a I B RAFLY OF THE UNIVERSITY or ILLINOIS 2^1/ General Bounce Or The Lady and the Locusts By the same Author Digby Grand, An Autobiography Two Volumes Post Octavo 18*. General Bounce Or The Lady and the Locusts By G. J. Whyte Melville In Two Volumes Vol I London John W. Parkei' and Son West Strand 1855 i,osroN PRINTED Er WEBTHEIMF.R AV1> CO. CIRCUS PI-ACE, PIKSrCRY CIRCUS -^^ .f^ HERE the Rose blushes in the garden, there will the Bee and the Bntterfiy be founds humming and fluttering around. So is it in the world ; the fair girl, whose sweetness is enhanced by the fictitious advantages of wealth and position, Avill ever have lovers and admirers enough, and to spare. Burns was no bad judge of human nature; and he has a stanza on this subject, combining the reflec- tion of the philosopher with the canny discrimination of the Scot. Away with your folKes of beauty's alarms, The slender bit beauty you clasj) in your arms ; But gie' me the lass that has acres of charms, Oh gie' me the lass with the weel-plenished farms. Should the follo\\dng pages, reprinted from Frasers Magazine^ aftbrd such attractive young ladies matter for a few moments^ reflection, the Author will not have written in vain. May he hope they will choose well and wisely ; and that the withered rose, when she has lost her fragrance, may be fondly prized and gently tended by the hand that plucked her in her dewy morning prime. BOUGHTOX, 1854. CONTENTS OF VOL. I. CHAPTER I. Pagb. MY COUSIN 1 CHAPTER n. THE ABIGAIL . . . . . . 26 CHAPTER in. THB HANDSOME GOVERNESS . . . .5® CHAPTER ly. ' UBTTINA ' ...... 76 CHAPTER V. UNCLE BALDWIN . . , . .97 CHAPTER VL THE BUND EOT , . . . .117 CHAPTER VU. BOOT AND SADDLE ! 141 CHAPTER Vni. TIIE BXLL . . . . . .163 CHAPTER IX. WANT 184 VIU CONTENTS OF VOL. I. CHAPTER X. PAGE. SUPERFLUITY 209 CHAPTER XL CAMPAIGNING ABROAD 232 CHAPTER Xn. CAMPAIGNING AT HOME . . . .257 CHAPTER Xm. THE WORLD 283 GENERAL BOUNCE; OR, THE LADY AXD THE LOCUSTS. CHAPTER L AN ENGLISHMAN'S HOLIDAY ST. SWITHIN^S IN A CALM THE ISIERCHANT's AMBITION *^MON BEAU cousin' CASTLES IN THE AIR A LIVELY CRAFT ' HAIRBLOWEr' and HIS COLD BATH. "11 TUCH as we think of ourselves_, and with all our boasted civilization, we Anglo-Saxons are but a half barbarian race after all. Nomadic, decidedly no- madic in our tastes, feelings, and pursuits, it is but the moisture of our climate that keeps us in our own houses at all, and like our Scandinavian ancestors (for in Tm'f parlance we have several crosses of the old Norse blood in our veins) we delight periodically, that is, whenever we have a fortnight's dry weather,, to migrate from our dwellings, and peopling the whole of our own sea-board, push our invading hordes over the greater part of Europe, nor refrain VOL. I. B 2 AN englishman's holiday. from thrusting our outposts even into tlie heart of Asia, till the astonished Mussulman, aghast at our vagaries, strokes his placid heard, and with a blessing on his Prophet that he is not as we are, soothes his disgust with a sentiment, so often repeated that in the East it has become a proverb, viz., that ' There is one devil, and there are many devils, but there is no devil like a Frank in a round hat V It was but last autumn that stepping painfully into our tailor's shop — for, alas ! a course of London dinners cannot be persisted in, season after season, without producing a decided tendency to gout in the extremities — hobbling, then, into our tailor's ware- house, as he calls it, we were measured by an unfledged jackanapes, whose voice we had previously heard warning his brother fractions that 'an old gent, was a waitin^ inside,' instead of that spruce foreman who, for more years than it is necessary to specify, has known our girth to an inch, and our weight to a pound. Fearful that in place of the grave habit of broadcloth, which we aff'ect as most suitable to our age and manner, we might find ourselves equipped in one of the many grotesque disguises in which young gentlemen now-a-days deem it be- coming to hide themselves, and described by the jackanapes aforesaid, who stepped round us in ill- concealed admiration of our corpulence, as * a walk- ing coat, a riding coat, a smoking coat, or a coat to go to the stable in I' we ventured to inquire for Hhe AN EXGLISIDIAN'S HOLIDAY. 3 person we usually saw/ and were informed that ^ the gent, as waited on us last year had gone for a few months' holiday to the Heast.' Heavens and earth, Mr. Bobstitch was even then in Syria ! What a Scandinavian ! rather degenerate to be sure in size and ferocity^ though Bobstitch, being a little man, is probably very terrible when roused, but yet no slight contrast to one of those gaunt, grim, russet-bearded giants that made the despot of the Lower Empire quake upon his throne. And yet Bobstitch was but obeying the instinct which he inherits from the sea- kings his ancestors, an instinct which in less adven- turous souls than a tailor^ s fills our Avatering-places to overflowing, and pours the wealth vv^hile it intro- duces the manners of the capital into every bight and bay that indents the shores of Britain. Doubtless the citizens are right. Let us, while we are in Scandinavian vein, make use of an old Norse metaphor, and pressing into our service the two ravens of Odin, named Mind and Will, with these annihilate time and space, so as to be, like the Irish orator's bird, ' in two places at once.^ Let us first of all take a retrospective glance at Mrs. Kettering's house in Grosvenor-square, one of the best houses, by the way, to be had in London for love or money. We recollect it well, not so many years ago, lit up for one of those great solemnities which novelists call ' a rout,^ but which people in real life equally mar- tially as well as metaphorically designate ' a drum.' 4 AN englishman's holiday. To us creeping home along the pavement outside the fete, it seemed the realization of fairy land. Row upon row, glaring carriage-lamps^ like the fabulous mouse's keeping watch^ illuminated the square and adjoining streets, even to the public-house round the corner, that .night driving a highly remunerative trade, whilst on a nearer inspection magnificent horses (horses, like ladies, look most beautiful by candle-light), gorgeous carriages — none of your Broughams and Clarences, but large, roomy, well- hung family coaches, with cartoons of heraldry on the panels, gigantic footmen, and fat coachmen, struck the beholder with admiration not totally un- mixed with awe. Then the awning that was to admit the privileged to the inner realms of this earthly paradise, of which we the uninitiated might know but the exterior ; what a gauzy, gaudy transparency it was, no unfitting portal to that upper story from which the golden light was hardly veiled by jalousies and window-blinds. Ever and anon much lashing of bay, brown, or chesnut sufferers, and the interference of a tall policeman, with a hat made on purpose to be assaulted by bludgeons, betokened the arrival of a fresh party, and angelic beings in white robes, with glossy hair, tripped daintily up the steps over a cloth, not of gold exactly, but of horse-hair, amongst a phalanx of unwashed faces, gazing half enviously at such loveliness in full dress. How beautiful we' used to think these apparitions as we plodded home to our AN ENGLISHMAN S HOLIDAY. 5 quiet chambers ; but young Bareface, our connecting link with the great worlds who goes to all the best places, through the influence of his aunt, Lady Champfront, assures us they don^t look half so beautiful inside, and that he sees quite as pretty faces, and hair quite as nicely done, at the little gatherings in Kussell-square and Bloomsbury, to which even we might go if we liked. A radical dog ! we don't believe a word of it. Never mind, let us look at that house in the dead time of year. Without and within, fi'om attics to basement, from the balcony facing the square to the empty bird-cage overlooking a precipice of offices at the back. Repose and Ennui reign supreme. — Were it not for the knocking of the workmen next door we might as well be in the great desert. There Z5, we presume, a woman in possession, but she has gone to ^ get the beer,' and if you have ever sighed for a town-house, now is the time to be satisfied with your rustic lot, and to hug yourself that j^ou are not paying ground-rent and taxes, church-rate, poor's-rate, and water-rate, drainage, lighting, and paving, for that ghastly palace of soot and cobwebs, dust, dreariness, and decay. There is a scaffolding up in every third house in the square, and workmen in paper caps, with foot-rules ' sticking out of their fustian trowsers, and complexions in- grained with lime-dust, and guiltless of fresh water, seem to be the only inhabitants of this deserted region, and even they are, 'between earth and b A WATEKING PLACE. heaven/ Brown and parched are the unfortunate shrubs in those gardens of which discontented house- holders ' round the corner' covet so to possess a key; and the very birds_, sparrows,, every feather of ^em, hop about in dirty suits of plumage that can only be described as of that colour unknown to nat#alists, which other people call ' grimy/ Who would be in London in the autumn? Not Mrs. Kettering cer- tainly, if she might be elsewhere ; and although she had possessed this excellent and commodious family mansion, with all its boudoirs, retreats, and appur- tenances, so well described in the advertisement, but a short time, and was not the giver of that ' reunion of fashionables' we have depicted above (indeed the hostess of that evening has since been economising up two pair of stairs at Antwerp); yet Mrs. Kettering having plenty of money, and being able to do what she liked, had wisely moved herself, her fancies, her imperials, and her family to the coast, where, obeying the instinct for freedom that has driven Bobstitch to the desert, she was idly inhaling the salt breezes of the Channel, and dazzling her eyes with the sun-glint that sparkled over its dancing waves. Some few years have elapsed since the events took place which we shall endeavour to describe ; but the white cliffs of our island change little with the lapse of time, though the sea does make its encroachments ever and anon when the wind has been blowing pretty steady fi:om the south-west for a fortnight or so, and ST. SWITIIIN S IN A CALM. 7 the same scene may be witnessed any fine day to- wards the middle of August as that which we are about to contrast with the dulness, closeness^ and confinement of the great town-house in Grosvenor- square. Firafc, we must imagine a real summer's day, such a day as in our island we seldom enjoy till summer has well-nigh given place to autumn, but which, when it does come, is worth waiting for. Talk of climate ! a real fine day in England, like a really handsome Englishwoman, beats creation. WeU, we must imagine one of these bright, hot, hay-making days, almost too Warm and dusty ashore, but enjoy- able beyond conception on the calm and oily waves, imruffled by the breeze, and literally as smooth as glass. A sea-bird occasionally dips her wing on the surface, and then flaps lazily away, as if she too was as much inclined to go to sleep as yonder moveless fleet of lugger, brig, bark, and schooner, with their empty sails, and their heads all round the compass. There is a warm haze towards the land, and the white houses of St. Swithin's seem to glow and sparkle in the heat, whilst to sea-ward a modified sort of mirage would make one fancy one could plainly distinguish the distant coast of France. Ashore, in those great houses, people are panting, and gasping, and creating thorough draughts that fill their rooms with a small white dust of a destructive tendency to all personal property. The children up- '8 ST. swithin's in a calm. stairs are running about in linen under-garments, somewhat more troublesome than usual^ with a settled flush on their little peach-like cheeks, and the shining streets are deserted, save by the per- spiring pot-boy and the fly-men drinking beer in their shirt-sleeves. Only afloat is there a chance of being cool; and sailing- boat, gig, dingy, and coble, all are in requisition for the throng of amateur mariners, rushing like ducklings to the refreshing element. It was on just such a day as this that Mrs. Ket- tering found it extremely difficult to ' trim the boat.^ A mile or so from the shore, that boat was slowly progressing, impelled by the unequal strength of her nephew Charles, commonly called ' Cousin Charlie,^ and its worthy proprietor, a fine specimen of the genus * seaman,' who certainly had a Christian name, and probably a patronymic, but had sunk both dis- tinctions imder the soubriquet of ' Hairblower,^ by which appellation alone he was acknowledged by gentle and simple, bold and timid, delicate ladies and bluff" fishermen, along many a mile of sea-board, up and down from St. Swithin's. ^The least thing further, Master Charles,' said Hairblower, ever and anon pulling the stripling's efforts round with one hand. 'Don't ye disturb. Madam — don't ye move. Miss Blanche ; it's not your weight that makes her roll.' And again he moistened the large, strong hand, and turned to look out ahead. ST. swithin's in a calm. 9 In vain !Mrs. Kettering slmt up her parasol, and shifted her seat ; in vain she disposed her ample figure, first in one uncomfortable position, then in another ; she could not ^ trim the boat/ and the reason was simple enough. Mrs. Kettering's weight was that of a lady who had all her life been ' a fine woman/ and was now somewhat past maturity ; whilst her daughter and only child, ' Blanche,^ the occupant of the same bench, had but just arrived at that period when the girl begins to lengthen out into the woman, and the slight lanky figure, not without a grace peculiar to itself, is nevertheless as delicate as a gossamer, and as thin as its own gauzy French bonnet. ^Mother and daughter were but little alike, save in their sweet and rather languid tone of voice — no trifling charm in that sex which is somewhat prone, especially under excitement, to pitch its organ in too high a key. Mrs. Kettering was dark and brown of complexion, with sparkling black eyes, and a rich colour, much heightened by the heat. Not very tall in stature, but large and square of frame, well filled out besides by a good appetite, a good digestion, and, though nervous and excitable, a good temper. Blanche, on the contrary, with her long violet eyes, her curving dark eyelashes, and golden-brown hair, was so slight of frame and delicate of tint as to warrant her mother's constant alarm for her health ; not that there was any real cause for anxiety, but 10 ST. SWITHIN's IN A CALM. mamma loved to fidget, if not about ' dear Blanclie/ about something belonging to her, and failing these, had a constant fund of worry in the exploits and es- capades of graceless ' Cousin Charlie/ ' Now, Charlie, my own dear boy ' (Mrs. K. was very fond of Charlie), 'I know you must be over- heating yourself— nothing so bad for growing lads. Mr. Hairblower, pray donH let him row so hard.' 'Gammon, aunt,' was Charlie's irreverent reply. 'Wait till we get her head round with the flood, we'll make her speak to it, wont we, Hairblower ? ' ' Well, Master Charles,' said the jolly tar, ' I think as you and me could pull her head under, pretty . nigh, — howsoever we be fairish off" for time, and the day's young yet.' ' Blanche, Blanche ! ' suddenly exclaimed Mrs. Kettering, ' look at the weed just beyond that buoy — the alga, what's its name, we were reading about yesterday. Charlie, of course you have forgotten. I shall soon be obliged to get a finishing governess for you, Blanche.' ' Oh no, dearest mamma,' said the young girl, in her soft, sweet voice, which always drew Hairblower's eyes, in speechless admiration, to her gentle coun- tenance. 'I could never learn with any one but you; and then she might be cross, mamma, and I should hate her so after you ! ' And Blanche took her mother's plump, tightly-gloved hand between her own, and looked up in her face with such a fond, ST. swithin's in a calm. 11 bewitcliing expression, that it was no wonder mamma doatecl on her^ and Hairblower and ^Cousin Charlie' too. [Mrs. Kettering was one of those people whose superabundant energy must have a certain number of objects whereon to expend itself. Though a pleasant, cheerful woman, she was decidedly blue — that is to say, besides being a good musician, linguist, draughtswoman, and worsted worker, she had a few ideas, not very correct, upon ancient history, a su- perficial knowledge of modern literature, thought Shakspeare vulgar and Milton dry^ with a smattering of the 'ologies, and certain theories concerning chemistry, which, if reduced to practice, would have made her a most unsafe occupant for a ground floor. With these advantages, and her sunny, pleasant temper, she taught Blanche everything herself; and if the young lady was not quite so learned as some of her associates, she had at least the advantage of a mother's companionship and tuition, and was as far removed as possible from that most amusing specimen of affectation, an English girl who has formed her manner on that of a French governess. Mrs. Kettering had gone through her share of troubles in her youth, and being of a disposition by no means despondent, was rather happy under diffi- culties than otherwise. We do not suppose she married her first love ; we doubt if women often do, except in novels, and the late Mr. K. was a gentle- 12 THE MEECHANT's AMBITION. man of an exterior certainly more respectable than romantic. His manners were abrupt and commercial, but his name at the back of a bill was undeniable. The lady whom he wooed and won was old enough to know her own mind ; nor have we reason to sup- pose but that in pleasing him she pleased herself. Many a long year they toiled and amassed^ and old Kettering attended closely to business, though he never showed his books to his wife ; and Mrs. Ket- tering exercised her diplomacy in migrating once every five years further and further towards *^the West End.' Their last house but one was in Ty- burnia, and then old Kettering put a finishing stroke to his business, made a shot at indigo which landed him more thousands than our modest ideas can take in, and enabling him to occupy that mansion in Grosvenor-square, which looked so dull in the autumn, placed Mrs. Kettering at once on the pedestal she had all her life been sighing to attain — perhaps she was disappointed when she got there. However that may be, the enterprising merchant himself obtained little by his new residence, save a commodious vault belonging to it, in a neighbouring church, in which his remains were soon after deposited, and a tablet, pure and unblemished as his own commercial fame, erected to his memory by his disconsolate widow. How disconsolate she was, poor woman ! for a time, with her affectionate nature : but then her greatest treasure, Blanche, was left ; and her late husband, as THE merchant's AMBITION. 13 the most appropriate mark of his confidence and esteem_, bequeathed the whole of his proper ty_, per- sonal and otherwise, to his well-beloved wife, so the blow was to a certain degree softened, and Mrs. Ket- tering looked uncommonly radiant and prosperous even in her weeds. Now, it is very pleasant and convenient to have a large property left you at your own disposal, more es- pecially when you are blessed with a child on whom you dote, to succeed you when you have no further occasion for earthly treasure ; and in the eyes of the world, this was !Mrs. Kettering* s agreeable lot. The eyes of the world, as usual, could not look into the cupboard where the skeleton was ; but our poor widow, or rather our rich widow, was much hampered by the shape which no one else knew to exist. The fact is, old Mr. Kettering had a crotchet. Being a rich man, he had a right to a dozen ; but he was a sensible, quiet old fellow, and he contented himself with one. Now this crotchet was the in- vincible belief that he, John Kettering, was the lineal male representative of one of the oldest families in England. How he came to have lost the old Norman features and appearance, or how it happened that such a lofty descent should have merged in his own person as junior clerk to a lar^-e city counting-house, he never troubled himself to inquire — he was satisfied that the oldest blood in Europe coursed through his veins, and with the pedi- 14 THE merchant's AMBITION. gree he supposed himself to possess (though its traces were unfortunately extinct)^ he might marry whom he pleased. As we have seen^ he did marry a very personable lady ; but, alas ! she gave him no male heir. Under a female succession, all his toil,, all his astuteness, all his money, would not raise the family name to the proud position he believed its due. He could not bear the idea of it; and he never really loved poor Blanche half so much as that engaging child deserved. When all chance of a son was hope- less, he resolved to bring up and educate his only brother's orphan child, a handsome little boy, whose open brow and aristocratic lineaments won the old man's favour from the first. • ^ Cousin Charlie,' in consequence, became an in- mate of the Kettering family, and was usually sup- posed by strangers to be the elder brother of pretty little Blanche. These intentions, however, were kept a dead secret; and the children knew as little as children generally do of their future prospects, or the path chalked out for them through life. With all his fancied impor- tance, old Kettering was a good, right-feeling man ; and although it is our belief that he revoked and destroyed several testamentary documents, he ended by leaving everything to his wife, in her own power, as he worded it, ' in testimony of his esteem for her character, and confidence in her afiection' — previously exacting from her a solemn promise that she would THE merchant's AMBITION. 15 eventually bequeatli the bulk of lier wealth to his nephew, should the lad continue to behave well, and like a gentleman — making a provision for Blanche, at her own discretion, but not exceeding one-eighth of the whole available property. The testator did not long survive his final arrange- ments. And though her promise cost his widow many a sleepless night, she never dreamed of break- ing it, nor of em'iching her darling child at the expense of her nephew. Mrs. Kettering was a woman all over, and we will not say the idea of uniting the two cousins had not entered her mind ; on the contrary, brought up to- gether as they were, she constantly anticipated this consummation as a delightful release from her con- flicts between duty and inclination. She was, besides, very fond of '^ Cousin Charlie,' and looked eagerly forward to the day when she might see this ' charm- ing couple,' as she called them, fairly married and settled. With all these distractions, it is no wonder that Mrs. Kettering, who though a bustling, was an undecided woman, could never quite make up her mind to complete her will. It was a matter of the greatest importance ; so first she made it, and then tore it up, and then constructed a fresh one, which she omitted to sign until things were more certain, and eventually mislaid; while, in the meantime, Blanche and ' Cousin Charlie ' were growing up to that age at which young people, more especially in 16 THE merchant's AMBITION. matters of love-making, are pretty resolutely deter- mined to have a will of their own. The bridegroom presumptive^ however, was one of those young gentlemen, in whose heads or hearts the idea of marriage is only contemplated as a remote possibility, and a dreaded termination to a life of enjoyment — in much the same light as that in which the pickpocket views transportation beyond the seas. He believes it to be the common lot of mankind, but that it may be indefinitely postponed with a little circumspection, and in some cases of rare good fortune even eluded altogether. It is curious to observe at what an early age the different instincts of the sexes develop themselves in children. Little Miss can scarcely waddle before she shoulders a doll, which she calls her baby, and on which she lavishes much maternal care, not with- out certain wholesome correction. From her earliest youth, the abstract idea of wife and motherhood is familiar to her mind; and to be married, though she knows not what it is, as natural and inevitable a destiny as to learn music and have a governess. Young Master, on the contrary, has no idea of being a pater familias. His notion of being grown up is totally unconnected with housekeeping. When ' he is a man he means to be a soldier, or a sailor, or a pastry-cook — he will have a gun and hunters, and go all day to the stable, and eat as much as he chooses, and drink port wine like papa;^ but to bring up THE merchant's AMBITION. 17 •children of his oami, and live in one place, is the very last thing he dreams of. ^Cousin Charlie' entertained the usual notions of his kind. Although an orphan, he had never known the want of a parent — uncle and aunt Kettering supplying him with as kind and indulgent a father and mother as a spoilt little boy could desire. And although he had his childish sorrows, such as parting from Blanche, going to school, being whipped according to his deserts when there, and thus smuggled through that amusing work, the Latin Grammar; yet, altogether, his life was as happy as any other child's of his own age, on whom health, and love, and plenty had shone from the day of its birth. Of course old John Kettering sent him to Eton, that most aristocratic of schools^ where Charlie learnt to swim — no mean accomplishment, — arrived at much perfection in his 'wicket-keeping,' and 'hitting to the leg,' as, indeed, he deserved, for the powers of application he evinced in the study of cricket; was taught to ' feather an oar ' in a method which the London watermen pronounced extremely inefficient ; and acquired a knack of construing Horace into moderately bad English, with a total disregard for the ideas, habits, prejudices, and intentions of that courtly bard. Of course, too, he was destined for the army. With his prospects, in what other pro- fession could he get through his allowance, and ac- quire gentlemanlike habits of extravagance in what VOL. I. C 18 'mon beau cousin. is termed good society? Old Kettering wanted to make his nephew a gentleman — that was it. When asked how Charlie was getting on at Eton, and what he learnt there, the uncle invariably replied, ' Learn, sir, why, he'll learn to be a gentleman/ It is a matter for conjecture whether the worthy merchant was capable of forming an opinion as to the boy's progress in this particular study, or whe- ther he was himself a very good judge of the variety he so much admired. Our own idea is, that neither birth, nor riches, nor education, nor manner suffice to constitute a gentleman, and that specimens are to be found at the plough, the loom, and the forge, in the ranks, and before the mast, as well as in the officers' mess-room, the learned professions, and the upper house itself. To our fancy, a gentleman is courteous, kindly, brave, and high-principled — con- siderate towards the weak, and self-possessed amongst the strong. High-minded and unselfish, 'he does to others as he would they should do unto him,' and shrinks from the meanness of taking advantage of his neighbour, man or woman, friend or foe, as he would from the contamination of cowardice, duplicity, tyranny, or any other blackguardism. ' Sans peur et sans reproche,' — he has a ' lion's courage with a woman's heart ;' and such an one, be he in a peer's robes or a ploughman's smock — backing before his sovereign or delving for his bread, we deem a very Bayard for chivalry — a very Chesterfield for good- * MON BEAU COUSIN.' 19 breeding and good sense. We are old-fashioned though in our ideas, and doubtless our sentiments may be dubbed slow by the young, and vulgar by the great. Still, even these dissentients would, we think, have been satisfied with 'Cousin Charlie^s' claims to be considered ' a gentleman.' Nature had been beforehand with old Kettering, and had made him one of her own mould. Not all the schools in Eiu'ope could have spoiled or improved him in that particular. And his private tutor^s lady discovered this quality, with all a woman^s intuitive tact, the very first evening he spent at the vicarage of that reverend Crichton, who prepared young gentlemen of fifteen years and upwards for both the universities and all the professions. 'What do you think of the new pupil, my dear?' said Mr. Nobottle, to his wife — a dean's daughter, no less ! — as he drew up the connubial counterpane to meet the edge of his night-cap. ' He was a wild lad, I hear, at Eton. I am afraid we shall have some trouble with him.' ' Not a bit of it,' was the reply ; ' he is a gentle- man every inch of him. I saw it at once, by the way he helped Tim in with his portmanteau. Binks, of course, was out of the way, — and that reminds me Mr. Nobottle, you never vnll speak to that man — what's the use of ha^dng a butler? And then, he's such a remarkably good-looking boy — but I daresay you're half asleep already.' 20 *MON BEAU cousin/ And, sure enough, patient Joseph Nobottle was executing a prolonged and marital snore. Mrs. Nobottle found no occasion to recant her predictions : and Charlie was now spending his sum- mer vacation with Mrs. Kettering at St. Swithin's. We have left the party so long in their boat, that they have had ample time to '^trim' or sink her. Neither of these events, however, took place; and after pulling round a Swedish brig, an enormous tub, very wholesome-lookmg, as Hairblower said, and holding a polyglot conversation with an individual in a red night-cap, who grinned at the ladies, and offered them ' schnapps,' they turned the little craft's head towards the shore, and taking ' the flood,' as Charlie had previously threatened, bent themselves to their work, and laid out upon their oars in a style that satisfied even the seaman, and enraptured the lad. ' What a dear boy it is ! ' thought Mrs. Kettering, as she looked at Charlie's open countenance, and his fair golden curls, blowing about his face, browned by the weather to a rich manly hue, and lit up with the excitement and exercise of his work. Many qualms of conscience crossed Mrs. Kettering's mind, in the transit of that mile and a-half of blue water which sparkled between ^the Swede' and the shore. Much she regretted her want of decision and habits of delay in not completing the important document that should at once make that handsome boy the CASTLES IN THE AIR. 21 head of his family; and firmly she resolved that not another week should pass without ^a proper consulta- tion of the universal refuge, 'her family man-of- business/ and a further legal drawing up of her last will and testament. Then she remembered she had left one unfinished, that would make an excellent rough draft for the future document ; then she wondered where she had put it ; and then she thought what a husband the handsome cousin would make for her own beautiful girl ; — and rapidly her ideas followed each other, till, in her mind^s eye, she saw the wedding — the bridesmaids — the procession — the breakfast — and, though last, not least, the very bonnet, not too sombre, which she herself should wear on the occasion. Not one word did Mrs. Kettering hear of a long- winded story with which Hairblower was delighting Blanche and Charlie ; and which, as it seemed to create immense interest and sympathy in his young listeners, and is, besides, a further example of the general superstition of sailors as to commencing any undertaking on a Friday, we may as well give, as nearly as possible, in his own words. ' Blown, Master Charles ? ' said the good-humoured seaman, in answer to a question from hard-working Charlie. 'Blown? Not a bit of it; nor yet tired; nor you neither. I was a bit bamboo^'led though once somewhere hereaway. It's a good many years past now ; but I don't think as / shall ever forget it. 22 'mon beau cousin.' If you'd like to hear it, Miss Blanche, I'll tell it you, as well as I can. You see, it was rather a ^ circum- stance^ from beginning to end. Well, the fact is, I had built a smartish craft very soon after I was out of my time, and me and a man we used to call 'Downright,^ went partners in her, and although maybe she was a trifle crank, and noways useful for stowage, we had pretty good times with her when the mackerel was early, and the prices pretty stiffish. Eut there never was no real luck about her, and TU tell ye how it was. My uncle, he promised to help me with the money for her of a Friday. She was put upon the stocks of a Friday — finished off of a Friday — sailed her first trip of a Friday — and went down of a Friday; so, as I say, Friday^ s the worst day, to my mind, in the whole week. Well, the Spanking Sally — that's what we called her. Miss — always carried a weather helm. And one day — it was a Friday, too — me and my mate was coming in with a fairish cargo — Downright he said all along she was over-deep in the water — with a light breeze from the nor'-nor'-west, and the tide about half-flood, as it might be now. I had just gone forward to look to the tackle, when the wind suddenly shifted right on the other tack, and looking out down Channel, I saw what was coming. Black was it. Master Charlie? Not a bit ; it was a white one ; and I knew then we should get it hot and heavy. It takes something pretty cross to frighten me, but I own I didn't like hairbloaver's cold bath. 23 tlie looks of it. Well^ afore I could douse foresail the squall took her. She capsized^ and down she went ; and though me and Downright stood by for a start to windward^ we never knew exactly how it was till we found ourselves grinning at each other over a spare oar that happened to be on board when she misbehaved_, for all the world like two boys playing at see-saw with their mouths full of salt water. Downright he was an older man_, and not so strong as me ; so when I saw two was no company for one oar, I left it ; and, thinks I, if I can get off my fisherman^ s boots and some of my clothes, I may have a swim for it yet. 'The squall was too soon over to get up anything like a sea, and Downright he held on to his oar and struck out like a man. Well, what between floating and treading water, I got most of my things clear. I was as strong as a bull then, and though it was a long swim for a man I had before me, I never lost heart noway. Downright, too, kept on close in my wake ; we didnH say much, you may be sure, but I know / thought of his missus and four children. At last I hear him whisper, quite hoarse-like ' Hair- blower, it's no use, I be goin' down now ! ' And when I turned on my back to look at him he was quite confused, and had let the oar cast off altogether. I couldn't see it nowhere. I tried to get alongside of him, but he was gone. I saw the bubbles though, and dived for him, but it was no use, and after that 24 hairblower's cold bath. I held on alone. The sun was getting down too, and queer fancies began to come into my head about Downright. Sometimes I thought he was in heaven then, and once Fll swear I heard something whisper to me, but I couldn't tell what it said. The gulls, too, they began to stoop at me, and scream in my ears ; one long-winged ^un flapped me on the cheek, and for a bit I scarcely knew whether I was dead or alive myself. At last, as I came over the tops of the rollers I saw the spars in the harbour, and the chim- neys at St. Swithin's, and for awhile I thought I should get home after all, so I turned on my side to get my breath a bit. I ought to have made a buoy, as I calculated, about this time, but seek where I would, I couldn't see it nowhere, only looking down Channel to get my bearings a little, I saw by the craft at anchor in the bay that the tide was on the turn — My heart leaped into my mouth then. — I had pulled a boat often enough against the ebb here- abouts, and I knew how strong it ran, and what my chance was swimming, and nearly done too. First I thought rd go quietly down at once, like my mate did, and I said a bit of a prayer, just inside like, and then I felt stronger, so I thought what was best to be done, and says I, ' 'bout ship,^ now is our only chance, and maybe we shall get picked up by some fishing craft, or such like, afore we drift clean out to sea again. Well, the Lord^s above all, and though I thought once or twice I was pretty nigh out of my hairblower's cold bath. 25 mind, I was picked up at last by a Frenchman, ^e'd no call to be where lie was ; I think he was there special, but I knew very little about anything else, for I was in the hospital nine weeks afore I could remember as much as I've told you. Howso- ever, Friday^s an unlucky day, Miss Blanche, you may take your Bible oath of it/ Hairblower did not tell them that half his earnings as soon as he got well went to the support of his mate's widow and her four children ; perhaps it was as well he did not, for Blanche^ s eyes were already full of tears, and Charlie felt more than half inclined to embrace the honest seaman, but a bump against the shingle disturbed all their comments, at the same time that it broke through Mrs. Kettering's day- dreams, and Blanche had hardly got as far as, ' Here we are, mamma, and here^s ,' when she was interrupted by Cousin Charlie ^s voiciferous ^Look alive, aunt. Hurrah! three cheers — who'd have thought it ? There ^s Frank Hardingstone !' CHAPTEK 11. Blanche's boudoir — a lady's lady's-maid — mrs. KETTERING AT LUNCHEON AN HOUR's PRACTICE THE ^MAN OF ACTION^ FOOD FOR THE MIND A FRIEND IN NEED A VISIT TO DAVID JONES. TT7HILST Mr. Hardingstone offers an arm — and a good strong arm it is — to eacli of tlie ladies, and assists them slowly up the toilsome shingle, let us take advantage of Blanche's absence to peep into her pretty room, where, as it is occupied only by Ging- ham, the maid, we need not fear the fate of Actseon as a punishment for our curiosity. It is indeed a sweet little retreat, with its chintz hangings and muslin curtains, its open windows look- ing upon the shining channel, and all its etceteras of girlish luxury and refinement, that to us poor old bachelors seem the very essence of ladylike comfort. In one corner stands the bookcase, by which we may discover the pretty proprietor's tastes, at least in literature. Divers stiffish volumes on the sciences repose comfortably enough, as if they had not often been disturbed, and although scrupulously dusted, Blanche's boudoik. 27 were but seldom opened ; but on the sofa, near that full-length glass, a new novel lies upon its face, with a paper-cutter inserted at that critical page where the heroine refuses her lover (in blank verse) on the high-minded principle that he is not sufficiently poor to test her sincerity, or sufficiently sensible to know his own mind, or some equally valid and uncompli- mentary reason, — a consideration for the male sex, we may remark en passant, that is more common in works of fiction than in real life ; while on the table a drawing-room scrap-book opens of itself at some thrilling lines addressed ^ To a Debutante/ and com- mencing, 'Fair girl, the priceless gems upon thy brow,' by an anonymous nobleman, who betrays in the composition a wide range of fancy and a novel apphcation of several English words. Flowers are disposed in one or two common glass vases, with a womanly taste, that makes the apartment in that hired house like a home ; and loose music, of the double-action pianoforte school, scatters itself about every time the door opens, in a system of fluttering disorder, which provokes Gingham to express audibly her abhorrence of a place that is ^ all of a litter/ 'She canH a^bear it — can you, bully?' smirks the Abigail, and Blanche's pet bull-finch, the darling of her very heart, makes an enormous chest, and whistles his reply in the opening notes of 'Haste to the wedding,' breaking off" abruptly in the middle of the second bar. Gingham is very busy, for she is 28 Blanche's boudoir. putting Blanche's ^ things to rights/ which means that she is looking over the young lady's wardrobe with a view to discovering those colours and garments most becoming to her own rather bilious complexion, and losing no opportunity of acquainting herself with Blanche's likes, dislikes, feelings, and disposition, by reading her books, opening her letters, and peeping into her album. Now Gingham had been with Mrs. Kettering for many years, and was a most trustworthy person ; so her mistress affirmed and thought. Certainly, with all her weaknesses and faults, she was devotedly at- tached to Miss Blanche ; and it is our firm belief that she loved her young lady in her heart of hearts, better than her perquisites, her tea, or even a certain Tom Blacke, whose dashing appearance, and assured vulgarity had made no slight impression on her too susceptible feelings. ^ Every Jack has his Gill,' if he and she can only find each other out at the pro- pitious moment ; and although the Gill in question owned to two-and-thirty, was by no means transparent in complexion, and had projecting teeth, and a saf- fron-coloured front, yet she was no exception to the beautiful law of nature, which provides for every variety of our species a mate of fitting degree. When a lady confines herself studiously to the house, avoids active exercise, and partakes heartily of five meals a-day, not to mention strong tea and hot buttered toast at odd times, the presumption is, A lady's lady's-maid. 29 that her health will suffer from the effects of such combined hardships. With patients of Gingham's class, the attack generally flies to the nerves, and the system becomes wrought up to such a pitch that nothing appears to afford the sufferer relief, except piercing screams and violent demonstration of alarm upon slight and often imaginary occasions. Gingham would shriek as loudly to encounter a live mouse as Mrs. Kettering would have done to face a raging lion ; and an unexpected meeting with any indivi- dual, even residing in the same house, was apt to produce a flutter of spirits and prostration of intel- lect truly surprising to those who are unacquainted with the delicate organization of a real lady's-maid not on board wages. In this critical condition, Mrs. Gingham, on the first evening of her arrival at St. Swithin's, ' got a start,' as she expressed it, which influenced the whole destiny of her after life. Coming down from dressing her lady, she wended her way, as usual, to ' the room,' that sanctum in which the etiquette of society is far more rigidly enforced than up-stairs, and to which 'plush and powder' would find it far more difficult to obtain the entree than into master's study or ' missus's' boudoir. Expecting to see nothing more formidable than the butler. Gingham's alarm can be more easily imagined than described, when, on entering this privileged apartment, she found its only occupant a goodish-looking, flashily dressed young man, ' taking a glass of sherry 30 A LADY S lady's-maid. and a biscuit/ and making himself very much at home. A suppressed scream and sudden accession of faintness made it imperative on the new arrival to exert himself, and by the time they had got to ' Goodness ! how you frightened me, sir/ and ^ Dear MisSy I beg a thousand pardings !' they became very good friends, and the timid fair one was prevailed on to sit down and partake of the refreshments hos- pitably provided by the butler at his mistress's expense. Tom Blacke very soon informed the lady that 'he was assistant to a professional gentleman' (in plain English an attorney's clerk), and had merely looked in to see if the house was let, to inform his em- ployer. ' I am very unhappy, miss, to have been the cause of alarming of you so, and I trust you will look over it, and may feel no ill effects from the haccident.' To which Gingham, who was a lady of elaborate politeness, as became her station, and, moreover, much mollified by the constant use of the juvenile title 'Miss,' courteously replied that ' Indeed, it had given her quite a turn, but she could not regret a meeting that had introduced her to such a polite acquaintance.' So they parted with many ' good evenings,' and an openly expressed hope that they should meet again. Tom Blacke was a scamp of the first water, but not deficient in shrewdness, to which his professional A lady's lady s-]\iaid. si pursuits added a certain amount of acquired cunning. He naturally reflected that the sensitive, middle-aged dame whom he had thus alarmed and soothed was probably an old and esteemed servant of the family at No. 9. The whole arrangements looked like being * well-to-do/ The butler poured out sherry as if it was small-beer, and probably in such an establish- ment the confidential maid might have saved a pretty bit of money, to which, even incumbered with the lady in question, Tom Blacke would have had no earthly objection. He was, as he said himself, ' open to a match,' and being a rosy dark -whiskered fellow, with good teeth and consummate assurance, though he never looked at you till you had done looking at him, he resolved to lay siege forthwith to the heart of Mrs. Gingham. A nervous temperament is usually susceptible; and though her fingers are occupied in folding Blanche's handkerchiefs, and ' putting away ' her gloves, shoes, and etceteras, the Abigail's thoughts are even now far away round the corner, up two pair of stairs, in the office with Tom Blacke. 'Goodness gracious! Missus's bell!' exclaims Gingham, with a start, as if she had not expected that summons at its usual time, viz., when Mrs. Ket- tering came in to shake her feathers before luncheon, and she runs down palpitating, as if the house were on fire. Though we must not stay to see Blanche take her bonnet off and smoothe those sunny ringlets. 32 MRS. KETTERING AT LUNCHEON. we may go and wait for her in the luncheon-room, to which she is soon heard tripping merrily down, with even brighter eyes than nsual, perhaps from the excitement of meeting Cousin Charles's friend, Mr, Hardingstone, whom shy Blanche knows but very little, and with whom she is consequently extremely diffident, notwithstanding the deference of his manner, and the respectful, almost admiring tone in which he always addresses the young girl. ' Blanche, have you fed Bully ? and practised your music? and read your history? Women should never neglect history. And looked for the name of that weed, whilst we think of it? and shall I give you some chicken?' said Mrs. Kettering, without waiting for an answer, as she sat down to a very com- fortable repast about three o'clock in the afternoon, which she called luncheon, but which was by no means a bad imitation of a good dinner. 'No, dear mamma,' said Blanche; 'besides, it^s too hot for lessons : but tell me, mamma, what did Mr. Hardingstone mean about a mermaid, when he whispered to ' Cousin Charlie,' and Charlie laughed V ' A mermaid, Blanche ? pooh ! nonsense ! there's no such animal. But that reminds me, — don't forget to look over that beautiful thing of Tennyson's; girls should always be 'up' in modern literature. Do you know, Blanche, I don't quite like Mr, Hardingstone.' ' Oh, mamma,' said Blanche, ' such a friend of MRS. KETTERING AT LUNCHEON. 33 Charlie^ s, — I am sm-e we ought to like him ; and I am sm'e he likes us ; what a way he came down through that horrid shingle to help you out of the hoat ; and did you see, mamma, what nice thin boots he had on; — I think I should like him very much if we knew him better. Not so much as ' Cousin Charlie/ ' added the young girl, reflectively, ^or dear darling Hairblower. How shocking it was when his partner went down, mamma. Did you hear that story ? But I am sure Mr. Hardingstone is very good- natured/ ' That reminds me, my dear,' said Mrs. Kettering, who was getting rather flushed towards the end of the chicken, 'I do hope that boy is not gone to bathe; I am always afraid about water. Blanche, hand me the sherry; and, my dear, I must order some bottled porter for you, — you are very pale in this hot weather; but I am always fidgetty about Charlie when he is bathing.' From the conversation recorded above, we may gather that Mrs. Kettering, who, as we have said, was inclined to be nervous, was rapidly becoming so upon one or two important points. In the first place, with all a mother's pride in her daughter's beauty, she could not be blind to the general admiration ex- cited thereby, nor could she divest herself of certain misgivings that Blanche would not long remain to be the solace of her widowhood, but that, to use her own expression, she was ' sure to be snapped up before VOL. I. D 34 AN houk's practice. slie was old enough to know her own mind/ The consequence was^ that Mrs. Kettering much mis- trusted all her male acquaintance under the age of old-fellowhood, a period of life which, in these days of ^wonderfully young-looking men/ seems indefi- nitely postponed; and regarded every well-dressed, well-whiskered biped as a possible subverter of her schemes and a probable rival to * Cousin Charlie / she kept him at bay, accordingly, with a coldness and reserve quite foreign to her own cordial and demon- strative nature. Frank Hardingstone she could not dislike, do what she would. And we are bound to confess that she was less guarded in her encourage- ment of that gentleman than of any other male visitor who appeared in the afternoons at No. 9, to leave a small bit of glazed pasteboard, with an in- ward thanksgiving for his escape from a morning visit, or to utter incontrovertible platitudes while he smoothed his hat on his coat-sleeve, and glanced ever and anon at the clock on the chimney-piece, for the earliest moment at which, with common decency, he might take his departure. Then the safety and soundness of Blanche's heart was scarcely more a matter of anxiety than that of Charlie's body ; and the boy seemed to take a ghastly delight in placing himself constantly in situations of imminent bodily peril. Active and high-spirited, he was perpetually climbing inaccessible places, shooting with dangerous guns, riding wild hacks, over-heating AN hour's practice. 35 himself in matclies against time, and, greatest anxiety of all, performing aquatic feats — the principal result of his Eton education — out of his dqjth, as his aunt observed with emphasis, which were totally inex- cusable as manifest temptations of fate. He was now gone off on an expedition with his friend and senior Hardingstone ; but well did Mrs. Kettering know that yonder blue, cool-looking sea would be an irresistible temptation, and that her nephew would 'bundle in/ as he called it, to a moral certainty, the instant he got away from the prying gaze of the town. ' In the meantime,' thought she, ' it's a comfort to have Blanche safe at her studies ; there is nothing like occupation for the mind to keep foolish fancies out of a young girl's head; so bring your books down here, my love,' she added, aloud, ' and after we have read the last act of Don Carlos, you can practise your music, whilst I rest myself a little on the sofa.' With all its beauties, Don Carlos is a work of which a few pages go a long way, when translated into their own vernacular by two ladies who have but a slight acquaintance with the German language ; and Blanche soon tired of the princely step-son's more than filial affection, and the guttural warmth with which it is expressed, so she drew mamma's sofa to the open window, shut the door to keep her out of the draught, and sat down to her piano-forte with an arch ' Good night, mammy ; you won't hear any of 86 AN HOUR*S PKACTICE. my mistakes, so I shall play my lesson over as fast as ever I can/ Snore away, honest Mrs. Kettering, in the happy conviction that you have given your daughter ample occupation of mind, to say nothing of fingers, in the execution of those black-looking pages, so trying to the temper and confusing to the ear. Snore away, and believe that her thoughts and affections are as much under your control as her little body used to be, when you put her to bed with your own hands, and she said her innocent prayers on your knee. So you all think of your children; so you all deceive yourselves, and are actually surprised when symptoms of wilfulness or insubordination appear in your own families, though you have long warned your neigh- bours that * boys will be boys' ; or ' girls are always thoughtless ' when they have complained to you of their parental disappointments and disgusts. You think you know your children — you, who can scarce be said to know yourself. The bright boy at your side, who calls you by the endearing appellation of ' the governor,' you fondly imagine he is drinking in those words of wisdom in which you are laying down rules for his future life of frugality, usefulness, and content. Not a bit of it. He is thinking of his pony and his tick at the pie-shop, which will make a sad hole in the sovereign you will probably present to him on his retmn to Mr. Birch's. You describe in well chosen language the miseries AN houk's practice. 37 of a 'bread-and-cheese' marriage to your eldest daughter, a graceful girl, -whose fair, open brow you think would well become a coronet, and she seems to listen with all attention to your maxims, and to agree cordially with ' dear papa ' in worldly prudence, and an abhorrence of what you call ' bad style of men.' When her mother, with flushed countenance and angry tones, despatches you to look for her to-night between the quadrilles, ten to one but you find her in the tea-room with Captain Clank, 'that odious man without a sixpence,' as your energetic spouse charitably denominates him. And yet, as child after child spreads its late-fledged wings, and forsakes the shelter of the parental nest, you go on hoping that the next, and still the next, will make amends to you for all the short-comings of its seniors, till the youngest — the Benjamin — the darling of your old age — the treasure, that was, indeed, to be your 'second selF — takes flight after the rest, and you feel a dreary void at your heart, and a solemn, sad conviction that the best and holiest afi'ections of an earthly nature are insufficient for its happiness — that there must be something better to come when every- thing here turns to heart-ache and disappontment. But Blanche will not think so for many a long s. the 122 ARRIVAL AT NEWTON-HOLLOWS. death-shock and the glittering blade, a certain comet hurra-ing in the van, the admiration of brother officers, and the veteran colonel's applause, a Gazette promotion and honourable mention in despatches, — Uncle Baldwin's uproarious glee at home, and Blanche's quiet smile. Who would not be a boy again? Yet not with the stipulation we hear so often urged, of knowing as much as we do now. That knowledge would destroy it all. No, let us have boyhood once more, with its vigorous credulity and its impossible romance, with that glorious ignorance which turns everything to gold, that sanguine tem- perament which sheds its rosy hues even over the bleak landscape of future old age. ^ Poor lad ! how green he is !' says worldly experience, with a sneer of affected pity, at those raptures it would give its very existence to feel again. " Happy fellow ; he 's a boy still V says good-natured philosophy, with a smile, half saddened at the thoughts of the coming clouds, which shall too surely darken that sunny hori- zon. But each has been through the crucible, each recognises that sparkle of the virgin gold, which shall never again appear on the dead surface of the metal, beaten, and stamped, and fabricated into a mere conventional coin. The train whizzes on, the early evening sets in, tired post-horses grope their way up the dark avenue, wheels are heard grinding round the gravel-sweep before the house, and the expected guest arrives at Newton-Hollows. NOT WHAT WAS EXPECTED. 123 ' Goodness ! Cliarlie, how you have been smoking/ exclaims Blanche, after their first aficctionate greet- ing, while she shrinks a little from the cousinly- embrace somewhat redolent of tobacco ; ^ and how you^re grown, dear — I suppose you don^t like to be told you 're grown now — and moustaches, I declare,' she adds, bursting out laughing, as she catches Chai'lie's budding honours en profile; ^ 'pon my word they^re a gi'cat improvement.' Charlie winced a little. There is always a degree of awkwardness even amongst the nearest and dearest, when people meet after a long absence, and the less artificial the character the more it betrays itself, but Blanche was in great spirits and rattled on, till the General made his appearance, bustling in perfectly radiant with hospitality. ^ Glad to see ye, my* lad — glad to see ye; have been expecting ye this half hour — trains always late — and always will be till they hang a director — I've hanged many a man for less, myself, ' up the country.' Fact, Blanche, I assure you. You'll have lots of time to dress,' he observed, glancing at the clock's white face shining in the fire-light, — and adding, with a playful dig of his fingers into Charlie's lean ribs, ^ We dine in half an hour, temps militaire^ you dog ! We must teach you that punctuality and a good commissariat are the two first essentials for a soldier.' So the General ran a peal for hand-candles that might have brought a house down. 124 AN AGREEABLE SURrRISE. And Charlie was well acquainted with all the inmates of Newton-Hollows, save Mrs. Delaval. Of her he had often heard Blanche speak as the most delightful of companions and indulgent of gover- nesses, but he had never set eyes on her in person, so as he effected his tie before the glass, and drew his fingers over those precious moustaches to dis- cover if change of air had already influenced their growth, he began to speculate on the character and appearance of the lady who was to complete their family-party. ^A middle-aged woman,^ — thought Charlie, for Blanche, on whom some ten years of seniority made a great impression, had always des- cribed her as such — 'forty, or thereabouts — stout, jolly-looking, and good-humoured, I'U be bound — I know I shall like her — wears a cap Fve no doubt, and a front, too, most probably — sits very upright, and talks like a book, till one knows her well — spectacles I shouldn^t wonder (it's no use making much of a tie for her) — pats Blanche on the shoulder when she gives her precedence, and keeps her hands in black lace mittens, I'll bet a hundred !' With which mental wager, Master Charlie blew his candles out, and swaggered down stairs, feeling in his light evening costume, as indeed he looked, well-made, well-dressed, and extremely like a gentleman. Mischievous Blanche was enchanted at the obvious start of astonishment with which her introduction was received by her cousin — ' Mr. Kettering, Mrs. AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE. 125 Delaval ' — Charlie looked positively dismayed. Was this the comfortable, round-about, good-humoured body, he had expected to see ? — was that tall stately figure, dressed in the most perfect taste, with an air of more than high-breeding, almost of command, such as duchesses, may be, much admired without possessing — was that the dowdy middle-aged gover- ness ? — were those long, deep-set eyes, the orbs that should have glared at him through spectacles, and would black-lace mittens have been an improvement on those white taper hands, beautiful in their perfect symmetry without a single ornament ? Charlie bowed low to conceal the blush that overspread his countenance. The boy was completely taken aback, and when he led her in to dinner, and heard those thrilling tones murmuring in his ear, the spell, we may be sure, lost none of its power. ' She is beau- tiful,' thought Charlie, ^ and nearly as tall as I am / and he was pleased to recollect that Blanche had thought him grown. Ladies, we opine, are not so impressionable as men — at least they do not allow themselves to appear so. Either they are more cau- tious in their judgments, which we have heard denied by those who plume themselves on knowledge of the sex, or their hypocrisy is more perfect ; certainly a young lady's education is based upon principles of the most frigid reserve, and her decorous bearing, we believe, is never laid aside, even in tea-rooms, conser- vatories, shaded walks, and other such resorts, fatal 126 AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE. to the equanimity of masculine understanding; there- fore Mary Delaval did by no means lose her presence of mind on being introduced to the young gentleman, of whose deeds and sentiments she had heard so much. "Woman as she was, she could not but be gratified at the evident admiration her appearance created in this new acquaintance, and truth to speak, ' Cousin Charlie ' was a youth whose allegiance few female hearts would have entirely scorned to possess, yet was there no occasion to tell the young gentleman as much to his face. A very good-looking face it was too, with its wide intellectual brow, round which ' the brown silky hair waved in such becoming clusters — its perfect oval and delicate high-bred features, if they had a fault, too girlish in their soft winning expression — in fact he was as like Blanche as possible; and had his moustaches been shaved, could he indeed have sub- mitted to the sacrifice, his stature lowered, and a bonnet and shawl put on, he might well have passed for his pretty cousin. There was nothing eff'eminate though about Charlie, save his countenance and his smile. That slender graceful figure was lithe and wiry as the panther's — those symmetrical limbs could toil, those little feet could walk and run, after a Hercules would have been blown and overpowered ; and when standing up to his wicket, rousing a horse, or putting him at a fence, there was a game sparkle in his eye, that, to use Frank Hardin gstone's ex- AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE. 127 pression, 'meant mischief/ Some of these good- looking young gentlemen are * ugly customers ' enough when their blood is up, and cousin Charlie, like the rest, had quite as much ' devil ^ in his com- position as was good for him. The * pretty page ' only wanted a few years over his head, a little more beai'd upon his lip, to be a perfect Paladin. But the spell went on working the whole of dinner- time; in vain the General told his most wondrous anecdotes, scolded his servants at intervals, and pressed his good cheer on the little party — Charlie could not get over his astonishment. Mrs. Delaval sat by him, looking like a queen, and talked in her own peculiarly winning voice and impressive manner, just enough to make him vrish for more. She was one of those women, who, speaking but little, seem always to mean more than they say, and on whom conscious mental superiority, and the calm, subdued air worn by those who have known affliction, confer a certain mysterious charm, which makes fearful havoc in a young gentleman's heart. There is nothing enslaves a boy so completely as a spice of romance. An elderly Strephon will go on his knees to a romping school-girl, and the more hoydenish and unsophisticated the object, the more will the old reprobate adore her; but beardless youth loves to own superiority where it worships, loves to invest its idol ^ith the fabulous attributes that compose its own ideal ; and of all the liaisons, honourable and other- 128 AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE, wise, that have bound their votaries in silken fetters, those have been the most fatal, and the most invin- cible, which have dated their existence from an earnest boyish hearths first devotion to a woman some years his senior, of whom the good-natured world says, '^To be sure she is handsome, but. Lor ! she's old enough to be his mother !' Not that Charlie was as far gone as this : on the contrary, his was an imaginative poetical disposition, easily scorched enough, but almost incapable of being thoroughly done brown. Of such men, ladies, we would warn you to beware ; the very temperament that clothes you in all the winning attributes of its own ideal, can the most easily transfer those fancied attractions to a rival, inasmuch as the charm is not so much yours as his, exists, not in your sweet face, but in his heated and inconstant brain. No, the real prize, depend upon it, is a sensible, phlegmatic, matter-of-fact gentleman, anything but ' wax to re- ceive,' yet if you can succeed in making an impression, most assuredly ' marble to retain.' Such a captive clings to his affections as to his prejudices, and is properly subjected into a tame and willing Benedict, in half the time it takes to guess at the intentions of the faithless rover offering on a dozen shrines an adoration that, however brilliant, is — ' Like light straw on fire, A fierce but fading flame.' Again was Charlie struck, as he swaggered off to AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE. 129 open the door for the ladies, by the graceful move- ments of Mary's majestic figure. Again, the half- bow with Avhich, as she passed out, she acknowledged his courtesy, made a pleasing impression on the boy's fancy ; and as he lingered for a moment, ere he shut out the rustle of their dresses and the pleasant tones of the women's voices, and retm-ned to the arm-chair and the claret-decanter, he could not help hoping ' Uncle Baldwin ' would be a little less profuse than usual in his hospitality, aiid a little less prolix in his narrative. ^ The young ones drink no wine at all now-a-days,' remarked the General, as Charlie a second time passed the bottle untouched, and his host filled his glass to the brim. ^ Fault on the right side^ my lad; we used to drink too hard formerly — why, bless you, when I encountered Tortoise, of the Queen's, at the mess of the Kedjeree Irregulars, we sat for seven hours and a half to see one another out, and the two black fellows fainted who were ' told off ' to bring in claret and pale ale as they were wanted. Tortoise recovered himself wonderfully about the eighth bottle ; and if he had 'nt been obliged to be careful on account of a wound in his head, we should have been there now. Drunk ! how d'ye mean ? Not the least — fact, I assure you.' Charlie got up and fidgetted about, with his back to the fire, but the General would not let him off so easily. VOL. I. K 130 Blanche's birthday. ^ Show you the farm to-morrow, my boy, you'll be delighted with my pigs — Neapolitans every hair of 'em. What ? no man alive shall presume to tell me they're not the best breed ! And I'll tell you what, Charlie, I've secured the handsomest short-horned bull in this country. Two hundred, you dog ! — dirt cheap — and if you're fond of stock you'll be charmed with him. Poultry too — real Cochin Chinese — got three prizes at the last show ; average height two feet seven inches — rare beauties. Hens and chickens in knee-breeches, and a cock in trunk-hose !' With which conclusion the chuckling old warrior permitted Charlie to wheedle him off into the drawing-room, whither they entered to find the ladies, as usual, absorbed in worsted-work and sunk in solemn silence. Pleasantly the evenings always passed at Newton- Hollows even with a smaU party like the present. Mu- sic, cards, cockamaroo, and the eternal racing-game, of course, which gives gentle woman an insight into the two fiercest pleasures of the other sex — horse-racing and gambling — and introduces into the drawing- room the slang and confusion of the betting-ring and the hazard-table, served to while away the time. And though the General was even more diffuse than was his wont in personal recollections and autobiogra- phy, Blanche scarcely listened, so absorbed was she in her delight at having got cousin Charlie back again, whilst that young gentleman and Mary Delaval were Blanche's birthday. 131 progressing rapidly in each other's good opinion, and exclaiming, in their respective minds, 'AVhat an agreeable person, and so different from what I expected.' Blanche's birth-day was always kept as a period of great rejoicing at Newton- Hollows, and a very short time after Charlie's arrival that auspicions anniversary was ushered in, as usual, by the General's appearance at the breakfast-table, bearing a cotton-stuffed white and green card-box, highly suggestive of Storr and jVlortimer. This was quietly placed by the side of Blanche's plate, and when the young lady made her appearance, and exclaimed, ' Dear, kind Uncle Bald- win, what a love of a bracelet !' though we might have envied, we could not have grudged the General the grateful kiss bestowed on him by his affectionate niece. Uncle Baldwin's mind, however, was intent upon weightier matters than jewels and Miappy returns.' He was to celebrate the festival with a dinner-party ; and whilst he had invited several of the elite of Bubbleton to celebrate his niece's birth- day, he was anxious so to dispose and welcome his guests as that none should have reason to consider himself especially favoured or encouraged in the advances which all were too eager to make towards the good graces of the heiress ; therefore the General held a solemn conclave, as was his wont, consisting of himself and Mrs. Delaval, who, on such occasions, was requested, with great pomp, to accompany him to 132 Blanche's birthday. his study, an apartment adorned with every description of weapon used in civilized or savage warfare, and to take her seat in his own huge arm-chair, while he walked up and down the room, and held forth in his usual ahrupt and discursive manner. ' I have such confidence in your sound sense, Mrs. Delaval/ said he, looking very insinuating, and pausing for an instant in his short, quick strides, 'that I always consult you in my difficulties/ This was said piano, but the forte addition immediately succeeded. 'Reserving to myself the option of acting, for dictation I cannot submit to, even from you, my dear Mrs. Delaval. You are aware, I believe, of my intentions regarding Blanche. Are you aware of my intentions?' he interrupted himself to demand, in a voice of thunder. Mary, who was used to his manner, answered calmly, ' that she was not ;' and the General pro- ceeded, in a gentle and confidential tone. ' The fact is, my dear madam, I have set my heart on a family arrangement, which I mention to you as a personal friend and a lady for whom I entertain the greatest regard.' Mary bowed again, and could hardly suppress a smile at the manner in which the old gentleman as- sured her of his consideration. 'WeU, though an unmarried man, as yet, I am keenly alive to the advantages of the married state. I never told you, I think, Mrs. Delaval, of an adven- Blanche's birthday. 133 tvire that befell me at Cheltenham — never mind now — but, believe me, I am no stranger to those tender feelings, ^Irs. Delaval, to which we men of the sword — ah, ah — are infernally addicted. What ? Well, ma'am, there's my niece now, they all want to marry her. Every scoundrel within fifty miles wants to lead Blanche to the altar. Zounds, I'll weather 'em, the villains — excuse me, Mrs. Delaval, but to proceed — I am extremely anxious to confide my intentions to you, as I hope I may calculate on your assistance. !My nephew, Charlie, to be explicit, is the Holloa ! you woman, come back, come back, I say, you're carrying off the wrong coop. The dolt has mistaken my orders about the Cochin Chinas; — in the afternoon, if you please, Mrs. Delaval, we'll discuss the point more at leisure.' And the General bolted through the study- window, and was presently heard in violent altercation with the lady who presided over his poultry-yard. Though not very explicit, !Mary had gathered enough from the General's confidences to conclude he was anxious to arrange a marriage eventually between the two cousins. Well ! what was that to her ? He certainly was a very taking boy, hand- some, gentle, and high-spirited, nothing could be nicer for Blanche. And she was so fond of him ; what a charming couple they would make. ' I am so glad,' thought Mary, wondering when she might congratulate the bride- elect; 'so very glad; dear. 134 Blanche's birthday. how glad I am/ Why should Mary have taken such pains to assure herself how glad she was? Why did she watch the charming couple with an interest she had never felt before, as she joined them on their return from their morning walk ? A walk, the object of which (tell it not in Bubbleton) had been to pursue the sport of rat-hunting in a certain barn, with a favourite terrier of Charlie's,, a sport that Blanche was persuaded to patronise, notwith- standing her horror both of the game and the mode of its destruction, by her affection for Charlie, and her childish habit of joining him in all his pastimes and amusements. How alike they were with their delicate skin, their deep blue eyes sparkling with exercise and excitement, and their waving brown hair clustering round each flushed and smiling face. How alike they were, and what a nice couple they certainly did make. And Mary sighed, as again she thought how very glad she was ! No further interview took place that day with the General, whose many avocations scarcely permitted him time for the elaborate toilette which, partly out of respect for Blanche's birthday, partly in con- sideration of his dinner-party, he thought it ad- visable to perform. He certainly did take more pains with himself than usual ; and as he fixed an order or two in an unassuming place under the breast-lap of his coat, a ray of satisfaction shot through his heart that beat beneath those clasps and A COUNTRY DINNER-PARTY. 135 medals, wliile tlie old gentleman thought aloud as usual, ^ Not such a bad arrangement after all ! She certainly did look very qvieer when I talked of Blanche's marrying. No doubt she's smitten — ^just like the one at Cheltenham. Bounce ! Bounce ! you\e a deal to answer for. If ever I do, it^s time I thought of it; don't improve by keeping. Ton my life, I might go further and fare worse. Zounds! there's the door-bell.' 'Lady Mount Helicon!' 'Captain Lacquers!' ' Sir Ascot Uppercrust I' and a whole host of second-rate grandees were successively announced and ushered into the brilliantly-lighted drawing, room, to be received by the General with the em- pressement of a bachelor who is host and hostess all in one. Blanche was too young and shy to take much part in the proceedings. Charlie, of course, was late ; but Bounce was in his glory, bowing to the ladies, joking with the gentlemen, and telling anecdotes to all, till the announcement of 'dinner' started him across the hall, convoying stately Lady Mount Helicon, and well nigh lost amidst the lappets and flounces of that magnificent dame, who would not have been here at aU, unless she had owned an unmarried son, and a jointure entirely out of proportion to the present Lord's finances. The rest of the party paired off after their illustrious leaders. Sir Ascot Uppercrust took Blanche, who was already lost in surprise at his 136 A COUNTRY DINNER-PARTY. taciturnity. Miss Deeper skilfully contrived to en- tangle young Cashley. Kate Carmine felt her heart beat happily against the arm of Captain Laurel of the Bays. Mr. Gotobed made a dash at Mary Delaval, but 'cousin Charlie/ who that instant entered the room^ quietly interposed and led her off to the dining-room^ leaving a heterogeneous mass of unappropriated gentlemen to scramble in as they best might. Mary was grateful for the rescue ; she was glad to be near somebody she knew. With a flush of shame and anger^ she had recognised Cap- tain Lacquers^ though that worthy dipped his mous- taches into his soup in happy unconsciousness that the well-dressed aristocratic woman opposite him was the same indignant damsel who would once have knocked him down if she could. With all her self-possession, Mary was not blind to the fact, that her position was anomalous and ill-defined. She had found that out already by the condescending manner in which Lady Mount Helicon had bowed to her in the drawing-room. With the men she was 'that handsome lady-like Mrs. Delavalj* but with the women (your true aristocrats after all), she was only the governess. Dinner progressed in the weary protracted manner that the meal does when it is one of state and ceremony. The guests did not know each other well, and were dreadfully afraid (as is too often the case in good society) of being over civil or attentive A COUNTRY DINNER-PARTY. 137 to those whose position they had not exactly as- certained. It argues ill for one's stock of polite- ness when one cannot afford to part with ever so small a portion, save in expectation of a return. So Lady Mount Helicon was patronising and affable, and looked at everything, including the company, through her eye-glass; but was very distant notwith- standing; and the gentlemen hemmed, and hawed, and voted the weather detestable — aw! and the sport with the hounds — aw — very moderate — aw — (it was d — d bad, after the ladies went away) ; and their fair companions lisped and simpered, and ate very little, and drank as much champagne as appearances would allow; and everybody felt it an unspeakable rehef when Blanche, drawing on her gloves, and blushing crimson at the responsibility, made ^the move * to Lady Mount HeUcon ; and the muslins all sailed away with their gloves, and fans, and pocket- handkerchiefs, rescued from under the table by their red-faced cavaliers. When they met again over tea and coffee, things had thawed considerably. The most solemn high- breeding is not proof against an abundance of claret, and the General's hospitality was worthy of his cellar. The men had found each other out to be ' deuced good sort of feUows,' and had moreover discovered mutual tastes and mutual acquaintances which much cemented their friendships. To be sure, there was at first a partial reaction consequent upon 138 TURNING THE TABLES. ' tlie difficulty of breaking through a formal circle of ladies^ but this feat accomplished, and the gentlemen grouped about cup-in-hand in becoming attitudes, and disposed to look favourably on the world in general, even Sir Ascot Uppercrust laid aside his usual reserve, and asked Blanche whether she had seen anything of a round game called ' turning the tables/ which the juvenile philosopher further con- fided to her he opined to be ' infernal humbug/ In an instant every tongue was unloosed. Drop a sub- ject like this amongst a well-dressed crowd and it is like a cracker — here and there it bounces, and fizzes, and explodes, amongst serious exclamations and hearty laughter. Lady Mount Helicon thought it wicked — Kate Carmine thought it ^ fun ' — Miss Deeper voted it charming, — Lacquers considered it ' aw — deuced scientific — aw^ — and the General in high glee ex- claimed, ^I vote we try.^ No sooner said than done : a round mahogany table was deprived of its covering — a circle formed — hands joined with more energy than was absolutely indispensable — white arms laid in juxtaposition to dark coat-sleeves — long ringlets bent over the polished mirror-like surface; and amidst laughing entreaties to be grave, and voluble in- junctions to be silent, the incantation progressed, we are bound in truth to state, with no definite result. Perhaps the spell was broken by the bursts of laughter that greeted the pompous butler's face of consternation, as, entering the room to remove *THE COQUETTE.' 139 cups, etc., he found the smartly- dressed party so strangely employed. Well-bred servants never be- tray the slightest marks of emotion or astonishment, though we fancy their self-command is sometimes severely put to the test. But * turning the tables ' was too much for the major-domo, and he was obliged to make his exit in a paroxysm of unseemly mirth. Then came a round game of forfeits — then music — then dancing, the ladies, playing by turns — then somebody found out the night was pouring with rain, and the General declared it would be sure to clear in an hour or so, and nobody must go away till after supper. So supper appeared, and more champagne ; and even Lady Mount HeHcon was ready to do any- thing to oblige, so, being a fine musician, she volun- teered to play ' The Coquette.^ A chair was placed in the middle of the room, and everybody danced, the General and all. Blanche laughed till she cried ; and there was but one feeling of regret when the announcement of her ladyship^ s carriage broke up the party, just at the moment when, in accordance with the rules of the dance, Charlie sank upon one knee before the coquette^ s chair, occupied by stately Mrs. Delaval. He looked like a young knight pros- trate before the queen of beauty. When Blanche laid her head upon her pillow, she thought over all her uncle^s guests in succession, and decided not one was to be compared to cousin Charhe; and none was half so agreeable as Mr. 140 'the coquette.' Hardingstone. Mary Delaval, on the contrary, scarcely gave a thouglit to Captain Lacquers, Sir Ascot Uppercrust, Captain Laurel, or even Mr. Gotobed, who had paid her great attention. No, even as she closed her eyes she vras haunted by a young upturned face, with fair open brow and a slight moustache — do what she would she saw it still. She was, besides, a little distracted about the loss of one of her gloves — a white one, with velvet round the wrist — what could have become of it ? CHAPTER VII. §(jot ani BMn ! 'the grand military' SrORT, BUT NOT PLEASURE WARLIKE ADVANCES SOME OF ALL SORTS AN EQUESTRIAN FEAT THEY 'rE OFF RIDING TO WIN FOLLOW-MY-LEADER WELL OVER AND WELL IN HOME IN A HURRY A CLOSE RACE THE HEIRESS WITH MANY FRIENDS A DAY^S AMUSE- MENT. '/^ARD of the running 'orses — cor-reci card! !Major dear, you always take a card of me !' pleads a weather-worn, good-looking, smart-rib- boned, card-woman, standing up to her ankles in mud on Guy^dlle race-course. Poor thing ! hers is a strange, hard, vagabond sort of life. This very morning she has heard mass (being an Irish- woman), seventeen miles off, and she will be on her legs the whole of this livelong day, and have a good supper and a hard bed, and be up at dawn to-morrow, ready and willing for a forty-mile tramp wherever money is to be made ; so, in the mean- time, she hands up half-a-dozen damp cards to Gaston D'Orville, now major* in " The Loyals,' and this day principal acting-steward of ' The Grand Military Steeple-Chase.' 142 THE GEAND MILITAEY. The major is but slightly altered since we saw him last at Bishop's Baffler. His tall figure may, perhaps, be a trifle fuller, and the lines of dissipation round his eyes and mouth a little deeper, while, here and there, his large whiskers and clustering hair are just sprinkled with grey ; but, for all this, he is still about the finest looking man on the course, and of this fact, as of every other advantage of his posi- tion, no one is better aware than himself. Yet is he not a vain man ; cool and calculating, he looks upon such ' pulls in his favour,' as he calls them, much as he would on ' a point in the odds,' mere chances in the game of life, to be made the most of when opportunity ofi'ers. He has just got upon a remark- ably handsome white horse, to show the military equestrians ' the line' over which they are to have an opportunity of breaking their necks, and is sur- rounded by a posse of great-coated, shawl-handker- chiefed, and goloshed individuals, mostly striplings, who are nervously -ready to scan the obstacles they are destined to encounter. There are nine starters for the great event, and professional speculators at the * Kingmakers' Arms' are even now wagering that not above three ever reach ^ home,' so low an opinion do they entertain of 'the soldiers riding,' or so ghastly do they deem the fences fiagged out to prove the warriors' mettle. Four miles over a stiff country, with a large brook, and a finish in front of the grand stand, will furnish THE GRAND MILITARY. 143 work for tlie horses and excitement for the ladies, whilst the adventurous jocks are even now glancing at one another aghast at the unexpected strength and height of these impediments, which, to a man on foot, look positively awful. ' I object to this fence decidedly,' observes a weak, thin voice, which, under his multiplicity of wraps, we have some difficulty in identifying as the property of Sir Ascot Uppercrust. 'I object in the name of all the riders — it is positively dangerous— don't you agree with me V he adds, pointing to a formidable ' double post and rail,^ with but little room between, and appealing to his fellow-sufferers, who all coincide with him but one. ' Nothing for a hunter,' says the dissentient, who seeing that the exploit has to be performed in full view of the ladies in the stand, would have it worse if he could. ' Nothing for any horse that is properly ridden; — what do you say, major?' ^ I agree with Kettering,' replies the major; for om' friend ' Charhe' it is who is now surveying the country on foot, in a huge white great-coat, with a silver-mounted whip under his arm, and no gloves. He is quite the *^ gentleman-rider,' and has fully made up his mind to win the steeple- chase. For this has poor Haphazard been deprived of his usual feport in the field, and trained with such severity as !Mr. Snaffles has thought advisable ; for this has his young master been shortening his stirrups and riding 144 THE GRAND MILITARY. daily gallops, and running miles up-hill to keep him in wind, till there is little left of his original self save his moustaches, which have grown visibly during the winter ; and for this have the ladies of the family been stitching for days at the smartest silk-jacket that ever was made (orange and blue, with gold tags), only pausing in their labours to visit Hap- hazard in the stable, and bring him such numerous offerings in the shape of bread, apples, and lump- sugar, that had Mr. Snaffles not laid an embargo on all 'tit-bits' the horse would ere this have been scarcely fit to run for a saddle ! Mrs. Delaval having been as severely bitten with the sporting mania as Blanche, they are even now sitting in the grand-stand perusing the list of the starters as if their lives depended on it — and each lady wears a blue and orange ribbon in her bonnet, the general who escorts them appearing in an alarm- ins: neckcloth of the same hues. The stand is already nearly full, and Blanche, her- self not the least attraction to many of the throng, has manoeuvred into a capital place with Mary by her side, and is in a state of nervous delight, partly at the gaiety of the scene, partly at the coming con- test in which ' cousin Charlie ' is to engage, and partly at the anticipation of the Guyville Ball, her first appearance in public, to take place this very night. Row upon row the benches have been gra- dually filling, till the assemblage looks like a varie- SOME OF ALL SORTS. 145 gated parterre of flowers to those in tlie arena below. In that enclosed space are gathered, besides the pride of the British army, swells and dandies of every different description and calibre. Do-nothing gen- tlemen from London, glad to get a little fresh air and excitement so cheap. Nimrods from ' the shires ' come to criticise the performances, and suggest, by implication, how much better they could ride them- selves. Horse-dealers, and professional 'legs^ of course, whose business it is to make the most of everything, and whose courteous demeanour is only equalled by the unblushing effrontery with which they offer ^ five points ^ less than the odds ; nor, though last not least, must we omit to mention the elite of Bubbleton, who have one and all cast up from 'the Spout,' as that salubrious town is sometimes denominated, as they always do cast up within reach of their favourite resort. Some of all sorts there are amongst them. Gentlemen of family, with- out incumbrances — gentlemen with incumbrances and no family — some with money and no brains — some with brains and no money — some that live upon the fat of the land, — others that live upon their wits, and pick up a subsistence therewith, bare as might be expected from the dearth of capital on which they trade. In the midst of them we recognise Frank Hardingstone, sufficiently conspicuous in his simple manly attire, amongst the chained and vel- veted and bedizened tigers by whom he is surrounded. VOL. I. L 146 WARLIKE ADVANCES, He is talking to a remarkably good-looking and particularly well-dressed man, known to nearly every one on tlie course as Mr. Jason_, tlie famous steeple- chase rider, wlio has come partly to sell Mr. Har- dingstone a horse, partly to patronize the ' soldiers' performances/ and partly to enjoy the gay scene which he is even now criticising. He is good enough to express his approval of the ladies in the stand, taking them en masse/ though his fastidious taste eannot but admit that there are ' some weedy-look- ing ones amongst 'em.' All this, however, is lost upon Frank Hardingstone, who has ears only for a conversation going on at his elbow, in which he hears Blanche's name mentioned, our friend Lac- quers being the principal speaker. ' Three hundred thousand — I give you my honour every penny of it ! ' says that calculating worthy to a speculative dandy with enormous red whiskers, ' and a nice girl too — devilish well read, you know, and all that.' ^ I suppose old Bounce keeps a bright look-out though, don't he?' rejoins his friend, who has all the appearance of a man that can make up his mind in a minute. ^ Yeees,' drawls Lacquers ; ^ but it might be done by a fellow with some energy — you know, she is engaged to young Kettering, her cousin — 'family pot,' you know — and she 's very spoony on him — still, I've half a mind to try.' AN EQUESTRIAN FEAT. 147 ' Why, the cousin will probably break his neck in the course of the day ; you can introduce me to-night at the ball. By the way, what are they betting about this young Kettering? can he ride any?' ' Not a yard/ replies Lacquers, as he turns away to light a cigar, whilst Lord Mount Helicon — for the red-bearded dandy is no less a person than that literary peer — dives into the ring to turn an honest 'pony/ as he calls it, on its fluctuations. ' Look here, Mr. Hardingstone/ exclaims the ob- senant Jason, forcibly attracting Frank's notice to a feat which, as he keeps his eyes fixed on the stand, is going on behind him. ' That 's the way to put 'em at it, major! well-ridden by the Lord Harry!' and Frank turns round in time to witness, with the shouting multitude and the half-frightened ladies, the gallant manner in which D'Or\dlle's white horse clears the double-post and rails to which Sir Ascot had objected. The major, it is needless to say, is a dauntless horseman, and, on being remonstrated with by Sir A. and his party, on the impracticable nature of the leap which he had selected for them, and the young Mohair, of the Heavies, suggesting that the stewards should always be compelled to ride over the ground themselves, made no more ado, but turned the white horse at the unwelcome barrier, and, by dint of a fine hand and a perfectly-broken animal, went ' in and out ' without touching, to the uproarious delight 148 AN EQUESTKIAN PEAT. of the mob, and the less-loudly expressed admiration of the ladies. ^ That's what I call in-and-out clever ^^ observes Mr. Jason, as the shouting subsides, thinking he could not have done it better himself — and he too elbows his way into the mass of noise, hustling, and con- fusion that constitutes the betting-ring. ^ We ought to throw our ' bouquets ' at the white horse !' says Mrs. DelavaFs next neighbour, a bold- looking lady of a certain age j and Mary recognises, with mingled feelings, her military adorer, and his well-known grey charger, now showing the lapse of time only by his change of colour to pure white. *I'm afraid it's all very dangerous,' thinks Blanche, to whom it occurs for the first time that ^ Cousin Charlie' may possibly break his neck; but the General at this instant touches her elbow to intro- duce '^ Major D'Orville,' who, having performed his official duties, has dismounted, and works his way into the stand to make the agreeable to the ladies, and '^have a look at this Miss Kettering — the very thing, by Jove, if she is tolerably lady -like.' How different is the Major's manner to that of Lacquers, Uppercrust, and half the other unmeaning dandies whom Blanche is accustomed to see fluttering round her. He has the least thing of a military swagger which most women certainly like, more particularly when in their own case that lordly demeanour is laid aside for a soft deferential air, AN EQUESTRIAN FEAT. 149 highly captivating to the Treaker sex ; and nobody understands this better than D'Orville. The little he says to Blanche is quiet, amusing, and to the purpose. The heiress is agreeably surprised. The implied homage of such a man is, to say the least of it, flattering ; and our cavalier has the good sense to take his leave as soon as he sees he has made a favourable impression, quite satisfied with the way in which he has * opened the trenches.' At the moment he did so, on turning round he encountered Mary Delaval. She looked unmoved as usual, and put out her hand to him, as if they had been in the habit of meeting every day. With a few incoherent words he bent over those long well-shaped fingers, and an observant by-stander might have had the good-luck to witness a somewhat unusual sight — a Major of Hussars blushing to the very tips of his moustaches ! Yes — the hardened man-of-the-world — the experi- enced roue — the dashing militaire had a heart, if you could only get at it, like the veriest clown then 'squiring his red-faced Dolly to ^ the races ' — the natural for the moment overcame the artificial, and as Gaston edged his way down through nodding comrades and smiling ladies, the feeling uppermost in his heart was — ' Heavens ! how I love this woman still ! — and what a fool I am ! ' But sentiment must not be indulged to the exclusion of business, and the Major too forces his way into the betting-ring. Tliere they are, hard at it — Nohhlers and noble- 150 PREPABATIONS TOR BATTLE. men — grooms and gentlemen — ^betting-liouse keepers and cavalry officers — all talking at once, all intent on having the best of it, and apparently all layers and no takers — ' Eight to one agin Lady Lavender/ says a stout capitalist, who looks like a grazier in his best clothes : ^ Take ten,' lisps the owner, a young- gentleman apparently about sixteen — * I ^11 back So- ber John ' — ^intake nine to two about the Fox' 'I'll lay against the field bar three' — 'I'll lay five ponies to two agin Haphazard !' vociferates the capitalist : ' Done,' cries Charlie, who is invest- ing on his horse as if he owned the Bank of England. At this moment Frank Hardingstone pierces into the ring, and drawing Charhe to- wards the outskirts, begins to lecture him on the coming struggle, and to give him useful hints on the art of riding a steeple-chase, for Frank with his usual decision has resolved not to go into the stand to talk to Blanche till he has done all in his power to insure the success of her cousin : ' Come and see the horse saddled, you conceited young jackanapes — don^t fool away any more money — how do you know you '11 win?' says Frank, taking the excited jockey by the arm and leading him away to where Haphazard, pawing and snorting and very uneasy, is being stripped of his clothing, the centre of an admiring throng. ' I know he can beat Lady Lavender,' re- plies Charlie, whose conversation for the last week has been strictly ' Newmarket ' — ' and he 's five UGLY JOHN. 151 pounds better than the Fox — and Mohair is sure to make a mess of it with Bendigo — he owns he can't ride him — and there 's nothing else has a chance except Sober John, a great half-bred brute ! ' ' Do you see that quiet-looking man talking to Jason there?' says Frank — ^that's the man who is to ride Sober John — about the best gentleman in England, and he 's getting a hint from the best pro- fessional. Do you think you can ride like Captain Rocket ? Now take my advice, Charlie, Haphazard is a nice-tempered horse, you ivait on Sober John — keep close behind him — ride over him if he falls — but whatever you see Captain Rocket do, you do the same — don 't come till you 're safe over the last fence — and if you 're not first you '11 be second ! ' Charlie promised faithfully to obey his friend's directions — though in his own mind he did not think it possible an Infantry horse could win the great event — Sober John, if he belonged to any one in particular, being the property of Lieutenant Sharpes of the Old Hundredth — who stood to win a very comfortable sum upon the veteran steeple-chaser. * They look nervous, Tim, most on 'm/ observes Captain Rocket, while with his own hands he adjusts 'the taekle,' as he calls it, on his horse; and his friend 'Tim' giving him a 'leg up,' he canters 'Sober John' past the stand, none of the ladies thinking that docile animal has the remotest chance of win- ning. ' He seems much too quiet/ says Blanche, 152 they're off. ' and he 's dreadfully ugly/ ' Beauty is not abso- lutely essential in horses, Miss Kettering/ replies a deep quiet voice at her elbow. Major D'Or^dlle has resumed his place by her side. Though he thinks he is paying attention to Blanche^ he cannot in reality forbear hovering about Mrs. Delaval. That lady meanwhile, with clasped hands, is hoping with all her heart that Captain Bocket may not win. If ' wishes were horses,' we think this young gentleman now tearing down the course upon Haphazard, throwing the dirt around him like a patent turnip- cutter, would have a good many of hers to bear him on his victorious career. By the way, Mary has never found her glove, we wonder whether that foolish boy knows anything about it — and talking of gloves, look at that dazzling pair of white kids on a level with his chin, in which ' Mohair of the Heavies ' is endeavouring to control Bendigo. He has had two large glasses of sherry, yet does he still look very pale — another, and yet another comes striding past like a whirlwind — Sir Ascot rides Lady Lavender, and Cornet Capon is to pilot the Fox. It is very difficult to know which is which amongst the varie- gated throng, and the ladies puzzle sadly over their cards, in which, as is usually the case at steeple- chases, the colours are all set down wrong. Each damsel, however, has one favourite at least whom she could recognise in any disguise, and we may be sure that '^blue-and-orange' is not without his well-wishers in the grand-stand. 153 Major D'Orvillc is an admirable cicerone, inasmuch as besides being steward, he has a heavy book on the race, and knows the capabilities of each horse to a pound, whatever may be his uncertainty as regards the riders. ' Your cousin has a very fair chance^ Miss Kettering — he seems to ride uncommonly well for such a boy — Sir Ascot w^ants nerve, and Mohair can 't manage his horse/ ' See — they 've got 'em in line/ exclaims the General, who is in a state of frantic excitement altogether. ' Silence, pray ! he 's going to — ah, the blundering blockhead, it 's a false start ! ' Major D'Orville takes out his double-glasses, and proceeds quietly without noticing the interrup- tion, ' then the Fox has been lame, and Capon is a sad performer, nevertheless you shall have your choice, !Miss Kettering, and 1*11 bet you a pair of gloves on the — by Jove they're off' — and the Major puts his glasses up in scarcely veiled anxiety, whilst Mary DelavaFs heart beats thick and fast, as she strains her eyes towards the fleeting tulip-coloured throng, drawing gradually out from the dark mass of spectators that have gone to witness the start. How easy it looks to go cantering along over a nice grass country, properly flagged out so as to ensure the performers from making any mistakes ; and how trifling the obstacles appear over which they are following each other like a string of wild- geese, more particularly when you, the spectator, are quietly 154 THEY^KE OFF. ensconced in a comfortable seat sheltered from the wind, and viewing the sports at a respectful distance. Perhaps you might not think it quite such child's play, were you assisting in the pageant on the back of a headstrong powerful horse, rendered irritable and violent by severe training (of which discipline this unfortunate class of animal gets more than enough), rasping your knuckles against his withers^ and pulling your arms out of their sockets, because he, the machine, is all anxiety to get to the end, whilst you, the controlling, or who ought to be, the controlling power, have received strict injunctions * to wait/ If your whole energies were not directed to the one object of ^ doing your duty ' and winning your race, you might possibly have leisure to reflect on your somewhat hazardous position. ' Neck-or- nothing ' has just disappeared, doubling up himself and Mr. Eearless in a complicated kind of fall, at the very place over which you must necessarily follow ; and should your horse, who is shaking his head furiously, as you vainly endeavour to steady him, make the slightest mistake, you shudder to think of ^ Frantic ' running away with her rider close behind you. Nevertheless, it is impossible to decline ' eternal misery on this side and certain death on the other,' but go you must, and when safe into the next field, there is nothing of any importance till you come to the brook. To be sure the animal you are riding never would face water. Still your spurs are sharp, and RIDING TO WIN. 155 you have a vague sort of trust that j^ou may get over somehow. You really deserve to win, yet will we, albeit unused to eomputation of the odds, willingly bet you five to four, that you are neither first nor second. In the meantime our friends in the stand make their running commentaries on the race. ' How slow they are going,' says Blanche, who, like all ladies, has a most Hberal idea of 'pace/ ^He's over /' mut- ters Mary Delaval, as ' blue-and-orange ' skims lightly over the first fence undistinguished, save by her, amidst the rest. ' One down ! ' says a voice, and there is a slight scream from amongst the prettiest of the bonnets. ' Red-and-white cap — who is it ?^ and what with the distraction of w^atching the others, and the confusion on the cards, Bendigo has been caught and remounted ere the hapless Lieutenant Mohair can be identified. ^Mean while the string is lengthening out. ' Uppy is making frightful running,' says Major D'Orville, thinking how right he was to stand heavily against Lady Lavender; 'however, the Fox is close upon him; and that's Haphazard, Miss Kettering, just behind Sober John.' 'Two — four — six — seven — nine — what a pretty sight ! ' says Blanche, but she turns away her head with a shudder as a party- coloured jacket goes down at the next fence, neither horse nor rider rising again. One always fancies the worst, and Mary turns pale as death, and clasps her hands tighter than ever. And now they arrive at 156 WELL OVER AND WELL IN. the double-post-and-rails, whicli have been erected purposely for the gratification of the ladies in the stand. The first three bound over it in their stride like so many deer. Captain Rocket pulls his horse into a trot, and Sober John goes in-and-out quite as cleverly as did the Major^s white charger. Mr. Jason is good enough to express his approval. Charlie follows the example of his leader ; and though he hits it very hard, Haphazard's fine shape saves him from a fall. Blanche thinks him the noblest hero in England_, and nobody but D'Orville remarks how very pale Mrs. Delaval is getting. Mohair essays to follow the example thus set him, and succeeds in doing the first half of his task admirably, but no power on earth will induce Bendigo to jump out after jumping in, and eventually he is obliged to be igno- miniously extricated by a couple of carpenters and a hand-saw. His companions diverge, like a flight of wild-fowl, towards the brook. The Fox, who is now leading, refuses; and the charitable Nimrods, and dan- dies, and swells, and professionals all vote that Capon's heart failed him, and ^ he didn't put in half enough powder.' The Major knows better. The horse was once his property, and he has not laid against it without reason. The brook creates much confusion ; but Sober John singles himself out from the ruck, and flies it without an effort, closely followed by Haphazard and Lady Lavender. The rest splash and struggle, and get over as they best can, with but A CLOSE EACE. 157 little chance now of coming up with the first three. They all tiu-u towai'ds home, and the pace is visibly increasing. Captain Rocket is leading, but Charlie's horse is obviously full of running, and the boy is gradually drawing away from Lady Lavender, and nearer and nearer to the front. Already people begin to shout ' Haphazard wins / and the General is hoarse with excitement. ' Charlie wins ! ' he ex- claims, his face purple, and the ends of his blue-and- orange handkerchief floating on the breeze. 'Charlie wins ! I tell you. Look how he 's coming up. Zounds! don 't contradict we, sir ! ' he roars out, to the in- tense dismay of his next neighbour, a meek old gentleman, who has only come to the steeple-chase in order that he may write an account of it for a magazine, and who shrinks from the General as from a raving madman. ' Now, Captain Rocket/ shouts the multitude, as if that unmoved man would attend to anything but the business in hand. They reach the last fence neck-and-neck. Haphazard land- ing slightly in advance. 'Kettering wins V ' Blast him!' hisses D'Orville between his teeth, turning white as a sheet. He stands to lose eighteen hundred by Haphazard alone, and we question whether, on reliable security, the Major could raise eighteenpence. Nevertheless he turns the next instant to Blanche, with a quiet unmoved smile, to congi-atulate her on her cousin's probable success. 'If he can only 'finish,' Miss Kettering, he can't lose/ says the speculator; 158 A CLOSE RACE. but he still trusts that ^if' may save him the price of his commission. What a moment for Charlie ! Hot, breathless, and nearly exhausted; his brain reeling with the shouts of the populace, and the wild excitement of the struggle, one idea is uppermost in his mind, if man and horse can do it, win he will. Steadily has he ridden four long miles, taking the greatest pains with his horse, and restraining his own eagerness to be in front, as well as that of the gallant animal. He has kept his eye fixed on Captain Rocket, and regulated his every movement by that celebrated per- former. And now he is drawing slightly in advance of him, and one hundred yards more will complete liis triumph. Yet, inexperienced as he is, he cannot but feel that Haphazard is no longer the elastic, eager goer whom he has been regulating so carefully, and the truth shoots across him that his horse is beat. Well, he ought to last another hundred yards. See, the double flags are waving before him, and the shouts of his own name fall dully upon his ear. He hears Captain Rocket's whip at work, and is not aware how that judicious artist is merely plying it against his own boot, to flurry the young one. Charlie begins to flog. ^Sit still l^ shouts Frank Hardingstone from the stand. Charlie works arms and legs like a windmill, upsets his horse, who would win if he were but let alone — ' Sober John' shews his great ugly head alongside. Haphazard changes THE HEIRESS WITH MANY FRIENDS. 159 his leg — ^lajor D'Orville draws a long breath of relief — Captain Rocket, with a grim smile, and one fierce stab of his spurs, glides slightly in advance — and Haphazard is beaten on the post by half a length, Lady Lavender a bad third, and the rest nowhere i * * <<• -J^- Blanche is dreadfully disappointed. The General thinks 'the lad deserves great credit for being second in such good company -^ but the tears stand in Mary Delaval's eyes — tears, we believe, of gratitude at his not being brought home on a hurdle, instead of riding into the weighing-enclosure with the drooping self-satisfied air, and the arms hanging powerless down his sides, which distinguish the gentleman- jockey after his exertions. The boy is scarcely dis- appointed. To have been so near winning, and to have run second for such an event as ' the Grand Military,^ is a feather in his cap of which he is in no shght degree proud; and he walks into the stand the hero of the day, for Captain Rocket is no lady^s man, and is engaged to risk his neck again to-morrow a hundred miles from here. So he has put on a long great coat and disappeared. The General accounts for Charlie's defeat on a theory peculiarly his own. 'Virtually' says he, 'my nephew won the race. How dy 'e mean heat ? It was twenty yards ov6r the four miles. Twenty yards from home he was a length in front. If the stewards had been worth their salt, we should have won. Don't tell me V 160 THE HEIRESS WITH MANY FEIENDS. There is more racing, but the great event has come off, and our friends in the stand occupy them- selves only with luncheon. Frank Hardingstone comes up to speak to Blanche,, but she is so sur- rounded and hemmed in^ that beyond shaking hands with her, he might as well be back at his own place on the South Coast, for any enjoyment he can have in her society. Major D^Orville is rapidly gaining ground in the good graces of all the Newton- Hollows party. He has won a large stake, and is in brilliant spirits. Even Mary thinks ^ what an agreeable man he is/ and glances the while at a fair glowing face, eating, drinking, and laughing by turns, and dis- cussing with Sir Ascot the different events of their exciting gallop. Lacquers, with his mouth full, is making the agreeable in his own way, to the whole party. 'Deuced good pie — aw — ruin me — aw — in gloves Miss Kettering — aw — lose everything to you — aw / and the dandy has a vague sort of notion that he might say something sweet here, but it will not shape itself into words very conveniently, so he has a large glass of sherry instead. Our friend Captain Lacquers is not so much a '^man of parts,' as 'a man of figure.* Charlie, somewhat excited, flourishes his knife and fork, and describes how he lost his race to the pubhc in general. Gaston D'Orville with his most defe- rential air, is winning golden opinions from Blanche, and thinking in his innermost soul what a traitor he is to his own heart the while ; Mrs. Delaval looks A day's amusement. 161 very pale and subdued, and Bounee thinks she must be tired, but breaks off to something else before he has made the inquiry — still everybody seems outwai*dly to be enjoying him or herself to the utmost, and it is with a forced smile and an air of assumed gaiety that Frank Hardingstone takes his leave, and supposes 'we shall all meet at the ball.' Fancy Frank deliberately proposing to go to a ball ! How bitterly he smiles as he walks away from the course faster and faster, as thought after thought goads him to personal exertion ! Now he despises himself thoroughly for his weakness in allowing the smile of a silly girl thus to sink into a strong man's heart — now he analyses his own feelings as he would probe a corporeal wound, with a stern, scientific, pleasure in the examination — and anon he speculates vaguely on the arrangements of Nature, which pro- vide him with sentimental follies for a sauce piquante wherewith to flavour our daily bread. Nevertheless our man of action is by no means satisfied with him- self. He takes a fierce walk over the most unfre- quented fields, and returns to his solitary lodgings, to read stifl" chapters of old dogmatic writers, and to work out a tough equation or two, till he can ' get this nonsense out of his head.' In vain — a fairy figure with long \dolet eyes and floating hair dances between him and his quarto, and the ' unknown quan- tity' ;?/m5 Blanche continually eludes his mental grasp. VOL.1. M 162 A day's amusement. We do not think Frank has enjoyed his day's pleasure, any more than Mary Delaval. How few people do, could we but peep into their heart of hearts ! Here are two, at least, of that gay throng, in whom the shaft is rankling, and all this discom- fort and anxiety exists, because, forsooth, people never understand each other in time. We think it is in one of E-ousseau^s novels that the catastrophe is continually being postponed because the heroine in- variably becomes vivement emue, and unable to arti- culate, just at the critical moment when two words more would explain everything, and make her happy with her adorer. Were it not for this provoking weakness, she would be married and settled long before the end of the first volume : but then, to be sure, what would become of all the remaining pages of French sentimentality ? If there were no uncer- tainty, there would be no romance — if we knew each other better, perhaps we should love each other less. Hopes and fears make up the game of life. Better be the germinating flower, blooming in the sunshine and cowering in the blast, than the withered branch, defiant indeed of winter's cold and summer's heat, but drinking in no dew of morning, putting forth no buds of spring, and in its dreary, barren isolation, unsusceptible of pleasure as of pain. CHAPTER VIII. ^t iail. THE COUNTRY BALL A POETICAL PEER- PARTNERS SMILES AND SCOWLS MAM: THE general's POLITICS — THE MAJOr's STRATEGY 'home' THE DREAMER THE SLEEPER AND THE WATCHER. T)USTLE and confusion reign paramount at '^the Kingmakers' Arms' — principal hotel and post- ing-house in the town of Guyville. Once a year is there a great lifting of carpets, and shifting of fur- niture, in all the rooms of that enterprising estab- lishment. Chambermaids hurry to and fro in smart caps, brought out for the occasion, and pale-faced waiters brandish their glass-cloths in despair at the variety of their duties. All the resources of the plate-basket are brought into use, and knives, forks, tumblers, wine-glasses, German silver and Britannia metal are collected, and borrowed, and furbished up, to grace the evening's entertainment with a magnifi- cence becoming the occasion. Dust pervades the passages, and there is a hot smell of cooking and closed windows, by which the frequenters of the house are made aware that to-night is the anni- versary of the Guyville Ball, a solemnity to be spoken of with reverence by the very ostler's assistant in the 164 THE COUNTY BALL. yard, who will tell you ' we are very busy, sir, just now, sir, on account of the halV Tea-rooms, card-rooms, supper-rooms, dancing-rooms, and cloak-rooms, leave but few apartments to be devoted to the purposes of rest; and an unwary bagman, snoring quietly in No. 5, migbt chance to be smothered ere morning by the heap of cloaks, shawls, polka-jackets, and other lady-like wraps, ruthlessly heaped upon the unconscious victim in his dormitory. The combined attractions of steeple-chasing and dancing bring numerous young gentlemen and their valets to in- crease the confusion ; and, were it not that the six o'clock train takes back the Londoners and * pro- fessionals' to the metropolis, it would be out of the power of mortal functionaries to attend to so many wants, and wait upon so many customers. That tall, pale, interesting-looking man in chains and ringlets has already created much commotion below with his insatiable demands for foot-baths and hot water. As he waits carelessly in the passage at that closed door, receiving and returning the admir- ing glances of passing chamber-maids, you would hardly suppose from his unassuming demeanour, that he is no less a person than Lord Mount-HeUcon's gentleman. To be sure, he is now what he calls ^comparatively incog.' It is only at his club in Piccadilly, or ' the room' at Wassailworth, where he and the Duke's ' own man' lay down the law upon racing, politics, wine, and women, that he is to be A POETICAL PEER. 165 seen in his full glory. To give him liis clue, lie is an admirable servant, as far as his own duties are con- cerned, and a clever fellow to boot, or he would not have picked up seven-and-thirty pounds to-day on the steeple-chjise whilst he was looking after the luncheon and the carriage. We question, however, whether he coidd complete his toilette as expedi- tiously as his master, wdio is noAv stamping about his room, reciting, in an audible voice, a thundering ode on which he has been some considerable time en- gaged, and elaborating the folds of his w^hite neck- cloth (old fifth-form tie) between the stanzas. Lord !Mount Helicon is a literary nobleman ; not one of Your authors who's all author, fellows In foolscap uniforms turned up with ink ; but a sportsman as well as a scholar, a man of the world as well as a man of letters, given over much to betting, horse-racing, and dissipation in general, but with as keen a zest for the elegancies of litera- ture as for those beauties of the di-ama to which he pays fully more attention, and one wdio can compute you the odds as readily as he can turn a lyric or round a flowing period. Had his lordship possessed a little more common sense and a slight modicum of pru- dence, forethought, reflection, and such plebeian qualities, he need not have failed in any one thing he undertook. As it was, his best friends regretted he should waste his talents so unsparingly on versifi- 166 A POETICAL PEEK. cation ; whilst his enemies (the hitter dogs) averred, ^ Mount Helicon's rhyme was, if possible, worse than his reason/ Being member for Guyville (our readers will probably call to mind how the columns of their daily paper were filled with the Guyville Election Committee^s Report, and the wonderful appetite for ' treating' displayed by the ' free and independent^ of that town during their ' three glorious days') — being member, then, of course it is incumbent on him to attend the ball; so, after a hurried dinner with Lacquers, Sir Ascot, Major D'Orville, and sundry other gentlemen who live every day of their lives, behold him curling his red whiskers, and attiring his tall gaunt form in a suit of decorous black. ' Deuced bad dinner they give one here,' says his lordship to himself, still hammering away at the ode. ' Wish I hadnH drank that second bottle of claret, and smoked so much. When the thunders of a people smite the quailing despot's ear, And the earthquake of rebellion heaves — No, I can't get it right. How those cursed fiddlers are scraping ! — and either that glass maligns me, or I look a little drunk ! This life don't suit my style of beauty — something must be done : shall I marry and pull up ? Marry — will I ! Bow my cultivated intellect before some savage maiden, and fatten like a tethered calf on the flat swamps of domestic re- A POETICAL PEER. 167 spectability. Straps ! go down and find out if many of the people are come/ 'Several of the town's-people have arrived^ my lord ; but few of the county families as yet/ replies Straps, whose knowledge of a member of parliament's duties would have qualified him to represent Guyville as well as his master. Lord IMount Helicon accord- ingly completes his toilet and proceeds to the ball- room, still mentally harping on ' the thunders of a people/ and ^the quailing despot^s ear.' The town's-people have indeed arrived in very sufficient numbers, yet is there a strong line of de- marcation between their plebeian ranks and those of ' the county families' huddled together at the upper end of the room. Britannia ! Britannia ! when will you cease to bring your coat-of-arms into society, and to smother your warm heart and sociable nature under pedigrees, and rent-rolls, and dreary conven- tionalities ? When you do, you will enjoy yourself all the more, and be respected none the less. You will be equally efficient as a chaperon, though the trident be not always pointed on the defensive ; and the lion may be an excellent watch-dog, without being trained to growl at every fellow creature who does not happen to keep a carriage. His lordship's business, however, lies chiefly with those, so to speak, below the salt. Voters are they, or, more important still, voters' wives and daughters, and, as such, must be propitiated, for Mount Helicon^ we need scarcely 168 Blanche's partners. inform our readers^ is not an English peerage, and my lord may probably require to sit again for the same incorruptible borough. So he bows to this lady, and flirts with that, and submits to be patted on the shoulder and twaddled to by a fat little man, primed with port, but who, when not thus bemused, is an influential member of his committee, and a staunch supporter on the hustings. Nay more, with an efi'ort that he deserves infinite credit for concealing with such good grace, he offers his arm to the red-haired daughter of his literally warm supporter, and leads the well-pleased damsel, blushing much, and mindful ^ to keep her head up,' right away to the county families' quadrille at the top of the room, where she dances vis-a-vis — actually vis-a-vis — to Miss Kettering and Captain Lacquers. That gentleman is considerably brightened up by his dinner and his potations. He has besides got his favourite boots on, and feels equal to almost any social emergency, so he is making the agreeable to the heiress with that degree of originality so pecu- liarly his own, and getting on, as he thinks, ^ hke a house on fire.' ' Very wawm, Miss Kettering, observes the dandy, holding steadily by his starboard moustache. ^ Guy- ville people always make it so hot. Charming bou- quet.' 'Your vis-a-vis is dancing alone/ says Blanche cutting short her partner's interesting remarks^ and Blanche's partners. 169 sending him sprawling and swaggering across the room, only to hasten back again and proceed with his conversation. ' You know the man opposite — man with the red whiskers ? That 's Mount Helicon. Good fellow — aw — if he could hut dye his whiskers. Asked to be introduced to you to-day on the course. Told him — aw — I couldn^t take such a liberty.' Lacquers wishes to say he would like to keep her society all to himself, but, as usual, he cannot express clearly what he means, so he twirls his moustaches instead, and is presently lost in the intricacies of ' La Poule.' We need hardly observe that manoeuvring is not our friend's forte. Blanche's eyes meanwhile are turned steadily towards the lower end of the room, and her partner's following their direction, he discovers as he thinks a fresh topic of conversation. ^ Ah ! there 's Hardingstone just come in. Aw — why don't he bring his wife with him, I wonder ?' ' His wife ! ' repeated Blanche, with a start that sent the blood from her heart ; ' why he 's not married, is he ?' she added with more animation than she had hitherto exhibited. ' Don't know, I 'm sure,' replied the dandy, glan- cing down at his own faultless chaussure ; ' thought he was — aw — looks like a married man — aw.' 'Why should you think so?' inquired Blanche, half amused in spite of herself. ' Why — aw/ replied the observant reasoner^ ' got 170 Blanche's partners. the married look you know. Wears wide family boots. Aw — do to ride the children on you know.' Blanche could not repress a laugh ; and the qua- drille being concluded, off she went with *^ cousin Charlie/ to stagger through a breathless polka, just at the moment the ' family boots ' bore their owner to the upper end of the room in search of her. Frank was out of his element, and thoroughly uncomfortable. — Generally speaking, he could adapt himself to any society into which he happened to be thrown, but to-night he was restless and out of spirits ; dissatisfied with Blanche, with himself for being so, and with the world in general. ' What a parcel of fools these people are/ thought he, as with folded arms he leaned against the wall and gazed vacantly on the shifting throng; ^jigging away to bad music in a hot room, and calling it pleasure. What a waste of time, and energy, and everything. Now there 's little Blanche Kettering. I did think that girl was superior to the common run of women. I fancied she had a heart, and a mind, and ' brains,' and was above all the petty vanities of flirting, and fiddling, and dressing, which a posse of idiots dignify with the name of society. But no, they are all alike, giddy, vain, and frivolous. There she is, dancing away with as light a heart as if 'cousin Charlie' were not under orders for the Cape, and to start to-morrow morning. She don't care — not she ! I wonder if she will marry him, should he ever come SMILES AND SCOWLS. 171 back. I have never liked to ask him, but everybody seems to say it 's a settled thing. How changed she must be since we used to go out in the boat at St. Swithin's, and yet how little altered she is in features from the child I was so fond of. It *s disappointing !' And Frank ground his teeth with subdued ferocity. ' It ^s disgusting ! She 's not half good enough for Charlie. I ^11 never believe in one of them again ! ' Wellj if not ' half good enough for Charlie/ we mistake much whether,, even at the very moment of condemnation^ our philosopher did not consider her quite ' good enough for Frank' ; and could he but have known the young girl's thoughts while he judged her so harshly, he would have been much more in charity with the world in general, and looked upon the rational amusement of dancing in a light more becoming a sensible man, which, to do him justice, he generally was. Blanche even as she wound and threaded through the mazes of a crowded polka, skilfully steered by * cousin Charlie,' who was a beautiful dancer, and one of whose little feet would scarcely have served to ^ride a fairy/ was wondering in her own mind why Mr. Hardingstone had not asked her to dance, and why he had been so distant at the steeple-chase, and speculating whether it was possible he could be married. How she hoped Mrs. Hardingstone, if there should be one, was a nice person^ and how fond she would be of her, and yet few people were worthy of 172 SMILES AND SCOWLS. him. How noble and manly lie looked to-night amongst all the dandies. She would rather see Mr. Hardingstone frown than any one else smile — there was nobody like him except^ perhaps, Major D'Orville, he had the same quiet voice, the same self-reliant manner, but then the Major was much older. O no — there was nothing equal to Frank — and how she liked him., he was such a friend of Charlie — and just as Blanche arrived at this conclusion, the skirt of her dress got entangled in Cornet Capon's spur, and Charlie laughed so (the provoking boy ! ) that he could not set her free, and the Cornet's apologies were so absurd, and everybody stared so, it was quite disagreeable ! But a tall manly figure interposed between her and the crowd, and Major D^Orville released her in an instant ; and that deep winning voice engaged her for the next dance, and she could not but comply, though she had rather it had been some one else. Frank saw it all, still with his arms folded, and misjudged her again, as men do those of whom they are fondest. ' How well she does it, the little coquette,' he thought, ^ it 's' a good piece of acting all through — now she'll flirt with D'Orville becaue he happens to be a great man here, and then she'll throw him over for some one else, and so they ' keep the game alive.' ' Frank ! Frank ! you ought to be ashamed of yourself ! In the meantime. Lord Mount Helicon must not SMILES AND SCOWLS. 173 neglect a very important part of the business which has brought him to Guyville. In the pocket of his Lordship's morning coat is a letter which Straps, who has taken that garment down to brush, in the natural course of things is even now perusing. As its con- tents may somewhat enlighten us as well as the valet, we will take the liberty of peeping over that trusty domestic's shoulder, and joining him in his pursuit of knowledge, premising that the epistle is dated Brook-street, and is a fair specimen of maternal advice to a son. After the usual gossip regarding !Mrs. Bolter's elopement and Lady Susan Stiff-neck's marriage, with the indispensable conjectures about ^ ^Ministers,' a body in whose precarious position ladies of a certain age take an unaccountable in- terest; the letter goes on to demonstrate 'that it is needless to pomt out, my dear Mount, the advantages you would obtain under your peculiar circumstances by settling early in life. When I was at Bubbleton last autumn (and Globus says I have never been so well since he attended me when you were born — in fact the spasms left me altogether) — I made the acquaint- ance of a General Bounce, an odious vulgar man, who had been all his life somewhere in India, but who had a niece, a quiet amiable girl, by name Kettering, with whom I was much pleased. They have a nice place, though damp, somewhere in the neighbourhood of your borough, and I dined there once or twice before I left Bubbleton. Everything 174 mamma's advice. looked like a maison montce, and from information I can rely on, I understand the girl is a great heiress. Between ourselves. Lady Champfront told me she would have from three to four hundred thousand pounds. Now, although I should be the last person to hint at your selling yourself for money, parti- cularly with your talents and your position, yet if you should happen to see this young lady, and take a fancy to her, it would be a very nice thing, and would make you quite independent. She is pretty- ish, in the ' Jeannette and Jeannot ^ style, and al- though her manner is not the least formed, she has no prononce vulgarity, and would soon acquire our ^ ways ^ when she came to live amongst us. Of course we should drop the General immediately; and, my dear boy, I trust you would give up that horrid racing — young Cubbington, who has hardly left school, is already nearly ruined by it, and Lady Looby is in despair, — such a mother too as she has been to him ! By-the-bye there is a cousin in our way^ but he is young enough to be in love only with himself, and appeared to me to be rather making up to the governess ! Think of this, my dear ' Mount,' ' And believe me ^ Your most affectionate mother, ' M. Mt. Helicon. ' P.S. — Your book is much admired — Trifles raves about it, and your old friend Mrs. Blacklamb assures me that it made her quite ill.* THE general's POLITICS. 175 Primed with such sage counsel, his Lordship determined to lose no time in ' opening the trenches/ After enacting sundry duty-dances, by which he had gained at least one prospective ' plumper/ he accor- dingly ^ completed the first parallel ^ by obtaining an introduction to General Bounce, which ceremony Captain Lacquers performed in his usual easy ofi"- hand style — the introducer shouting into each man's ear his listener's own name, and suppressing altoge- ther that of his new acquaintance, an ingenious method of presenting people to each other without furthering their intimacy to any great extent. The General, however, and the member had known each other previously by sight as well as by name, the former having voted and spoken against the latter at the past election, with his peculiar abruptness and energy ; but Mount Helicon was the last man in the world to owe an antagonist a grudge, and being keenly alive to the ridiculous, was prepared to be delighted with his political opponent in whom he saw a fund of absurdity, out of which he promised himself much amusement. ' Glad to make your acquaintance, my Lud,' said the General, standing well behind his orders and decorations, which showed to great advantage on a coat tightly buttoned across his somewhat corpident frame — 'Don't like your politics — what? never did — progress and all that, sir, not worth a row of gingerbread — don't tell me — why, what did Lord 176 THE general's politics. Hindostan say to me at Government House, when they threatened to report me at home for exceeding my orders ? ' Bounce/ says his Excellency — , Bounce, I'll see you through it — what? nothing like a big stick for a nigger. Stick, how d'ye mean?' — and the speaker, who was beginning to foam at the mouth, suddenly changed his tone to one of the sweetest politeness, as he introduced ' my niece, Miss Kettering, Lord Mount Helicon/ A second time was Frank Hardingstone forestalled; he had just made up his mind that he would dance with Blanche only once, sun himself yet once again in her sweet smile, and then think of her no more — a sensible resolution, but not very easy to carry out. Of course he laid the blame on her. ' First she makes a fool of D'Orville,' thought he, ^ a man old enough to be her father — and now she whisks away with this red- bearded radical — to make a fool of him too, unless she means to throw over Charlie, and who is the greatest fool of the three ? Why, you, Frank Har- dingstone, who ought to know better. I shall go home, smoke a cigar, and go to bed — the dream is over; I had no idea it would be so unpleasant to wake from it.' So Frank selected his hat, pulled out his cigar-case, and trudged off, by no means in a philosophical or even a charitable frame of mind. There was a light twinkling in the window of his lodgings over the Saddler's, some three hours after- wards, when a carriage drove rapidly by, bearing THE DREAMER — THE SLEEPER. 177 a freight of pleasui'e-seekers home from the ball. Inside were the General and Blanche, the former fast asleep, wrapped in the di*eamless slnmbers which those enjoy who have reached that time of life when the soundness of the stomach is far more attended to than that of the heart — when sentiment is of small account, but digestion of paramount importance. Age, as it widens the circle of our affections, weakens their intensity, and although proverbially 'there is no fool hke an old one/ we question if in the present day there are many Anacreons who — ' When they behold the festive train Of dancing youth, are young again ;' or who, however little they might object to cele- brating her charms ' in the bowl/ would, for ^ soft Bathylla^s sake,' wreathe vine-leaves round their grizzled heads. No — Age is loth to make itself ridiculous in that way ; and the General snored and grunted, heart-whole and comfortable, by the side of his pretty niece. How pretty she looked — a little pale from over-excitement and fatigue, but her violet eyes all the deeper and darker from the contrast, whilst none but her maid would have thought the long golden brown hair spoiled by hanging down in those rich uncurling clusters. She was like the pale blush rose in her bouquet — more winning as it droops in half-faded loveliness, than when first it bloomed, bright and crisp, in its native conservatory. The VOL. I. N 178 THE DEEAMER — THE SLEEPER. flower yields its fragrance all the sweeter for being shaken by the breeze. Who but a cousin or a brother would have gone on the box to smoke, with such a girl as Blanche inside? Yet so it was. Master Charlie_, who danced, as he did everything else, with his whole heart and soul, could not forego the luxury of a cigar, in the cool night air, after the noise and heat and revelry of the ball. As he pufied volumes of smoke into the air, and watched the bright stars twinkling down through the clear pure night, his thoughts wandered far — far into the future, and he, too, felt that the majesty of a sad sweet face had impressed itself on his being, that she had been watching him to-day through his boyish exploits, and that her eye would kindle, her cheek would glow, when military honours and distinction were heaped upon him, as heaped he was resolved they should be, if ever an opportunity offered. To-mor- row his career would begin ! — To-morrow, aye, even to-day (for it was already past mid-night), he was to embark for the Cape; and scarce a thought of the bitterness of parting, perhaps for ever, shaded that bright young imagination, as it sketched out for itself its impossible romance, worth all the material possibilities that have ever been accomplished. So Charlie smoked, and pondered and dreamed of beauty and valour. We do not think he was in very immi- nent danger of marrying his cousin. Perhaps were he inside, his flow of spirits would THE DREA]\rER — THE SLEEPER. 179 only disturb the quiet occupants. Blanche is not asleep^ but she is dreaming nevertheless. With her large eyes fixed vacantly on the hedge-row trees and fences, that seem to be wheeling past her in the carriage lamp-light, she is li\ing the last few hours of her life again, and seeing their past events more clearly, as she disentangles them from the excitement and confusion amongst which they actually occurred. Now she is dancing with Lacquers or Sir Ascot, and wondering, as she recalls their common-place chatter and trite remarks, how men so insipid can belong to the same creation as ^cousin Charlie' or another gentleman, a friend of his, of whom, for the first time in her life, she feels a little afraid. Now she laughs to herself as she recollects Cornet Capon^s agony of shyness, and the burning blushes with which that difl&dent young officer apologised for tearing her dress. Anon she sees Major D' Or villous commanding figure and handsome manly face, while the low musical voice is still ringing in her ear, and thei quiet deferential manner, softened by a protective air of kindness, has lost none of its charm. Blanche is not the first young lady, by a good many, who has gone home from a ball with a flattered consciousness that a certain gallant officer thinks her a 'very superior person,' and that the good opinion of such a man is indeed worth having. The Major was ' a dangerous man ;' he betrayed no coxcombry, to mar the effect of his warlike beauty and chivalrous bearing. He 180 THE DREAMER — THE 8LEEPER. never ' sank ' tlie profession, but always spoke of himself as ^ a mere soldier,' whilst his manner was that of a ' finished gentleman/ He had distinguished himself, too, on more than one occasion; and the men all had a great opinion of him. Woman is an imitative animal ; and a high reputation, especially for courage, amongst the gentlemen, goes a long way in the good graces of the ladies. Add to these the crowning advantage, that the Major, except in one instance, of which we know the facts, came into the unequal contest with a heart perfectly invulnerable and case-hardened by intercourse with the world, and a selfishness less the result of nature than edu- cation. When a man, himself untouched, makes up his mind that a woman shall love him, the odds are fearfully in his favour. Blanche liked him already; but if ^in the multitude of counsellors there is safety,' no less is there security in the multitude of admirers; and ere the Major's image had time to make more than a transient impression, that of Lord Mount Helicon chased it away, in the mental magic- lantern of our fair young dreamer. He had taken her in to supper, and how pleasant he was ! so odd, but so agreeable — such command of language, and such a quaint, absurd way of saying common-place things. Not so bad-looking either, in spite of his red whiskers ; and such a beautiful title ! How well it would sound ! and Blanche smiled at herself as the idea came across her. But a handsome manly fellow THE DREAIVIER — THE SLEEPER. 181 leaning against the wall, was looking at her with a stern forbidding expression she had never seen before on that open brow, and Blanche's heart ached at the vision. Mr. Hardingstone was snrely very much changed ; he who used to be so frank, and kind, and good- humoured, and to lose no opportunity of petting and praising the girl he had known from a child; and to-night he had never so much as asked her to dance, and scarcely spoken to her. 'AMiat right had he to look so cross at me?* thought the girl, with the subdued irritation of wounded feelings j ' what had I done to offend him, or why should I care whether I offend him or not ? Poor fellow, perhaps he is in low spirits about ^cousin Charlie's' going away so soon.' And Blanche's eyes filled with tears — tears that she persuaded herself were but due to her cousin's early departure. Like the rising generation in general, Charlie was a great smoker. His ideas of '^campaigning' were considerably mixed up with tobacco, and he lost no opportunity of qualifying for the bivouac by a sedu- lous consumption of cigars. He dashed the last bit of ^ burning comfort' from his lips, as the carriage drove into the avenue at Newton- Hollows. Pro- tracted yawns prevented much conversation during the serving-out of hand-candlesticks. Good nights were exchanged ; ' We shall all see you to-morrow before you go, dear,' said Blanche, as she disappeared into her room ; and soon the sighing of the night- 182 THE WATCHER. wind was the only sound to disturb the silence of that long range of buildings^ where all were sunk in slumber and repose — all save one. At an open window^ looking steadfastly forth into the darkness,, sat Mary Delaval. She had not stirred for hours^ and she might have been asleep, so move- less was her attitude, had it not been for the fixed earnest expression gf her dark grey eye. One round white arm rested on the window-ledge, and her long black hair fell in loose masses over the snowy gar- ments, which, constituting a lady's ^ deshabille,^ reveal her beauties far less Hberally than the costume she more inaptly terms ^ full dress/ Mary is reasoning with herself, generally an unsatisfactory process, and one that seldom leads to any definite conclusion — sadly, soberly, and painfully, she is recalling her past life, her selfish father, her injured mother, the hard- ships and trials of her youth, and the ray of sunshine that has tinged the last few weeks with its golden light. She never thought to entertain folly, madness, such as this ; yet would she not have had it otherwise for worlds. Bitter are the dregs, but verily the poison is more than sweet. And now he is going away, and she will never, never see him again ; that fair young face will never more greet her with its thrilling smile, those kindly joyous tones never more make music for her ear. — To-morrow he will be gone. — Perhaps he may fall in action — the beautiful brow gashed — the too-well-known features cold and fixed THE WATCHER. 183 in death ; not if prayers can avert such a fate. Per- haps he will return distinguished and triumphant ; but in either case what more will the poor governess have to do with the young hero, save to love him still ? Yes, she may love him noiv — love him with all her heart and soul, without restraint, Avithout self- reproach, for she Avill never see him again. On that she is determined ; their paths lie in different di- rections. Like two ships that meet upon the waters, and rejoice in each other's companionship, and part, and know each other no more. It was foolish to sit up for him to night, but it is the last, last time, and she could not resist the temptation to wait and watch even for the very wheels that bore him home : and now it is over — all OA^er — he will never know it, but she will always think of him and pray for him, and watch over Blanche for his sake, and love him, adore him dotingly — madly to the last ; and cold, haughty, passionless oNIary Delaval leant her head upon her two white arms, and sobbed like a broken-hearted child. We wonder if any man that walks the earth is worthy of the whole idolatrous devotion of a woman's heart. Charlie was snoring sound asleep, whilst she who loved him wept and prayed and suffered. Go to sleep, too, foolish Mary, and pleasant dreams to you : ' Sorrow has your young days shaded,' it is but fair that your nights should glow in the rosy, fancy- brightened hues of joy. CHAPTER IX. Want. LODGINGS IN LONDON — A CONVIVIAL HUSBAND — THE WIFE GIVES HER OPINION — FAMILY PLEASURES FAMILY CARES — DRESSING TO GO OUT THE DRUNK- ARd's VISITORS — CHEAP ENJOYMENT WHO IS THE OWNER? — LONDON FOR THE POOR. A S you walk jauntily along any of the great thoroughfares of London, you arrive, ever and anon, at one of those narrow offshoots of which you would scarcely discover the existence, were it not for the paved crossing over which you daintily pick your way, on the points of your jetty boots. All the attention you can spare from passing events is de- voted to the preservation of your chaussure, and you do not probably think it worth while to bestow even a casual peep down that close winding alley, in which love and hate, and hopes and fears, and human joys, and miseries, and sympathies are all packed together, just as they are in your own house in Belgravia, Tyburnia, or May-fair, only considerably more cramped for room, and a good deal worse off for fresh air. That noble animal, the horse, generally occupies the ground-floor of such tenements as compose these narrow streets, whilst the dirty chil- dren of those bipeds who look after his well- LODGINGS IN LONDON. 185 being, embryo coachmen, and helpers, and stable- men, play, and fight, and vociferate in the gut- ter, with considerable energy and no little noise, munching their dinners, al fresco, the while, with an appetite that makes dry bread a very palat- able sustenance. A strong ' smell of stables' per- vades the atmosphere, attributable, perhaps, to the accumulation of that agricultural wealth which, in its riffkf pLice, produces golden harvests; and the ring of harness and stamp of steeds, varied by an occa- sional snort, nearly drown the plaintive street-organ, grinding away, fainter and fainter, round the corner. Shirts, stockings, and garments of which we neither know the names nor natures, hang, like INIacbeth's banners, ' on the outward walls.' Washing appears to be the staple commerce, while porter seems the principal support, of these busy regions ; and as the snowy water-lily rises from the stagnant marsh, so does the dazzling shirt-front, in which you will to-day appear at dinner, owe its purity to that stream of soapy starch-stained liquid now pouring its filthy volume down the gutter. Dirty drowsy-looking men clatter about with pails and other apparatus for the cleansing of carriages, whilst here and there an urchin is pounced upon and carried off by some maternal hawk, with bare arms and disordered tresses, either to return with a smeared mouth and a festive slice of bread and treacle, or to admonish its companions, by piercing cries that it is under- 186 LODGINGS IN LONDON. going summary punishment not undeserved. The shrill organ of female volubility, we need hardly say, is in the ascendant ; and we may add, that the faces generally met with, all dirty and care-worn though they be, are gilded by an honest expression of con- tentment peculiar to those who fulfil their destiny by working for their daily bread. In one of the worst lodgings of such a mews as we have faintly endeavoured to describe, in a dirty, com- fortless room, bare of furniture, and to which labo- rious access is obtained by a dilapidated wooden staircase, sits our old acquaintance. Gingham, now Mrs. Blacke, but who will never be known to ^ the families in which she lived' by any other than her maiden patronymic. Though, in her best days, a lady of no fascinating exterior, she is decidedly altered for the worse since we saw her at St. S within' s, and is now, without question, a hard- featured and repulsive-looking woman. She has lost the '^ well-to-do' air, which sits more easily on those who live at ' housekeeping' than on those ^ who find themselves,' and everything about her betrays a de- gree of poverty, if not of actual want, sadly repug- nant to the habits of an orderly upper-servant in a well-regulated establishment. Of all those who sink to hardships after having ' seen better days,' none bear privation so ill as this particular rank. They have neither the determina- tion and energy of ' the gentle/ nor the happy care- LODGINGS IN LONDON. 187 lessness and bodily vigour of the labouring class. It is lamentable to watch the gradual sinking of a once respectable man, who has been tempted, by the very natm-al desire of becoming independent, to leave ' service* and set up on his own account. From his boyhood he has been fed, housed, and clothed, without a thought or care of his own, till he has spread into the portly, grave, ponderous official, whom not even his master's guests would think of address- ing save by the respectful title of ' Mister.' He has saved a 'pretty bit o' money/ and on giving warning, announces his long-concealed marriage to the house- keeper, who has perhaps saved a little more. Be- tween them they may muster a very few hundred pounds; and on this inexhaustible capital they deter- mine to set up for themselves. If he takes a public- house, it is needless to dwell on the almost inevitable catastrophe. But whatever the trade or speculation on which he embarks, he has everything to learn ; education cannot be had without paying for it ; busi- ness connexions cannot be made — they must grow. Those are positive hardships to him, which would scarcely be felt as wants by others of his own sphere, who had not always lived as he has, on the fat of the land. Discontent and recrimination creep into the household. The wife makes home uncom- fortable, and ' the husband goes to the beer-shop.' The money dwindles — the business fails — fortunate if the family do not increase. ' Trade never was so 188 LODGINGS IN LONDON. bad/ and it soon becomes a qnestion of assignees and ten shillings in tbe pound. The man himself is honest, and it cuts him to the heart. Only great speculators can rise,, like the Phoenix, in gaudier plumage after every fresh insolvency; and hunger begins to stare our once portly acquaintance in the face. At last he is completely ' sold up/ and if too old to go again into service, he will probably think himself well off to finish in the workhouse. And this is the career of two-thirds of those who leave comfortable homes for the vague future of a shadowy independence, and embark upon speculations of which they neither understand the nature nor count the cost. But we must return to Gingham, bending her thin worn figure over some dirty needle- work, and rocking with her foot a wooden cradle, in which, covered by a scanty rug not over clean, sleeps a little pinched-up atom of a child, contrasting sadly with those vigorous brawling urchins out of doors. There is a scanty morsel of fire in the grate, though the day is hot and sultry, for a ' bit of dinner' has to be kept warm for ^ father' ; and very meagre fare it is, between its two delf plates. A thin-bladed knife and two-pronged fork lie ready for him on the rough deal table, guilt- less of a cloth, and Gingham wonders what is keeping him, for he promised faithfully to come back to din- ner, and the poor woman sighs as she stitches and rocks the child, and counts the quarters tolled out by LODGINGS IN LONDON. 189 the neighbouring clock, and ponders sadly on old times, than which there is no surer sign of a heart ill at ease. Well-to-do, thriving people are^continually looking forward, and scheming and living in the Future; it is only your worn, dejected, hopeless sutferer that recalls the long-faded sunshine of the Past. Gingham's marriage took place at St. Swithin's as soon after Mrs. Kettering's death as appearances Avoidd allow, and was conducted with the usual so- lemnities observed on such occasions in her rank of life. There was a new shawl, and a gorgeous bonnet, and a cake, with a large consumption of tea, not to mention exciseable commodities. Tom Blacke looked very smart in a white hat and trowsers to match, whilst ' Hairblower' signalised the event by the per- formance of an intricate and unparalleled hornpipe, such as is never seen now-a-days off the stage. Blanche made the bride a handsome present, which was acknowledged with many blessings and a shower of tears. Gingham's great difficulty was, how ever she should part with Miss Blanche ! and ' all went merry as a marriage bell.' But they had not long been man and wife ere Tom began to show the cloven foot. First he would take his blushing bride to tea-gar- dens and such places of convivial resort, where, whilst she partook of the ' cup that cheers but not inebriates,' he would sip consolatory measures of that which does both. After a time he preferred such expeditions as 190 A CONVIVIAL HUSBAND. she could not well accompany him on, and would come home with glazed eyes, a pale face, and the tie of his neckcloth under his ear. The truth will out. Tom was a drunken dog. There was no question about it. Then came dismissal from his employer, the attorney. Still, as long as Gingham's money lasted, all went on comparatively well. But a lady's- maid's savings are not inexhaustible, and people who live on their capital are apt to get through it won- derfully fast. So they came down from three well-fur- nished rooms to a kitchen and parlour, and from that to one miserable apartment, serving all purposes at once. Then they moved to London to look for employment ; and Tom Blacke, a handy fellow enough when sober, obtained a series of situations, all of which he lost owing to his convivial failing. Now they paid two shillings a week for the wretched room in which we find them, and a hard matter it often was to raise money for the rent, and their own living, and Tom's score at ' The Feathers' just round the corner. But Gingham worked for the whole family as a woman will when put to it, and seemed to love her husband the better the worse he used her, as is constantly the case with that long-suffering sex. ' Poor fellow,' she would say, when Tom reeled home to swear at her in drunken ferocity, or kiss her in maudlin kindness, ^it's trouble that's drove him to it; but there's good in Tom yet, look how fond he is of baby.' And with all his faults, there is no doubt little Miss Blacke A CONVIVIAL HUSBAND. 191 possessed a considerable share of her father's heart, such as it was. But even gentle woman's temper is not proof against being kept waiting, that most irritating of all trials ; and Gingham^ who in her more prosperous days had been a lady of considerable asperity, could ' pluck up a spirit/ as she called it, even now, when she was ' raised,^ — so, surmounting the cofiPee-coloured front with a dingy bonnet, and folding her bare arms in a faded shawl, she locked baby in, trusting de- voutly the child might not wake during her absence, and marched stoutly off to ^ The Feathers,' where she was safe to find her good-for-nothing husband. There he was, sure enough, just as she expected, his old black coat glazed and torn, his pinched-up hat pressed down over his pale sunken features, his whole appearance dirty and emaciated. None but his wife could have recognised the dapper Tom Blacke, of St. Swithin's, in that shaky, scowling, dis- sipated sot. Alas ! she knew him in his present character too well. There he was, playing skittles with a ponderous ruffian, in a linen jacket and high- lows, who looked like the showman of a travellino^ menagerie, only not so respectable, and a little Jew pedlar, with a hawk-eye and an expression of coun- tenance that defied Mephistophiles himself to over- reach him. Tliere was her husband, betting pots of beer and '^ goes' of gin, though the cupboard was bare at home and the child crying for food, — marking his 192 A CONVIVIAL HUSBAND. game with a trembling hand^ cheating when he won, and blaspheming when he lost, like the very black- guard to which he was rapidly descending. Gingham shook a little as she advanced, twirling the door-key nervously round her finger; but she determined to try the suaviter in modo first, so she began : ' Tom ! Tom Blacke ! dinner's ready, ain't you coming home V ' Home ! — Home be ! and you, too, Mrs. Blacke ; we wont go home till mornin, shall us, Mr. Pibbs T Mr. Fibbs, although appearances were much against him, in his linen jacket and high-lows, was a man of politeness where the fair were con- cerned, so he took a straw out of his mouth, and replied : ^ Not to cross the missus, when sich is by no means necessary ; finish the game first, and then we'll hargue the pint, — that's what / say.' ^ Oh, Tom, pray come away,' said poor Gingham, who had caught sight of the chalked-up score, and knew, by sad experience, what havoc it would make with the weekly earnings. ^ I durstn't leave the child not a minute longer ; I've kept your bit of dinner all hot for you, — come away, there's a dear !' ' Not I,' said Tom, poising his wooden bowl, for a fresh effort, and, irritated by his failure, bursting forth upon his wife. ' How can I leave these gentle- men in their game to attend to you ; come, let's have no nonsense, be off! be off!^ he repeated, clenching his fist, and raising his voice to a pitch that called THE WIFE GIVES HER OPINION. 193 forth from the large man the admonitory remark that ' easy does it,^ whilst the little Jew's eye glittered at the prospect of winning his game. But Gingham was roused, and she went at him fiercely and at once : ' Shame — shame on ye !' she ex- claimed, in a low hoarse voice, gradually rising, as she got more excited, and her pale features worked ■with passion, ' with the child cryin' at home, and me obliged to come and look for you in such a place as this; me that slaves and toils, and works my fingers to the bone,' holding up her needle- scarred hands to the bystanders, who were already collecting, as they always do when there is a prospect of a row, 'Call yourself a man — a 7nan, indeed ! — and let your wife and child starve whilst you are taking your diversion, and enjoying of yourself here ?' And you too,' she added, attacking the large man and the Jew with a suddenness which much startled the former, ' you ought to be ashamed of yourselves, you ought ; keep- ing of him here, and making of him as bad as your- sels^es — though perhaps you're not husbands and fathers, and don't know no better. Ay, do, you coward ! strike a woman if you dare! Was it for this I left my place and my missus ? Oh dear, oh dear, whatever shall I do ?' and Gingham, throwing her apron over her head, sank upon a bench in a pas- sion of weeping, supported by a phalanx of matrons who had already collected, and who took part in the alter- VOL. I. o 194 THE WIFE GIVES HER OPINION. cation^ as being to all intents and purposes a govern- ment question. Tom Blacke was furious, of course. Had it not been for tbe large man, he would have struck his wife to the ground — alas, not the first time, we fear, that she had felt the weight of a coward^s arm — but that ponderous champion interposed his massive per- son, and recommended his friend strongly ' not to cross the missus/ Truth to tell, Mr. Fibbs had a little shrew of a black-eyed wife at home, who ruled the roast, and kept her great husband in entire sub- jection; besides which, like most square powerful men, he was a good-natured fellow, though not very respectable; and having won as much beer as he wanted from Tom, willingly lent his good offices to solder up the quarrel, which ended, as such disturb- ances generally do, in a sort of half-sulky reconcilia- tion, and the wife marching off in triumph with her captured husband. The women, as usual, had formed the majority of the crowd, and of course sided with the injured lady; so Tom Blacke, after a few ineffec- tual threats, and an oath or two, left the ground with his still sobbing wife, promising himself an ample revenge if she should dare to cross him at home, when there was no one by to take her part. When they arrived at the desolate room which served them for home, ' baby ' was awake, and crying piteously to find its Httle self alone. On what trifles FAMILY CARES. 195 do the moods and tempers of the human mind de- pend ! The child set up a crow of delight to see its father, instead of the hideous howl in which it had been indulging, and stretched out its little arms with a welcome that went straight to the drunkard^s heart. In another moment, he was dancing the little thing up and down in perfect good-humour ; and poor Gingham, thoroughly overcome, was leaning her head against his shoulder in a paroxysm of recon- ciled aftection, and going through that process of rehef known to ladies by the expressive term of ' having a good cry/ How many a matrimonial bicker has been inter- rupted and ended by the innocent smile of ' one of these little ones V How many an ill-assorted couple have been kept from separation by the homely con- sideration of ' what should be done with the children V How many an e\il desire, how many an unkind thought, has been quenched at its very birth by the pure, open gaze of a guileless child ! The stern, severe man, disgusted with the world, and disap- pointed in his best affections, has a corner in his heart for those whom he prizes as his o^vn flesh and blood; the passionate, impetuous woman, yearning for the love she seeks in vain at home, her mind filled with an image of which it is sin even to think, and beset by the hundred temptations to which those are exposed who pass their lives in wedded misery, pauses on the very threshold, and is saved from guilt 196 FAMILY CARES. when she thinks of her darlings. Sunshine and music do they make in a house, with their bright, happy faces, the patter of their little feet, and the ringing echoes of their merry laugh. Grudge not to have the quiver full of them. Love and prize them whilst you may ; for the hour will come at last, and your life will be weary and your hearth desolate when they take wing and fly away. So Tom Blacke and his wife are reconciled for the time, and would be comparatively happy, were it not for the grinding anxiety ever present to their minds of how to ' make both ends meet^ — that considera- tion which poisons the comfort of many a homely dwelling, and which in their case is doubtless their own fault, or at least the fault of the paterfamilias, but none the less bitter on that account. . ^ There is the baker to pay, and the rent/ sighed Gingham, enumerating them on her fingers ; ^ and the butcher called this morning vrith his account ; to be sure it is but little, and little there is to meet it with. I shall be paid to-day for the plain-work, and I got a bit of washing yesterday, that brought me in sevenpence halfpenny,' she proceeded, im- mersed in calculation ; ' and then we shall be three- and-eightpence short — three-and-eightpence, and where to get it I don't know, if I was to drop down dead this minute ! ' * I must have a little money to-day, too, missus/ said Tom, in a hoarse, dogged voice ; ' can't ye put FAMILY CARES. 197 tte screw on a little tighter ? A man may as m ell be starved to death as worritted to death ; and I can^t face ' The Feathers ^ again without wiping off a bit of the score, ye know.' Gingham's eye glanced at the Sunday gown, hanging on a nail behind the door — a black silk one, of voluminous folds and for- midable rustle, the last remnant of respectability left, and she thought thaty too, must follow the rest to the pawnbroker's — to that receptacle of usury with which, alas ! she was too familiar, and from which even now, she possessed sundry mocking duplicates, representing many a once-prized article of clothing and furniture. Tom saw and interpreted the hopeless glance ; ' No, no,' said he, relenting, 'not quite so bad as that, neither ; I wouldn't strip the gown off j^our back, Rachel, not if it was ever so ; T couldn't bear to see you, that was once so respectable, going about all in rags. We might get on, too,' added he, brightening up, with an expression of desperate cunning in his bad eye — 'we might get money — ay, plenty of it, if you were only like the rest; you're too mealy- mouthed, Mrs. Blacke, that 's where it is.' ' O Tom, what would you have me do ?' exclaimed his >vife, bursting afresh into tears ; ' we 've been honest as yet through it all, and I've borne and borne, because we were honest. I'd work upon my bare knees for you and the child, — I 'd starve and never complain myself, if I hadn't a 198 FAMILY CARES* morsel in the cupboard, but I 'd keep my honesty, Tom, rdkeep my honesty, for when that^s gone, all's gone together/ *Will your honesty put decent clothes on your back, missus?' rejoined Tom, who did not see that the article in question was by any means so indis- pensable ; ' will your honesty put a joint down before the fire, such as we used to sit down to every day, when we was first man and wife, and lived respect- able ? Will your honesty furnish a belly-full for this poor little beggar, that 's whining now on my knee for a bit to eat V Gingham began to relent at this consideration, and Tom pursued his advantage : ' Be- sides, it 's not as if it was to do anybody any harm ; there 's Miss Blanche got more than she knows what to do with, and the young gentleman — he 's away at the wars. Honesty, indeed, if honesty's the game, you 've a right to your share, what Mrs. Kettering intended you should have. I think I ought to know the law, and the law 's on our side, and the justice, too. Ah ! Bachel, you used not to be so difficult to come round once,' concluded Tom, trying the tender tack, when he had exhausted all his other arguments, and recalling to his wife's mind, as he intended it should do, their early days of courtship, and the carriage of a certain brown-paper parcel by the sea- shore. But Gingham felt she had right on her side, and when we can indulge the spirit of contradiction FAMILY CARES. 199 never dormant in oiu* natures, and figlit nndcr the banner of truth at the same time, it is too great a luxury for mortal man, or especially mortal woman, to forego, so Gingham was game to the last. ' No, Tom, no !' she said, steadily and with emphasis, ' I wofi't do it, so don't ask me, and there's an end of it !' Her husband put the child down in disgust, banged his hat upon his head, as if to go back to 'The Feathers,' and was leading the room, Avlien a fresh idea struck him. If he could but break down his wife's self-respect, he might afterwards mould her more easily to his purpose, and the course he pro- posed to adopt might, at any rate, furnish him in the meantime with a little money for his dissipation ; so he tm'ued round coaxingly to poor Gingham, and asked for his bit of dinner, and put the infant once more upon his knee, ere he began to sound her on the propriety of applying for a little assistance to her darUng, Miss Blanche. ' You ought to go and see your young lady, Kachel,' said he, quite good- humourcdly, and with the old keeping- company-days' 'smile;' 'it's only proper respect, now she's grown to be a great lady, and come to London. I '11 mind the child at home ; it likes to be left with its daddy — a deary, — and you l)rush yourself up a bit, and put on your Sunday gown there, and take a bit of a holiday ; you needn't hurry back, you know, if they ask you to stay tea in the room, and I '11 be here till 200 DRESSING TO GO OUT. you come home, or if I 'm not, I ^11 get one of the neighbours to look in. So now go, there 's a good wench.' Mrs. Blacke had not heard such endearing lan- guage since the sea-side walks at St. Swithin's, — she felt almost happy again, and nearly forgot the ' three- and-eightpence ' wanting for the week's account. Sundry feminine misgivings had she, as to her per- sonal appearance being sufficiently fine to face the new servants, in the exalted character of Miss Blanche's late lady's maid ; but women, even ugly ones, have a wonderful knack of adorning themselves on very insufficient materials, and Tom assured her the black silk looked as good as new, and that bonnet always did become her, and always would — so she gave the child a parting kiss, and her husband many injunctions to take care of the treasure, and started in wonderfully good spirits. Tom's last injunction to her as she departed being to this effect : — ^ if Miss Blanche should ask you how we 're getting on, Bachel, you put your pride in your pocket — mind that — put your pride in your pocket, do you under- stand 1' So the drunkard was left alone with his child. We have already said Tom was fond of the little thing — in fact, it was the only being on earth that had found its way to his heart. Man must love some- thing^ and Tom Blacke, the attorney's clerk, who had married for money as if he had been a ruined peer of the realm, cared just as little for his wife as any THE DRUNKARD*S VISITORS. 201 impoverished nobleman might for the peeress with whom his income was necessarily encumbered ; but the more indifferent he was to the mother, the fonder he was of the child; and with all his liking for skittles and vulgar dissipation (the whist and claret of higher circles), he thought it no hardship to spend the rest of the afternoon with an infant that was just beginning to talk. He fully intended, as he had promised, to remain at home till his wife returned, but a drunkard can have no will of his own. When a man gives himself up to strong drink he chooses a mistress who will take no denial, for whom appetite grows too fiercely by what it feeds on, whose beck and call he must be ever ready to obey, for she will punish his neglect by the infliction of such horrors as we may fancy pictured in the imagination of the doomed — till he fly for relief back to the enchantress that has maddened him, and whilst the poison begets thirst as the thirst craves for the poison, the liquid fire poured upon the smouldering flame eats, and saps, and scorches, till it expires in drivelling idiotcy, or blazes out in raving riotous madness. Mr. Blacke was tolerably cheerful up to a certain point, when he arrived at that state which we once heard graphically described by the serjeant of a barrack-guard, on whom the duty had devolved of placing an inebriated warrior in solitary confinement — 'Was he drunk, Serjeant?' said the orderly officer. 'No, sir.' 'Was he sober, then?' 'No, sir.' 'How? neither drunk 202 THE drunkakd's visitors. nor sober ! what d'ye mean ? ' ^ Well, sir, the man had been drinking, no doubt, hut the liquor was just dying out in him.^ So with Tom Blacke — after an hour or so the liquor began to die out in him, and then came the ghastly reaction. First he thought the room was gloomy and solitary, and he got nearer the child^s cradle for company — the little thing was again asleep, and he adjusted its coverlet more comfortably — ah ! that slimy, crawling creature ! what is it ? so near the infant's head — he brushed it away with his hand — but swarms of the same loathsome insects came climbing over the cradle, chairs, and furniture. Now they settled on his legs and clothes, and he beat them down and flung them from him by hundreds, shud- dering with horror the while ; then he looked into the corners of the room, and put his hands before his eyes after each startled glance, for hideous faces grinned and gibbered at him, starting out from the very walls, and mopping and mowing, shifted their forms and places, so that it was impossible to identify them. He could have borne these, but worse still, there was a Shape in the room with him, of whose presence he was fearfully conscious, though whenever he manned himself to look steadily at it, it was gone. He could not bear to have this visitant behind him, so he backed his chair hard against the wall. In vain — still on the side from which he turned his head the grim Shape sat and cowered and blinked at him. THE DRUNIvARD's VISITORS. 203 He knew it — lie felt it — mortal nerves could bear it no longer. He grew desperate, as a man does in a dream. Should he take the child and run for it? No ! he would meet It on the narrow stairs, and he could not get by there — Ha ! the window ! bounding into the air, child and all, he might escape. He was mad now — he was capable of anything. Come along, little one ! — they are blocking up the room — they cover the room in myriads — the Shape is waving them on — light and freedom without, the devil and all his legions within — Hurrah ! Fortunate was it for the hope of the Blacke family that ^Irs. Crimp was at this instant returning to her lodgings above, accompanied by several promising young Crimps, "vnth whom, as she toiled up the common staircase, she kept up a running fire of ob- jurgation and entreaty. The homely sounds, the familiar voices, brought Tom Blacke to himself. The vicinity of such a material dame as Mrs. Crimp was sufficient to destroy the ideal in the most brandy- sodden brain, and the horrors left their victim for the time. But he dared not remain to encounter a second attack. He could not answer for the conse- quences of another hour in that room alone with the child, so he asked his neighbour, a kind motherly woman, and as fond of a baby as if she had not nursed a dozen of her o^vn, to keep an eye upon his little one, and betook himself straight to 'The Feathers,' to raise the accursed remedy to his lips 204 LONDON EOR THE POOR. with a trembling hand, and borrow half-an-hour's callousness at a frightful sacrifice. Tom thought he knew what was good for his complaint, and 'clung to the hand that smote him' with the confirmed in- fatuation of a sot. So we leave him at the bar, with a glazed eye, a haggard smile, and the worm that never dies eating into his very vitals. In the meantime Gingham, with the dingy bonnet somewhat cocked up behind, and her bony fingers peeping through the worn thread gloves, is making her way along the sunny pavement in the direction of Grosvenor Square. The old black silk gown looks worse than she expected in that searching light, and she feels nervous and shy at revisiting her former haunts; nor does she like leaving home for many hours at a time. But as she walks on, the exercise does her good. The moving objects on all sides, and the gaudy bustle of London in the height of the season have an exhilarating effect on her spirits. It is so seldom she has an outing^ moped up for days together in that mews, the very change is enjoyment ; and the shops, with their cheap dresses and seductive ribbons, are perfect palaces of delight. She cannot tear herself from one window, where an excellent silk for her own wear, and a frock 'fit to dress an angel,' as she thinks, for baby, are to be sold, in tempting juxtaposition, respectively for a mere no- thing. If she was sure the colour of the silk would standj she would try and scrape the money together LONDON FOR THE POOR. 205 to buy it; but a pang shoots through her as she recalls the fatal * tliree-and-eightpence/ so she walks on with a hea\y sigh, and though she knows she never can possess it, yet she feels all the better for having seen such a dress as that. And these, and such as these, are the pleasures of the poor in our great metropolis. Continual self- denial, continual self-restraint, continual self-abase- ment — like Tantalus, to be whelmed in the waters of enjoyment which must never touch the lip. In the countiT the poor man can at least revel in its freshest and purest delights. We have been told that ' the meek shall inherit the earth,^ and the day-labourer, mending 'my lord's' park fence, has often far more enjoyment in that wilderness of beauty than its high- bom proprietor. While the latter is in bed, the former breathes the sweet morning air and the scent of a thousand wild-flowers, whose fragrance will be scorched up ere noon. The glad song of birds makes music to his ear — the whole landscape, smiling in the sunhght, is spread out for the delight of his eye. Not only the park, and the waving woods, and the placid lake, are his property for the time, but the cheerful homesteads, and the scattered herds, and the hazy distance stretching away as far as those blue hills that melt into the sky. He can admire the shadows of each giant elm without disturbing himself as to which of them must be marked for the axe ; he can watch the bounding deer without caring which is 206 LONDON FOR THE POOR the fattest to fumisli a haunch for solemn dinners and political entertainments, where people eat because they are weary, and drink because they are dull. The distant view he looks upon is to him a breathing, sparkling world, full of light, and life, and hope — not a mere county sub-divided into votes and free- holds, and support and interest. His frame is at- tempered by toil to the enjoyment of natural pleasures and natural beauties. The wild breeze fans his brow — the daisies spring beneath his feet — the glorious summer sky is spread above, and the presence of his Maker pervades the atmosphere about him. For the time the man is happy — happier, perhaps, than he is himself aware of. To be sure he is mortal, and in the midst of all he sighs for beer ; yet is his lot one not unmixed with many pure and thrilling pleasures, and if he can only get plenty of work, there are many states of existence far worse than that of an English field-labourer. Not so with the sons of toil in town — there all enjoyment is artificial, all pleasure must be paid for — the air they breathe will support life, but its odours are far diff'erent from those of the wild-flower. If their eyes are ever gladdened by beauty, it is but the pomp and splendour of their fellow-creatures on which they gaze with sneering admiration, half envy, half contempt. If their ears are ever ravished by music, there is a tempting demon wafting sin into their hearts upon the sounds — there is a mocking AND THE RICH. 207 voice of ribaldry and vulgar revelry accompanying the very concord of heaven. What pleasures can they have but those of the senses ? Where have they to go for relaxation but to the gin-shop ? What inducement have they to raise themselves above the level of ' the beasts which perish ?* Honour to those who are working to provide intel- lectual amusements for the masses, and that educa- tion of the soul which places man above the circum- stances by which he is surrounded ! Much has been done, and much is still left to do. Those waves must be taught to leap ever upwards, to fling their separate crests towards the sky, for if the tempest should arise, and they should come surging on in one gigantic volume, they will make a clear breach where- ever the embankment happens to be weakest ; and who shall withstand their force ? Can we wonder to find the lower classes sometimes discontented when we think of their privations and their toils ? Shall a man starve with but half-an-inch of plate-glass betwixt his dry white lips, and the reeking abundance of luxurious gluttony ? and shall he turn away without a murmur, die, and make no sign? Shall a fellow-creature drag on an existence of perpetual labour, with no pleasures, no relaxations, almost no repose, and shall we expect this dreary, bUghted being to be always contented, always cheer- ful, always respectful to his superiors ? Is it to be all one way here below? shall it be all joy, and 208 LONDON FOR THE POOR AND THE RICH. mirth, and comfort, and superfluity witli the one, and all want, and misery, and grim despair with the other ? Forbid it. Heaven ! Let us, every man, put his shoulder to the wheel — let each, in his own circle, be it small or great, do all in his power for those beneath him — beneath him but in the accident of station, brothers in all besides — ^live and let live — stretch a helping hand to all who need it — treat every man as one who has an immortal soul — and though ' they shall never cease out of the land,' yet will their wants be known and their hardships alleviated, and the fairest spirit of heaven — angelic Charity — shall spread her wings widest and warmest in London for the poor. CHAPTER X. Supcrfliutg. LONDON FOR THE RICH A GOLDEN IMAGE THE LADY OF FASHION LIFE WELL SPENT — BOOK- WRITING AND BOOK-MAKING THE DAY OF THE DRAWING- ROOM GOING TO MY CLUB THE AWFUL MOMENT GOD SAVE THE QUEEN. T OXDON for the rich, though, is a different thing altogether. ^ Money cannot purchase happiness/ said the philosopher. ' No/ replied a celebrated wit, himself well-skilled in circulating the much-esteemed dross, 'but it can purchase a very good imitation of it/ and none can gainsay the truth of his distinction. What can it do for us in the great Babylon ? It can buy us airy houses — cool rooms — fragrant flowers — the best of everything to eat and drink — carriages — horses — excitement — music — friends — everything but a good appetite and content. London for the rich man is indeed a Palace of Delights. See him at the window of his club, in faultless attire, sur- rounded by worshippers who perform their part of the mutual contract most religiously, by finding con- versation and company, both of the pleasantest, for him who provides drag and dinner, equally of the VOL.1. p 210 A GOLDEN IMAGE. best. Though they bow before a calf, is it not a golden one ? though they 'eat dirt,' is it not dressed by a French cook ? See him cantering in the Park, — an animal so well broke as that would make John Gilpin himself appear a fine horseman, — what envious glances follow him from the humble pedestrian, — what sunny smiles shine on him from lips and eyes surmounting the most graceful shapes, the most becoming neck-ribbons ! No, admiring stranger ! You are not in the Bazaar at Constantinople, — you are amidst England's high-born beauties in the most moral country on earth ; yet even here, with sorrow be it said, there is many a fair girl ready to barter love, and hope, and self-respect, for a box at the opera and an adequate settlement, only it must be large enough. Within fifty yards of this spot may Tatter- sail's voice be heard any Monday or Thursday pro- claiming, hammer in hand, his mercenary ultimatum, ' The best blood in England, and she is to be sold.' Brain-sick moralists would read a lesson from the animal's fate. Our men-of- the- world are satisfied to take things as they are. Meanwhile the Calf has shown himself long enough to his idolaters ; he dines early to-day — a quarter-past eight — therefore he can- ters home to dress. Man has no right to insult such a cook as his by being hungry, so he trifles over a repast that Apicius would have envied, and borrows half an hour's fictitious spirits from a golden vintage, that has well nigh cost its weight in gold. What an THE LADY OF FASHION. 211 evening is before him ! All that can enchant the eye, all that can ravish the ear — beauties of earth and sounds of heaven, — the very revelry of the intel- lect, and ' the best box in the house* from which to see, hear, and enjoy. The Calf is indeed pasturing in the Elysian fields, and we need follow him no longer. Can he be otherwise than happy ? Can there be lips on which such fruits as these turn to ashes? Are beauty, and luxury, and society, and song, nothing after all but ^ a bore' ? Nature is a more impartial mother than we are prone to believe, and the rich man need not always be such an object of en^y only because he is rich. But pretty Blanche Kettering enjoyed the glitter and the excitement, and the pleasures of her London life, even as the opening flower enjoys the sunshine and the breeze. It requires a season or two to take the edge oS a fresh healthy appetite, and ennui scowls in vain upon the veri/ young. Gingham thought her young lady had never looked so weU as she did to-day of all days in the year, the one on which Blanche was to be presented. Yes — it was the day of the drawing-room, and our former Abigail forgot the supercilious manners of the new porter, and the high-and-mighty ways of the general's gentleman, and even her own faded black silk, in a paroxysm of motherly affection and professional en- thusiasm, brought on l)y the beauty of her darling, and the surpassing magnificence of her costume. 212 THE DAY OF THE DRAWING-BOOM. Blanche was nearly dressed when she arrived, stand- ing like a little princess amongst her many attendants — this one smoothing a fold, that one adjusting a curl, and a third holding the pincushion aloft, having transferred the greater portion of its contents to her own mouth. "Would that we had power to describe the young lady's dress — would that we could delight bright eyes, should bright eyes condescend to glance upon our page, with a critical and correct account of the materials and the fashion that were capable of constituting so attractive a tout ensemble — how the gown was brocade, and the train was silk, and the trimmings were gossamer to the best of our belief! — how pearls were braided in that soft brown hair, and feathers nodded over that graceful little head, though to our mind it would have been even better without these accessories, — and how the dear girl looked altogether like a fairy-queen, smiling through a wreath of mist, and glittering with the dew-drops of the morning. ^ Lor', Miss, you do look splendid !' said Gingham, lost in admiration, partly at the richness of the materials, partly at the improvement in her old charge. Blanche was a very pretty girl, certainly, even in a court-dress, trying as is that costume to all save the dark, tall beauties, who do indeed look mag- nificent in trains and feathers ; but then the Anglo- Saxon blonde has her revenge next morning in her THE DAY OF THE DRAWING-ROOM. 213 simple deshabille at breakfast, a period at which the black-eyed sultana is apt to betray a slight yellow- ness of skill, and a drowsy listless air, not above half awake. Well, they are all very charming in all dresses — it ^s lucky they are so unconscious of their own attractions. Blanche was anything but a vain girl ; but of course it takes a long time to dress for a drawing-room, and when mirrors are properly arranged for self-inspec- tion, it requires a good many glances to satisfy ladies as to the correct disposition of 'front, flanks, and rear / so several minutes elapse ere Gingham can be favoured with a private interview, and she passes that period in admiring her young lady, and scanning, with a criticism that borders on disapprobation, the ministering efforts of Rosine, the French maid. A few weeks of London dissipation have not yet taken the first fresh bloom off Blanche's young brow, there is not a single line to herald the ' battered look' that will, too surely, follow a very few years of late hours and nightly excitement and disappointments. The girl is all girl still — bright, and simple, and lovely. With all our prejudices in her favour, and our awe-struck admiration of her dress, we cannot help thinking she would look yet lovelier in a plain morning gown, with no ornament but a rose or two and that Mary Delaval's stately beauty and command- ing figure would be more in character with those splendid robes of state. But Mary is only a governess, 214 THE DAY OF THE DEAWING-ROOM. and Blanche is an heiress ; so the one remains up- stairs and the other goes to court. "What else would you have ? It is difficult for an inferior at any time to obtain an interview with a superior^ and nowhere more so than in London. Gingham was secure of Blanche's sympathy as of her assistance^ but although the latter was forthcoming, the very instant there was the slightest hesitation perceived in her answer to the natural question, * how are you getting on ?' Gingham was deprived of her share of the former by a thundering double-knock, that shook even the mas- sive house in Grosvenor-square to its foundation, and the announcement that Lady Mount Helicon had arrived, and was even then waiting in the carriage for Miss Kettering. 'Good bye, good bye, Gingham,' said Blanche, hurrying off in a state of nervous trepidation, she scarcely knew why ; ' I mustn't keep Lady Mount Helicon waiting, and of course she won't get out in her train — come again soon, good bye/ and in another moment the steps were up, the door closed with a bang, and Blanche, spread well out so as not to get ' creased' by the side of stately Lady Mount Helicon, in a magnificent family coach, rich in state- liveried coachman, and Patagonian footmen, to which Cinderella's equipage in the fairy tale was a mere coster monger's cart. : As the stout official on the box hammer- cloth. THE DAY OF THE DRAWING-ROOM. 215 ■whose driving, concealed as he is behind an enormous noseo^ay, is the admiration of all beholders, will take some little time to reach the ' string,' and when placed in that lingering procession, will move at a snail's pace the whole way to St. James', we may as well fill up the interval by introducing to the reader a lady with Avhom Blanche is rapidly becoming intimate, and who takes a warm, shall we say a maiei^nal inter- est, in the movements of our young heiress. Lady !Mount Helicon, then, is one of those cha- racters which the metropolis of this great and happy country can alone bring to perfection. That she was once a merry, single-hearted child, is more than pro- bable, but so many years have elapsed since that innocent period — so many ' seasons,^ with their ever- recurring duties of card-leaving, dinner-receiving, ball-haunting, and keeping up her acquaintance, have l^een softening her brain and hardening her heart, that there is little left of the child in her world- worn nature, and not a great deal of the woman, save her attachment to her son. She is as fond of him as it is possible for her to be of anything. She is proud of his talents, his appearance, his acquire- ments, and in her heart of hearts of his wildness. Altogether, she thinks him a great improvement on the old lord, and would sacrifice anything for him in the world, save her position in society. That position, such as it is, she has all her life been struggling to retain. She would improve it if she could, but she 216 THE DAY OF THE DRAWING-EOOM. will never get any farther. She belongs to the mass of good society, and receives cards for all the ' best places' and most magnificent entertainments ; but is as far removed as a curate's wife in Cornwall from the inner circle of those 'bright particular stars' with whom she would give her coronet to associate. Lady Long-Acre bows to her, but she never nods. Lady Dinadam invites her to the great ball, which that exemplary peeress annually endures with the constancy of a martyr ; but as for the little dinners, for which her gastronomic lord is so justly renowned, it is needless to think of them. She might just as well expect to be asked to Wassail worth. And al- though the Duke is hand-and-glove with her son, she well knows she has as much chance of visiting the Emperor of Morocco. Even tiny Mrs. Dreadnought alternately snubs and patronises her. Why that artificial woman, who has no rank and very little cha- racter, should be one of ' the great people' is totally inexplicable ; however, there she is, and Lady Mount Helicon looks up to her accordingly. Well, there are gradations in all ranks, even to the very steps before the throne. In her ladyship's immediate circle are the Ormolus, and the Veneers, and the Blacklambs, with whom she is on terms of the most perfect equality; while below her again are the Duffles, and the Marchpanes, and the Featherheads, and a whole host of inferiors. If Lady Long- Acre is dis- THE DA.Y OF THE DRAWING-ROOM. 217 taut with her, can she not he condescending in her tm*n to Lady Tadpole ? If Dinadam, who uses some- what coarse language for a nohleman, says he ' can't stand that something vulgar woman/ cannot Lady Mount Helicon cut young Deadlock unhlushingly in the street, and turn the very coldest part of her broad shoulder on Sir Timothy and Lady Turnstile ? ' City people, my dear/ as she explains for the edifi- cation of Blanche, who is somewhat aghast at the uncourteous manuce^TC. Has she not a grand object to pursue for eighteen hours out of every twenty- four ? Must she not keep alive the recollections of her existence in the memories of some two or three himdred people, who would not care a straw if she were dead and buried before to-morrow morning? Is it not a noble ambition to arrive at terms of apparent intimacy with this shaky grandee, or that super- annuated duchess, because they are duchesses and grandees ? Can horses and carriages be better em- ployed than in carrying cards about for judicious distribution ? Is not that a delightful night of which two-thirds are spent blocked up in ^ the string/ and the remainder suffocated on the staircase? In short, can money be better la^dshed, or time and energy better applied, than in 'keeping up one's acquaintance ?' This is the noble aim of ' all the world/ This it is which brings country families to London when their strawberries are ripe, and their roses in full 218 THE DAY OF THE DRAWING-ROOM. bloom. The Hall looks beautiful when its old trees are in foliage, and its sunny meadows rippled with the fresh-mown hay. But, dear ! who would be out of London in June ? except, of course, during Ascot week. No, the gardener and the steward are left to enjoy one of the sweetest places in England, and the family hug themselves in the exchange of their roomy chambers, and old oak wainscoting, and fresh country air, for a small, close, ill- constructed house, redolent of those mysterious perfumes which are attributed to 'drains,' and grimy with many a year's accumulation of soot and other impurities, but happy, thrice happy in its situation — not a quarter of a mile from St. James's-street, and within a stone's throw of Berkeley- square ! Year after year the Exodus goes on. Year after year has the 'Squire sworn stoutly he will enjoy this summer at home, and perjured himself, as a man invariably does when he attests by oath an opinion in defiance of his wife. While there are daughters to marry ofi", and sons to get commissions for, we can account in a measure for the migratory movement, though based, we conceive, on fallacious principles. But when John has got his appointment, through the county member after aU, and Lucy has married the young rector of the adjoining parish, who fell in love with her at the county archery meeting, why the two poor old folks should make their annual struggle, and endure their annual discomfort, is only to be ex- plained by the tenacity with which English people THE DAY OF THE DRAWING-ROOM. 219 cling to their national superstitions and their national absurdities. Even little Blanche, living in one of the best houses in Grosvenor-square, and going to Court under a peeress's 'wing/ sighed while she thought of Newton-Hollows and its shrubberies, and her garden just blooming into summer luxuriance. As they toiled slowly down St. James'-street, envying the privileged grandees with the entree through St. James' -pai'k, our pretty heiress would fain have been back, in her garden-bonnet, tying up her roses, and watching her carnations, and idling about in the deep shades of her leafy paradise. Not so the chaperon. She was full of the important occasion. It was her pleasure to present Miss Kettering, and her business to arrange how that maidenly patronymic should be merged in the title of !Mount Helicon : for this she was herself prepared to lapse into a dowager — who but a mother would be capable of such a sacrifice ? Yet it must be; none knew better than her ladyship, excepting, perhaps, the late lord's man-of-business, and certain citizens of the Hebrew persuasion, col- lectors of noblemen's and gentlemen's autographs — how impossible it was for ' Mount ^ to go on much longer. His book on the Derby was a far deeper affair than his ' Broadsides from the Baltic ' — where the publisher lost shillings on the latter, the author paid away hundreds on the former — and the literary sportsman confessed, with his usual devil-may-care 220 THE DAY OF THE DRAWING-ROOM. candour, that ' between black-legs and blue-stockings lie was pretty nearly told-out ! ' — therefore must an heiress be supplied from the canaille to prop the noble house of Mount Helicon — therefore have the Mount Helicon arms, and the Mount Helicon liveries, and the Mount Helicon carriage been seen day after day waiting in Grosvenor-square — therefore does their diplomatic proprietress speak in all societies of ' her charming Miss Kettering/ and '^er sweet Blanche/ and therefore are they even now arriving in company at St. James's, followed by the General in his brougham, who has come to pay his respects to his sovereign in the tightest uniform that ever threatened an apoplectic warrior with convulsions. ' My dear, you look ex- quisite,^ says the chaperon, ^ only mind how you get out, and donH dirty your train, — and recollect your feathers ; when you curtsey to the Queen, whatever you do don't let them bob in her Majesty's face/ Blanche, albeit somewhat frightened, could not help laughing, and looked so fresh and radiant as she alighted, that the very mob, assembled for purposes of criticism, scarcely forbore from telling her as much to her face.' ' Don't be nervous, my dear,' and 'pray don't let us get separated,' said the two ladies simultaneously, as they entered the palace, and Blanche felt her knees tremble and her heart beat as she followed her conductress up the stately well-lined staircase, between rows of magnificent-looking gen- tlemen-officials, all in full dress. The kettle-drums THE DRAWING-ROOM. 221 of the Life Guards booming from without did not serve to reassure her half so much as the jolly faces of the beef-eaters, every one of whom seems to be cut out to exactly the same pattern, and, inexplicable as it may appear, is a living impersonation of Henry VIII.; but she took courage after a time, seeing that nobody was the least frightened except herself, and that young Brosier of the Guards, one of her dancing-partners, and to-day on duty at St. James's, was swaggering about as much at home as if he had been brought up in the palace instead of his father's humble-looking parsonage. Blanche would have liked it better, though, had the staircase and corridor been a little more crowded ; as it was, she felt too conspicuous, and fancied people looked at her as if they knew she was clutching those two tickets with her name and her chaperon's legibly inscribed thereon, for the information of an exalted ofiBce-bearer, because this was her first appearance at Court, and she was going to be presented ! Innocent Blanche ! The gentlemen in uniform are busy with their collars (the collar of a uniform is positive stran- gulation for everything but a bond fide soldier), whilst those in civil vestures are absorbed in the contempla- tion of their own legs, which, in the unusual attire of silk stockings and ' shorts,' look worse to the owner than to any one else, and that is saying a good deal. The General is close behind his niece, and struts with an ardour which yesterday's levee in that same 222 THE DRAWING-BOOM. tight coat has been unable to cool. The plot thickens, and they add their tickets to a table already covered by cards inscribed with the names of England's no- blest and fairest, for the information of the Grand Vizier, and — shall we confess it ? — the gentlemen of the press ! Lady Mount Helicon bows right and left with stately courtesy ; Blanche seizes a moment to arrange her train and a stray curl unobserved ; and the General, between gold-lace and excitement, breaks out into an obvious perspiration. Blanche's partners gather round her as they would at a ball, though she scarcely recognises some in their military disguises. And those who have not been introduced, whisper to each other, ' That *s Miss Kettering,' and depreciate her, and call her 'very pretty for an heiress.' Captain Lacquers is magnificent ; he has exchanged into ' the Loyal Hussars,' chiefly on ac- count of the uniform, and thinks that in 'hessians' and a ' pelisse ' he ought not to be bought under half a million. He breakfasted with ' Uppy ' this morning, and rallied that suitor playfully on his advantage in attending the Drawing-room, whereas Sir Ascot was to be on duty, and is even now lost in jack-boots and a helmet, on a pawing black charger, outside. D'Or- ville is there too, with his stately figure, and grave, handsome face. His hussar uniform sits none the worse for those two medals on his breast; and his beauty is none the less commanding for a tinge of brown caught from an Indian sun. He is listening THE DRAWING-ROOM. 223 to tho General, and bending his winning eyes on Blanche. The girl thinks he is certainly the nicest person here. By a singular association of ideas, the whole thing reminds the General of the cavalry action at Gorewallah, and his energetic reminiscences of that brilliant affair are by no means lost on the by- standers. ' BL^nche, my dear, there ^s Sir Roger Bearsby — most distinguished officer. — What ? — I was his bri- gade-major at Chutney, and we — D'Orville, you know that man — how d'ye mean? — ^Why, it^s Colonel Chuffins. I pulled him from under his horse in the famous charge of the Kedgerees, and stood across him for two hours — two hours, by the god of war ! — till I 'd rallied tlie Kedgerees, and we swept every- thing before us. I suppose you '11 allow, Gorewallah was the best thing of the war. Zounds ! I don't beUeve the sepoys have done talking of it yet ! Look ye here : Mash Mofussil occupied the heights, and Bahawdar Bang was detached to make a demon- stration in our rear. Well, sir — ' At this critical juncture, and ere the General had time to explain the strategy by which Bahawdar Bang's manoeuvre was defeated, he and his party had been swept onward with the tide to where a doorway stemmed the crowd into a mass of struggling con- fusion. Lappets and feathers waved to and fro like a grove of poplars in a breeze ; fans were broken, and soft cheeks scratched against epaulettes and such 224 THE DRAWING-ROOM. accoutrements of war; here and there a pair of moustaches towered above the surface, like the yards of some tall bark in a storm ; whilst ever and anon a heavy dowager, like some plunging seventy-four that answers not her helm, came surging through the mass, with the sheer force of that specific gravity which is not to be denied. As the state-rooms are reached, the crowd becomes more dense and the heat insufiferable. A red cord, stretched tightly the whole length of the room, ofifers an insuperable barrier to the impetuous, and compels the panting company to defile in due order of precedence — ^ first come first served,' being here as elsewhere the prevailing maxim. And now, people being obliged to stand stiU, make the best of it, and begin to talk, their remarks being as original and interesting as those of a well-dressed crowd usually are. — ' Wawt a crush — aw — ' says Cap- tain Lacquers, skilfully warding ofi" from Blanche the whole person of a stout naval ofiicer, and sighing to think of the tarnish his beloved hessians have sus- tained by being trodden on — '^there's Lady Crane and the Miss Cranes — that 's Rebacca, the youngest, she 's going to be presented, poor girl ! aw, she 's painfully ugly. Miss Kettering — aw — makes me ill to look at her.' Poor Rebecca, she's not pretty, at least in a court dress, and is dreadfully frightened besides. She knows the rich Miss Kettering by sight, and admires her honestly, and envies her too, and would give anything to change places with her THE DRAWING-ROOM. 225 now, for she has a slight tendresse for good-looking, unmeaning Lacquers. Take comfort, Rebecca, you will hardly condescend to speak to him, when you go through the same dread ordeal next year, in this very place, as Miu'chioness Ermindale. The Marquis is looking out for a young wife, and has seen you already, walking early, in shabby gloves, with your governess, and has made up his mind, and will marry you out of hand before the end of the season. So you will be the richest peeress in England, and have a good-looking, good-humoured, honest-hearted husband, very little over forty, and you will do pretty much what you like, and never go with your back to the horses any more, only you don't know it, nor has it anything to do with our story, except to prove that the lottery is not, invariably, ' all blanks and no prizes,' — that a quiet, uuas^suming, lady-like girl has fully as good a chance of winning the game as any of your fashionable l^eautics — your dashing young ladies, with their pic- tures in print-books, and their names in the clubs, and their engagements a dozen deep, and their heart- broken lovers in scores — men who can well afford to be lovers, seeing that their resources will not admit of their becoming husbands. Such a suitor is Captain Lacquers to the generality of his ladye-loves, though he means honestly enough as regards Blanche, and would like to marry her and her three per-cents. to-morrow. Misguided dandy ! what chance has he against such a rival as D'Orville ? Even if there were V(jL. I. Q 226 THE DRAWING-EOOM. no Frank Hardingstone, and Cousin Charlie were never to come back^ he is but on a par with Sir Ascot, Lord Mount Helicon, and a hundred others — there is not a toss of a halfpenny for choice between them. Nevertheless, he has great confidence in his own fascinations, and not being troubled with diffidence, is only waiting for an opportunity to lay himself, his uniform, and his debts, at the heiress's feet. The Major, meanwhile, whom Lady Mount Helicon thinks * charming,' and of whom she is persuaded she has made a conquest, pioneers a way for Blanche and her chaperon through the glittering throng. ' It is very formidable, Miss Kettering,' says he, pitying the obvious nervousness of the young girl, 'but it 's soon over, like a visit to the dentist. You know what to do, and the Queen is so kind and so gracious, it's not half so alarming when you are really before her ; now, go on ; that 's the grand vizier, keep close to Lady Mount Helicon, and mind, don't turn your back to any of the royalties. I shall be in the gal- lery, to get your carriage after it 's over. I shall be so anxious to know how you get through it.^ ' Thank you, Major D'Orville,' replied poor Blanche, with an upward glance of gratitude that made her violet eyes look deeper and lovelier than ever; and she sailed on, with a very respectable assumption of fortitude, but inwardly wishing that she could sink into the earth, or, at least, remain with kind, pro- tecting Major D'Orville and Uncle Baldwin, and THE DRAWING-ROOM. 227 those gentlemen whose duty did not bring them into the immediate presence of their sovereign. These worthies, ha-vdng nothing better to do_, began to beguile the time by admiring each other's uniforms, criticising the appearance of tlie company, and such vague impertinencies as go by the name of general conversation. Lacquers, who had just caught the turn of his hessians at a favourable point of view, was more than usually communicative. ' Heard of Bolter?' says he, addressing the public in general, and amongst others a first cousin of that injured man. ^ Taken his wife back again — aw — soft, I should say — fact is, she and Fopplcs couldn't get on; Frank kicked at the poodle directly he got to the railway station; he swore he would only take the parrot, and they quarrelled there. I don't believe they went abroad at all, at least not together. Seen the poodle? Nice dog; they ^•e got him in Green-street, very like Frank, believe he was jealous of him !' A general laugh greeted the hussar's witticism, and the cousin being, as usual, not on the best of terms with his relation, enjoyed the joke more than any one else. Major D'Onille alone has neither listened to the story nor caught the point. Blanche's pleading,. grateful eyes haunt him still. He feels that the more he likes her the less he would wish to marry her. ' She is worthy of a better fate,' he thinks, ' than to be linked to a broken-down roue.^ And as is often the case, the charm of beauty in another brings forcibly to his 228 GOING TO MY CLUB. mind the only face lie ever really loved ; and the Major sighs as he wishes he could begin life again, on totally different principles from those he has all along adopted. Well, it is too late now. The game must be played out, and he proceeds to cement his alliance with the General by asking him to lunch with him at his club ' after this thing ^s over.' ^ We ^11 all go together/ exclaimed Lacquers, who had been meditating the very same move against his prospective uncle-in-law, only he couldn't hit the right pronunciation of a dejeuner a la fourchette, the term in which he was anxious to couch his invitation. ^ Not a member, sir,' says the General, with a well- pleased smile at the invitation ; ^ cross- questioned by the waiter, kicked out by the committee — what? only belong to ' The Chelsea and Noodles^ — don't ap- prove of clubs in the abstract — all very well whilst one^s a bachelor — eh? d — d selfish and all that — wife moping in a two-storied house at Bayswater — husband swaggering in a Louis Quartorze drawing- room, in Pall Mall. Can't dine at home to-day, my love, where 's the latch-key? Promised to have a mutton-chop at the club with an old brother officer. Wife dines on chicken broth with the children, and has a poached Qgg at her tea. Husband begins with oysters and ends with a pint of claret, by himself, too — we all know who the old brother officer is — lives in the Edgeware-road ! — how d' ye mean T Lacquers goes off with a horse-laugh, he enjoys the joke THE AWFUL MOMENT. 229 amazingly, it is just suited to his comprehension. * Then we ^11 meet in an hour from now/ says he, as the crowd, surging in, breaks up their little conclave, ' should like to show you our pictures — aw — fond of high art, you know — and our staircase, Ai'abian, you know, with the ornaments quite Mosaic. A- diavolo V And pleased with what he believes to be his real Spanish farewell, our dandy-linguist elbows his way up to Lady Ormolu, and gladdens that panting peeress with the pearls and rubies of his intellectual conversation. All this time Blanche is nearing the ordeal. If she thought the crowd too dense before, what would she not give now to bury herself in its sheltering ranks. An ample duchess is before her with a red- haired daughter, but everywhere around her there is room to breathe, and walk, and to be seen. Through an open door she catches a glimpse of the presence and the stately circle before whom she must pass. Good- natured royalties of both sexes, stand smiling and bowing, and striving to put frightened subjects at their ease, and carrying their kind hearts on their handsome open countenances ; but they are all whirl- ing round and round to Blanche, and she cannot tell uniforms from satin gowns, epaulettes from ostrich plumes, old from young. It strikes her that there is something ridiculous in the way that a central figure performs its backward movement, and the horrid conviction comes upon her that she will have to go 230 THE AWFUL MOMENT. through the same ceremony before all those royal eyes, and think of her train, her feathers, her curt- sey, and her escape, all at one and the same ago- nizing moment. A foreign diplomatist makes a complimentary remark in French, addressed to his neighbour, a tall soldier-like German, with nankeen moustaches. The German unbends for an instant that frigid air of military reserve which has of late years usurped the place of what we used to consider foreign volubility and politeness — he stoops to reply in a whisper, but soon recovers himself, stiffer and straighter than before. Neither the compliment nor its reception serves to reassure Blanche. In vain she endeavours to peep past the duchesses ample figure, and see how the red- haired daughter pulls through. The duchess rejoices in substantial materials, both of dress; and fabric, so Blanche can see nothing. Another moment, and she hears her own name and Lady Mount Helicon's pronounced in a whisper, every syllable of which thrills upon her nerves Hke a musket-shot. She reaches the door — she catches a glimpse of a tail handsome young man, with a blue ribbon, and a formidable-looking phalanx of princes, princesses, foreign ambassadors, and English courtiers, in a receding circle, of which she feels she is about to become the centre. Blanche would Hke to cry, but she is in the Presence now, and we follow her no further. It would not become us to enlarge upon the THE AWFUL iMOMENT. 231 majesty which commands reverence for the queen, or the beauty which wins homage for the woman — to speak of her as do her servants, her househokl, her nobility, or all who are personally known to her, would entail such language of devoted affection, as in our case might be termed flattery and adulation. To hurrah and throw our hats up for her, with the fervent loyalty of an English mob — to cheer with the whole impulse of every stout English heart, and the energy of good English lungs, is more in accordance with our position and our habits, and so ^ Hip, hip, hip, — God save the Queen V ' Oh, dear, if I 'd only known,' said Blanche, some two hom's afterwards, as Rosine was brushing her hair, and taking out the costly ostrich plumes and the string of pearls, 'I needn't have been so frightened after all ! So good, so kind, so con- siderate, I shouldn't the least mind being presented every day !' CHAPTER XI. SHIFTING THE SCENE UNDER CANVAS A VETERAN AND A YOUNG SOLDIER — THE CHARMS OF A BIVOUAC ORDERS FOR THE MORROW — A SOLDIER's DREAM AN EARLY START THE MARCH THE ENGAGE- MENT FORTUNE OF WAR CHARLIE^S COMMAND THE BLUE ONE DOWN ! TN the ^good old times ^ when railways were not, and the ne plus ultra of speed was after all but ten miles an hour, he who would take in hand to con- struct a tale, a poem, or a drama, was much ham- pered by certain material conditions of time and nlace, termed by critics the unities, and the ob- servance of which effectually prevented all glaring vagaries of plot, and many a deus ex machind whose unaccountable presence would have saved an infi- nity of trouble to author as well as reader. But we have changed all this now-a-days. When Puck undertook to girdle the earth in ^ forty minutes,' it was no doubt esteemed a ^ sporting offer,' not that Oberon seems to have been man enough to ^book' it, but we, who back Electra, should vote such a forty minutes ' dead slow' — ' no pace at all !' Ours are the screw-propeller and the flying-express — ours the SHIFTING THE SCENE. 233 thrilling wire that rings a bell at Paris, even while we touch the handle in London — ours the greatest possible hurry on the least possible provocation — we ride at speed, we drive at speed — eat, drink, sleep, smoke, talk, and deliberate, still at full speed — make fortunes, and spend them — fall in love, and out of it — are married, divorced, robbed, ruined, and enriched all ventre a terre; nay, Time seems to be grudged, even for the last journey to oui- long home. 'Twas but the other day we saw a hearse clattering along an honest twelve miles an hour ! Well, forward ! is the word — like the French grenadier's account of the strategy by which his emperor invariably out- manoeuvred the enemy. There were but two words of command, said he, ever heard in the grand army — the one was * En avant ! sacr-r-re ventre-bleu !' the other ' Sacr-r-re ventre-bleu! en avant .'' So forward be it ! and we will not apologise for shifting the scene some thousands of miles,, and taking a peep at our friend * Cousin Charlie,' fulfilling his destiny in that heaven-forsaken country called Kaffir-land. When it rains in South Africa it rains to some pur- pose, pelting down even sheets of water, to which a thunder-storm at home is but as the trickling of a gutter to the Falls of Niagara — nature endues her whole person in that same leaden-coloured garment, and the world assumes a desolate appearance of the most torpid misery. The greasy savage, almost naked, crouching and coiling like a snake wherever Z64: UNDER CANVAS. covert is to be obtained^ bears bis ducking pbilo- sophically enougb ; be can but be wet to tbe skin at tbe worst, and is dry again almost before tbe leaves are ; but the Britisb soldier, with bis clotbing and accoutrements, bis poucbes, bavre-sacks, biscuits, and ammunition — not to mention 'Brown Bess/ bis mainstay and dependance — notbing punisbes bim so mucb as wet. Tropical beat be bears witbout a murmur, and a vertical sun but elicits sundry jocose allusions to ' beer/ Canadian cold is met ,witb a jest biting as its own frost, and a bearty laugb, tbat rings tbrougb tbe clear atmospbere witb a twang of home ; but be hates water — drench bim thoroughly and you put him to the proof — albeit he never fails, yet, like Mark Tapley, he does deserve credit for being ^0% under such adverse circumstances. Look at that encampment — a detached position, in which two companies of a British regiment with a handful of Hottentots are stationed, to hold in check some thousands of savages : tbe old story — out-numbered a hundred to one, and wresting laurels even from such fearful odds. Look at one of the heroes — the only one visible indeed as he paces to and fro to keep himself warm. A short beat truly, for he is within shot of yonder hill, and the Kaffirs have muskets as well as ' assegais.' No shelter or sentry-box is there here, and our warrior at twelve- pence a-day has ' reversed arms' to keep bis firelock dry, and covers his person as well as he can with a UNDER CANVAS. 235 much-patched weather-worn grey great coat, once spruce and smart, of the regimental pattern, but now scai-cely distinguishable as a uniform. To and fro he walks — wet, weary, hungry, and liable to be shot at a moment's notice. He has not slept in a bed for months, and has almost forgotten the taste of pure water, not to mention beer ; yet is there a charm in soldiering, and through it all the man is contented and cheerful — even happy. A slight movement in his rear makes him turn half-round ; between him and his comrades stands a tent some- what less uncomfortable-looking than the rest, and from beneath its folds comes out a hand, followed by a young bronzed face, which we recognise as ^ Cousin Chai'he^s' ere the whole figure emerges from its shel- ter, and gives itself a hearty shake and stretch. It is indeed, Charlie, ^ growed out of knowledge/ as ^Irs. Gamp says, and with his moustaches visibly and tangibly increased to a very warlike volume. The weather is clearing, as in that country it often does towards sundown, and Charlie, like an old cam- paigner, is easing the tent ropes, already strained ^^'ith wet. '1 wish I knew the orders,' says the young Lancer to some one inside, ^or how Fm to get back to head-quarters — not but what you fellows have treated me like an alderman.' ^You should have been here yesterday, my boy,' said a voice from within, apparently between the pus's of a short wheezing pipe. ' We only finished the biscuit this 236 UNDER CANVAS. mornings and I could have given you a mouthful of brandy from the bottom of my flask — it is dry enough now, at all events. The baccy '11 soon be done too, and we shall be floored altogether if we stay here much longer/ ' Why the whole front don't advance I can't think/ replied Charlie, with the ready criticism of a young soldier. 'If they'd only let us get at these black beggars, we 'd astonish them !' ' Heaven knows,' answered the voice, evidently getting drowsy, ' our fellows are all tired of waiting — by Jove,' he added, brightening up in an instant, 'here comes 'Old Swipes;' I'll lay my life we shall be engaged before daybreak, the old boy looks so jolly !' — and even as he spoke a hale, grey- headed man, with a rosy countenance and a merry dark eye, was seen returning the sentry's salute as he advanced to the tent which had sheltered these young officers, and passing on with a good-humoured nod to Charlie, entered upon an eager whispered conversation with the gentleman inside, whose drow- siness seemed to have entirely forsaken him. ' Old Swipes,' as he was irreverently called (a nickname of which, as of most military sobriquets, the origin had long been forgotten), was the senior captain of the regiment, one of those gallant fellows who fight their way up without purchase, serving in every climate under heaven, and invariably becoming grey of head long ere they lose the greenness and fresh- ness of heart which in the Service alone outlive UNDER CANVAS. 237 the cares and disappoiutments that wait on middle age. Now Charlie had been sent to 'Old Swipes' with despatches from head-quarters. One of the general's aide-de-camps was wounded, another sick, an extra ah'eady ordered on a particular service, and Charlie, with the dash and gallantry which had distinguished him from boyhood, volunteered to carry the import- ant missives nearly a hundred miles through a coun- try not a yard of which he knew, and threading whole hordes of the enemy with no arms but his sabre and pistols, no guide but a little unintelligible Hottentot. From the Kat River frontier to the de- fenceless portals of Fort Beaufort, the whole district was covered with swarms of predatory savages, and but that Fortune proverbially favours the brave, our young lancer might have found himself in a very unpleasant predicament. Fifty miles finished the lad's charger, and he had accomplished the remainder of his journey, walking and riding turn-about with his guide on the hardy little animal of the latter. No wonder our dismounted dragoon was weary — no wonder the rations of tough beef and muddy water which they gave him when he arrived elicited the compliment we have already mentioned to the good cheer of ' The Fighting Light-Bobs,' as the regiment to which ' Old Swipes' and his detachment belonged was affectionately nick-named in the division. The great thing, however, was accomplished — wet, weary. 238 UNDER CANVAS. and exhausted, Charlie and his guide arrived at their destination by day-break of the second day. The young lancer delivered his despatches to the officer in command, was received like a brother into a subaltern's tent, already containing two inhabitants, and slept soundly through the day, till awakened at sunset by a strong appetite for supper, and the absolute necessity for slackening the tent-ropes re- corded above. ' Kettering, you must join our council of war,' said the cheery voice of the old captain from within, ^ there^s no man better entitled than yourself to know the contents of my despatches. Come in, my boy ; I can give you a pipe, if nothing else.' Charlie lifted the wet sail-cloth, and crept in — the conclave did not look so very uncomfortable after all. Certainly there was but little room, but no men pack so close as soldiers. The old captain was sitting cross-legged on a folded blanket, in the centre, clad in a russet- coloured coat that had once been scarlet, with gold lace tarnished down to the splendour of rusty copper. A pair of regimental trousers, plentifully patched and strapped with leather, adorned his lower man, and on his head he wore a once-burnished shako, much gashed and damaged by a Kaffir's assegai. He puffed forth volumes of smoke from a short black pipe, and appeared in the most exuberant spirits, notwithstanding the deficiencies of his exterior ; the real proprietor of the tent, a swarthy, handsome A VETERAN AND A YOUNG SOLDIER. 239 fellow, with a lightning eye and huge black beard and Avhiskcrs, was leaning against the centre support of his domicile, in a blue frock-coat and buckskin trousers, looking very handsome and very like a gentleman (indeed, he is a pcei'^s younger son), though no ' old clothcsman* would have given him eighteen-pence for the whole of his costume. He had hospitably vacated his seat on a battered port- manteau, ' warranted solid leather,' with the maker's name, in the Strand — it seemed so odd to see it there — and was likewise smoking furiously, as he listened to the orders of his commander. A small tin basin, a canister of tobacco, nearly finished, a silver hunting-flask, alas ! quite empty, and a heap of cloaks, with an old blanket, in the corner, completed the furniture of this warlike palace. It was very like Charlie's own tent at head-quarters, save that his cavalry accoutrements gave an air of finish to that dwelling, of which he was justly proud. So he felt quite at home as he took his seat on the portmanteau, and filled his pipe. ' Just the orders I wanted,' said the old captain, between his whiffs, ' we 've been here long enough, and to-morrow we are to advance at daybreak. I am directed to move upon that ' kloof we have reconnoitred every day since we came, and after forming a junction with the Rifles, we are to get possession of the heights.' ' The river will be out after this rain,' interrupted 240 OKDERS FOR THE MORROW. tlie handsome lieutenant, ^ but that's no odds, our fellows can all swim — 'gad, they want washing V ^ Steady, my lad/ said the veteran, ^ we'll have none of that ; Tve got a Fingo at the quarter-guard here that'll take us over dry-shod. I've explained to him what I mean, and if he don't understand it now he will to-morrow morning. A ' Light-Bob' on each side, with his arms sloped — directly the water comes in at the rent in these old boots,' holding up at the same time a much damaged pair of Wellingtons, ^ down goes the Fingo, poor devil, and out go my skirmishers, till we reach the cattle-ford at Van- Dryburgh.' ' I don't think the beggar will throw us over,' replied the subaltern. '1 suppose I'd better get them under arms before daybreak ; the nights are infernally dark, though, in this beastly country, but my fellows all turn out smartest now when they've no light.' ' Before daybreak, certainly,' replied ^ Old Swipes' ; ' no whist here, Kettering, to keep us up very late. Well,' he added, resuming his directions to his sub- altern, ^ we'll have the detachment under arms by four. Take Serjeant Macintosh and the best of ' the flankers' to form an advanced guard. Bid him make every yard of ground good, particularly where there's bush, but on no account to fire unless he's attacked. We'll advance in column of sections — ORDERS FOR THE MORROW. 241 mind that — they're handier that way for the ground — and Harry — where's Harry ?' * Here, sir !' said a voice, and a pale, sickly -looking boy, apparently about seventeen years of age, emerged from under the cloaks and blankets in the corner where he had been Ipng, half-asleep and thoroughly exhausted with the hardships of a life which it requires the constitution of manhood to undergo. Poor Harry ! with what sickening eagerness his mother, the clergyman's widow, grasps at the daily paper, when the African mail is due. How she shudders to see the great black capitals, with ' Important news from the Cape.' What a hero his sisters think Harry, and how mamma alone turns pale at the very name of war, and prays for him night and morning on her knees till the pale face and wasted form of her darling stand betwixt her and her ^Nlaker. And Harry, too, thinks sometimes of his mother, but oh ! how different is the child's di\dded affection from the all-engrossing tenderness of the mother's love. The boy is fond of '^ soldiering,' and his heart swells as ^ Old Swipes' gives him his orders in a paternal tone of kindness. ' Harry, I shall entrust you with the rear-guard, and you must keep up your communications with the Serjeant's guard I shall leave here. He will probably be relieved by the Rifles, and you can then join us in the front. If they don't show before twelve o'clock, fall back here ; pack up the baggage, right-about-face and join ^ the levies,' they're exactly five miles in our VOL. I. R 242 ORDERS FOR THE MORROW. rear ; if you're in difficulties, ask Serjeant File what is best to be done, only don't club 'em, my boy, as you did at Limerick/ * Well sir,' said the handsome lieutenant, ' we 've all got our orders now, except Kettering — what are we to do with him ?' ' Give him some supper first,' replied the jolly commandant; 'but how to get him back I don't know — we've had a fine stud of oxen for the last ten days, but as for a horse, I have not seen one since I left Cape Town.' ^ We 're doing nothing at head-quarters, sir,' ex- claimed Charhe, with flashing eyes; 'will you allow me to join the attack, to-morrow, with your people T The three officers looked at him approvingly, and the ensign muttered, ' By gad, he's a trump, and no mistake !' but ' Old Swipes' shook his grey head with a half melancholy smile as he scanned the boy's handsome face and shapely figure, set ofi" by his blue lancer uniform, muddy and travel-stained as it was. ' I've seen many a fine fellow go down,' thought the veteran, * and 1 like it less and less — this lad's too good for the Kaffirs — d n me, I shall never get used to it ;' however, he did not quite know how to refuse so soldierlike a request, so he only coughed, and said, 'Well— I don't approve of volunteering — we old soldiers go where we 're ordered, but we never volunteer. Still, I suppose you won't stay here, with fighting in the front. 'Gad, you shall go — you 're a ORDERS FOR THE MORROW. 243 real good one, and I like you for it/ So the fine old fellow seized Charlie's hand and wrung it hard, with the tears in his eyes. And now our three friends prepared to make them- selves comfortable. The old captain's tent was the largest, but it was not water-tight, and consequently stood in a swamp. His supper, therefore, was added to the joint-stock, and the four gentlemen who, at the best club in London, would have turned up their noses at turtle because it was thick, or champagne because it was sweet, sat down quite contentedly to half-raw lumps of stringy beef and a tin mug only half filled with the muddiest of water, glad to get even that. How they laughed and chatted, and joked about their fare ; to have heard them talk one would have supposed they were at dinner within a day's march of Pall ;Mall. London — the opera, the turf — the ring — each and all had their turn, and when the Serjeant on duty came to report the '^ lights out,' said lights consisting of two lanterns for the whole de- tachment, Charlie had just proposed ^fox-hunting' as a toast with which to finish the last sip of brandy, and treated his entertainers to a 'view-holloa' in a whisper, that he might not alarm the camp which, save for the lowing of certain oxen in the rear, was ere long hushed in the most profound repose. Now these oxen were a constant source of con- fusion and annoyance to the ' old captain' and his ^44 A soldier's dream. myrmidons, whose orderly, soldier-like habits were continually broken through by their perverse charge. Of all the contradictory, self-willed, hair-brained brutes on the face of the earth, commend us to an ox in Kaffir-land. He is troublesome enough when first driven off by his black despoilers, but when recaptured by British troops he is worse than ever, as though he brought back with him, from his sojourn in the bush, some of the devilry of his tem- porary owners, and was determined to resent upon his preservers all the injuries he had undergone during his unwilling peregrinations. Fortunately those now remaining with the detachment were but a small number, destined to become most execrable beef, large herds retaken from the savages having already been sent to the rear ; but even this handful were perpetually running riot, breaking out of their ^ KraaP on the most causeless and imaginary alarms, when in the camp, and on the march making a point of ^knocking up' invariably at the most critical moment. Imagine the difficulties of a commander when, in addition to ground of which he knows comparatively nothing, of an enemy out-numbering him hundreds to one, lurking besides in an impene- trable bush, where he can neither be reached nor seen — of an extended line of operation in a country where the roads are either impassable or there are none at all— and above all, of a trying chmate, with a sad deficiency of water — he has to weaken his A soldier's dream. 245 already small force by furnishing a cattle-guard, and to prepare himself for the contingency of some thousands of frantic animals breaking loose (which they assuredly will should his position be forced), and the inevitable confusion which must be the re- sult of such an untoward liberation. The Kaffirs have a knack of driving these refractory brutes in a manner which seems unattainable to a white man. It is an interesting sight to watch a couple of tall, dark savages, almost naked, and with long staves in their hands, manoeuvring several hundred head of cattle with apparently but little trouble. Even the Hottentots seem to have a certain mysterious influ- ence over the horned troop ; but for an English soldier, although goaded by his bayonet, they appear to entertain the most profound contempt. Charlie, however, cared little for ox or Kaffir ; the lowing of the one no more disturbed him than the proximity of the other. Was he not at last in front of the enemy? Should he not to-morrrow begin his career of glory? The boy felt his very life- blood thriU in his veins as the fighting propensity — the spirit of Cain, never quite dormant within us — rose to his heart. There he lay in a corner of the dark tent, dressed and ready for the morrow, with his sword and pistols at his head, covered with a blanket and a large cloak, his whereabout only dis- cernible by the red glow from his last pipe before going to sleep. The handsome lieutenant was al- 246 A soldier's dream. ready wrapped in slumber and an enormous rough great-coat (not strictly regulation). The ensign was far away in dream-land; and Charlie had watched the light die out jfrom their respective pipes with drowsy eyes, while the regular step of the sentry outside smote less and less distinctly on his ear. He had gone through two very severe days,, and had not been in a bed for weeks. Gradually his limbs re- laxed and tingled with the delightful languor of rest after real fatigue. Once or twice he woke up with a start as faucy played her usual tricks with the weary^ then his head declined, his jaw dropped, the pipe fell to the ground, and Charlie was fast asleep. ^ -x- ^ -x- -x- Far, far away on a mountain in Inverness, the wild stag is belling to the distant corries, and snuffing the keen north air as he stamps ever and anon with lightning hoof that cuts the heather tendrils asunder, and flings them on the breeze. Is he not the great master-hart of the parcel ? and shall he not be cir- cumverted and stretched on the moor, ere the fading twilight darkens into night? Verily, he must be stalked warily, cautiously, for the wind has shifted and the lake is already ruffling into pointed white- crested waves, rising as in anger, while their spray, hurried before the tempest, drifts in long continuous wreaths athwart the surface. Fitful gusts, the pent- up sobs of rising fury, that must burst or be re- leased, chase the filmy scud across that pale moon A soldier's dream. 247 which is but veiled, and not obscured, while among the firs and alders that skirt the water's edge the wind moans and shrieks, like an imprisoned demon wailing for his freedom. Mists are rising around the hazy forms of the deer ; cold, chilling vapours, through which the mighty stag looms like some gigantic phantom, and still he swells in defiance, and bells abroad his trumpet-note of war. Charlie's finger is on the trigger ; Uncle Baldwin, disguised as a Highlander, whispers in his ear the thrilling cau- tion, 'take time.' The wind howls hideously, and phantom shapes, floating in the moonlight, mock, and gibber, and toss their long, lean arms, and wave their silver hair. No, the rifle is not cocked; that stubborn lock defies the force of human fingers — the mist is thickening and the stag moves. Charlie implores Uncle Baldwin to assist him, and drops upon his knees to cover the retiring quarry with his use- less weapon. The phantoms gather round; their mist-wreaths turn to muslin dresses, and their silver hair to glossy locks of mortal hues. The roaring tempest softens to an old familiar strain. Mary Delaval is before him. Her pale, sweet face is bent upon the kneeling boy, with looks of unutterable love, and. her white hand passes over his brow with an almost imperceptible caress. Her face sinks gradually to his — her breath is on his temples — his lips clings to hers — and he starts with horror at the kiss of love, striking cold and clammy from a grin- 248 A soldier's dream. ning skull! Horror! the rifleman, whose skeleton he shuddered to find beneath his horses' feet not eight-and-forty hours ago ! "What does he hear in the drawing-room at home? Home — yes, he is at home, at last. It must have been fancy — the recol- lections of his African campaign ! They are all gone to bed. He hears the General's well-known tramp dying away along the passage; and he takes his candle to cross the spacious hall, dark and gloomy in that flickering light. Ha ! seated on the stairs as on a throne, frowns a presence that he dare not pass. A tall, dark figure, in the shape of a man^ yet with angel beauty no angel form of good — glo- rious in the grandeur of despair — magnificent in the pomp and glare of hell — those lineaments awful in their very beauty — those deep unfathomable eyes, with their eternity of suffering, defiance, remorse, all but repentance or submission! Could mortal look and not quail? Could man front and not be blasted at the sight ? On his lofty forehead sits a diadem, and on the centre of his brow, burned in and scorched, as it were, to the very bone, behold the seal of the Destroyer — the single imprint of a finger. ^ The boy stands paralyzed with affright. The prin- ciple of Evil waves him on and on, even to the very hem of his garment; but a prayer rises to the sleeper's lips ; with a convulsive eflbrt he speaks it forth aloud, and the spell is broken. The mortal is A soldier's dream. 249 engaged Avitli a mortal enemy. Those waving robes turn to a leopard-skin kaross. The glorious figure to an athletic savage, and the immortal beauty to the grinning, chattering lineaments of a hideous Kaffir. Charlie bounds at him like a tiger — they fight — they close — and he is locked in the desperate embrace of life or death with his ghastly foe. Charlie is under- most ! His enemy's eyes are starting from their sockets — his white teeth glare with cannibal -like ferocity — and his hand is on the boy's throat with a gripe of iron. One fearful wrench to get free — one last superhuman effort of despair, and — .... Char- lie wakes in the struggle ! — wakes to find it all a dream ; and the cold air, the chiUing harbinger of dawn, stealing into the tent to refresh and invigorate the half-suffocated sleepers. He felt little inclination to resume his slumbers; his position had been a sufficiently uncomfortable one. His head ha\dng slipped from the pistol-holsters on which it had rested, and the clasp of his cloak, fastening at the throat, having well-nigh strangled him in his sleep. The handsome lieutenant's matter-of-fact yawn on waking would have dispelled more horrid dreams than Charlie's, and the real business of the coming day soon chased from his mind all recollections of his imaginary struggle. Breakfast was like the sup- per of the preceding night — half-raw beef, eaten cold, and a whiff from a short pipe. Ere Charlie had finished his ration, dark though it was, the men 250 AN EARLY START. had fallen in ; the advanced guard had started ; En- sign Harry had received his final instructions, and * Old Swipes' gave the word of command, in a low guarded tone — •'^ Slope arms ! By your left — Quick march !' Day dawned on a spirit-stirring scene. With the slinging, easy step of those accustomed to long and toilsome marches, the detachment moved rapidly forward, now lessening its front as it arrived at some narrow defile, now ^marking time' to allow of its rear coming up, without effort, into the proper place. Bronzec|. bold faces theirs, with the bluff good- humoured air of the English soldier, who takes warfare as it comes, with an oath and a jest. Reck- less of strategy as of hardship, he neither knows nor cares what his enemy may be about, nor what dispo- sitions may be made by his own officers. If his flank be turned he fights on, with equal unconcern, ' it is no business of his ;' if his amunition be ex- hausted he betakes himself to the bayonet, and swears ' the beggars may take their change out of that !' The advanced-guard, led by the handsome subal- tern, was several hundred paces in front. The Hot- tentots brought up the rear, and the ' Fighting Light-Bobs,' commanded by their grey-headed cap- tain, formed the column. With them marched Charlie, conspicuous in his blue lancer uniforn, now respectfully addressing his superior officer, now jest- THE MARCH. 251 ing, good-hiimouredly, with his temporary comrades. The Sim rose on a jovial hght-hearted company : when next his beams shall gild the same arid plains, the same twining mimosas, the same glorious land- scape, shut in by the jagged peaks of the Anatola moimtains, they will glance back from many a firelock, lying owTierless on the sand ; they will deepen the clammy hue of death on many a bold forehead ; they will fail to wai-m many a gallant heart, cold and motionless for ever. But the men go on all the same, laughing and jesting merrily, as they ' march at ease,' and beguile the way with mirth and song. ' We '11 get a sup o' brandy to-night, any how, won't us. Bill ?' says a weather-beaten ^ Light-Bob,' to his front-rank man, a thirsty old soldier as was ever ' confined to barracks.' 'Aye,' replies Bill, 'them btack beggars has got plenty of lush — more 's the pity, and they doesn't give none to their wives — more's their sense. Ax your pardon, sir,' he adds, turning to Charlie, ' but we shall advance right upon their centre, now, any- ways, shan't us ?' Ere Charlie could reply he was interrupted by Bill's comrade, who seemed to have rather a penchant for Kaffir ladies : ' Likely young women they be, too. Bill, those niggers' wives ; why, every Kaffir has a dozen at least, and we've have only three to a company ; wouldn't I like to be a Kaffir !' ' Black !' rephed Bill, in a tone of intense disgust. 252 THE ENGAGEMENT. ' What 's the odds ?' urged the matrimonial cham- pion, ' a black wife ^s a sight better than none at all/ and straightway he began to hum a military ditty, of which fate only permitted him to complete the first two stanzas : — * They 're sounding the charge for a brush, my boys ! And we '11 carry their camp with a rush, my boys ! When we 've driven them out, I make no doubt, / We '11 find they've got plenty of lush, my boys ! For the beggars delight To sit soaking all night. Black although they be. * And when we get liquor so cheap, my boys ! We '11 do nothing but guzzle and sleep, my boys ! And sit on the grass with a Kafi&r lass. Though smutty the wench as a sweep, my boys ! For the Light Brigade Are the lads for a maid. Black although she be. * Come, stow that !' interrupted Bill, as the ping of a ball whistled over their heads, followed by the sharp report of a musket ; ' here 's music for your singing, and dancing, too, ^faith,' he added, as the rear files of the advanced-guard came running in; and ' Old Swipes ' exclaimed, * By Jove ! they 're engaged. — Attention ! steady, men ! close up, — close up/ — and, throwing out a handful of skirmishers to clear the bush immediately in his fi'ont, and support his advanced-guard, he moved the column forward at 'the double,' gained some rising ground, behind THE ENGAGEJMENT., 253 which he halted them, and himself ran on to recon- noitre. A sharp fire had by this time commenced on the right, and Chai'lie^s heart beat painfully whilst he remained inactive, covered by a position from which he coidd see nothing. It was not, however, for long. The ' Light-Bobs ' were speedily ordered to advance, and as they gained the crest of the hill, a magnificent view of the conflict opened at once upon their eyes. The Rifles had been beforehand with them, and were already engaged ; their dark forms hurrying to and fi'o, as they ran from covert to covert, were only to be distinguished from the savages by the rapidity with which their thin white lines of smoke emerged from bush and brake, and the regularity with which they forced position after position, com- pared with the tumultuous gestures and desultory movements of the enemy. Already the Kaffirs were forced across the ford of which we have spoken, and, though they mustered in great numbers on the oppo- site bank, swarming like bees along the rising ground, they appeared to waver in their manoeuvres, and to be inclined to retire. A mounted officer gallops up, and says a few words to the grey-headed captain. The 'Light-Bobs' are formed into column of sections, and plunge gallantly into the ford. Charlie's right- hand man falls pierced by an assagai, and, as his head declines beneath the bubbling water, and his blood mingles with the stream, our volunteer feels 254 FORTUNE OF WAR. * the devil ' rising rapidly to his heart. Charlie's teeth are set tight, though he is scarce aware of his own sensations, and the boy is dangerous with his pale face and flashing eyes. The ' Light-Bobs ' deploy into line on the opposite bank, covered by an eff'ective fire from the Rifles, and advance as if they were on parade. * Old Swipes ' feels his heart leap for joy. On they march like one man, and the dark masses of the enemy fly before them. 'Well done, my lads !' says the old captain, as, from their flank, he marks the regularity of their movement. They are his very children now, and he is not thinking of the little blue-eyed girl, far away at home. A belt of mimosas is in their front, and it must be carried with the bayonet ! The ' Light-Bobs' charge, with a wild hurrah ! and a withering YoUey, very cre- ditable to the savages, well nigh staggers them as they approach. ' Old Swipes ' runs forward, waving them on, his shako off", and his grey locks streaming in the breeze — down he goes ! with a musket-ball crashing through his forehead. Charlie could yell with rage, and a fierce longing for blood. There is a calm, matronly woman tending flowers, some thousand miles ofi", in a small garden in the north of England, and a little girl sitting wistfully at her lessons by her mother's side. They are a widow and an orphan — but the handsome lieutenant will get his promotion without purchase; death-vacancies invariably go in the regiment, and even now he takes the command. Charlie's co^imand. 255 'Kettering/ says he, cool aud composed, as if he were but giving orders at a common field-day, ^ take a subdivisions and clear that ravine ; when you ai-e once across you can turn his flank. Forward ! my lads, and if they 've any nonsense ffive ^em the bayonet !' Charhe now finds himself actually in command, aye ! and in something more than a skirmish, some- thing that begins to look uncommonly like a general action. Waving the men on with his sword, ho dashes into the ravine, and in another instant is hand-to-hand with the enemy. What a moment of noise, smoke, and confusion it is ! Crashing blows, fearful oaths, the Kaffir war-cry, and the soldiers' death-groan, mingle in the very discord of hell. A wounded Kaffir seizes Charlie by the legs, and a ' Light-Bob ' runs the savage through the body, the ghastly weapon flashing out between the Kaffir's ribs. ' You 've got it now, you black beggar !' says the soldier, as he coolly wipes his dripping bayonet on a tuft of burnt-up grass. While yet he speaks he is writhing in his death-pang, his jaws transfixed by a quivering assagai. A Kaffir chief, of athletic frame and sinewy proportions, distinguished by the gro- tesque character of his arms and his tiger-skin kaross, springs at the young lancer, like a wild-cat. The boy's sword gleams through that dusky body even in mid-air. 256 THE BLUE ONE DOWN. ^ Well done^ blue-un V shout tlie men, and again there is a wild hurrah ! The young one never felt like this before. ^ ^ "^ Hand-to-hand the savages have been beaten from their defences, and they are in full retreat. One little band has forced the ravine and gained the opposite bank. With a thrilling cheer they scale its rugged surface, Charlie, waving his sword and leading them gallantly on. The old privates swear he is a good ^un. ' Forward, lads ! Hurrah ! for blue ^unF The boy has all but reached the brink ; his hand is stretched to grasp a bush, that overhangs the steep, but his step totters, his limbs collapse — down, down he goes, rolling over and over amongst the brushwood, and the blue lancer uniform lies a tumbled heap at the bottom of the ravine, whilst the cheer of the pursuing * Light-Bobs' dies fainter and fainter on the sultry air, as the chase rolls farther and farther into the desert fastnesses of Kaffir-land. CHAPTER XII. ciainpaigning at Jioiue. THE SOLDIER IN PEACE THE LION AND THE LAMB ^THE GIRLS WE LEAVE BEHIND US' A PLAIN QUES- TION THE STRONG MAN^S STRUGGLE FATHERLY KINDNESS THE ^ PEACE AND PLENTY^ A LADY- KILLEr's projects — WAKING THOUGHTS. TX a ueatj well-appointed barouche, with clever high-stepping brown horses, and everything com- plete, a party of three well-dressed persons are gliding easily out of town, sniffing by anticipation the breezes of the country, and greeting every morsel of verdure with a rapture only known to those who have been for several weeks in London. Past the barracks at Knightsbridge, where the windows are occupied by a race of giants in moustaches and shirt- sleeves, and the officers in front of their quarters are educating a poodle; past the gate at Kensington, with its smartest of light-dragoon sentries, and the gardens with their fine old trees disguised in soot ; past dead-walls overtopped with waving branches; on through a continuous line of streets that will apparently reach to Bath ; past public-houses innu- merable, and grocery-shops without end ; past Ham- mersmith, with its multiplicity of academics, and VOL. I. S 258 THE SOLDIER IN PEACE. Turnliam-greenj and Chiswick, and suburban terraces with almost fabulous names, and detached houses with the scaffolding still up ; past market gardens and rosarieSj till Brentford is reached, where the disappointed traveller, pining for the country, almost deems himself transported back again east of Temple Bar. But Brentford is soon left behind, and a glimpse of ' the silver Thames^ rejoices eyes that have been aching for something farther a-field than the Ser- pentine, and prepares them for the unbounded views and free, fresh landscape afforded by Hounslow Heath. ' This is really the country/ says Blanche, inhaling the pure air with a sigh of positive delight, while the General exclaims, at the same instant, with his ac- customed vigour, ^ Zounds ! the blockhead 's missed the turn to the barracks, after all.' The ladies are very smart ; and even Mary Delaval (the third occupant of the carriage), albeit quieter and more dignified than ever, has dressed in gaudier plumage than is her wont, as is the practice of her sex when they are about to attend what they are pleased to term ' a breakfast.' As for Blanche, she is too charming — such a little gossamer bonnet, stuck at the very back of that glossy little head, so that the beholder knows not whether to be most fascinated by the ethereal beauty of the fabric, or' wonder-struck at the dexterity with which it is kept on. Then the dresses of the pair are like the hues of the morning, though of their texture, as of their THE SOLDIER IN PEACE. 259 ' trimmings/ it becomes us not to hazard an opinion. Talk of beauty unadorned, and all that ! Take the handsomest fiorure that ever inspired a statuary — dress her, or rather undress her, to the costume of the Three Graces, or the Nine Muses, or any of those dowdies immortalised by ancient art, and place her along:side of a moderately good-looking Frenchwoman, with dark eyes and small feet, who has been permit- ted to dress herself: why, the one is a mere corporeal mass of shapely humanity; the other a sparkling emanation of light, and smiles, and ' tulle' (or what- ever they call it), and coquetry, and all that is most irresistible. Blanche and Mary, with the assistance of good taste and good milliners, were almost perfect types of their different styles of feminine beauty. The General, too, was wondrously attired. Retain- ing the predilections of his youth, he shone in a variety of under- waistcoats, each more gorgeous than its predecessor, surmounting the whole by a blue coat of unexampled brilliancy and peculiar construction. Like most men who are not in the habit of '^ getting themselves up' every day, he was always irritable when thus clothed in ' his best,' and w as now pecu- liarly fidgetty as to the right turn by which his carriage should reach the barracks where 'The Loyal Hussars,' under the temporary command of Major D'Orville, were about to give a breakfast of unspeak- able splendour and hospitality. ' Tliat way — no — the other way, you blockhead ! — 260 THE LION AND THE LAMB. straight on, and short to tlie right !' vociferated the General to his bewildered coachman,, as they drew up at the barrack-gate, and Blanche timidly sug- gested they should ask * that officer/ alluding to a dashing, handsome individual guarding the entrance from behind an enormous pair of dark moustaches. 'That^s only the sentry, Blanche,' remarked Mary Delaval, whose early military experience made her more at home here than her companion. ' Dear,' replied Blanche, colouring a little at her mistake, ^ I thought he was a captain, at least — he 's very good-looking.' But the barouche rolls on to the mess- room door, and although the ladies are somewhat disappointed to find their entertainers in plain clothes (a woman's idea of a hussar being that he should live and die en grande tenue); yet the said plain clothes are so well put on, the moustaches and whiskers so carefully arranged, and the fair ones themselves received with such empressement, as to make full amends for any de- ficiency of warlike costume. Besides, the surrounding atmosphere is so thoroughly military. A rough-rider is bringing a young horse from the school ; a trumpet is sounding in the barrack -yard ; troopers lounging about in picturesque undress are sedulously saluting their officers ; all is suggestive of the show and glit- ter which makes a soldier's life so fascinating to woman. Major D'Orville is ready to hand them out of the 'the girls we leave behind us.' 261 carriage. Lacquers is stationed on the door-steps. Captain Clank and Cornet Capon are in attendance to receive their cloaks. Even Sir Ascot Uppercrust, who is here as a guest, lays aside his usual non- cjialance, and actually ' hopes ^liss Kettering didn't catch cold yesterday getting home from Chiswick.' Clank whispers to Capon that he thinks ' Uppy is making strong running/ and Capon strokes his nascent moustaches, and oracularly replies, * The divil doubt him.' No wonder ladies like a military entertainment. It certainly is the fashion among soldiers, as among their sea-faring brethren, to profess far greater devo- tion and exhibit more empressement in their manner to the fair sex than is customary in this age with civilians. The latter, more particularly that maligned class, ' the young men of the present day,' are not prone to put themselves much out of their way for any one, and treat you, fair daughters of England, with a mixture of patronage and carelessness which is far from complimentary. How different you find it when you visit a barrack, or are shown over a man- of-war ! Respectful deference waits on your every expression, admiring eyes watch your charming movements, and stalwart arms are proffered to assist your delicate steps. Handsome sunburnt counte- nances explain to you how the biscuit is served out ; or moustaches of incalculable volume wait your 262 * THE GIRLS WE LEAVE BEHIND US.' answer as to 'what polka you choose their band to perform/ You make conquests all around you, and wherever you go your foot is on their necks ; but do not for this think that your image never can be effaced from these warlike hearts. A good many of them^ even the best-looking ones, have got wives and children at home ; and the others, unincumbered though they be, save by their debts, are apt to enter- tain highly anti-matrimonial sentiments, and to frame their conduct on sundry aphorisms of a very faithless tendency, purporting that 'blue water is a certain cure for heart-ache ;' that judicious hussars are enti- tled 'to love and to ride away'; with other maxims of a like inconstant nature. Nay, in both services there is a favourite air of inspiriting melody, the burden and title of which, monstrous as it may appear, are these unfeeling words, ' The girls we leave behind us !' It is always played on marching out of a town. But however ill our ' captain bold' of the present day may behave to ' the girl he leaves behind him,' the lady in his front has small cause to complain of remissness or inattention. The mess-room at Houns- low is fitted-up with an especial view to the approba- tion of the fair sex. The band outside ravishes their ears with its enchanting harmony ; the officers and male guests dispose themselves in groups with those whose society they most affect ; and Blanche finds herself the centre of attraction to sundry dashing A PLAIN QUESTION. 263 warriors, not one of ^vllom would hesitate for an instant to abandon his visions of military distinction, and link himself, his debts, and his moustaches, to the fortimes of the pretty heiress. Now, Sir Ascot Uppercrust has resolved this day to do or die — ' to be a man or a mouse,' he calls it. Of this young gentleman we have as yet said but little, inasmuch as he is one of that modern school which, abounding in specimens through the higher ranks of society, is best described by a series of negatives. He was not good-looking — he was not clever — he was not well-educated ; but, on the other hand, he was not to be intimidated— tio^ to be excited — and not to be taken in. Coolness of mind and body were his principal characteristics ; no one ever saw 'Uppy' in a hurry, or a dilemma, or what is called * taken aback ;' he would have gone into the ring and laid the odds to an archbishop without a vestige of astonishment, and with a carelessness of demeanour bordering upon contempt ; or he would have addressed the House of Commons, had he thought fit to honour that formidable assemblage by his presence, with an equanimity and insouciance but little removed from impertinence. A quaint boy at Eton, cool hand at Oxford, a deep card in the regi- ment, man or woman never yet had the best of ' Uppy' ; but to-day he felt, for once, nervous and dispirited, and wished ' the thing was over' and settled one way or the other. He was an only son, 264 A PLAIN QUESTION. and not used to be contradicted. His mother had confided to him her own opinion of his attractions, and striven hard to persuade her darhng that he had but to see and conquer; nevertheless, the young gentleman was not at all sanguine of success. Accus- tomed to view things with an impartial, and by no means a charitable eye, he formed a dispassionate idea of his own attractions, and extended no more indulgence to himself than to his friends. ' Plain, but neat,' he soliloquised that very morning, as he thought over his proceedings whilst dressing ; ' not much of a talker, but a devil to think — good position — certain rank, she'll be a lady, though rather a Brummagem one — house in Lowndes-street — place in the west — family diamonds — and a fairish rent-roll (when the mortgages are paid), that's what she would get. Now, what should I get ? Nice girl — 'Gad she is a nice girl, with her ' sun-bright hair,' as some fellow says — good temper — good action — and three hundred thousand pounds. The exchange is rather in my favour; but then all girls want to be married, and that squares it, perhaps. If she says ^ Yes,' sell out — give up hunting — drive her about in a phaeton, and buy a yacht. If she says ^ No,' get second leave — go to Melton in November — and hang on with the regiment, which ain't a bad sort of life, after aU. So it's hedged both ways. Six to one, and half-a- dozen to the other. Very well; to-day we'U settle it.' A PLAIN QUESTION. 265 TMth these sentiments it is needless to remark, that Sir Ascot was none of your sighing, despairing, fire-eating adorers, whose ^'iolence frightens a woman into a not-unwilling consent; but a cautious, quiet lover, on whom perhaps a civil refusal might be the greatest favour slie could confer. Nevertheless, he liked Blanche, too, in his own way. AVell, the band played, and the luncheon was dis- cussed, and the room was cleared for an impromptu dance (meditated for a fortnight) ; and some waltzed, and some flirted, and some walked about and peeped into the troop-stables, and inspected the riding-school, and Blanche found herself, rather to her surprise, walking tete-a-tete with Sir Ascot from the latter dusty emporium, lingering a little behind the rest of the party, and separated altogether from the General and Mary Delaval. Sir Ascot having skil- fully detached Lacquers, by informing him that he had made a fatal impression on Miss Spanker, who was searching everywhere for the credulous hussar ; and having thus possessed himself of Blanche^s ear, now stopped dead-short, looked the astonished girl full in the face, and without moving a muscle of his own countenance, carelessly remarked, 'Miss Ket- tering, would you like to marry me ?' Blanche thought he was joking, and although it struck her as an ill- timed piece of pleasantry, she strove to keep uj) the jest, replied, with a laugh and a low curtsy, 'Sir Ascot Uppercrust, you do me too much honour.^ 266 A PLAIN QUESTION*. ^ No, but will you. Miss Kettering?' said Sir Ascot, getting quite warm (for him). 'Plain fellow — do what I can — make you happy — and all that.' Poor Blanche blushed crimson up to her eyes. Good heavens ! then the man was in earnest after all ! What had she done, she, the pet of ' cousin Charlie,^ and the joro/e^ee of Frank Hardingstone, that such a creature as this should presume to ask her such a question ? She hesitated — felt very angry — half inclined to laugh and half inclined to cry ; and Sir Ascot went on, ' Silence gives consent, Miss Ket- tering — 'pon my soul, I^m immensely flattered — can't express what I feel — no poet, and that sort of thing — but I really am — eh ! — very — eh V It was getting too absurd ; if she did not take some decisive step, here was a dandy quite prepared to affiance her against her will, and what to say or how to say it, poor little Blanche, who was totally unused to this sort of thing, and tormented, moreover, with an invincible desire to laugh, knew no more than the man in the moon. ' You misunderstand. Sir Ascot,' at last she stam- mered out j ' I didn't mean — that is — I meant, or rather, I intended — to — to — to decline — or, I should say — in short, I couldn't for the world!' With which unequivocal declaration Blanche blushed once more up to her eyes, and to her inexpressible relief, put her arm within Major D'Orville's, that officer coming up opportunely at that moment; and seeing the girFs ■ A PLAIN QUESTION. 267 ob>ious confusion and annoyance, extricating lier, as he seemed always to do, from her mipleasant dilemma and her matter-of-fact swain. And this was Blanche's lirst proposal. Nothmg so ahirming in it, young ladies, after all. We fear you may be disappointed at the blunt manner in which so momentous a question can be put. Here was no language of flowers — no giving of roses and receiWug of carnations — no hoarding of locks of hair_, or secreting of bracelets, or kidnapping of gloves — none of the petty larceny of courtship — none of the dubious, half-expressed, sentimental flummery which may signify all that mortal heart can bestow, or may be the mere coquetry of conventional gallantry. AVhen he comes to the point, let us hope his meaning may be equally plain, whether it is couched in a wish that he might ' be always helping you over stiles,^ or a request that you will ' give him a right to walk with you by moonlight without being scolded by mamma,' or an enquiry as to whether you ^ can live in the country, and only come to London for three months during the season,' or any other roundabout method of asking a straightforward question. Let us hope, moreover, that the applicant may be the right one, and that you may experience, to the extent of actual impossibility, the proverbial difficulty of saying — No. Now, it fell out that Major D'Orville arrived in the nick of time to save Blanche from further em- barrassment, in consequence of his inability, in com- 268 THE STRONG MAn's STRUGGLE. mon with, the rest of his fellow-creatures, ' to know his own mind/ The Major had got up the fete entirely, as he imagined, with the idea of prosecuting his views against the heiress, and hardly allowed to himself that, in his innermost soul, there lurked a hope that Mrs. Delaval might accompany her former charge, and he might see her just once more. Had D^Orville been thoroughly had, he would have been a successful man ; as it was, there gleamed ever and anon upon his worldly heart a ray of that higher nature, that nobler instinct which spoils the villain, wliile it makes the hero. Mary had pierced the coat-of-mail in which the roue was encased ; proba- bly her very indifference was her most fatal weapon. D^Orville really loved her — yes, though he despised himself for the weakness (since weakness it is deemed in creeds such as his), though he would grind his teeth and stamp his foot in solitude, while he mut- tered, ' Fool ! fool ! to bow down before a woman ! ' yet the spell was on him, and the chain was eating into his heart. In the watches of the night her image sank into his brain, and tortured him with its calm indifferent smile. In his dreams she bent over him, and her drooping hair swept across his forehead, till the strong man woke, and yearned like a child for a fellow- mortal's love. But not for him the childlike trust that can repose on human affection. Gaston had eaten of the tree of knowledge, the knowledge of good and evil ; much did the evil pre- THE STRONG MAN's STRUGGLE. 269 dominate over the good, and still the galling thought goaded him almost to madness. ' Suppose I should gain this woman's aflections — suppose I should sacri- fice my every hope to that sweet face, and find her, after all, like the rest of them ! Suppose /, too, should weary, as I have wearied before of faces well- nigh as fair — hearts even far more kind — is there no green branch on earth ? Am I to wander for ever seek- ing rest and finding none ? Am I to be cursed, like a lost spirit, with longings for that happiness which my very nature will not permit me to enjoy? oh that I were wholly good, or w holly bad ! That I could loathe the false excitement and the dazzling charms of vice, or steep my better feelings in the petrifying waters of perdition ! I will conquer my weakness — What should I care for this stone-cold governess ? I will be free, and this Mrs. Delaval shall discover that / too can be as careless, and as faithless, and as hard-hearted, as — a woman ! ' With which laudable and manly resolution our dashing Major proceeded to make the agreeable to his guests, and to lose no opportunity of exchanging glances and mixing in conversation mth the very lady he had sworn so stoutly to avoid. But with all his tactics, all his military proficiency in manoeuvring, he found it im- possible to detach Mary from her party, or to engage her in a tete-a-tete with himself. True-hearted, and dignified, with her pure aff'cctions fixed upon another, she was not a person to descend to coquetry for the 270 THE STRONG MAN*S STRUGGLE. mere pleasure of a conquest, and she clung to the General for the purpose of avoiding the Major, till old Bounce hecame convinced that she Was to add another name to the list of victims who had already succumbed before his many fascinations. The idea had been some time nascent in his mind, and as it now grew and spread, and developed itself into a certainty, his old heart warmed with a thrill he had not felt since the reign of the widow at Cheltenham, and he made the agreeable in his own way by point- ing out to Mary all the peculiarities and arrange- ments of a barrack-yard, interspersed with many abrupt exclamations and voluminous personal anec- dotes. Major D'Orville hovered round them the while, and perhaps the very difficulty of addressing his former love enhanced the charm of her presence and the fascination against which he struggled. It is amusing to see a thorough man of the world, one accustomed to conquer and enslave where he is him- self indifferent, awkward as the veriest schoolboy, timid and hesitating as a girl, where he is really touched — though woman — Born to be controlled, Stoop to the forward and the bold. She thereby gauges with a false measure the devotion for which she pines. Would she know her real power, would she learn where she is truly loved, let her take note of the averted eye, the haunting step, ever hovering near, seldom daring to approach, the THE STEOXG MAN'S STRUGGLE. 271 common-place remark that shrinks from the one cherished topic, and above all the quivering voice, which steady and commanding to the world beside, fails only when it speaks to her. Mary Delaval might have noted this had her heart not been in Kaffirland, or had the General allowed her leisure to attend to anything but himself. ' Look ye, my dear Mrs. Delaval, om* stables in India were ventilated quite differently. Climate? how d^ye mean? climate makes no difference — why, V\e had the Kedjerees picketed in thousands round my tent. What ? D'Or- ville, you've been on the Sutlej — 'Gad, sir, your fellows would have been astonished if I'd di'opped among you there.' 'And justly so,' quietly remarked the Major; 'if I remember right, you were in cantonments, more than three thousand miles off.' ' WeU, at any rate, I taught those black fellows how to look after their nags,' replied the general. ' I left them the best mounted corps in the Presi- dency, and six weeks after my back was turned they wem't worth a row of pins. Zounds, don't tell me ! jobbing — jobbing — nothing but jobbing! What? No sore backs whilst I commanded them — at least among the horses,^ added our disciplinarian reflec- tively ; ' can't say as much with regard to the men. But there is nothing like a big stick for a nigger — so let's go and see the riding-school.' ' I have still got the grey charger, Mrs. Delaval,' 272 FATHERLY KINDNESS. interposed the major, wishing old Bounce and his Kedjerees in a hotter climate than India; 'poor fellow, he's quite white now, but as great a favourite still as he was in ' the merry days,' and the Major's voice shook a little. ' Would you like to see him ?' Mary understood the allusion, but her calm affir- mative was as indifferent as ever, and the trio were proceeding to the Major's stables, that officer going on before to find his groom, when he met Blanche, as we have already said, and divining intuitively what had taken place by her flushed countenance and embarrassed manner, offered his arm to conduct her back to her party, thereby earning her eternal grati- tude, no less than that of Sir Ascot, who, as he afterwards confided to an intimate Mend, ' was com- pletely in the hole, and didn't the least know what the devil to do next.' And now D'Orville practically demonstrated the advantage in the game of flirtation possessed by an untouched heart. With the governess he had been diffident, hesitating, almost awkward ; with the pupil he was eloquent and winning as usual. His good taste told him it would be absurd to ignore Blanche's obvious trepidation, and his knowledge of the sex taught him that the ' soothing system,' with a mix- ture of lover-like respect and paternal kindness, might produce important results. So he begged Blanche to lean on his arm and compose her nerves, and talked kindly to her in his soft, deep voice. ^ I FATHERLY KINDNESS. 273 can see you have been annoyed, Miss Ketterins: — you know the interest I take in you, and I trust you will not consider me presumptuous in wishing to extricate you from further embarrassment. I am an old feUow now/ and the Major smiled his own winning smile, 'and therefore a fit chaperon for young ladies. I have nobody to care for (D'Orville, D'Orville ! you would shoot a man who called you a liar), and I have watched you as if you were a sister or a child of my own. Pray do not tell me more than if I can be of any service to you, and if I can, my dear ^liss Kettering, command me to the utmost extent of my powers !' What could Blanche do but thank him warmly, and who shall blame the girl for feeling gratified by the interest of such a man, or for entertaining a vague sort of satisfaction that after all she was neither his sister nor his daughter. Had he been ten years older, she would have thrown her arms round his neck, and kissed him in child -like confidence, as it was she pressed closer to his side and felt her heart warm to the kind considerate protector. The ]Major saw his advantage and pro- ceeded : ' I am alone in the world, you know, and seldom have an opportunity of doing any one a kindness. We soldiers lead a sadly unsatisfactory, desultory sort of life. Till you 'came out' this year, I had no one to care for, no one to interest myself about ; but since I have seen you every day, and watched you enjoying yourself, and admired and VOL. I. T 274 FATHERLY KINDNESS. sought after, I liave felt like a different man. I have a great deal to thank you for, Miss Kettering ; I was rapidly growing into a selfish, heartless old gentleman, but you have renewed my youthful feel- ings, and freshened up my better nature, till I some- times think I am almost happy. How can I repay you but by watching over your career, and, should you ever require it, placing my whole existence at your disposal. It would break my heart to see you thrown away — no ; believe me. Miss Kettering, you have no truer friend than myself, none that admires or loves you better than your old chaperon ; ' and as the Major spoke he looked so kindly and sincerely into the girl's face, that albeit his language might bear the interpretation of actual love, and was, as Hairblower would have said, ^uncommon near the wind,^ it seemed the most natural thing in the world, under the circumstances, and Blanche leaned on his arm and talked and laughed, and told him to get the carriage, and otherwise ordered him about with a strangely mixed feeling of child-like confidence and gratified vanity. The party broke up at an early hour, many of them ha\dng dinner-engagements in London, and as D'Orville handed Blanche into her carriage, he felt that he had to-day made a prodigious stride towards the great object in view. He had gained the girFs confidence, no injudicious move- ment towards gaining her heart and her fortune. He pressed her hand as she wished him good-bye ; THE * PEACE AND PLENTY.* 275 and while he did so, shuddered at the consciousness of his meanness. Too well he knew he loved another — a word, a look from Mary Delaval, would have saved him even now ; but her farewell was cold and short as common courtesy would admit of, and he ground his teeth as he thought those feet would spiu-n him, at which he would give his very life to fall. The worst passions of his nature were aroused. He swore, some day, to humble that proud heart in the dust, but the first step at all events must be to win the heiress. This morning he could have given up all for Mary, but noio he was himself again, and the !Major walked moodily back to barracks, a wiser (as the world would opine), but certainly not a bet- ter man. Care however, although, as Horace tells us, ''she sits behind the horseman,^ is a guest whose visits are but little encouraged by the light dragoon. Our gallant hussars were not inclined to mope down at Hounslow after their guests had returned to town, and the last can-iage had scarcely driven off with its fair freight, ere phaeton, buggy, riding-horse and curricle were put in requisition, to take their military owners back to the metropolis, that Wctim of discipline, the orderly officer, being alone left to console himself in his solitude as he best might, with his own reflections and the society of a water-spaniel. To-morrow morning they must be again on the road, to reach head- quarters in time for parade, but to-morrow 276 THE 'peace and plenty.' morning is a long way off, from gentlemen wlio live every hour of their lives, so away they go, each on his own devices, but one and all resolved to make the most of the present, and glitter, whilst they may, in the sunshine of their too brief noon. ^ -Jt -x- ^ * St. George's clock tolls one, and Blanche has been asleep for hours in her quiet room at the back of the house in Grosvenor-square. Pure thoughts and plea- sant dreams have hovered round the young girl's pillow, and the last image present to her eyes has been the kind handsome face of Major D'Orville — the hero who, commanding to all besides, is so gentle, so considerate, so tender with her alone. ' Perhaps,' thought she, as the midnight-rain beat against her window-panes, ^ he is even now going his bleak rounds at Hounslow (Blanche had a vague idea that the hussars spent the night in patrolling the heath), wrapped in his cloak, on that dear white horse, very likely thinking of me. How such a man is thrown away, with his kindly feelings, and his noble mind, and his courageous heart. ^ Nobody to care for,' he said, ^ alone in the world,' and little Blanche sighed a sigh of that pity which is akin to a softer feeling, and experienced for an instant that startling throb with which love knocks at the door, like some unwelcome visitor, ere habit has emboldened him to walk upstairs, unbidden, and make himself at home. THE * PEACE AND PLENTY.* 277 Let us see how right the maiden was in her con- jectures, and follow the Major through his bleak rounds, and his night of military hardships. As we perambulate London at our loitering leisure, and stare about us in the desultory wandering man- ner of those who have nothing to do, now admiring an edifice, now peeping into a print-shop, we are often brought up ' all standing,' in one of the great thoroughfares, by the magnificent proportions — the architectural splendour of a building which our peaceful calling debars us from entering. Neverthe- less we may gaze and gape at the stately outside, we may admire the lofty windows, with their florid ornaments, and marvel for what purpose are intended the upper casements, which seem to us like the bull's-eyes let into the deck of a three-decker, magnified to a gigantic uselessness ; we may stare till the nape of our neck warns us to desist, at the classic ornaments raised in high relief around the roof, where strange mythological devices, unknown to Lempriere, mystify alike the antiquarian and the naturalist — centaurs, terminating in salmon-trout, career around the cornices, more grotesque than the mermaid, more inexplicable than the sphinx. In vain we cudgel our brains to ask of what faith, what principle these monsters may be the symbols. Can they represent the insignia of that corps so strangely omitted in the Army List — known to a 278 THE 'peace and plenty.' grateful country as tlie horse-marines ? Are they a glorious emanation of modern art ? or are they as the Irish gentleman suggested of our martello towers, only intended to puzzle posterity ? Splendid^ how- ever, as may be the outward magnificence of this military palace, it is nothing compared with the luxury that reigns within, and the heroes of both services enjoy a delightful contrast to the hardships of war, in the spacious saloons and exquisite repasts provided for its members, by ^ The Peace and Plenty Club/ 'Waiter — two large cigars and another sherry- cobbler/ lisps a voice which, although somewhat thicker than usual, we have no difficulty in recog- nising as the property of Captain Lacquers. That officer has dined 'severely,^ as he calls it, and is slightly inebriated. He is reclining on three chairs, in a large lofty apartment, devoid of furniture and surrounded by ottomans. From its airy situation, general appearance, and pervading odour, we have no difficulty in identifying it as the smoking-room of the establishment. At our friend's elbow stands a small table, with empty glasses, and opposite him, with his heels above the level of his head, and a cigar of * sesquipedalian' length, in his mouth, sits Sir Ascot Uppercrust. Gaston D'Orville is by his side, veil- ing his handsome face in clouds of smoke, and they are all three talking about the heiress. Yes : these are the Major^s rounds ^ these are the hardships THE * PEACE AND PLENTY.* 279 innocent Blanche sighed to think of. It is lucky that ladies can neither hear nor see us in our mas- culine retreats. * So she refused you, TTppy ; refused you point blank, did she? ^Gad, I like her for it,' said Lacquers, the romance of whose disposition was much enhanced by his potations. * Deuced impertinent, I call it/ replied the re- pulsed ; ' won't have such a chance again. After all, she's not half a nice gii'l.' ' Don't say that,' vociferated Lacquers, ^ don't say that. ^\\Q.^ & perfect , my dear boy; she's enchanting — she's got mind and that — what 's a woman without intellect? — without the what-d'ye-call-it spark? — a — a — you recollect the quotation.' ' A pudding without plums,' said Sir Ascot, who was a bit of a wag in a quiet way ; and 'A fiddle with- out strings' suggested the Major, at the same moment. ' Exactly,' replied Lacquers, quite satisfied ; ^ well, my dear fellow, I 'm a man that adores all that sort of thing. 'Gad, I can't do without talent, and music, and so on. Do I ever miss an opera ? Didn't I half ruin myself for Pastorelli, because she could dance? Now, I'll tell you what — ' and the speaker, lighting a fresh cigar, forgot what he was going to say. ' Then you 're rather smitten with Miss Kettering, too,' observed D'Orville, who, as usual, was deter- 280 A lady-killer's projects. mined not to throw a chance away. ' I thought a man of your many successes was blaze with that sort of thing;' and the Major smiled at Sir Ascot, whilst Lacquers went oflF again at score. ' To be sure, I 've gone very deep into the thing, old fellow, as you know ; and I think I understand women. You may depend upon it they like a fellow with brains. But I ought to settle ; I ' flushed' a grey hair yesterday in my whiskers, and this is just the girl to suit. It 's not her money I care for ; I 've got plenty — at least I can get plenty at seven per cent. No, it 's her intellect, and her refusing Uppy, that I like. What did you say, my boy ? how did you begin ?' he added, thinking he might as well get a hint. 'Did you tip her any poetry? — Tommy Moore, and that other fellow, little Whaf s-his-name?' Lacquers was beginning to speak very thick, and did not wait for an answer. ' I'll show you how to settle these matters to-morrow after parade. First, I '11 go to Who's that fellow just come in? 'Gad, it's Clank — good fellow. Clank. I say. Clank, will you come to my wedding ? Eecollect I asked you to- night ; be very particular about the date. Let me see; to-morrow's the second Sunday after Ascot. I '11 lay any man three to two the match comes off before Goodwood.' D'Orville smiles calmly. He hears the woman whom he intends to make his wife talked of thus lightly, yet no feeling of bitterness rises in his mind A LADY-KILLER*S PROJECTS. 281 against the drunken dandy. Would he not resent sucli mention of another name? But his finances will not admit of such a chance as the present wager being neglected ; so he draws out his betting-book, and turning over its well-filled leaves for a clear place quietly observes, 'I'll take it — three to two — Avliat in?' ' Pounds, ponies, or hundreds,' vociferates Lac- quers, now decidedly uproarious : ' thousands, if you like. Fortune favours the brave. Vogue la thingum- bob ! Waiter ! brandy and water ! Clank, you 're a trump : shake hands, Clank. We won't go home till morning. Yonder he goes : tally-ho !' And while the !Major, who is a man of conscience, satisfies him- self with betting his friend's bet in hundreds. Lac- quers vainly endeavours to make a corresponding memorandum; and finding his fingers refuse their office, gives himself up to his fate, and with an abortive attempt to embrace the astonished Clank, subsides into a sitting posture on the floor. The rest adjourn to whist in the drawing-room; and Gaston D'Orville concludes his rounds by losing three hundred to Sir Ascot ; ' Uppy' congratulating himself on not having made such a bad day's work after all. As the Major walks home to his lodgings in the first pure flush of the summer's morning, how he loathes that man whose fresh, unsullied boyhood he 282 WAKING THOUGHTS. remembers so well. What is he now ? Nothing to rest on ; nothing to hope for — loving one — deceiving another. If he gain his object, what is it but a bitter perjury? Gambler — traitor — profligate — turn which way he will, there is nothing but ruin, misery, and sin. CHAPTER XIII. tbc miorto. SELLING THE COPYRIGHT THE POLITICIAN'S DAY- DREAMS TATTERSALl's at flood A DANDY^S DESTINY. '/^ AN'T do it, my lord — your lordship must consider — over- written yourself sadly of late — your Broadsides from the Baltic were excellent, telling, clever, and eloquent; but — you'll excuse me — you were incorrect in your statistics, and mistaken in your facts. Then your last novel. Captain Flash ; or the Modej-n Grandison, was a dead loss to us — lively work — well reviewed — but it didji't sell. In these days people don't care to go behind the scenes for a peep at aristocratic ruffians and chivalrous blacklegs — no, what we want is something original — hot and strong, my lord, and lots of nature. Now these translations' — and the publisher, for a publisher it was who spoke, waved his sword of office, a huge ivory paper-cutter, towards a bundle of manuscripts — ' these translations from the Medea are admirably done — elegant language — profound scholarship — great merit — but the public won't look at them ; and even with your lordship's name to help them off, we 284 SELLING THE COPYRIGHT. cannot say more than three hundred — in point of fact, I think we are hardly justified in going as far as that 'y and the pubhsher crossed his legs and sat back in his arm-chair, like a man who had made up his mind. We have almost lost sight of Lord Mount Helicon since the Guyville ball, but he now turns up, attend- ing to business, as he calls it, and is sitting in Mr. Bracketts^ back-room, driving as hard a bargain as he can for the barter of his intellectual produce, and conducting the sale in his usual careless good- humoured manner, although he has a bill coming due to-morrow, and ready money is a most important consideration. The little back-room is perfectly lined with newspapers, magazines, prospectuses, books, proof-sheets, and manuscripts, whilst the aris- tocracy of talent frown in engravings from the walls — faces generally not so remarkable for their beauty as for a dishevelled untidy expression, consequent on disordered hair pushed back from off the temples, and producing the unbecoming effect of having been recently exposed to a gale of wind ; nevertheless, the illegible autographs beneath symbohze names which fill the world. Mr. Bracketts, the presiding genius of the place, is a remarkable man ; his broad, high brow and deep- set flashing eyes betray at once the man of intellect, the champion whose weapon is the brain, whilst his spare, bent frame is attenuated by that mental labour SELLING THE COPYRIGHT. 285 wliicli produces results precisely the converse of healthy physical exertion. Mr. Bracketts might^have been a great poet, a successful author, or a scientific explorer, but like the grocer^s apprentice, who is clogged with sweets till he loathes the very name of sugar, our publisher has been surfeited with talent, till he almost pines to be a boor, to exchange the constant intellectual excitement which wears him to shreds for placid ignorance, a good appetite, and fresh air. How can he find time to embody his own thoughts who is continually perusing, rejecting, per- haps licking into shape those of others ; how can he but be disgusted with the puny efforts of the scrib- bler's wing, when he himself feels capable of flights that would soar far out of the ken of that every-day average authorship of which his soul is sick? — so beyond an occasional slashing review, written in no forbearing spirit, he seldom puts pen to paper, save to score and interline and correct ; yet is he, with all his conscious superiority, not above our national prejudices in favour of what we playfully term good society. We fear he had rather go to a ^ crush^ at Lady Dinadam's than sup with Boz. He is an Englishman, and his heart warms to a peer — so he lets Lord ]\Iount Helicon down very easy, and offers him three hundred for his manuscript. ' Hang it, Bracketts,' says his lordship, ' its woilh more than that — look what it cost me ; if it hadn't been for that cursed ' Sea-breeze' chorus, I should 286 SELLING THE COPYRIGHT. have been at Newmarket^ when ^ Bowse-and-Bit/ won ^ The Column' — and I should have landed ' a Thou* at least. But I was so busy at it^ I was late for the train. Come, Bracketts, spring a point, and I'll put you ' on' about ' Sennacherib' for the Good- wood Cup.' * We should wish to be as liberal as possible, my' lord/ replied Mr. Bracketts, shaking his head with a smile, ' but we have other interests to consult — if I was the only person concerned it would be different — but, in short, I have already rather exceeded my powers, and I can go no farther !' ' Very well,' said Lord Mount Helicon, looking at his watch, and seeing it was time for him to be at Tat- tersall's ; ^ only if it goes through another edition, we'll have a fresh arrangement. It's- time for me to be off. Any news among the fraternity ? Any- thing good coming out soon ? ' Nothing but a novel by a lady of rank,' returned Mr. Bracketts, with a meaning smile ; ^ and we all know what that is likely to be. Capital title, though : Blue-belle ; or, the Double Infidelity — the name will sell it. Good morning ; good morning, my lord ; pray look in again, when you are this way.' And the publisher, having bowed out his noble guest, returned to his never-ending labours, whilst Lord Mount Helicon whisked into the street, with five hundred things to do, and as usual, a dozen appoint- ments to keep, all at the same time. THE politician's DAY DRE A:\IS. 287 Let us follow him down to TattersalFs, whither, on the principle of business first and pleasmre afterwards/ he betakes himself at once, treading as it were upon air, his busy imagination teeming with a thousand schemes, and his spirits rising wdth that self-distilled elixir which is only known to the poetic temperament, and which, though springing to a certain extent from constitutional recklessness, owes its chief potency to the self-confidence of mental superiority — the reflec- tion that, when all externals are swept away, when ruin and misfortune have done their wickedest, the productive treasure, the germ of future success, is still untouched within. ' If the worst comes to the worst/ thinks his lord- ship, ^ if ' Sennacherib^ breaks down, and Blanche Kettering fights shy, and the sons of Judah thunder at the door of the ungodly, and ^ the pot boils over,' and the world says ' it's all up with Mount,' have I not still got something to fall back upon ? Shall not my very difficulties point the way to overcome them ; and when I am driven into a corner, won^t I come out and astonish them all? Fve got it in me — I know I have. And the reviewers — psha ! I defy them ! Let them but lay a finger on my Medea, and Fll give them such a roasting as they haven't had since the days of the Dunciad. Byron did it : why shouldn't I? If I could only settle down — and I could settle down if I was regularly cleaned out — I think Tra man enough to succeed. Bring out a 288 tattersall's at flood. work tliat would sliake the Ministry, and scatter the Moderate party — then for Progress, ImproveBcent, Enfranchisement, and the March with the Times (rogue's march though it be), and Mount Hehcon, at the head of an invincible phalanx, in the House, with unbounded popularity out of doors, an English peerage — fewer points to the coronet — a seat in the Cabinet — why not? But here we are at Tattersall's / and the future statesman is infernally in want of a few hundreds, so now for ' good information, long odds, a safe man, and a shot at the favourite !' As he walked down the narrow passage out of Grosvenor-place, now bowing to a peer, now nodding to a trainer, now indulging in quaint badinage, which the vulgar call ' chaff,' with a dog-stealer, who would have suspected the rattling, agreeable, off-hand Mount Helicon of deep-laid schemes and daring ambition ? Nobody saw through him but old Barab- bas, the Leg ; and he once confided to a confederate on Newmarket Heath, 'There's not one of the young ones as knows his alphabet, 'cept the Lively Lord; and take my word for it. Plunder, he's a deep-un.' If a foreigner would have a comprehensive view of our system of English society all at one glance, let him go into the yard at Tattersall's any crowded ^ com- paring day,' before one of our great events on the turf. There will he see, in its highest perfection, the apparent anomaly of aristocratic opinions and demo- tatti:rs all's at flood. 289 cratic habits, the social coutradictioii by which the peer rccoucilcs his fauiiharity with the Leg, aud his hauteur towards those ahuost his equals in rauk, who do not happen to be of ^ his own set/ There he may behold Pri\y Councillors rubbing shoulders with convicted swindlers, noblemen of unstained lineage, themselves the ^ mirror of honour/ passing their jests for the time, on terms of the most perfect equality with individuals whose only merit is success; and that indescribable immunity some persons are allowed to enjoy, by which, according to the proverb, 'one man is entitled to steal a horse, when another may not even look at a halter/ But this apparent equality can only flourish in the stifling atmosphere of the ring, or the free breezes of Newmarket-heath. Directly the book is shut, my lord is a very diflerent man, and Tom This or Dick That, would find it another story alto- gether, where he to expect the same familiarity in the county -rooms or the hunting-field which he has enjoyed in that vortex of speculation, where, after all, he merely represents 'a given quantity,' as a layer of the odds, and where his money is as good as another man's, or, at least, is so considered. Nay, the very crossing which divides Grosvenor-place from the Park, is a line of demarcation quite sufficient to convert the knowing, off-hand nod of oiu' lordly speculator into the stiff*, cold bow and studiously polite greeting of 'the Grand Seigneur.' Verily, would-be gentlemen, who take to racing as a means of ' getting into society,' must often find themselves VOL. I. u 290 TATTERSALLS AT FLOOD. grievously deceived. But Lord Mount Helicon is in the thick of it. Tattersall greets him with that respectful air which his good taste never permits him to lay aside, whether he is discussing a matter of thousands with Sir Peter Plenipo, or arranging the sale of a forty-pound hack for an ensign in the Guards; therefore is he himself respected hy all. You should have bought two of the yearlings, my lord/ says he, in his quiet, pleasant voice; ^Colonel Cavesson never sent us up such a lot in his life before.^ ' Ha! Mount!' exclaims Lord Middle Mile, with a hearty smack on his friend's shoulders, ^the very man I wanted to see,' and straightway he draws him aside, and plunges into an earnest conversation, in which, ever and anon, the whispered words — ' carry the weight,' ^stay the distance,' and "^ stand a cracker on Sennacherib,' are distinctly audible. ' I can afford to lay your lordship seven to one,' observes an extra-polite individual, who seems to consider the laying and taking the odds as the normal condition of man, and whose superabundant courtesy is only equalled by the deliberate carefulness of his every movement, masking, as it does, the lightning perception of the hawk, and, shall we add, the insa- tiable rapacity of that bird of prey? Mount Helicon moves from one group to another, intent on the business in hand. He invests largely against ' Nes- selrode ' (not the diplomatist nor the pudding, but the race-horse of that name), and backs 'Sennacherib' heavily for the Goodwood cup. He takes the odds to tattersall's at flood. 291 a huiidred poiiiuls, besides, from his polite friend, 'who regrets he cannot offer him a point or two more/ and, on looking over the well-filled pages of his book, lings himself with the self-satisfied feeling of a man who has done a good day's work, and eflected the crowning stroke to a flourishing speculation. As he walks up the yard, a quick step follows close upon him, a hand is laid upon his shoulder, and a well-known voice greets him in drawling tones, Avhich he recognises as the property of our military- Adonis, the irresistible Captain Lacquers. ^ Going to the park. Mount?' says the hussar, with more animation than he usually betrays. 'If you've a mind for a turn I'll send my cab away,' and the peer, who cultivates Lacquers, as he himself says, 'for amusement, just as he goes to see Keeley,' replying in the affirmative, a tiny child, in top-boots and cockade is with difficulty woke, and dismissed, in company with a gigantic chesnut horse, towards his own stables. How that urchin who, being de- prived of his natural rest at night, constantly sleeps whilst driving by day, is to steer through the omni- buses in Piccadilly, is a matter of speculation for those who love ' horrid accidents ;' but it is fortunate that the magnificent animal knows his own way home, and will only stop once, at a door in Park-lane, where he is used to being pulled up, and where, we are concerned to add, his master has no business, although he is sufficiently welcome. ' The fact is I want to consult you, Mount, about a deuced ticklish affair,' pro- 292 A dandy's destiny. ceecled the daudy^ as lie linked his arm in his com- panion's, and wended his way leisurely towards the park. ' Not going to call anybody out, are you T rejoined 'Mount/ with a quaint expression of countenance. ' Ton my soul if you are I '11 put you up with your back to a tree, or along a furrow, or get you shot somehow, and then no one will ever ask me to be ' a friend' again.' ' Worse than that/ replied Lacquers, looking very grave, ^I'm in a regular fix — up a tree, by Jove. Fact is, I 'm thinking of marrying — marrying, you know : devilish bad business, isn't it ?' ' Why, that depends,' said his confidant; 'of course you 11 be a great loss, and all that, break so many hearts too ; but then think — the duty you owe your country. The breed of such men must not be allowed to become extinct. No ; I should say you ought to make the sacrifice.' Lacquers looked immensely comforted, and went on — ' Well, I 've made arrangements — that 's to say, I've ordered some of the things — dressing-case, set of phaeton-harness, large chest of cigars, — but, of course, it's no use getting everything till it's all settled. Now you know, Mount, I'm a deuced domestic fellow, likely to make a girl happy. I 'm not one of your tearing dogs that require constant excitement ; I could live in the country quite con- tentedly part of the year. I 've got resources within myself — I'm fond of hunting and shooting, and — A dandy's destiny. 293 no, I can't stand fishing, bnt still, don't you think I^m just the man to settle?' 'Certainly; it's all you're fit for,' replied his friend. ' Well, now to the point. I 'vc not asked the girl yet, you know, but I don't anticipate much difficulty there,' and the suitor smoothed his moustaches with a self-satistied smile; 'bnt, of coiu'se, the relations will make a bother abont settlements, 4ove light as ail- ' yon know, and ' hnman flies,' and that ; still we must provide for everything. Well, my lawyer in- forms me that I can't settle anything during my brother's life-time, and he 's just a year older than myself — that's what I call '^a stopper.' Now, Mount, you 're a sharp fellow — man of intellect, you know — 'Gad, I wouldn't give a pin for a fellow without brains — what do you advise me to do ?' This was rather a poser, even for a gentleman of Lord Mount Helicon's fertile resources ; but he was never long at a loss, so, as he took off his hat to a very pretty woman in a barouche, he replied, in his off-hand way, ' Do ? why, elope, my good fellow- — run away with her — carry her off like a Sabine bride, only let her take all her clothes with her — save you a trousseau. Has she money?' ^ Plenty, I fancy ; from what I hear, I should think Miss Kettering can't have less than — ' 'The devil !' interrupted Lord Mount Helicon, in a tone that would have made most men start. ' You don't mean to say you want to marry Miss Kettering?' ' Well^ I think she wants to marry me,' rejoined 294 LacquerSj perfectly unmoved; ^and you know one can't refuse a lady; but it's only fair to say she hasn't actually asked ine/ Lord Mount Helicon felt for a moment intensely disgusted. Blanche's beauty and her simple, pretty manner had touched him, as far as a man could be touched who had so many irons in the fire as his lordship, but the impulse for fun, the delight he ex- perienced in quizzing his unsuspecting friend, soon overcame all other feelings, and he proceeded to egg- Lacquers on, and assure him of his undoubted suc- cess, for the express purpose of amusing himself with the hussar's method of courtship. ^Besides,' thought he, ^ such a flat as this hanging about her will keep other fellows off; and with a girl like her, I shall have little difficulty in ' cutting him out.' So he advised his friend to take time, and ^ allow her to get accustomed to his society, and gradually entan- gled in his fascinations, and then, my dear fellow,' he added, Svhen she finds she can't live without you — when she has got used to your engaging ways, as she is to her poodle's — when she can no more bear to be parted from you than from her bull-finch, then speak up like a man — bring all your science into play — come with a rush — and win cleverly at the finish !' ^ Aye, that's all very well,' mused the Captain, ' that's just my idea, but in the mean time some fellow might cut me out. Now, there 's our Major — D'Orville, you know — ('Gad, how hot it is ! let 's lean over the rails) — D'Orville* seems to be always 295 in Grosvcnor-squarc. lie 's an old fellow, too, but he has a deueed taking way with -women. I don't know what they see in him either. To be sure, he was good-looking: ; but he 's a man of no edueation' (Lacquers himself eould ^^carcely spell his own name), * and he must be forty, if he's a day. Look at this fellow on the black cob. By Jove ! it 's old Bounce, and talk of the devil — there's D'Orville riding with Miss Kettering next the rails. This is a go.' Kow the little guileless conversation we have here related was hardly more worthy of record than the hundred and one nothings, by the interchange of which gentlemen of the present day veil their want of ideas from each other, save for the fact of its being overheard by ears into which it sank like molten lead, creating an effect far out of proportion to its own trivialitv. Frank Hardinsrstone was walk- ing close behind the speakers, and unwittingly heard their whole dialogue, even to the concluding remark with which Lacquers, as he leaned his elbows on the rails, and passed the frequenters of ^ the Bide' in re\'iew before him, expressed his disapprobation of the terms on which Major D'Orville stood with Blanche Kettering. Poor Frank ! How often a casual word, dropped perhaps in jest from a cox- comb's lips, has power to wring an honest manly heart to very agony. Our man of action had been endeavouring, ever since the Guyville ball, to drive Blanche's image from his thoughts, with an energy worthv of better success than it obtained. He had 296 A dandy's destiny. busied himself at his country-place with his farm^ and his library, and his tenants, and his poor, and had found it all in vain. The fact is, he was absurdly in love with Blanche — that was the long and short of it — and after months of self-restraint, and self-denial, and discomfort, he resolved to do what he had better have done at first, to go to London, mingle in society, and enter the lists for his ladye-love on equal terms with his rivals. And this was the encouragement he received on his appearance in the metropolis. He had a great mind to go straight home again, so he resolved to call on the morrow in Grosvenor-square, to ascertain with his own eyes the utter hopelessness of his affection, and then — why then — make up his mind to the worst, and bear his destiny like a man, though the world would be a lonely world to him for evermore. Frank was still young, and would have repelled indignantly the consolation, had such been offered him, of brighter eyes, and a happier future. No, at his age there is but one woman in the uni- verse. 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