press the hand which had been en- 
 gaged in conferring a benefit upon his brother ; 
 while old Hamilton rubbed his own with glee at 
 the idea of the surprise which Harry’s unex- 
 pected arrival in town would occasion to Ellen, 
 and the joy which Ellen’s surprise might be 
 made to produce for Hajry. 
 
 “ You’re made of more penetrable stuff than I 
 took ye for, my dear Hamlyn !” cried he. “ But 
 I fancy the bek way we can reward you for pro- 
 ving so tractable a soul, is by making ourselves 
 scarce. So give me the letter, and I’ll post it as 
 v^e go home.” 
 
 “Are you afraid I should repent, and recall it, 
 or that it will not be safe in our letter-box T’ de- 
 manded the banker, with a smile of arch ur- 
 banity. 
 
 “Neither one nor t’other! Btit I’m come to 
 an age when a bird in hand is worth ten in the 
 bush ; which is the reason I’m not sorry we’re to 
 see the colour of my friends Moonjee and Com- 
 pany’s hundred .and twenty thousand pounds, 
 before another month goes over our heads ! So 
 now, good-by t’ye.” 
 
 Released from this gratuitous tie upon his 
 time, the banker was preparing to apply himself 
 to the daily business which his unusual absence 
 left at odds, enjoying in every fibre the delicious 
 consciousness of relief from pecuniary pressure, 
 and the golden gleams afforded by the vista 
 opened by Colonel Hamilton’s expectations and 
 the Dartford connexion, when the white head of 
 the old gentleman was again thrust in, with 
 “ Another word with ye, Hamlyn ! Your clerks 
 yonder are sending off a poor fellow, on the plea 
 of your being engaged, whom I’ve a notion you. 
 won’t be sorry that I’ve laid my hands on !” 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 As he spoke, the colonel again advanced into 
 the room, followed by Walter, and a stout look- 
 ing man in a round coat with corduroys and 
 leather gaiters, whose costume afforded as sin- 
 gular a contrast to the trimly, well-cut gentility 
 of Captain Hamlyn, as his wholesome, healthy, 
 open countenance presented to the care-withered 
 face of the slave of Mammon. 
 
 “ Here, Durdan, here !” cried the colonel. “ I 
 told ye I thought we could pioneer the way into 
 the presence of the great man !” And to Ham- 
 Jyn’s great annoyance, Colonel Hamilton evin- 
 oed no intention of allowing the audience to be 
 a private one. f 
 
 “ Sarvant, Mr. Hamlyn !” said the farmer, 
 unhesitatingly taking the seat hesitatingly offer- 
 ed him by thh banker, while the colonel resumed 
 his^ and Walter stationed himself on the hearth- 
 rug, with ill-repressed impatience. “ The col’- 
 nel here’s been so friendly as to say you’d give 
 ane a hearing on a little bit o’ business.” 
 
 “With the greatest pleasure, Durdan!” re- 
 plied Hamlyn, assuming an air of friendly affa- 
 bility, closely imitated from that with which, in 
 Downing-street, he was usually accosted by 
 Lord Crawley. “ Is there anything in which I 
 am able to serve you '1” 
 
 “I’m obliged to you, sir, nothing! To speak 
 plain, Mr. Hamlyn,- I’ve railed it up from Ov’ng- 
 ton mainly to be of sarvice to you. You’ve 
 heard, no doubt, sir, that my matters be a going 
 contrairy. But ’tis an ill wind as blows no man 
 good ; and I take it you’ll be summut the better 
 for Jacob Durdan’s downfall.” 
 
 “ I am sorry to hear you apply so decided a 
 word to your affairs,” replied the banker, pla- 
 cing his hands with an air of dignified compo- 
 sure on the polished elbows of his arm-chair. 
 
 “ But I trust, Durdan, they may still look up.” 
 
 “ Not they, nor their master neither !” replied 
 the farmer, doggedly. 
 
 “I am truly concerned to hear you say so, 
 Durdan! but — ” ^ 
 
 “No great call, sir, for you toJrouble yourself 
 itnuch about the matter!” interrupted the farmer, 
 shrugging his shoulders, with the impatience of 
 a man whom misfortune has rendered mistrust- 
 ful of fine words. “ You and I’ve been uncom- 
 fortable neighbours, Mr. Hamlyn. But that’s 
 over mow ! Shan’t trouble nobody at Ov’ngton 
 much longer with my company ! So, whether 
 you liked my dealings, or I yourn, don’t much 
 matter to neither.” 
 
 “ I can assure you, Durdan, that as far as re- 
 gards that little trespass business—” 
 
 “ No matter,* sir, no matter ! You stayed pro- 
 ceedings, at the request o’ the good col’nel yon- 
 der, and there’s an end on’t ! Maybe, if I’d 
 been better up in the world, they’d never been 
 begun.” 
 
 But for the presence of Colonel Hamilton, 
 the banker would probably have put a speedy 
 end to an interview that opened so unsatisfacto- 
 rily. But the old man kept nodding and wink- 
 ing beseechingly at him, in order to bespeak in- 
 dulgence towards a poor fellow harassed by ad- 
 versity out of his good manners. 
 
 “The thing’s this, Mr. Hamlyn,” resumed 
 Durdan, after gulping down an uneasy feeling 
 in his throat : “ my farm’s in the market ; and — ” 
 •“ You are looking out for a purchaser, eh ! 
 Durdan T 
 
 “ Contrairy, sir ; purchasers be a looking out 
 for me. There’s Squire Barlow been a haggling 
 with me, like a Jew pedler, ever since the news 
 
 1P9 
 
 of my misfortun’ (a’ter the burning o’ the Liver- 
 pool warehouses, with my last consignment o’ 
 corn unensured) ; and I’ve a letter in my pocket 
 from a Leamington ’torney, with an offer from 
 one Sears, as has reilized a mint o’ money in 
 the licensed vict’ling line, and wants to set up 
 for gemman, and build himself one o’ them 
 quality mousetraps they call a villa, on the ruins 
 o’ th’ old farm !” 
 
 Richard Hamlyn majestically shifted the cros- 
 sing of his legs at the idea of svx.h a Shears, Es- 
 quire, established in a Shears Lodge under the 
 very nose of Dean Park ! 
 
 “ Provided you get a long price for your land, 
 Durdan,” said Colonel Hamilton, “what’s the 
 odds 1 The colour of one man’s money is the 
 same as another’s !” 
 
 “Why the odds is this, colonel!” replied the 
 farmer, turning with a milder aspect towards the 
 neighbour with whose partridges and pheasants 
 he had been allowed to make acquaintance. 
 “Ours ben’t a county o’ new-comers, colonel. 
 You’ve seen the Bear and Ragged Staff monu- 
 ments in War’ick Church, and the Vernon mon- 
 uments at Brax’am'? and you’ve, maybe, heard 
 Squire Grat’ycke o’ Grat’ycke tell of his ances- 
 tors being knights o’ the shire summas about the- 
 time o’ County Guy o’ Guy’s Cliff, or therea- 
 bouts. Even Squire Burlow, though forced to 
 take wages as looker to Lord Vernin, have 
 parchments to show for the lordship o’ the manor 
 of Ald’r’am, dating from days when papists and 
 Protestants were roasting of one another in 
 Smithfield Market. All this you know better 
 nor I ; for never was there a ’sizes these county 
 gentlefolks didn’t take care to din it in your ears !” 
 Walter Hamlyn began to testify signs of grow- 
 ing impatience by a vigorous poke of the fire ; 
 but his father looking round, quieted him by a 
 glance of reproval. 
 
 “ Well, sir ! if so be these grander folks are 
 proud o’ having a deep-struck root in the county 
 (for what, roots be stronger than the dead we lay 
 in the soil, from generation to generation'?), Tve 
 just as great a call to think much o’ the Durdans 
 having been ’spectable yeomen on their own 
 land, as my title-deeds will prove, from the time 
 my ancestor joined old Crom’ell’s at the battle 
 of Edge’ill with his family and farming-men. 
 Durdan’s Farm, Mr. Hamlyn, has its name in 
 the county as well as Keh’lworth or War’ick 
 Castle; and if so be I’m forced by the badness 
 o’ the times to part with what’s as close to me 
 as the blood in my veins, I’d rather make a worse 
 bargain, sir, and be sure th’ old farm should stand, 
 and th’ old name o’ Durdan’s hold good, than 
 have a pothouse-keeper’s son making a heap o’ 
 rubbish o’ the roof I was born under, and blotting 
 my father’s name out o’ the county, as though ’t 
 had ought to be ’shamed on !” 
 
 “Bravo, Durdan^ Well said, my old Tro- 
 jan!” cried the colonel; “ there’s more pluck in 
 that speech, man, than in all the gammon ever 
 spouted on the hustings by all the Vernons in 
 the shire ! But can’t matters be brought about, 
 think ye, to prevent your parting with it at all '? 
 A mortgage — nowl If a good heavy mort- 
 
 ^gLO'^G—— 
 
 “Thank ye, colonel— thank ye heartily and 
 kindly,” interrupted Jacob Durdan, in a more 
 subdued voice, now that, having exhaled the 
 spirit of his pride, the reality of his position 
 forced itself anew upon his mind. “ Everything’s 
 been done as could be done to put off the evil day— 
 that is, everything in honesty. No doubt I might 
 
THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 110 
 
 shuffle on, with the chance o’ coming to a break 
 at last But never should I get a wink o’ sleep 
 on my pillow, if I thought there was a chance of 
 e’er a man living being the worse for my father s 
 son! Mr. Hamlyn here can understand that! 
 Mr ' Hamlyn, who knows that the great name 
 borne by Old England in her public dealings is 
 maintained by the same proud feeling in the 
 breasts of millions o’ rough, hard- worded fellows, 
 as little thought on as myself by lords and ladies I” 
 Thus appealed to, the conscience-stricken 
 Richard Hamlyn muttered inarticularly one of 
 those truisms about the unblemished national 
 probity of Great Britain, which he usually re- 
 served for his speeches from the chair at city 
 meetings, or his place in the House of Commons. 
 
 Case is this, col’nel 1” resumed Durdan, turn- 
 ing short towards the only person present for 
 whom he entertained sufficient respect to care 
 about the impression he was making. “ When 
 my old father died, he left his matters at six and 
 sevens. I was a young man, sir, with a family 
 o’ still younger brothers and sisters to purvide 
 for ; so, as in duty bound tow’rd the old man I’d 
 laid in the grave, who’d fit a good fight for us all 
 so long as body and soul held together, 1 worked 
 hard for ’em all, and lived sparingly. And 
 what’s more, I guv up the thoughts o’ marrying 
 (as most young fellers o’ my age have a mind 
 to) till I’d put ’em all out in life ; having first and 
 foremost shackled myself with a knawing worm 
 of a mortgage. For I didn’t feel the property 
 my own, so long as e’er a soul living had a right 
 to say that old Jacob Durdan as w'as dead and 
 gone had left a shilling in arrears. Till I paid 
 my father’s debts, I lived without salt to my por- 
 Tvidge ; but my porridge tasted none the worse for 
 ad, I promise you 1” 
 
 By this time, the irritation of Richard Haml)'n 
 was excited almost beyond bounds by the school- 
 ing of these cruel rebukes, and the more so, that 
 he saw even the levity of his son subdued into re- 
 spect towards the honest man before him ; while 
 Colonel Hamilton kept passing his hand across 
 his shaggy eyebrows in a manner which there 
 was no sunbeam straggling into that dull, drear}" 
 apartment, satisfactorily to account for. 
 
 “ And so, gen’lemen,” resumed Durdan, “ find- 
 ing that late and early work— saving and sparing 
 —don’t suffice to make head again the badness 
 o’ the times, sooner than bring matters to the last 
 extremity and disgrace to an honest name, by 
 getting into the Gazette, I’ve made up my mind 
 to sell— pay ever}" shillin’ in the pound— and as 
 to living on a crust, why that I’ve done already, 
 with©ut grumblin’ ! And knowin’ Squire Ham- 
 lyn was once thinkin’ o’ the larm, and that if we 
 come to a deal he would be for keepin’ up th’old 
 homestead, and leavin’ it th’old name o’ Durdan’s 
 farm, so that my nephys and nieces may know, 
 fiftv years hence, there was once a property in 
 the' family where their forefathers was born and 
 died on tlieir own belongin’s, I’ve give no answer 
 to Burlow, nor to Shears’s ’tomey, nor asked no- 
 body to look about for a purchaser, ’fore I in- 
 quired if so be it suited you, sir, to come dov"n 
 with the money.” 
 
 Richard Hamlyn budged not so much as an 
 eyelash in reply to this appeal ; for, with the incre- 
 dulity of a grovelling mind towards every nobler 
 sentiment, he doubted not that the rude eloquence 
 of Jacob Durdan wns a get-up, in hopes to raise 
 the price of his farm. 
 
 But Colonel Hamilton was mmre generous. 
 Steering the intermediate course between the se- 
 
 verity of a man of business and the tendemesu- 
 of the man of feeling, he inquired, in plain En^ 
 lish, the value sef by the farmer upon his prop- 
 crty. 
 
 “ You must tell us exactly what you ask for 
 the old house and land. Durdan,” said he, “be- 
 fore your proposals can be entertained.” 
 
 “ I know what old Squire Hamlyn ofiered my 
 father for ’em,” rejoined the farmer, “ when first 
 as ever he enclosed the Dean lands into a park, 
 But land’s worth half as much again nowadays, 
 let alone that the farm’s gained a mint in value 
 by that same enclosure. However, I’m no CTeat 
 dab at figures, or maybe I should have made a 
 better job o’ my affairs; and the best way o’ 
 coming to the pint as to price, gen’lemen, is to 
 ‘ihow you Squire Burlow’s offer, and the letters 
 o’ the Leamington ’torney, leaving you to judge 
 what offers you choose to make. On’y not to 
 misguide you with the notion that I want to 
 ris the valu’ upon you by the threat of an un,- 
 pleasant neighbour, I tell you fairly, Mr. Ham- 
 lyn that though at sixes and sevens in my ac- 
 count': I’d sooner take a trifle less from you than, 
 more from either o’ t’others, on the consideration: 
 as afore mentioned.” „ 
 
 “ And I can candidly assure you, Durdan, re- 
 plied the banker, gravely, “ that had it suit^ me 
 to make the purchase at all, a few hundreds, 
 more or less, would not have been the object to 
 deter or encourage me. But I am sorry to say,, 
 the disastrous position of the commercial world 
 compels every man engaged in business to hold 
 his resources at his disposal ; and, even it the 
 present depreciated value of agricultural produce 
 were not sufficiently alarming to all landed pro- 
 prietors, I should — ” . . r 
 
 “ In one word, sir,” said Durdan, rising from 
 his seat, and buttoning up the coat which the 
 rousing fire stirred up by Captain Hamlyn had 
 compelled him to open in the heat of his expla- 
 nations—" in one word, you’re not disposed to 
 Some down*? Well, sir, in that case, havii^ 
 done my dooty to all parties, I have only to close 
 ' with the gen’leman in the ’Delphi, to whom 
 Squire Burlow’s referred me as empowered to 
 examine the title-deeds for Lord Vernin. No 
 offence, sir, I hope, for ’tradin’ on your time 
 and I wish you heartily your health, Colonsl’ 
 Ham’lton, in case I should be out o’ the country 
 afore your return to the manor ! If I might malje 
 bold, and the breed o’ white peacocks could be 
 accept’ble, col’nel (which you and the youi^ 
 lady admired so much the day you druv’ over 
 to Durdan’s), I would ask you the favour, col’nel, 
 to let me send ’em over to Burlih’ton in place o’ 
 being sold with the stock 
 
 While Colonel Hamilton was thankfully ac- 
 knowledging this farewell act of neighbourly- 
 courtesy on the part of the unfortunate farmer, 
 the mind of Richard Hamlyn was becoming dis- 
 tracted between the idea of the molestations likely 
 to be practised upon him by Barlow of Alderham, 
 fighting under the flaunting banner of all the- 
 Vernons, and his dread least the prying Spilsby 
 should be at that moment stationed between the 
 double doors dividing the compting-house from 
 the parlour, obtaining farther insight into his 
 financial dilemmas. He was roused from his 
 abstraction by the voice of W alter. _ 
 
 “ Might it not be as well, sir,” inquired his 
 son, “to think over these proposals, with refer- 
 ence to the Burlington property, if not to your 
 own I Surely, at all events, among your mon- 
 eyed friends, it might be possible to find an ad- 
 
11-1 
 
 COURT AN 
 
 vantageous purchaser for Durdan’s, more agree- 
 able to your feelings than either this Learning- 
 ton innkeeper, or the agent of Lord V ernon I” 
 “Mr. Durdan, yo.u see, is pressed to conclude 
 the business,” replied his father, much vexed 
 that the explanation of so intimate a portion of 
 his private affairs should have been disentangled 
 in presence of his son and Colonel Hamilton, 
 
 “ 1 should otherwise have been glad to take the 
 matter into consideration.” 
 
 “ My father would be glad to take the matter 
 into farther consideration, sir,” hastily repeated 
 Captain Hamlyn, interrupting the civilities ex- 
 changing between Jacob Durdan and his Lord 
 of the Manor. “ Would it be inconvenient to 
 you to leave the matter open for a day or two*?” 
 “ I couldn’t, in course, Capt’n Hamlyn, expect 
 a gentleman to be ready with his ‘ ay’ or ‘ no” 
 at a pinch, in a matter of so many thousands,” 
 replied the farmer. “ Inconvenienced I must be,^ 
 any way. But if the colonel here will answer* 
 for’t to give me Squire Hamlyn’s answer, by 
 letter, by Thursday’s post. I’ll neither meddle nor 
 make with the men o’ business in the interim. 
 I know very well that if once a plain man like 
 me gets springed in the noose of their palaver, 
 his neck will be wrung round, or a nail druv 
 through his words, afore he knows where he is ; 
 and so, in course. I’d rather deal with gentlefolks 
 whose yea is yea, and nay is nay ! What say, 
 coloneH Will you stand my friend so far as 
 act atween me and the squire '1” * 
 
 “ With all my heart, Durdnn !” cried the good 
 old man. “ I’d give a groat you were able to 
 stand the upshot, and keep the farm in your 
 hands ; but if not, God forbid I should have my 
 keepers snarling and yelping from month’s-end 
 to month’s-end like their own terriers, with e’er 
 a Jack in office in the employ of my lord para- 
 mount of the Hyde ! And now, let’s all be 
 off and leave this gentleman to his concerns 1 
 You’ll find Johnson and his wife at the Hotel in 
 St. James’s-street, if you’ll look in; though, by 
 George, they’d be puzzled to offer,you such cheer 
 as you set afore me and Ellen the day we balled 
 upon you at the farm. Hamlyn ! your servant I 
 This time I promise you that my good-by is as 
 earnest as your own acceptance across a bill. 
 Walter my boy I I’m at your service.” 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 “ I have toil’d, and till’d, and sweaten in the sun 
 According to the curse ; must I do more 1 
 For what shoul'd I he gentle ? for a war w 
 With all the elements, ere they will yield 
 The bread we eat 1 For what must I be grateful ? 
 
 For being dust, and grovelling in the dust, 
 
 Till I return to dust 1 ”— Bykon. 
 
 A WHOLE hour’s deliberate consideration of 
 these contending interests and embarrassments 
 did not suffice to restore the banker’s mind to 
 composure. He saw clearly that his hesitation 
 to effect a purchase so important to the value of 
 his property as Durdan’s farm, was likely to ex- 
 cite the surprise, and, eventually, the misgivings 
 of both Colonel Hamilton and his son; and, dif- 
 ficult as it might be to complete the necessary 
 arrangements at that moment, he felt that, if 
 within the scope of possibility, the purchase 
 ought to be accomplished. 
 
 Richard Hamlyn had now attained one of 
 those exciting crises when a man is driven to 
 attempt measures such as, in cool blood, he 
 
 D CITY. 
 
 would repudiate as rash and unacconiplishable. 
 Just as a physician will redeem at the last gasp, 
 by some frantic stroke, the life of a patient with 
 which for months he has been tampering— or, 
 rather, just as a sleepwalker will direct his steps 
 towards the broken bridge or crumbling wall, 
 where those in full possession of their faculties 
 must stumble, dizzed, into the abyss — did the 
 banker suddenly make up his mind to an act of 
 desperation. 
 
 “ That man secured, all might yet be well 
 with me!” was his train of reasoning. “Re- 
 cruited by these timely succours, and having the 
 certainty of a noble return from my South Amer^- 
 ican speculations, I might yet replace all the 
 missing securities— the Burlington Trust-money 
 — Hamilton’s— aiZ my liabilities — if I could se- 
 cure the silence of Spilsby, and, consequently,, 
 time for my affairs to come round. Something 
 must be done ! To struggle day after day with- 
 in the coil of that domestic serpent, I neither can 
 nor will. I feel blasted in mind and body by his 
 pestiferous breath ! A death by slow poison— a. 
 conscious death— a gradual decay of the flesh, 
 and the spirit, were not more loathsome than to 
 be waited upon by his clammy touch, haunted 
 by his stealthy tread, addressed by his meally 
 voice, watched by his cunning eye. By the God 
 of heaven ! my breath seems stifled when I think 
 upon him !” 
 
 And in the irritation of his soul, with a sud- 
 den jerk he pulled the bell beside his writing- 
 table. 
 
 “ Send Spilsby hither !” cried he, to the count- 
 ing-house footman, who answered his summons, 
 with a coalscuttle in his hand. 
 
 The head-clerk, who, conscious for some days 
 ast of his extended and extending power over 
 is employer, had noticed, with triumph, Mr. 
 Hamlyn’B dexterous avoidance of a tUe-a-Ute, 
 could scarcely believe the evidence of his ears, 
 when thus summoned to his presence ! Deliv- 
 ering to one of the juniors the bill of exchange- 
 he was filling up for the signature of an expect- 
 ant customer, he turned down the wrist of his- 
 coat, an(Tsettled his collar, as if proceeding to an 
 audience of some man in power. The altered 
 countenance of Mr. Hamlyn as he entered the 
 counting-house in the morning had not been lost 
 upon him. He felt confident that a decisive 
 blow was to be struck between them. But, un- 
 like his master, Spilsby’s feelings were undis- 
 turbed by the prospect of the collision. He was 
 as cool — as malignantly cool — as a 
 
 “ Toad that under the cold stone 
 Days and nights hath, thirty-one, 
 
 Sweltering venom sleeping got !” 
 
 and it was with his usual hardened air of self-re- 
 liance he entered the parlour of the banker. 
 
 In the interim, though but the lapse of a few 
 minutes had occurred, the agitation of Richard 
 Hamlyn — the unusual agitation of that measu- 
 red and imperturbable man — had attained a pitch, 
 which caused his heart to beat as with the strokes 
 of a hammer, and sent all the blood within him. 
 throbbing into his head, till his shot eyeballs as- 
 sumed a terrible appearance. 
 
 The moment the baldheaded clerk had closed 
 the door cautiously behind him, Hamlyn advan- 
 ced with hurried footsteps, bolted it, and put the 
 key into his pocket. 
 
 “Sit down, sir!” said he, addressing the as- 
 tonished clerk, in a hoarse voice— how different 
 in tone from the conciliating blandishment with 
 which for weeks past he had accosted him ! 
 
112 THE B ANKEI 
 
 “ Sit down, sir !” said he again, in a still more 
 peremptory manner, perceiving Spilsby hesitate, 
 not from respect, but the dread, perhaps, of see- 
 ino- a knife glitter in the hands, or a pistol con- 
 cealed under the blotting-book of the desperate 
 man he was confronting. “ It is time that you 
 and I understood each other !” 
 
 The baldheaded clerk began to mutter some- 
 thing about his earnest hope that no misunder- 
 standing had ever occurred, or was likely to oc- 
 cur, between them. 
 
 “ None ! I shall take care that Twne occur I 
 said Hamlyn, in the same hoarse, unnatural, 
 concentrated voice. “ I hww that you are my 
 enemy. Your menacing looks pursue me to my 
 calm fireside, molest me in the bosom of my 
 family, frustrate the discharge of my parliament- 
 ary duties, and render my life a penalty and a 
 curse ' You could not suppose I should long en- 
 dure this 'I As I said before, time we under- 
 stood each other 1” TT 1 
 
 “ I should be extremely sorry, Mr. Hamlyn, 
 faltered the clerk, afiecting to humour the dis- 
 tracted mood of his employer, “ if any inadver- 
 tence in my conduct has given rise to impressions 
 of failure of respect.” ,, , , 
 
 “Youlie, sir!” interrupted the banker. Tnere 
 has been no inadvertence. Your least movement 
 is calculated— your slightest word instinct with 
 cunning 1 I see through you, Spilsby — see 
 through you like a pane of ill-favoured, cloudy 
 glass ' And you fancy you see through me, in 
 return. But you are mistaken! There axe re- 
 cesses in my mind .and conduct which one like 
 you can never penetrate ; and into those I am 
 at any moment able to dive, and defy your de- 
 tection ! Do you hear me, Mr. Spilsby 'I— to defy 
 your detection , r. 
 
 The interpellation seemed almost needful ; lor 
 the head-clerk had the appearance of being stul- 
 tified by the sudden explosion of this unlooked- 
 for storm. It was the first time in the course of 
 their long connexion that he had seen the bank- 
 er in the slightest degree disturbed ; and to be- 
 hold him thus palpitating and convulsed by 
 struggling passion, was as if the gates of hell had 
 suddenly opened before him. 
 
 ‘‘ I tell you,” persisted the banker, coming clo- 
 ser towards him, and lowering his voice to a 
 hoarse whisper, as if it suddenly occurred to him 
 that the conference might be overheard by others 
 as crafty as themselves, » I tell you that, like the 
 fish which, when pursued, has the facuhy ot 
 discolouring the surrounding waters to bafile its 
 enemies, were you to execute your evil designs 
 towards me, I would so perturb and trouble all 
 which surrounds me, that you, sir, yourseli, 
 should be involved, within an inch of the gal- 
 lows, in our common ruin! This is no jest, sir, 
 BO idle menace ! You have no more conception 
 of the extent to which my schemes extend than 
 you have of the nature of your share in the em- 
 bezzlement which, at this moment, places you in 
 
 .my power !” . r i 
 
 At this accusation, every vestige of colour lor- 
 sook the cheeks and lips of Spilsby. Though 
 an artful, he was by no means a strong-minded 
 man • nor, indeed, have powerful minds ever re- 
 sort to the cunning which characterized his hab- 
 its He was accordingly overawed by the au- 
 dacity of Hamlyn’s tone, and the ferocity of his 
 denunciations ! With the worst opinion of his 
 employer, he believed him capable of having 
 placed the golden cup in the mouth of Benja- 
 min’s sack, for the purpose of accusation. By 
 
 ;S WIFE; OR, 
 
 what effort of legerdemain Hamlyn had repla- 
 ced the missing securities, justifying such bold 
 defiance, he could not conjecture. But he had 
 little doubt that the same nefarious machinations 
 which had extricated the banker might have 
 transferred supposititious guilt to himself! 
 
 “ I can assure you, sir,” pleaded he, with the 
 humblest deprecation, “ that I am neither your 
 enemy nor your defrauder. If I have been so 
 unfortunate as to ofiend you by declining the 
 consular appointment you were so generous as 
 to procure me, I am willing to prove my zeal by 
 accepting it.” 
 
 “ A well-imagined submission, truly, knowing 
 that it is filled up, and your chance wasted ! No, 
 sir ! It would no longer suit me to lose your val- 
 uable services; that is,” continued Hamlyn, 
 with a grim smile, “ to lose sight of you ! Here 
 you must abide, Mr. Spilsby. You told me, the 
 other day, that such was your wish— that you 
 desired no better. Your ambition shall be ful- 
 filled ! And now, listen to me — listen to a plain 
 statement which involves the vital interests of 
 your future destinies! You fancy you have a 
 hold over me; that I have committed myself by 
 lapses of discretion— nay, why not speak out 1— 
 breaches of honesty— of equity— that plabe me in 
 your power. Suppose this granted! What do 
 you pretend to gain by the denunciation 'I AV ill 
 my customers thank you for the announcement 
 of the abstraction of what you have it not in 
 your power to replace'? If this house were clo- 
 sed to-morrow, what are you the better for its 
 bankruptcy'? You lose your salary, your situa- 
 tion, your respectability. Other houses of busi- 
 ness would be cautious of engaging a head clerk 
 out of a house that had disgraced itself ; more 
 especially a Judas — a Judas, sir who has at- 
 tempted to sell his master. You would be place- 
 less, homeless, friendless; ay! and, in the se- 
 quel, perhaps, emulate the tardy repentance of 
 that same Iscariot, who went and hanged himself 
 “ If I entertained any views or intentions, sir, 
 of the vile nature to which you advert,” said 
 Spilsby, in a low, broken tone— for he was thor- 
 oughly unmanned—" I should deserve these in- 
 sinuations. But really — ” 
 
 "If you do Twt,^^ retorted Hamlyn, "you v>ull 
 have the less hesitation in acceding to the terms 
 I am about to propose to you. Your salary in 
 my establishment amounts, I fancy, to four hun- 
 dred per annum '?” 
 
 " 'To four hundred.” 
 
 " It is my intention to double it. I have here 
 a paper awaiting your signature. It contains 
 only a few lines, and need cost you little delib- 
 eration. You will find yourself required to 
 pledge yourself to secrecy, public and private, 
 with regard to the affairs of the house (which 
 you admit to be fully known to you), on condi- 
 tion of receiving the sum of eight hupdred 
 pounds per annum, paid quarterly ; and a far- 
 ther douceur of two hundred guineas, every 
 Christmas, according as you may refrain from 
 annoying and harassing me by petty irritations. 
 If you fancy me likely to compromise our mu- 
 tual animosity by a large surn in ready money, 
 you are mistaken. I have neither the powei nor 
 the will. Make up your mind, therefore, to ac- 
 cept a handsome competence— one thousand a 
 year — at my hands, so long as the house shall 
 keep open; or do your worst— ruin it and ww, if 
 you can— and abide the consequences which 1 
 swear to you are at this moment impending over 
 your head !” 
 
The clerk almost gasped for breath, 
 was something in the desperation of Harn^n 
 that seemed to cleave him to the earth . His 
 ton^ne grew dry within his mouth, till he was 
 almost incapable of utterance. To have called 
 for help, overmastered the incensed man before 
 him and exposed to the arbitration of the law 
 the antagonism between them, would only ac- 
 celerate the catastrophe of which he stood in 
 awe. Spilsby felt convinced that, at his first 
 movement, the frantic banker would rush upon 
 him and lay him dead at his feet ! 
 
 On the other band, the terms of pacification 
 oifered him, exceeded his hopes. Without fore- 
 seeing exactly to what degree he might impli- 
 cate himself in a felony by his avowal of parti- 
 cipation in the previous acts of Hamlyn and Co,, 
 the prospect of an income of a thousand a year 
 •was El Dorado to the clerk, Fenton ville and 
 lodgings disappeared before him. He saw him- 
 self grown “respectable” — a householder — liv- 
 ing cleanly and “keeping a gig;” bringing up 
 his sons to the learned professions, and his 
 daughters at a genteel boarding-school ! 
 
 Richard Hamlyn saw plainly the advantage 
 he had gained. Already his heel was upon the 
 head of the serpent ! 
 
 “ Your stipend is due on the first of next 
 month, I think 1” said the banker. “The first 
 quarterly instalment lies before you,” said he, 
 placing two hundred-pound notes beside the pa- 
 per he had hastily drawn up, “the receipt of 
 ■which you will have the goodness to hcknowl- 
 edge' on the same sheet. Make up your mind, 
 Mr. Spilsby! I have no time to throw away 
 upon its vacillations,” 
 
 The baldheaded clerk cast a hurried, haggard 
 glance around the chamber, as if expecting its 
 dingy walls to emit counsellors for his dilemma. 
 Bewildered as he was, he would have given half 
 the amount before him for an hour’s leisure for 
 the arrangement of his ideas. But this delay 
 squared not with the policy of his master. _ Five 
 minutes afterward, the notes were in Spilsby’s 
 pocket ; the paper, duly signed, was deposited in 
 the desk of the banker, and a mountain removed 
 from the breast of Richard Hamlyn 1 
 
 “And now, Spilsby,” said he, with difliculty 
 restraining his desire to cry aloud for joy in the 
 fulness of his heart, when, released from its ag- 
 onizing tension, the blood gradually returned to 
 its usual channels, “we perfectly understand 
 each other. If not friends, we are at least con- 
 federates for life — confederates whose well-being 
 is bound up in mutual conciliation, I shall re- 
 ceive you with all the consideration due to your 
 confidential position in my establishment, with 
 more than you ever received at my hands. Be 
 . all trace of this interview banished between us ! 
 IN’othing on my part shall ever recall a disagree- 
 able impression to your mind. From you I ex- 
 pect similar forbearance,” 
 
 “ I trust, sir, I shall never lose sight of the def- 
 erence becoming my helpless dependance upon 
 you !” replied Spilsby, gradually recovering the 
 power of thinking, feeling, and speaking for him- 
 self. “ I would fain this explanation had never 
 taken place. But I have had no choice in the 
 matter. All I can now desire is that it may be 
 obliterated from your remembrance, as I shall 
 strive to efface it from mine,” 
 
 Thus ended this fearful struggle for life and 
 death ; and no one who saw Richard Hamlyn 
 that afternoon, sedate and courteous, upon 
 ’Change, receiving the congratulations of his in- 
 
 113 
 
 timates on the good news from Riga, and ex- 
 changing with the mere men of business with 
 whom he was in connexion the usual forms and 
 negotiations of the day — while stockbrokers re- 
 spectfully uncapped as he glanced their way, 
 and many a gray headed man of double his years 
 stood aside with reverence for the passage of the 
 righteous-overmuch promoter of half the chari- 
 table institutions of the metropolis — would have 
 assigned the smallest credit to the asseverations 
 of the baldheaded clerk, had he sworn on the 
 Gospels, in presence of the assembled raagistra- 
 ture of the city, to the truth of the scene descri- 
 bed in the foregoing pages 1 
 
 But life is full of contradictions. Could we 
 behold the individuals with whom we live in 
 habits of social intercourse, in the closer rela- 
 tions of life and at all hours of the day, how few 
 of us but would start back with ‘surprise, in 
 many instances with horror, on recognising our 
 utter ignorance of their real natures and pur- 
 suits I Nor is this altogether the result of hu- 
 man hypocrisy ; human folly has a considerable 
 share in the illusion. We see people through 
 the medium of our prejudices as often'as through 
 that of their pretensions; endowing them with 
 imaginary virtues for our worship, or supposi- 
 titious vices for our abhorrence ; and, when dis- 
 abused in our gratuitous error, visit upon them 
 the flights of our imaginations. Yet the lover 
 who chooses to elevate the lady of his thoughts 
 into a divinity has no right to resent her proving 
 herself a mere mortal ; nor the public to create 
 unto itself idols, for the mere purpose of knock- 
 ing them into dust in the sequel, as mere pup- 
 pets of wood or images of clay. 
 
 It was scarcely the fault of the honourable 
 member for Barsthorpe, if the London world, 
 after admiring for twenty years the excellence 
 of his establishment, the perfection of his equi- 
 pages, the activity of his parliamentary career, 
 the liberality of his private— knowing him to be 
 neither a libertine, a gambler, a sot, nor a spend- 
 thrift (the frailties most common in connexion 
 with capital dinners and a knowing turnout) — 
 should choose to elevate him into the most vir- 
 tuous of mankind— one who might have been 
 Bishop Heber the Apostle, had he not been Ham- 
 lyn the banker ! 
 
 The dinner-party which took place that very 
 day in Cavendish Square was citable for its ele- 
 gance and pleasantness, even among the many 
 brilliant banquets succeeding each other at what 
 the newspapers chose to term “the hospitable 
 family mansion of Mr. Hamlyn.” The party 
 was not large. The Marchioness of Hartford, 
 an habitual invalid, disliking noise and stran- 
 gers, was charmed with the gentle serenity of 
 Mrs. Hamlyn, and the ladylike propriety of her 
 new daughter-in-law, of whom, by-the-way. 
 Lady Rotherwood did the honours to her sister 
 as though she were showing off a child of her 
 own. Colonel Hamilton and Ellen, with Lord 
 Crawley and Walter, completed the party; and 
 Lord Vernon might have judged it a sufiicient 
 reason for dismissing his French cook, and re- 
 nouncing forced fruit and vegetables for the re- 
 mainder of the season, could he have witnessed 
 the perfection of gastronomy demonstrating the 
 vulgarity of an. enjoyment thus emulated by an 
 upstart like the money-broker of Dean Park. 
 
 Colonel Hamilton whispered to himself more 
 than once in the course of the entertainment, 
 that even Ormeau could not pretend to rivalship 
 with the banker in the art of dinner-giving; and 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 There 
 
THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 114 
 
 on such an occasion as the present, where the 
 parlies so well understood each other and were 
 so perfectly happy, there was not room for the 
 only deterioration ever perceptible at his table, 
 namely, a certain formality arising from want 
 of harmony and assortment among the guests. 
 Lord Crawley, who had not seen his sister since 
 her dangerous illness, seemed to take particular 
 delight in a reunion occurring under circum- 
 stances so auspicious. The home secretary, al- 
 ways sociable, was unusually anecdotic and 
 agreeable; either in compliment to the happy 
 position of his nephew, as an object of disinter- 
 ested affection in the bosom of such a family ; 
 or to the bright eyes of Mrs. Hamilton, whom he 
 beheld for the first time, and hailed with enthu- 
 siasm as an animated muse, a model of all that 
 was fair and noble, even before he discovered her 
 to be the nominal heiress of the rich old nabob, 
 who had given him so valuable a lesson in In- 
 dian policy, seasoned with elephantisms, at Dean 
 Park. 
 
 “ I believe you mean to provide wives for our 
 whole family, my dear Mrs. Hamlyn !” whisper- 
 ed Lady Rothervvood to the banker’s wife ; while 
 Lydia took her seat after dinner beside the chaise- 
 longue on which her kind and admiring mother- 
 in-law extended herself for a short repose previ- 
 ous to coffee. “Not content with finding the 
 dearest little marchioness for my nephew that 
 his wildest desires could have fancied, you have 
 placed in my brother’s way the only woman I 
 ever saw likely to distract his attention from the 
 interests of public life. I never knew Crawley 
 smitten before !” 
 
 Mrs. Hamlyn smiled, and of course disclaim- 
 ed, as she glanced towards Ellen, who, in order 
 to allow more freedom of speech to the family 
 party, had retreated into the little boudoir full ol 
 engravings, wherein that fatal compact had been 
 made between the home secretary and the mas- 
 ter of the house, the fearful consequences where- 
 of were still concealed among the mysteries hid- 
 den in the lap of time. But the smile was a hol- 
 low one. Mrs. Hamlyn heard with the natural 
 jealousy of a mother any allusion to a new^ con- 
 quest effected by the object of Henry’s adoration ; 
 and though vexed, almost indignant, at noticing 
 the profound attention paid by her eldest son 
 throughout dinner to Mrs. Hamilton, beside 
 whom he was seated, she felt doubly distressed 
 at the idea of a preference on the part of Lord 
 Crawley, so alarming to the hopes and happi 7 
 ness of her favourite child. 
 
 A new scene of triumph, meanwhile, was com- 
 mencing for Lydia. The Marchioness of Dart- 
 ford, an accomplished musician, and passionate- 
 ly devoted to the art, but debarred by the state of 
 her health from attending operas and concerts, 
 and, consequently, a stranger to the chef d’oeuvres 
 of modem harmony, was overwhelmed with de- 
 light at the masterly performance of her daugh- 
 ter-in-law. The duets from the “Lucia” and 
 “ Norma,” executed by Lydia and Ellen with a 
 degree of perfection rarely attained by non-pro- 
 fessional singers, drew tears from her eyes ; and 
 before the close of “ Deh ! con rc,” Lord Craw- 
 ley and Walter were standing with Dariford be- 
 hind the piano, in ecstacies, real or pretended, 
 almost as great as those of the genuine amateur, 
 a circumstance laughingly pointed out by Col- 
 onel Hamilton to his friend the banker, as they 
 entered the brilliantly-lighted drawing-room to- 
 gether. 
 
 Was it likely that a man thus situated— thus 
 
 gloating in the enjoyment of every social pleas- 
 ure, every social distinction — should have lei- 
 sure to reflect on the morrow with due solicitude 
 upon his responsibilities towards his hundreds 
 of clients — to ponder upon the interests of such 
 people as the vicar’s family, the children of a 
 physician in Russell Square, the widow Darley 
 in Lemon-tree Yard, or Sir Robert Maitland in. 
 the Hebrides ; the annuity of Miss Creswell, the 
 governess, or the compound interest of the O ving- 
 ton Savings’ Bank '1 Astonishing^ indeed, had 
 he so much as deigned to recognise the existence 
 of such nonentities, while entertaining with their 
 means, and by the wasting of their substance,, 
 the future relatives and present friends of the 
 marchioness, his right honourable daughter ! 
 
 “ Has your ladyship heard that Hamlyn, the 
 banker, is likely to be created Lord Scrip* in the 
 next batch of peers T’ inquired Flimflam of Lady 
 Vernon, beside whom he had manoeuvred hiuL- 
 self into a seat at dinner that day, at a dinner--, 
 party at the house of one of her Northumberland 
 neighbours, in hopes of worming himself into 
 her good graces hereafter, as a profitable dinner- 
 giver and fashionable lady patroness. j 
 
 “A joke, of course!” replied Lady Vernon, 
 who, knowing Mr. Flimflam to be a person en- 
 gaged to supply the small talk of dinner-parties, 
 as Gunter is engaged to furnish bonbons for the 
 dessert, conceived that such a man could not ask 
 for bread without a latent pun. 
 
 “A jest exceedingly likely to prove earnest l 
 It is amazing how those Hamlyns are getting 
 on, and, we may add, their sons and daughters 
 getting offl That pretty simple-looking daugh- 
 ter has entrapped the best match of the season j 
 and the son is going to be married to a widow 
 with twenty thousand a year, a woman who has 
 lately refused some nobleman’s son (I don’t know 
 whom, but a capital match), out of affection for 
 the bright eyes of that silly young coxcomb, 
 Captain Hamlyn of the Blues.” 
 
 Lady Vernon winced. Her withers were griev- 
 ously wrung. That very morning she had heard 
 the first whisper of Alberic’s humiliating rejec- 
 tion by Mrs. Hamilton, and had long begun to 
 look upon Walter as a very passable pis-cdkr for 
 Lucinda, in case the present season should prove 
 as infructuous as the last. The heir of Dean. 
 Park was a bagged fox, whom it did them no 
 harm to secure, in case better game were wanting. 
 
 “ I must say,” resumed Flimflam (a profes- 
 sional man of infinitesimal calibre), “that n(> 
 thing appears to me more absurd than the posi- 
 tion assumed in society by bankers, above any 
 other species of mercantile men. Dealers in 
 silver and gold are not a*bit the less dealers be- 
 cause the queen’s countenance is stamped upon 
 their merchandise ; and why we should see such 
 people as the Hamlyns honoured by royal visits 
 and invitations more than other commercial peo* 
 pie — ” 
 
 “ Royal notice is often bestowed for specific 
 purposes!” interrupted Lady Vernon, almost 
 overlooking the audacity of the little insect who 
 buzzed so familiarly in her ears, in considera- 
 tion of the judgment with which his sarcasms 
 were directed. “ But I can assure you that, in 
 the county in which Mr. Hamiyn’s father chose 
 to establish himself and purchase an estate, they 
 are still looked upon in their true light of par- 
 venus, Lord Vernon (their nearest neighbour) 
 considers them highly-respectable people, who 
 do much good in their way; but Mr. and Mrs._ 
 Hamlyn stand in a very different light in their 
 
COURT A 
 
 country neighbourhood and among the London 
 crowd, which has less time to take accurate 
 measure of claims and pretensions.” 
 
 “ Oh ! as to London,” retorted Flimflam, “ as 
 your ladyship justly observes, in the present dis- 
 ordered state of the social system, people go 
 where they are amused, without asking by whom 
 or caring how. If Madame Laflarge were to 
 open a fine house in Grosvenor Square, with the 
 best music and best suppers of the season, she 
 would be visited by everybody. At the end of 
 a year or two, if her music and suppers became 
 less good, they would begin to inquire who she 
 was, and pretend that they had never heard of 
 her name till she was forced upon their acquaint- 
 ance by their friend Lady So and So. It is not 
 every one who preserves, on such points, the 
 rigid sense of dignity exercised in so exemplary 
 a manner by your ladyship.” 
 
 “ What possible object could I have,” gravely 
 resumed Lady Vernon, “in cultivating the ac- 
 quaintance of such people as the Hamlynsl 
 They have everything to gain from me — I have 
 nothing to gain from them.^’ 
 
 “ Why, as your ladyship justly observes,” re- 
 plied Flimflam, “ the show and ostentation of such 
 an establishment as theirs (devised, no doubt, as 
 an advertisement in large capitals of the solidity 
 of the firm) may be highly attractive to the vulgar, 
 but is the very thing to disgust persons of genu- 
 ine refinement ! I have dined occasionally at 
 Hamlyn’s (with whom I have parliamentary 
 business that necessitates a sort of acquaint- 
 ance), and confess nothing strikes me more than 
 the contrast afforded by his flashy table to those 
 of certain old, and, if I may presume to say so, 
 oldfashioned nobility, with whom I have the 
 honour of dining, such as the Duke of Saxmund- 
 ham, the Marquis of Oxgraze, the Edrl of Tithe- 
 prig — ” 
 
 “ The Duke of Saxmundham is an uncle of 
 mine. Lord Titheprig is my brother-in-law !” 
 observed Lady Vernon, fancying she was com- 
 municating news to Flimflam, who bowed in 
 grateful acknowledgment, till his toupet touched 
 the table-cloth. 
 
 “At Hamlyn’s,” resumed he, “one is abso- 
 lutely dazzled by excess of light and the'newness 
 cf the plate, as if the host cared only to prove 
 the amount of his credit with his jeweller and 
 wax-chandler ! The comfort of his guests is 
 never thought of. Shaded lights, that would fail 
 to exhibit the lustre of his silver wine-cistern, 
 such a man as Hamlyn would not hear of !” 
 
 “ For my part, I detest that sort of over-pol- 
 ished, over-frosted fancy plate, which looks as if 
 it had just been figuring in Storr and Mortimer’s 
 window !” sneered Lady Vernon. “ It is like 
 publishing by sound of trumpet that you are a 
 man of yesterday, to exhibit such very new-fan- 
 gled devices.” 
 
 “ Then, the dinner itself,” resumed Flimflam 
 (whose rancour was excited against Hamlyn by 
 having had it repeated to him by his bosom ene- 
 my, the learned Theban of the Temple, that the 
 banker had denounced him to Lord Crawley, on 
 issuing from his last dinner-party, as “a failure 
 — not so good as usual!”), “the dinner itself is 
 in what I consider the worst taste ! Everything 
 garnished — everything a la some preposterous 
 thing or other! Such gilding of refined gold, 
 and painting the lily ! 'Turbot h la Tartare, and 
 faisan a Vestragonl— 2 iS if the simple flavour of 
 the best things in the world were not sufficient 
 to bribe the b^au mondk to dine with a banker !” 
 
 SID CITY. 115 
 
 “ I suppose some persons are tempted there in 
 search of novelty,” replied Lady Vernon, con- 
 temptuously. “ People, tired of their plain roast 
 venison at home, find amusement in exploring 
 the eminent cooks of London — no matter with 
 whom they may be living.” 
 
 “ And certainly, at Hamlyn’s, one is sure of 
 novelty !” observed Flimflam. “ I recollect his 
 giving us canvas-back ducks one winter, which 
 he receives regularly from his correspondents 
 at New-York.” 
 
 “ I suppose, then, there is a game-bag attach- 
 ed to his letter-bag r’ observed Lady Vernon, 
 with a sneer, 
 
 “And, as your ladyship is probably aware, 
 he cultivates, in his succession-houses at Dean 
 Park, a variety of tropical fruits, which are 
 grown nowhere else in England ; about as good 
 eating as the waxen fruit of an epergne, with a 
 little powdered sugar sifted over it.” 
 
 “ Very good things to exhibit at a horticultu- 
 ral show, in order that his own and his garden- 
 er’s name may figure in the morning papers !” 
 observed Lady Vernon. “But I own I am 
 humble enough to be contented with a good 
 Providence pine !” 
 
 “ Even the pines at Hamlyn’s,” resumed Flim- 
 flam, “are served as I never saw them in any 
 other house. The pine-stands are of gold, with 
 long, burnished, pendent leaves, in the form of 
 the natural fruit.” 
 
 “ Disgusting!” exclaimed Lady Vernon. “No- 
 thing more offensive than contact between fruit ^ 
 and plate, which can only be cleared by sub* 
 stances fatal to the flavour. Fruit should be 
 served exclusively on glass or china — ” 
 
 “Not by a banker!” retorted Flimflam, with 
 a venomous smile. “ Gold (often, I am afraid, 
 gilding) is the emblem of his calling — the out- 
 ward and visible sign of his inward disgTa.ce. 
 For, after all, as your ladyship justly observes, 
 what can be more suspicious of a great banker ? 
 By what means can it have been amassed, but 
 able speculation with the fortunes of others ; by 
 the risk of what is not his own, and what, if 
 lost, he is unable to replace'? For what pur- 
 pose do we intrust our property to a banker'? 
 To be taken care of, and rendered back on de- 
 mand! If susceptible of being turned to ac- 
 count, the profit should be ours, or partly ours; 
 otherwise, we incur the hazard without benefit 
 in the gain. Coutts began life, we are told, with 
 half a crown. How did he obtain his millions '? 
 By gaining the confidence of rich men, and the 
 credit of a man possessing the confidence of rich 
 men, till he held in his hands, in deposite, the 
 means of indulging his genius for financial 
 speculation. It was genius, and it prospered! 
 But a blunder of Coutts’s might have involved 
 hundreds of families in ruin ; whereas his pros- 
 perity enabled him to prove, by the alliances of 
 his family, that the proudest colossal fortune 
 (even if a Mid colossal fortune, and not a mere 
 colossal credit), that the most moral houses of 
 the realm, will grovel in the dust at the foot of 
 the altar of the golden calf!” 
 
 “Most true, indeed!” ejaculated Lady Ver- 
 non, beginning to discover eloquence in the 
 rhapsodies of a man whose principles were so 
 congenial with her own, and not stooping to 
 reflect that the principles of a dining-outman are 
 plastric to the prejudices of every house in 
 which he is accustomed to pick up crumbs of 
 cake and slices of venison. 
 
 “ The fact is,” resumed Flimflam, perceiving 
 
THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 116 
 
 that he was making an impression, “ there are 
 too many of these gilt counterfeits in society ! 
 Far too much glare, and bustle, and show has 
 been introduced into the quiet resorts of the great 
 world by indulgent toleration of these Brumma- 
 gen pretenders. Like the vulgar comets a pistons 
 and Turkish cymbals, which have produced 
 such deterioration in modern music, these peo- 
 ple make too much noise. If I were to date the 
 decline of taste in England in all matters of art 
 or literature, it would be from the ascendency 
 of the moneyed interests. A financial aristocra- 
 cy, a nobility of the counter, encourages artists, 
 but extinguishes art. Mozart has been out of 
 fashion ever since seven bankers’ wives had 
 boxes in the grand-tier; and it is well known 
 that Lawrence attributed the gimcrackery of his 
 latter portraits to the evil influence of city pat- 
 ronage.” 
 
 “ It is certain,” observed Lady Vernon, “ that 
 the Vandykes and Lelys, whose practice was 
 confined exclusively to the court, produced a 
 very diflerent order of portrait from the Shees 
 and Chalons, compelled to perpetuate the neck- 
 laces and guipure lace of Portland Place and 
 Harley-street.” 
 
 “ Even as regards literature,” added Flimflam, 
 “just as all the unctuous dishes of the French 
 cuisine, over-truffled and over-spiced, were in- 
 vented for the Fermiers G'eneraux of the time of 
 Louis XV., those dreadful, flimsy, flashy, un- 
 wholesome tissues of false sentiment and flip- 
 pancy, called fashionable novels, were com- 
 posed for the delight of the bankers’ wives. A 
 Tagou tcb la jinancikre, as I need not remind your 
 ladyship, is a fricassee of coxcombs ! The fa- 
 vourite works on the boudoir-table of the Ham- 
 lyn tribe are those gaudy fool-traps, the fashion- 
 able annuals.” 
 
 “Too true!” replied Lady Vernon, begin- 
 ning to wonder why she had always conceived 
 such a dislike towards little Mr. Flimflam. 
 “ But, after all, may there not be michiug mal- 
 icho in all this 1 Are not these bankers inter- 
 ested in promoting a taste for every idle and 
 useless expense which increases the value of 
 money I” 
 
 “A most luminous idea — a most logical con- 
 clusion 1” said Flimflam, gravely. “ Many a 
 political economist might envy the origination 
 of such a theory, and Montesquieu has gained 
 credit by axioms less profound. But are we not 
 sometimes over-apt to impute designs to our 
 neighbours 'i The policy of Russia, for instance. 
 Which of us has not heard, as long as he can 
 remember, of the designs of Russia Whereas, 
 as Lord Crawley observed to me when I was 
 dining with him t’other day (and Lord Crawley 
 may be esteemed something of an authority on 
 such points !), if Russia had any marvellous de- 
 signs, would she be fool enough to let us find 
 her out V‘ 
 
 “ What is that, my dear Flimflam T inquired 
 a distinguished opposition member seated near 
 them, whose ear was caught by such mighty 
 names as those of an empire and a home secre- 
 tary. 
 
 “ I was telling Lady Vernon,” said Flimflam — 
 enchanted to extend the circle of his auditors — 
 “ that the other day Lord Crawley was observing 
 to me on the absurdity of attributing profound 
 or crooked policy to the Russians, the most bar- 
 barously arbitrary of all European cabinets ; a 
 cabinet which belabours one an moral as it crush- 
 ed Napoleon an physiq^ie, by the frozen hammer 
 
 of Thor rather than by the polished steel of Ma- 
 chiavelism 1” 
 
 “ Rather a singular audacity of expression for 
 Crawley I” observed the gentleman he was ad- 
 dressing, with an air of polite incredulity. 
 
 “I can, hbwever, attest its authenticity, for 
 he said it to myself!” replied Flimflam stoutly; 
 thereby entitling the persons present to attribute 
 in all companies to the Home Secretary a speech 
 and sentiment in which his real share was in 
 the proportion of one pennyworth of bread to a 
 monstrous quantity of sack. 
 
 But, saving for such exaggerations and am- 
 plifications as this, and such rumours as that of 
 the scrip peerage, what would become of the 
 profitable occupation of the Pique Assielte, or 
 diner-out ! a moral gargotier, who lives by hash- 
 ing up with spices and condiments, for the Small- 
 talk of his Saturday’s dinner, the savoury mor- 
 sels he has filched' and carried away from the 
 colloquial feasts of the preceding days of the 
 week ! 
 
 Verily, Flimflam had his reward! He was 
 requested by Lady Vernon, in the course of the 
 evening, to do her the favour of calling upon 
 her in 'Grosvenor Place; and before four-and- 
 twenty hours were over his head, had amused 
 the dinner-table of a fox-hunting country bar- 
 onet with an account of the absurdity of a cer- 
 tain ultra-fashionable Lady Vernon, who assured 
 him — him, Erasmus Flimflam — that she had 
 been forced to desert her old box at the opera, 
 and ascend a tier higher, in consequence of the 
 glare of the bullion and spangles displayed in 
 the turbans and trimmings of the bankers’ wives ! 
 
 The following Sunday, the “familiar toad” 
 assumed his place for the first time at the table 
 of Lord Vernon, furnished with some capital 
 impromptu anecdotes of Sheridan, Curran, and 
 Home Tooke, well adapted for the Whig at- 
 mosphere of the house ; and the sowing of the 
 dragon’s teeth by Cadmus was not more fertile 
 in the production of strife and warfare, than the 
 tale-bearing and tittle-tattle of the habitual di- 
 ner-out, as exercised that day in Grosvenor 
 Place ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 “ Svinsliine and storm— tli’ alternate checker-work 
 Of human fortune Shelley. 
 
 It was scarcely possible for a life of only four- 
 and-twenty years’ duration to present a succes- 
 sion of stronger contrasts than that ot Mrs. Ham- 
 ilton. The circumscribed horizon of her penur}''- 
 stricken youth had been cheered by the afiection 
 of a mother in whose heart she reigned supreme ; 
 and when the epoch of first love, the brightest of 
 woman’s life, was darkened and depressed by 
 the persecutions so wantonly inflicted by the 
 banker, the faithful devotion of Robert Hamilton 
 had proved a haven in the storm, an anchor of 
 safety and salvation. . ^ . i. 
 
 She was, consequently, fully justified in the 
 faith, which most women, whether justifiedly or 
 not, profess in their heart of hearts, that love is 
 the surest of human consolations ; and when 
 trouble came again, and she found herself alone 
 in the world, alone and exposed to the molesta- 
 tions which beset a woman so singularly beau- 
 tiful, it was but natural she should accept with 
 gratitude the homage of such an attachment as 
 Henry Hamlyn’s, as her best chance of restora- 
 tion to worlffly happiness. 
 
117 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 But she deceived herself. Her future career 
 was not to be as they had planned it together in 
 that happy land, where love is prematurely 
 ripened by the influence of language,, climate 
 habits, manners— where every breath is a sigh 
 and every word an endearment. They had 
 agreed to enjoy together a life of study and se- 
 clusion, of modest competence, and mutual de- 
 votion, Instead of which, it was now decreed 
 that they were to meet no more in this world ; 
 and Ellen, instead of becoming an obscure, la- 
 borious, adored and adoring wife, found herselt 
 suddenly elevated to the enjoyment of every 
 earthlv luxury, and the gratification of every 
 earthly vanity and whim, F olio wed and flattered 
 by those who were enabled to place her in the 
 highest rank of English society, adorned by the 
 fond generosity of the colonel with jewels and 
 costly attire, she now possessed everything the 
 heart of woman could desire, except the one thing 
 needful, the object of her sole afiection. 
 
 While the fashionable world was as usual 
 taking fire with enthusiasm under the influence 
 of a new beauty— while she was welcomed into 
 such circles as those oFOrmeau and Rotherwood 
 House, with the utmost deference and adulation 
 —her heart was wrung with a sense of its lone- 
 liness ! The passion of a silly fop like Alberic 
 Vernon was only a source of disgust; the affec- 
 tion of an amiable man like Lord Edward Sutton, 
 a matter of regret. For her whole soul was still 
 concentered in that silent, dreary chamber of the 
 solitary student, who, if he had tacitly withdrawn 
 the pledge of their trothplight, was not the less 
 dear to every fibre of her heart. 
 
 To whatever place of public amusement poor. 
 Ellen was forced by the mistaken kindness of 
 the good colonel, her thoughts were constantly 
 wandering to the past, constantly distracted by 
 surmises concerning the health and happiness 
 of him whom, for a time, she had regarded as 
 her husband. Though no longer able to attach 
 J. 2 L sentiment of personal pride to his college tri- 
 #umphs, she felt deeply mortified on learning from 
 her father-in-law the sudden decline of i^s ex- 
 ijjpectations, and from the moment tidings reached 
 |flier of his indisposition, scarcely absented her- 
 self an hour from the company of Mrs. Hamlyn, 
 ^so eager was she to obtain intelligence of the in- 
 valid. 
 
 Between these two women, united by a com- 
 mon object of boundless affection, not a syllable 
 of explanation had been exchanged. Situated 
 as they mutually were, it was impossible for one 
 to say to the other, “ Dear indeed would you have 
 been to me as the wife of my son 1” or for the 
 other to whisper, “ Fain would I have been to 
 you as the fondest and most dutiful of daughters.” 
 But without a word spoken, they understood each 
 other — appreciated each other — loved each other. 
 When Ellen entered the drawing-room in Cav- 
 endish Square, with anxious looks, Mrs. Ham- 
 lyn took occasion to inform some other person 
 present that she had heard from Henry — that 
 Henry was better ; and if Mrs. Hamlyn appeared 
 too much out of spirits to attend some brilliant 
 ball or gay party, Ellen would persuade Lydia 
 to content herself with the chaperonage of Lady 
 Rotherwood, and pretend a headache, in her turn, 
 as an excuse for remaining at home with Mrs. 
 Hamlyn, 
 
 Over their quiet work and tea-table, they never 
 mentioned the name of Henry. Yet every syl- 
 lable uttered between them bore indistinct refer- 
 ence to him or to his projects ; and, in reverting 
 
 to the past, though the affectionate mother spoke 
 only of Walter and her daughter, not a trait she 
 cited of them— not a nursery anecdote she re- 
 called, but it was easy to discover the part which 
 Henry had borne in the affair. It seemed almost 
 as if, conscious of the distance which Lydia’s 
 happy marriage must create between her and her 
 parents, Mrs. Hamlyn were securing to herself 
 future consolation in the affections of a new 
 daughter. 
 
 Colonel Hamilton saw all this, and saw it 
 with the utmost satisfaction. The banker’s wife 
 was his model of womanly excellence ; and he 
 rejoiced that the Ellen in whom he was desirous 
 of investing his whole stock of human affections, 
 should modify the somewhat lofty tone of her 
 character after the submissive gentleness of Mrs. 
 Hamlyn. He fancied that the energetic dispo- 
 sition of his daughter-in-law might inspire her 
 friend with courage for her approaching separa- 
 tion from the young marchioness; and if he in- 
 dulged in ulterior projects concerning the moth- 
 erly and daughterly affection arising between 
 them, kept the secret strictly to himself. 
 
 “At present, not a word— at present mum! 
 Ellen deserves some punishment’ was the fre- 
 quent result of his self-communing, “for enter- 
 taining so little confidence in the poor old man. 
 
 It was not always easy, however, to the can- 
 did veteran to conceal his participation in the 
 secret so singularly revealed to him between his 
 visit to Cambridge and the indiscretion of Wal- 
 ter- and, whenever he saw tears on the point of 
 starting from the fine eyes of his beautiful dau gh- 
 ter-in-law, he could scarcely forbear exclaiming, 
 
 “ Don’t fret my dear, don’t fret! True love sel- 
 dom runs smooth, they say. But when two 
 young folks are agreed, and money is not want- 
 ing, matters must come straight at last !” ^ _ 
 
 Sometimes, when Ellen was in better spirits 
 after one of her long interviews with Mrs. Ham- 
 lyn, he found it equally difficult to refrain from 
 quizzing her concerning her flushed cheeks and 
 unusual gayety. 
 
 “You look so blooming this morning, my 
 dear Nelly,” said he, one day on her return to 
 the hotel after having officiated as chaperon to 
 Lydia while sitting for her picture to Francis 
 Grant, as a present for the Marchioness of Dart- 
 ford, “ that I could almost fancy it was you, and 
 not Lydia, who had been spending a couple of 
 hours with the eyes of her faithful swain fasci- 
 nated upon her face ! Pray, was Master Watty 
 with you at Grant’s?” 
 
 “ I have not seen Captain Hamlyn these two 
 days,” replied Mrs. Hamilton, with some de- 
 gree of resentment. , 
 
 “ Why, you won’t pretend to tell me, my dear 
 rfor as tragedy queenish as you may choose to 
 look on the occasion), that you are not aware 
 the handsome captain is dying for love of you ? 
 
 “ Not what I consider love. Captain Hamlyn 
 treated me with distant civility till he saw me 
 assume a better place in society than he supposed 
 would be conceded to so insignificant a person- 
 age It was not till I had been stamped current 
 by the homage of a fashionable fribble, like Mr. 
 Vernon, that he began to pay me attention; and 
 Lord Edward Sutton’s admiration was neces- 
 sary to liring him to his present stage of gallant- 
 
 ^^’“Well well! whether his passion be natural 
 or artificial, or, rather, whether it be spontaneous 
 or derivative admit that it becomes him admira- 
 bly. Walter’s the handsomest young fellow m 
 
118 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 Lon’on, let t’other be whom he may ; and I feel 
 pretty sure that if he didn’t bear the hateful name 
 of Hamlyn (against which you seern to have set 
 your obstinate little mind), you’d be acting Lady 
 Bountiful, some twenty years hence, at Dean 
 Park, long a’ter we old fogrums are dead and 
 forgotten.” 
 
 The fluctuating colour on the cheek of poor 
 Ellen betrayed the emotions which the colonel 
 had been maliciously bent upon calling forth by 
 this exordium, 
 
 “But we’re going to have a much worse spe- 
 cimen of the family on our hands shortly 1” add- 
 ed the colonel, intently watching her. “The 
 lad who’s been sapping all this time at Cam- 
 bridge, finding himself likely to make a bad job 
 of it, chooses to sham ill ; and his family have 
 been gulled into persuading him, forsooth, to ask 
 for holydays ! For my part, I hate pedants, of 
 every shape, sort, and size; and shan’t find my 
 way half so often to Cavendish Square, now that 
 we’re to have the drawing-room littered with Lat- 
 in and Greek books, and the solemn phiz of a 
 Mr. Gradus, established there in eternal rebuke 
 of our ignorance. Just imagine me, who find it 
 a hard matter to speak dictionary English, stuck 
 ■up opposite a fellow who fancies he can decline 
 his nouns and conjugate his verbs so much bet- 
 ter than his neighbours !” 
 
 “ I was well acquainted with Henry Hamlyn 
 in Italy,” said Mrs. Hamilton with a degree ol 
 efibrt that crimsoned her face as she attempted 
 to raise her full-orbed eyes towards the search- 
 ing glance of the colonel, “ and can assure you, 
 sir, that he is nothing of a pedant.” 
 
 “Oh! he isn’t, ehl Well, so much the bet- 
 ter! Ahd pray, is he as good-looking as Walter 1” 
 
 ! “ In my opinion, far handsomer, for he has an 
 expressive and intellectual countenance; while 
 the good looks of Captain Hamlyn are the mere 
 result of features and complexion.” 
 
 1 “A favourable result, at all events, as I sus- 
 pect that pretty finical miss of Lord Vernon’s is 
 beginning to find out! Last night, when Wat- 
 ty was taking so much pains about finding that 
 seat for you at the Ancient Concert, Lady Ver- 
 non and her daughter looked as if they would 
 like to mince you into very small pieces. But 
 tell me, Nelly ! How came this chap with the 
 intellectual countenance to be let oif so cheap 
 in Italy, between two such pretty widows as 
 yourself and Lady Burlington I” 
 
 “ Lady Burlington has little temptation to 
 marry again. She has two children to occupy 
 her thoughts and aflections. Even were she so 
 inclined, Henry Hamlyn, who is eight years 
 younger than herself, besides being a Protestant 
 and son to a man she abhors, is the last person 
 likely to make her a suitable husband. With 
 respect to myself — ” she paused. 
 
 “ Well, my dear! With respect to yourself V’ 
 
 “ I would rather not answer you ; for it is not 
 in my power to answer you sincerely,” said she, 
 with assumed firmness. 
 
 “ Thank you, Nelly ! Thank you, my child ! 
 That’s just the straitfor’ard way in which I like 
 to be treated by you ! I’d rather you’d hit me a 
 box of the ear, any day of the week, than pala- 
 ver me with a syllable’s worth of gammon. 
 Well! I must see and judge for myself. We 
 shall have the intellectual countenance here to- 
 day, by dinner-time; and then, keep your secret, 
 lady fair, if you can !” 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton replied by silently kissing his 
 hand. 
 
 “ I shan’t see him to-night, however,” said the 
 colonel, laughing; “so don’t try and coax me 
 to be a good boy, before I’ve an opportunity of 
 being a bad one. To-day’s the grand let-off at 
 the chairman’s of the East India Company ; and 
 as the dinner is given expressly to rtie, I sup- 
 pose I must go through the evening and my rub- 
 ber with the big wigs asked to meet me ; twen- 
 ty at dinner, most likely, and only a quarter of 
 a liver among the whole party! By-the-way, 
 Nelly (I may as well tell you, for ten to one 
 those chattering newspapers will, if I don’t), that 
 my poor old rajah has sent over funds to the 
 company to buy me a service of plate as a to- 
 ken of gratitude and affection ; and so, my dear, 
 some day or other, when I’m in a better place, 
 and you and your good man, whoever he may 
 be, settled in the house in Portland Place, you’ll 
 have a few spoons and sauceboats to help you 
 set up housekeeping.” 
 
 Great was the disappointment to the colonel 
 to find, the following morning from Ellen (who 
 had purposely absented herself from Cavendish 
 Square since the expectation of Henry’s arrival), 
 that a note from Lydia had already apprized 
 her of his non-appearance. 
 
 But in return for this unsatisfactory intelli- 
 gence, the colonel had strange news to commu- 
 nicate. 
 
 “ I didn’t expect a pleasant dinner yesterday!” 
 said he. “ Those kind of five-course affairs are 
 seldom agreeable. But, by George ! old Launch- 
 ington’s was worse than I’d bargained for. I 
 suppose the dinners in Cavendish Square have 
 rather spoiled one for such matters.” 
 
 “ Is Mr. Launchington’s table, then, so bad a 
 one demanded Ellen, in the simplicity of her 
 heart. 
 
 “ Oh ! ’t wasn’t that, my dear ! Even at a state 
 dinner, one is always sure of a boiled chicken, 
 or slice of roast meat, to prevent one’s quarrellinaj 
 with one’s fare. The dinners in this house are 
 no great things; with their eternal fried whi- 
 tings and tepid lamb-cutlets — but you never hear 
 me complain. No ! no ! what I disliked so much, 
 yesterday was the company.” 
 
 “I should have thought that, in such a house, 
 you would be sure of meeting old colleagues 
 
 “ I did, ray dear ! to the tune of a round doz- 
 en, which I was all the more sorry for, seeing 
 that one don’t like to expose one’s self before old 
 acquaintances !” 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton was surprised. She could 
 imagine but one way in which a gentleman ever 
 exposes himself at a dinner-party ; yet had nev- 
 er seen her father-in-law in the slightest degree 
 influenced by wine. 
 
 “You see, they weren’t exactly all' old Indi- 
 ans!” resumed the colonel. “Besides our own 
 comfortable dozen, there were a few city gran- 
 dees, and a monkey-man or two invited to put 
 round the jokes, as in the old jovial days a good 
 fellow used to be asked to help in putting round 
 the wine. As ill-luck would have it, one o’ these 
 prating parrots was seated opposite to me; and 
 took occasion to address so many of his jokes to 
 me, and to ask so many idle questions, as a 
 pretence for lugging ’em in, that I suppose I 
 looked surly, or took him up short; for, by way 
 of excuse for having tried to scrape acquaint- 
 ance, he alluded to having dined with me at 
 Hamlyn’s. And so he had, as I admitted (when 
 he brought it to my mind by some allusion to 
 Lord Crawley); that time I ran up with Sir 
 Robert Maitland, and left you at Ormeau.” 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 119 
 
 “ I remember you dined there with a large 
 ^party,” observed Ellen, who was pouring out the 
 
 my dear! no sooner had this ill-fa- 
 voured, officious little monkey coupled the 
 names of Hamlyn and Lord Crawley, than a 
 pompous, pursy old fellow (a Sir Benjamin 
 something or other, who was sitting near us), 
 ilared up into such an attack upon Hamlyn, 
 that I was forced to take up his cudgels and lay 
 about me in a style that’s always disgreeable 
 when one’s enjoying a sociable party. But my 
 man wasn’t inclined to knock under, even when 
 he saw me in such a deuse ot a passion ; and 
 didn’t scruple to say that Hamlyn had sold his 
 city colleagues to government; that the little 
 man in black (Flimflam, I think they called 
 him), would attest that the ambitious banker 
 was going to be created Lord Scrip ; and that 
 dn return for this empty distinction, he had with- 
 drawn his parliamentary support from a ques- 
 tion in which he was pledged, heart, soul, and 
 honour, to advocate the interests of the great 
 ‘moneyed community in which he lives, and 
 moves, and has his being ‘ Let Richard Ham- 
 lyn only show his face in the city after the per- 
 petration of the apostacy he is said to meditate,’ 
 said this stuffy old Sir Benjamin (a Falstaff 
 without his witl), ‘ and he may chance to have 
 things thrown in his teeth he will find it difficult 
 to digest !’” 
 
 But M Mr. Hamlyn about to be created Lord 
 Scrip r’ inquired Mrs. Hamilton, in some sur- 
 prise. 
 
 “ If so, he is a greater ass than I take him 
 for !” retorted the colonel. “ Hamlyn’s a valu- 
 able man in a plain way; but what the deuse 
 should a fellow who has spent his life behind 
 his counter in Lombard- street, have to do in the 
 House of Peers 1 A banker lord would be a 
 joke for a pantomime, or the comic annual.” 
 
 “ But when you said all this to your portly 
 Sir Benjamin 1” 
 
 “ It didn’t give me the means of contradicting 
 •his assertion that Hamlyn has pledged himself 
 /to government to support the Foreign Securities 
 Bill; which, if he have, all Sir Benjamin said 
 about him wouldn’t be a quarter bad enough, 
 for he would have to speak and vote again’ his 
 conscience, and the interests he had given his 
 word to maintain to the last breath in his body 1” 
 
 “ Unless I am much mistaken, no pledge and 
 no promise of that description would be sacred 
 in Mr. Hamlyn’s eyes, it a coronet were dan- 
 rinv before them in an onnosite direction 1” ob- 
 
 than half an hour in closest confab ; which end- 
 ed with the minister’s saying to the banker, in 
 his hearing, ‘ We reckon upon your voice as well 
 as your vote, my dear Hamlyn; and what you 
 so anxiously solicit shall be done without de- 
 lay.’ ” 
 
 “ A safe and pleasant guest to receive into 
 one’s house 1” observed Mrs. Hamilton, with an 
 air of disgust. 
 
 “ Ay, but he’d better have kept his tongue 
 from wagging, for I gave him a piece of mine^ 
 which was not quite so satiny as he could wish ! 
 But, by George ! his is the sort of pendulum that 
 nothing will keep at a stand-still !” 
 
 “ It seems, then, that others are beginning to 
 entertain, concerning Mr. Hamlyn, an opinion 
 similar to my own T’ observed Ellen, with a 
 
 smile. n , 
 
 “ The worst of it is. I’m afraid there s some 
 truth in the report. 1 didn’t heed the blustering 
 of old Sir Tobv Belch, nor the slaver oi the 
 backbiting punster. But after dinner, when 
 Launchington took occasion to say something 
 civil to me in private about his regret that any- 
 thing unpleasant 'should have occurred to me at 
 his table, he added, he’d rather I should have 
 heard the ill-news elsewhere, which couldnt 
 
 cing before them in an opposite direction 
 served Ellen. “ In defending his cause, there- 
 fore, dearest sir, I trust you were not tempted to 
 commit yourself by denial T’ 
 
 “ Commit myself'? to be sure I was tempted 1” 
 interrupted Colonel Hamilton. “ I told Sir Ben- 
 jamin Backbite, as loud as I could say it. I’d 
 pawn my life Hamlyn had never entertained for 
 a single moment such dishonourable intentions ; 
 and called on the little chatterbox to second my 
 defence of the man whose bread and salt, by 
 his own account, he had broken. 
 
 “ And did Mr. Flimflam advocate his cause 
 “ So far from it, my dear Nelly, that he ad- 
 mitted his belief of every syllable of the rumour ; 
 may, he was base enough to confirm the notion 
 .(which I saw was pretty general throughout the 
 party) by declaring that, at the dinner at which 
 we had both met Lord Crawley, in Cavendish 
 Square, the Home Secretary and Hamlyn were 
 <iioseted cheek by jowl in the boudoir for more 
 
 long fail of reaching my ears. ‘ I’m afraid, my 
 dear colonel,’ says he, ‘Hamlyn’s a lo.st man 
 among us! In the great world, political in- 
 trigues are common. We hear of this duke or 
 that lord turning his coat for a riband, or a place 
 at court. But among commercial men, a man’s 
 word must be as good as his bond. Unless the 
 columns that support the great fabric ot mercan- 
 tile strength in this country are upright and 
 steadfast, there’s an end of the credit of Old Eng- 
 
 “^Mr. HamJyn had pledged himself, then, to 
 his city colleagues, to support their interests on 
 this question T’ , , 
 
 “ Pledged himself'? Why, he held the stakes, 
 as it were, for the rest. Never was there any- 
 thing like their confidence in him! The busi- 
 ness comes on to-morrow. I wouldn’t be in the 
 allery of the house for a trifle.” 
 
 » But, surely, with the friendly feelings you 
 entertain towards Mr. Hamlyn,” observed Ellen, 
 in spite of her antipathy to the banker, jealous 
 of the honour of the family name of him she 
 loved, surely you may be yet in time to alter 
 his determination '? See him, dear sir, persuade 
 him—” 
 
 “I’m afraid such arguments as mine, my 
 dear, would have little avail against the deter- 
 mination of a hard-headed man like Hamlyn ! 
 replied the colonel. “No doubt he’s made up 
 his mind on premises 1w considers good. 
 
 “ But you .may show him better.” 
 
 “ Me, my dear '? not I, Nelly ! I haven’t the 
 gift of the gab, and am but a batter-brains at the 
 best.” 
 
 “ if you were at least to pleaded Ellen, 
 courageously. “ Half the objects in this world 
 are lost for want of a struggle. We are too 
 fond of concluding evil to be inevitable. For 
 mv part, I have the worst opinion ot Mr. hlam- 
 lyn. I believe him to be base, calculating, 
 heartless. I believe he would sacrifice wife, 
 child, friend, to his sordid speculations. I be- 
 lieve he would cause his children to pass through 
 fire to Moloch, and see the existence ol his sims 
 blighted forever, to secure the stability ot his 
 house of business. But there are arguments for 
 all natures and capacities ! This man, whose 
 
120 
 
 ^THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 ears are shut to tlie cry of nature, is open to the 
 influence of every breath of worldly opinion. 
 Tell him how he is thought of; tell him how he 
 is spoken of; tell him that the very honours for 
 which he is bartering his good name will be spat 
 upon and despised by the very fools he is intent 
 upon dazzling ; that he will be received into the 
 high order he is ambitious of attaining with 
 contempt and mistrust; and thus, believe me, 
 dear sir — {believe me you will obtain an ascen- 
 dency over his mind. But what makes you 
 smile T’ said she, perceiving a sudden mistiness 
 in the old man’s eyes, and a singular expression 
 pervading his countenance. 
 
 “ I was thinking that I never saw any one 
 look more like a queen than you do at this mo- 
 ment!” ejaculated the colonel. “Ah, Nelly! 
 Bob knew better than his father when he propo- 
 sed to give me such a daughter. Why, why did 
 I hurry him into the grave, with such a wife, 
 and such happy destinies awaiting him in this 
 world !” 
 
 “ You did iiot, sir,” replied Mrs. Hamilton, in 
 a more subdued voice. “ It was the work of 
 that man whom you mistakenly call a friend. 
 It was the doing of Hamlyn.” 
 
 Colonel Hamilton shrugged his shoulders. 
 “ I’m always loath to believe the worst of my fel- 
 low-creatures,” said he. “I think now, as I 
 thought the moment my poor son’s letter and 
 your noble remonstrances arrived at Ghazera- 
 pore, that Hamlyn acted for the best and judged 
 for the worst. But if he complete the business 
 attributed to him yesterday by those two fellows, 
 Launchington’s fat and lean kine, he’ll be acting 
 for the worst, and no mistake ! As to going and 
 arguing with him, Nelly— by George ! I shouldn’t 
 have the face to do it. ’T would be like arguing 
 with a fellow whose hand one found in one’s 
 pocket. The pickpocket I should be sure to 
 knock down ; and I’m a’most afraid I might be 
 tempted to use some ugly word to Hamlyn, such 
 as would ill become the lips of the father of 
 those two poor boys, to whom he opened his 
 house and heart when the deuse another soul 
 they had to care for ’em, or give ’em a Christ- 
 mas home !” 
 
 “ Still,” pleaded Mrs. Hamilton, “ the truest 
 act of friendship we can perform towards a man 
 is to undertake towards him some painful office 
 from which others recede,” 
 
 She was interrupted by untimely visiters. 
 Miss Creswell and her young charge, who were 
 sometimes despatched, in the course of their 
 morning’s walk, with messages to Mrs. Hamil- 
 ton, made their appearance; for the colonel, in 
 his cordial love of young people, was beginning 
 to transfer to Harriet the fondness and good offi- 
 ces he had exercised in favour of her sister ; and 
 the young girl, who, amid the hurry and occupa- 
 tion created in Cavendish Square by the ap- 
 proaching wedding, was somewhat overlooked 
 at home, was never happier than when sent on 
 an errand to the Hamiltons, 
 
 The note of which she was the bearer merely 
 regarded an arrangement for accompanying Lyd- 
 ia that evening \o the Marchioness of Dart- 
 ford’s, who had forwarded her invitation to El- 
 len through her daughter-in-law. But the real 
 purport of Harriet’s mission was soon apparent 
 to Mrs, Hamilton, when her young friend sud- 
 denly exclaimed, 
 
 “ is it not provoking, dear Colonel Hamilton, 
 that, after all, we are not to have Harry in town ? 
 Instead of coming to amuse himself among us, 
 
 he is gone down to Dean, where he won’t find a 
 soul to speak to at this time of year.” 
 
 “ The deuse he is 1” cried the colonel, stealing 
 a furtive glance towards Ellen, who was wonder- 
 fully busy refolding Mrs. Hamlyn’s note into the 
 shape of a miniature dunce’s cap. 
 
 “ Think how dull he will be ! Not a creature 
 at Burlington to welcome him but old Carlo !— 
 at home, only the bare walls. Even Dr. Mark- 
 ham, from Mrs. Markham’s approaching con- 
 finement, disinclined to leave the parsonage! 
 How much happier my brother would have been 
 here in London !” 
 
 “ You forget, my dear,” interposed Miss Cres- 
 well, with professional wisdom, “ that your broth- 
 er has serious pursuits which fully occupy his 
 time, and dispose him against frivolous diver- 
 sions.” 
 
 “ That’s the very thing, my dear good ma’am 1” 
 cried the colonel. “ ’Tis because he has been 
 duncing himself into an atrophy over his serioua 
 pursuits that we want to get him among us, to 
 be nursed and petted. Frivolous diversions are 
 bark and steel to him ! The bow’s been bent too 
 far, and if we don’t relax the strings they may 
 chance to crack; and then where are we, pray, 
 with our serious pursuits'? Well! I suppose 
 this nonsense of his will cost me another journey 
 to bring him to his senses ! I don’t know what 
 I should ha’ done with sons of my own to deal 
 with, for even these boys of Hamlyn’s make a 
 peunj^’-postman of the poor old man.” 
 
 As soon as Harriet and the governess had de- 
 parted, carrying with them Mrs. Hamilton’s ac- 
 ceptance of the evening’s engagement, Ellen suc- 
 ceeded in persuading the colonel to leave the 
 young recluse for a few days to the reaction of 
 his feelings. She was afraid of an interview 
 between Henry and her father-in-law, unless in 
 her presence. Aware of the rash nature of Col- 
 onel Hamilton’s well-affectioned impulses, she 
 was apprehensive he might commit her by cheer- 
 ing the sadness of the invalid at her expense, 
 with insinuations of an attachment on her part, 
 which, tacitly rejected as she had been, a sense 
 of self-respect forbade her to confirm. More- 
 over, with the promptitude of a superior mind, 
 she had already decided upon the course she in- 
 tended to adopt, both as regarded Henry Ham- 
 lyn and the imputed turpitude of his father. 
 
 W ith in an hour after th eir breakfast conference, 
 she had despatched Johnston to Euston Square, 
 with a letter to be forvmrded by the railway, 
 which he was to take measures for getting im- 
 mediately despatched by messenger from Rugby 
 to Ovington — a letter conveying to Henry Ham- 
 Ip the tidings of his father’s political derilec- 
 tion, and her own exhortations that he would 
 instantly start for London, and use his influence 
 against the consummation of a step so irretriev- 
 able. 
 
 For Ellen Hamilton was keenly alive to the 
 consequences of such tergiversation. Though 
 still firm in her determination never to become 
 a banker’s wife, she could not forbear cherish- 
 ing such vague hopes and expectations as bright- 
 en the reveries of those whose affections are 
 deeply engaged ; and her own future prospects 
 appeared too closely bound up in those of Henry 
 Hamlyn, and those of Henry himself (independ- 
 ent of all selfish considerations) were too dear 
 to her not to make her keenly sensitive to the 
 possibility of dishonour to the family name. 
 
 Much as she despised Richard Hamlyn, she 
 was aware of the high credit attached to his 
 
121 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 house, the fair reputation attending himself. 
 Even at Ormeau, even among the Cossingtons, 
 by whom he was personally disliked, she had 
 heard him spoken of with the respect due to in- 
 tegrity and worth. As a public man, she had 
 hitherto felt compelled to consider him with the 
 regard which, in private, painful experience in- 
 structed her to withhold. 
 
 Fervent, therefore, were her entreaties to Hen- 
 ry if he valued the renown of his father and 
 consideration of his family, to exert himself to 
 the utmost. 
 
 “ I am not afraid,” wrote Mrs. Hamilton, 
 “that you will attribute this suggestion to any 
 weak desire to see you again. Situated as we 
 havp been, and are, such a meeting could only 
 be fraught with pain and humiliation for both. 
 You, I am sure, will appreciate my desire that 
 the name I once fondly hoped would become my 
 own should stand spotless and unblemished in 
 the history of the country ; for this recreancy of 
 your father ^vM form a portion of its history ! 
 When a man betrays the interests of his order 
 for interests of his own, whether that order be 
 chivalrous or simply a concentration of com- 
 mercial energies, he becomes important through 
 the greatness of his infamy. In this country, 
 the aristocracy of wealth is beginning to be nice- 
 ly balanced against that of descent; and a few 
 generations may give it the ascendency. I am 
 assured that the measure about to be lost through 
 your father’s apostacy will strike a. fatal blow 
 at our commercial credit in foreign countries ; 
 
 the mother’s heart overflowed with tenderness, 
 and the sunken rocks of life were for a moment 
 hidden by the tide. 
 
 As Mrs. Hamilton passed the dining-room to 
 return to her carriage, humbly escorted by Cap- 
 tain Hamlyn, who adored as the future Lady 
 Edward Sutton the beautiful woman he had dis- 
 paraged as Bob Hamilton’s widow, she caught 
 sight through the open door of the richly-laid 
 table, which Ramsay was preparing for a din- 
 ner-party, with all its luxury of damask, crystal, 
 china, plate — its groaning sideboard, and glit- 
 tering dumb-waiters. 
 
 “And these are the gewgaws,” mused she,, 
 deaf to the tender nonsense Walter was whis- 
 pering under his mustaches, “for which this 
 man is sullying his conscience ! These be thy 
 gods, oh Israel! To think that hundreds and 
 hundreds of men and women are induced to de- 
 grade themselves by debt, and harass their lives 
 with remorse, in order that their ostentation may 
 be graced by unmeaning gauds like these I” 
 
 That day she dined with her father-in-law, at 
 Lord Cossington’s. During the lifetime of his 
 father, the income of the marquis was circum- 
 scribed, and the right-thinking couple had suffi- 
 cient regard for their own dignity to live within- 
 it. Their quiet, comfortable house in Wilton 
 Crescent was accordingly unembellished by the 
 brilliant novelties and snowy elegance imparting 
 distinction to the banker’s establishment, A few 
 pleasant friends at their board, a good plain din- 
 ner served upon it, and the cheerful conversation 
 
 and wherever canvassed— to whatever remote sure to ensue from such a combination, made the 
 spot the vibration of the injury may extend — Ms evening pass far more agreeably than was ever 
 ^ j ^ - the case in Cavendish Square, where the mind 
 
 of the host was always secretly intent upon the 
 spectacle of his entertainment, and the mind of 
 the hostess, upon the fluctuations in that of the 
 
 name, Ms name, which is yours, will be connect- 
 ed with all the calamities, all the execrations 
 that ensue 1 Dearest Henry, prevent this ! Ex- 
 ert your strong powers of reasoning to convince 
 him that it is never too late to recede from a 
 premeditated act of baseness. Reward his harsh 
 dealing towards you by saving him from the 
 consummation of an inexpiable error !” 
 
 This letter once on its way, she was happier. 
 It appeared to her unaccountable, while passing 
 a portion of the day with the Hamlyns, to see 
 them so joyous and unsuspecting, with an evil 
 impending over the family, of which herself and 
 Colonel Hamilton alone seemed cognizant. In 
 the drawing-room, in Cavendish Square, she 
 found, as usual, Mrs, Hamlyn, Walter, Lydia, 
 Lord Dartford, who, after a slight expression of 
 regret at their disappointment about Henry, re- 
 turned to the discussion of hammercloths, Alen- 
 9 on lace, orange flowers, special licenses, and 
 the number of Jleurons which produced the surest 
 combination of lustre and lightness in the setting 
 of a diamond coronet, which her arrival had in- 
 terrupted. In the gayety of her youthful and in- 
 ^nocent heart, Lydia was imbibing, from the joy- 
 ous, high-spirited young fellow to whom she had 
 
 I )ledged her affections, some portion of the world- 
 y levity inseparable from his brilliant position ; 
 and if Mrs. Hamlyn occasionally directed to- 
 wards the happy, thoughtless couple one of the 
 saddened looks which those who have suffered 
 much let fall upon the inexperienced novices in 
 life for whom all that glitters is still gold, even 
 
 host. 
 
 The only drawback upon Ellen’s pleasure in. 
 the little social circle in Wilton Crescent, into 
 which she was already welcomed as a friend, 
 while the beautiful children of the marchioness 
 climbed familiarly on her knees, was the cer- 
 tainty that her presence had driven Lord Ed- 
 ward from his brother’s fireside, in the dread of 
 compromising his happiness by still farther in- 
 timacy with her who had explicitly informed 
 him her affections were engaged to another. 
 She was almost sorry when the carriage arrived 
 to convey her to Lady Dartford’s for the remain- 
 der of the evening) The high spirits of the ex- 
 cited marquis, and the bustle of the house of 
 feasting, suited less with her present depression 
 than the sober conversational habits of the so- 
 ciety of the Cossingtons. 
 
 The following day, at an early hour for the 
 routine of morning visits, Henry Hamlyn was 
 announced in the drawing-room in St. James’s- 
 street ; and but that the Duchess of Elvaston, 
 in pursuance of her oldfashioned habits, was 
 already sitting with her, Ellen would have 
 scarcely found it possible to refrain from an ex- 
 clamation of horror at the change wrought by 
 by the lapse of the last three months in the per- 
 son of her lover. They had parted on the day 
 of the meeting of Parliament, when Henry hur- 
 
 JLliv.* W LXVJXIX dXl tiXCLX lo otJLXi v./ v v<j.x i vx v*.xv ^ ^ 
 
 her gravity at times gave way under the conta- ried up from Cambridge to meet her at the 
 
 gion of the joy and prosperity that seemed to ir- 
 radiate her children. 
 
 Lydia looked so happy — so beautiful — so full 
 of bright and kindly thoughts — as she sat with 
 her hand enclasped in that of the noble bride- 
 groom Who had chosen her from the world, that 
 
 a 
 
 Tower Stairs, and conduct her to her hotel; 
 parted, full of hope, and happiness, and health; 
 and now, there was something in the haggard 
 countenance of her guest, bringing so power- 
 fully to mind the wasted looks of poor Robert 
 Hamilton in his last illness, that Ellen was 
 
122 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 forced to press her hands stringently upon her 
 heart and pause for breath, ere she could resume 
 with the duchess the conversation his arrival 
 had interrupted. Nor was the coherency and 
 composure of Henry improved by gathering 
 from their conversation the name of the noble 
 matron so maternal in her deportment towards 
 his own Ellen ; for, common report having ap- 
 prized him of the passion of Lord Edward Sut- 
 ton, he fancied he discerned a tone of motherly 
 affection in her grace’s address to Mrs. Hamilton. 
 
 Meanwhile, the colonel, to whom the arrival 
 of the new visiter had been duly announced, 
 bustled in with a thousand cordial welcomes for 
 one with whom, notwithstanding his intimacy 
 with the other branches of the iamily, circum- 
 stances had hitherto prevented his becoming ac- 
 quainted; and, though he had seen Henry only 
 a few minutes the preceding year, in the course 
 of a morning visit in Cavendish Square, he re- 
 ceived him more as a son than a stranger. It 
 was impossible for a man of his jocose disposi- 
 tion not to steal one little look at Ellen, to see 
 how she bore his unexpected arrival ; and a sad 
 disappointment it proved, when, instead of the 
 conscious smiles and “ blushes celestial rosy 
 red” he had anticipated, he found a deathlike 
 paleness pervade the countenance of his daugh- 
 ter-in-law, who, just then, resembled a statue of 
 Niobe rather than a living woman. 
 
 In order to afford an opportunity for the young 
 couple to recover themselves and exchange a 
 few happy words of tenderness, Colonel Hamil- 
 ton was suddenly seized with a violent fit of gal- 
 lantry towards the Duchess of Elvaston ; insist- 
 ing upon showing her some volumes of Italian 
 engravings brought over by Ellen, which he had 
 only been able to extricate from the custom- 
 house a few days before. ^ 
 
 This had the desired effect. While the duch- 
 ess accepted his proposal to examine them more 
 at her ease on a large table near the window, 
 •Henry Hamlyn, in an abrupt and agitated man- 
 ner, approached Mrs. Hamilton. A few whis- 
 pered sentences served to convey a world of 
 painful intelligence. 
 
 “ Thank you heartily for your warning !” said 
 he, without preamble. “ I appreciate all that is 
 noble and forgiving in your effort on the occa- 
 sion. In vain! My interference has been wholly 
 fruitless! I have seen him. I have remon- 
 strated— pleaded — argued — with the utmost re^ 
 spect, but the utmost warmth; and all, all in 
 vain ! He is determined to lose himself! He 
 whose independence of mind and uprightness of 
 principle I venerated as those of a demi-god. 
 I could have borne all but this, Ellen ! The ruin 
 of my earthly happiness was nothing to this! 
 1 have suffered much. My health is failing — 
 my faculties are broken; and now — . But I am 
 too selfish in vexing you with my afflictions !” 
 said he, stopping short, when he beheld tears 
 stealing down the marble cheeks of Mrs. Ham- 
 ilton. “ I would not leave London, dearest El- 
 len, without thanking and blessing you!” 
 
 “Going so soon I” faltered Mrs. Hamilton, 
 unprepared for this announcement. 
 
 “ What would you have me do I I cannot trust 
 myself, dearest, to stay here ! I have not courage 
 to hear my father’s name become the fable of 
 the clubs — the scorn of his old friends — the jest 
 of the newspapers! As I came hither, just 
 now, I met — But no matter! It is not for you to 
 take part in my humiliations! Farewell!” 
 
 it was impossible for Mrs. Hamilton to with- 
 
 hold her hand; nor, indeed, had she voice or 
 self-possession at that moment to hazard an at- 
 tempt at detaining him. Colonel Hamilton and 
 the duchess, however, who were turning over 
 the rustling leaves of Piranesi, for life and death, 
 saw nothing that was going on; and when, 
 roused to attention by the ringing of the bell, 
 touched by Mrs. Hamilton for the door to be 
 opened, the colonel turned suddenly round to 
 shake the parting hand extended towards him 
 by Henry, he wps deterred from the smallest 
 tendency to his habitual explosions of joculari- 
 ty, by the expression of anguish only too cruelly 
 delineated in the hollow countenance of his 
 young visiter. 
 
 “Where are you going, Harry 1” said he. 
 “ Have you a horse here, or a cab 
 
 “ I am going to Knightsbridge— I am going to 
 see my brother!” was the faltered reply; and 
 Colonel Hamilton saw that the poor fellow had 
 so much difficulty in giving utterance to even 
 these hurried words, that, with the view of con- 
 cealing his emotion from the spectacled duchess, 
 he resumed his task of turning over the leaves 
 as fussily as though the world contained no ob- 
 ject of greater interest to him than the ruins of 
 the Capitol or the comiadine of the Campagna. 
 
 “A younger son, I presume, of Mr. Hamlyn 
 of Dean Park I” said the duchess, after his exit. 
 “ Those young people bear a very high charac- 
 ter. The young Marchioness of Dartford, that 
 is to be, is very much thought of by all the 
 members of her new family; and my son Rich- 
 ard, who is in the Life Guards, tells me the eldest 
 son is one of the smartest officers in the Blues. 
 This seems a very gentlemanly young man, re- 
 sembling his mother a little, whom I remember 
 a most pleasing, pretty woman. In his father’s 
 business, I conclude 1” 
 
 “ At present, only one of the first scholars in 
 the kingdom, and like to be the senior wrangler 
 of his year,” replied the colonel, proudly. “But, 
 some day or other, he will be in the bank and 
 in Parliament ; and then, I venture to predict to 
 your grace that we shall hear news of him !” 
 
 Sir Henry Middlebury himself would scarcely 
 have proved a more advantageous interlocutor 
 at that moment than did the good old humdrum 
 duchess ; who, at the word Parliament — (so im- 
 portant a watchword in the ears of all the But- 
 tons !) — found as many questions to ask as would 
 have filled three pages of Pinnock or Mangnall, 
 concerning the prospects of the callow senator — 
 his principles, his views, his education, his pri- 
 vate tutor, his public, nay, even his preparatory 
 school. 
 
 While poor Ellen was gradually recovering 
 her self-possession sufficiently for the parting 
 compliments about to be required of her, Colonel 
 Hamilton persevered in his negatives and af- 
 firmatives; varied only by an occasional “ I 
 rather think so,” or, “We shall seel” and a 
 glance over his shoulder towards the fireplace; 
 where Ellen, with her face turned towards the 
 looking-glass, was smoothing her raven ban- 
 deaux, as a pretext for wiping from her eyes and 
 cheeks the tears which not even her energetic 
 fortitude was at that moment able to repress!:"' 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 “ I would short his joys ; 
 
 But make his griefs my own — all, all my own !** 
 
 Southbt; 
 
 Deeply afflicted by the altered appearance of 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 123 
 
 poor Henry, and sympathizing heart and soul 
 in his present anxiety, Mrs. Hamilton felt wholly 
 unable to resume her daily routine of ocoupa- 
 tions. The colonel, had luckily, an appointment 
 at the barracks in the Regent’s Park with Lord 
 Richard Sutton ; who, at dinner at the Cossing- 
 tons, the preceding day, had insisted upon intro- 
 ducing the old soldier to the riding-school, to his 
 chargers and Irish bloodhounds ; and she wa^ 
 consequently, at leisure to hasten to Cavendish 
 Square, and offer all the comfort in her power 
 to the poor mother, whose anxiety, she conceived, 
 must equal her own. ^ tt 
 
 But, to her surprise and vexation, Mrs. Ham- 
 lyn was absent. The approaching marriage of 
 her daughter afforded her a thousand trivial but 
 peremptory occupations ; and Ellen contrived 
 to discover, by cross-questioning Harriet md 
 Miss Creswell, that Henry had not seen his 
 mother since his return from the city ; that they 
 knew nothing of his movements; and that the 
 whole party were going in the evening to a con- 
 cert at the house of Lady Vernon. 
 
 Nothing could have afforded stronger evidence 
 of the utter ignorance of Mrs. Hamlyn as to the 
 peculiar position of her husband ! She was a 
 woman who at all times occupied herself little 
 with the interests of public life ; and the slight- 
 ness of sympathy between herself and her hu^ 
 band prevented those natural' confidences which 
 must have rendered the crisis as trying to her as 
 to himself. It was too ordinary a circumstance 
 with her to see his brow overclouded, when 
 leaving his home for business in the morning, 
 to create any uneasiness in her mind; and the 
 interview of remonstrance between him and his 
 son, in Lombard-street, was as yet unknown to 
 iier. 
 
 Nor was she likely to be enlightened concern 
 ing the impending mischief by the rumours of so- 
 ciety. The apostacy of Hamlyn from the cause 
 of his city colleagues was, of course, unsuspect- 
 ed; except in a limited circle of Parliamentary 
 men, among whom it had been bruited by the 
 connivance of ministers, expressly in the hope 
 of shaking the opposition of others, who, in ques- 
 tions of commercial interest, were apt to be in- 
 fluenced by the opinions of the member for Bars- 
 thorpe. By these means, had the report reached 
 the ears of Sir Benjamin Bondwell ; and, through 
 him, struck consternation to the heart of Colonel 
 Hamilton. But the majority of the house, aware 
 that the question was to be brought before them 
 that night, fully expected to'see Richard Hamlyn 
 get up as before ; to support with his usual vig- 
 our of oratory and extent of information the line 
 of policy he had so long and conscientiously up 
 held. 
 
 That the discovery of his sudden secession, 
 in connexion with the report of his approaching 
 ennoblement, would array against him a whole 
 host of exulting enemies, Mrs. Hamilton could 
 not doubt; and sincerely did she regret to find 
 that Lydia and her mother were likely to be 
 startled by intelligence of such a nature, under 
 the roof of persons whom she knew to be their 
 foes. It was more than probable, if the division 
 took place at an early hour, that many members 
 would arrive in Grosvenor Place, open-mouthed 
 from the house, with tidings of the singular self- 
 sacrifice of Hamlyn the banker ! 
 
 Address a letter to Mrs. Hamlyn on the sub- 
 ject, she dared not. It is so difficult to allude, in 
 words of a nature to meet the eye of a wife, to any 
 dereliction from honour on the part of a husband ! 
 
 Moreover, there was so great a probability that 
 any letter brought by one of Colonel Hamilton’s 
 servants to Grosvenor Square might fall into 
 the hands of the banker, that it seemed impos- 
 sible to hazard a hint upon the subject nearest 
 her heart. , „ , 
 
 “ After all, women are not made responsible 
 for the political delinquencies of their husbands !” 
 said she; “and the society of the Vernons is 
 composed of people too well bred to afibrd the 
 slightest indication to dear Mrs. Hamlyn of the 
 contempt likely to be provoked by the paltering 
 of this despicable man.” 
 
 She had herself agreed to accompany Lady 
 Cossington that night to the Duchess of Elvas- 
 ton’s private box at Covent Garden ; and in the 
 fear of provoking the remarks of the colonel, if 
 she excused herself, judged it better to enjoy her 
 abstraction there, in pretended attention to the 
 play, than remain at home, cultivating her own 
 uneasiness, and exciting that of her father-m-la w. 
 
 Poor Ellen had, however, for once, nothing 
 to fear from the colonel’s jocularity. So deeply 
 was he affected by a circumstance tending to 
 discredit the man in whom he had placed such 
 implicit confidence, and afl3.ict the family he 
 loved best in the world, that, so far from indul- 
 ging in his usual pleasantries, or enjoying, as 
 was his wont, a good play seen from a good 
 box he remained as still and silent as Ellen 
 herself, till the entrance of Lord Cossington to- 
 wards the end of the afterpiece. _ 
 
 “I thought there was a division to-night 
 said his wife, whom he had forewarned not to 
 
 expect him. . . 
 
 “ There is ! But, to my great surprise, 1 am 
 not wanted, and have paired off. We have it 
 hollow to-night! Thanks to an admirable speech 
 from Hamlyn, the banker, ministers will cai:ry 
 
 And forthwith they began discussing the per- 
 formance. For there was nothing to surprise 
 Lady Cossington in her husband’s announce- 
 ment. She knew that Hamlyn was of their par- 
 ty, on many occasions an able supporter of gov- 
 ernment ; and it was only natural that he should 
 make an able speech in favour of a ministerial 
 measure. Colonel Hamilton knew better than 
 to provoke explanations by a single inquiry ; 
 and Ellen was, consequently, secure ^om the 
 cutting remarks she had so much apprehended. 
 She was among people for whom the moneyed 
 interests of the country constituted no especial 
 interest, and for whom a ministerial triumph 
 was all in all. She only trusted that Lydia and 
 her mother might be safe among those equally 
 circumscribed in their sympathies. 
 
 Next morning, the Hamiltons woke with tnm 
 vague sense of disquietude and trouble which 
 arises from the backslidings of a friend. Nei- 
 ther of them chose to refer, as they sat at break- 
 fast, to the subject which occupied the thougUts 
 of both; and as the newspaper lying on the 
 table was the leading ministerial journal, it 
 adverted to the debate of the night before, as 
 chiefly remarkable for the powerfully-argument- 
 ative speech of the honourable mernber for Ba rs- 
 thorpe; complimenting the ministry^ and the 
 country on his recently-enlightened views, and 
 remarking that it was not possible for a man ot 
 such strong understanding and consistent prin- 
 ciples to remain permanently opposed to a meas- 
 ure tending to the tran quill ization of the public 
 mind, and securing a vested right of the most 
 sacred nature and importance. 
 
124 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 It was useless, therefore, to refer to such an 
 organ for any indication of the state of public 
 opinion towards Hamlyn ; and Ellen respected 
 the feelings of her companion too much to pro- 
 pose sending for an opposition paper to ascer- 
 tain how the matter was regarded in more liber- 
 al quarters. 
 
 “ 1 don’t much like going to Cavendish Square 
 to-day !” said the colonel, as they rose from the 
 breakfast-table. “ Did I understand you right, 
 my dear Nelly, that Harry was going out of 
 town again 1 Doesn’t he mean to dine with 
 me 7 doesn’t he mean to — ” 
 
 “I know no more than yourself!” replied Mrs. 
 Hamilton, in a faint voice. “ He appeared yes- 
 terday to be in a slate bordering on distraction. 
 All that we regret in his father’s proceedings, is 
 to him a source of far bitterer mortification.” 
 
 “Poor fellow, poor fellow!” interrupted the 
 colonel, in his turn. “A noble heart, I take it; 
 a high-toned mind ; too good by half for a bank- 
 er. Nelly ! we must do or say something to com- 
 fort him. Sit down and write him a bit of a note. 
 Persuade him to dine with us to-day.” 
 
 “ Any demonstration of kindness on my part, 
 dearest sir, would only aggravate the evil!” re- 
 plied Mrs. Hamilton, deeply touched by the af- 
 fectionate tone of the old man. “ Better leave 
 him to himself! Nevertheless, I own I am most 
 anxious for news of his movements. If, there- 
 fore, you dislike going to Cavendish Square 
 (where, however, at this time of day you would 
 be secure from meeting Mr. Hamlyn), could 
 you not call upon his son at Knightsbridge ; or 
 upon Lord Dartford, or — ” 
 
 “ Can I speak with you a minute, sir inter- 
 rupted the voice of Johnston, who, just then, 
 half opened the door. 
 
 “Dome in, come in ! No one here but Mrs. 
 Hamilton. Come in, Johnston !” cried the col- 
 onel, almost angry at a hesitation which he at- 
 tributed to punctilio established as a matter of 
 etiquette by the waiters of the hotel. Still, 
 however, the man hung back, even after his 
 master had pettishly inquired what the deuse he 
 was afraid of. 
 
 “ I wished, colonel, to have a moment’s con- 
 versation with you !” said he, forced at length 
 to enter the room ; and Mrs. Hamilton was as- 
 tonished to perceive that the face of the gray- 
 headed servant was blanched almost to the ghast- 
 liness exhibited by that of Henry Hamlyn the 
 day before. In a' moment, it occurred to her 
 agonized heart that some mischance had befall- 
 en the object of her affections ! 
 
 “ Johnston !” said she, assuming a tone of 
 firmness sorely belied by the tremour pervading 
 her whole frame ; speak out ! Do not be 
 
 afraid of alarming me. I see how it is! You 
 have bad news to communicate from Cavendish 
 Square !” 
 
 “ I have, indeed, ma’am,” said he, almost sob- 
 bing. “ Sad news, sad news ! though I’m sure 
 I don’t know how the report should have reach- 
 ed you already ! For the man who brought the 
 account ran all the way, and is now breathless 
 in the hall.” 
 
 “ What the deuse are you all talking about 1” 
 cried the colonel, becoming alarmed, yet angry 
 with them and himself for his own agitation. 
 “ What news 'I What man 7 What’s happened 'I 
 Speak out!” 
 
 “ He is not dead, sir, as was at first apprehend- 
 ed !” replied Johnston, little suspecting the p- 
 guish which his inexplicitness was infiicting 
 
 upon his young lady. “ The surgeon who was 
 with him in the coach had done no more thhn 
 stanch the blood ; so he could not by any means 
 say the case was hopeless.” 
 
 “ Of whom are you talking 1” persisted Colo- 
 nel Hamilton, himself sickened by the agony of 
 suspense ; while Ellen fixed her eyes inquiring- 
 ly on Johnston, totally incapable of pronouncing 
 a syllable in elucidation of hex fears. 
 
 “ Of Mr. Hamlyn, sir ! who has been desper- 
 ately wounded in a duel. M rs. Hamlyn, as soon, 
 as she could be made to understand what had 
 happened, desired you might be instantly sent 
 
 “ Why the deuse didn’t you say so at first 1 
 Let the carriage come round, or stay — no ! call 
 a cab ! I don’t know what I’m thinking of, or 
 saying. My hat, Johnston ! Ellen ! my poor 
 child, 1 see by the joyful expression of your 
 countenance for how dreadful a blow you had 
 prepared youself! But ’tis bad enough as ’tis. . 
 Poor Hamlyn! the father of such a family! 
 Coming with me % That’s well ! I should have 
 scarcely found courage for the scene, Nelly, un- 
 less you were by my side.” 
 
 The information gradually, slowly, and sad- 
 ly acquired by Colonel Hamilton in explanatiou 
 of this afilicting summons, may as well be suc- 
 cinctly related to the reader. The Morning 
 Post, while communicating, in so good a spirit, 
 to the public the conversion of Mr. Hamlyn to 
 the financial tenets of government, had consid- 
 erately forborne to notice the grievous interrup- 
 tions, hootings, bowlings, bellowings, crowings, 
 experienced by the member for Barsthorpe, in 
 the course of a speech, which, had it been the 
 result of conviction and good faith, was citable 
 as a splendid effort of oratory. From the mo- 
 ment of driving his “filthy bargain,” or, rather, 
 of being driven into it, Hamlyn had been intent 
 on the concoction of this effort of sophistry. 
 Confiding, and with reason, in his own powers 
 of dissimulation, he trusted to give to his act of 
 treachery an air of conviction, recantation, re- 
 pentance, and atonement ; and entertained little 
 doubt that the energy of his eloquence would 
 recruit to his banner a portion at least of the 
 habitual opponents of government. 
 
 Great, therefore, was his disappointment when, 
 for the first time in his political career, he expe- 
 rienced the greatest difficulty in making him- 
 self heard. He had, of course, taken precau- 
 tions that the smallest syllable of his discourse 
 (which might have been aptly named “Ham- 
 lyn’s Apology”) should reach the ears, or, rath- 
 er, the pens of the reporters, to ensure having 
 justice done him on the morrow by the minis- 
 terial organs. Still, it was deeply humiliating 
 to one accustomed to be listened to on questions 
 of magnitude in that house, amid a silence 
 which enabled him to hear a pin drop, to be as- - 
 sailed with outcries of so indecent a description 
 as now met his ears. It was, in fact, a charivari, 
 accomplished by assailants of the highest class 
 and credit. 
 
 Nevertheless, he bore the attack in a manner 
 very different from what might have been pre- 
 dicted of the member for Barsthorpe, who, in 
 earlier years, had been twice placed in the cus- 
 tody of "the Serjeant of the House. The baited 
 bull neither tore up the ground under his feet, 
 nor turned upon the foes who were hounding 
 him into madness. Either his habitual hypoc- 
 risy enabled him to control all show of emotion, 
 or he was overwhelmed by consciousness of his- 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 125 
 
 grading predicament. His speech was cor- 
 rectlv giveS, but it had evidently been learned 
 ,bv rote, and was recited as an oration of De- 
 mosthenes may have been, after his practice, in 
 presence of the roaring surges. No warmth— 
 none of that nervous energy which must unite 
 with logical deductions to form the perfect ora- 
 tor. His voice was now as passionless as ha- 
 bitually his countenance. With many present, 
 his argumentative and self-sacrificing speech 
 ■did but borrow new force from this stern immo- 
 bility, resembling that of an antique statue oi 
 some sage of the schools, rather than the irrita- 
 ble energumen of modern parliaments. ^ But his 
 enemies thought otherwise. His enemies deci- 
 ded that Samson was shorn of his strength that 
 Hamlyn’s sun was set. 
 
 Man but a rush, against Othello’s breast, 
 
 And he retires ! 
 
 was the exhortation of the honourable member 
 for'Alverstoke (one of the wits of the house) to 
 the Whig member who was to reply to the new 
 mouthpiece of government; and, either follow- 
 ing this advice or his own devices, the sarcastic 
 orator proceeded to attack the apostate with a 
 discharge of puny but poisoned arrows, which 
 left him prostrate, like Gulliver martyrized by 
 Lilliputian darts.' , 
 
 A coarse apostrophe from Sir Benjamin Bond- 
 well was still harder to be borne. The party 
 spokesman had attacked a governm.ent measure, 
 supported by the honourable member for Bars- 
 thorpe. The banker attacked his brother bank- 
 er, openly, strongly, advisedly; describing the 
 city as betrayed by one of its most favoured 
 sons, and ending with ” I am very grieved for 
 thee, Jonathan, my brother.” „ . , . 
 
 All this was passively endured by Richard 
 Hamlyn. Having screwed his courage to the 
 sticking-place, he maintained his usual attitude 
 in the house, conversing freely with one or two 
 government men, to whom Lord Crawley had 
 given their cue. Already the blattering unction 
 of administrative thanks had been laid to his 
 soul; for, whatever feelings his speech might 
 have excited against himself, it had gained to 
 the measure under his'advocacy double the num- 
 ber of proselytes upon which they had reckoned ; 
 and a ministrv cares about as much for the suf- 
 ferings of its implements as a general for the life 
 of the soldier he deputes to a forlorn hope ! 
 
 At length, encouraged by his apparent tame- 
 ness, the wit already referred to as stimulating 
 the malice of others ventured to rise on his own 
 account. After a humorous comparison of the 
 honourable member for Barsthorpe to the thief 
 who bit otf his mother’s ear at the foot of the 
 gallows, he hazarded so pointed an allusion to 
 the rumoured elevation of Mr. Hamlyn to the 
 peerage, in reward for the sudden falling of the 
 scales from his eyes at the prophetic touch of 
 the first lord of the treasury, that a general cry 
 of “Order!” and “ Shame!” deadened the force 
 of Hamlyn’s spirited and eloquent refutation. 
 
 Fortunately for him, they had hit the mvul- 
 nerable heel, and he was, consequently, enabled 
 to defend himself in a style of indignation which 
 brought down the cheers of the house, always 
 generously susceptible to an injustice, and serv- 
 ed still farther the purposes of government by 
 the popularization of the measure in the person 
 of its advocate. 
 
 But the cheers of the house expire in the lob- 
 by ! There ^ the member becomes the man again ; 
 
 and when, after a triumphant division, Richard 
 Hamlyn hurried through the throng, he found 
 himself contemplated by many with coldness, 
 by some with undisguised contempt ; while the 
 stammered and awkward compliments of such 
 of his parliamentary colleagues as had no per- 
 sonal interest in the question evinced more plain- 
 ly than all the rest that what might be consider- 
 ed a triumph had better have been a failure ! _ 
 
 His patience was now oozing from his spirit, 
 drop by drop. As the excitement of a man un- 
 der the influence of wine is stimulated by con- 
 tact with the open air, in proportion as Hamlyn 
 reapproached the common routine of life, and 
 left behind him the factitious atmosphere of Par- 
 liament, where insult is not insult, or derision 
 mockery, he became infuriated by the sense of 
 his mortifications, as a man grows suddenly 
 i conscious of his bruises a certain time after a 
 fall. , . , ^ 
 
 Just as he had been wounded to the quick by 
 a civilly ceremonious bow from a man with 
 whom he was accustomed to exchange familiar 
 nods, Alberic Vernon passed him, laughing im- 
 moderately, arm and arm with the wicked wit 
 by whom the question of the Scrip peerage had 
 been so indiscreetly broached. That he was the 
 subject of their merriment he could entertain no 
 doubt ; nor did he hesitate to damp the insolent 
 mirth indulged at his expense, by instantly ac- 
 costing them, and demanding from the honour- 
 able member for Alverstoke his authority for 
 the report of his intended elevation to the peer- 
 age. 
 
 Alberic Vernon, to whom the officious squire 
 of Dean Park had been rendered an object of 
 contempt by the insolence of his parents, but 
 who now loathed him as the father of the man 
 reported to be betrothed to the beautiful woman 
 by whom he had been ignominiously rejected, 
 was far from regretting this occasion for a pub- 
 lic retort. 
 
 “ He heard it from me, sir !” said he, fiercely. 
 
 “ The fact was stated at my father’s table by one 
 of your intimate friends, whose name you will 
 excuse me from mentioning, as I am happy to 
 say that it is not the custom of the Vernon family 
 to betray their associates.” 
 
 Hamlyn was furious. The two insolent boys 
 before him were inflamed with all the valour of 
 Bellamy’s hottest tumblers, while he was influ- 
 enced by the still stronger stimulus of cold and 
 deadly enmity against his kind — the friends who 
 had abandoned him, the foes who had clamour- 
 ed over his fall; and when the companion of 
 Alberic Vernon, vexed at finding his weapon of 
 offence snatched from his hand, persisted in his 
 raillery, such words were in a moment exchan- 
 ged between them as rendered explanations of a 
 more deadly kind imminently indispensable. 
 
 It was past midnight. The dispute had oc- 
 curred in so public a place, that there could be 
 little doubt of such interference between the par- 
 ties as uniformly protects and justifies the blus- 
 tering’ of modern senators (who, like heralds of 
 old, and Macbeth in modern times, bear a charm- 
 ed life!), unless a hostile meeting could be ar- 
 ranged before the quarrel got wind. 
 
 “ We must forestall the newspapers !” was the 
 first remark of Alberic Vernon, as the “ friend ’ 
 of the honourable member for Alverstoke ; arid 
 the individual whom Hamlyn had sought in 
 haste in the coffee-room, as at once an obsequi- 
 ous ally of government, and too heavily indebted 
 to hi^ firm to refuse assistance, instantly repai^ 
 
136 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 ed with Vernon to the Travellers, to arrange the 
 preliminaries for a meeting the following morn- 
 ing, at eight o’clock, in Battersea Fields. 
 
 When Hamlyn reached home, the excitement 
 produced by this disastrous succession of events 
 was still whirring in his brain and gnawing his 
 heart’s core. Fortunately, the family was at 
 rest. Mrs. Hamlyn had appeared at Lady Ver- 
 non’s concert only in obedience to his orders; | 
 and, having been harassed by the pertinacious 
 interrogatims of Sir Henry Middlebury (who, 
 knowing few people in the room, had attached 
 himself to her side, not only to offer his congrat- 
 ulations and inquire the names of all the per- 
 formers, and the various schools of art in which 
 they had received their musical education, but 
 the counties in which the Marquis of Dartford’s 
 estates were situated and the connexions of his I 
 family), had hastened to her pillow; and Ham- j 
 lyn, dismissing the footman who usually sat up 
 for him, with express instructions that Ramsay | 
 should bring him his shaving-water at a quarter j 
 to seven in the morning, was left the only per- ! 
 son waking in the house — alone, with the tre- i 
 mendous consciousness that it was, perhaps, the j 
 last night he might ever pass under its roof! ! 
 Not that kis soul was easily depressed by de- j 
 spending presentiments; and his irritation not ! 
 having yet subsided, the preponderating feeling | 
 in his heart was to pursue, retaliate, exterminate ! | 
 
 The banker had forgotten that He who as- ■ 
 sumes to himself the privilege of Vengeance 
 might exterminate in his turn ! Moreover, the t 
 leading characteristic of Hamlyn’s mind was at | 
 all times its sanguine self-reliance. Like most 
 people who put not their trust in Providence — 
 like most people reliant on the intervention of 
 Chance — it cost him little more to expect mir- 
 acles from its operation, than trifles. Half of 
 the errors of his life arose from this rash confi- 
 dence. All he had misappropriated of the prop- 
 erty of his clients, he firmly expected to replace. 
 He was fully persuaded that some happy com- 
 bination of luck would enable him to repair the 
 disorder he had created. And now, with a duel 
 on his hands — a duel with a young and adroit 
 antagonist — a duel in which public feeling, if 
 not the cause of justice, would be wholly on the 
 adverse side — he confidently expected to de- | 
 spatch his business in Battersea Fields as cool- < 
 ly, methodically, and triumphantly, as his busi- 
 ness on the Stock Exchange ! 
 
 His utmost efforts, therefore, towards " setting 
 his house in order” consisted in addressing a ; 
 few lines to Spilsby, with instructions on certain i 
 points of business to be despatched on the mor- 
 row, in case he was unable to reach Lombard- 
 street at an early hour ; which he determined to 
 forward into the city by the same conveyance 
 that took him to the residence of his second, the | 
 Honourable Colonel Frampton, who had prom- 
 ised to drive him to the ground. 
 
 He next committed to the flames a few papers 
 from his bureau, which were not calculated for 
 the scrutiny of his family in case he should meet 
 with mischance, and have to resign his keys to 
 the keeping of his wife. The bloodless nature 
 of most duels arising out of parliamentary 
 squabbles seemed to ensure him against any- 
 thing beyond this. On recalling to mind the va- 
 rious hostile meetings which had occurred for 
 the last twenty years, under similar provocation, 
 he could not remember one in which the inter- 
 ference of seconds had not been of the most ex- 
 emplary nature. 
 
 Nevertheless, as his excitement subsided, and 
 his thirst for vengeance grew slack under the in- 
 fluence of anxiety touching the unfavourable 
 impression the administration of a severe lesson 
 to his antagonist might produce on his reputa- 
 tion as a man of business, his spirits became 
 somewhat depressed. Ere he retired to the 
 small bedroom which, for some years past, he 
 had occupied, on the plea of the disturbance his 
 early hours created to Mrs. Hamlyn, he entered 
 the drawing-room, now cold, silent, deserted, and 
 imperfectly lighted by the single wax-taper he 
 carried in his hand. The air was fragrant with 
 the fine exotics adorning the flower-stands ; and 
 the light, dim as it was, of the taper he held, fell 
 upon a thousand gorgeous objects — magnificent 
 vases, marble tables, entablatures of malachite 
 and coral, and all the splendid luxury of pietra, 
 dura and marqueterie. 
 
 He seemed to notice, for the first time, the 
 downy softness of the rich Aubusson carpet un- 
 der his feet; the glitter of the splendid lustres 
 over his head. Like the Cardinal de Richelieu, 
 when discovered by his secretary early one 
 morning a few weeks previous to his decease, 
 taking a solitary leave of the beloved pictures 
 and exquisite statues of his gallery, the eyes of 
 the banker lingered tenderly upon the gaudy ob- 
 jects, for the enjoyment and display of which he 
 had perilled the credit of an honest name, and 
 the peace and welfare of hundreds of confiding 
 victims. 
 
 At length, just as he was on the point of rece- 
 ding with noiseless steps firom the room over 
 which slept his gentle wife and the happy daugh- 
 ter whose dreams were at that moment roseate 
 with the brightest hues of youthful love, the light 
 he held fell upon the gaudy frame of a large pic- 
 ture, to which, for some years past, his eyes nad 
 never once been directed; and, for some min- 
 utes, they were now riveted upon it, as by a 
 master-spell. 
 
 It was a portrait — a full-length portrait irom 
 the pencil of Lawrence, representing Mrs. Ham- 
 lyn — no 1 not Mrs. Hamlyn — Sophia, at the cli- 
 max of her youthful loveliness, a year after her 
 marriage, with her first-born resting on her knee. 
 The picture had been begun at his father’s sug- 
 gestion, while the young bride was yet an idol 
 at Dean Park ; the child being added during the 
 slow completion of the portrait, as an ^ter- 
 thought of his own. In hijnself, one of the love- 
 liest infants ever seen, little Walter derived new 
 j beauties from the graceful pencil of the artist ; 
 
 I and well did Hamlyn remember how fondly he 
 had assisted in keeping the child quiet during 
 the tedious task of sitting, by holding before his 
 little laughing eyes the very toy which, in the 
 picture before him, figured in the hand of the 
 i smiling, exulting mother. The force of associ- 
 ation brought back with lifelike force to the 
 banker’s mind the soft, warm grasp of those 
 dimpled baby hands. Yet, at that moment, his 
 own were cold as death, and hard with the clinch 
 of suppressed emotion 1 
 
 From the soft and sinuous outline of the half- 
 naked babe, the eyes of Hamlyn wandered to 
 the face of the mother. But could those cluster- 
 ing curls— those sparkling eyes — those blooming 
 cheeks, ever have been the features of his wife 1 
 Where was that woman gone 7 What had be- 
 come of her 7 She could not have lapsed into» 
 the pale, sad, silent, spiritless being who sat by 
 his household board; she could not have pro- 
 gressed into the suffering mother who bore her 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 127 
 
 cross so meekly ! For a moment, Sophia Har- 
 rington as he had first beheld her— joyous, brill- 
 iant, beautiful, beloved — recurred to his mind ; 
 and in reflecting on the transformation his con- 
 duct had effected, so heavy a sigh arose from the 
 depths of his soul, that he had ample need to re- 
 cur anew for consolation to the face of that be- 
 loved son, whose mature years fulfilled all the 
 promise of their youthful grace. The passion- 
 ate joy with which he had hailed the birth of his 
 first-born seemed to have prolonged its influence 
 even until now, with a rapture unsusceptible of 
 decay. 
 
 “f should like to have shaken hands again 
 with Walter!” was his closing reflection, as he 
 quitted the room, and slowly ascended the stairs. 
 “In these cases, one never knows what may 
 happen. I should like to have shaken hands 
 first with Walter.” 
 
 Next morning, it excited no surprise among 
 his servants that their ever-active master should 
 be astir an hour earlier than usual. For a mo- 
 ment, indeed, it struck Ramsay as extraordinary 
 that Mr. Hamlyn should say he did not choose 
 to wait for his cabriolet (which he pretended, to 
 have forgotten to order over-night), but that, be- 
 ing in a hurry, he would walk to the nearest 
 coach-stand. Nay, even had the butler surmi- 
 sed that his master was going out to fight a duel, 
 so convinced was he of the propriety and deco- 
 rum of every measure of Mr, Hamlyn, that he 
 would have felt persuaded some new canon of 
 the law had, unknown to himself, authorized 
 and legalized such a breach of the peace. 
 
 Before noon, however, he was suddenly sum- 
 moned to assist in removing the wounded man 
 to his chamber ; and the first to propose sending 
 for Colonel Hamilton, as well as to the sons of 
 his unfortunate master. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs when the veteran 
 reached Cavendish Square. The surgeon who 
 had accompanied Hamlyn home in the carriage 
 from Battersea had never left his side, and Keate 
 and Brodie were every moment expected. But 
 neither Mrs. Hamlyn nor his daughter had been 
 yet permitted to see him. From the bewildered 
 looks of the former, Colonel Hamilton saw at 
 once that at least, entertained no hope.; and, 
 having entreated Ellen to remain with her friend 
 in the drawing-room, to which they were senten- 
 ced during the examination of the wound, he 
 hurried with anxious but faltering steps to the 
 chamber of the wounded man. 
 
 1?* Carefully as he turned the handle of the bed- 
 room door, Hamlyn, who was lying on the bed 
 half undressed, his coat being off, and his shirt 
 stained with blood, was roused by the sound; 
 and, without unclosing his eyes, made the same 
 inquiry which had already three times before 
 escaped his lips, “Is that Walter 
 
 “ Captain Hamlyn was out on a field-day, sir, 
 when John reached the barracks,” whispered 
 Ramsay, who, with his usually rubic-^nd face, 
 as pale as death, was supporting his master. 
 
 While he was yet speaking. Colonel Hamil- 
 ton approached the bedside, and gently pressed 
 the hand extended beside the sufferer. Con- 
 scious that this tender touch was of a very dif- 
 ferent nature from the professional handling of 
 the surgeon, Hamlyn slowly unclosed his eyes, 
 and, on recognising the colonel, attempted a faint 
 spiile. 
 
 “ This is sad boy’s play for a man of my 
 years,” said he, in a feeble voice. “ But it was 
 none of my seeking.” 
 
 Perceiving the surgeon shake his head repro- 
 vingly at this attempt to speak on the part of 
 his patient, already exhausted by loss of blood,., 
 Colonel Hamilton placed his finger on his lips. 
 Tears were coursing each other down his cheeks. 
 He had seen hundreds— thousands — slain in bat- 
 tle. But it happened that this was the first time 
 he had beheld a man of peace slain by the hand 
 of a fellow-citizen. The instincts of his manly 
 heart shrunk from the sight, as from that of as- 
 sassination. 
 
 “Has Mr. Henry left town I” he inquired, in 
 a low voice, of Ramsay, as Hamlyn again re- 
 closed his eyes; and the butler’s sign in the af- 
 firmative proved a sad disappointment. Con- 
 vinced that Hamlyn was rapidly breathing his 
 last, he thought it hard that neither of his sons 
 should be present to receive his parting instruc- 
 tions, and dying breath. 
 
 “ So died my poor boys !” was his involuntary^ 
 reflection. “Neither kith nor kin at hand to 
 close their eyes! But it is cruel indeed upon 
 poor Hamlyn I” 
 
 At that moment, a carriage stopped at the 
 door; and though the sound was scarcely no- 
 ticed by the persons present, the wounded man 
 again, and with still greater effort, renewed his 
 inquiry of, “ Is it my son Walter^” 
 
 “ Since you are anxious, I will go as quick as 
 possible to the barracks, and follow the direc- 
 tions I receive till I find him, and bring him 
 back !” whispered the colonel, bending over him,, 
 and, on receiving a grateful word of assent, hast- 
 ened to quit the room. On the stairs he en- 
 countered Keate and a stranger; and having 
 hurriedly acquainted him of the state of the case,, 
 returned for a moment into the drawing-room, 
 not, however, to comfort its anxiously-expecting 
 inmates. The expression of his countenance 
 sufficiently apprized them that Ac, at least, was 
 without hope. 
 
 “Has any one sent for Harry*?” said he to 
 Lydia, perceiving that her mother was incapa- 
 ble of understanding or replying to the question • 
 and, on being answered in the negative, Colonel 
 Hamilton rapidly arranged with his daughter- 
 in-law, that,Vhile he proceeded to Knights- 
 bridge,-^ 5 Ac should despatch Johnston to Dean 
 Park, that the news of the fatal event might be 
 communicated with due reserve to the member 
 of the family least capable of supporting the 
 shock. A few lines from Ellen were to entreat 
 his instant return to town. 
 
 “Poor Hamlyn — poor Hamlyn!” ifiurmured 
 Colonel Hamilton, when (after learning at the 
 barracks that, for want of authority, no message 
 had yet been despatched to Wormholt Scrubbs 
 after his master) he took possession of Walter’s 
 horse and cab, and authorized the groom to ex- 
 ercise to the utmost the speed of the finest step- 
 per in London. “ In the possession of all that 
 renders life desirable! Rich, healthy, happy, 
 active, useful ! A quarrel at the House of Com- 
 mons, they say. Ah! I feared no good would 
 follow those cursed reports I heard t’other day at 
 Launchington’s. Maybe, however, they belied 
 him ! God grant it ! ’Tis hard enough to lose 
 a friend; harder still to lose one’s respect for his 
 memory. But how — how am 1 to break this af- 
 flicting news to Walter and Dartford*?” 
 
 The task was, indeed, a trying one. He found 
 them in the animated exercise of their profes- 
 
 i sional duties— those two brilliant and promising 
 young men, and at the first moment, almost in- 
 clined to be vexed at his unexpected intrusion 
 
THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 on the ground. Nevertheless, the sight of his 
 fine horse in a foam, and Colonel Hamilton pale 
 and speechless, soon convinced Walter that 
 something was sorely amiss. 
 
 In a few seconds, he had taken the groom s 
 place in the cabriolet, and was galloping his 
 horse back to town at a still more frantic rate ; 
 •while Lord Hartford, though for a moment re- 
 lieved, even to joy, by learning that the family 
 disaster regarded not the being dearest to him in 
 the world, hastened to obtain from his command- 
 ing officer a remission for W^alter and himself 
 from their duties of the day, and was soon fol- 
 lowing them at a distance on his charger, at the 
 utmost speed compatible with the field-day ac- 
 •coutrements. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 “ I do but bide 
 
 Under these words, bke embers, every spark 
 Of that which has consumed me. Quick and dark 
 The grave is yawning-. As its roof shall cover 
 My limbs with dust and worms, under and over. 
 
 So let oblivion hide this grief.” — S hklley. 
 
 By the mercy of Heaven, Walter Hamlyn ar- 
 rived in Cavendish Square in time to comfort 
 and support his father by his presence during 
 the painful operation of the extraction of the 
 ball, which had been deferred till after the arri- 
 Tal of the second surgeon. Dashing through 
 the crowd assembled as usual at the door, in 
 aggravation of family afflictions, he had scarcely 
 a moment to disencumber himself of his uniform 
 and throw on a dressing-gown, in time to hang 
 over the bed and stifle in his bosom the groans 
 of his father during the agonizing operation, in 
 which it was feared his strength might fail. 
 
 But the spell had already taken eflect. While 
 preparing himself for the effort, Hamlyn’s eyes 
 had encountered the form of his son (Waller, 
 the grandson of old Walter Hamlyn), and feeling 
 he had yet something to live for, something to 
 cherish him, even though exposed to worldly 
 obloquy, he seemed to rally his courage; and 
 the Battersea surgeon, whose finger was con- 
 tinually on his wrist, announced a sensible im- 
 provement in the state of the pulse. The simple 
 words, “ My dear, dear father.!” whispered by 
 the voice of Walter, had conveyed volumes of 
 exhortation and worlds of hope. 
 
 By the time the patient was relieved from his 
 agony, and his son from the almost equal torture 
 of witnessing it, by the time the two eniinent 
 surgeons had taken leave, leaving the original 
 attendant to watch over the results of the assist- 
 ance they had rendered, the afternoon was far 
 advanced. At present, it was impossible to sur- 
 mise the extent of the shock the system of the 
 sufferer might have sustained. But it was much 
 that he was still alive. The evening would 
 show, by the usual accession of fever, how far 
 the constitution was affected. Meanwhile, per- 
 < feet quiet, and, if possible, sleep, was to be prayed 
 for. Opiates had been already administered — 
 straw was laid down before the house — the 
 knocker removed — the bell muffled, and a 
 policeman stationed at the adjoining door to en- 
 treat the forbearance of inquirers. The answer 
 given to their anxious interrogation was the bul- 
 letin of the surgeons that “ Mr. Hamlyn’s situa- 
 tion was precarious ; but that he was going on 
 as favourably as could be expected.” 
 
 These wise precautions had not, however, 
 
 prevented a rumour of his death from getting 
 into circulation in the metropolis; and from 
 thence, of course, reaching the provinces, so as 
 to produce a precautionary meeting, on the mor- 
 row, of the worthy and independent electors of 
 Barsthorpe. The evening papers, nay, even a 
 second edition of one or two morning ones, con- 
 tained a most detailed and elaborate account , of 
 the duel, representing (of course accuiding to 
 the politics of the divers journals) the bankei a;; 
 a victim, and his antagonist as an assassin ; or 
 the challenger as a rash and intemperate man, 
 and the honourable member for Alverstoke as 
 a reluctant self-defender. In both accounts, facts 
 were distorted, descriptions overcharged, and 
 words attributed to both parties which had 
 neither escaped their lips, nor were likely to 
 escape the lips of men in their situation of life ; 
 and to one of these penny-a-lineations, in addi- 
 tion to a picturesque description of the mill near 
 which the “ fatal meeting” had taken place, a 
 paragraph, headed “ Latest Particulars,” an- 
 nounced that “ within the last quarter of an hour 
 Mr. Hamlyn had breathed his last ;” probably as 
 an excuse for lengthening the paragraph by an 
 account of the maiden name of the amiable and 
 accomplished lady he had left to lament his loss, 
 and the number of children who were the fruit 
 of their union. 
 
 While, therefore, Mrs. Hamlyn and her daugh- 
 ters were seated in breathless anxiety in the 
 drawing-room in Cavendish Square, listening 
 every time the slightest movement in the cham- 
 ber overhead gave indication that the factitious 
 slumbers of the wounded man were broken — 
 while Lord Dar-tford, to satisfy the anxieties of 
 Lydia, proceeded every quarter of an hour to the 
 bedroom door to ascertain that all was proceed- 
 ing favourably, and Walter still watching by 
 the bedside — the clubs of the West End were 
 deciding wlw was to fill the vacant seat for Bars- 
 thorpe; and whether the Honourable Member 
 for Alverstoke and Alberic Vernon would have 
 to surrender, in order to stand their trial, thus 
 producing the loss of a couple of votes to the 
 opposition. Such was the most interesting side 
 of the fatal event to that idle, chattering class 
 of London life, to whom the collision of heaven 
 and earth were important only as affording mat- 
 ter for “ news I” 
 
 At present, of course, public sympathy rested 
 with H am lyn. It was quite clear that, whoever 
 might be the aggressor, the dead man was most 
 to be pitied. All who had heard him speak the 
 preceding night, felt privileged to be peculiarly 
 horror-struck. Those who had seen the car- 
 riages of Keate and Brodie drive to the door in 
 Cavendish Square, having an anecdote to relate 
 connected with the event of the day, were, lor a 
 moment, objects of interest; while even common 
 inquirers after the family who had actually seen 
 the bulletin acquired temporary importance. 
 
 It ws 3 precisely the sort of incident to set the 
 West End in a ferment, more especially at sO 
 unengaged a period of the season. The 
 Ivns were, in every way, objects of interest. The 
 approaching marriage of the beautiful daughter, 
 the university distinctions of the gifted son, the 
 popularity of the handsome Walter, were en- 
 hancements of the publicity usually connected 
 with a banker and member of Parliament; and 
 the peculiar circumstances connected, and #tiil 
 more peculiar ones said to be connected, with 
 Hamlyn’s recent conversion to orthodoxy m 
 political economy, served only to add new vigour 
 
129 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 vto the countless tongues of Rumour already in 
 
 motion. , , . 1 , 
 
 By dinner-time, Flimflam, who had gone ttie 
 round ‘of the clubs to which he belonged, in order 
 to gather “ exclusive information,” and “ original 
 anecdotes” connected with the duel, for the rec- 
 reation of a party he was to join at the house 
 of a high legal functionary, found his memory 
 so overcharged with contradictory accounts, all 
 related on undeniable authority,” that it almost 
 required a mnemonic process to convey them so 
 far as the Rolls House, in Chancery Lane._ The 
 only point on which the world was unanimous 
 was one always insisted upon when duels prove 
 fatal, namely, that the meeting ought to have 
 been prevented, either by the seconds or the 
 police. The quarrel had been public, the provo- 
 cation generally recognised as sure to provoke 
 a hostile explanation. Every man in London, 
 
 ‘ consequently, decided that all present at the affray 
 ought to be indicted for murder; though, had 
 every man in London been implicated the fol- 
 lowing day in a similar affair, not one of them 
 would have stirred his little finger in obstruction 
 of a similar result. Nay, had the pradence of 
 the parties suggested an accommodation, nine in 
 : ten would afterward have decided that they ought 
 to have met ; and tried to pick a hole in their 
 character for courage, on the strength of their 
 forbearance. 
 
 But while White’s and Brookes’s were lying 
 .and slandering in the levity of theirjiearts, while 
 eating their oyster paUs and waiting for their cut- 
 lets, far deeper mischief was produced in a quarter 
 ■of the town where reports have a market value, 
 and a fortune is sometimes realized by a dexter- 
 ous fabrication. 
 
 Though the non-appearance of Mr. Hamlyn 
 . at the banking-house, at his usual time, had pro- 
 duced no anxiety — thanks to the plausible expla- 
 nation he had taken the precaution of forward- 
 ing to Spilsby — by the middle of the day, tidings 
 reached the city that the body of Hamlyn the 
 banker had been brought home- to his house in 
 Cavendish Square ; some said by a policeman, 
 othels, by a surgeon who had vainly attempted 
 to restore animation to the corpse. To this 
 positive announcement succeeded^ a rumour, 
 arising as rumours do — none can tell how — con- 
 necting the event with the fatal word Suicide ! 
 It was reported on Change that the unfortunate 
 canker had perished by his own hand ; and 
 whereas, in the city, one only cause suggests 
 itself to sicken a man of life — viz.^ a scarcity of 
 money — though it could not be added to the 
 report (as is usual in such cases) that the police- 
 man had found only a few halfpence in the 
 waistcoat-pocket of the self-murderer — it was 
 confidently stated that the rash act of the banker 
 was produced by the hopeless derangement of 
 his affairs ! 
 
 It was, luckily, past three o’clock before this 
 fatal tale got wind ; for within a few minutes 
 afterward, the doors in Lombard-street were be- 
 sieged by a far denser crowd of claimants than 
 those in Cavendish Square of obliging inquirers. 
 The answer of the clerks to such as pressed for 
 particulars of Mr. Hamlyn’s death “ was, that 
 they had received a communication from him 
 some hours before, in his own handwriting ; and 
 that the messenger they had despatched for in- 
 formation to the West End half an hour before 
 was not yet returned.” Their answer to those 
 who pressed for the payment of their balance 
 was prompt compliance ; and it was fortunate 
 
 that the remittance that very morning of the 
 debt of Schreiber and Co. placed them out of 
 any immediate anxiety from the absence of their 
 principal during a run upon the house. 
 
 Before Spilsby had found time to become 
 really alarmed, the usual hour for closing ar- 
 rived, and the last thing done to appease the 
 anxiety of those who were hurrying too late to 
 the door was to exhibit a bulletin, stating that 
 Mr. Hamlyn had been wounded in a duel arising 
 out of differences the preceding night in the 
 House of Commons, but was going on as fa- 
 vourably as possible. 
 
 But though this authorized contradiction of 
 the report of his death had all the good effect 
 anticipated by Spilsby, the devisor of the meas- 
 ure, it was impossible to say what sort of feeling, 
 or even what sort of contingencies, might arise 
 next morning previous to opening the bank. At 
 all events, the head-clerk, to whom the private 
 business of the house was so inadequately known, 
 did noh choose to take upon himself any farther 
 responsibility ; and he accordingly despatched 
 an express to Mr. Bernard Hamlyn, who was 
 at his seat in Suffolk, unluckily out of the line 
 of railroad communication ; and as soon as the 
 correspondence of the house was closed tor the 
 evening, and, in the absence of the acting part- 
 ner, the keys delivered to himself, he proceeded 
 to Cavendish Square, to ascertain the exact state 
 of Mr. Hamlyn, and take the instructions of his 
 representatives. 
 
 But this was no easy matter. In the first in- 
 stanpe, he was denied access to the house, orders 
 to prevent all disturbance or noise having been 
 strictly issued. But the John to whom he had 
 applied for admittance to Mr. Hamlyn the pre- 
 ceding week having luckily recognised his per- 
 son, prevented his dismissal by the police, and 
 ensured his ingress. Once within the hall, all 
 seemed secure ! But to whom was hef now to 
 address himself'? One of Mr. Hamlyn’s sons 
 was in the country— the other in close attendance 
 on the dying man! Even Rarnsay had not a 
 moment quitted the sick room since the opera- 
 liori. With respect to the banker’s wife and 
 daughters, even if the footman could have been, 
 prevailed upon to disturb them, of what avail 
 their interference 
 
 By good luck, the footman with whom the 
 clerk was in communication was not only grate- 
 fully attached to his master, but by frequent at- 
 tendance on Mr. Hamlyn to the House, and 
 gossiping with the servants of other men of 
 business, had imbibed some notion of the conse- 
 quence of a banker’s calling. He perfectly un- 
 derstood his master’s life to be of more conse- 
 quence to the community than that of a Lord 
 Edward Sutton ; and, having allowed Spilsby to 
 station himself in the dining-room, promised to 
 acquaint him the moment an interview was pos- 
 sible with Captain Hamlyn or the Marquis of 
 Hartford ! 
 
 “ Colonel Hamilton has only this moment left 
 the house 1” said John ; “ ’tis a thousand pities 
 but you had spoken with Colonel Hamilton 1” 
 an opinion in which Spilsby so strongly coin- 
 cided, that when, half an hour afterward, the 
 good old man hurried back again (having been 
 home only to make inquiries concerning John- 
 ston’s departure or arrival, and give orders in 
 behalf of Ellen, who would not, even for a mo 
 ment, leave Mrs. Hamlyn), before he made his 
 appearance in the drawing-room, an interview 
 1 was claimed by the clerk. 
 
the BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 130 
 
 “ Keate saw poor Hamlya an hour ago, and 
 him to be going on as favourably as pos- 
 ffble r said Colonll Hamilton concluding that 
 the anxiety depicted on the face of the bald 
 headed clerk proceeded solely from the suflfenng 
 and nrecarious condition of his employer. 
 
 heartily glad to hear it, sir!” replied 
 Snilsbv “ Mr. Hamlyn has been a good friend 
 m Ld has my best wishes for his recovery. 
 But i am exceedingly anxious m the mtenm 
 to receive instructions from the familj. The 
 responsibility of so considerable a business as 
 Mr^ Hamlyms must not be left upon my hands. 
 fsca?c^y occupy even a confidential situation 
 in the firm, and am quite at a loss. 
 
 ‘‘ Not more so, I take it, than either of his 
 sonswould be!” cried the colonel, 
 shoulders “ By George ! poor Harnlyn was 
 S' It was essential that one of. those boys 
 Should be prepared to succeed him m his busi- 
 ness. But who could foresee all that has hap- 
 
 The fatal eyent Of this morning, sir,” resunied 
 SpilsbV ‘‘ has occasioned a most unexpected 
 fun upon the house. In the interval before 
 opening to-morrow, confidence may be in some 
 de^u-ee restored by the discovery that tbe report 
 of Air. Hamlyn’s suicide was a \ibel— and even 
 of his death, premature. But it is impossible to 
 fness ' A ^im upon a banking-house once be- 
 lun proceeds like the conflagration of a house 
 Is if stimulated by every ^,7 f f 
 its pro^^ress. I own I tremble for the result . 
 
 “^Tremble for the result of wm 7 cried the 
 colonel— fancying that, m the house of death, 
 II interest could prevail over that of the dan- 
 "L of *e sufferer. “Why cau>t you speak 
 
 resumed SpUsby, scarcely 
 knowing whether he dared consider the colonel 
 in any olher light than an 
 
 to be alarmed by the announcement, 1 mean 
 that, should the pressure 
 
 prepared to meet it without advice or assistance 
 
 from one of the partners.” „oT-mpntq V’ 
 
 “ What! forced to suspend your payments 
 
 exclaimed the astonished old man. Gad ^ th 
 
 must be looked to immediately ! 
 astrous consequence of pool t 
 
 mmt which I own I had not thought of ! I m 
 Soecdng young Hamlyn (my friend’s second 
 sln- he^ne who’s intended for the firm) in 
 tZn every minute. I’ll confer with kzm. If 
 possible, fll take an opportunity asking a 
 ^•ord of instruction, in the course of tbe ni^ht 
 from Hamlyn himself. At what oiclock do you 
 open 1” 
 
 “ At nine, sir.” 
 
 “ Can you be here at seven { 
 
 “ Cerimnly. But if I could possibly receive 
 
 your instructions to-night—” p'f.lnnpl 
 
 ^ “ Come back, then, at twelve ! said Colonel 
 Hamilton. “By that time I shall have seen Har- 
 ry Hamlyn, and taken his opinion on naatter. 
 
 ^ But when midnight and the baldneaded clerk 
 arrived together, no progress had been maUe— 
 no Henry Hamlyn been heard of! On reaching 
 Rugby, Lhnston had ascertained from Jacob 
 Dmdai, who was waiting for the up-train and 
 had been at Dean Park in the morning for ti 
 dfri-s If the family, that Mr. Henry w;as neither 
 there nor expected; and at the station, where 
 Henry Hamlvn’s person was well known, it was 
 stated that he had not returned from his visit to 
 To save time, therefore, mstead of cut- 
 
 town. 
 
 tin°- across the country to Ovington, at the loss 
 of several hours, Johnston returned straight to 
 London, bringing back the unopened letter of 
 Mrs. Hamilton. , , , j 
 
 This was sore news to the colonel — astoimd- 
 ing news to the clerk! I 
 
 “ I’m so poor a hand at business,' said the 
 former to Spilsby, “ that I scarcely know how to 
 advise without the risk of doing mischief. But 
 since matters are serious as you say, I recom- 
 mend you to call together the friends of the 
 house Hamlyn’s solicitors, W igwell and Slack 
 —Mrs. Hamlyn’s brothers, the two Harringtons 
 fthey’re no great friends, 1 fancy, with her hus- 
 band; but as her trustees, they’re forced to loo £ 
 to their sister’s interests) — besides any nusmess 
 friends, of whom you’ve more cognizance than 
 / have, should meet at the banking-house by 
 davbreak to-morrow. I will be there myself, as 
 the friend of the boys; and, late as it is, t^se 
 gentlemen should be apprized .. ihe 
 
 matter is too momentous to be trifled with . 
 
 “I will hurry down instantly, sir, to Wig- 
 well ” said the clerk, who had a cab in waiting- 
 “ He keeps early hours, and will be retired to 
 rest. But, luckily, he lives at his house of busi^ 
 ness; and I can leave a note, apprizing him ol 
 vour desire. I will also proceed to Air. Andrew 
 Harrington’s, in Bedford Square, who is some- 
 where about the best adviser in London we 
 could have in such a strait, besides being one 
 of our largest capitalists. If you can oblige me 
 with writing materials, Colonel Hamilton^, I 
 will provide myself here with a letter to AV ig- 
 well and Slack, in case I am unable to see one 
 
 of the partners to-night.” 
 
 This important business despatched, and witk. 
 it the clerk whose communications had added 
 such thorny anxieties to the previous calamity, 
 Colonel Hamilton returned to Airs. Hamlyn 
 and the family, from whom he was careful to 
 conceal the name of the visiter to whom, he had 
 been called away ; and after entering kindly 
 into the dismay produced by Harry s non-ap 
 pearance, and' the lamentations of the poor 
 mother that the dreadful news must now reach 
 him abruptly, wherever he might happen to be, 
 the dispirited old man persuaded tmr to adjoura 
 to her chamber, watched over by Ellen, 
 sisted that her daughters should retire to bed 
 As a pretext for drivmg them to ^repose, he 
 stated his desire to take a few hours rest on the 
 drawing-room sofa; Walter Hamlyn haying 
 resolutdy declined his offer of sharing his vigils 
 beside the wounded man, who was passing alar 
 better night than had been hoped P^*5^7?on 
 By these arrangements, Colonel Hamilton 
 was soon left alone in that selfsame gorgeous 
 aoartment, of which Hamlyn himself t^^d been 
 the sole occupant at that hour P^miM 
 night But in how different a franm of mmd, 
 and with what opposite intentions ! The banker 
 had been steeling his mind for a ^^a^rou^ pur- 
 pose and unchristian encounter--tl^e old man 
 was devising projects of mercy and peace . 1 he 
 banker had recoiled with 
 
 cences of a life of impenitence and ot 
 
 heart • the old man attempted to compose lus 
 fluttered spirits by reflections full of tenderness 
 and love The banker had attempted to nerve 
 Us coura^^e for impending dangers by reliance 
 In his usfal good'^luck, and the false energy 
 nroduced bv that systematic deference to the 
 E“on of thrworft which had often enabled 
 him to work miracles for the redemption of his 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 rTiaracter • the old man reclined Kis head humbly 
 oSs bosom, and recommended himself and 
 those who weie dear to him to the mercy and 
 
 ^"?anThis vLymom,” was the last reflection 
 that soothed his aching heart, and smoothed his 
 troubled eyelids to rest, did my poor boys oft- 
 en spend a cheerful holiday ! Here they used 
 to think of their poor old father, and the home 
 they were never to see again. And, ^ with the 
 aid of the Almighty, I will do a father s part by 
 the children of the unfortunate man who is 
 groaning in his bed yonder, on whom the Lord 
 
 ^^He^sl?pt !— a sleep how different ftorn that of 
 the feverish sufferer above ! But he had not 
 been more than three hours lost un slumber, 
 when he was startled by a cold hand placed 
 upon his own. 
 
 “ What the deuse ! have 1 overslept myselH 
 cried he, starting from the sofa, in the belief 
 that Johnston, whom he had forewarned for the 
 purpose, was come to call him. But though a 1 
 was dark in the room, save where the cold dim 
 light of a spring twilight struggled through the 
 chinks of the window-shutters and muslin cur- 
 tains (the draperies having been left undrawn 
 in the confusion of the night before), he speedily 
 saw that the person by whom his hand was so 
 eagerly grasped was no servant ; and a few wiia 
 words of explanation soon apprized him that the 
 fatal papers having reached Cambridge at night 
 with the rumour of his father s death, Harry 
 Hamlvn, who had only reinstated himself at 
 Trinity a few hours before, had instantly got 
 into a postchaise and hurried to town. 
 
 “ I was afraid I should be too late oh, Aoiv 
 afraid I should be too late !” faltered he, open- 
 ing his whole heart to the man with whom he 
 had not yet exchanged fifty words but whom he 
 interpreted by his acts into everything that was 
 iust, generous, and humane. “ And what would 
 have become of me, had I not arrived in time 1 
 It was more essential for me than for the rest to 
 receive his last blessing— for I am the only one 
 of his children who ever crossed him ; Are you 
 aware that he once cursed me 1 He, my poor 
 father! And to think that he might have died 
 
 without a word of forgiveness !” 
 
 Tears burst from the eyes of the distracted 
 young man, as, with clasped hands and heaving 
 Dosom, he uttered those incoherent words. “ But 
 he is better 1” continued he, struggling to reco^r 
 himself. “ He has passed a good night. He 
 has enjoyed some hours’ sleep. I have just left 
 Walter. I have even knelt, unseen, by the bed- 
 side of my father, who must not be disturbed. 
 But, before relieving my brother from his watch, 
 that he also may take some rest, I could not 
 help coming to thank you, sir, for being here 
 you and Aer! It is so like you both ! God bless 
 you— God bless you 1” . . 
 
 All this time Colonel Hamilton was striving 
 to compose his thoughts, and resume the chain 
 of his over-night considerations. It seemed 
 grievous to molest the harassed and delicate 
 young man before him, weary with a night s 
 travelling as well as distracted by a night’s an- 
 guish, with mere words of business— to arrest 
 the warm current of his filial feelings by dry ob- 
 stacles of worldly solicitude. But it was indis- 
 pensable. The interests of too many human 
 beings were dependant on the event. In as few 
 words, therefore, as possible. Colonel Hamilton 
 , explained to Henry the critical position of his | 
 
 131 
 
 father’s affairs, and the vital necessity that pal- 
 liative measures should be adopted without 
 
 delay. . . / 
 
 To his great surprise, very little emotion was 
 produced by the terrible announcement. Either 
 
 Harry was strangely ignorant of the magnitude 
 of the transactions in which his father’s house 
 was engaged, or the blow by which he had been 
 previously smittem had actually stunned mm. 
 
 So completely, indeed, did he appear bewilder- 
 ed, and so thoroughly absorbed by the idea of 
 hikather’s danger, that Colonel Hamilton judg- 
 ed it his duty to touch upon two strings, which, 
 in the first instance, he had with scrupulous 
 delicacy avoided. He spoke of the futuie "wel- 
 fare of his mother and sisters as at stake— he 
 spoke of the dishonour likely to fall upon the 
 name of his father ! 
 
 “ Let us go, then !” exclaimed Harry. » There 
 is not a moment to be lost I Let us hasten into 
 the city.” And after attempting in vain to re- 
 duce his, disordered dress and haggard looks to 
 an air of propriety, he kept hurrying Colonel 
 Hamilton to his father’s dressing-room, adjoin- 
 ing the study below, where breakfast was set out j 
 and each drank a cup of tea standing, ere they 
 proceeded into the city in a hackney^oach. 
 
 The streets were nearly empty. The shops, 
 slowly unclosing their windows as they ap- 
 proached the more commercial quarter of the 
 town, began to restore an air of life and decency 
 to the streets, paraded an hour before only by 
 the outcasts of the metropolis, and the police 
 stationed there for their coercion ; and by the 
 time they reached Lombard-street, though the 
 clock of St. Sepulchre’s had not yet struck seven, 
 the shop-boys of the city were busily engaged 
 in making the pavements impassable with their 
 
 ”ofthf hackney-coach drawing up, the door 
 was partly unclosed to admit them by t^e old 
 porter of the counting-house, who appeared to 
 have been posted there in expectation ; and as 
 
 they passed onward into the private room where 
 
 Spilsby now reigned supreme, the old man pl^^k- 
 Xoung Hamlyn by the sleeve to inquire after 
 his\ooY master.^ It would have been a comfort 
 to Harry, had his own heart been less ^ 
 perceive^ that this venerable servitor had tears 
 
 “‘■Though "they were before their time with the 
 punctuality so highly lauded by 
 the clerks, the Harringtons, the solicitors, and 
 two strangers (one of whom was introduced to 
 CoUel HamiU as the stock-broker charged 
 with the business ^of the house), were a^eady 
 assembled, with the books open on the a^Ie be- 
 fore them, and their lengthened countenances 
 bearing ominous testimony to Je unsatisfactory 
 nature of the examination. Even the imelli- 
 gence brought by the new-comers, that Mr. Ham- 
 lyn had passed a good night, and was going on 
 as well as possible, did little towards unbending 
 
 the brows of the gloomy synod. , 
 
 No one seemed anxious to be the first to speak, 
 seeing that every word uttered must be an accu- 
 sation against the acting partner of the house, 
 in his own absence, and in the presence of his 
 son. But had any spectator, personally unin- 
 terested in the scene, been present, he could 
 scarcely have failed to observe that the defer- 
 ence habitually testified towards Hainlyn and 
 Co bv Wigwell and Slack, was already trans- 
 ferred to Colonel Hamilton, the Dives of the 
 party. 
 
132 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 “ I am extremely sorry to say, sir,” observed 
 Spilsby, after due salutation to Henry Hamlyn 
 and his venerable companion, “that matters 
 here wear a still more unpromising aspect than 
 I represented to you last night. Various secu- 
 rities on which I had counted as of an available 
 nature are unaccountably missing ; and, though 
 I have no doubt that Mr. Hamlyn, on his res- 
 toration to health, will be able to enlighten us 
 as to his manner of disposing of them, at pres- 
 ent we are wholly in the dark. From indica- 
 tions afforded me by Mr. Andrew Harrington 
 and his brother, I have reason to fear that the 
 run upon the house will continue unabated ; and 
 that the cruel report of Mr. Hamlyn’s death by 
 his own hand, having reached our country cor- 
 respondents last night, the post will bring in 
 heavy demands. Mr. Bernard Hamlyn has not 
 yet arrived in town, and I have only twenty 
 thousand pounds and a fraction to open with 
 this morning.” 
 
 At this announcement, the two solicitors look- 
 ed at each other with an air of blank amaze- 
 ment; the two uncles upon Henry, with a gaze 
 of mournful compassion ; while the stockbroker 
 and his companion elevated their eyebrows, and 
 muttered something unintelligible to the heads of 
 their canes. 
 
 “ In which case, to open at all were an act ol 
 insanity!” observed Andrew Harrington, in a 
 decided tone. “ But it is impossible that such a 
 business as this should be so utterly unprovided 
 with resources 1” . 
 
 “Mr. Hamlyn managed the concern in his 
 own way, sir, admitting no person wholly into his 
 confidence,” replied Spilsby. “Till Mr. Ber- 
 nard Hamlyn shall arrive, I am prepared to say 
 
 nothing.” . , 1 . 
 
 “ And if he don t arrive, then the house must 
 stop payment 'I” demanded Colonel Hamilton, 
 coming abruptly to the point. 
 
 A distressing silence afforded the only reply 
 to this direct apostrophe. , . 
 
 “ God bless my soul I Can TwtUng be done I 
 cried the colonel. “ Surely poor Hamlyn, who 
 has so many friends, and acted so liberally to all 
 the world, is not to be molested and disgraced 
 on his deathbed, for want of a moneyed man or 
 two willing to come forward in his behalf '? You^ 
 sir I” continued he, turning towards Andrew 
 Harrington, “yo% sir, who are so near a con- 
 nexion of the family, surely you will do the part 
 of a kinsman by this unfortunate man 'I 
 
 “ I will do the part of a brother by his unfor- 
 tunate wife, and her children shall be to me as 
 my own,” was the stern reply of the uncompro- 
 mising London merchant. “ But if the risk of 
 half a crown of mine would keep R-ichard Ham- 
 lyn out of the Gazette, I do not scruple to say that 
 I would not put it down. I speak for brother 
 and self. We are here as trustees for the wife 
 and children. Excuse me, Harry I You are 
 not in a state to judge of my motives. But that 
 I respect your filial feelings, my dear nephew, I 
 would say more.” . . , 
 
 Messrs. Wig well and Slack, perceiving by the 
 countenance of Colonel Hamilton that he was 
 disposed to resent this churlishness on the part 
 of Mrs. Hamlyn’s wealthy brothers, fancied they 
 were serving their own cause, if not their client’s, 
 in endeavouring to shake the resolutidn of Har- 
 rington Brothers, by representing the pressure on 
 Hamlyn’s house to be temporary and accidental ; 
 and that, with a little assistance from without, 
 he firm would be able not only to weather the 
 
 storm, but take its stand with additional credit 
 from this demonstration of strength in the mon- 
 eyed world. But, even after this appeal, the 
 brothers-in-law and stockbroker remained mute 
 as fishes. It was clear that they, at least, thought 
 otherwise. 
 
 “ Meanwhile,” cried Henry Hamlyn, sudden- 
 ly withdrawing the clasped hands with which 
 he had concealed his face, “ nothing is done — 
 and my father’s credit is at stake, the liuit of 
 twenty years’ undeviating integrity and unwea- 
 ried labour ! He must not only die in the prime 
 of life, but die humiliated and disgraced I” 
 Andrew Harrington uttered not a syllable; 
 but his brother Thomas was troubled with a short, 
 dry cough, which appeared of evil omen to the 
 anxious Spilsby, whose hope of assistance from 
 what were called the friends of the house was 
 becoming gradually extinguished. 
 
 “Were there time to call around us my fa- 
 ther’s friends and colleagues,” persisted Harry ; 
 
 “ or had I only a dozen hours before me, I should 
 feel safe. But if those on whom we have the 
 claims of blood — ” 
 
 “I tell ye what! ” interrupted Colonel Ham- 
 ilton, laying his hand graspingly on Harry’s 
 arm to forestall words of fruitless exacerbation, 
 but himself addressing the party assembled round 
 the table, “ I am myself nowise akin to Rich- 
 ard Hamlyn, and no otherwise interested in 
 his welfare than as from friend to friend. But 
 in my view, that’s a holier bond than many folks 
 are disposed to admit; and so, I’m willing to 
 stand the gist of what others are startled at. I’ve 
 a matter of about two hundred thousand pounds, 
 say two hundred thousand, in various securities 
 lodged with the house, most of them tangible; 
 .and all I can say is, that the firm is perfectly at 
 liberty to convert as much of them into money 
 for its own purposes as will carry it safely 
 through the storm.” 
 
 A murmur of gratitude and admiration burst 
 from the solicitors, stockbrokers, and clerk, 
 wholly indifferent to Colonel Hamilton; who 
 had his ample reward in the silent pressure of 
 the hand bestowed upon him by his own and El- 
 len’s young friend, Harry. But he could not but 
 notice, at the same time, that Andrew Harring- 
 ton and his brother regarded him with a look of 
 the same contemptuous pity they would have 
 bestowed upon a patient escaped from a lunatic 
 asylum. 
 
 “We must lose no time,” said the stockbro- 
 ker, looking at his watch — we have brought it 
 to half past seven ! I shall be extremely happy 
 to accommodate the firm with twenty thousand, 
 on the responsibility and receipt of Colonel 
 Hamilton, as I fear there would be no time for 
 the realization of the securities to which he al- 
 ludes — ” 
 
 “ Or if deposited with me,” said the other 
 friend of the house, who proved to be an exten- 
 sive Russia merchant, under considerable obli- 
 gations to the house of Hamlyn and Co., “ I 
 shall be happy to advance their full amount.” 
 
 “ You allude, I conclude sir,” said Spilsby, 
 whose countenance ever since the hostile decla- 
 rations of the two Harringtons had been subsiding 
 from pale to paler, “ to the sum of .£84,742 and 
 a fraction, standing in the 3 per cent, consols, 
 in the joint names of yourself and Mr. Ham- 
 lyn'?” . . 
 
 “To that— to my Long Annuities — India 
 Bonds— and other matters. But I suppose the 
 money in the funds is most come-at-able !’ said 
 
133 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 the colonel. “ This gentleman I understand to 
 he the broker of the firm 'I Let him conclude 
 the sale, bring me the necessary papers, and I 
 will sign them before I leave the house.” 
 
 And while Wigwell and Slack proceeded 
 to murmur all the best-sounding nouns in their 
 vocabulary nearest related to the cardinal vir- 
 tues, such as “liberality— generosity— disinter- 
 estedness — nobleness — magnanimity — friend- 
 ship — worth”— Spilsby busied himself, or af- 
 fected to busy himself, v;ith careful examination 
 of a folio marked in white on a red ground with 
 
 a stupendous H ; and a variety of day-books, 
 
 stock-receipts, and miscellaneous papers, that 
 seemed to bear reference to Colonel Hamilton’s 
 account with the house.’ At length, after pro- 
 digious rustlings and shufflings, and opening and 
 shutting of tin boxes, the baldheaded clerk sum- 
 moned the stockbroker into a corner, and com- 
 menced a whispered dialogue, which one or two 
 of those present seemed inclined to resent as a 
 lapse of confidence. It did not, however, last 
 long. With a face of ashy paleness and quiv- 
 ering lips, Spilsby returned to the table which the 
 others had not quitted; and, after muttering an 
 unintelligible preamble concerning his own re- 
 grets and horror on the occasion, stated that he 
 had reason to believe the stock in question was 
 not forthcoming ; that his friend Mr. Slicem, to 
 whom he had just referred, perfectly well remem- 
 bered having at divers times disposed for Mr. 
 Hamlyn of large portions of the stock in ques- 
 tion, which, at the last sale, had dwindled to a 
 few thousands. 
 
 “ And yet, strange and melancholy to say,” 
 pursued the clerk, “ no entry of these sales ap- 
 pears to have been carried to Colonel Hamilton’s 
 account !” 
 
 “ I feared as much !” was the whispered 
 ejaculation of Andrew Harrington to his broth- 
 er. 
 
 “ I had, perhaps, better take this opportunity 
 of stating,” resumed Spilsby with blanched lips, 
 “ that the course of examination into the pri- 
 vate accounts of the firm in which I have passed 
 the night, gives me reason to fear that other se- 
 curities of a similar nature will prove deficient.” 
 
 “ Sell my stock 1— dispose of my property 
 murmured Colonel Hamilton. “ Well, ’tis my 
 own fault ! I gave him free leave.” 
 
 “ The sooner this question is cleared up, the 
 better!” cried Andrew Harrington. “In half 
 an hour, either this house must open, or suspend 
 its payments. The point of embezzlement or 
 non-embezzlement had best be premonitorily 
 cleared up. Mr. Spilsby can ascertain from 
 Colonel Hamilton’s account the nature of the se- 
 curities which ought, in his instance, to be in de- 
 posite. If missing — ” 
 
 The baldheaded clerk interrupted the some- 
 what severe schooling of Mr. Harrington, by ad- 
 dressing in a low voice to Colonel Hamilton a 
 succession of inquiries to which answers were 
 returned aloud by the veteran, with irrepressible 
 exclamations of surprise. 
 
 “ Gone T’ cried he. “ The India Bonds sold % 
 The Spanish too % In short, I am to look on my- 
 self as a ruined man !” 
 
 Spilsby had not courage to meet the eyes of 
 the old soldier ; still less, to utter a syllable in 
 reply. 
 
 “ Well, well 1” cried he. “ At all events, 
 Moonjee’s remittances are at present on the 
 high seas. Thanks be to Providence, I may 
 still find butter to my bread ! And to think that 
 
 the friend in whom I confided as in my Maker 
 should have done this ! The Lord forgive him ! 
 But the unfortunate fellow is at least making 
 heavy atonement !” 
 
 The stockbroker, who, at Spilsby’s suggestion, 
 had hurried home to his office in Birchin Lane 
 to consult his books respecting the transactions 
 in question, now reappeared, breathless and agi- 
 tated, with confirmation of their worst suspi- 
 cions, as well as of others privately communica- 
 ted to him by Spilsby. 
 
 “There’s a terrible press without, awaiting 
 the opening of the doors,” said he. “ I had near- 
 ly my coat torn off by people applying to me for 
 information, as to one connected with the busi- 
 ness of the house. All I could say at all satis- 
 factory was, that there appeared every probabili- 
 ty of Hamlyn’s recovery. But it was not that 
 they cared for 1” 
 
 “I see no use in attempting to keep up the 
 farce 1” said Andrew Harrington, in a determined 
 voice. “ My nephew having left the room, poor 
 fellow, I state at once my opinion, that to open 
 the house for the despatch of business is wholly 
 out of the question. It is impossible to surmise 
 to what amount the credit of Hamlyn may be 
 compromised. The fact is, that the firm was in- 
 volved at the old man’s death. Ever since, in- 
 stead of retrieving himself by self-denial and 
 economy, Richard Hamlyn has been plunging 
 deeper and deeper into the mire, and attempting 
 to cut through the knot of his difficulties by mad 
 and unjustifiable speculations. My remonstran- 
 ces on the subject produced enmity between us ; 
 and Heaven knows it is no satisfaction to wc 
 that all my predictions concerning my unfortu- 
 nate sister’s family have so speedily come to 
 pass !” 
 
 No one interrupted him. Colonel Hamilton 
 was gone in search of Harry, whom he found 
 exhausted by anguish of mind ensuing on want 
 of rest and nourishment, half fainting on one of 
 the chests in the compting-house. The solicit- 
 ors were conlsulting together in what shape to 
 ensure priority of payment to their claims upon 
 the firm ; and it was only the stockbroker and 
 Russia merchant who remained with Spilsby to 
 coincide in the decision of the Harringtons, that 
 circulars should be instantly printed, announ- 
 cing the temporary closing of the house of Ham- 
 lyn and Co., on account of the precarious condi- 
 tion of the acting partner and the absence of the 
 junior I 
 
 Mr. Slicem undertook to have this form, which 
 was hastily drawn up by Spilsby under Andrew 
 Harrington’s directions, conveyed to the parties 
 who undertake the printing and dissemination 
 of such documents. But, as he quitted the house, 
 and attempted to make his way down the door- 
 steps, which were as densely crowded as the 
 entrance to a theatre previous to opening the 
 doors, a carriage and four dashed along the 
 street, and drew up as near the door as the 
 gathering of the mob would allow. 
 
 •The crest upon the travelling-carriage’ was 
 noticed. In a moment, it was whispered, and 
 in the next, positively known, that the hasty 
 traveller was no other than the junior partner of 
 Hamlyn’s firm ; and, as it opportunely occurred 
 to the stockbroker that his arrival might produce 
 some modification in the paper he carried in his 
 pocket, he applied to the policemen previously 
 keeping order in that tumultuous assemblage to 
 facilitate his passage through the crowd. 
 
 When, therefore, Bernard Hamlyn, an ell- 
 
THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR 
 
 134 
 
 feebled, fractious invalid, was assisted out of 
 his carriage by a stout, burly individual, whom 
 some concluded to be his valet de chambre, and 
 some, with more truth, his country attorney (but 
 who at present looked exceedingly like his 
 keeper), he was conveyed into the banking-house 
 between two policemen, giving him very much 
 the air of a delinquent in custody, greatly to the 
 increase of his natural nervousness and incom- 
 petency. 
 
 Bernard Hamlyn was a meager, feeble, under- 
 sized man, having hair and eyelashes the colour 
 and texture of silk, and a voice like a broken 
 pan-pipe. 
 
 “ I received your letter by express late last 
 night, gentlemen,” said he, fretfully addressing 
 the persons he found assembled in the private 
 room; “wAy you have summoned me here I 
 cannot guess. I am very unequal to the execu- 
 tion of such a journey — yery unequal indeed. It 
 is well known that I have never interfered in 
 the concerns of this house— that I am very un- 
 equal to business — very unequal indeed ! All I 
 have to ask, therefore, is that you will commu- 
 nicate your wishes as speedily as possible to this 
 gentleman, my legal adviser, who will act in 
 concert with you — to which effi)rt I am very un- 
 equal — very unequal indeed !” 
 
 From this preamble, it was pretty clear that 
 the junior partner brought no accession of coun- 
 sel to the consultation ; and it was soon equally 
 apparent that the means of the selfish hypochon- 
 driac were as shallow as his wit. His whole 
 fortune was embarked in the firm; and the 
 country attorney, his esquire of the body (if he 
 possessed a body), who evidently came prepared 
 to bluster and protect the egotism of his em- 
 ployer from molestation and his fortune from 
 risk, was soon compelled to knock under, and 
 announce to Bernard Hamlyn, on the showing 
 of his shrewder brother lawyers, Wigwell and 
 Slack,, that he was nearer a fiat of bankruptcy 
 in reality than he fancied himself to be to his 
 grave. 
 
 . “ It is very hard that I should be routed out 
 •of my quiet country retirement to listen to such 
 harassing details as these !” faltered the man, 
 who had hitherto conceived the business of a 
 banker to consist in receiving quarterly an in- 
 come of six thousand a year. “ I am very un- 
 equal to such a shock — very unequal indeed. I 
 am a sad invalid — a very sad invalid. My 
 medical attendant assured me that this hurried 
 journey might have a most serious effect upon a\ 
 man in my state of health.” 
 
 But no one gave ear to his peevish grumblings ; 
 not even the burly attorney. Each man present 
 was intent upon his own grievous share in the 
 calamity, against which there was no farther 
 hope of succour. Each was calculating the 
 amount of his impending losses ; with the ex- 
 ception of Colonel Hamilton, who exerted him- 
 self to remove the still half insensible Henry 
 from the spot, ere the posting of the placard 
 should announce the closing of the house. 
 
 The poor old porter was sobbing helpless be- 
 hind the door as they passed. The aspect of the 
 despairing countenances and ferocious eyes that 
 met Colonel Hamilton’s view in the throng 
 without, as the policeman assisted them into 
 their hackney-coach, had not faded from his 
 recollection, even when, after a slow return to- 
 wards the West End, they reached the inauspi- 
 cious purlieus of Cavendish Square. 
 
 V On entering the coach, the old man had taken 
 
 the arm of the unresisting Henry under his, and 
 kept his hand fondly clasped within his own, till 
 they approached together the “ house no more 
 his home.” Not a token of consciousness or 
 recognition escaped the heart-broken young 
 man ! Colonel Hamilton was forced to assist 
 him from the coach, as he would have assisted 
 the helplessness of a child. 
 
 So thoroughly absorbed was he, indeed, by the 
 alarming state of exhaustion of his young friend, 
 and so bewildered by the exciting scenes which 
 had been passing before his eyes, that he took 
 no note of the aspect of the servants who met 
 him on the door-steps. Even when Johnston 
 addressed him in the hall, the deplorable condi- 
 tion of the fine young fellow leaning upon his 
 arm was more to the colonel than any tidings 
 he could have to learn of improvement in the 
 wounded man. 
 
 He led him into the study, as though the house 
 were his own and poor Harry a visiter, and 
 placed him silently on the sofa. At that mo- 
 ment, Mrs. Hamilton, who had been watching 
 anxiously for their arrival, in the earnestness of 
 her desire to see them ere they went up stairs, 
 hurried into the room. 
 
 On perceiving Colonel Hamilton leaning over 
 the half fainting Henry, she beckoned him to- 
 wards her, and would fain have spoken. But 
 the kind old soul, whose eyes were obscured by 
 gathering tears, forestalled the question he fan- 
 cied her about to ask. 
 
 “ Yes ! all is over, Nelly !” said he. “ The 
 house has stopped payment. Go to him ! Say 
 a kind word to him. The poor fellow has no 
 longer a guinea in the world — ” 
 
 Ere he could add another syllable, Ellen was 
 beside the scarcely conscious young man— taking 
 his hands into hers, pressing them to her lips, 
 her eyes, rather with the wild, tenderness of a 
 mother who finds a lost child restored to her, 
 than the shamefacedness of a mistress or sober 
 affection of a tvife, 
 
 “ Mine forever !” whispered she, with stream- 
 ing eyes, as she pressed him to her heart. “ Ours 
 forever !” she repeated, turning towards Colonel 
 Hamilton, who had advanced towards them, and 
 was contemplating with deep feeling the fervent 
 nature betrayed at such a moment by the woman 
 he had always seen so cold, so haughty, so re- 
 served. 
 
 Taking their united hands in his, the old man 
 murmured a fervent blessing on their heads. 
 And then, for the first time since he became 
 aware of the family dishonour, the tears of Henry 
 Hamlyn burst forth. 
 
 Alas ! he knew not yet one half his cause for 
 sorrow ! The motive of Ellen’s impatience to 
 meet them by the way was only to soften by due 
 preparation the announcement of anew calamity. 
 
 During their absence in the city, Mr. Hamlyn 
 had breathed his last ! 
 
 — ♦ 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 “ My youth hath acted 
 Some scenes of vanity, drawn out at length 
 By varied pleasures — sweetened in the mixture; 
 
 But tragical in the issue. Beauty, pomp, 
 
 With every sensuality our giddiness 
 Doth frame an idol, are inconstant friends 
 When any troubled passion makes us halt 
 On the unguarded castle of the mind. Ford. 
 
 As the unnatural composure produced by the 
 administration of strong opiates subsided, the 
 
COURT AND CITY. 
 
 135 
 
 wounded man had exhibited symptoms of rest- 
 lessness and irritability which produced con- 
 siderable alarm in the mind of his attendant. 
 Within half an hour of Colonel Hamilton s de- 
 parture for the city, he had judged it necessary 
 to ^nd for the eminent surgeons to whose higher 
 iud<^ment his patient had been intrusted. 
 
 Scarcely was this precautionary measure 
 taken when Hamlyn himself seemed conscious 
 of a change. His eyes kept wandering round, 
 as if in search of some unseen object; and when 
 told, on inquiring for Walter, that his son was 
 dozing on the sofa, at the foot of his bed, he sud- 
 denly asked for Henry. With the sort of clair- 
 vovmice that appears to invest somnanabulists 
 and dying persons, he seemed to have become 
 inexplicably aware of Harry’s arrival in town 
 
 during the night. . 
 
 The reply of Ramsay, though expressly in- 
 tended to restore his master to composure, was, 
 unluckily, calculated only to stimulate the fever 
 of his frame. 
 
 “ Mr. Henry and Colonel Hamilton are gone 
 . to Lombard-street, sir !” said the butler, in his 
 usual deferential tone. , . • u. 
 
 “ The head-clerk was here late last night; and 
 the colonel desired he might be called at seven, 
 to be at the banking-house before opening time. 
 
 A sudden shivering fit seemed to pervade the 
 frame of his unfortunate master at this intelli- 
 
 gence. . . . 
 
 “They are gone? You are quite sure tnat 
 they are gone, at the summons of Spilsby V’ said 
 he, in an unnatural hoarse voice. 
 
 “ U,uite sure, sir ! Mr. Henry spent halt an 
 hour by your bedside in the night; and very 
 much afflicted and broken he looked, when he 
 stepped into the coach with Colonel Hamilton. 
 
 A moan escaped the lips of the banker, as his 
 head sunk back upon the pillow on hearing 
 these words ; and when Ramsay bent over him 
 to hold the usual restoratives to his nostrils, he 
 saw that a cold dew was rising on the livid face. 
 
 “ Call Walter !” said his master, faintly. 
 “Captain Hamlyn is still asleep,” replied 
 Ramsay, remembering his master’s former anx- 
 i ious injunction that his son should on no account 
 
 he disturbed. . , 
 
 “ Call him— or it will be too late !” persisted 
 Mr. Hamlyn; and in another moment, poor 
 W^alter, roused from one of those dreams of love 
 and peace with which some evil influence seems 
 to delight in mocking the anguish of the unhappy 
 — the condemned felon in his cell — the exile in 
 his banishment— was standing beside the bed ot 
 death. , . 
 
 “ Nearer I” said Mr. Hamlyn, as the young 
 man, still imperfectly awakened, stood bewil- 
 dered at his side. 
 
 “Stoop down to me, Walter! Listen to me, 
 my son 1 I am going where there must be an 
 end to human love !” faltered the dying man, 
 eontemplating with fixed and glazing eyes the 
 fine face now bending over him in unspeakable 
 anguish. “ Walter 1 do not curse me when I 
 am gone I I have loved you very dearly ! Do 
 not think too hardly of your poor father ! 
 
 “ My dearest, dearest father, let me call tor 
 'help !” exclaimed his son, perceiving that his 
 €nd was indeed drawing near. ‘^Surely you 
 will see my mother — my sisters'? There is yet 
 lime, if you desire spiritual consolation — ” 
 
 “ I desire only you replied the dying man. 
 -*‘It is too late for repentance, Walter — too late 
 even for explanation. But the grave covers all ! 
 
 My life has been a mistake— beginning in errpr, 
 ending in crime 1 My father was a spendthrift. 
 He left me only a ruined busmess— an embar- 
 rassed estate I I loved him living 1 loved his 
 memory — I tried to preserve it from shame, even 
 at the expense of — Walter 1 when you hear 
 me condemned — think leniently of one who 
 adored ymt. even as he had adored his father! 
 Think leniently of me. Protect your mot^r 
 —the best, the most exemplary of women. Do 
 your utmost to conceal from the world the dis- 
 ordered state of the banking-house. But above 
 —above all— think— think le— niently— of— 
 His utterance became more and more impeded. 
 Yet, by a sudden effort, as if roused by the tears 
 that fell profusely from the eyes of Captain 
 Hamlyn, he put forth his hand, already cold 
 with the approach of death, and, drawing down 
 the face of his son towards him, imprinted a 
 fervent kiss— the first since childhood— upon 
 
 As^he' relinquished his hold, his head fell back 
 heavily on the pillow, his eyes fixed eagerly 
 and searchingly upon those of Captain Harnlyn, 
 and were never afterward withdrawn. In a 
 moment a strange, gurgling sound was audible 
 in his throat. Blood, mingled with foam, burst 
 from his lips ; and though his eyes still remain- 
 ed riveted on those of his son, there was no 
 longer meaning in their glassy gaze. Already 
 they, were fixed in death ! , , j 
 
 Before the arrival of the surgeons, who had 
 been sent for, all was over ; and their counte- 
 nances in quitting the house forestalled the ne- 
 cessity for announcement to those without oi the 
 fatal event. The afflicting news had been cau- 
 tiously revealed to Mrs. Hamlyn and her daugh- 
 ters by Mrs. Hamilton, previous to the dolonel s 
 arrival ; and while Ellen was lavishing her gen- 
 tle words and endearments upon Henry, Walter 
 was striving to support the courage of his mother 
 sufficiently to enable her to enter the chamber 
 of death, to which she proposed to accompany 
 the poor girls, who yearned to look for the last 
 time upon their father’s face. 
 
 A similar feeling soon suggested itself to poor 
 Harry, even amid the consolations so precious 
 to husheart; and Colonel Hamilton lent him 
 his arm to the door of the room, but forbore to 
 enter, feeling that, at so sacred a moment, the 
 kindred of the dead ought to be alone with their 
 
 ^^When Henry entered, the three broken-heart- 
 ed women were on their knees in prayer aroun^d 
 the bed. Walter was standing beside his moth- 
 er, with his tearful eyes fixed like hers upon the 
 now powerless form and passionless face, in- 
 stinct but a few hours before with vigour, intel- 
 lect, command ; and the moment the door open- 
 ed the two brothers, thus meeting for the_ first 
 time since their calamity, rushed instinctively 
 into each other’s arms, and clung to each other 
 weeping, as if tacitly expressing a pledge f 
 promise of strengthened fraternal love. N either 
 bf them had, at that moment, a thought or care 
 that was not comprised in the senseless forna be- 
 fore them, and the sorrowing women at their 
 feet. Worldly poverty and worldly shame were 
 mere words to their ear, in the presence of their 
 dead father ; and while all London was ringing 
 with the ruin and wretchedness of the Ham- 
 lyns, they were united in that little chamber, 
 taking no thought of silver or gold and willing 
 to squander the wealth of the world, had it been 
 placed at their disposal, to restore animation to 
 
136 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR^ 
 
 Mm who lay extended on that bloodstained 
 bed— the victim of one of those privileged as- 
 sassinations authorized by the customs of the 
 civilized world. 
 
 Nevertheless, it was the sight of those help- 
 less sisters and mother that served to restore to 
 poor Henry a sense of their terrible situation. 
 It was necessary his mother should be warned — 
 it was indispensable his brother should be ap- 
 prized that they were penniless and disgraced, 
 as well as bereft of husband and father. To 
 himself, at present, the worst part of the evil 
 was fortunately unknown. He still believed 
 the firm to have sunk under the pressure of sud- 
 den and undeserved difficulties ; and in commu- 
 nicating the fatal tidings to Walter, repeated, 
 again and again, “ Thank Heaven, h£ was 
 spared the knowledge of what has happened ! 
 A man of his strict integrity and nice sense of 
 honour would have died in agony indeed, if 
 aware of the discredit about to attach itself to 
 his name !” 
 
 The two young men were, fortunately, relieved 
 from the painful duty of informing their beloved 
 mother of the unsuspected aggravation of her 
 misfortunes. The instant her brothers became 
 aware of the event which had taken place in 
 Cavendish Square, both hastened to her side, 
 with entreaties that she would quit the house 
 with her family, and accept a home with either. 
 But of this removal she would not hear. So 
 long as the breathless form of their father re- 
 mained there, she felt it to be the abiding-place 
 of her children ; and on her expressing tMs feel- 
 ing firmly and strongly, Mr. Harrington, with 
 as much delicacy as was consistent with his 
 straightforward habits of life, apprized her of 
 the doubly melancholy position in which they 
 were placed. 
 
 That instant she desired to be left alone with 
 her brothers. She did not choose that her in- 
 nocent girls, still less that her noble-minded 
 sons, should hear the terrible question she was 
 about to ask, and to ask with fear and trembling, 
 under the roof still sheltering the worthless clay 
 of him who was gone to his dread account. 
 The house had stopped payment ; it was a mis- 
 fortune — ^but she and hers could work — she and 
 hers could want. All she desired to know was 
 whether that misfortune were connected with 
 crime ! Hamljm and Co. were insolvents, bank- 
 rupts, ruined, lost ; but— she had not courage, in 
 the end, to pronounce the fatal question ! 
 
 But her compassionate brother understood 
 her ; and attempted, as best he might, to soften 
 the blow he was compelled to deal in narrating 
 the startling discoveries which had taken place. 
 As if such griefs were to be palliated ! Say what 
 he might, the fact was before her in all its dam- 
 ning atrocity. She knew all that the honest man 
 before her must be feeling ; or, rather, she knew 
 it mt, for the moment she fully understood that 
 knavery of the blackest kind was attributed to 
 the father of her children, she sank into utter 
 insensibility, securing her from farther anguish. 
 
 In this state she was resigned by her sympa- 
 thizing brother to the care of Mrs. Hamilton, 
 who was taking on herself towards them the 
 care and responsibility becoming an adopted 
 daughter of the house; and while Ellen, Lydia, 
 and Miss Creswell placed her in bed, and ten- 
 dered all the aid available to one whose soul is 
 cnished to the dust by accumulated misfortune, 
 the Harringtons and Colonel Hamilton entered 
 into deliberate discussion of the farther steps 
 
 necessary to be taken for the family. An in- 
 quest must, of course, be held on the body of Mr.. 
 Hamlyn ; and Andrew Harrington insisted upon 
 placing in the hands of Walter a considerable 
 sum for the immediate needs of the establish- 
 ment. 
 
 Little accustomed to receive pecuniary fa- 
 vours, and still less disposed to receive them 
 from his well-thinking but harshly-spoken un- 
 cle, Captain Hamlyn was about to reject the of- 
 fer, when Andrew Harrington interrupted him. 
 
 You have no right to trifle with the destinies 
 of your mother, my dear nephew !” said he. 
 “ llenceforward, the responsibilities of a family 
 man are on your shoulders ; and the sooner you 
 accustom yourself to the idea that nothing now 
 belongs to you in this house, the better. These, 
 are afflicting words, Walter; but you will ex- 
 pose yourself to bitterer mortifications than any 
 you are likely to meet at the hands of a kins- 
 man who loves you, unless you make up your 
 mind at. once to the just decree which appor- 
 tions all you have been accustomed to consider 
 your owm to the creditors of your father’s estate. 
 It is on this account I would fain have my poor 
 Sophia and her girls safely and respectably 
 lodged under my roof.” 
 
 Satisfied that reflection would convey a better ' 
 lesson to the bewildered young man than all his 
 exhortations, the sturdy but good-hearted mer- 
 chant now left him to himself ; but scarcely had 
 he quitted the house, when Waliepvas exposed 
 to new and equally kind solicitations from an- 
 other quarter. 
 
 “ I have insisted upon the privilege of family 
 connexion to intrude upon you, my dear Cap- 
 tain Hamlyn,” said Lady Rotherwood, who 
 chose to accompany her nephew on his next re- 
 turn to the house. “ I am come in the name of 
 my sister, wffio cannot altogether intrust her 
 message to Hartford ; and poor Greraldine is so 
 ill, so nervous, so overwhelmed by the misfor- 
 tune that has befallen her poor child, as to be 
 incapable of leaving the house. She has beg- 
 ged me, therefore, to express a hope that your 
 mother and the girls will take shelter in her 
 quiet house from the distressing scenes that 
 await them here. To dear Lydia she feels al- 
 most entitled. But she has a heart and home 
 for them ali, if you will prevail on Mrs. Ham- 
 lyn to regard her and the rest of us in the affec- 
 tionate light in which we wish to be considered.” 
 
 Lord Hartford now broke in with entreaties 
 to his friend to comply with the wishes of the 
 marchioness; and Walter, who saw they were 
 fully aware of the ruin of his unfortunate family, 
 felt deeply impressed by their prompt and gen- 
 erous renewal of attentions towards the widow 
 of the bank'niptl Very little, however, did he 
 suspect the full amount of their generosity. 
 Very little did he conjecture that flying rumours 
 had already reached even the Marchioness of 
 Hartford (with the hundreds of Flimflams vibra- 
 ting about in London clubs and London society 
 — the flash notes in general circulation — where 
 and how speedily will not rumours extend '?) 
 that Hamlyn the banker had escaped by his un- 
 timely end not only the shame of bankruptcy, 
 but the rigour of the law. Already the words 
 fraud and embezzlement connected themselves 
 with his dishonoured name ! 
 
 “ It is quite impossible for Mrs. Hamlyn and 
 her daughters to remain here, my dear Walter !” 
 exclaimed Lord Hartford : “ still less would it 
 be advisable for them to remove to Hean Park. 
 
m 
 
 COURT AND CITY. 
 
 If they will not give my mother the happiness of 
 receiving them in town, at least prevail on them 
 to consider Dartford Hall their own. Tliers 
 they would be quite alone, quite unmolested, 
 quite independent. There the indulgence of 
 their grief would be undisturbed. I scarcely 
 know how to say it, but it is necessary for nie 
 to add, that a thousand pounds have been paid 
 by our banker, in Mrs. Hamiyn’s name, to a 
 credit at Drummond’s.” 
 
 These generous offers were received by Wal- 
 ter with due acknowledgment, but -^ith an en- 
 treaty that the sun might go down on their grief 
 ere any future measures were determined. For 
 the whole family rest was indispensable. Early 
 on the morrow the inquest was to be held, which 
 was to decide whether propitiatory victims were 
 to be offered up to the memory on which, at that 
 moment, execrations were being heaped from 
 every quarter; and Captain Hamlyn was con- 
 vinced that, till the remains of his father were 
 consigned to the grave, the widow would remain 
 faithful to her post of duty. 
 
 While the affliction of the family was thus 
 surrounded with deferential regard, the outcries 
 against the baseness and hypocrisy of the frau- 
 dulent bankrupt became not only deep, but loud. 
 He had deceived everybody — he had abused the 
 confidence of everybody— and friend and foe 
 were alike involved in his ruin. The blow of the 
 failure of Hamlyn and Co. had a stirring effect in 
 the city. If they were insecure, who was solid 1 
 If the painstaking, virtuous, exemplary Ham- 
 lyn was a knave, whose honesty was to be trust- 
 ed 1 More than one banking-house, of the high- 
 est reputation, had cause to rue the discoveries 
 of that day ! 
 
 But amid the disregarded clamours and lam- 
 entations of the injured cliency of the house, 
 those more immediately connected with it were 
 among its bitterest, because most capable, assail- 
 ants. The first document secured by Spilsby, 
 in his search during the night preceding Rich- 
 ard Hamiyn’s decease, was the fatal paper 
 whose signature was so compromising to him- 
 self; and this once committed to the flames, he 
 felt re-established in the security of innocence, 
 and privileged to purchase his own indemnity 
 by zeal in detecting the delinquencies of his late 
 employer, and fervour in pointing them out. 
 From the peculiarities of the case, it was de- 
 cided that the bankruptcy of the firm could not 
 be too speedily legalized ; and before the grave 
 had closed over Richard Hamlyn, the Gazette 
 completed the publicity which the details of the 
 inquest had imparted to his ruin and disgrace. 
 
 The columns of the daily papers now teemed 
 with anecdotes of his crimes and misdemeanors. 
 It was the interest of the Vernon family, and the 
 friends of the still more deeply-implicated of- 
 fender by whose hand he had fallen, to clothe his 
 name and cause with all the infamy of which 
 both were only too susceptible ; and already the 
 memory of the man who for so many years had 
 been esteemed without spot or blemish, was 
 loaded with all the disgrace of a commercial 
 swindler and political adventurer, whose disas- 
 trous end was, in fact, mere matter of retribu- 
 tion. 
 
 There was something almost fiendish, mean- 
 while, in the malignant care with which Spils- 
 by, and his advisers Messrs. Wigwell and Slack, 
 contrived to place the frauds and embezzlements 
 of Hamlyn in the clearlest light. Though, till 
 the first meeting of creditors, there was no need 
 
 to publish the particulars of the funds abstract- 
 ed and securities misapplied, the newspapers 
 were soon in possession of circumstances that 
 could only have emanated from authority ; and 
 not a private paper, not a setret memorandum,, 
 of the man so cautious in his frauds that his very 
 shadow was scarcely admitted to participation, 
 in the mystery, but was now a matter for adver- 
 tisement on all the walls and palings of the me- 
 tropolis, to augment the sale of the Sunday pa- 
 pers ! 
 
 Such is the shortsighted cunning of the crafty 
 — such the hollowness of dishonest ostentation ! . 
 The errors committed by Richard Hamlyn, the 
 crimes perpetrated by the banker, had originated 
 solely in a desire to create in the eyes of the 
 world a false seeming of opulence and dignity. 
 And now, not a huckster within twenty miles of 
 Dean Park— not an apprentice in the city of 
 London — but was aware to a fraction of the 
 amount to which old Walter Hamlyn had beea 
 involved at his death, and of the annual thou- 
 sands abstracted by him from the property of his 
 constituents, to enable him to give costly dinner- 
 parties — figure at royal entertainments — and 
 maintain in the history of the shire of Warwick 
 the factitious consequence of “ Hamlyn of Dean. 
 Park.” 
 
 The man of iron will was already mocked 
 and derided in his shroud by the puppets he had 
 despised — the man of immaculate virtue re- 
 cognised as a knave — the man of exquisite 
 dissembling unmasked, that all might point the 
 finger at his detection ! The very beggar at the 
 crossing in Lombard-street, who had been wont 
 to profit by his pharisaical almsgiving, would 
 not for worlds have exchanged the memory of 
 his life of mud and rags, hunger and cold, for 
 that of the man of purple and fine linen, who had 
 dipped in the dish with princes of the blood — 
 fattened on the good things of this world — com- 
 manded the cheers of Parliament— the esteem of 
 his fellow-citizens — and the confidence of dupes 
 to the amount of hundreds of thousands ! 
 
 The person who had most to suffer from the 
 weight of obloquy heaped on the memory of 
 Hamlyn, during the first few days succeeding his 
 decease, was Lord Dartford. Walter and Hen- 
 ry were confined to the house, almost to their 
 bed, and care was taken by the servants that no 
 newspapers reached the hands of either. But 
 the marquis, though the greater portion of his 
 time was spent in Cavendish Square, could nei- 
 ther turn a disregardful eye to the statements 
 that met him at every corner, nor a deaf ear to 
 the entreaties of his uncle Lord Crawley, that he 
 would seriously consider to what extent his hon- 
 our was pledged, ere he degraded the unblem- 
 ished name of his family by connexion with that 
 of one of the most consummate villains of mod- 
 ern times. 
 
 “ I should be a still greater villain myself, if, 
 for a moment, I confounded my affianced wife or 
 my future brothers-in-law with one who is a dis- 
 grace to the country !” replied the marquis, with 
 indignation. “ On the contrary, I am only in 
 hopes my mother will accelerate the period fixed 
 by herself for my marriage, in order to redeem 
 my dearest Lydia the sooner from a name that 
 so ill becomes her. The first thing she did on 
 hearing her father’s insolvency was to release 
 me from my engagement. Were she aware of 
 the odious circumstances connected with it, I 
 verily believe that excess of delicacy would in- 
 spire her with the determination never to become 
 
THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 138 
 
 my wife. Be assured, therefore, my dear uncle, 
 that, with all due deference to your authority, 
 nothing will be left undone on my part to hasten 
 the solemnization of our marriage.” 
 
 This generous resolution did not, however, 
 prevent him from being hourly molested by some 
 new proof of Hamlyn’s coldblooded hypocrisy, 
 or some fresh instance of the distress occasioned 
 in private life by his fraudulent transactions, 
 Lord Dartford literallv trembled at the idea of 
 what his friend Walter might have to undergo 
 when he emerged from his present retirement. 
 Already he had announced his intention of leav- 
 ing his regiment ; the six thousand pounds he 
 would receive for his troop constituting, for the 
 future, his sole provision in life. 
 
 At present, however, the whole attention of the 
 young man was absorbed by the instructions of 
 the two Harringtons concerning the administra- 
 tion of the bankrupt’s estate, and their painful 
 duty towards those denounced by the finding of 
 the Inquest, as the Wilful Murderers of their 
 father ! 
 
 The first bitter lesson imparted to the two 
 young men concerning the dishonour which had 
 befallen them in the person of the deceased re- 
 garded the interment of his remains. To the 
 widow had been referred the question concern- 
 ing the spot, selected in his lifetime by Mr. 
 Hamlyn, for his last resting-place; when both 
 Walter and Henry eagerly forestalled her an- 
 ewer by naming the family-vault at Ovington, 
 which contained the ashes of their grandfather, 
 
 “ I should almost have advised,” was Andrew 
 Harrington’s remark on this suggestion, “ that 
 lie were buried quietly in town. Under the cir- 
 icumstances of the case, the less observation pro- 
 voked, the better. If you abide by my opinion, 
 you will consign your father to the grave, in the 
 -most private manner, at Kensal Green. It 
 would be a deep humiliation to all of you were 
 any painful demonstration of public feeling to 
 occur at the<uneral.” 
 
 Mrs. Hamlyn was silent— Walter indignant 
 —Henry surprised. A memorandum id the 
 handwriting of the deceased, found shortly after- 
 ward, having, however, expressly stipulated his 
 place of interment by his father’s side, even the 
 •Harringtons (who, much as they despised and 
 condemned the conduct of Hamlyn, admitted 
 his filial piety to have been beyond all praise) 
 coincided in Walter’s desire that his wishes, on 
 this point, should be strictly respected. 
 
 Orders were accordingly issued for the open- 
 ing of the family-vault; and then it was the 
 Hamlyns became first aware of a heart-rending 
 visitation consequent upon the recent event in 
 LorabarLstreet, which the kindly interposition 
 of Colonel Hamilton had preserved from their 
 knowledge. The amiable wife of the good vic- 
 ar, startled into a premature confinement by the 
 tidings, indiscreetly communicated, of Mr. Ham- 
 iyn’s death and bankruptcy, had fallen a sacri- 
 fice to the shock of knowing the inheritance of 
 ker children, and the savings of her poor, to be 
 •involved in the common ruin. On the second 
 ■day, fever had come on ; and in the height of her 
 -delirium, calling upon the grasping banker to 
 •render back the widow’s mite, the orphan’s pit- 
 tance, the solace of the aged, the bread of the 
 hungry, which he had plundered to gild the 
 waste of his ostentation, the exemplary protect- 
 ress of Ovington had given up the ghost! 
 
 In order to qualify the letter addressed by 
 Walter to Dr. Markham concerning the burial 
 
 of him who had been the means of laying his 
 wife in the grave, Mrs. Hamilton judged it in- 
 dispensable to communicate this mournful intel- 
 ligence to the family. 
 
 Still, the hearts of the young men were too 
 full of their father and his last wishes not to per- 
 severe. Their letter was addressed to Jacob 
 Durdan, as churchwarden of the parish, instead 
 of the afflicted vicar; while the immediate an- 
 swer of the former was addressed to l^is respect- 
 ed neighbour. Colonel Hamilton, rather than to 
 the children of him whom he regarded as little 
 better than a common thief. 
 
 “ If I might make so bold, your honour,” 
 wrote the farmer, who had given practical proof 
 that he, at least, understood the meaning of the 
 word honesty, “ I would ask you to recommend 
 the family at Dean Park (whom I should think 
 little enough on if they hadn’t the luck to call you 
 friend) not by no means to think of bringing 
 down the body of the late Mr. Hamlyn to Oving- 
 ton Church. I wouldn’t answer for the conse- 
 quence, sir I I wouldn’t answer for what insults 
 might be offered to the corpse. We’re decent 
 folks hereabouts, your honour, and noways 
 given to show disrespect to the dead. But I do 
 believe, as I’m a Christian man, that the coffin 
 would be torn to pieces by the populace ! It isn’t 
 only, sir, for the Savings’ Banks,, and Loan So- 
 cieties, and Benefit Societies, as he robbed so 
 shamefully, or the poor firesides he deprived of 
 their hope and comfort, by carrying off the little 
 they’d scraped together by the labour of a long 
 life. It isn’t only that, sir ! But your honour do 
 know how the vicar is respected among us, and 
 what Madam Markham was to the poor folks 
 hereabouts. And after seeing that dear lady 
 carried to her grave, sir, with the coffin of her 
 innocent babe by her side, and not a dry eye in 
 the parish from the thought that ’twas the ruin of 
 her poor children that cut short her useful, valua- 
 ble days— after that, your honour, to see that 
 swindling hypocrite brought down among us 
 with all the pomp of mourning coaches and sa- 
 ble feathers, would be apt to exasperate the vil- 
 lagers beyond what’s safe. 
 
 “ I humbly hope, colonel, you won’t attribute 
 this letter to any anger because of my being put 
 to the cost of deeds for the sale of my farm, to no 
 purpose in the world. Only if you’d be pleased, 
 sir, to apprize the young gentlemen (again whom 
 nobody bears an ill-will for what’s no fault of 
 theirs), you’d do ’em a real sarvice, and a kind- 
 ness to your humble servant to command, 
 
 “Jacob Durban.” 
 
 Such was the first intimation to the young 
 Hamlyns of the abhorrence in which the memo- 
 ry of their father was likely to be held ! The 
 lesson was a cruel one ; but there is no rebelling 
 against such instruction. Already, the proud 
 spirit of Walter was completely broken by the 
 varied humiliations arising out of the recent 
 events ; and when he returned from laying the 
 head of his father in an obscure corner of one of 
 the metropolitan cemeteries, and saw his moth- 
 er and sisters profit by the dusk ot evening to 
 quit forever the gorgeous mansion, the remote 
 origin of so much of their present misery, he felt 
 that the glory of his days was departed. The 
 hateful position in which Alberic Vernon stood 
 towards him, rendered every tenderer feeling 
 connected with that family a source of bitter- 
 ness. He had no consolations— no, not one ! 
 His trust had been in the world— his delight m 
 
COURT A 
 
 its pomps and vanities. Out of the vortex of 
 London, he had never framed a wish or indul- 
 ged an ambition. And what was to become of 
 him, now that society was closed against him— 
 the giddy pleasures of vanity suppressed— the 
 aspiring hopes of vaulting ambition blighted for- 
 €ver 1 
 
 If upon Henry the blow had fallen with a less 
 withering influence, it was because the weight 
 "was lessened by the participation of an afiection- 
 ate heart— it was because the wound was en- 
 venomed by the ill blood of selfish vanity. Hen- 
 ry Hamlyn was deeply humiliated by the shame 
 which had fallen upon his father’s house, and 
 the discoveries which withdrew from his vener- 
 ation the memory he would have delighted to 
 Imnour. But while the darkness of his pros- 
 pects was lightened by the contemplative and 
 unworldly frame of his mind, the turpitude of 
 his father was in some degree extenuated by the 
 moderation arising from a more extended philos- 
 ophy. To Ais view, a portion of the crirne was 
 chargeable upon the vices of our social institu- 
 tions and the corruption of a degenerate age. 
 
 “ But for the idle emulation of my grandfather 
 with Lord Vernon, arising out of an indefinite 
 state of society and confusion of classes,” argued 
 he, “ my father would have remained a thrifty, 
 frugal, laborious man of business. To my father, 
 the old man bequeathed the choice between ex- 
 posing his prodigality to shame, or keeping up 
 the farce of pretended opulence and competition 
 with the great. The task of dissimulation once 
 begun, in deference to the faults and follies of 
 his parents — what so easy — what so gradual — as 
 the sloping ways of duplicity 1 In the rash at- 
 tempt to retrieve his fortunes and those of his 
 clients by desperate speculations, he lost all 
 sense of moral obligation. And how excitingly 
 did the cheers of society and fawning of inter- 
 ested dependants stimulate his progress ! Who 
 cared to examine the sources of the opulence 
 that conduced to their pleasures or ministered to 
 their advantage 'I Moreover, and above all, if 
 his command of money were acquired by un- 
 lawful means, his application of it was not whol- 
 ly unworthy. If he took from the poor, he gave 
 <to the poor. His charities were boundless— his 
 acts of generosity exemplary. But, alas ! alas !” 
 was again and again the concluding reflection 
 of the sorrowing young man, “ that ever I should 
 be forced to have fecourse to sophistry to palliate 
 the errors of my once-loved, once-respected fa- 
 ther ! I remember the time when it would have 
 been accounted, from one end of the city to the 
 other, the vilest of calumnies to attribute so 
 much as a lapse of discretion to Hamlyn the 
 banker !” 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 “ Close up his eyes — for we are sinners all !” 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Among those who suflTered most, and with 
 most self-command, throughout these sad re- 
 verses, was Colonel Hamilton. Unblinded, like 
 the young Hamlyns, by the instincts of nature 
 in his appreciation of the conduct of him who 
 was gone, he experienced all the natural imbit- 
 terment of feeling arising from consciousness of 
 being duped by those in whom we have placed 
 the trust of friendship. A great gap, moreover, 
 was suddenly created in his existence. He had 
 lost his counsellor — his hand-in-hahd companion 
 
 N D C I T Y. 139 
 
 — his friend — and without even the comfort of 
 bestowing a regret on his memory ! 
 
 Nevertheless, his sentiments on the occasion 
 were characteristic of all the disinterestedness 
 and tenderness of his character. He lamented 
 his loss of fortune chiefly as the diminution of 
 his means of contributing to the happiness of his 
 fellow-creatures ; and, instead of bewailing him- 
 self, after Lord Vernon’s fashion, as the most 
 ill-used of mankind in being thus treacherously 
 stripped of the major part of a fortune which^he 
 had been toiling his whole life long in banish- 
 ment and self-denial to scrape together, he was 
 never weary of thanking Heaven for the interpo- 
 sition which had detained so large a portion of 
 his funds in India till the day of peril was over, 
 and invested a \esser one in the house in Port- 
 land Place. 
 
 “ Consider, my dearest Nelly,” said he to his 
 daughter-in-law, “ that, had that fatal question 
 been brought before Parliament only three weeks 
 later, the consignment from the Bombay Com- 
 pany would have fallen into Hamlyn’s hands, 
 and been swallowed up with the rest ! Reflect, 
 my dear, what it would have been to have been 
 reduced to absolute beggary— we, and the poor 
 Johnstons and all! ’Tisn’t for myself; for I 
 could have made my way to Ghazerapore, and 
 found welcome and work from my old Rajah, 
 and laid my bones there as well as elsewhere. 
 Forme and Pin cher don’t, want for much in this 
 world, and sha’n’t want even that much longer. 
 But you, my poor dear child, whom I’ve taken 
 so much pride and pleasure in filling with hopes 
 of being prosperous and happy, you wouldn’t, 
 have borne Indy, Nelly 1 For all you’re so fond 
 of the warmth of Italy, you couldn’t have stood 
 the climate of Ghazerapore. And even if you 
 could, think what ’twould have been to Harry, 
 poor fellow, to find you brought to such misery, 
 and know it was occasioned by the iniquity of 
 his father 1 So you see, my dear, ’twas Heaven’s 
 own mercy that Moonjee was so slow in fulfil- 
 ling his engagements !” 
 
 Poor Ellen submitted to congratulate him, as 
 he seemed to desire, on the loss of his two hun- 
 dred thousand pounds ; and secretly blessed the 
 ’tis-well-it’s-no-worse philosophy which so thor- 
 oughly reconciled him to a stroke of adversity 
 that would not only have driven any other man 
 to despair, but perhaps tempted him to visit upon 
 the son the crime of the ungrateful sire ! 
 
 “ Heaven knows, my dear, ’twould be sinful 
 were we to repine, so well off as we are, when 
 others are suffering so much more severely! 
 There’s poor Miss Creswell, who had been look- 
 ing forward to comfort and competence, left 
 without a shilling, and life to begin again, just 
 as she had earned the privilege of rest. There’s 
 that worthy Dr. Grantham, Gluiddle was telling 
 us of yesterday, with his large family of chil- 
 dren, and his paralytic stroke. There’s that 
 wretched widow woman, who got hold of me by 
 the arm the day I was coming away from Lom- 
 bard-street with Harry, and talked about Ham- 
 lyn’s obligations to her poor dear dead and gone 
 John Darley, and that she should be turned out 
 of the stable-yard where she’d bided for forty 
 years. There’s Sir Robert Maitland, whom I 
 myself betrayed into the scrape ; and, above all, 
 there’s poor, dear Markham, so broken-hearted, 
 yet so resigned ; with the children crying round 
 his knees for their mother, who, were he to die 
 to-morrow, would, maybe, be crying for bread ! 
 As to those poor souls at Ovington— oh ! Nelly, 
 
140 
 
 THE BANKER’S WIFE; OR, 
 
 Nelly ! The more I think of it all, the more I 
 feel that I cannot be sufficiently grateful to 
 Providence for such a mitigation of my lot, and 
 the power of yielding them some assistance !” 
 Another person who drank with submission 
 the bitter lees of the chalice of humiliation pre- 
 sented to her lips, was the banker’s unfortunate 
 -widow. In the comfort afforded by the succour- 
 able hand extended towards her children by the 
 brothers who, through life, had held apart from 
 her husband, and in the unaltered affection of 
 young Dartford for her beloved daughter, she 
 found unlooked-for alleviations. 
 
 From the first hour of their tribulation, she 
 perceived, by the care with which on all occa- 
 sions the marquis chose to identify himself with 
 Walter and Henry in their filial endeavours, 
 that his intentions were unchanged by all that 
 had occurred or might occur. And when, at 
 the close of a month’s mourning, he pressed for 
 her consent to an immediate marriage, under 
 the sanction of his whole family, Mrs. Hamlyn 
 indulged in pious feelings of gratitude to Heaven 
 for the tranquil destiny thus provided for her 
 daughter, without a single grovelling idea or 
 self-degradation. Conscious of the generosity 
 of Dartford’s conduct, she felt that it could meet 
 with no richer reward than the affection of such 
 a heart as Lydia’s ; and, in according the credit 
 due to the young lover, did equal justice to the 
 merits of her child. 
 
 It was from the house of her worthy uncle that 
 Lydia went forth, in soberness and tranquillity, 
 without so much as laying aside her mourning 
 attire, to become the bride of one of the first 
 nobles in the realm. In scarcely any other spot 
 would she have found courage to leave her moth- 
 er at such a moment. But the house of An- 
 drew Harrington was one in which Mrs. Ham- 
 lyn could abide without a painful sense of de- 
 pendance. He was a widower. His only child, 
 a daughter some years younger than Harriet, 
 not only adored her cousins, but was eminently 
 benefited by Miss Cres well’s sojourn under her 
 father’s roof; and towards his sister, the blunt 
 merchant was uniformly and tenderly scrupulous 
 in moderating his expressions and mollifying his 
 deportment. She had no difficulty in perceiving 
 that, if Walter had no severer Mentor, he had 
 also not a truer friend on earth, than his uncle 
 Andrew. 
 
 “ For that young man, Sophy,” he would some- 
 times say to his sister, “ all that has happened is 
 for the best. The break-up was just in time. 
 He was not quite spoiled — was spared the evil 
 which I am assured awaited him of having a 
 silly, useless, expensive doll of a wife upon his 
 hands — and has learned the value of worldly 
 friendships and the hollowness of fashionable 
 life. A few more years to take the nonsense 
 quite out of him, and I don’t desire better than 
 to have him for a son-in-law. Little Sophy will 
 take a couple of hundred thousands or so to the 
 man who chooses to call himself Harrington for 
 her sake (as good a name as Hamlyn, as I fear 
 you’ve found out to your cost !) ; and it will be 
 your own fault, my dearest sister, if you do not, 
 in the interim, make my poor neglected girl all 
 y^ou can wish in a daughter-in-law !” 
 
 An interruption shortly occurred, however, in 
 the attentions of the aunt, the lessons of the 
 governess, and the delight which Sophy Har- 
 rington was beginning to take in the society of 
 her cousins. Soon after the Marchioness of 
 Dartford was settled in her new home, her be- 
 
 loved mother was beset with the warmest invi- 
 tations. 
 
 “ You w-ould not hear of a visit to Dartford 
 Hall at my husband’s entreaty!” wrote Lydia;. 
 
 “ will you persist, dearest of mothers, in your 
 refusal to myself*? I am not half happy here, 
 till I have you and Harriet under my roof.” 
 
 And when the dearest of mothers amved in 
 Shropshire, she found that one of those miracles 
 which prove that wealth can sometimes be a 
 blessing had been wrought in her behalf! Such 
 a cottage — surrounded by such a garden — and 
 furnished with such elegant simplicity as never 
 cottage was furnished before — had been com- 
 pleted for her use !• Furniture, plate, linen, books, 
 not only marked with her name, but chosen with 
 such careful and tender deference for all her 
 tastes and occupations 1 Not a flower, not an 
 author that she loved, but was there to greet 
 her ; and though nothing could be more unpre- 
 tending than the little snuggery, it was so well 
 distributed as to contain everything and every- 
 body ; Harriet’s and Miss Creswell’s room ad- 
 joining her mother’s; and not only dens for 
 Walter and Henry, but pleasant spare cham- 
 bers for Colonel Hamilton and Ellen, whenever 
 they could be prevailed upon to join the family 
 party at Dartford Hall. ' 
 
 At present, they seemed riveted to the manor. 
 The first removal to Burlington from town was 
 a severe effort to the poor colonel. He had 
 scarcely courage to pass the lodge-gates oF' 
 Dean Park, and almost as little to survey from 
 his library- windows the Braxham woods over- 
 hanging the Hyde. 
 
 “ Nevertheless, disagreeable as it all is, mjr 
 dear, and painfully as I am haunted, which ever 
 way I turn, by reminiscences of poor Hamlyn 
 and his dear wife and girls, I feel it my duty ta 
 be here. The place is mine for the next twenty 
 years; and if I don’t abide in’t, who wiU? 
 Luckily, the means are left me. I can’t keep 
 it up in quite the style I intended, but we may 
 live here decently, Nelly, and pay our way. I 
 must look sharper after Robson, and you be a bit 
 of a hous’ife (if Goody Johnston will let you). 
 For you see, my dear, Ovington has lost every- 
 thing in losing Dean Park (which mayn’t find a 
 purchaser for ages, considering the difficulties 
 about the title), to say nothing of poor dear 
 Madam Markham, who’ll never find a substi- 
 tute while the world stands ; ffiid this, without 
 considering the ruin wrought in every house 
 within twenty miles round b^y that sinful bank- 
 ruptcy ! So if you and I were to absent our- 
 selves, and the village to lose the profit of the 
 manor being inhabited, in addition to all the 
 rest, I should feel that we had much to answer 
 for!” 
 
 It sometimes puzzled the good colonel to de- 
 termine how matters would be arranged as re- 
 garded this determination to reside at Burling- 
 ton, when the period arrived for Hen^, who 
 was completing his studies at Cambridge in 
 compliance with the desire of his uncles, to ful- 
 fil his engagements with the “ beautiful Ellen, 
 in compliance with his own — in a spot so hateful 
 to his feelings from its vicinity to Dean Park. 
 For, with all Mrs. Hamilton’s grateful affection 
 for her untrustworthy father-in-law, she still 
 persisted in her bad habit of keeping her little 
 love affairs a secret from him ; and had never 
 afforded him a hint either that the word of Lord 
 Crawley and interest of the six Elvaston votes 
 was pledged to procure an appointment abroad 
 
141 
 
 COURT A 
 
 iar him whom the hints of Lady Devereux and 
 the tact of Lord Edward Sutton readily pointed 
 out to the family at Ormeau as his successful 
 rival ; or that she and Harry had already agreed 
 to spend the first two months after taking his 
 degree in happy companionship with her under 
 the roof of his kind mother, who had already 
 taken the stump of myrtle under her protection, 
 and placed a bracket in her little drawing-room 
 to support Gibson’s beautiful bust of Diana. 
 
 But if Ellen left the good old gentleman thus 
 fairly in the basket, it was only because she was 
 forming ulterior projects of happiness for him- 
 self, which, prematurely to announce, would 
 Lave been assuredly to mar. Moreover, Mrs. 
 Hamilton was not without hopes that the wind- 
 ing-up of Sir Roger Burlington’s afiairs, which 
 was taking place in the hands of a Master in 
 Chancery, in consequence of the death of the 
 trustee, might enable Lady Burlington to return 
 to England and bring up her son on his paternal 
 estates ; in which case, nothing would be easier 
 or more agreeable to Colonel Hamilton than to 
 cancel the lease. 
 
 The most painful trial, meanwhile, experi- 
 enced by Ellen and the good colonel, among the 
 many that awaited them on their return into 
 Warwickshire, was their first interview with 
 -the vicar. Mortifications they bore without win- 
 cing. The impertinent self-consequence of Bar- 
 low of Alderham^ who forced himself upon them 
 in a morning visit, for the sole purpose of chant- 
 ing his Pseans, that the man by whom the county 
 -had been disgraced, and the funds of its hospital 
 and lunatic asylum plundered, did not belong to 
 one of “ the old county families,” was a thing 
 to smile at ; and the ill-repressed exultation of 
 Gratwycke of Gratwycke House at the certainty 
 that, henceforth, his donations to the Warwick- 
 shire charities would be first in magnitude on 
 Jthe list, a thing for christianly compassion. But 
 it was a severe ordeal to walk through that mis- 
 erable village— that village, whose almshouses 
 and infirmary were now closely shuttered up — 
 that village, whose rags had been taxed and 
 whose barley-loaves rendered scant to swell the 
 profusion of the base impostor who had so long 
 pretended to act as its benefactor — to the hum- 
 ble but once cheerful vicarage, whose house- 
 hold gods that hollow-hearted guest of princes 
 and haranguer pf senates, Hamlyn the banker, 
 had stamped irretrievably into dust! 
 
 “I wish to the Lord o’ Mercy the meeting 
 was over, Nelly 1” faltered the colonel, as they 
 entered the well-known swing-gate and the little 
 garden, now weedy and disordered from neglect. 
 “ I can’t bear the thoughts of seeing her chair 
 empty and those poor little ones in their black 
 frocks. Well ! she’s in a better place ! If any 
 one can be sure of salvation, ’tis such a meek 
 and self-denying soul as sAg was. Nelly! I wish 
 the meeting was over !” 
 
 It was a great relief to the old gentleman to 
 hnd that Dr. Markham had just stepped across 
 the fields to Durdan’s farm. But Ellen, aware 
 how much it had cost them both to prepare for 
 entering the house, was resolved that the benefit 
 of the effort should not be lost. Besides, she 
 had some little presents in her pocket which she 
 had brought from town for the children; and 
 after asking to have them brought into the par- 
 lour, walked boldly in. As the colonel had fore- 
 ^ told, it was sad work to look upon the vacant 
 chair and formal, tidy room; in comparison 
 with the litter of the old work-table, on which 
 
 ND CITY. 
 
 clothes for the poor were always in progress, or 
 the children’s spelling-books, with their dogs’ 
 ears, lying about as if they had a right to be 
 there. Ellen would have given much but to 
 have seen a skein of silk or ball of cotton on 
 the carpet. She had not felt so heart-bound 
 since she abided under the same roof with the 
 unburied body of the banker. 
 
 Nor were her feelings much relieved when 
 little Kitty made her appearance— hiding her 
 now shy face — led in by the nurse too happy in 
 having a new visiter to whom she could relate 
 the oft-told tale of her poor dear angel of a 
 dead-and-gone mistress’s sufferings ; and how, if 
 there was a God in heaven, Hamlyn, the banker, 
 would be brought to eternal punishment ! 
 
 “ She never held up her head after the news, 
 ma’am!” said she, while the colonel turned 
 away to the window, pretending not to h^ear, 
 but in reality to conceal his emotion. The 
 poor babe, ma’am, was still-born never stirred, 
 the doctor said, from the moment of its poor 
 mother’s hearing of Squire Hamlin’s having 
 made away with himself. And at last, ma’am, 
 when the fever and delirrum com’ on, ’twas the 
 most affecting thing as ever was heard, how the 
 poor dear soul kept talking of the ruined fami- 
 lies in the village, one by one— how poor old 
 Parsons would have no coals or blankets this 
 winter for his rheumatism — and what the car- 
 penter’s orphans would do — and such like ; and 
 then, bursting out a-singing, all as one as she 
 was in the organ-loft ; and never did her poor 
 voice sound finer nor more sweet than only half 
 an hour afore she died— and master’s hand in 
 hers, begging her to compose herself, and not 
 sing so — and she laughing outright, and then, a 
 prayer, and then, flying off to Mary Haines, the 
 poor ’oman as went up for a cancer from Oving- 
 ton to the county Hospital ; and at last, a,nother 
 hymn, as clear and sweet as a nightingale! 
 Everybody present said it was the song of the 
 
 OTI Ql*p I g I 
 
 ‘‘She is an angel, Mrs. Smith!” cried the 
 colonel, turning abruptly round— “an angel 
 with God !” 
 
 And the poor nurse, whose face was already 
 covered with her apron, sobbed only the louder 
 for that assurance. 
 
 “ ICyou’d but ha’ heard the poor dear children 
 a-call'ing after their mamma, sir, those first two 
 or three days !” said she; “I’m sure I thought 
 poor master would ha’ gone distracted ! Not 
 that he’s much better now, sir. ^ Look here !’’ 
 continued the good woman, opening the door of 
 a little vestibule that led to the vicarage-garden, 
 and pointing to a bonnet and shawl that were 
 hanging up, which Ellen recognised from hav- 
 ing hundreds of times met poor Mrs. Markham 
 arrayed in them, when fulfilling her errands of 
 charity in the village. “ Master won’t hear of 
 these being taken down, ma’am! though it goes 
 to everybody’s heart to see ’em still hanging 
 there. I got up betimes, one morning, afore he 
 was astir, and moved ’em, and thought he d 
 never miss ’em. Bless you, sir ! as he came 
 through the hall to read morning prayers, he 
 saw at a glance they was gone, and know d no- 
 body ’d dare to touch ’em but me. So, ‘ Smith ! 
 said he, ‘let those things be instantly replaced !’ 
 And them as ever heard master speak in that 
 tone, sir, know there’s to be no reply. So I 
 went and fetched ’em on the instant, with tears 
 in my eyes. And ever since, ma’am, I ve no- 
 ticed that when poor folks out of the village 
 
142 THE BANKER’S WIFE; 
 
 conies to ask for assistance (and since Ham- 
 lyn’s failure master’s obliged to think tioice about 
 granting it, where he didn’t used to think once!), 
 the first thing as ever he does is to glance up at 
 that poor shawl and bonnet; as much as to say, 
 \ishe was still here, my poor people, you wouldn’t 
 have been forced to come here to ask for help ! 
 But God’s will be done 1” 
 
 At the close of this mournful narrative, Ellen, 
 who was petting poor little Kitty upon her knee, 
 found that her own tears were stealing down the 
 little white shoulder of the child ; whose usual 
 spirits were gone, and who, now left wholly to 
 servants, seemed frightened rather than pleased 
 by the endearments of a lady — a lady who was 
 not mamma ! She looked up wistfully into the 
 face that was weeping over her; for, to a child, 
 tears are synonymous with pain, punishment, 
 ofience ; and for a month past, nothing else had 
 met her little saddened eyes. 
 
 At that moment the vicar passed the window 
 rapidlv, and entered the room to welcome his 
 unexpected guests. He was thin, haggard, pale 
 —but made an effort to meet them with a smile 
 — that he might not seem the only one unable to 
 adopt his prescribed submission of “ God’s will 
 be done !” 
 
 But the poor child allowed him no time for 
 his intended welcome. Extending her little 
 arms towards him, as though she had at last 
 found a friend, she exclaimed, with imperfect 
 utterance, “ Take me home, dear papa — I want 
 to go home — I want to go home !” 
 
 “ You are at home, my darling— hush, hush ! 
 you are at home,” whispered the poor father, 
 pressing her to his heart. - 
 
 “ No, no ! Kitty wants to go home !” reiterated 
 the child, in a plaintive, piteous voice. And 
 though that mournful cry was unintelligible to 
 the ears of the Hamiltons, it wrung the heart of 
 the poor vicar; who, on the day of his wife’s 
 funeral, ere the stone was rolled to the door of 
 the sepulchre, had been rash enough to take his 
 infant in his arms, and, accompanied by his sob- 
 bing boys, show them the last resting-place of 
 their mother ; so that, in after-life, they might 
 know where that holy woman was laid — and 
 how her coffin had been scattered over with pre- 
 cious herbs by the hands of the «poor the poor 
 whom she had comforted— the poor whom she 
 had fed; a tribute how worthy to efface the 
 sprinkling of dust to dust, wherewith the forms 
 of the Church symbolically degrade our dead ! 
 
 But the impression of this_ spectacle on the 
 younger child had been most injurious. While 
 the elder ones, with more extended knowledge, 
 recoiled from the idea of darkness and the tomb, 
 / the younger, the tender infant, accustomed to 
 
 OR, COURT AND CITY. 
 
 nestle in its mother’s bosom, knew only th-at 
 mamma was sleeping there — that before her 
 lay her tender, patient, loving, thoughtful mother. 
 Thenceforward, she had no home elsewhere ! 
 The vicarage was empty, her nursery a desert, 
 the parlour silent, lonely, comfortless ; even her 
 father no longer the kind, happy papa of better 
 days. The child was right. She wanted her 
 mother. Where a mother is, is always home ! 
 ****** 
 
 We owe it, however, to the patience of our 
 readers to turn a brighter page at parting, and 
 enable them to forget the sufferings of the bank- 
 er’s wife in the consolations of the banker’s 
 widow. Surrounded by her prosperous children, 
 and beautiful grandchildren, and on the eve of 
 witnessing the happy marriage of her younger 
 girl with Lord Edward Sutton, to the sincere 
 satisffiction of the amiable family at Ormeau,. 
 Mrs. Hamlyn retains all her former angelic 
 serenity— all her humble trust in the protection 
 of that Providence, by whom, for its own wise 
 purposes, her earlier days were chastened with 
 affliction. Though her friend, liady Burlington, 
 is happily established at the manor, she has 
 never found courage to revisit the neighbour- 
 hood; nor, though their mutual friends for a 
 moment anticipated the probability of a nearer 
 connexion between the gentle Sophia and the 
 frank old soldier, to whom she has ever been 
 the object of devoted regard, has she ever suffi- 
 ciently relaxed from her grave reserve of widow- 
 hood, to encourage him to the risk of losing a 
 friend by an attempt to convert her into a wife. 
 
 Henry’s children, meanwhile, are General 
 Hamilton’s heirs ; nor were they or Ellen less dear 
 to the affections of the excellent mother-in-law, 
 than the noble boys of Lord and Lady Hartford, 
 or the fairy girl of Mr. and Mrs. Walter Har- 
 rington. 
 
 To repair the evils occasioned by the mis- 
 doings of the head of the family has been, of 
 course, impossible. But it is noticed that the 
 habits of both Walter and Henry are frugality” 
 itself; and the aid which periodically reaches 
 the poor of Ovington, and the alleviations re- 
 ceived by many of the humbler sufferers by the 
 failure of the branch of Hanilyn and Co., cau 
 only be referred to the conscientious mercy of 
 his representatives. Moreover, even the stern 
 brothers of Mrs. Hamlyn are beginning to fore- 
 see so favourable a return from the South Ameri- 
 can speculations as i»ay eventually compensate 
 the evils so wantonly created by the fraudulent 
 banker, and afford a golden sunset to the stormy 
 days of the virtuous and unoffending Banker’s 
 Wife. 
 
 THE END.