Rrez
 
 y 
 
 y 
 
 L I B RAFLY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN IVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 82.3.
 
 JiTdw Ready, Second Edition, 
 
 In 3 vols, post 8vo, 
 
 TALES OF THE COLONIES. 
 
 BY CHARLES ROWCROFT, 
 
 A I.ATE COLONIAL MAGISTRATE. 
 
 "An exceedingly lively and interesting narrative, which affords a more striking view 
 of the habits of emigrant colonial hfe than all the regular treatises, statistical returns, 
 and even exploratory tours, which we have read— though the former convey much 
 useful information, and the latter are full of hair-breadth escapes and details «f extra- 
 ordinary enterprise and suffering. The present publication, however, combines tho 
 fideUty of truth with the spirit of a romance, and has altogether so much of De Foe ia 
 its character and composition, that whilst w^run we learn, and, led along by the variety 
 of the incidents, become real ideal settlers in Van Diemen's L&nd.^'—Liteyart/ Gazette. 
 
 " This life-like and truthful picture makes the reader quite enamoured of the ease, 
 
 freedom, and ultimate comfort and prosperity of emigrant life.^ The settler makes a 
 
 long journey m search of good land, and falls in with a Man Friday in an old English 
 humorist, a good agriculturist, by name Crab, and of a very crabbed temper, though 
 possessed of an excellent disposition. This man, who had come out as an emigrant, 
 railed every day of his life at the colony and all its ways ; was for ever going to return 
 
 to England, but died in Van Diemen's Land. The journal kept from day to day 
 
 shews their progress, and is truly an interesting record." — Tait's Magazine. 
 
 " This is a hook, as distinguished from one of the bundles of waste paper in three 
 
 divisions, calhng themselves ♦ novels.' The opening scenes of ' Jonathan Jefferson 
 
 Whitlaw' are not more graphic than one wc shall presently exhibit— the deUg^fitful 
 prosing of ' Sir Edwaid Seward's Diary,' not more agreeably minute than our Emigrant's 
 details of disaster, and the gradual growth of his prosperity." — Athcnceum. 
 
 " Since the time of Robinson Crusoe, literature has produced nothing like theso 
 'Tales of the Colonies.' Characterized by perfect simplicity and intense interest, a 
 union so rare as to be often deemed incompatil)le, yet where found, most potently en- 
 hancing each other's power, tlic narrative carries on the reader with a rcsistlessness 
 from which he could not, if he would, escape, and from which he would not if he 
 could. Truthfulness and novelty— can there be things of more attractive power ?— are 
 stamped on the whole conduct of the work : the truthfulness conducts from page to 
 page, the novelty breathes over the whole. We arc here led into a new^ walk of litera- 
 ture. We might say that Goldsmith's delicate wit, and De Foe's realizing power of 
 
 detail, uniting in this dehghtfnl narrative, bestow on each other a new charm. Wo 
 could, indeed, almost regret that the vast information respecting these colonies should 
 have been magazined into a work which may unwittingly be passed over as one of puro 
 imaginativeness, and its very worth be lost in its very charm ; as, under a somewhat 
 graver title, and with a methodized arrangement, the same matter would have formed 
 a perfect hand-book of Australia. Written, as this work undoubtedly is, by one of tlie 
 colonial magistrates, possessing at once the most ample opportunities of observation, 
 and the best powers for proliting by them, the intended settler could consult no more 
 competent authority as a reference and guide. Here will he find the most capable and 
 faithful of advice presented under the most attractive of forms." — Metropolitaa Mug. j 
 
 " These adventures of an emigrant are true to the life. To those who would prefer 
 reading of adventures to encountering them, these volumes will prove deeply interesting. 
 Samuel Crab seems to be one of the most whimsical and amusing fellows it has been our 
 lot to cope withal, whether in fiction or in real life. He bears no sort of resemblance to 
 Sam Weill')-. But he is to the Tales of the Colonies what Sam Weller was to the Pirkwirk 
 Papers. He is every day, for two-and-tvventy years, threatening to leave what he calls 
 * this wretched country,' and grumbles oa in a style as quaint as it is original. AVe 
 could go on quoting till we had transferred the contents of the three volumes to our 
 columns, and wc should dehglit to impart to our readers the varied emotions which tho 
 perusal of them awakened in our bo.soms. But they must peruse the work. If the hero 
 of these 'Tales of the Colonies be not a veritable Williuin Thornier/, telling his own story, 
 then has the spirit of De Foe revisited the earth, and presented us with an excellent 
 counterpart to Robinson Crusoe.'^— Atlas. 
 
 "The talcs are simply and feelingly written, and wear the strict impress of tnith,"— Sun, 
 
 "This is a singular work. No mere romance, no mere fiction, however skilfully 
 imagined or powerfully executed, can surpass it. The work to which it bears the 
 nearest similitude is Robinson Crusoe, and it is scarcely, if at all, inferior to that extra- 
 ordinary history. Samuel Crab, the Shropshire man, is an admirably sustained charac 
 
 ter, equal to anything in Sam SUck or Boz. Truth is stamped upon every feature." 
 
 Jo/in Bull. 
 
 " As a series of adventures- and it professes to be nothing more— it would bo difficult 
 to surpass this work. Mr. Thornley, or whoever is the author of the ' Tales of the Colo- 
 nies,' possesses abilities which he ought not to allow to remain idle after this one effort. 
 Wc need not recommend it to tlie Circulating Libraries. The freshness of its dcscrip.' 
 tions, the extraordinary value of the adventures it contains, and the humour which is 
 here and there interspersed, will insure its reception in that quarter."— 6'«7j(/«y Times.
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS 
 ov 
 
 TALES OF THE COLONIES. 
 
 " We have just received a publication entitled * Talcs of the Colonies, or the Adven- 
 tures of an Emigrant,' that, in our opinion, surpasses anything- nf the kind we have met 
 
 with for many a day. Had De Foe or Dickens written or imagined them,— had Denon, 
 
 the supposed or real Egyptian traveller, described them, — had Bruce (long erroneously 
 deemed a fabulist) been tlie narrator, nothing more extraordinary, entertaining, or in- 
 structive, could have Ijeen penned. All is so skilfully told, that you appecir to be with 
 the writer, and to see what he sees, and to be astonished, perplexed, or alarmed, as he 
 is astounded, puzzled, or terrified. The power obtained over you is extraordinary." — 
 Mor7iing Advertiser. 
 
 " It is an original work in manner of treatment as well as in respect of subject. As 
 narratives, seldom has human writmg been more truthlul than these Tales, more fresh 
 in regard to life and nature, more various yet faithful in respect of character, or more 
 exciting in point of incident ; the author having gone on in his strength and glee with 
 perfect self-confiding, and with a perfect knowledge of what he wrote about. Let no 
 one suppose that because the work passes under the name of Tales, that therefore no- 
 thing better than feigned things, merely to amuse the devourer of novels, enter into 
 these volumes ; for the fact is, that the reader can no more doubt of the truth of the 
 narratives than were it a book of De Foe's that he had before him, nor rise from the 
 perusal of a single passage, be the subject gay or sad— of beautiful civilization or of 
 savage features— without being instructed and bettered. We do not hesitate to say, 
 that for a settler m a new country, and especially if similarly circumstanced with Van 
 Diemen's Land, a truer, a more informing, or a more inspiriting publication does not 
 exist," — Monthly Review. 
 
 " In place of a critical account of the work, we must offer a recommendation to the 
 reader — it is that he will procure the volumes, and peruse them tor himself. He will be 
 largely rewarded, both ui amusement and information. He will meet at the verj' outset 
 with a settler worth knowing, if it were only for the advantage of meeting in his com- 
 pany a farming man from Shropshire, one Mr. Crab, who, cutting a tigure that defies 
 both pen and pencil, (having been stripped and dressed up again, not re-dressed, by the 
 bushrangers,) pours out all his honest old soul in abuse of Van Diemen's Land, and 
 everything Van Diemenish. We can offer but scant specimens of the prodigiously 
 natural and pleasant humour of this personage." — Ainsworth's Magazine. 
 
 " No design would appear less promising at the first view than to work out an amusing 
 tale from the scanty incidents afforded by the monotonous Ufe of a settler in Van 
 Diemen's Land ; yet the skill of the author of these highly entertaining volumes has 
 wrought upon the matter-of-fact history of a corn-dealer and half- farmer, at Croydon, 
 whom the losses of trade drive, with his remaining capital, to emigration, a tissue of 
 adventures possessing a deep and continual interest, resulting, not merely from the in- 
 cidents, but from the characters, which are drawn with the truth and precision of Sir 
 Walter Scott. The settler himself, Mr. Thornley ; the magistrate ; but above all, 
 Samuel Crab, whose peculiarities are developed in a vein of genuine humour, are indi- 
 vidualized, with distinct characteristics and qualities.— The work unites the apparently 
 incongruous merits of a hand-book of instruction for the emigrant, and an entertaining 
 novel." — Asiatic Journal. 
 
 " We are much in want of a class of writings, of which this may be called the initia- 
 tive, calculated to dispel the gloom that hangs over the thoughts of exile, even when 
 voluntary, and throw a ray of hght, and life, and hope, and courage into the recesses of 
 a darkening heart. Guide-books, and natural histories, and statistical returns, weigh 
 down the spirit deeper and deeper still, and neither inform nor encourage the females 
 (the better portion of the emigrating family) 'to come o'er the sea,' with a fond and 
 faithful companion, in search of a less expensive home, and happier auspices for their 
 
 oflfispring. Miss Edgeworth placed the Irish character in better relief, by her tales of 
 
 their peculiar habits ; Scott's novels gave an interest to ' the land of the mountain and 
 flood,' wliich it had never enjoyed before ; and subjects that appeal" gloomy and unin- 
 viting may often be much relieved by treatment of a Ught and cheerful character. The 
 pleasant volumes now before us will yet win over many an adversary to the cause of 
 emigration, by dispelling false apprehensions and unfounded prejudices ; and, while 
 insensibly working out this useful object, cannot fail to communicate a species of kno*r- 
 ledge, and a habit of thinking, which new settlers should always endeavour to acquire." 
 — Colonial Magazine. 
 
 •' This is an able and interesting book. The author has the first great requisite in 
 fiction— a knowledge of the life he undertakes to describe ; and his matter is solid and 
 real. The early struggles of a settler and the social system in a penal colony are a fresh 
 subject, and possess more attraction from their novelty than equal or greater powers 
 
 might attain on an ' historical' or ' fashionable' theme. The main substance of the 
 
 book, and the more interesting parts of it, arc the striking incidents of colonial life."— 
 Spectator.
 
 \/a^'^iyii/^ Ay'i^^y^J^^n^ J^^/^ 
 
 THE MAN 
 
 WITHOUT A PEOFESSION, 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES ROWCROFT,- 
 
 AUTHOR OF " TALES OF THE COLONIES OR THE ADVENTURES 
 OF AN EMIGRANT." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, CONDUIT STREET. 
 
 1844.
 
 V, 
 
 THE 
 
 ., MAN WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 
 
 ^ CHAPTER I. 
 
 \> 
 
 ■ " iN'ow sit thee down, and tell me all this story; 
 ~^ And tell it not, I praj'- thee, as some do, 
 
 V "Who prate conceitedly more of themselves 
 
 \^ Than of the subject matter of their tale, 
 
 ^ But tell thy tale straight on ; and bear in mind. 
 
 It is not of thyself that I would hear, 
 
 But of this child." 
 ^ The Lord and the Serving-man. 
 
 X In the winter of 1803, a lady and gentleman 
 
 sat by a cheerful fire in the old-fashioned 
 
 \library of a country house. The gentleman, 
 
 ^ who had rather a military air, had reached his 
 
 :f<?rtieth year; the ladv, wlio was still hand- 
 
 •> VOL. I. B 
 
 4
 
 2 THE MAN 
 
 some, had arrived at that time of life which is 
 most politely expressed, in her own words, as 
 of "no particular age." 
 
 From a certain easy air of unconcern, and 
 from some characteristic comforts of costume 
 denoting the familiarity of matrimonial habits, 
 it was easy to perceive, at a glance, that the 
 gentleman and lady stood in the relation of 
 husband and wife. 
 
 It was a splendid morning. The snow, 
 crisped by the frosty air, sparlded on the 
 ground, and the enlivening rays of the sun 
 lighted up the landscape with that sharp 
 and dazzling brilliancy peculiar to northern 
 climates. 
 
 The gentleman seemed meditative ; he sat, 
 with a thoughtful air, balancing the poker in 
 his hand, and peering into the lire with 
 curious eye, as if seeking for some imperfect
 
 WITHOUT A rnorESSiox. ^ 3 
 
 condition of the coals to warrant the inter- 
 ference of another poke. Tlie a])sence of any 
 attempt on the part of the lady to possess 
 herself of that household sceptre of the do- 
 mestic hearth — unlike the struggle usual on 
 such occasions — betokened a resigned submis- 
 siveness which had doubtless been brought 
 about by repeated defeats during a long series 
 of years. Or it may be, that on this especial 
 occasion, her attention was diverted from the 
 contemplation of the enjoyment of that intense 
 luxury, by the appearance of a handsome boy, 
 between six and seven years of age, who was 
 diligently employed in constructing fortifi- 
 cations from the abundant materials around 
 him. A smile of proud satisfaction mantled 
 the mother's cheek as she gazed on her child 
 — her only one — in all the exuberance of 
 youthful health and beauty, 
 j; 2
 
 4 ^ THE MAN 
 
 " Look at Frank," said she to her husband, 
 with the pardonable pride of a mother, *' he 
 is the very picture of health. Look at him ; 
 he has collected a pile of snow like a heap of 
 cannon-balls. I wonder what he is going to 
 do with them! But he is so very clever! 
 He always says he will be a soldier, like 
 his papa. I do so like that in a boy — it shews 
 such a fine spirit !" 
 
 " I tell you what," returned the gentleman, 
 who began poking the fire with great energy, 
 as if he had at last formed some desperate 
 resolution; *' I tell you what, my dear, that 
 beautiful boy of yours must go to school. It 
 was only yesterday that he smashed half-a- 
 dozen panes of glass in the green-house; and, 
 because there's nobody else to fire at, I 
 suppose, he pelted old Peter so dreadfully, 
 that the poor man was obliged to come into
 
 AVITIIOUT A TROFESSION. 5 
 
 the kitchen and get another drink, of beer 
 before he could use his broom. But that's 
 nothing — the boy's getting too big, and he's 
 beyond any woman's management ; and as for 
 me, I have too many things to look after to 
 allow me to take charge of him. But some- 
 thing must be done with the poor boy; he 
 wants playfellows. See, he's quite wretched — 
 looking about for somebody to shy a snowball 
 at. By George, he's at old Peter again! 
 He'll worry that man's life out. But I must 
 stop that sport, or there will be mischief. 
 
 " Tlie long and the sliort of it is, my dear, 
 your beautiful boy must go to school, and the 
 sooner the better. He shall go at once to a 
 preparatory school for a few years — I have 
 heard of Langley Broome as a good one — and 
 tlien to Eton, wlien lie has been brushed 
 up a bit."
 
 6 THE MAN 
 
 So saying, Mr. Coverley made a hasty exit; 
 and we will take advantage of liis absence to 
 give a brief account of the parents of the 
 boy whose active propensities called for the 
 present prompt interference of his father's 
 authority.
 
 WITHOUT A PEOFESSION. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 It's a very pleasant thing, my men, to have a good estate, 
 
 With carriages to ride about, and servants all to wait ; 
 
 With money in your purse enough, and wine and cheer in 
 
 store, 
 
 But, while you live in ease and plent}'-, don't forget the 
 
 poor." 
 
 Song at Harvest Home. 
 
 On the coast of , and not far from 
 
 the pretty village of , stood, or used 
 
 to stand, a country mansion remarkable for 
 the elegance of its construction, and command- 
 ing beautiful views of the surrounding country 
 and the adjacent sea. 
 
 Part of the estate encircling this residence
 
 8 THE MAN 
 
 consisted of about fifteen hundred acres, prin- 
 cipally of meadow land, more picturesque, 
 perhaps, than productive, but corresponding 
 with the style and pretensions of the place, 
 on which the extensive park, with its majestic 
 oaks, stamped an aristocratic air calculated to 
 impress on the beholder a becoming sense of 
 the importance of the proprietor. 
 
 The owner of the estate was Mr. George 
 Coverley, who derived it from his uncle — " a 
 class of persons," as the facetious apothecary 
 of the village used to say, " especially de- 
 signed by a benevolent Providence for the 
 assistance of embarrassed heroes, distressed 
 heroines, and unprotected orphans of both 
 sexes." That convenient individual, after 
 realizing a large fortune by mercantile pur- 
 suits, had purchased the estate in his old age, 
 with the design of passing the remainder of
 
 WITHOUT A rilOFESSION. 9 
 
 his days in the dignified ease of a country 
 gentleman — the otiam cum dig.^ as he woukl 
 jocularly observe, when caught by a visiter 
 working with desperate energy with a spade 
 in his kitchen garden ; a practice in which he 
 was wont to indulge, with a view of assuring 
 himself and other people that he did actually 
 enjoy the occupations of a country life. 
 
 The Avorthy old gentleman was not des- 
 tined, however, long to profit by the fruits of 
 his hard-earned fortune. When the novelty 
 of his unaccustomed leisure had passed away, 
 he fell into a sort of ennui and weariness of 
 life, and after a few years' possession he died, 
 as the apothecary averred, ''of having nothing 
 to do." 
 
 Previous to that event, the retired mer- 
 chant had made his will in a very business- 
 like manner; and partly from that sort of 
 b3
 
 10 THE MAN 
 
 natural instinct which prompts to the uphold- 
 ing of one's own kith and kin, and partly 
 from the pride of continuing the alliance 
 between his name and his estate, he be- 
 queathed the whole of his property to a 
 nephew whom he had scarcely ever seen, and 
 for whom he had never exhibited the slightest 
 interest. 
 
 This fortunate gentleman, accordingly, ex- 
 changed his rank of ensign in a regiment of 
 foot, for that of proprietor of the Coverley 
 estate — with those mingled feelings of joy at 
 the acquisition of a handsome property, and 
 of that peculiar sort of regret at the death of 
 a rich uncle, which usually accompanies the 
 decease of such relatives on such occasions. 
 
 From professional habits he paid a willing 
 obedience to the strict injunctions expressed 
 in the will, "that the said George Coverley
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 11 
 
 should reside on the family property, and 
 maintain the character for charity and hospi- 
 tality" which the late owner regarded as the 
 essential characteristic of a country gentle- 
 man. 
 
 From some accident, however, or from some 
 eccentricity — or from the habit, perhaps, of 
 viewing all sorts of property in the light of 
 goods and chattels to he dealt in without 
 restrictions, the testator neglected to conform 
 with the custom of landed proprietors, of 
 entailing his estate on his nephew's heirs ; an 
 omission which, in the present instance, had 
 consequences not less disastrous than un- 
 anticipated. 
 
 Mr. George Coverley thus became a country 
 potentate, as he loved to repeat, "after the 
 fashion of his forefathers :" but it was observed 
 by a discerning public, that he carefully ab-
 
 12 THE MAN 
 
 stained from expatiating on his family pedigree 
 beyond that portion of the trunk represented 
 by his uncle, of rich and pious memory. And 
 although it was popularly believed, that the 
 particular forefather embodied in the person 
 of that worthy individual, had really a father 
 and a mother like common people, the precise 
 social rank of those mysterious personages 
 remained veiled in that poetical obscurity 
 which shrouds from the vulgar apprehension 
 more than one imposing family illustrious by 
 its wealth in the incomprehensible world of 
 fashion. 
 
 However, the obscurity of th»i progenitors 
 of the uncle in no way affected Mr. and Mrs. 
 Coverley in the practical concerns of life. 
 They performed the usual functions of country 
 people ; they eat and they drank, gave dinners 
 and balls, and attended the dinners and balls
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 13 
 
 of their neighbours — of course, only of those 
 neighbours within the prescribed degrees of 
 their own rank and pretensions, according to 
 the rigorous custom in such cases — but with a 
 readiness and good humour which made them 
 rather popular in the county. 
 
 Mr. Coverley, besides, was always ready to 
 do any service in his power ; even to the ex- 
 tent of lending his favorite horse and gun 
 occasionally, a stretch of good nature which 
 can be adequately appreciated only by those 
 in possession of such luxuries, but whicli was 
 strikingly indicative of tlie innate generosity 
 of his disposition. His excellent wife, also, 
 took a pleasure in busying herself with the 
 affairs of the cottagers and labourers about 
 them ; and as that excellent lady always ac- 
 companied the tracts, which she was rather 
 fond of distributing, with presents of clothes
 
 14 THE MAN 
 
 and money, her visits were ever welcome ; and 
 she had the satisfaction of doing much prac- 
 tical good by her personal interference and 
 advice, seasoned as it was, and rendered 
 palatable by acts of substantial kindness and 
 utility. 
 
 So great was her reputation for that true 
 benevolence which seeks out the poor and 
 afflicted, without waiting for destitution to 
 sink into despair before considering it as 
 having arrived at the proper point of extre- 
 mity to entitle it to relief, that to this day she 
 is remembered among the poor as " the good 
 Mrs. Coverley," ''who knew that a poor body 
 wanted clothes and victuals as well as tracts 
 and hymn books." 
 
 " It's not that I mind setting up a psalm 
 or two now and then," was used to say Tom 
 Hodges, a disabled veteran, with one arm and
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 15 
 
 nearly a whole leg, and who was one of that 
 amiable lady's most enthusiastic admirers, "it's 
 not that I mind the drill, but when a poor 
 fellow has no grub, it's blessed hard work 
 singing psalms on an empty stomach !" 
 
 Such was the rank, and such were the 
 pursuits of the representatives of the Coverley 
 estate. They were more than easy in their 
 circumstances ; they were rich ; for they had 
 a larger income than they found it necessary 
 to expend. Their estate, which yielded about 
 four thousand a-year, afforded to them that 
 happy competence which enables the possessor 
 to enjoy all the comforts and luxuries of life 
 without exposing him to enter into wasteful 
 competition of splendour and political power 
 with the dispensers of large and influential 
 revenues. 
 
 Kespected by all around them, their position
 
 16 THE MAN 
 
 was that golden mean of life which is alike 
 removed from great rivalries and petty jea- 
 lousies; with pecuniary means too large and 
 too stable to draw down slight, and too small 
 to stir up envy. One thing only was wanted 
 to complete their happiness ; for many years 
 they had no children ; but at last the birth of 
 a son and heir filled up the measure of their 
 contentment, and he was hailed with a delight 
 proportionate to his long expectation. 
 
 It is the fate of this child, born in that 
 happy home, and under circumstances so 
 auspicious for his future ease and prospe- 
 rity, that forms the subject of the following 
 pages.
 
 WITHOUT A rnoFESsiON. 17 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 " Ah, happy hills ! ah, pleasing shade ! 
 
 Ah, fields beloved in vain ! 
 Where once my careless childhood strayed, 
 
 A stranger yet to pain ! 
 I feel the gales that from ye blow, 
 A momentary bliss bestow. 
 As waving fresh their gladsome wing, 
 INIy -sNeary soul they .seem to sooth ; 
 And, redolent of joy and youth, 
 
 To breathe a second spring." 
 
 Gbay's Ode to Eton College. 
 
 It was about five years after the brief con- 
 versation which lias been related, that Master 
 Frank Coverley, now between eleven and 
 twelve years of age, arrived in a post-chaise in
 
 18 THE MAN 
 
 much state from Eton, at which aristocratic 
 school he had been domiciled for nearly twelve 
 months. His personal apparel, it may be ob- 
 served, was contained in a very small box, 
 which was more than sufficient, however, to 
 contain the remains of his wardrobe after a 
 half-year's campaign. But this by no means 
 comprised the whole of his baggage. 
 
 He had taken the opportunity to bring with 
 him a very large and very ugly dog, won at a 
 raffle, and which was the more prized as being 
 an animal forbidden to the scholars by the 
 rules of the college. In addition to this com- 
 panion, the vehicle was laden with a miscel- 
 laneous collection of curious articles, forming 
 the personal property of an Eton boy of his 
 age and capabilities. Among the multifarious 
 medley were two cricket-bats, (one in a green- 
 baize case,) two sets of stumps, a foot-ball,
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 19 
 
 which he had amused himself with blowing up 
 during his short journey from the neighbouring 
 town, and with which he had solaced his soli- 
 tude by kicking about, so far as the dimensions 
 of the chaise would allow, only one window, as 
 he boasted, having been broken in the attempt 
 at this manly exercise. A long pole for jack- 
 halting protruded from a side window, with a 
 landing-net to match — useful for the securing 
 of tittlebats and minnows. 
 
 An extremely limited bird-cage, ingeniously 
 constructed by Frank himself from one of the 
 drawers of his bureau, barred by little sticks 
 of various shapes and sizes, occupied part of 
 the seat. In one of the pockets of the door 
 was stuffed a huge bag of marbles, accumulated 
 principally by his successful skill at the popular 
 game of " eggs in the bush ;" and in a smaller 
 receptacle inside were carefully deposited a
 
 20 THE MAN 
 
 few choice taws and real blood-alleys, the 
 etymology of which latter juvenile projectile 
 has, from time immemorial, given rise to con- 
 siderable discussion among Eton and other 
 boys. A long tin horn, of the most caco- 
 phonous description, and a powerful pea-shooter 
 completed his personal equipment. 
 
 It must not be forgotten, however, as doing 
 credit to his thoughtfulness, that he brought 
 home with him his Greek grammar — the theme 
 of his holiday exercise — which was fringed 
 after the manner of school-books, with every 
 variety of dog's-ears, and illustrated in every 
 convenient space with bold attempts at por- 
 traits — not of a flattering nature — of Dr. Fuz- 
 wig, and of various masters at the College, 
 conspicuous from their personal appearance, or 
 obnoxious to the community from the strict 
 discharge of their duty.
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSIOX, 21 
 
 These valuables, and various other trifles, 
 too numerous to mention, having been carefully 
 disembowelled from the post-chaise amidst a 
 vehement barking from the big dog and* an 
 unearthly screeching from the raven, Master 
 Frank gave a little flourish with his tin horn, 
 to signify tlie excess of his gratification at his 
 arrival at tlie paternal domains; and laden 
 with as much of his property as he could carry 
 — having in one hand the cage with his raven, 
 and the other on the collar of his big dog — he 
 presented himself to the inspection of his 
 parents. 
 
 After the usual cordialities, his mother 
 having encircled in her eagerness her boy and 
 all his paraphernalia in a comprehensive ma- 
 ternal embrace, the father took occasion to 
 express his surprise at the manner and the 
 matters with which his son was encumbered.
 
 22 THE MAN 
 
 " Well, my dear Frank, it can't be said 
 that you. have come empty-handed; but you 
 seem to have brought with you an odd col- 
 lection of varieties." 
 
 "Oh! I've got lots more things in the 
 hall," said Frank; " and I've got a packet for 
 you, papa, in my pocket, from my Dame. I'll 
 get it out, if I can. Down, Brob, down, good 
 dog. Take care, mamma, he's after the cat; 
 he always kills all the cats he can get at — 
 down, sir!" But Brob, true to his train- 
 ing, and unregardful of the company in whose 
 presence he had the honour to wag his tail, 
 commenced a furious chase after Mrs. Cover- 
 ley's pet black cat, barking with all his might 
 in return for the spittings and clawings with 
 which Sultan resented his intrusion. After a 
 vigorous application of the broom on the part 
 of Mr. Coverley, but not before a general over-
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSIOx\. 23 
 
 turning of all the loose articles of furniture, 
 the obstreperous Brob was forcibly ejected 
 from the apartment. 
 
 Frank followed his favourite, to lay strict 
 injunctions on Thomas to give him plenty of 
 bones with some meat on them, and instantly 
 to procure a paunch from the nearest butcher, 
 that being the particular delicacy in which 
 Mr. Brobdignag (such was his appropriate 
 appellation in full) most loved to luxuriate. 
 
 This important affair having been satisfac- 
 torily arranged in a parenthesis, Frank re- 
 turned to the drawing-room, and proceeded to 
 extract, with no small difficulty, from a curious 
 recess in his person, an ominous-looking packet, 
 about eight inches long by four wide, and of 
 that swollen and puffy appearance wliich gave 
 external evidence of being stuffed with an 
 ample mass of little bills.
 
 24 THE MAN 
 
 '' Ah, ah! I can guess what this contains," 
 said the gentleman, weighing it in his hand 
 with instinctive divination ; " but this seems 
 more bulky than the last one." 
 
 '^ Oh, my dear," said the lady, *' don't 
 trouble yourself with the bills just when the 
 boy is come home. It can't make any differ- 
 ence. Bills must be paid, so there's an end 
 of it." 
 
 '^ Well, well, let them bide for a while. And 
 now, Frank, if you are not tired, you can walk 
 over with us to Mr. Lesley's." 
 
 "Tired! I'm not tired a bit. Eton boys 
 are never tired — they've too much pluck. 
 ("Pluck!" said his mother.) I'm only hun- 
 gry ; I've scarcely had anything since yester- 
 day morning at breakfast." 
 
 "Good gracious!" exclaimed his mother, 
 with natural anxiety, "the poor child has
 
 WITHOUT A PKOFESSION. 25 
 
 been starved! He must be quite faint ! But 
 here's the tray ; well, that is very thoughtful 
 of Thomas; — and now, my dear boy, try if 
 you can pick a bit; do, my dear." 
 
 Upon this Master Frank gladdened his 
 mother's heart, by picking pretty considerably 
 at the good things before him, and walked 
 into the interior of a veal-pie with a vigour 
 which threatened a speedy diminution of the 
 contents of the citadel. 
 
 ^' And what did you have for your break- 
 fast yesterday morning? Nothing but a bit 
 of bread and butter! What a dreadful long 
 time for a child to fast ! But they do so starve 
 boys at school." 
 
 " Lor', mamma, I don't moan that I liad 
 nothing at all to eat since I left Eton; only 
 nothing to speak of — and nothing like the 
 prime breakfast we had yesterday." 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 THE MAN 
 
 " And what was this ' prime' breakfast, as 
 you call it?" asked his father. "Did your 
 Dame invite you, or the head master?" 
 
 " What, Dr. Keate, papa, ask us to break- 
 fast ! We don't like the sort of breakfast that 
 he gives sometimes, especially on a cold frosty 
 morning, when it isn't so pleasant to get out 
 of a warm bed to be flogged. It was Browne 
 gave us the breakfast, and a capital fellow he 
 is ; — lots of hot rolls !" 
 
 " Hot rolls !" said his considerate mother. 
 " How can they let the children eat new 
 bread ; it's so heavy for the stomach ! I can't 
 imagine, my dear boy, how you contrive to 
 digest it." 
 
 " Digest !" exclaimed Frank, pondering for 
 a brief space at the novel idea which the unac- 
 customed word suggested, and suspending, for 
 an instant only, his attack on the veal-pie —
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 27 
 
 " digest it ! Lord ! mamma, we digest every- 
 thing at Eton, without thinking about it. It 
 all comes natural to us. We had hot rolls, and 
 bricks, and eggs, and jellies — and sausages, of 
 course — and peaches, and ham and cold fowl, 
 and grapes, and tea, and coffee, and chocolate, 
 and potted meat, (I like potted beef best,) and 
 creams, with cakes, and little things of that 
 sort just spread about, so that you might just 
 peck at them while you were waiting to be 
 served; it was all done in capital style, and 
 we made a regular brozier of poor Browne's 
 
 breakfast " 
 
 " A brozier, my dear boy ! — what's that?' 
 " Oh, that's what we say when we clear 
 everything off, as we sometimes do at our 
 Dame's, for fun ; and as there wasn't enough, 
 we had some more hot sausages, just to finish, 
 and that's all." 
 
 c2
 
 28 THE MAN 
 
 *' All !" said his father; '' I should think it 
 
 was." 
 
 " Did mortal ever hear of such a medley of 
 things in a human creature's inside," said his 
 mother, with hands uplifted in astonishment. 
 
 *^And how do you conduct yourselves on 
 these state occasions," asked Mr. Coverley, 
 considerably amused with his son's unsophisti- 
 cated descriptions. '' Pray, what did you 
 have for your share? You could not partake 
 of every thing ?" 
 
 "Oh, don't we, though ! We're not particular, 
 but we just begin on what comes first — some 
 one thing, and some another. But that's 
 nothing to what we do when w^e have a dinner 
 party." 
 
 " A dinner-party ! Upon my word !" said 
 his father, — " a set of urchins, with unwiped 
 noses, giving dinner-parties, and thinking
 
 WITHOUT A TROFESSION. 29 
 
 themselves grown men, of course ! Upon my 
 word, this is beginning rather early. Well, 
 well, I suppose it will all correct itself. And 
 now, Frank, if you don't mean to eat that 
 veal-pie, dish and all, and brozier your mamma 
 and me, you must be walking." 
 
 " Do, pray, Coverley, let the dear boy eat. 
 Bless him ! it's a pleasure to see him enjoy 
 himself. But boys have such extraordinary 
 appetites ! Good gracious, what a breakfast ! 
 I shall never forget it !" 
 
 Frank having given ample evidence by his 
 masticatory powers at the luncheon, of his 
 capacity for the discussion of an Eton break- 
 fast, the parties proceeded to the house of the 
 clergyman of the village, who had held his 
 small living for many years, and fur whom 
 Mr. and Mrs. Coverley entertained the highest 
 respect and regard. Mr. Lesley was a widower,
 
 30 THE MAN 
 
 with an only daughter, Clara, a handsome little 
 girl, about a year younger than Frank, and 
 who, from the propinquity of the families, had 
 been Frank's earliest playmate, and the object 
 of his boyish attachment — an attachment, 
 however, which was threatened with a formid- 
 able rivalship in the person of Brobdignag, 
 with whom Frank took the present occasion to 
 make his playfellow acquainted; expatiating 
 largely on his many excellent qualities, and 
 assuring her that he was the most terrible cat- 
 destroyer in the kingdom. He invited the 
 young lady, also, to take the first opportunity 
 to visit Coverley Hall, in order that he might 
 have the pleasure of introducing her to the 
 raven, who was, as he averred with much 
 energy, without any exception, the most 
 curious and remarkable bird ever known, and
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 31 
 
 that he fed it on raw liver chopped line, and 
 the freshest and juiciest worms, every morning. 
 He further informed Clara, in a rapid conver- 
 sation, of various of his exploits at Eton, such 
 as shirking school, shamming sick, playing 
 tricks on the French master, and of several 
 wonderful catches at cricket, which had 
 gained him considerable distinction at the 
 college. 
 
 The young lady, on her part, made Frank 
 the confidant of a few private communications 
 relative to a most extraordinary bullfinch — 
 the most intelligent and affectionate little crea- 
 ture ever seen — which eat out of her mouth, 
 and whistled God save the King — almost. 
 She related also a few select anecdotes of a 
 most wonderful kitten, which she had rescued 
 from the hands of some wicked marauders;
 
 32 THE MAN 
 
 discoursing also on other matters not neces- 
 sary to be recorded, but exceedingly interest- 
 ing to the parties concerned. 
 
 Clara then explained to Frank a new plan 
 for laying out her flower-garden, and requested 
 him not to allow Brobdignag to run over the 
 beds, as he had already broken three Scotch 
 kail frames with his tail. She agreed never- 
 theless, with Frank, that Brob was the finest 
 and the handsomest dog she had ever seen, and 
 that she admired his name amazingly ; and she 
 assured Frank that she wasn't a bit afraid, so 
 that " he needn't stop away because of his great 
 dog." 
 
 Frank felt particularly gratified with his 
 visit ; and his father and mother having dis- 
 coursed with Mr. Lesley on things in gene- 
 ral, and on Frank's good looks, and redundant 
 health in particular, the Coverleys took leave
 
 WITHOUT A PKOFESSION. 33 
 
 of the Lesleys, mutually pleased with each 
 other, and with a conference in every way so 
 satisfactory. 
 
 Frank was not sorry to go to bed that 
 night, having been persuaded with some diffi- 
 culty by his mother, that the proper place for 
 Brobdignag's dormitory was the stable. Frank 
 declared that he should never be able to sleep 
 without his dog; and after a brief and indistinct 
 grumbling, he fell into a profound slumber, and 
 dreamed of Clara Lesley, whom he thought he 
 had inveigled into a punt, in order to give her 
 the pleasure of a water excursion over the Eton 
 marshes, during the spring floods, but the 
 punt striking against one of the piers of the 
 fifteen-arch bridge, the shock awoke him. It 
 was daylight ; and Frank, immediately jump- 
 ing out of bed, and opening the window, iu- 
 cpiired of the groom, who was within hail, if 
 c3
 
 34 THE MAN 
 
 Brob had passed a comfortable night. After 
 receiving a pacifying assurance on that im- 
 portant point, he forthwith knocked at the 
 door of his parents' room, and, waking them 
 up, asked if he might go over to Mr. Lesley's, 
 and bring Clara back to breakfast.
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 35 
 
 CHAPTEK IV. 
 
 " While some on earnest business bent, 
 
 Their munn'ring labours ply, 
 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint 
 
 To sweeten liberty : 
 
 Some bold adventurers disdain 
 
 The limits of their little reign. 
 
 And unknown regions dare descry : 
 
 Still as they run, they look behind, 
 
 They hear a voice in every wind, 
 
 And snatch a fearful joy." 
 
 Gray. 
 
 It was not for several days after Frank's 
 arrival, that Mr. Coverley proceeded to exa- 
 mine the fat packet with which Frank's Dame 
 had favoured that gentleman, by the hands of 
 his son ; but meeting with some accounts of a
 
 o 
 
 6 THE MAN 
 
 novel character, with odd epithets attached to 
 the items, he summoned his son to give an 
 explanation of their meaning. 
 
 " Here is a strange charge," said Mr. Co- 
 verley, " which I cannot for the life of me un- 
 derstand. His Dame's regular account for his 
 half year's board, fifteen guineas, is intelli- 
 gible enough, but here's an extra heap of little 
 bills for all sorts of things — let us put them 
 together : — 
 
 £ s. d. 
 
 Six months' board . . . . . . 15 15 
 
 Extra 2 12 6 
 
 Single bed 2 12 6 
 
 Fire and candles 3 13 6 
 
 Mending linen 10 6 
 
 Washing .110 
 
 Waistcoats and pantaloons . . . 10 
 Breakfast and other towels ... 6 6 
 
 Servants 1 10 
 
 Cleaning shoes 12 
 
 £28 14 6
 
 WITHOUT A TROFESSION. 
 
 Then we go on — 
 
 £ s. d. 
 
 Allowance 1 10 
 
 School-fees 14 6 
 
 Share of windows 6 
 
 Carpenter and bricklayer .... 6 G 
 
 Smith 040 
 
 Candles in school .... .0510 
 
 Extra rolls and butter 10 
 
 Letters, parcels, stages 10 6 
 
 £4 7 4 
 
 here is more — 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 £ 
 
 s. 
 
 d. 
 
 Mr. Keate (that's the head master) 
 
 2 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 Mr. Yonge, his private tutor . . 
 
 10 
 
 10 
 
 
 
 Mr. Hexter, the writing master 
 
 
 3 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 Mr. Duclos, the French master 
 
 
 2 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 Dancing master 
 
 
 8 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 Fencing master 
 
 
 G 
 
 G 
 
 
 
 For a bureau 
 
 
 . 7 
 
 7 
 
 
 
 Tailor, shoemaker, earthenw 
 
 are 
 
 
 hats, gloves, soap, books, and al 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 sorts of things 
 
 3 
 
 1.5 
 
 G 
 
 
 £38 
 
 8 
 
 (> 
 
 But we have not dohe yet-
 
 38 THE MAN 
 
 Here's a doctor's bill — 
 
 £ s. d. 
 2 16 6 
 
 Spirits of wine and camphor for chilblains 2 
 A bill for all sorts of breakages ... 1 6 
 And due to E. Weight, for rolls and 
 butter, and chocolate, and all sorts of 
 things - 5 4 11 
 
 £9 9 5 
 
 Altogether amounting to 80/. 195. lid.; tliat 
 is, about 160/. a-year, for- a boy of ten years 
 of age. But what the meaning is of all this 
 quantity of chocolate, cocoa, coffee, ham, eggs, 
 and rolls and butter without end, is more than 
 I can comprehend." 
 
 " Oh, papa, that ought not to have been in 
 my Dame's account; that's a mistake. That's 
 my private account." 
 
 " Your pravATE account !" 
 
 " Yes, papa, that's my private bill for 
 things that I have on tick."
 
 WITHOUT A TROFESSION. 39 
 
 " Have on tick! What's tick?" 
 
 " Oh, don't you know? That's when a boy 
 has things that he wants — strawberries, and 
 cucumbers, and sausages, and things; and 
 then at the end of the half-year the bill is 
 sent in, and that's going on tick." 
 
 " And who is supposed to pay the bill?" 
 
 " Oh, why, the boy who goes tick, he pays 
 it.'^ 
 
 " And pray," said his father, with an accent 
 bordering on severity, " where does the boy 
 who has the tick, as you call it, get the 
 money?" 
 
 ^*0h, he gets the money from home, of 
 course, and pays it when he goes back. All 
 the boys go on tick; it's the way of the school." 
 
 This explanation was given so innocently, 
 and with such artlessness, by the ingenuous 
 Frank, that his father felt it impossible to be
 
 40 THE MAN 
 
 angry. For a brief space, the desire to scold 
 his son, and the inclination to laugh, struggled 
 for mastery, but the latter prevailed, much to 
 Mrs. Coverley's relief, who was listening to 
 Frank's explanations with some anxiety. 
 
 " Then what, my dear boy," said she, " is 
 this one of butter, and one of bread, and the 
 tea, and the chocolate, and all that? You 
 don't give parties every day, do you?" 
 
 " Oh, no; it's only now and then. I only 
 do as the other boys do." 
 
 " What an extraordinary expense there is 
 for his shoes !" observed his father. " Why, 
 Frank, do you wear two pair of shoes at a 
 time? How do you contrive to destroy so 
 many?" 
 
 " I don't know, papa. The shoes are always 
 wearing out ; and they don't stand the water 
 well. Some boys have shoes on purpose."
 
 WITHOUT A TROFESSION. 41 
 
 " Stand in the water! That's an odd 
 amusement. What do you stand in the water 
 for?" 
 
 '' Oh, we don't stand in it, we only go 
 through it. Of course we must, or else liow 
 are we to get to the other side. You know there 
 are lots of little streams and ditches about 
 Eton, and when we go out for a steeple-chase, 
 with our leaping-poles, sometimes they're not 
 long enough, and sometimes they break, and 
 then souse you come down in the water — but 
 it only wets you, that's all." 
 
 " Gracious goodness ! I wonder tliey don't 
 catch their deaths of colds." 
 
 " Oh, we never catch cold, mamma. But 
 it's prime fun catching the hare." 
 
 " Catching the hare ! What, do you course 
 hares, then?" 
 
 " Oh, it's not that. It's when we have a
 
 42 THE MAN 
 
 turn out at liunt the hare, and one boy is the 
 hare, and he drops bits of paper for the scent, 
 and if he's a good one, he gives us a pretty 
 run sometimes, and then, of course, we go 
 through everything, because we are supposed 
 to be hounds on the scent, you know, and, of 
 course, that makes us wet. But it's the most 
 capital fun in the world. This last half-year, 
 we had a run as far as Salt Hill " 
 
 " Well, never mind that now." 
 
 " And then," added Frank, " there's jack- 
 halting." 
 
 " Jack-halting ! What's that?" 
 
 " Why, don't you know? You go out with 
 a long pole — I've got one with me — I'll go 
 and fetch it." 
 
 '•' No need of that. Well, what do you do 
 with the long pole?"
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 43 
 
 " Why, you make a loop with a piece of 
 catgut, or some use a very thin wire, and tie 
 it to the end of the pole, and then you look 
 out very softly for a jack that's asleep just 
 below the surface of the water, and you put 
 the loop very gently along his body till you 
 get to the thick part, and then you give a 
 jerk, and toss him out of the water." 
 
 " And what do you do with the jack when 
 you have caught him ?" 
 
 " Why, bake him, and eat him, to be sure!" 
 
 " What, haven't you got enough to eat 
 without going out to catch jack in the ditches 
 to fill your bellies?" 
 
 " And they're so full of bones !" observed the 
 mother. 
 
 " Oh, it isn't that ! we like to have what 
 we catch dressed, and to eat it — that's the
 
 44 THE MAN 
 
 fun ! We do the same with the birds that we 
 shoot." 
 
 ^'Gracious heavens!" exclaimed Mrs. Co- 
 rerley, " do they trust the hoys with guns ! 
 How excessively dangerous ! I wonder they 
 don't shoot one another !" 
 
 " Oh, no ; we shoot moor-hens and little birds, 
 and sometimes snipes, and if we can't find 
 any game, we just have a shot at anything we 
 can see. Mark Maximus had to pay five 
 shillings for a farmer's goose just before we 
 broke up ; but he had it dressed for supper ; 
 it was put into a jar and baked, and a capital 
 supper we made of him, only he was precious 
 tough. But we washed it down with rum- 
 shrub!" 
 
 " Rum-shrub !" exclaimed father and mother ; 
 " what, do the boys drink rum-shrub ?"
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 45 
 
 "To be sure tliey do, and wine, too ; but 
 bishop's the regular Eton drink." 
 
 " Bishop ! what odd names you have for 
 things," said his mother. " And wliat is 
 bishop ? Is it good for colds ?" 
 
 " Oh, we don't drink it for colds ; we drink 
 it because it's such prime stuff. It's made of 
 wine — port wine's best — and lemons and spices, 
 and lots of sugar, and we have it up at 
 Christopher's hot and hot." 
 
 "Hot and hot!" said his flxther. " Eum- 
 shrub, bishop, sliooting, jack-halting,'' — he 
 muttered, as he walked up and down his study, 
 bewildered at the new view of life which his 
 unconscious son was unfolding to him. " Upon 
 my word, you seem to lead a pretty life, you 
 Eton boys. And is all this known to your 
 masters ?"
 
 46 THE MAN 
 
 " Oh, yes, they know it, but they. can't find 
 it out — that's the fun of it. You know, if you 
 go out of bounds you are flogged, and once I 
 and another boy were chased by our own tutor ; 
 but he couldn't see our faces. By George ! 
 we led him a pretty dance, over hedges and 
 through ditches, and over gates ; but he would 
 have caught us regularly, if it hadn't been for 
 Farmer Slush's horse-pond — that bothered 
 him — for you couldn't climb the palings because 
 they had spikes on them; and we dashed 
 through the pond, but he stuck fast in the 
 middle, because he wasn't used to it, and 
 didn't know the way. Oh, it was such glorious 
 fun!" 
 
 *' Glorious fun !" said Mr. Coverley, with a 
 musing air, but with a lurking smile about liis 
 mouth, which he in vain endeavoured to sup- 
 press. " Upon my word, you seem to pass your
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 47 
 
 time at Eton after rather a scampish fashion. 
 And what time have you for your studies ? 
 You seem to be always scampering about after 
 some mischief or other. What are you learn- 
 ing now?" 
 
 " Oh, everything ! Greek and Latin most, 
 and French, but that's extra, and we have to 
 do it in play -hours, so we shirk it as often as 
 we can ; and then there's fencing and dancing, 
 and geography and mathematics, (I don't 
 like mathematics,) and swimming, (that's good 
 fun,) and that's all, I think." 
 
 ^' Well, you certainly ought to learn some- 
 thing for the money. Look, my dear, (to 
 Mrs. Coverley,) here's a half-year's expense 
 for a little chap of twelve years ! It's more 
 than the cost of a private tutor at home! 
 How many are there of you, Frank ?" 
 
 " There's five hundred and fifty-two — that
 
 48 THE MAN 
 
 is, oppidans and tugmuttons ; sixty -tAvo 
 tugmuttons, and the rest oppidans," 
 
 '' And what's a tugmutton ?" 
 
 '' Oh, they're the collegers; they wear gowns 
 and knee-breeches, and eat lots of mutton, and 
 so we call them tugmuttons, and that always 
 makes a fight — we have terrible fights some- 
 times with the tugmuttons — but somehow 
 they're always the cleverest; they sap so." 
 
 '' Sap !— what's that ?" 
 
 " Lord, mamma, you don't know anything ! 
 Why, that means they fag so at their lessons. 
 But we don't think much of a fellow that saps ; 
 we like a boy to know his lessons without 
 learning them — ^just to look at them and to 
 know them directly — and sometimes we never 
 do look at them till Ave're called up. Why 
 any fool can know his lesson if he chooses to 
 sap at it. There's Bullfield, he's the greatest
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 49 
 
 tliickliead in the school, and lie does nothing 
 bnt sap, and that's the way he's always perfect. 
 But it isn't lair to get on that way ; it's taking 
 a mean advantage of the other boys that arc 
 too spirited to be saps. And we haven't much 
 to do ; and Lor', Greek's very easy, it was only 
 the letters at first. I can always learn Greek 
 by heart better than Latin." 
 
 " Better than English ?" said his father. 
 
 ^' English! Lor' mamma, we don't want 
 to learn English ; we know it ! Don't we 
 speak English ? AVhat's the use of learning it !" 
 
 *' Upon my word," observed Mr. Coverley, 
 " I can't help thinking it's of more importance 
 for a lad to learn to talk and write his own 
 language correctly, than to do nothing but 
 gabble Latin and Greek. I really think that 
 boys of his age are too young to be sent to a 
 public school like this." 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 THE MAN 
 
 " Perhaps he is, my dear ; but it gives 
 quite a rank to a boy to be able to say that 
 he has been at Eton ; and boys are always 
 thoughtless. They do as others do, and 
 naturally follow the example of those witli 
 whom they associate. Besides, you know 
 Mr. Lesley says, although on the whole he is 
 rather for private education, that a public 
 school, particularly Eton the principal one of 
 all, gives a boy high and honorable feelings ; 
 and you must remember saying yourself, that 
 an Eton boy is always a gentleman for his life 
 after. And then he forms such good con- 
 nexions !" 
 
 '' Well, there's something in that, perhaps; 
 but school acquaintance is nothing, unless a 
 lad can follow it up afterwards. However, 
 Frank is but a child yet ; but he ought not to 
 lose his time. Tell me, Frank, what do you
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 51 
 
 know? Do you know anything? Can you 
 do anything?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, papa, I can do lots of things; 
 but, best of all, I think, I can play at cricket, 
 and make Latin verses." 
 
 " Latin verses !" ejaculated his delighted 
 mother. " God bless him, he can make Latin 
 verses ! Only think ! Frank can make Latin 
 verses! Well, Coverley, you must say that 
 it is an extraordinary thing for such a child 
 as Frank to make Latin verses! Perhaps 
 he'll be a poet !" 
 
 " My dear," said Mr. Coverley, " it may be 
 a very good thing for a boy to make Latin 
 verses, but it seems to me he ought to learn 
 something else besides. When I was in the 
 army, I don't remember any one who was 
 talked of for making verses. A boy should 
 study fortification, and obtain a knowledge of 
 d2 
 
 LIBRARN
 
 52 THE MAN 
 
 military tactics, and then in case of a war — 
 not that it matters to me now — he would know 
 something useful. However, I suppose he 
 will be all right in time ; and, after all, when 
 one lives in a certain set, one must do as 
 others do. It's ill for one man to stand out 
 against the mess, as we used to say in the 
 army. And surely the sort of education 
 which is good enough for the first nobility 
 and gentry in the kingdom, must be good for 
 our son as well as theirs." 
 
 " Besides, my dear," suggested Mrs. Cover- 
 ley, " our Frank is not obliged to attend to 
 common things, like poor people's sons. Frank, 
 my dear, you may go and amuse yourself. — 
 Frank," continued Mrs. Coverley, when her 
 son had left the room, " will have a fortune of 
 his own, and will be independent." 
 
 "• True," said his father, " he will have a
 
 nice little estate of his own ; so, after all, the 
 most important thing is, that he should re- 
 ceive the same sort of education as other gen- 
 tlemen's sons. It's not as if he was going 
 into a profession." 
 
 " To be sure not," said his mother, with 
 some pride ; " Frank will be a gentleman 
 without a profession."
 
 54 THE MAN 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 " Look at the world ; — observe its deep deceits ; — 
 No man — no thing — ^no speech is what it seems ; 
 A treacherous gloss is spread o'er grossest frauds, 
 Veiling the rottenness that lurks beneath. 
 Age mimics youth and wantons like young blood ; 
 And youth affects the wisdom of the sage. 
 The miser gloats in secret o'er his gold 
 Lamenting to men's ears his poverty ! 
 While the poor wretch to whom a single coin 
 Would be a glimpse of heaven, struts in state, 
 In velvet cloak and beaver fiercely cocked, 
 Striving to cheat the vulgar — and himself ! 
 Apeing the independent gentleman !" 
 
 Old Play. 
 
 Five more years passed away. The boyhood 
 of the heir to the Coverley estate was changed
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 55 
 
 to adolescence, and six years' experience at 
 Eton had advanced him to the state of a 
 young gentleman with some pretensions. But 
 during that time some changes also had taken 
 place in the position and prospects of Mr. 
 Coverley. 
 
 Shortly before the close of the war, he had 
 been unfortunately induced to join in some 
 speculations in the foreign funds, which rapidly 
 became more extensive than he anticipated, 
 and by the revolutions in the values of which 
 securities he suffered severe loss, and became 
 entangled in still more serious responsi- 
 bilities. 
 
 About the same time, and with the indis- 
 tinct view, probably, of making up for his loss 
 of fortune by an increase of rank and influ- 
 ence, he was persuaded to stand for one of the 
 boroughs of his county, and was unintention-
 
 Ob THE MAN 
 
 ally led to expend in tluit iittempt a consider- 
 able sum of ready money. 
 
 He lost his election, as his agent, Mr Tip- 
 pern, insisted, '^from want of boldness and 
 decision," in not purchasing at any price the 
 suffrages of a hundred and twenty voters, who 
 had taken advantage of the opportunity to 
 stand out for their mai'ket, and whose votes 
 decided a closely contested struggle. 
 
 This outlay, and the necessity of making 
 good his liabilities in the speculations into 
 which he had rashly entered, compelled him to 
 mortgage his estate to a considerable amount. 
 Unfortunately, he had the weakness, partly 
 from a desire not to give pain to his wife, and 
 partly I'rom pride, to conceal from his family 
 the fact of his large losses and embarrassments. 
 Thus his house became divided against itself — 
 innocently, indeed, on the part of his wife — inre-
 
 WITHOUT A rilOFESSIOX. 57 
 
 spect to their general expenditure ; Mrs. Cover- 
 ley not being aware of the necessity which had 
 arisen, of severe retrenchment and economy, 
 and Mr. Coverley viewing a style of living which 
 he knew he could no longer afford, with a dis- 
 content and peevishness which daily grew more 
 irritable. As their son had been since his birth 
 the pride and the joy of their hearts, their 
 usual conversation naturally ran on his present 
 pursuits and future destination ; and it was the 
 theme which they had most loved to dwell on. 
 But now this source of mutual gratifica- 
 tion was changed to gall and bitterness. For 
 while the mother still took delight in indulg- 
 ing in observations on the agreeable prospects 
 of her son, the fatlicr could not divest him- 
 self of the most painful apprehensions of his 
 future fate, amounting sometimes to agony, 
 from the compunctions wliich assailed liiiu 
 
 D 3
 
 58 THE MAN 
 
 at the thought of his own weak and inexcus- 
 able conduct. It was impossible for him to 
 disguise from his own heart, that he was 
 placing Frank in a false position, and deluding 
 him with groundless expectations; expectations 
 which, unless some favourable turn in his af- 
 fairs should take place, too fortunate to rely 
 on, would probably lead to bitter disappoint- 
 ment and to misery almost intolerable. 
 
 It is not the purpose of this narrative to 
 enter into an examination of the causes which 
 had produced the embarrassments in Mr. Co- 
 verley's affairs. The object of these volumes 
 is to describe its effect on the fortunes of his 
 son. To explain the temptations, the seduc- 
 tions of the prospect of unbounded gain, and the 
 hopes of suddenly, and at a stroke, becoming 
 possessed of a brilliant fortune, which by de- 
 grees and insensibly beguiled Mr. Coverley to
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 59 
 
 embark in transactions to which he was entirely 
 unaccustomed, and for the successful conduct 
 of which he possessed no competent experience, 
 would require a history of itself. It is suffi- 
 cient for the purpose of this story to describe 
 its influence on the fortunes of young Frank 
 Coverley. 
 
 It was in the winter of 1814, that the same 
 persons sat in the same library in which they 
 were introduced to the reader. The fire burned 
 as cheerfully, and the sun shone as brightly on 
 the snow-clad fields as in olden times, but the 
 aspect of the man was changed. 
 
 Long suffering and long concealment had 
 transformed the gay soldier to the querulous 
 old man. He was no longer the hearty and 
 joyous companion who was wont to stir up 
 frolic and festivity : care and grief sat in the 
 place of mirth and merriment ; — though some-
 
 60 THE iMAN 
 
 times the sport unci humour of liappier days 
 "would break out, as if unconsciously — but to 
 make more melancholy the contrast of his 
 habitual sadness. 
 
 On the present occasion, the countenance of 
 Mr. Coverley was melancholy and clouded. 
 His wife was struck with the expression of his 
 more than usual sadness, and essayed to divert 
 the current of his better thoughts. 
 
 Deeming that no other topic could be more 
 pleasing, she talked of her son : — 
 
 " Don't you think, my dear, that Frank grows 
 very handsome ? How long will it be before he 
 goes to the university? Isn't it time?" 
 
 Mr. Coverley started ! He was embarrassed 
 even to nervousness ; and it was not until after 
 a pause of some minutes that lie replied : — 
 
 *^ The universities are very expensive ; — be- 
 sides, young men are apt to get bad habits
 
 WITHOUT A niOFESSION. 61 
 
 there, particularly of spending money profusely. 
 However, Frank is not a young man yet." 
 
 "Not a young man !" returned his wife. " I 
 assure you, my dear, he thinks he is. And look 
 how tall he is ! Do you know, Mr. Lesley says 
 it is astonishing — and he ought to know, for 
 he was a great scholar himself before he took 
 orders; he says it is quite astonishing how 
 clever Frank is at making Latin verses ! And 
 he can make Greek — something; it's some- 
 thing beginning with ' I am,' and ending in 
 icks ; icks ? micks ? ricks ? bricks? bics ? — - 
 bics — ah ! that's it — Iambics — a queer word, 
 but, however, it's Greek ! It does one good to 
 hear him spout Greek verses !" 
 
 " I hope they may be of use to him," said 
 j\Ir. Coverley, with some bitterness. 
 
 "Of use to him! my dear," said the lady; 
 " why, they must be of some use, I suppose, or
 
 62 THE MAN 
 
 tliey would not think so much of them at 
 Eton. But at any rate, it is pleasing to see 
 him excel other young men in what, he tells 
 me, is the great thing at Eton College." 
 
 '*I am afraid," said Mr. Coverley, slowly 
 and gravely, ** if Frank were to speak in Greek 
 verse to our hedgers and ditchers, it would not 
 expedite an understanding between them." 
 
 " Lord ! Mr. Coverley, how ridiculous you 
 are! What have hedgers and ditchers to do 
 with Greek and Latin? But really, my dear, 
 don't you think it gives a young man a fine 
 air to be able to speak in a language which 
 people in general don't understand? I assure 
 you, it goes a great way with us ladies." 
 
 " Indeed, my dear ; but men don't make love 
 in Greek — at least they did not in my time.'' 
 
 " By the bye, my dear, talking of making 
 love, don't you think Frank may look forward
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 63 
 
 — not yet, I mean, but at the proper time — to 
 a good match ? He will be a gentleman with 
 a good income, and, as heir to a landed estate, 
 he has a certain rank in the county." 
 
 Mr. Coverley's countenance assumed an ex- 
 pression so pale and agitated at this blunt 
 question, that his wife was alarmed at its ap- 
 pearance. Her husband had frequently exhi- 
 bited a remarkable sensitiveness of late, from 
 causes which she could not divine; but she 
 had attributed it generally to the mortification 
 of his defeat at the election, on the success of 
 which he had seemed to set his mind at the 
 time, with an anxiety and determination un- 
 usual with him. On this occasion, although 
 she plainly perceived that slie had touched on 
 some chord which had given sharp and sudden 
 pain, she had no suspicion of the true cause ; 
 and she endeavoured, therefore, to allay the
 
 64 THE iMAN 
 
 irritation on the point Avhicli siie conjectured 
 liad excited it. 
 
 " I was foolish, perliaps," she said, " to speak 
 on such a subject at Frank's early age, but 
 really his appearance has grown so manly, that 
 I cannot help regarding him in mind and per- 
 son as older than he really is. But, of coui'se, 
 I see how attached he is to Clara Lesley, and 
 perhaps it annoys you to suppose that he might 
 throw himself away upon a poor curate's 
 daughter; not but that she's a nice girl — a 
 very nice girl — but our son ought to look 
 higher than that. It's a pity that the church 
 is such a poor profession for making money ! 
 A clergyman is obliged to keep up a respect- 
 able appearance, or people would not be satis- 
 fied — the lower sort of people least of all ; and 
 he must give away more money in charity — 
 that is, in proportion to his means — than other
 
 -WITHOUT A TROFESSION. G5 
 
 people ; so that, generally, lie can't lay by any- 
 thing. And then, when he dies, his children 
 arc cast upon the world — as poor Clara miglit 
 be, with all lier lady-like habits — without a 
 shilling, and what's to become of them !" 
 
 The agitation of Mr. Coverley increased at 
 these remarks of his lady, so painfully appli- 
 cable to his own son's position. He remained 
 for a considerable time in painful thought, 
 which his wife, seeing the unsuccessful result 
 of her attempts to restore him to good humour, 
 was unwilling to interrupt. 
 
 At last, Mr. C'overley seemed to make up 
 his mind to a decisive step, and, with a gravity 
 approaching to solemnity, wliich instiintly 
 commanded tlic attention of liis wife, lie said, 
 in a low voice — 
 
 '* My dear, 1 have been thinking a good 
 deal of Frank lately. He is ;i line boy, and
 
 6^ THE MAN 
 
 capable of anything, if properly directed. But 
 I am not quite sure that sending him to the 
 university is the best thing to be done with 
 him." 
 
 " The sons of gentlemen of fortune always 
 go to the university, do they not?" replied his 
 wife. " You would not like our Frank to be 
 different from other young men?" 
 
 " Let me see," said Mr. Coverley, a little 
 confused, not knowing how to make a satisfac- 
 tory reply to that comprehensive question — 
 " Frank is seventeen years of age; now this is 
 the time that we ought seriously to think of 
 giving him some profession." 
 
 " Some profession !" exclaimed Mrs. Cover- 
 ley, in unrestrained surprise ; " what on earth 
 can possess you, my dear? what does our Frank 
 want with a profession? Hasn't he got — that 
 is, will have in the course of nature — four
 
 AVITHOUT A PROFESSION. G7 
 
 thousand a-year ? Can't lie live on that, as we 
 have done? To be sure, if you mean that he 
 ought to pass a few years in the army, why, 
 that's another thing. I should not mind his 
 being in the guards, or in some horse regiment; 
 the tenth has a handsome uniform, which would 
 become Frank, and the army gives a young 
 man a certain air of self-possession. But they 
 say it makes them sad rakes, women are so 
 caught by handsome regimentals. 
 
 *'Well," concluded the lady, after a brief 
 mental contemplation, in which her son, 
 mounted on a prancing charger with a long 
 tail, and with a flashing sword in his hand, 
 formed the most conspicuous object — " I don't 
 object to anything you think fit, my dear ; you 
 have been in the army yourself, and therefore 
 you know what it is. If we could find a nice 
 regiment for Frank — that is, when he lias
 
 68 THE MAN 
 
 finished his Greek and Latin — with a colonel 
 that would look after his morals a bit, and 
 which we could be sure would not be ordered 
 abroad, I shouldn't object, my dear — particu- 
 larly, as you seem to wish it." 
 
 " I was not thinking of the army," returned 
 her husband, gravely ; " but of some profession 
 that would give him — that is, that would help 
 him — I mean — would be a standby for him in 
 case of any change, or any accident. In these 
 times, who can be certain of anything ?" 
 
 " Why, wliat are you thinking of, Mv. 
 Coverley? Ever since you lost that unfor- 
 tunate election, you have been harping every 
 now and then on changes and losses. Surely 
 we can afford to lose — what was it that it cost 
 you — five or six thousand pounds ? Well, that 
 could not hurt us. We can save that, if you 
 think that's an object. But what sort of pro-
 
 WITHOUT A PI^OFESSION. i]0 
 
 fession have you got in your head for Frank? 
 I should like to know your fancy?" 
 " You know Colonel Yelloley?" 
 " So it's to be the army, after all." 
 " No, no — Fm not thinking of the army in 
 that way. Colonel Yelloley was in the Com- 
 pany's service. He was talking to me tlie 
 other day about India; and not thinking, I 
 dare say, that I would accept of such a thing, 
 he told me that he had a writership at his 
 disposal, through some friend of his — some 
 East India director. Now a writership is a 
 capital thing; it's a sort of fortune for a lad. 
 Some of them up tlie country get I don't know 
 how mucli a year, and when they come home 
 they buy an estate and a seat in parliament, 
 and live like princes!" 
 
 It is impossible to convey in •words the 
 indescribable astonishment of Mrs. Cuverley,
 
 70 THE MAN 
 
 at this most incomprehensible suggestion of 
 her husband. For some minutes she was 
 breathless; and not having been made ac- 
 quainted with the real state of her husband's 
 circumstances, and being ignorant, therefore, 
 of the secret motives which prompted him to 
 entertain the idea of such a destination for 
 their son, she regarded him with doubtful and 
 anxious eyes, fearing that some extraordinary 
 affection of the brain had perverted his under- 
 standing. Her husband resumed his calm- 
 ness, but his gloomy sadness increased; and 
 there was a something in his look bordering on 
 an unusual and morose expression, which filled 
 her with pain and wonder. 
 
 In truth, that unfortunate gentleman was 
 vexed that his wife would not understand the 
 expediency of some change being made in the 
 destination of their son, without his being sub-
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 71 
 
 jected to the painful humiiiation of explaining 
 all the complicated accidents which had led to 
 its necessity. 
 
 A little more strength of mind — a little 
 more moral courage — would have enabled 
 him to repose his confidence in the breast 
 of one who, of all others on earth, was best 
 entitled to receive it, and who had the para- 
 mount right of a wife and mother to a correct 
 knowledge of the state of his affairs. By a 
 few Avords of frank explanation, how much 
 future misery would have been avoided ! But, 
 unhappily, whether from pride or from weak- 
 ness, or from a mixture of both, the opportu- 
 nity was suffered to pass by, and he was only 
 the more confirmed in the obstinacy of his 
 reserve. 
 
 His wife, however, was unwilling to allow 
 the gloom, which was evidently increaiiing in
 
 72 THE MAX 
 
 her husband, to remain, without making an 
 effort to dispel it ; and as it seemed to be his 
 inclination to converse on the subject of a 
 profession for their son, she kindly and amiably 
 resolved not to balk his humour. But the 
 feelings of the mother could not altogether be 
 repressed, and it was in the tone and accent of 
 the extremity of her surprise, that she broke 
 silence. 
 
 " My dear, are you dreaming ! Are you 
 really serious, in proposing that our dear boy 
 should give up all the advantages of his for- 
 tune — (here her husband winced)— of his 
 fortune and position in England, for tlie sake 
 of making money in India ! You cannot mean 
 it, my dear ! "What will lie want with more 
 money ? Haven't we enough ? And then, 
 think of tlie climate ! And I should never see 
 him again ! — and if I did, lie would be of the
 
 WITHOUT A riiOFESSION. 76 
 
 colour, I su}^pose, of old Colonel Yelloley. I 
 wish tliat old fright had lost his liver altogether, 
 before he put such a thought into your liead. 
 I've no patience with him. lie shall never 
 come into this house again. The impertinence 
 for him to suppose that we wanted to send our 
 poor hoy out to India — to banish liim ! — and 
 make him as ugly as himself; — the horrid old 
 monster!" 
 
 " My dear," resumed her husband, " you 
 don't understand the matter. Tlie Colonel did 
 not ofter tlie writership to me; althougli I 
 believe I need only speak tlie word to secure 
 it. However, I only mentioned it. I sliouhl 
 dislike Frank going to India in tliat way, 
 wliich is, after all, only a sort of banishment, 
 as much as you do. It was not that sort of 
 thing that I meant; but I think Frank ought 
 to have some prof(»ssion. For instance, large 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 THE MAN 
 
 fortunes are made by medical uien in these 
 days. There's Sir Jaspar Julep — he makes, 
 they say, more than ten thousand a year." 
 
 " I shouldn't like my son to be a doctor," 
 replied the lady; '' it must be very disgusting 
 — doing all sorts of operations, and dissecting 
 people, and all that. Besides, a medical man 
 never has a minute of his time at his own dis- 
 posal; and he is liable to be called out of his 
 bed at any time in the middle of the night, 
 which must be very annoying. I am sure I 
 shouldn't like it if I was his wife ; and if his 
 wife happens to be of a jealous disposition — 
 and sometimes it must be very trying — going 
 about at such odd times and places, and all 
 that ! No, that would never do ; — somehow, 
 I fancy it would be a very unsuitable life for 
 our Frank." 
 
 " He might study the law," observed the
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 75 
 
 husband; ** men make a good deal of money 
 by the law. Barristers and attorneys have 
 great influence in these days, and make plenty 
 of money, too." 
 
 " What is the difference, my dear," in- 
 quired the lady, delighted to find that her 
 husband talked calmly, and seemed soothed by 
 the conversation — " what is the difference be- 
 tween a barrister and an attorney? I never 
 could rightly understand it." 
 
 '^ Why," returned her husband, with a bitter 
 smile, "they are both alike in one respect; 
 they are both birds of prey, of the same genus 
 — vulture — but differing in their species ; but," 
 added he, laughing sadly, and pleased with 
 his own conceit, " having a strong mutual re- 
 semblance in the shape of their bills — that is, 
 the barrister does not send in a bill like an 
 attorney, but your attorney includes in liis 
 
 £2
 
 70 THE iMAX 
 
 bill the fees paid to the barrister. But the prin- 
 cipal difference popularly is, that the barrister 
 wears a wig, a mark of dignity which is not 
 permitted to an attorney." 
 
 " A wig! Wliat a fright a man looks in a 
 wig ! I remember seeing the lawyers in their 
 wigs at the assizes. The sight was really 
 awful ! I don't wonder at the poor creatures 
 being afraid to be cross-examined by them, for 
 cross enough they looked ! Positively, I 
 shouldn't like Frank to wear a wig. It's the 
 very objection that poor ^Irs. Smatterley had 
 to her husband's being made a bishop. You 
 know he was a very handsome man, and was 
 tutor to Lord Wideacre's son ; and if it hadn't 
 been for the attraction of being called 'my lady,' 
 — she didn't mind the apron, though slie said 
 it made him look very funny, it was the wig 
 she stuck at — slie never would have consented
 
 WITHOUT A rROFESSlON. t I 
 
 to it. But Avliat have the attorneys to do? — 
 they don't wear wigs, that is some recom- 
 mendation." 
 
 ^' No, they do not. But then the attorney 
 never can arrive at the dignity of the greatest 
 wig of all — the Lord Chancellor. That's a wig 
 worth having, my dear, for it covers a peerage, 
 and at the least twenty thousand a year." 
 
 " AVell, that's something certainly, and I dare 
 say Frank would rather like tlie peerage ; but 
 really, my dear, I think it's not too much to 
 give a man for wearing, all the days of his life, 
 such a horrid thing as I saw on the Lord 
 Chancellor's head, when you took me to see 
 the Eegent open the Parliament in London! 
 But we can speak to Frank about it, and ask 
 him if lie could get over the natural objection 
 he would have to wearing such a wig as that ! 
 I can tell him that he can't have tlie peerage
 
 78 THE »IAN 
 
 ■ivithout it. Surely lie need not have it on 
 when he walks about the streets, and in the 
 house, and everywhere. I should never he 
 able to bear it, if I was his wife ! Couldn't 
 we buy a second hand one, my dear, and let it 
 lie about the house, so that poor Frank might 
 get accustomed to the sight of it — then it 
 wouldn't be such a shock to him when he had 
 to put it on. And how long would it be, my 
 dear, before he is made Lord Chancellor? 
 Wliat has he got to do to be made a barrister? 
 He wouldn't have to dissect people — so at any 
 rate, it is not so bad as being a doctor." 
 
 " Not exactly to dissect people," replied 
 her husband, " at least, not in the same way. 
 But as to your question about what he would 
 have to do, I believe the most essential part of 
 the qualification for the bar, is the eating of a 
 certain number of legs of mutton — or part of
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 79 
 
 them — for a certain number of years, at one of 
 tlie inns of court." 
 
 *' Well, thank Heaven !" said the lady, " the 
 dear boy has a good appetite, although I don't 
 think he is very fond of mutton. However, if 
 it will do him good, and it is necessary that 
 lord chancellors should be fed on mutton at the 
 beginning — though it strikes me as a very odd 
 preparation — I dare say our Frank could get 
 through it as well as another. But I don't 
 understand why they eat so much mutton 
 at court, or what sort of inns they have 
 there?" 
 
 ^' I see you don't. But the inns and the 
 courts where lawyers are bred are not like the 
 royal courts at all, except that I've a notion 
 they arc very expensive, and that it is difficult 
 to keep on your legs there. But I see Frank 
 coming up the walk with some one — it's Clara
 
 THE MAX 
 
 Lesley. It's a pity — a sad pity ! How liappy 
 lie looks, poor fellow !" 
 
 "Poor fellow!" exclaimed Mrs. Coverley, 
 her maternal pride taking quick alarm at this 
 equivocal epithet — "I don't see why you 
 should call him ' poor' fellow ! He seems 
 happy enough — and so does Clara, for that 
 matter, poor child !" 
 
 "Well, well," said her husband, rather 
 testily ; "be it so. But as we have begun 
 the subject, we may as well take the oppor- 
 tunity to talk to Frank about it." 
 
 As he spoke, Frank entered the room with 
 his companion and early playmate. But the 
 great bell at the end of the avenue was at the 
 same time loudly rung, and a horseman ap- 
 peared at the gate, who inmiediately afterwards 
 came galloping towards the hall door. 
 
 Tlie conversation and the usual greetings
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 81 
 
 were alike suspended at this arrival, and the 
 family waited with a lively euriosity tu learu 
 the business of the unknown messenger of good 
 or evil tidings. 
 
 e3
 
 82 THE MAN 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 " Oh, my dear master, let me on my knees 
 Beseech you, put not off the evil day, 
 For come it will at last, and when it comes. 
 It takes us unprepared ; and then the mind, 
 O'erwrought and broken down, is crush'd at once,- 
 As when the lightning strikes the riven'd ship, 
 The wreck's complete." 
 
 The Faithful Steward. Old Play. 
 
 " A LETTER, sir, come express from the town," 
 said the servant, handing a square-looking 
 missive to the master of the mansion. It was 
 dropped by the coach, and as it was marked 
 ' important and immediate,' the landlord of the
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 83 
 
 Green Dragon thought it best to send it over 
 to you by a special messenger." 
 
 Mr. Coverley glanced at the superscription, 
 and took the letter with a trembling hand. 
 Without opening it, he rose, and crossing the 
 passage, shut himself up in his private study. 
 
 Mrs. Coverley was nervous — Frank looked 
 inquiringly, and Clara looked anxious. The 
 servant stood at the open door, and hesi- 
 tated. 
 
 " Is the messenger to wait, ma'am?" 
 
 " Yes — Thomas, let him wait. Perhaps he 
 may be wanted to carry back an answer — or 
 for something — let him wait." 
 
 " What can be the matter, Frank?" said 
 Mrs. Coverley, when the servant had retired. 
 " There was no black seal to the letter; be- 
 sides, there is no relation to die that I know 
 of, that could affect your father in that way.
 
 84 THE MAN 
 
 I wisli you would go to tlie man, and — and — 
 sec if he has anything to say. Don't attempt 
 to disturb your father — he can't bear any one 
 to go to him when he shuts himself in his study 
 in that way, Clara, my love, take off your 
 bonnet — that is, if you don't want to go home. 
 But if you are going home, my dear, I wish 
 you would say to Mr. Lesley, that if he is 
 coming this way, I wish he would call in. I 
 don't know why, but I seem to have a strange 
 presentiment of some disaster. So, my dear 
 girl, I wish you would go liome and say to 
 your father tliat I should like to see him." 
 
 " I'll go home directly, my dear Mrs. Co- 
 verley, and run all the way, and I will tell 
 Frank that I'm going. Oh, here he is !" 
 
 " Has the man anything to say?" said his 
 mother. 
 
 " Nothing, but that he was told to make all
 
 WITHOUT A PKOrESSION. 85 
 
 the haste he coukl, and deliver the letter im- 
 mediately. He told me he could read, Avhich 
 he seemed rather proud of, and that the letter 
 was for Squire Coverley; but that was all he 
 knew about it. Can you guess anything about 
 it, mother? However, I suppose my fatlier 
 will tell you Avhat the letter contains when he 
 has read it." 
 
 Mrs. Coverley mused. — She remembered 
 that a similar letter had arrived some months 
 before, in tlie same sort of odd up-and-down 
 hand-writing, and which slie had ascertained, 
 from the address which j\Ir. Coverley had 
 written in reply, was from Messrs. lluntliam 
 and Skiimom — names whicli excited lier sus- 
 picion. She remembered also that the receipt 
 of the previous letter luid violently agitated 
 Mr. Coverley. Slie Iiad no certain grounds for 
 her surmises, but she felt herself pervaded
 
 86 THE MAN 
 
 with those uneasy sensations which usually 
 take possession of people when they receive an 
 epistolary compliment from gentlemen of the 
 legal profession, so sinistrous are the instinctive 
 forebodings on such occasions. 
 
 " I don't like to speak ill of people, Frank, 
 whom one does not know ; but I believe the 
 people from whom this nasty letter comes are 
 attorneys. — Go, my dear," she repeated to 
 Clara, her apprehensions being quickened by 
 the indistinct idea of some calamity naturally 
 following in such a train, — " go, my dear girl, 
 and make haste. I wish your father was here.'' 
 
 Clara looked at Frank, and Frank looked 
 at his hat. His mother, who was aware what 
 those looks meant, put a veto on it decisively. 
 
 ^' No, my dear Clara; I am sorry that 
 Frank cannot go with you — his father may 
 want him. But Thomas shall see you safe
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 87 
 
 home, my dear. Tell your father I am un- 
 easy about a letter which we have just re- 
 ceived. I hope it will not worry Mr. Coverley 
 as the last did. — My dear Frank," added the 
 lady, as Clara left the house, to her son, who 
 was eagerly gazing out of the window in the 
 direction of the great gate, and who reluctantly 
 turned round to attend to his mother, " I am 
 afraid that something has happened to annoy 
 your dear father. I don't know what it is, but 
 you must take care not to say anything to vex 
 him. And don't ask him to let you buy that 
 mare that you wanted — never mind it — there 
 will be plenty more to be had. And it will be 
 as well not to talk to your father so much 
 about your going to the university. It vexes 
 him just at present; — indeed, I rather think 
 he intends that you should not go to Cam- 
 bridge."
 
 88 THE MAN 
 
 " Not go to Cambridge!" said Frank. 
 *' Why, I always thought I was to go to Cam- 
 bridge — and most of the Eton boys go to 
 Cambridge. But they say they're a prime set 
 of fellows at Oxford ; so if I am to go there, I 
 dont much mind. And perhaps it will be all 
 the better, for I never did like mathematics — 
 and Greek and Latin are the great points at 
 Oxford, and I think I can get off pretty well 
 at tli^m." 
 
 " My dear Frank, I must tell you that your 
 father seems to think it best for you not to go 
 to Oxford nor Cambridge." 
 
 " Not go to college, mother ! Why, where 
 am I to go ?" 
 
 ^' Your lather talked a little about the 
 army." 
 
 " Oh, there's uo fun in the army now — 
 there's no war!"
 
 vainouT A ruoFEssiON. 89 
 
 " By the bye, Fruiik, liow should you like to 
 be a doctor?" 
 
 '^ What, and have to feel all the women's 
 pulses, and give the children black draughts ! 
 It's very good fun, I dare say — but why should 
 I be a doctor? Can't I be a country gentle- 
 man? I always thought I was to be like my 
 father." 
 
 *' To be sure, my dear boy — of course you 
 will be like your father ; but your father seems 
 to think that you ought to have some pro- 
 fession. Wliat do you say to the law !" 
 
 " Oh, hang the law ! There was a little 
 fellow at Eton, whose father was a lawyer, and 
 he used to bore us to death with his law- 
 jargon and his stuff. One morning, wlicn 
 Wideacre called ' Lower boy,' the little rascal 
 said it was against the British constitution to 
 fag him, and wanted to read sometliing uut
 
 90 THE MAN 
 
 of Blackstone to prove it; but Widecacre as- 
 tonished his weak nerves with such a licking 
 as he had never read of in his father's law- 
 books, and fagged him all day, that he might 
 acquire a practical knowledge of the Eton 
 constitution. The young villain had the 
 audacity to complain to Dr. Fuzwig about it ; 
 but he got nothing by that but a poena for dis- 
 turbing the doctor at his definitions. At last, the 
 little varmint got so cantankerous, poisoning 
 the minds of the lower boys, that there was a 
 meeting of the fifth form, to consider of the 
 propriety of cooling his zeal in Farmer Slush's 
 horse-pond. I had no concern with it myself, 
 for I was always against the fagging system — 
 that is, till I got into the fifth form, and then 
 I saw that things could not be carried on in a 
 proper way without it. But I never had what 
 I may call a regular fag; I only just used the
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 91 
 
 lower boys to get anything I wanted. But 
 that sucking lawyer was the most terrible 
 little fellow you ever heard — nothing would 
 stop his talking but licking him, and some- 
 times not even that, for he would kick and 
 talk at the same time, like a little fury. He 
 had a brother, who was quite different ; but 
 he was to be a parson.'* 
 
 " Now I think of it, Frank, your father 
 said nothing about the church. If he is de- 
 termined that you must have some profession, 
 though really I must say I can't see any ne- 
 cessity for it — but, of course, what your father 
 says is right — don't you think, my dear 
 Frank, that it would be a nice quiet life?" 
 
 " Oh, no, mother, that would never do for 
 me. If you knew how sick we were of going 
 to church !. We had to go twice on a whole 
 holiday, and once on a half holiday. On the
 
 92 THE MAN 
 
 finest day perhaps for cricket, or foot-ball, 
 according to the season, there we had to go to 
 church, and it could be only for form's sake, for 
 nobody pays any attention. I do assure you, 
 mother, it quite destroys the Sunday's church, 
 for the boys get a habit of being careless and 
 inattentive. There was one chap made a 
 good spec about our going to church so often. 
 He kept a little shop up the town, and he got 
 some books bound up like prayer-books, such 
 as Tom Jones, Peregrine Pickle, Eoderic 
 Ivandom, and other books that had fun in 
 them, and the boys bought 'em to pass away 
 the time in church; I mean the week-day 
 church; it was never done on the Sundays. 
 It was all very well till it came to Mr. Gim- 
 bletighe's turn to attend, and I dare say it did 
 astonish him to see the boys grown so atten- 
 tive all of a sudden ; for there they were, lots
 
 WITHOUT A ruoFEssiox. 93 
 
 of 'em, turning over the leaves of their prayer- 
 books so diligently, and seeming so wrapped 
 up in their devotions ! 
 
 '•'' Well, he didn't know what to make of it, 
 and was puzzling himself, I dare say, to ac- 
 count for the new religious fervor that had 
 sprung up among the Etonians, when his in- 
 tellects w^ere suddenly enlightened by an un- 
 expected incident. One unlucky chap — it was 
 Browne Minor — who was particularly enjoying 
 himself in the midst of the noise of the psalm- 
 singing with a volume of Tom Jones, was so 
 tickled with some scene that he quite forgot 
 himself, and burst out into a loud laugh. 
 
 '' It happened unluckily that there was a 
 sudden pause in the music, as you know there 
 is sometimes, and there was a momentary 
 silence, so tliat the unexpected note of poor 
 Browne not l)eing in the regular tune set
 
 94 THE MAN 
 
 down for the occasion, and being wrong-placed 
 besides, was astonishingly effective, and created 
 quite a sensation. This explosion, however, 
 gave a hint to Mr. Gimbletighe, for he shot 
 down in a giffey from his desk, and although 
 the book was passed from hand to hand with 
 incomprehensible rapidity, he nailed it at last, 
 and of course there was a regular blow up, 
 and that fun was put a stop to. 
 
 " Do you know, mother, I really think it is 
 a bad thing for boys to be made to go to church 
 that way, as a sort of coercion ; but of course 
 boys would always rather be at play than any- 
 thing else. I only speak of what I have ob- 
 served of its effects on boys when I was there ; 
 and it was a common talk with us higher 
 ones that it would be better to leave off the 
 practice, or else to have the service perhaps 
 earlier and later in the day. For the going
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 95 
 
 to church is not allowed to interfere with 
 school - hours, only with play - hours, which 
 makes the boys dislike it. But it is one of 
 the rules of the college, and so I suppose it 
 can't be altered." 
 
 " I don't know. I don't pretend to be 
 more learned in these things than other people, 
 but I should like to hear Mr. Lesley's opinion 
 upon it. I declare there he is, coming up the 
 walk. I suppose Clara has met him, and asked 
 him to call on us." 
 
 " He is alone," said Frank, in a disappointed 
 tone. 
 
 " All the better," observed his mother, " for 
 I want to talk with him." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Lesley, I am so glad to see 
 you," as the reverend gentleman entered tlie 
 house. 
 
 *' I met Clara," said Mr. Lesley, " and she
 
 9G THE MAN 
 
 hastened my intention to call on you. I de- 
 spatched her home, as she is my little house- 
 keeper, to attend to her own affairs. What is 
 the matter, pray ? And what mysterious 
 letter is this that has frightened you all? 
 Where is Mr. Coverley?" 
 
 ^' He took the letter with him into his study. 
 Frank, tell your father that Mr. Lesley is 
 here. I know w^hen he is vexed about any- 
 thing he is always glad to see you ; and really 
 I ought to apologize for so often troubling 
 you of late." 
 
 " Say nothing about it," said the good 
 pastor ; " you could not pay me a higher com- 
 pliment. — Stay, my dear boy, I will go to 
 your father myself. He may not like to l)e 
 disturbed, but he will not mind me, I dare 
 
 say." 
 
 So saying, the clergyman crossed the pas-
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 97 
 
 sage, and proceeded to announce himself to liis 
 old friend; but a sight met his eyes whicli 
 filled him with an alarm so sudden that in his 
 surprise he uttered a cry of fear which quickly 
 brought the mother and son to his side. They 
 beheld Mr. Coverley stretched on the floor, 
 motionless, speechless, and apparently dead. 
 
 In a moment Frank had despatched the mes- 
 senger, who was waiting at the door, to the 
 village, for the apothecary. 
 
 "Eide fast, my good man," said Frank, 
 " you shall not lose anything by urging your 
 horse to his utmost." 
 
 *' Never fear, sir; I'll make the horse go to 
 serve 'Squire Coverley, depend upon it." 
 
 In the meantime, the clergyman, witli the 
 assistance of the servants, raised his friend 
 from the ground, and placed him on the sofu. 
 In a few minutes they had the satisfaction to 
 
 VOL, I. F
 
 98 THE MAN 
 
 perceive that he faintly breathed; and the 
 family apothecary, who was not long in reach- 
 ing the house, having applied expedient re- 
 medies, Mr. Coverley was in a short time 
 sufficiently recovered from his fit to sit up and 
 look about him. 
 
 " Where is the letter?" were the first words 
 he uttered. 
 
 It was placed in his hands ; he clenched it. 
 — " Leave me alone!'* 
 
 " Not quite alone, my dear," said his wife, 
 soothingly. 
 
 '' Well, you can stay; but give me my writ- 
 ing desk." 
 
 It was brought to him ; he placed in it the 
 fatal letter, locked it, and put the key in his 
 pocket. • 
 
 If ever woman longed to know a secret, poor 
 Mrs. Coverley longed to see that letter. But
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 99 
 
 deference to her husband, especially in his 
 present condition, for a relapse might be feared, 
 stifled her curiosity. But as a knowledge of 
 this mysterious epistle is necessary to the right 
 understanding of this history, although the 
 wife whom it so immediately concerned, in ac- 
 cordance with Mr. Coverley's obstinate reserve, 
 was never permitted to know its contents, it 
 is here given for the information of the reader. 
 
 " No. 6, Cobweb Court, Dismal Buildings, 
 September 17th, . 
 
 " RE SNATCHITT V. COVERLET. 
 
 " Sir, — We are instructed by our client to 
 inform you, that unless your bond for 21,682/. 
 12.?. 6c?., long overdue, be paid on or before 
 the 24th inst., process must issue without de- 
 lay. We hope, therefore, that you will give 
 directions for the amount to be paid to us at 
 r2
 
 100 THE MAN 
 
 this office, in order to prevent the unpleasant- 
 ness of an execution being levied in your dwel- 
 ling-house, which might, perhaps, put you to 
 inconvenience. 
 
 " We remain, Sir, yours obediently, 
 
 " HUNTHAM & SkINNOM."
 
 WITHOUT A PKOFESSIOiV. 101 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " And, seeing that God has pennitted the existence 
 
 of venomous and noxious reptiles, it is to be presumed that 
 they are not without their uses, although, from man's limited 
 capacity and knowledge, he may not be able to understand 
 their necessity. In respect to the evil spirit of the moral 
 world, which has been believed in and personified in various 
 shapes, and under various appellations, by all nations, and in 
 all times, as the antagonist principle to the benevolent attri- 
 bute of the Deity, and to which is assigned the province of 
 prompting to evil actions," &c. 
 
 Unpublished Essav. 
 
 Mrs. Coverley was surprised the next morn- 
 ing by her husband's intimation of tlic neces- 
 sity of his proceeding immediately to town on
 
 102 THE MAN 
 
 business of importance. In spite of her en- 
 treaties and remonstrances, he persisted in his 
 determination of going alone, and he set out 
 on his journey accordingly, with a heaviness 
 of heart which he tried in vain to disguise, 
 leaving his wife a prey to the most anxious 
 apprehensions. 
 
 On his arrival in London, he lost no time 
 in calling on the attorneys from whom he had 
 received the terrible threat of execution. He 
 had no difficulty in finding them out, for, on 
 inquiring in the murky precincts of their dis- 
 mal place of business, the lively old cobbler at 
 the corner directed him at once to the spot. 
 
 " Huntham and Skinnom ? Ay, ay, they're 
 easy enough to be found. Just go straiglit 
 on," said the cobbler, pointing with the toe of 
 a dilapidated boot which he held in his hand; 
 " keep straight on, and just before you come
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 103 
 
 to the churchyard, you'll see a brass plate on 
 a door — it's not the only bit of brass that you'll . 
 see, I'm thinking ; but that's neither here nor 
 there. You've only to push it open — it's easy 
 enough to get in ; but to get out again — that's 
 another matter. But that's nothing to me ; 
 every one to his trade, say L'^ 
 
 Guided by this information, Mr. Coverley 
 groped his way to the door, and presently stood 
 in the presence of those redoutable function- 
 aries, Messrs. Huntham and Skinnom. 
 
 Mr. Skinnom, with a most benevolent-look- 
 ing bald head, and the blandest smile in the 
 world, requested his visitor to be seated; and 
 himself sinking into the recesses of a huge 
 horse-hair chair, became invisible, or dimly 
 seen, amidst the chaos of papers with red tape 
 in which he was enshrouded. 
 
 " I am come," began Mr. Coverley, with a
 
 104 THE MAN 
 
 voice ill assumed, addressing himself to the 
 bald head which appeared above the pile of 
 melancholy-looking papers, " relative to the 
 letter which I have received from your fii'm— 
 that unfortunate affair of the bond." 
 
 *'0h, Mr. Coverley, yes; most happy to sec 
 you, sir; yes, sir — allow me for a moment" — 
 selecting a heavy-looking packet of documents 
 from a private drawer. " I see; in the matter 
 of Snatchitt. Yes, sir — Mr. Smoothly Snatchitt. 
 You are come, I presume, to settle that little 
 matter— 21,862/. 12^. GA There are some 
 trifling expenses to be added, but the clerk 
 shall give you a note of them immediately." 
 
 *' I am not come," interrupted Mr. Coverley, 
 hesitating, '' to pay, exactly. In point of 
 fact — for it is better to come to the point at 
 once — I have not the ready money ; and, in- 
 deed, I expected that the other parties whose
 
 WITHOUT A rilOTESSION. 105 
 
 names are to the bond would have provided 
 the funds, according to their promise, long be- 
 fore this time." 
 
 " Sorry to hear that," said Mr. Skinnom, 
 smiling benevolently on his visitor. ^^ You see, 
 sir, our respected client has given us very po- 
 sitive instructions to enforce payment, and as 
 the other gentlemen who joined you in this 
 security are not readily to be found, wc arc 
 obliged to look to you." 
 
 " But surely," replied Mr. Covcrley, *' Mr* 
 Snatchitt, who must be aware that my signa- 
 ture was put to the parchment only for accom- 
 modation of others, will not require payment 
 of the whole sum from me !" 
 
 " It's an unfortunate circumstance for you, 
 
 sir, doubtless, tliat you should bo called upon 
 
 to pay the money ; but wc, sir, acting for Mr. 
 
 Snatchitt, must follow his instructions, and his 
 
 f3
 
 106 THE MAN 
 
 directions are most positive and peremptory ; 
 indeed, he lias found fault with us for not being 
 more active in recovering the amount so long 
 overdue ; but it is always our desire to afford 
 every reasonable accommodation that depends 
 upon us, and especially, sir, to so respectable 
 a gentleman as yourself." 
 
 Mr. Coverley began to feel a little more at 
 ease under the excessive politeness of Mr. 
 Skinnom ; and, emboldened by the considerate 
 softness of his manner, ventured to consult 
 him on the best steps for him to take under 
 the circumstances. 
 
 " It is sometimes possible for us," said J\Ii'. 
 Skinnom, " to raise money on security that is 
 unexceptionable. It's a thing that we do not 
 like to do, for it is usually a troublesome ope- 
 ration, and never remunerates us for our 
 trouble ; and at this time especially, money is
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 107 
 
 SO very scarce, tliat I fear it would be totally 
 out of our power to assist you. But still as we 
 are exceedingly desirous of preventing the dis- 
 agreeable publicity of an execution" — (Mr. 
 Coverley winced at this) — " we would try to 
 assist you; but really we would rather that 
 you applied to somebody else." 
 
 " To tell the truth," said Mr. Coverley, " I 
 don't know, at the moment, who to apply to ; 
 my late professional adviser is dead. I thought 
 of consulting a gentleman of the name of Play- 
 fair, whom you may know ; but I would rather 
 settle the matter at once, if it could be done, 
 and I should not mind making some sacrifice." 
 
 " Your estate," said the obliging man of 
 law, " is it heavily mortgaged ?" 
 
 " Not to anything like its value ; it is worth 
 a good four thousand a-ycar, and it is my own 
 freehold."
 
 108 THE MAN 
 
 " Your own freehold ; but it is entailed, of 
 course?" 
 
 " It so happens, fortunately, tliat my late 
 uncle left it to me without encumbrance or re- 
 striction. It is mortgaged, certainly, but to 
 an amount less than sixty thousand pounds.'' 
 
 " How many acres did you say ?" 
 
 " Nearly three thousand." 
 
 " Three thousand acres, with a handsome 
 mansion. I will see wliat my partner says 
 nbout it, if you please ; but really I fear it is 
 not in our power to raise tlie money for you. 
 It is a large sum; and the general commercial 
 difficulties are so great, that there is no money 
 to be had at any price* But to oblige so re- 
 spectable a gentleman as yourself, my partner, 
 perhaps, might be induced to stretcli a point. 
 Do me the favour to amuse yourself with a 
 book — (putting the * Law of Arrest and Exe-
 
 WITHOUT A PROrESSlOX. 109 
 
 cution into his Lands) — and I will say a few 
 words to Mr. Huntliam on the subject." 
 
 With this benevolent intent, Mr. Skinnom 
 retired through a little back door at the corner 
 of his office, and propounded the matter to his 
 fellow-vulture in the following terms : — 
 
 " I say, Huntham, there's some stuff in my 
 room that we may get something out of." 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 " That Mr. Coverley, of Devonshire, who 
 signed the bond to Snatchitt." 
 
 " More fool he ! But that's his affair. Has 
 he got the money?" 
 
 " No ; but he has got a damnation fine estate. 
 I know it well, but he doesn't suspect that. 
 He is in a hell of a funk, and is ready to give 
 his ears to keep the matter snug." 
 
 "But will his estate bear bleeding?" said 
 Mr. Huntham.
 
 110 THE MAN 
 
 « 
 
 " Oh, it's as good as gold ! And what do 
 you think? — upon my soul, it's like the game 
 walking into one's net — he wants us to raise 
 the money for him !" 
 
 " I hope you told him we couldn't." 
 
 " Of course I did. I tickled him nicely, 
 and made it a favour to try ; and that's what 
 I'm supposed to come to you for. It would 
 be a pity to let him slip through our fingers, 
 for there he sits like a lamb to be slaughtered, 
 and we may do what we like with him." 
 
 " Is there no way of making a fatter bill 
 out of him before we get him the money? 
 Couldn't you egg him on to dispute the bond ?'* 
 
 " Impossible ; you know he confessed judg- 
 ment, and signed a waiTant of attorney five 
 months ago. There's nothing to do now but 
 to issue execution." 
 
 " Suppose," said Mr. Huntham, meditat-
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. Ill 
 
 ingly, " we were to have him grabbed and 
 locked up?" 
 
 " That might make him desperate, and then 
 he would get into Playfair's hands, and we 
 should lose the chance." 
 
 '' Damn that fellow, I say; he's always spoil- 
 ing the game for other people. What the 
 devil ! does he think that attorneys can live by 
 ' settling actions !' No, no ! when two fools 
 want to go to law, let 'em go at it hammer 
 and tongs — never stop 'em! But the very 
 first thing that dirty dog Playfair does, is to 
 try to reconcile the parties, and recommend 
 them not to go to law ! Not go to law ! AVliy, 
 what would become of all of us if people didn't 
 go to law ? That Marplot Playfair is the curse 
 of the profession ! Well then, if that's the case, 
 we had better hook our man at once. You 
 say he'll bear bleeding?"
 
 112 THE MAN 
 
 " As much as you please. He's in a pretty 
 sweat, though he tries to seem cool; but I see 
 through him. He VI give his eyes to get out 
 of the mess quietly." 
 
 " Come, then, let us go at him together," 
 said Huntham; "and mind, you're to do the 
 blarney. I shall say it's a thing impossible — 
 that we must proceed to execution, and all 
 that." 
 
 Those respectable gentlemen returned ac- 
 cordingly to the office in which Mr. Coverley 
 Was deposited, waiting with no little anxiety 
 the issue of the conference. 
 
 Mr. Skinnom entered smiling; and, with a 
 bland placidity such as good men bear, re- 
 seated himself softly in his horse-hair chair. 
 
 His partnei', on the contrary, came in briskly, 
 and with a determined air, as if he had defini- 
 tively made up his mind, and was not to be
 
 WITHOUT A TROFESSION. 1 1 3 
 
 moved from his decision by tlie amiable expos- 
 tulations of his virtuous partner. He walked 
 with a quick step up and down the room. 
 
 " It can't be done," he began ; " you know, 
 Skinnom, we tried it only the other day. 
 There is no money to be had ; besides, we want 
 it ourselves; and you have already got the 
 house into a scrape by going out of our way 
 to save another gentleman from going to gaol. 
 You'll ruin me and yourself too, Skinnom; you 
 will indeed, doing these things ; it's not busi- 
 ness-like. It's for us to receive the money — 
 not to go about begging for it." 
 
 " But, my dear sir," said Skinnom, in his 
 mildest accents, "it is to save a respectable 
 gentleman from a public exposure of his affairs ; 
 
 and he's not used to these things You never 
 
 had an execution in your house, I dare say," 
 turning and bowing to their unhappy visitor.
 
 114 THE MAN 
 
 "Good God! — no!" said Mr. Coverley, 
 growing red and pale by turns, — " it would 
 drive me mad ! Is there no way, gentlemen, 
 by which the matter could be put off for a few 
 months, or weeks?" 
 
 " Put off I God bless you," said Huntham ; 
 "you don't know what I have suffered this 
 morning from Mr. Snatchitt. He's quite mad 
 for his money; and he blames us for not 
 getting it from you. It was only this very 
 morning that he gave me the most positive 
 instructions — I haven't had time to tell you of 
 it, Skinnom — the most positive instructions — 
 and if we don't do it, he swears he'll find some- 
 body that will — to issue an execution against 
 the person of this gentleman. — It would not 
 be agreeable to you, perhaps," he continued, to 
 Mr. Coverley, who sat dumb with consterna- 
 tion, "to be arrested this morning? But,
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 115 
 
 upon my life, we ought to do it. A solicitor 
 has great responsibility; and he must not 
 allow his feelings to get the better of his duty! 
 — I don't see what we can do, Skinnom." 
 
 Mr. Skinnom looked excessively concerned 
 — indeed, shocked — at this hopeless state of 
 things, and he passed his white cambric pocket- 
 handkerchief once or twice over his benevolent- 
 looking forehead, in order to clear away the 
 dust from his ideas. 
 
 " It's a desperate case," said he, after a short 
 pause, sufficient to allow the fear of their 
 victim to become almost unbearable — " it's a 
 desperate case ; but, my dear sir, could not 
 the money be raised by any means, to re- 
 lieve this unfortunate gentleman from his 
 difficulty? it's the expense I look to. How 
 would he 1)0 able to shew himself among his 
 friends and acquaintances in the country, and
 
 116 THE MAN 
 
 his family, and his servants," continued Mr. 
 Skinnom, ingeniously conjuring up every 
 spectre of derision lie could think of — '* and 
 all the people in the village and neigh- 
 bourhood, and, indeed, the county, after the 
 publicity of his arrest — of his ARREST, you 
 know — which some people regard as a great 
 indignity, and as a disgrace ; — and then the 
 exposure of all his affairs," added the damned 
 good-natured Skinnom, with considerate fore- 
 sight. *' Could he not raise money, by giving 
 a sort of bonus for the accommodation?" 
 
 *' He would have to pay dear for it," replied 
 Huntham, seriously. 
 
 *'I will pay anything!" exclaimed the tor- 
 tured victim, goaded to a state of desperation 
 at the horror of arrest, and all its consequences 
 — " anything !" 
 
 ^'Very dear," repeated Huntham, with a
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 117 
 
 composed sort of emphasis, looking fixedly at 
 Mr. Coverley, and meaningly at his confede- 
 rate ; "• ])ut perhaps there's a chance. Yes ! 
 now I think of it, we liave a client that you 
 know of, Skinnom, who is to receive nearly 
 twenty thousand pounds about this time. But 
 he would never lend it without a bonus, more 
 than we could advise this gentleman to 
 give." 
 
 " Suppose we were to oiFer him a bonus of 
 five per cent., in the shape of a commission?" 
 suggested his partner. 
 
 " He would laugh at it." 
 
 " Well, say seven and a half?" 
 
 " He can make more of his money." 
 
 " Suppose we offered him ten?" 
 
 " He wouldn't do it, I say," said Huntliam, 
 looking scrutinizingly at tlie victim, and in- 
 quiringly at his partner.
 
 118 TH^ MAN 
 
 " I would not offer more," said Skinnom, 
 with a virtuous air. 
 
 " Ten per cent.," observed Mr. Coverley, 
 " would be more than two thousand pounds as 
 a bonus, and then there would be the interest." 
 
 " At five per cent., of course," said Skinnom. 
 
 " Two thousand pounds for the accommoda- 
 tion," mused the unfortunate man — " it's a 
 large sum !" 
 
 " It is," said Huntham; "but he wouldn't 
 do it for that. Perhaps for twelve and a half, 
 he might be tempted." 
 
 Skinnom looked at Huntham, and shook 
 his head. 
 
 "It's too much," said Huntham; "but 
 when money is wanted in a hurry it must be 
 paid for; — and it saves this gentleman from 
 arrest to-morrow morning, oi* perhaps this 
 evening."
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 1 19 
 
 " But liow am I to get the money for the 
 bonus?" asked Mr. Coverley. 
 
 " Oh ! we will manage that for you. I dare 
 say we could persuade the lender to add it to 
 the mortgage." 
 
 "Anything," said Mr. Skinnom, "to save 
 so respectable a gentleman from being taken to 
 prison." 
 
 " I'll give it !" cried Mr. Coverley, eagerly. 
 "It must be done; and perhaps the other 
 parties may come forward at last, and provide 
 for the debt that they have saddled me with. 
 But in one word, I say, I consent. There will 
 be no more expenses, I suppose?" 
 
 " Nothing but the expense of surveying the 
 estate. That must be done, in justice to our 
 client," said Iluntham, in a decisive tone. 
 
 " There's the valuing — five per cent.," said 
 Skinnom, coolly.
 
 120 THE MAN 
 
 ^' To be sure; I forgot tliat. And then we 
 must examine into the title," added Huntham, 
 while Mr. Coverley turned his head from one 
 to the other, as they tossed the ball between 
 them. 
 
 ^' That's a thing in course," chimed in 
 Skinnom; "and such other little expenses as 
 may be incurred," he observed, in a mild and 
 polite way, " we can let stand over, so that 
 Mr. Coverley will not be pressed for anything 
 that depends upon us. And now," he added, 
 with one of his most engaging smiles to their 
 netted fish, '' I dare say it would be more 
 agreeable to Mr. Coverley, and would tend to 
 soothe his feelings, if we could give him some 
 assurance in writing, that he will not bo per- 
 sonally molested on account of this unpleasant 
 affair." 
 
 " I don't quite like it," said Iluntham, " but
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 121 
 
 I'm the last man in the worki to stand in the 
 way of doing a good action. You had better 
 prepare the papers, then, at once, or perhaps 
 that impatient Mr. Snatchitt may step in 
 and insist on our issuing the writ without 
 delay." 
 
 There was no more wanted to stimulate 
 Mr. Coverley to sign and seal all that was 
 wanted of him — the accommodating Mr. 
 Skinnom intimating that the other necessary 
 documents would be prepared without delay, 
 and forwarded to Mr. Coverley, for his signa- 
 ture, in the country, charging the expense of 
 the journey to his account. 
 
 The matter being thus arranged to the satis- 
 faction of all parties, Mr. Coverley took liis 
 leave, the attentive Mr. Skinnom accompany- 
 ing him, with excessive politeness, to the outer 
 door, and recommending him, witli tlie most 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 THE MAN 
 
 officious anxiety, to take a coach to his hotel, 
 as it seemed likely to rain. 
 
 When that respectable gentleman retui-ned 
 to his horse-hair chair, his worthy partner sat 
 down opposite to him ; and they regarded each 
 other, for a brief space, with countenances of 
 mutual intelligence, which it would be impos- 
 sible to describe. 
 
 " D — d well done," said Skinnom, with a 
 sort of enthusiasm ; "you surpassed yourself." 
 
 " My dear fellow," said Huntham, " you 
 have no equal at this sort of gammon. By 
 — , I believe you would take me in with your 
 d — d insinuating tongue." 
 
 " Not I," replied the other, with deprecatory 
 modesty. "I defy the devil himself to do 
 that. But really, it is quite pleasing to one's 
 feelings to see that poor man go away so 
 relieved — isn't it?"
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 123 
 
 *^ Your feelings ! D — n that humbug ! 
 None of that with me ! — it's too much !" 
 
 And with such reciprocal compliments, these 
 well-matched associates did violence to their 
 feelings by separating, for the present, to fulfil 
 their congenial destinations. 
 
 In the meantime, Mr. Coverley paced the 
 streets in a hurried manner, till he reached his 
 hotel. There he took breath to revolve the 
 occurrences of the last two hours. On the 
 whole he was satisfied. He was relieved from 
 a great and pressing difficulty ; and the unex- 
 pectedness of the help, coming, as it were, out 
 of the enemy's camp, re-acting on his spirits, 
 restored him to temporary calmness; and it 
 was with a delusive cheerfulness, therefore, 
 that he returned to his family in Devonshire. 
 
 For some time things went on as usual, but 
 the necessity of paying punctually the interest 
 G 2
 
 124 THE MAN 
 
 of the borrowed money, in addition to the sum 
 raised on a previous occasion, increased the 
 difficulty of providing for his yearly expenses. 
 But being unwilling to lower his appearance 
 in the county, and buoyed up by the hope that 
 the parties who had involved him in his diffi- 
 culties would be able ultimately to meet their 
 engagements, he shrunk from appearing among 
 his neighbours and acquaintances as a poor 
 and ruined man. Besides, his mental faculties 
 as well as his bodily constitution had really 
 become enfeebled, from the shock of the threat- 
 ened execution and the dread of personal 
 arrest ; so that being too Aveak to face his diffi- 
 culties, and, by timely retrenchment, to avert 
 the coming evil, he from time to time patched 
 up his affairs by repeated borrowings. As the 
 security, however, became less and less satis- 
 factory, such temporary loans could be obtained
 
 WITHOUT A TROFESSIOX. 125 
 
 only by paying tlie most exorbitant interest, 
 which eating like a canker into his estate, soon 
 reduced him to an income merely nominal, and 
 a property only in appearance. 
 
 But this state of things was sedulously con- 
 cealed from his friends and family, and no one 
 in the neighbourhood suspected that Squire 
 Coverlcy's acres were rapidly crumbling away 
 from under him, or that, while he was living 
 i"h seeming abundance and prosperity, ruin was 
 suspended over his head only by a single hair. 
 
 All this could not fail to have a depressing 
 influence on the health and spirits of the 
 unhappy sufferer, whicli was visible to all; 
 but as the true cause was unknown, it was 
 attributed to the apoplectic fit with which he 
 had been suddenly seized some time before, and 
 which was considered to have enfeebled, in 
 some way, his vital powers.
 
 126 THE MAN 
 
 But another source of affliction arose. The 
 weakness and nervous irritability which con- 
 stantly afflicted Mr. Coverley had an unfavour- 
 able effect on the health of his wife, who 
 gradually sunk under the painful sight of the 
 constant sufferings of her husband. Under 
 such circumstances, Frank gave up his long- 
 cherished idea of going to the university, for 
 although there was no change in the outward 
 and general appearance of the family establish- 
 ment, those in its immediate intimacy could 
 not fail to observe a frequent peevish parsimony 
 on the part of Mr. Coverley, and a reluctance 
 to enter into any fresh outlays of money ; a 
 state of mind, however, which was set down 
 to his desire to accumulate money for the 
 benefit of his son, with a view, probably, it 
 was conjectured, of enabling him to go at an 
 early age into parliament.
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 127 
 
 Frank also, on liis part, was disinclined, 
 from duty and affection, to leave his father in 
 his enfeebled and indeed pitiable condition; 
 so that he remained at home, without any 
 other pursuits than the occasional country 
 recreations which were within his reach. The 
 absence of any fixed object led him for a time 
 into those idle and lounging habits, which are 
 so dangerous to a young man at that age ; and 
 he was exposed to rust and spoil from listless- 
 ness and want of occupation. But events now 
 occurred which changed the current of his 
 destiny.
 
 128 THE MAN 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "Mks. Silvertongue to Mrs. Bitewell {entering). 
 
 Do pray, ma'am, be seated : of course you'll take tea : — 
 
 We were talking of Bella, and that Mr. G 
 
 It's a sad thing to say, ma'am — but really I fear 
 
 That a certain disclosure will shortly appear ! 
 
 There are nimours — like shadows, some things cast before 'em — 
 
 Of something that's worse than a mere ikdecorum ! 
 
 Mrs. Bitewell. 
 Indeed, ma'am, it's shocking — but people do say — 
 
 Footman. 
 Miss Bella— 
 
 Mrs. Silvertongue. 
 My dear, you look charming to-day ! 
 It's only this moment Miss Daw and Miss Jay 
 Were talking and wondering what could the matter be 
 To keep you away, love ! 
 
 Bella, curtsying low. 
 
 " Oh ! dear ma'am, you flatter me !" 
 " Scandal." A Satire. 
 
 Sir Matthew Carlton, a gentleman of family 
 and good education, "wlio resided on liis own
 
 WITHOUT A rROFESSIOx\. 129 
 
 estate, a few miles from Coverley Hall, had 
 taken a great fancy to Frank, on account of 
 his amiable and ingenuous disposition ; and lie 
 was earnest in his invitations to his young 
 friend to keep up the acquaintance with his 
 family. 
 
 This predilection was assisted, perhaps, in 
 some degree — sucli are the mingled motives 
 which prompt man's actions — by the circum- 
 stance of his having, with an estate entailed 
 on a male heir, a large family of daughters, to 
 whom — and to whose parents especially — a 
 young gentleman of handsome person was not 
 the less welcome from his being heir to a good 
 estate. 
 
 It was on the occasion of a long visit, one 
 day, to Sir Matthew's house, that Frank be- 
 came suddenly and disagreeably awakened to 
 a sense of some of his deficiencies. 
 g3
 
 130 THE IVIAN 
 
 " My dearest Lousia," said Lady Carlton to 
 her youngest daughter, "you will tease Mr, 
 Corerley to death with your poetry and your 
 nonsense. I dare say, if he would speak the 
 truth, he would rather be out with the hounds, 
 than passing his time" — looking round with 
 considerable maternal pride on her five hand- 
 some daughters — "with silly girls." 
 
 " I was only asking Mr. Coverley, mamma, 
 to help me with this passage of Tasso. It is 
 so difficult to put into English, to please like 
 the Italian. But Italian is such a beautiful 
 language ! So soft, and so musical ! Do pray," 
 turning to Frank, "help me to translate this — 
 there's a good creature." 
 
 The clustering curls of the young girl 
 brushed against Frank's cheek, as she inclined 
 her head towards him, and pointed out the 
 vexatious lines with her delicate fingers.
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 131 
 
 It was a perilous position for a young man. 
 There is some mysterious influence — mesmeric 
 or electric — in the close propinquity of a beau- 
 tiful girl, which puzzles philosophers; but on 
 the present occasion, there was a pre-occupa- 
 tion of Frank's "nervous system," as physicians 
 term it — a sort of counter-irritation, which 
 averted its dangerous action. 
 
 Lady Carlton saw that he was troubled, and 
 was not by any means displeased at the exhi- 
 bition of a confusion which was favorable to 
 her views; but although a clever woman, with 
 marriageable daughters to stimulate her na- 
 tural penetration, the usual keenness of that 
 double capacity was at fault in the present 
 instance. 
 
 The plain fact was, that Frank was quite 
 insensible, at the moment, to everything but 
 the humiliating circumstance of his not under-
 
 132 THE MAN 
 
 standing one word of Italian. He gazed at 
 the words, wliich looked tantalizingly like 
 Latin, and tried to virilize them by supplying 
 consonants here and there ; but it would not 
 do. He was about to confess his ignorance, 
 when the impatient Louisa clapped her little 
 white hands — 
 
 " There ! mamma : you see that it is diffi- 
 cult, for Mr. Coverley cannot make up his 
 mind how to translate it. But here," she 
 added, reaching a book from a shelf, "is a 
 French translation; let us put the two to- 
 gether, and see if they may not help each 
 other." 
 
 This was worse and worse; poor Frank 
 knew no more of the French language than he 
 did of the Italian. His embarrassment in- 
 creased, much to the satisfLiction of the lady^ 
 mother, who observed with maternal com-
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 133 
 
 placency, that lie seemed too iiiucli absorbed 
 by other emotions, as she flattered herself — 
 and she liked him the better for it — to be able 
 to attend to the criticism of translations. But 
 wishing to help on an affair in such good 
 train, and which seemed to want only a little 
 judicious encouragement to bring it to a satis- 
 factory conclusion, she remarked with an air 
 of indifference — 
 
 " Talking of Italian and poetry, Louisa, I 
 just remember that you have never shewn to 
 me that little scene of the Italian village since 
 you finished it. Go, my love, and fetch it. But 
 I am very much afraid this is dull society for 
 Mr. Coverley." 
 
 " Quite the contrary," said Frank, eagerly 
 closing the annoying volumes, and relieving 
 his oppression l)y a deep sigh — wliicli was 
 translated by the observant mother, in ac-
 
 134 THE MAN 
 
 cordance with her own thoughts — " I am sure 
 any painting proceeding from such a hand 
 must be beautiful." 
 
 "It is going on very well," thought the 
 mother. " Pretty well," said she, aloud. But 
 certainly Louisa has done some extraordinary 
 things for a child of her age ; and her skill in 
 perspective is remarkable. Do you draw?" 
 
 " No," said Frank, to whom the word 
 "perspective" caused a slight chill, for he 
 was conscious of his ignorance relating to the 
 mysteries of the mathematics ; "no, we did not 
 attend much to those things at Eton; Latin 
 and Greek were our principal studies there." 
 
 "It is an elegant and often a useful ac- 
 complishment," observed Lady Carlton, " but 
 perhaps it is not so well adapted to gentlemen 
 as to ladies, for whom such sedentary employ- 
 ments are more desirable."
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 135 
 
 "I am quite ashamed to shew such a 
 daub," said Louisa, returning with the 
 drawing. 
 
 *^ It is beautiful !" cried Frank, with en* 
 thusiasm. The other sisters suspended for a 
 moment their various avocations, and ex- 
 changed looks of intelligence. 
 
 ** It is not badly done," said Lady Carl- 
 ton. " I see, Louisa, you have brought out 
 those musicians a little better ; they were too 
 much in the shade before. IIow lively the 
 villagers look, dancing ! one can almost fancy 
 that one can hear the air the musicians are 
 playing. Are you fond of music, Mr. Co- 
 verley ?^' 
 
 ^' Passionately!" said Frank. 
 
 " Do, my dear Louisa, let Mr. Coverley 
 hear that little French air that was sent from 
 town the other day."
 
 136 THE MAN 
 
 The air was played — Frank was delighted; 
 others followed. The young lady sang; Frank 
 applauded rapturously. The mother could 
 scarcely conceal her satisfaction. But the 
 harmony was interrupted by a casual question 
 from Frank : — 
 
 " Have you got the Hebrew Melodies? I 
 heard them yesterday at Mr. Lesley's. You 
 cannot imagine how beautifully Miss Lesley 
 sings them!" 
 
 Miss Louisa Carlton was not ill natured, 
 nor envious, in a general way ; and she had a 
 tolerably satisfactory conviction of her own 
 personal attractions; and, moreover, she ra- 
 ther liked Clara Lesley. But, on the pre* 
 sent occasion, this sudden exclamation from 
 Frank jarred on her ear disagreeably, and pro- 
 duced a discord in the notes which caused her 
 to close a grand finale with an abrupt flourish
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 137 
 
 not contemplated by the composer : she con- 
 cluded with a sudden crash. 
 
 Her watchful mother, with the freemasonry 
 of womankind, understood well what that 
 crash meant. She was aware of the intimacy 
 of the Lesleys with the Coverleys; and 
 although Mr. Lesley was not in a position to 
 render a match with his daughter desirable on 
 the score of fortune or connexions — and it 
 seemed to her quite incongruous that the heir 
 to the Coverley estate should throw himself 
 away on a poor parson's daughter, — yet she 
 could not dispossess herself of a certain fear 
 that the opportunities of intimacy which Clara 
 had enjoyed might have been turned to ad- 
 vantage. It was with these thoughts, and 
 with a mother's instinctive apprehension of 
 the desirableness of depreciating rival preten- 
 sions, that she observed, in a careless manner —
 
 138 THE MAN 
 
 " Miss Lesley has not been looking well of 
 late. Don't you think, my dear," turning to 
 her eldest daughter, '^ that the poor girl gets 
 very thin?" 
 
 '* Very, mamma," replied Louisa, " very 
 thin ; and it's so curious that she should have 
 such a colour at the same time. One would 
 almost think that she painted, but of course 
 she doesn't — only it's so odd !" 
 
 " You must not say those things," said the 
 mother ; " although I know, my love, that 
 you mean no harm by it." 
 
 " I'm sure Miss Lesley doesn't use paint,"* 
 said Frank, decidedly; " I'm quite sui^e of 
 thatl" 
 
 The mother smiled at Frank's earnestness ; 
 but it was rather a forced smile — a smile am- 
 biguous and inquisitive; for there was some- 
 thing downright and positive in Frank's asser-
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 139 
 
 tion — a sort of conviction from experience, as 
 it struck the mother, that was anything hut 
 satisfactory to that lady's speculations. She 
 felt that the game must be dexterously played, 
 or she should lose her point. 
 
 " Miss Lesley is a sweet girl, a very inte- 
 resting girl," — Frank looked more pleased 
 than she liked — " very; and one cannot but 
 feel for her, poor thing; but that falling 
 away " 
 
 " Miss Lesley never was fat," interrupted 
 Frank. 
 
 " That excessive slightness," pursued the 
 lady, in a sort of mental abstraction, " can 
 be attributed, I fear, to only one cause. It's 
 a dreadful thing," turning to Frank, " to 
 have consumption in a family !" 
 
 This was an insidious blow, on the part 
 of that otherwise well-bred lady; but she
 
 140 THE MAN 
 
 knew that Frank had a dread of consumptive 
 people, and the interest of the mother over- 
 came all other considerations. 
 
 Frank looked concerned at this ; he had no 
 suspicion of the manoeuvre. His admiration 
 had often been excited by the sylph-like light- 
 ness of Clara's form, which, compared with the 
 plump and Eubens-like persons of the Miss 
 Carltons, handsome girls as they were, cer- 
 tainly did present to his mind a very decided 
 contrast. But the contrast was momentarily 
 painful. 
 
 " Perhaps," observed one of the Miss 
 Carltons, *' Miss Lesley looks so very thin 
 because she is so very tall ?" 
 
 " Perhaps so, my love. She is certainly 
 very tall ; too tall, as I have heard many 
 gentlemen say, for a woman. The height of 
 the Venus de Medicis," looking at her daugliter
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 141 
 
 Louisa, and glad to observe that Frank's eyes 
 followed her own in evident admiration, '' is— ^ 
 what is the height, Louisa?" 
 
 *' It's a little more than mine," replied 
 Louisa, with an innocent look ; " but only a 
 very little bit — less than a line ; the French 
 gentleman said it was not quite so much as a 
 millimetre, and he observed to you, mamma, 
 that he thouglit the Venus de Medici was a 
 trifling degree too high." 
 
 '' I wonder what the colour of the hair and 
 eyes of Venus really was ?" said Miss Carlton. 
 
 " Dark hair and eyes are considered most 
 expressive," replied Lady Carlton; ^'and as 
 the Greeks were a dark people, it is to be pre- 
 sumed that their idea of the perfection of 
 beauty was in accordance with the objects that 
 tliey habitually saw around them. Besides, 
 there is something insipid in liglit eyes. I
 
 142 THE MAN 
 
 have heard men sometimes compare them to 
 bottled gooseberries.'* 
 
 The four Miss Carltons laughed. Their 
 eyes were of the gipsy cast — black, bright, 
 and penetrating. They opened them wide, as 
 if in justification of their mother's taste, and 
 fixing them with one accord on Frank, they 
 gave him a simultaneous volley, which shot 
 him through and through. 
 
 Frank could not stand the discharge of a 
 whole platoon after this fashion, and he turned 
 his face to the side of the less invidious Louisa, 
 who, having reserved her fire, met his look 
 with a flash from her own brilliant eyes which 
 went near to upset his equanimity. 
 
 This last stroke almost finished him. He 
 was in evident confusion, and shewed signs of 
 being under the mesmeric influence of female 
 bewitchment. The mother flattered herself
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 143 
 
 that a decided impression had been made, and 
 thinking it a favorable opportunity, like a 
 skilful general, she determined to follow up 
 the first success. 
 
 " Miss Lesley, as I was saying — poor girl — 
 looks very delicate, and I have generally ob- 
 served that light eyes are an accompaniment 
 of weak health." 
 
 " What is the colour of Miss Lesley^s eyes?" 
 asked Miss Carlton ; ^' Tm sure I never thought 
 of observing them." 
 
 " Miss Lesley has blue eyes," said Frank, 
 musingly. 
 
 " Not exactly blue, I think," said the lady- 
 mother ; " perhaps a sort of blue ; a kind of 
 light, or rather greyish blue — a consumptive- 
 looking eye, poor girl." 
 
 " Frank had often looked into Clara's eyes, 
 and he was quite positive in his own mind
 
 144 THE MAN 
 
 that they were of a bright blue, but he said 
 nothing. 
 
 " It's what artists call a sleepy eye," said 
 Miss Carlton; *'an eye is never expressive 
 when the lid falls over it that way." 
 
 " It's a lightish sort of whitish, greenish- 
 grey," said one. 
 
 "It's what I call a watery eye," added 
 another. 
 
 Fi^ank had always called it a beaming eye. 
 
 "And the eyebrow is too much arched, 
 said a third. 
 
 "And her eyes are too large," added a 
 fourth ; "out of all proportion, because her 
 features are so small." 
 
 " Small features are sometimes pfeasing," 
 said Miss Carlton; "but there is no room in 
 a small countenance for expression. The 
 features have no play."
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSIOX. 145 
 
 "But her eyes suit the colour of her hair," 
 suggested Louisa, wishing to appear amiable. 
 
 " Her hair is not very liglit," said Miss 
 Carlton. 
 
 " Can you call it brown ?" asked another 
 sister. 
 
 " A sort of brown ; but it would generally be 
 called sandy." 
 
 " Not quite sandy, my love," observed the 
 mother ; "it has a tinge of red — not that I 
 should call it red hair. You should never 
 speak ill of people, my love, behind their 
 backs." 
 
 (Frank began to be amused.) 
 
 " And she perks her liead about like a 
 peacock," said another sister, willing to tln*ow 
 in her mite. 
 
 " Or like one of tlie swans in tlie great p<»n(l, 
 
 VOL. I. li
 
 146 THE MAN 
 
 looking about it," said another. (This was a 
 mistaken hit.) The mother felt it. 
 
 *' Don't you think her nose is very long and 
 sharp?" sympathized Miss Carlton, in a pity- 
 ing tone. 
 
 " Very !" chorused the bevy. 
 
 '' Do you know, mamma," observed her 
 eldest daughter, '' Miss Lesley is a very nice 
 girl, but really I think she is very affected." 
 
 " Oh, my love," smiled her mamma, ^' you 
 must not speak so of your young friend. 
 Mr. Coverley will think us quite censorious." 
 
 ^* I don't mean affected in everything, 
 mamma, only she wears such tight shoes. I 
 have often looked at them, and I'm sure she 
 must suffer, and, perhaps, that's what makes 
 her look so pale ; they're such little mites of 
 shoes. I'm sure they must be too small !" 
 
 "• That is very Aveak-miuded of lier, to say
 
 WITPIOUT A PROFESSION, 147 
 
 the least of it," said the mother. " I don't 
 think, for my part, that small feet are a 
 beauty. In the ancient statues the foot was 
 always represented in proportion to the body, 
 and is what moderns perhaps would call large, 
 but it is more according to nature." 
 
 Frank could not resist his curiosity to 
 throw his eyes on the locomotive pedestals of 
 the plump bodies of the Miss Carltons ; but 
 those modest young ladies had curiously con- 
 cealed them beneath their garments, although 
 they were formed, rather liberally, after the 
 models of the ancient statues so judiciously 
 approved by their considerate parent. 
 
 " Miss Lesley's mouth — " one of the Miss 
 Carltons was proceeding to remark, with that 
 minuteness of analysis which young ladies some- 
 times practise towards the personal qualifica- 
 tions of an absent friend whose attractions in- 
 11 2
 
 148 THE MAN 
 
 terfere with their own pretensions — but the 
 prudent mother stopped the farther progress 
 of the dissection. There was something in 
 Frank's look which warned her that the con- 
 versation on that point had been carried far 
 enough. 
 
 " Keally, my dear girls, Miss Lesley is a 
 very sweet girl, and she cannot help her little 
 imperfections. But it is a sad pity she has 
 neither fortune nor family. I am told that 
 Mr. Lesley is plagued to death with poor 
 relations." 
 
 Frank said nothing to this, and Lady Carl- 
 ton was in doubt whether the sympathizing 
 commiseration which she and her amiable 
 daughters had expressed for the condition of 
 the poor clergyman's daughter had produced 
 a favourable or unfavourable effect. Shortly 
 after, he took his leave, with a serious air,
 
 WITHOUT A TROFESSION. 149 
 
 leaving Lady Carlton to lier contemplations, 
 and himself and liis character to the critical 
 dissection of her daughters. 
 
 While this little drama was being enacted 
 at the residence of Sir Matthew Carlton, the 
 good clergyman and his daughter were sitting 
 in the cheerful parlour of the little parsonage- 
 house. The conversation, as often happened 
 wlien Clara was alone with her father, fell on 
 the subject of the lieir of the Coverley estate, 
 whom the rapidly declining health of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Coverley seemed likely soon to phace in 
 possession, at an early age, of that desirable 
 property. 
 
 " Eton lias done Frank this good, on the 
 whole," said the worthy clergyman to his 
 daughter — " it has taught him to rely on him- 
 self, and to trust to his own resources. He is 
 not afraid of encounterinir difficulties ; that is
 
 150 THE MAN 
 
 a great point. And that, I must confess, is 
 one of the great advantages of a public school ; 
 it usually stamps a boy with a manly and 
 energetic character. And if a lad has mental 
 and bodily vigour to carry him safely through 
 the roughness of the process, I don't know 
 whether it is not, after all, the best school for 
 a youth to be brought up at. But then, it is 
 not every one that has Frank's mind and de- 
 cision of character." 
 
 " Mr. Frank Coverley has great talents," 
 said Clara. 
 
 '' Yes, my love, and it would be a pity for 
 him not to take advantage of them. Although 
 he has no necessity for applying himself to 
 what may be called merely useful studies, yet 
 it is as well for him to know many things, in 
 order that he may be better able to direct 
 others. Learning always is most excellent, 
 even when a good estate accompanies it."
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 151 
 
 " The Coverley property is worth four or 
 five thousand a-year, is it not, papa ? I think 
 I have heard you say so." 
 
 " Yes, my dear girl, it is a handsome pro- 
 perty, and being mostly in land, it gives the 
 owner of it a certain standing in the county. 
 Besides, it entitles him to expect a suitable 
 alliance, which would, of course, add to his for- 
 tune and his influence. * Money makes money,' 
 is a true saying." 
 
 Clara sighed. 
 
 "What makes you sigh, my love? There 
 is nothing in the circumstance of the Coverley 
 estate being a good property to make you 
 melancholy. It can't affect us in any way, 
 excepting so far as we must naturally feel 
 glad that our young friend Frank has good 
 prospects before him." 
 
 " Mr. Coverley is not of any particular 
 high family, is he, papa?"
 
 152 THE MAN 
 
 " I don't knoAV anything about his family; 
 but I don't suppose that he has any particu- 
 larly high lineage to boast of, or all the world 
 would know it, for people generally like to 
 talk of their noble ancestors ; not that I think 
 the Coverleys have any pride of that sort — 
 I'm sure Frank has not." 
 
 " But perhaps his father has, or his mother. 
 Mr. Coverley's uncle was only a tradesman, 
 papa, was he not?" 
 
 " He was a merchant, I believe, my dear, 
 who made a fortune — at least I think I heard 
 Mr. Coverley once say so ; but I never ob- 
 served that he talked of him otherwise than 
 his uncle, from whom he inherited the estate." 
 
 " A merchant — that's almost a tradesman!" 
 said Clara. 
 
 " No, my dear, not the same ; the world 
 attaches a diifercnt position to a merchant
 
 WITHOUT A rnoFEssiox. 153 
 
 from that of a tradesman ; fur instance, "we use 
 tlie term, ^ respectable tradesman,' but we may 
 say, a princely merchant." 
 
 " But still he was only a merchant," per- 
 sisted Clara, rather pertinaciously. 
 
 " What makes you so earnest, Clara, about 
 the rank of Mr. Coverley 's uncle ?" 
 
 " Nothing, papa; — only it's different being 
 of an old county family of rank, and being 
 the nephew of a merchant, though he was a 
 little rich." 
 
 " I can't understand what you are driving 
 at, my love," said the good and simple clergy- 
 man — " and you are painting that rose green; 
 why, what are you thinking of?" 
 
 Clara blushed — " Nothing, papa!" 
 
 There was a pause. The Pastor was soon 
 abstracted in a deep disquisition concerning 
 the date of the reign of one of the Tha- 
 h3
 
 154 THE MAN 
 
 raohs, which absorbed for the time all his facul- 
 ties. 
 
 Clara laid down her pencils, and leaning on 
 her hand, fell into pensive contemplation. 
 
 " Do you think, papa," suddenly resumed 
 Clara, " that the Coverleys are of the same 
 rank as Sir Matthew Carlton's family ; wasn't 
 Sir Matthew a friend of the king's, and wasn't 
 he always with the king, when the king was 
 at Weymouth ? It was said he might have had 
 a peerage." 
 
 The words " king," and " lived," were the 
 only sounds that reached the worthy divine's 
 ear, wrapped up as he was in his beloved study 
 of ancient history ; and from their association 
 with his current thoughts, rather than with 
 his daughter's inquiry, he said — " Yes, my 
 dear love, I think it is clear that it must
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 155 
 
 have occurred about two thousand years before 
 the Christian xra. Pharaoli " 
 
 " Pharaoh, papa ! Two thousand years ago ! 
 I was not talking of Pharaoh — it was Sir Mat- 
 thew Carlton and the king." 
 
 " Dear me, I thought you were speaking 
 of the kings of Egypt. Sir Matthew Carlton — 
 yes, my dear, a most gentlemanly man, and an 
 excellent friend for Frank ; he likes Frank very 
 much. And an amiable family — a very plea- 
 sant family, too; the girls well brouglit up. 
 Those girls will make good wives, my dear. 
 That pretty Louisa is certainly the belle of the 
 county." 
 
 " I think I will take a walk in the garden," 
 said Clara, starting up, and oversetting her 
 palette and water colours. 
 
 " Do, my love; you ought to be more in
 
 15G THE MAN 
 
 the air ; but you needn't be in such a hurry. 
 I think you have broken your paint-box. 
 
 " Well, I declare if there isn't Frank Cover- 
 ley! How fortunate ! I av an ted to have a little 
 chat with him about the Pharaohs of Egypt. 
 I observe, my love, that he is very fond of 
 walking over here to puzzle out with me some 
 parts of the obscure passages of the history of 
 the elder Pharaohs. You ought to know some- 
 thing about them yourself, my love, for I suppose 
 Frank naturally talks to you about the subject of 
 our studies. Here he comes — the fine fellow ! 
 galloping, as usual, as hard as he can ride. He 
 has come from the direction of the Carltons. 
 I suppose he has been there all the morning, 
 passing his time with the girls. Louisa and 
 Frank would make a handsome couple ; don't 
 you think so, Clara ?" 
 
 Poor Clara burst into tears.
 
 AVITIIOUT A PROFESSION. 157 
 
 *' Dear me !" said the wondering clergyman, 
 shutting his hook, and ahandoning his study 
 of the ancient Pharaohs, to inquire into the 
 modern history of his daughter's nervousness ; 
 *' what has come over you, my dear Clara?" 
 But Clara had fled to her own room, leaving 
 her father to receive Frank alone. 
 
 In the solitude of her chamber, she began 
 to commune seriously with her own heart. 
 Ashamed of her weakness, and particularly of 
 having given way to lier feelings before her 
 kind and affectionate parent — whom she would 
 rather have suffered death than have grieved 
 in the slightest degree — she endeavoured to 
 recover her composure, in which, but not witli- 
 out a considerable effort, she succeeded. 
 
 She hesitated for some time whether she 
 should remain in her own room, or go down 
 with her red eyes to greet their visitor. But
 
 158 THE MAN 
 
 after a rapid consideration, she thought it 
 would look odd if she stayed away ; besides, 
 she was fearful that in her absence, her kind, 
 but artless parent might take occasion to men- 
 tion to Frank her recent nervousness, and de- 
 tail to him, perhaps, the conversation which 
 had preceded it. Blushing, though alone, at 
 the idea that a secret, which she flattered her- 
 self she had long successfully concealed within 
 her own bosom, might be revealed to the per- 
 son who, above all others on earth, she desired 
 should for ever remain ignorant of it, she en- 
 deavoured to efface the marks of tears from 
 her eyes, and, witli a light step and a forced 
 cheerfulness, descended to the parlour.
 
 ■ffllHOCT A PROFESSION. 159 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Angelique. 
 
 And have you felt a void in your sick heart, 
 
 When he, whose honeyed accents and sweet words, 
 
 Have held your too enraptured senses tranced, 
 
 Wrapping your soul in blissful ecstasy — 
 
 Seeing no form but his, hearing no voice ! 
 
 When he, I say, has gone, and left you chilled. 
 
 As if the sun had shut its light from you ; — 
 
 Then have you felt as if the world was not 
 
 As if your very soul had fled away 
 
 With him, whose eyes are the sole orbs 
 
 Whose light could form your heaven ? 
 
 Feancesca. 
 I fear 'tis true! 
 
 Angelique. 
 Why, then, you love." 
 " The Spanish Maiden."— OW Play. 
 
 Poor Clara had been sadly beset of late by 
 conflicting emotions. She had known Frank
 
 160 THE MAN 
 
 from liis earliest years, and had enjoyed ^vitli 
 him that intimacy of childhood which exists 
 between brother and sister. But although 
 the familiarity which had been their habit 
 from their youngest days was continued to the 
 present time, the instinct of female delicacy 
 had gradually thrown a reserve around Clara's 
 demeanour, which plainly marked the change 
 from girlish simplicity to womanly propriety. 
 The conduct of the young girl was influ- 
 enced, also, by other considerations. Although 
 her life Avas secluded, she had been well edu- 
 cated, and she possessed more than the ordi- 
 nary learning and accomplishments of women. 
 Besides, she had mixed in the best society of 
 the neighbourhood; for although her father 
 was poor, his position in society, as a mi- 
 nister of the church, was, without question, 
 that of a gentleman ; and he was personally
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 161 
 
 liked for liis mild and unassuming manners 
 and benevolent disposition. 
 
 Clara, therefore, had not been without op- 
 portunities of comparing herself, her position, 
 and her prospects, with those of other young 
 women ; nor could she avoid making the same 
 estimate of the position of her old playfellow, 
 Frank Coverley. These comparisons were 
 painful to her. She could not disguise from 
 herself the fact that, in a worldly point of 
 view, she would not be considered as an equal 
 match for the heir of the Coverley estate ; and 
 the claim which her signal personal attractions 
 and mental accomplishments conferred on her, 
 of being worthy of an alliance with the richest 
 and highest in the land, was underrated by her 
 modesty, and paralysed by her fears. 
 
 Neither could she conceal from herself the 
 fact, that, althougli Frank Coverley treated
 
 162 THE MAN 
 
 her with the familiarity and aflfection of a 
 brother, he had never made any explicit de- 
 claration of his feelings; and, in truth, al- 
 though his affection for her was strong and 
 sincere, the word " love" had never passed 
 his lips. It might be, she sometimes thought, 
 that, as Frank had been loving her all his life, 
 he never thought it necessary to tell her so in 
 any particular and formal manner. But then 
 she reflected that Frank was more than twenty 
 years of age, and although he was still a very 
 young man, she felt that he could not but be 
 aware of the practice prescribed by immemo- 
 rial usage in such cases. 
 
 On the other hand, she fretted herself with 
 the apprehension that Frank's regard for her 
 was merely the affection of habit, and did not 
 reach that point of poetical enthusiasm which 
 is the type and test of an exclusive and all-
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 163 
 
 absorbing passion. Again, she was bewildered 
 and vexed with other misgivings. She was 
 jealously sensitive of the suspicion of being 
 actuated towards Frank by mean and merce- 
 nary motives. She had frequently been pre- 
 sent at conversations on the subject of match- 
 making, when the entrapping of young men 
 into matrimonial engagements was made the 
 subject of the bitterest ridicule and sarcasm ; 
 and she trembled, lest by possibility the accu- 
 sation should attach to her of encouraging 
 Frank's intercourse with her father and with 
 herself, with the design of inveigling him into 
 an unequal alliance. 
 
 All these considerations embarrassed and 
 troubled her; and when to such sources of 
 vexation was added the circumstance of 
 Frank's frequent visits at Sir Matthew Carl- 
 ton's, her uncertainty and uneasiness affected
 
 164 THE MAN 
 
 her tranquillity so painfully, that she was apt 
 to fall into fits of melancholy and despondence, 
 which caused the greater sorrow to her affec- 
 tionate parent, as he was utterly unable to 
 account for the reasons of such depression. 
 
 It was in such a mood of nervous anxiety 
 that she descended from her chamber to meet 
 Frank Coverley. In the meanwhile, the 
 worthy clergyman was rejoiced at the pre- 
 sence of Frank, as he wished him to share 
 his delight at having conquered a difficulty 
 that had long distressed him — the chronology 
 of the ancient Pharaohs. Being eager to 
 communicate his success to his young friend, 
 it was with an irresistible impulse that, 
 in shaking Frank's hand, he pulled liim to- 
 wards the table, on which were spread out the 
 dusky volumes which formed the materials of 
 his erudite lucubrations.
 
 WITHOUT A PKOFESSION. 1G5 
 
 As Clara entered the room, Frank was list- 
 ening with respectful attention to the ex- 
 pounding of the pleased old gentleman, and 
 she glided in so gently that she was unheard 
 by Frank and unnoticed by her father. 
 
 She had prepared a composed countenance 
 for the interview, and a studied demeanour, 
 which she thought proper and necessary under 
 the circumstances. And as she had concluded 
 at once — with the quick jealousy of modest 
 diffidence — that Frank had come fresh from 
 his admiration of the fascinating Louisa, in 
 the house where that beauty reigned supreme, 
 she had hastily arranged a few appropriate 
 phrases, calculated, as she considered, with- 
 out unbecoming coldness, to mark the distinc- 
 tion between the habitual cordiality of an old 
 playfellow and the evidences of a more tender 
 feeling. It was with no slight mortification,
 
 166 THE MAN 
 
 therefore, that she found her entrance un- 
 heeded. 
 
 " He cannot care much about me," thought 
 Clara, '' or it would not be necessary for me to 
 announce myself to make him sensible of my 
 presence." And, thinking this, she sighed. 
 
 Frank turned quickly round, and met the 
 eyes of Clara. His mind being yet full of the 
 scene he had recently witnessed at the house 
 of Sir Edward, at which Clara had been so 
 gently picked to pieces by her dear friends, 
 he could not resist the inclination of a fresh 
 examination of the form and features which 
 had been so disparaged ; and he prolonged his 
 look anxiously and earnestly. 
 
 " He is comparing me with Louisa," thought 
 Clara. 
 
 But the whole of the comic caricature in- 
 dulged in by the Miss Carltons and their 
 mother recurring to his mind's eye, he could
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 167 
 
 not repress the smile which gradually stole 
 over his countenance, as he compared the 
 Miss Lesley of their dissection with the 
 lovely object which stood before him ; and 
 at last, being no longer able to restrain 
 himself, he burst out into an immoderate fit 
 of laughter. 
 
 The clergyman looked up in amazement; 
 Frank continued to laugh ; and Clara, being 
 predisposed to take alarm, felt still more hurt 
 at the exhibition of merriment so little in 
 unison with her own feelings. 
 
 '^ Mr. Coverley is merry to-day," she said, 
 in a tone of pique. 
 
 Frank laughed tlie more. To be called 
 Mr, Coverley, and for Clara to be ofiendod 
 because he was in a laughing humour, 
 seemed to liini very droll. But Clara's feel- 
 ings had been too liighly excited previous to 
 Frank's arrival to enable her to bear an ad-
 
 168 THE MAN 
 
 ditional wound. She sunk into a chair, and 
 tears rose in her eyes. 
 
 Frank's laughter stopped immediately. 
 
 " My dear Miss Lesley," said Frank, " what 
 is the matter?" 
 
 '' It's Mss Lesley," thought Clara. " The 
 dream is all over !" 
 
 " Nothing," said Clara. ^' I believe I am 
 not very well to-day." 
 
 Frank looked to Mr. Lesley for an explan- 
 ation. 
 
 " I have been explaining to Frank, my 
 love, that just before he came " 
 
 " Good Heavens! Papa; — you have never 
 been explaining to Mr. Coverley {3fr. Cover- 
 ley again, thought Frank) what passed before 
 he arrived?" 
 
 "Why not, my love? I am sure Frank 
 takes the greatest interest in it, and he has
 
 WITHOUT A PUOFESSION. 169 
 
 been makinti: a declaration wliicli I am sure 
 will give you the same delight as it did me." 
 
 " A declaration !" gasped Clara, blushing 
 intensely, and unconsciously rising up. 
 
 " Yes, my love, a declaration of his inten- 
 tion — that is, a sort of proposal, if circum- 
 stances will allow it, to take a journey to 
 Egypt." 
 
 " Take a journey to Egypt !" 
 
 ^' Yes, my dear girl, take a journey to 
 Egypt, and explore the tombs of the ancient 
 Pharaohs!" 
 
 " Was that all?" muttered Clara. 
 
 ^' No, my dear, not all. lie intends to 
 visit the Holy Land, and try if he cannot dis- 
 cover among the depositories of ancient learn- 
 ing which exist in that interesting country, 
 some undetected manuscripts which may hap- 
 pily clear up altogether the obscurity which 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 THE MAN 
 
 still hangs over the history of the earlier times 
 of those sacred regions. I will go and look 
 for the map in my study, and see if I cannot 
 trace his route at once." 
 
 The time which it took her father to com- 
 municate this exceedingly unexpected intelli- 
 gence, was sufficient to enable Clara to re- 
 cover herself; with a voice tolerably calm, but 
 with a countenance still suffused with blushes, 
 she turned mechanically to Frank, and not 
 knowing what else to say, asked him " When 
 he intended to go ?" 
 
 Frank, on his part, was at a loss to com- 
 prehend the reason of the excessive emotion 
 betrayed by Clara at her ftither's announce- 
 ment of his imaginary travels ; but as he re- 
 garded her, he thought she never before 
 looked so beautiful. It was with the feelings 
 of admiration, therefore, heightened by long
 
 WITHOUT A TROFESSIOX. 171 
 
 cherished affection, that he approached her 
 and took her passive hand. 
 
 " My dear Clara," (the hand trembled,) 
 " I am sure that something has happened to 
 discompose your spirits. If it is anything 
 that you can communicate to an old friend, 
 I am sure you will not conceal it from me." 
 
 Clara was embarrassed. She longed to 
 turn the conversation to the subject on which 
 she had touched with her father, but she 
 feared to approach it, lest she should betray 
 her secret motive. But while she paused and 
 pondered, Frank happily came to her relief. 
 
 " I wish," said he, " that you could have 
 been at Sir Mattliew Carlton's to-day — that 
 is, invisibly," — (" I wish I could," thouglit 
 Clara,) — " and I'm sure you would have heard 
 some fun that would have dispelled all dull 
 thoughts." 
 
 I2
 
 172 THE MAN 
 
 *^ You have been amused, then ?" said 
 Clara. 
 
 ^'Amused! I never was more amused in 
 my life ! We have had playing, and singing, 
 and all sorts of fun !" 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Yes. And I assure you," said Frank, 
 with mock solemnity, and taking Clara's hand 
 to add earnestness to his communication, 
 "they all have a regard. for you which you 
 little think of." 
 
 " Indeed !" repeated Clara, but without 
 withdrawing her hand. 
 
 " However," said Frank, considering, " these 
 things had l)etter not be repeated; and be- 
 sides," he added, " it is not fair to retail con- 
 versations." 
 
 " I am not at all curious," said Clara, 
 dying with curiosity.
 
 AVITIIOUT A TROFESSIOX. 173 
 
 " I wish, though, you had heard Louisa 
 sing. She really sings beautifully !" 
 
 Clara withdrew her hand — not pettishly, 
 but softly — and quietly drew on her gloves. 
 
 Frank did not seem to notice this silent 
 expression of feeling ; and stung with this in- 
 difference, Clara mentally determined never to 
 allow that familiarity again, but proceeded 
 with his description. 
 
 " And she draws exquisitely !" 
 
 "Does she?" 
 
 "Oh, beautifully ! and, by-the-bye, her 
 mother has had her portrait taken — a minia- 
 ture. It is done exquisitely. Her eyes — you 
 know she has bright hazel eyes — very large — 
 they seem to look at you out of the picture!" 
 
 "You have got it with you, of course?" 
 in a slight, a very sliglit tone of despite, said 
 Clara, for this flagrant evidence of Frank's
 
 174 THE MAN 
 
 admiration of Louisa Carlton was becoming 
 almost unbearable, and she could scarcely 
 trust her voice to utter those few words. 
 
 Frank went on, without stopping to answer 
 a question which seemed to him quite un- 
 necessary. 
 
 " They shewed me a drawing of hers, too, 
 very prettily done — an Italian village — about 
 the size of — no, not so large as this — about 
 the size — " searching among Clara's sketches 
 for a comparison which she had not the pre- 
 sence of mind to prevent — "Why, what is 
 this?" said Frank, pulling out a likeness of 
 himself, which had formed the grateful task 
 of Clara for weeks and months to linish and 
 embellish. " AVhy, I declare, if here is not a 
 likeness of me ! Is this your painting, Clara?" 
 
 " Give it to me ! give it to me !" cried Clara, 
 recovering at once her voice and her animation.
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 175 
 
 " Give it to iiie. Oh ! Mr. Coverlcy, Frank, 
 Mr. Frank Coverley, give it to me, I 
 say!'^ 
 
 But Frank held it at arm's length, and re- 
 garded it triumphantly. 
 
 "Give it to me, sir, I insist," said Clara; 
 " you have no right to pry into my 
 secrets.'* 
 
 " Sir ! Pry into secrets ! Secrets — Clara 
 — between you and me ! Why what has come 
 over you? Clara, my dear Clara, what has 
 happened? We have been friends and play- 
 fellows too many years for such words to come 
 from you without a meaning. For Heaven's 
 sake, tell me what it is. And why do you look 
 at me in such a strange way ? Has anything 
 happened to distress you or your father? 
 Surely you can speak to me as an old friend." 
 
 "Frank," said Clara, with a great effort.
 
 176 THE MAN 
 
 and with tlic paleness of excessive emotion, 
 " I luill speak to you as an old friend." 
 
 Frank waited witli serious anxiety to hear ; 
 but Clara could not for some time determine 
 on what she ought to say; and when she did, 
 she could not make up her mind how to say 
 it. But an idea came across her, that it would 
 be better, under the circumstances, which ap- 
 peared so clear, from Frank's description of 
 his visit at tlie Carlton s', and of his undis- 
 guised admiration of Louisa — (of her playing, 
 and her singing, she mentally enumerated, and 
 her painting, and her portrait — and here she 
 felt an inclination to tear Frank's in pieces — 
 and, above all, her eyes! — yes! her eyes! 
 hazel! large! and brilliant!) — it would be 
 better, she thought, to withdraw herself from 
 the neighbourhood for a time, until Frank's
 
 AVITIIOUT A rrvOFESSlOX. 177 
 
 union with Louisa — but she couhl not bear to 
 dwell on tliat idea. 
 
 Frank waited patiently, and with a look of 
 the kindest interest for her communication. 
 
 " Can he suspect," thought she, " the rea- 
 son of my weakness?" She abruptly broke 
 silence — 
 
 "I am going to my aunt's." 
 
 " Going to your aunt, my dear Clara; what 
 arc you going to your aunt's for? Is she ill?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then what are you going to your aunt's 
 for?" repeated Frank; " and why should that 
 aifect you so much, if you did go. You may 
 go or stay, as you like, I presume?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes. But I think change of air 
 would do me good. Our little cottage is very 
 confined." 
 
 I 3
 
 178 THE MAN 
 
 " Then why not come over to us? To be 
 sure, the distance of a little more than a mile 
 would not be much change of air; but the 
 house is large enough, and it stands much 
 higher than this. I will tell my mother, and 
 she will ask you to come and stay with us." 
 
 " Not for the world ! Anywhere but there !" 
 
 "Why, Clara! what have we all done to 
 offend you?" 
 
 Poor Clara did not know what to say. She 
 had only made matters worse by her attempts 
 at explanation : she was silent. 
 
 " I wish I was a few years older," said 
 Frank, as if thinking aloud; "although my 
 father and mother are not in good health, I 
 would ask their consent at once." 
 
 " To goto Egypt?" said Clara, with a forced 
 smile. 
 
 "Go to Egypt ! Clara, I do believe you
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 179 
 
 have lost your wits this morning. No: I 
 mean I would ask their consent to my mar- 
 riage — then you could almost call our house 
 your own." 
 
 Poor Clara gasped for breath. This was 
 more than unkind — it was insulting! To 
 declare his intention of proposing to Louisa 
 Carlton — and his impatience to do it — and to 
 declare it to her! It was more than the 
 powers of endurance could bear! The poor 
 girl struggled hysterically for a brief space, 
 and essayed to speak ; but her voice stuck in 
 her throat ; she raised her clenched hands con- 
 vulsively to heaven, as if imploring assistance 
 in the extremity of her agony — and burst into 
 a passionate flood of tears ! 
 
 Frank's love for Clara was ardent but re- 
 spectful. But the sight of her tears, and her 
 convulsive sobs, which seemed to burst her
 
 180 THE MAN 
 
 bosom, overcame all feelings of conventional 
 propriety. Clasping her in his arms, and 
 seizing her hands, while Clara struggled in- 
 dignantly to disengage herself from his em- 
 brace, he adjured her to tell the reason of her 
 strange emotion ! 
 
 "Clara! Clara! For God's sake tell me 
 the meaning of this frightful suffering ! Do 
 I not deserve your confidence? Who has 
 known you as I have? admired you as I have? 
 loved you as I have? What is there so 
 dreadful in my desiring our speedy union? 
 Have we not loved each other all our lives? 
 At least, I have loved you — though I never 
 could find words to tell you how fondly and 
 how dearly ! How do I offend you by wishing 
 for an early marriage?" 
 
 "With me?" cried Clara, wildly; "with 
 me? Do you really mean me ?"
 
 WITHOUT A TROFESSION. 181 
 
 ^'Witli you, dearest Clara — why do you 
 speak so, and look so strangely ? Who is there 
 in the wide world whom I could love as I love 
 you?" 
 
 " With me ? I thought you meant — I 
 thought you said Louisa Carlton !" 
 
 " Good God! how could you suppose so?" 
 " Then it is me, indeed !" sobbed Clara. 
 " Oh, God ! what I have suffered ! And am I 
 doing right to permit it, even now?" But the 
 revulsion of feeling and the struggle of con- 
 flicting emotions was too great and too sudden. 
 A tide of bewildering thoughts rushed on lier 
 with overwhelming force. She had strength 
 only to chisp Frank's portrait to her heart, 
 and then sunk fainting on Iiis bosom* 
 
 The good clergyman, in the meanwhile, had 
 traced Frank's journey to the Pyramids with 
 much precisioiij and returning witli the map
 
 182 THE MAN 
 
 in his hand, to communicate the satisfactory 
 information to his young friend, he beheld his 
 daughter lying insensible in Frank's arms, who 
 was covering her frantically with kisses. 
 " Bless me !" said the Parson.
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 183 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Inquisitor. 
 Where be your thumb-screws ? Set the wheel in sight — 
 Heat hot your pincers — make the furnace glow. 
 If there be feeling in his stubborn flesh — 
 If limbs will writhe, bones ache, or wrench'd joints crack— 
 If quiv'ring nerves will shrink at bleeding eyes, 
 Digg'd out with red-hot prong from madden'd scull, 
 I'll tear the secret from him I 
 
 Mask. 
 We'll spare no skill. If hemp and screw will hold, 
 We'll squeeze his very thoughts from out their cells ! 
 But I have known the wretch to whom concession 
 Were worse than direst tortures of the rack ! 
 
 Inquisitor. 
 Prepare !" 
 
 " The Victim :" A Tragedy. 
 
 " Mr. Coverley/' said Mr. Lesley, gravely, 
 when Clara had retired to her room.
 
 184 THE iMAN 
 
 " Call me Frank." 
 
 " Well — Frank. I was not i)reparecl Ipr this, 
 Mr. Frank Coverley." 
 
 " What is there so dreadful in my loving 
 Clara?" 
 
 " Yes ; you may love Clara — I always 
 thought you did, but not in this way." 
 
 "How do people love, then?" said Frank, 
 laughing; " I dare say the ancient Pharaohs 
 loved much in the same way." 
 
 " Mr. Frank Coverley, this is no time for 
 jesting." 
 
 "I am not jesting," said Frank; "I am in 
 earnest. Didn't I show it ?" he was about 
 to add, but the seriousness of Mr. Lesley 
 checked him. 
 
 " Of course you are in earnest," proceeded 
 Mr. Lesley, with mild dignity. " Sir, if you 
 were not in earnest- but I am old and a
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 185 
 
 minister of the gospel. Frank, what have you 
 done ? What will your father and mother say 
 to this?" 
 
 Frank hesitated. '' My father and mother, 
 Mr. Lesley, would never have encouraged my 
 intimacy with your daughter if they had not 
 been prepared for the inevitable consequence. 
 How could I know her — see her almost every 
 day — regard her from childhood with the 
 strongest and purest aifection — and not love 
 her as I love her now !" 
 
 " I ought to have been prepared for this," 
 said the good clergyman, mill a sorrowing air ; 
 " and I ought — yes, I ought — to have provided 
 against it. Even now, it is not too late. It 
 shall never be said that Clara Lesley inveigled 
 the heir of an estate into a clandestine attacli- 
 ment !" 
 
 ** And it shall never be said that Frank
 
 186 THE MAN 
 
 Coverley broke the troth that he plighted, or 
 forfeited his word !" 
 
 The clergyman was touched. He made an 
 involuntary movement towards Frank; but 
 the dust, or the light ^or something, affected his 
 eyes, and he was obliged to stop to wipe them. 
 But after a few resolute short coughs he re- 
 covered himself. 
 
 " This must be looked to at once," he said, 
 going to the little hall, and taking his hat and 
 stick. 
 
 *' Where are you going?" 
 
 " To your father, young man." 
 
 " Then I will go with you. I will just say 
 one word to Clara " 
 
 "No; your father first." 
 
 There was a resolute air about tlie mild 
 pastor which imposed on Frank's impetuosity. 
 
 They left the house together.
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 187 
 
 Frank looked back only once ; he saw Clara 
 at her little window. She smiled, and shook 
 her head. Frank made a gesture of decision, 
 and they walked on in silence. 
 
 The clergyman paused at the threshold of 
 the hall*door, apd seemed irresolute. He felt 
 that he was about to enter on a task of more 
 than ordinary delicacy. What was he going 
 to do? To ascertain Mr. Coverley's senti- 
 ments on the propriety of the marriage of his 
 son with his daughter ? To remove obstacles ? 
 To soften difficulties? What effect would it 
 have on his daughter? Would it change 
 Frank's determination? But his irresolution 
 lasted only for a moment. His first impulse 
 carried him on ; he could not suffer it to be 
 supposed that he had connived at the oppor- 
 tunity of his daughter's neighbourly intercourse 
 with Frank, in order to take advantage of his
 
 188 THE MAN 
 
 youth and inexperience to inveigle him into a 
 match with his daughter. Frank was silent. 
 They entered, and the clergyman inquiring for 
 Mr. Coverley, at once entered on the subject 
 of his visit. 
 
 " Mr. Coverley — I mean, my dear sir — I 
 am come on a very painful matter." 
 
 Mr. Coverley started. The subject of his 
 debts and difficulties rose to his mind, and he 
 feared that by some accident the real state of 
 his aifairs had come to the knowledge of Mr. 
 Lesley — and if to him, to others. 
 
 " I know it ! I know it ! Then the truth 
 is out at last, and more misery must come ! 
 But I am glad that the terrible exposure is 
 come from you — yes, you of all others. It is 
 through you that the blow best might come, 
 for from you may best be sought consolation." 
 
 Mr. Lesley drew himself up; the pride of
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 189 
 
 tlie man was wounded at this too prompt de- 
 claration of the extent of the calamity; but 
 the duty of the minister of peace came to his 
 aid, and he replied, with mild humility : — 
 
 ^' Mr. Coverley, I was not prepared to meet 
 with this unmitigated expression of your 
 opinion, but I assure you that any pain that 
 you may feel at this unexpected discovery is 
 more than equalled by my own sincere sorrow." 
 
 " My dear friend, this is most kind of you. 
 But, although I may be blamed by some — 
 and I knew that an end must speedily come 
 to this delusive attempt at concealment — 
 I am sure you will view my bitter regret and 
 my deep sorrow — though now unavailing — 
 with indulgence and commiseration." 
 
 " Eegret," replied the clergyman, sorrow- 
 fully, " cannot prevent the evil that has been 
 done ; but the desire to do right, may, with
 
 190 THE MAN 
 
 God's help, assist us to the remedy. My poor 
 daughter !" 
 
 " Ah, poor Clara ! she will feel it deeply." 
 
 " But that is not the question," added the 
 clergyman; ^' my duty is at once to take a 
 decided step, to prevent further involvement." 
 
 " You are right," said Mr. Coverley. " But 
 in a case of such urgent difficulty as this — 
 where matters have been brought almost to 
 extremity — what can be done?" 
 
 *' I have already determined," said the 
 clergyman. " The right course for me to 
 pursue is plain before me ; and although it may 
 not be completely successful, at least it will 
 have the effect of putting an end to further 
 personal communications. And time and ab- 
 sence may do much, even in a case like this." 
 
 Mr. Coverley was a little puzzled ; and he 
 was surprised to find the clergyman so well
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 191 
 
 acquainted with the urgent nature of his embar- 
 rassments, and so prompt to devise a remedy. 
 
 " My dear friend," he said, witli the sur- 
 prise which he felt depicted on his counte- 
 nance ; "what, then, is your suggestion?" 
 
 " That Clara shall go to her aunt, in Wales, 
 immediately." 
 
 Mr. Coverley stared. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Lesley; " painful as it 
 must be to me, my dear friend, and to my 
 dear child, I am resolved. The best way of 
 putting an end to this difficulty is for my 
 daughter to go into Wales." 
 
 Mr. Coverley thought that the good clergy- 
 man's wits were wandering, or else there was 
 some strange playing at cross-purposes. 
 
 Mr. Lesley continued — 
 
 " The attachment of your son to my 
 dauirhter "
 
 192 THE MAN 
 
 " The attachment of my son to your 
 daughter !" 
 
 ^' Assuredly, sir ; you do not suppose that 
 my daughter would be so far regardless of 
 female delicacy as to indulge in an attach- 
 ment that was not returned ! The declaration 
 which your son has made " 
 
 " My son has made a declaration!" 
 
 ^^ Yes, Mr. Coverley; when I returned 
 from my study this morning, I found Mr. 
 Frank Coverley — much to my surprise — in- 
 deed, my astonishment — " (here the worthy 
 clergyman paused, for the scene which had 
 met his eyes when he was about to explain 
 to Frank his route to the tombs of the ancient 
 Pharaohs, embarrassed the parson's powers of 
 description) — " Yes, I found your son, sir, 
 making a very decided declaration." 
 
 " And this is what you came to communi-
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 193 
 
 cate?" said Mr. Coverley, angry witli him- 
 self at so nearly allowing his secret to escape, 
 angry with Mr. Lesley for so nearly being 
 made the confidant of his affairs, and not less 
 angry with his son for being the cause of a 
 fresh embarrassment. 
 
 ^' I have communicated it," replied Mr. 
 Lesley ; " and permit me to say, Mr. Coverley, 
 that, seeing the sincere sorrow which I have 
 expressed at the occurrence, and the desire 
 which I evince to remedy the miscliief so far 
 as lies in my power, I did think that you 
 would have received my communication in a 
 more kindly spirit — but my visit is ended. I 
 have thought it my duty to make you aware 
 of the fact the moment it came to my o^vn 
 knowledge. I am a poor man, sir ; I have 
 never striven to be rich ; my duties demand 
 other thoughts. But it shall never be said 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 THE MAN 
 
 that Clara inveigled your son into an un- 
 equal marriage ; nor shall my daughter ever 
 wed in a family in which she is not received 
 on an equal footing. Mr. Coverley, good 
 morning." 
 
 " Stay, Mr. Lesley — stop a moment — let 
 me collect my thoughts." 
 
 Bitter were the thoughts of Mr. Coverley at 
 that moment. He had for some time past 
 deluded himself with the hope that his son, 
 from his supposed expectations, might be able 
 to make some suitable match, which would, in 
 some measure, stand him in stead, when the 
 terrible truth came to be revealed. It was 
 his last hope; he was tenderly attached to 
 Frank ; and it was not less the changed for- 
 tunes of his son that had broken down his 
 spirits and health, than his own troubles and 
 afflictions. Neither had he ever abandoned the
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 195 
 
 hope, that the parties by whose failures and 
 flight he had been involved in his embarrass- 
 ments, would, sooner or later, come forward to 
 relieve him from his difficulties. But this infor- 
 mation of his son's attachment to Miss Lesley, 
 and of his declaration, destroyed at a blow 
 that cherished expectation. He felt, also, 
 that, even if he were to consent to the en- 
 gagement of his son, it would be practising 
 another deceit on her and on her father, unless 
 he communicated to them the secret of his cir- 
 cumstances. And again, he considered that 
 his poor son would have difficulties enough 
 to encounter, without being encumbered in his 
 struggle with a wife and helpless family. All 
 these thoughts and considerations he rapidly 
 revolved in his mind ; and, overwhelmed with 
 theperplexity of his position, with clasped hands, 
 and troubled countenance, he exclaimed — 
 K 2
 
 19G THE MAX 
 
 " No ! never — never ! It is a folly that I 
 never can consent to !" 
 
 " Enough!" said Mr. Lesley. " It is what 
 I expected, but I wish it had been more mildly 
 expressed. Mr. Coverley, good morning." 
 
 Mr. Coverley, much to Mr. Lesley's surprise, 
 clasped his hand fervently between his own; 
 he seemed about to speak — he yearned to tell 
 his friend the truth — but pride, and the habit 
 of reserve, and the dread of the shame of the 
 confession, held him back : — 
 
 " You would pity me if you knew all," 
 he said; — and the good clergyman took his 
 leave. 
 
 Frank had watched for the close of this in- 
 terview with his father ; but he quickly ga- 
 thered, from the clergyman's countenance, 
 that it had not been satisfactory. 
 
 "Mr. Frank Coverley," said Mr. Lesley,
 
 WITHOUT A TROFESSIOX. 107 
 
 " I expect tliat you will not visit my house 
 until you hear from me again." 
 
 Frank's heart sunk within him at these 
 words. He remained looking at Clara's father 
 till he was out of sight, pondering on the im- 
 portant events which had taken place within 
 the last few hours. But as he was not con- 
 scious of any wrong, and as he was by disposi- 
 tion and habit straightforward and decisive in 
 his actions, he determined at once to speak on 
 the subject to his father. 
 
 He found him still agitated, from his recent 
 interview with Clara's father, and there was 
 an expression of intense anguish on his coun- 
 tenance, for which his son was at a loss to 
 account ; for there was nothing that he could 
 understand, in his engagement with Chira, of 
 a nature to produce an eilcct so powerful of 
 pain and disappointment.
 
 198 THE MAN 
 
 It was some time before Frank essayed to 
 speak, as, from love and respect for his father, 
 he was desirous of conveying to him his own 
 determination, which was fixed and unalter- 
 able, in the mode least likely to wound his 
 feelings or to incur his displeasure. But 
 while he was seeking for fitting words in which 
 to express his resolution, his father suddenly put 
 all attempts at appropriate phraseology to flight, 
 by saying, in a tone, serious and emphatic : — 
 
 " Frank, I guess what you are going to say 
 to me. But I tell you, at once, that it must 
 not be. It would be a cruelty to you to coun- 
 tenance such an engagement. There must be 
 an end, and at once, to this youthful folly. 
 You are both so young, that there is yet time 
 to prevent it from injuring the prospects in 
 life either of yourself or of Miss Lesley. But 
 here — it must end !"
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 199 
 
 Frank could not comprehend the meaning 
 of this decisive prohibition, nor what his father 
 meant by its being yet time to prevent any 
 injury to his prospects or to Clara. What 
 prospects had his father in view for him? 
 Was his father thinking of an alliance with 
 one of the daughters of Sir Matthew Carl- 
 ton? And how would his engagement in- 
 jure the prospects of Miss Lesley? Was 
 there any other — any more wealthy or titled 
 admirer suing for her hand? What did it all 
 mean? 
 
 " AVill you allow me to ask," said Frank, to 
 his father, " if your objection to my engage- 
 ment with Miss Lesley is on account of her 
 father's humble circumstances, or his family? 
 Surely you, my dear father, of all others, 
 would not think the less favourably of Miss 
 Lesley*s merits, because of her want of for-
 
 200 THE MAN 
 
 tune. Is there not enough on my side for us 
 both?" 
 
 Frank had unconsciously touched the bui-n- 
 ing sore — the festering wound which was hur- 
 rying his father to the grave. He saw him 
 writhe under his words like a victim at the 
 stake ; huge drops of sweat stood on his fore- 
 head, and his face was of ashy paleness. He 
 regarded his son with a countenance, in which 
 pride and shame and remorse were blended, in 
 an agonising look, and, in a voice of the bit- 
 terest anguish, he exclaimed — 
 
 " And from my own child, too ! Yes — all con- 
 spire against me ! Friends — wife — child — all ! 
 But I tell you that it cannot be ! There is 
 a secret ! — yes — a terrible secret ! You must 
 not marry Clara Lesley — it would be ruin to 
 you both. It is impossible. Go — and dismiss 
 it from your mind for ever. And now leave
 
 WITHOUT A rrvOlESSION. 201 
 
 me; I am not strong enougli to bear tliese 
 scenes. Leave mc, and let me never more 
 hear a word of this frantic folly !" 
 
 Frank was awed by his father's vehement 
 and almost wild denunciation of his passion. 
 Had it been his own happiness only that was 
 at stake, he would have followed the dictates 
 of his affection and his duty to his father, and 
 would at once have ceased from further present 
 importunity ; but the happiness of another 
 was involved, and that other the dearest to 
 him on earth. He could not, therefore, retire 
 from his father's presence, feeling an instinctive 
 prescience of the difficulty, if not the impossi- 
 bility, of renewing the subject, without making 
 an effort to learn the reason of liis father^s 
 unaccountable determination. 
 
 " My dear lather," said Frank, " I hope I 
 have ever conducted myself with all respect 
 K 3
 
 202 THE MAN 
 
 and obedience to your slightest wishes. I am 
 sure I have always so endeavoured; and if I 
 have at any time failed, it has not been from 
 the want of the most sincere affection for you, 
 who have always been, to me so kind a father.'* 
 
 Frank perceived that his father was affected 
 at this, and he continued — 
 
 " But I entreat you to consider that this is 
 a question in which the future happiness of my 
 life, as well as my honour as a gentleman, is 
 involved — (his father looked uneasy); — and 
 consider, that Clara and I have been companions 
 and playmates from oiu' infancy ; that it has 
 been under your own eyes that we have grown 
 up together ; that you yourself have ever been 
 loudest in her praise — of her amiable disposi- 
 tion — her accomplishments — and her truthful 
 character. Has she not often soothed you 
 with her music, when your mind was sad with
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 203 
 
 some troubles that we could not guess at? 
 Has she not attended you as a daughter in 
 your sickness; and have you not almost re- 
 garded her as a daughter in your love for her?" 
 Hi5 father placed his hands before his eyes, 
 and groaned aloud. 
 
 "I am aware," continued Frank, himself 
 deeply affected by his father's sympathy, '' that 
 I am entirely dependent on your will, as I am 
 aware that your estate is not entailed, and 
 that it is at your disposition to do with it as 
 you please — (his father shuddered convul- 
 sively); — but I trust entirely to your indul- 
 gence and generosity. Forgive me, then, if I 
 now declare, in your presence, that, having 
 entered into a solemn engagement with Miss 
 Lesley, there is no power on earth that can 
 compel me to go back. To her I have pledged 
 my fiiith and my word, and that faith and
 
 204 THE MAN 
 
 word I will keep, at the sacrifice even of rank 
 and fortune, and of all other earthly good 
 besides !" 
 
 "It is impossible, Frank — it is impossible. 
 There is a secret !" 
 
 " What, then, is this dreadful secret, that 
 cannot be revealed to your son?" 
 
 '^I cannot — I cannot! It cannot be told 
 now!" cried the wretched father, starting up 
 in uncontrollable agony. "Would to God that 
 it never would reveal itself! But it must 
 come at last ! — and then !— oh, God ! This is 
 more than I can bear ! Death now would be 
 a mercy !" 
 
 With these fearful words, which struck his 
 son speechless with horror and amazement, he 
 staggered from the apartment.
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 205 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " Spirit. 
 Iklark you that lonely youth, on yonder spot— 
 His soul all tenderness, himself forgot ! 
 Ah ! little thinks he of his future fate, 
 Nor knows the griefs that vex his mortal state ! 
 
 Guardian Angel. 
 
 'Tis best, good spirit. Man is born in pain, 
 And lives in sorrow, but lives not in vain, 
 For such is Heav'n's decree ! His earthly part 
 Must purge its dross to cleanse the sinful heart : 
 'Tis ours to tend him— help his wavering will— 
 And breathe presentiment of coming ill" 
 
 " The Angels." A Poem. 
 
 On the evening wliicli succeeded Frank's tirst 
 day of trials, a gloomy dulness prevailed in 
 Coverley Hall, fur now the seriousness and
 
 206 THE MAN 
 
 sadness of Frank was added to that of his 
 parents. 
 
 His father seemed buried in the contempla- 
 tion of some deep resolve; and his mother, 
 whose delicate state had for some time past 
 almost entirely confined her to her own apart- 
 ment, but who on this evening had ventured 
 down stairs, regarded alternately her husband 
 and her son with the deepest anxiety. 
 
 Frank could not resist his inclination to see 
 Clara before her departure to "Wales. He 
 quickly crossed the fields, and found her alone 
 in the garden. With all the warmth of devoted 
 affection, he repeated and confirmed his solemn 
 engagement of the morning. He recounted 
 to her his interview with his father, and he 
 repeated his father's hints of^some "' dreadful 
 secret" which acted as a bar to their union. 
 They talked long and earnestly on this point,
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 207 
 
 losing themselves in all sorts of conjectures; 
 but neitlier of tliem could imagine what the 
 nature of this mysterious impediment could 
 be, and they were far from guessing at the real 
 cause. 
 
 Clara endeavoured to persuade Frank that 
 it would be best for them both that she should 
 be away for a short time. Her absence, she 
 said, would remove a cause of irritation, and 
 it might tend to soothe his father, and lead 
 him to more indulgent feelings. Besides, she 
 added, it would be the means of showing to 
 the world, if the conduct of her father or herself 
 were called in question, that there was no 
 desire on their parts to hold Frank enthralled 
 by an engagement which it might be considered 
 he was too young to enter into. For her part, 
 Clara fervently repeated, as nothing on earth 
 ever could make the slightest impression on her
 
 208 THE MAN 
 
 to the prejudice of Frank, the attempt to 
 weaken her affection by removing her to a dis- 
 tance was altogether useless; that to Frank 
 she had given her heart, and to him she would 
 remain faithful in love and constancy to the 
 last hour of her existence. Frank thought it 
 right to mention to her that it was in his 
 father's power to debar him from his succession 
 to the estate ; and his opposition to the match, 
 he said, was so decided, that although it 
 appeared to him quite unaccountable, it was 
 necessary for them to be prepared for the 
 worst. 
 
 Clara declared that, having given her heart 
 to Frank, nothing on earth should induce 
 her to give her hand to another, and that 
 they must trust to Heaven for aid and guid- 
 ance. But although she would never wed 
 another, she warned him that she never would
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 209 
 
 unite herself with him without the approba- 
 tion of her father and the consent of his 
 parents. 
 
 Frank argued for a long time against this 
 determination, but she was invulnerable to his 
 reasonings ; and although not unmoved by his 
 entreaties and his prayers, she remained un- 
 shaken in her resolution. 
 
 He then said, that he was determined to 
 make himself independent, by qualifying him- 
 self for some profession, so that, in the event 
 of his father's displeasure cutting him off from 
 the estate, he might not be destitute of all 
 resources. 
 
 To this Clara replied, that she was too young 
 and too little acquainted with the world to give 
 advice on the subject ; tliat she did not see the 
 necessity of Frank adopting any profession, as 
 she could not bring herself to believe that his
 
 210 TUE MAN 
 
 father could act so unkindly as to deprive him 
 of the fortune, to the succession of which he 
 had brought Frank up, and accustomed him 
 to look forward to as a certainty. But she 
 had often heard her father express the opinion, 
 that no man ought to be without some pro- 
 fession or calling, according to his education 
 and degree iu life, which he might fall back 
 on in case of unforeseen misfortune. 
 
 But on that point she protested, that if 
 there was the slightest risk of Frank's engage- 
 ment with her interfering so detrimentally with 
 his prospects, she would request her father to 
 write to Mr. Coverley, solemnly pledging her 
 never to accept of his son's addresses — and to 
 such a pledge, she assured Frank she would 
 religiously adhere. 
 
 Frank did not pursue that part of the sub- 
 ject any further, although he mentally resolved
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 211 
 
 to qualify himself for the bar. He observed, 
 that " of course Clara would correspond with 
 him." 
 
 Clara reflected for a moment. She would 
 not absolutely consent or refuse — she would be 
 guided by her father. However, she added, 
 smiling, she did not see how he could be pre- 
 vented from writing to her ; but, immediately 
 correcting herself, said, not very decidedly, how- 
 ever, that she would not allow him to write to 
 her, if disapproved by her father. After many 
 further protestations on either side, and with 
 such sealing of their mutual compact as is 
 usual on such occasions, but which was con- 
 ducted with much propriety, the lovers sepa- 
 rated, after ii few returns, only to mention 
 some little circumstance which eacli had for- 
 gotten to say. 
 The next morning, Clara departed with her
 
 212 THE MAN 
 
 father to Wales, for tlie purpose, as Miss 
 Lesley gave out, of visiting a sick relation 
 — a step whicli was viewed as a very pro- 
 per and considerate proceeding, and wliicli 
 received tlie unqualified approbation of the 
 Miss Carltons and their experienced mother. 
 
 Frank, on his way back, set his thoughts 
 seriously to work to carry into effect his in- 
 tention of adopting a profession — but, before 
 the morning, events occurred which changed 
 the current of his thoughts into a new and 
 more serious direction. 
 
 During the short family meeting of that 
 eventful night, Frank observed a something in 
 his father's eye and manner whicli filled him 
 with secret alarm. Mr. Coverley had taken 
 leave of his wife and son in a way strange and 
 unusual. Ilis manner at such times was 
 always aifectionate — it was that night more
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 213 
 
 kind and caressing than had lately been his 
 habit, but it was, at the same time, earnest 
 and solemn; and there was an occasional 
 wildness in his look which more than once 
 startled Frank. As Mrs. Coverley's health 
 required the presence of a female attendant, 
 her husband occupied a temporary apartment 
 on the other side of the passage. 
 
 According to Frank's custom since his mo- 
 ther's illness, he attended his father to his 
 room, who seemed at first too much abstracted 
 to heed his presence ; but presently recollecting 
 himself, he again wished Frank good-night, 
 tenderly. He was leaving tlie room, wlien his 
 father stopped him, placed liis two hands on 
 his shoulders, and regarded him intensely and 
 sorrowfully, and made a gesture as if he was 
 about to clasp his son in liis arms; but he only 
 sighed and motioned Frank to leave him. As
 
 214 THE MAN 
 
 he quitted his father's chamber, he noticed 
 that writing materials and lights were pre- 
 pared on the little table : — the circumstance 
 struck him. 
 
 He returned to the drawing-room. His 
 mother had retired to rest, and he sat down 
 alone in the spacious apartment. 
 
 There was an air of melancholy about its 
 once cheerful hearth which chilled and dis- 
 tressed him. The stirring events of the day 
 had raised in him an excitement of passion 
 and feeling which had kept his pulse beating 
 high with conflicting emotions — of love, of joy, 
 of baffled hopes, and sudden fears, mingled 
 with an indistinct presentiment, which haunted 
 him like a spectre, of some coming misfortune. 
 
 His father's inexplicable injunctions, and 
 his warnings of the morning had bewildered 
 his brain. His faculties were confounded and
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 215 
 
 paralysed by too much thought. His head ached, 
 and he felt that reaction of excitement which 
 sickens the heart — when the spirits, worn 
 out, leave the mind weakened in its powers, a 
 prey to all sorts of fantastic and superstitious 
 fears. 
 
 Frank was quite at a loss how to act. His 
 fears were too vague to suggest any determi- 
 nate course of action. He could not analyse 
 his own thoughts or define his own forebodings 
 of the indistinct coming of some disaster. At 
 one time, he thought, he would consult his 
 mother; but the weakness of her health, and 
 her state of nervousness, deterred him from 
 risking the danger which the communication 
 of his own surmises might occasion. But his 
 restlessness would not allow him to go to 
 bed. Dismissing the servants, lie determined 
 to sit up — he could not have explained why,
 
 216 THE MAN 
 
 but he gave way to a feeling which incited 
 him to be watchful. 
 
 As it was the summer season, there was no 
 fire ; so that he was deprived even of that com- 
 panionship. He took up a book, and attempted 
 to read ; but the words flitted before his eyes ; 
 and he could not carry the subject-matter in 
 his mind from one sentence to another. Some 
 impulse prompted him to go to his father's 
 room ; he softly ascended the stairs without a 
 light, and listened at the door. 
 
 Nothing met his ears but the scratch — scratch 
 — scratch, of his father's pen, who, it seemed, was 
 busily engaged in writing. " But why," he 
 asked himself, "should his father choose such an 
 hour and such a place for a task which might be 
 done better in the day time ? And what all- 
 important business could it be that required to 
 be completed in such forced haste, and with
 
 WITHOUT A mOFESSlON. 217 
 
 such privacy? His father had never written 
 letters in his bed-room before — why on this 
 particular night?" 
 
 He listened; he heard him breathe deep 
 sighs — nay, groans of bitterest anguish — and 
 then he woukl stop writing — and then he wrote 
 again. 
 
 Was it right, he questioned himself, thus to 
 intrude on his father's privacy — to watch his 
 actions, and to steal a knoAvledge of his 
 secrets? He could not resolve that question, 
 and it troubled his fine feeling of delicacy. 
 
 But then the circumstance was so unusual ! 
 And his father's fearful exclamation of the 
 morning, wrung from him by direst anguish ! 
 And his strange manner of parting for the 
 night! What did it all threaten? The silence 
 of the hour added fear to the half-formed sus- 
 picion. Was death, then, hovering near? Could 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE MAN 
 
 it be, that He could not dwell on that 
 
 idea. But an overpowering impulse pre- 
 vented him from withdrawing. 
 
 He trembled, as he stood listening, with 
 strained ears, to catch the slightest sound. But 
 there was no sound but the scratching of the 
 pen, and the rustling of the paper : but some- 
 times there was a pause, and then his father's 
 sighs were heart-breaking. The whole house 
 was buried in sleep. Only one creature, to 
 Frank's rapt perception, was wakeful — his 
 father ! who was thus robbing nature of her 
 rest — and for what purpose ? With what in- 
 tent? Frank felt his blood run cold with an 
 indescribable apprehension. 
 
 The hour passed by as the young man stood 
 at the door of his father's chamber ; and still 
 the pen was hard at work. Suddenly, there 
 was a pause, and he heard his father rise up.
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 219 
 
 His excitement rose to a pitch of terror which 
 made him fear that the beating of his own 
 heart had become audible, and would betray 
 him. His father approached the door, and he 
 retreated. The door was opened ; and Frank, 
 stepping backward, retired behind the project- 
 ing angle of the passage. His father crossed 
 slowly and softly to his wife's sick room; Frank 
 heard him open the door almost without noise, 
 and enter. Then he heard him gently kiss 
 his mother, who, it seemed, did not wake — but 
 she murmured something. His father then 
 returned to his own room, and shut the door. 
 
 Frank resumed his station; he heard liis 
 father pace the room for a few minutes, and 
 then the writing was recommenced. 
 
 He returned to the drawing-room. He was 
 glad of the light; but he was exhausted ; and 
 he sat down leaning his head on his hand. 
 l2
 
 220 THE MAN 
 
 He had left the door open in order that no 
 sound in the house might escape him ; but as 
 he sat alone, and a prey to dismal thoughts, 
 the sight of the open door filled him with a 
 strange sort of feeling. It seemed as if some- 
 thing was about to enter ! 
 
 Frank was a stranger to ideal fancies, or 
 imaginary dreads ; but he could not bear that 
 open door. For some time he sat as if en- 
 chained by some invisible restraint, and he felt 
 a shivering of the skin, and a numbness of the 
 feet and legs. 
 
 But at last, with an effort, he rose to shut 
 the door ; and the influence of his own motion, 
 circulating his blood, roused liis dulled facul- 
 ties, and chased away the superstitious fear 
 that was creeping over him. 
 
 He opened the door, with a disdainful sort of 
 resolution, wider, and lent his ear, firmly, to
 
 WITHOUT A rROrESSlON. 221 
 
 catcli any passing sound. But all remained 
 quiet. 
 
 Sitting down on the sofa by the side of the 
 door, and close to it, he strove to collect his 
 thoughts. But overwearied nature refused her 
 aid; his indistinct imaginings grew more and 
 more confused, and he fell asleep. 
 
 He awoke with a start. The candles had 
 burned down to their sockets ; and he found 
 himself in darkness. Presently he heard a re- 
 petition of the sound that had awakened him ; 
 it was his father's footstep. He thought he 
 heard a noise, as if his father had stamped his 
 foot violently on the floor, or it might be the 
 fall of some heavy body. 
 
 Without losing a moment, Frank rushed 
 through the hall — into which tlic early morn- 
 ing light was gleaming — scaled the stairs — 
 ilew down tlie passage, and breathless, burst
 
 222 THE MAN 
 
 into his father's room. He beheld his parent 
 kneeling, with the aspect of a spectre, at the 
 little table. The two pistols which usually 
 hung over the mantel-piece, were lying before 
 him ! 
 
 The whole dreadful truth flashed across 
 Frank's mind in a moment ; and in the same 
 instant he decided on his own course. Seizing 
 the pistols, he cried out, " Thieves — thieves !" 
 and discharged them thi'ough the window. 
 
 A loud shriek burst from his mother's room, 
 so loud, so thrilling, so agonising in its peal, 
 that the sound of the fire-arms was lost in its 
 wild alarm. Frank hastened thither ; his father 
 followed him instinctively. The frightened 
 attendant sprung up to her assistance, and 
 catching hold of the light, held it to her face ; 
 but the shriek was followed by a still more 
 frightful silence. The glazed eye of the hus-
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 223 
 
 band glared on the fixed features of his stricken 
 wife — she was dead ! 
 
 Nature could bear no more : he fell insen- 
 sible on her lifeless form, while Frank, paler 
 than the corpse he mourned over, by a powerful 
 effort, braced himself to bear the terrible shock 
 with calmness and fortitude, that he might be 
 able to guard and succour his now dearer 
 father. 
 
 With the assistance of the servants, Frank 
 placed him on his bed, and remained to watch 
 beside him till the arrival of their medical at- 
 tendant. 
 
 Casting his eyes around, he saw many sheets 
 of paper, covered with writing, the result, as 
 he concluded, of his father's labours of the pre- 
 vious night. Hastily gathering them up, and 
 averting his eyes from the paper, lest by acci- 
 dent he should become acquainted witli his
 
 224. THE MAN 
 
 father's secrets in such a manner, while he lay 
 insensible and helj^less, he folded them up, and 
 enclosed them in a cover, sealing it with his 
 father's seal. 
 
 After a little consideration as to how he 
 should dispose of it with safety, he withdrew 
 for an instant, and locked it up in his own 
 bureau ; then he returned to the bedside of his 
 unconscious father.
 
 WITHOUT A I'KOFESSIOiV. 225 
 
 CIIArXEE XII. 
 
 " Life is a chequered scene to all on earth : 
 Mirth follows grief, and grief succeeds to mirth ; 
 E'en as the gloljc revolves in ceaseless roll, 
 And light or darkness cheers or chills the soul — 
 Man is compounded both of good and ill ; 
 Virtue and vice divide his fitful will. — 
 None are so good some blemish doth not blot ; 
 None are so bad some good redeemeth not." 
 
 Prize Essay* 
 
 On the noon of the follo^ving day, the family 
 of the Carltons were assembled in the mu!?ic- 
 room; but the harp was mute, and the piano 
 was left at rest, for an interesting and all- 
 l3
 
 226 THE MAN 
 
 absorbing topic engrossed the attention of its 
 female members. 
 
 " Goodness !" observed Miss Carlton, who, 
 in right of her seniority, thought it her privi- 
 lege to speak first, " did you ever hear any- 
 thing so dreadful! Sally says that Mr. Co- 
 verley first shot himself, and then his wife — 
 no, first his wife, and then himself " 
 
 "Now, there you're wrong," said one of 
 the sisters, who made up for the loss of the 
 first word by speaking most and fastest — " you 
 are quite wrong ; for the gardener told me, and 
 he had it from Eoger, who heard direct from 
 Mr. Coverley's own groom, that it was Mr. 
 Frank Coverley, who was going about the 
 house — I'm sure I don't know what about, but 
 we all know what young men are — and his 
 father took him for a robber, and shot at him, 
 and so the bullets — for the pistols were full of
 
 WITHOUT A TROFESSION. 227 
 
 bullets — killed his wife, and then Mr. Frank 
 Coverley " 
 
 " But that couldn't be," said another, " be- 
 cause it was the windows that were shattered 
 by the pistol-balls ; and Mrs. Coverley slept on 
 the other side of the long passage. But it's 
 very mysterious; somebody shot somebody, 
 and either Mr. Coverley shot at his son, or 
 the son shot at his father, for there was no- 
 body else to shoot at. Why should they shoot 
 out at the window?" 
 
 " It is a strange story," said a fourth, a 
 young lady who was usually considered the 
 sage of the family, from her writing prose 
 essays for the poor, which assured them that 
 they were made unhappy on earth on purpose, 
 in order that they might be more happy in 
 heaven, (which would make the change more 
 pleasing,) and from her attending charity-
 
 228 THE MAN 
 
 scliools on Sundays, and inculcating on the 
 little clunip-a-lumps not to say, in answer to 
 the question of " Who made them," that " It 
 was not their daddy and their mammy." This 
 precise young lady observed, with much wis- 
 dom, " It is a very strange story — very ! But, 
 for my part, I never believe half of what people 
 say" — (" It's always the worst half," Avhis- 
 pered Miss Carlton to another sister) — " but 
 it is well known that, for a long time, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Coverley have been on very unpleasant 
 terms together ; so mucli so, indeed, as to sleep 
 in separate rooms. I believe, mamma, it is 
 quite unusual with married people to sleep in 
 separate rooms, unless they quarrel dread- 
 fully?" 
 
 "Quite, my dear; but Mrs. Coverley has 
 been in very weak health for some time, that 
 we all know. However, one thing is certain,
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 229 
 
 that the poor thing received her (leath-woiiiid 
 from her husband's own hand. My maid tells 
 me that her shriek, when she received the balls 
 in her heart, was awful." 
 
 " I do think," said Louisa, " that Miss Les- 
 ley is somehow at the bottom of it, for she left 
 the cottage with her father before daylight, 
 and Martha says, Mr. Lesley has taken her 
 into Wales." 
 
 " Miss Lesley gone to Wales !" cried out all 
 the family in a breath. " What has she gone 
 to AVales for ? How very extraordinary ! 
 What can be the meaning of it ?" 
 
 The girls turned their eyes to their mother 
 with an inquiring and peculiar look, and the 
 two eldest exchanged glances of malicious 
 meaning with each other. 
 
 " That's the most extraordinary of all !" 
 said the mother, with an air of profound modi-
 
 230 THE MAN 
 
 tation. " But it is not a subject for young 
 people to talk of." 
 
 ^^ And Martha says," Louisa hastened to 
 say, proud of having the upper hand of the 
 family in this particular piece of news, 
 " that she knows for certain that Miss Les- 
 ley has gone to Wales for her health, to her 
 aunt." 
 
 " Aunts are very convenient persons some- 
 times," said Miss Carlton, with much meaning ; 
 " especially when they live a long way off, so 
 that other people can't observe them." 
 
 " My dear," said the mother, ''this is not a 
 delicate subject for young ladies to talk of. 
 If Mr. Frank Coverley has been deceiving 
 Miss Lesley, it's a very shocking thing ; though 
 it is just what might have been anticipated. 
 Young men cannot be expected to be saints, 
 and if Mr. Lesley would fling the girl in his
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 231 
 
 way, when lie must have been aware that 
 Mr. and Mrs.. Coverley never would consent to 
 such a preposterous match, why people must 
 take the consequences. But I desire that 
 nothing more may be said about the young 
 woman by you, my dears. Young unmarried 
 girls have no business with such things. Let 
 the poor creature alone, and let her bury her 
 disgrace in the obscurity which she has very 
 prudently chosen. My dear girls, never be 
 uncharitable, but always look on matters on 
 the best side." 
 
 And with this moral observation the sen- 
 tentious mother broke up the conference for 
 tlie present, leaving her five daughters in the 
 most miserable state of curiosity. 
 
 In the meantime the news of Mrs. Coverley's 
 death had spread tlu'ough the neighbouring 
 village, variegated with all sorts of additions
 
 232 THE MAX 
 
 and embellishments, according to the taste or 
 credulity of the narrator. , 
 
 The coroner of the county, a sensible and 
 respectable man, being perplexed with the 
 strangeness and seriousness of the reports, 
 waited on Sir Matthew Carlton, as a friend of 
 the family and a magistrate of the county, and 
 consulted with him how to act. The result of 
 their deliberation was to call at Coverley Hall 
 in a friendly way, and without any official 
 parade, and see if they could render any assist- 
 ance to the family in its sudden state of afflic- 
 tion. 
 
 They found Mr. Coverley too ill to be dis- 
 turbed; indeed, he was lying on his bed, to 
 which he had been removed, unconscious of 
 what was passing around him. But Frank 
 gave what appeared a perfectly satisfactory 
 account of the transaction. He was alarmed,
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 233 
 
 lie said, by noises in the house, and he went to 
 his father's room to warn him of them, when, 
 thinking he saw strange forms in the garden 
 at that unusual hour, he seized his father's 
 pistols and fired through the window — rather 
 with a view, he added, to scare away any 
 intruder, than with the intent of killing him; 
 and he fired upwards for that reason. 
 
 The marks in the windows corroborated this 
 account, and the story seemed probable and 
 natural. 
 
 The nurse stated, that Mrs. Coverley retired 
 to rest at a later hour than usual, and had 
 remained calm and quiet during the night, and 
 until the early morning. About that time, 
 weary with watching, she (nurse) had fallen 
 into a slight dose, which could not have lasted 
 more than a minute, when she was roused up 
 by the report of fire-arms, and the same instant
 
 234 THE MAN 
 
 the deceased lady uttered a loud shriek and 
 immediately expired. The poor lady, nurse 
 said, had long been in a very feeble state, and 
 she supposed the sudden shock from the noise 
 of the pistol shots had produced a convulsion. 
 After the shriek, she added, Mr. Frank Cover- 
 ley and Mr. Coverley ran into the room, Mr. 
 Frank first; and Mr. Coverley, when he saw 
 that his wife was dead, fainted over her, as 
 was natural; but Mr. Frank " did not take 
 on so;" he seemed most anxious about his 
 father. 
 
 The coroner expressed his opinion to Sir 
 Matthew, in a short private conversation, that 
 he did not see anything in the circumstances 
 to render it necessary for him to disturb the 
 feelings of so respectable a family, by institut- 
 ing an official and public investigation — an 
 opinion in which Sir Matthew concui-red; and
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 235. 
 
 sliortly afterwards they took their leave, Sir 
 Matthew earnestly pressing Frank to pay as 
 early a visit as possible to his house. Frank 
 returned to the sick bed of his father. 
 
 But the days of his unfortunate and suffer- 
 ing parent were numbered. The family apo- 
 thecary called in the aid of the best practi- 
 tioner within reach, who really was a clever 
 man, and who did all that art could suggest to 
 restore the sufferer to consciousness. But his 
 skill was baffled by the obstinate state of para- 
 lysis of his patient. He could restore the 
 breathing to a sensible activity, but he could 
 do no more. 
 
 *' Nature might make a rally," he said; but 
 he communicated privately to his fellow prac- 
 titioner his opinion that the case was hopeless. 
 " Do you know of any mental trouble that 
 could have reduced him to this state?"
 
 236 THE MAN 
 
 " Nothing but the shock of his wife's death," 
 replied the apothecary. 
 
 Frank, in a voice scarcely articulate, was 
 particular in his inquiries as to the minutest 
 things to be done for the restoration of his 
 parent; and he called to his assistance the 
 nurse who had so recently been the attendant 
 of his poor mother — an experienced and trust- 
 worthy person, who had been present at 
 Frank's birtli, and who was sincerely attached 
 to the family. But she could now do little 
 more than weep. 
 
 But all human help was vain. Mr. Cover- 
 ley rapidly sunk during the day ; and towards 
 the morning, Frank, alarmed at what the 
 nurse feared were the signs of approaching 
 death, hastily dispatched carriages to bring 
 back the physician and the apothecary. The 
 kindhearted nurse endeavoured to prevail on
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 237 
 
 Frank to leave the room in the meanwhile, and 
 endeavour to take some rest, for his looks were 
 wretched and haggard; hut he refused, and 
 remained watching over his sinking parent. 
 
 Two hours more passed away; the dying 
 man then gave signs of motion. The nurse 
 said that it was a last struggle of nature — the 
 precursor of dissolution. But tlie motions of 
 the dying man 'grew stronger and stronger ; 
 he opened his eyes, gazed on his son, and 
 with preternatural strength — as the nurse 
 described it — raised himself up. Frank's feel- 
 ings almost overpowered him ; but fearing to 
 disturb his father's last moments, although 
 he felt almost suffocated, he mastered his 
 emotions, and clasped his father's hand. It 
 was cold and clammy. 
 
 An overpowering passion now seemed to 
 animate the dying man. Thrice he essayed
 
 238 THE MAN 
 
 to speak, but there was only a gurgling in his 
 throat; he stretched forth his arm, as if im- 
 ploring Heaven to grant him one moment of 
 strength to communicate some oppressing se- 
 cret to his son; he struggled with a desperate 
 effort — but that struggle was his last. His 
 last act was to open his arms to his son. 
 Frank clasped him to his bosom ; and now the 
 long pent up tears could no longer be re- 
 pressed, for, as he held his parent clasped, he 
 felt the arms that embraced him relax — fall 
 down; the body that he supported became 
 pliant — sunk back — it was over; the vital 
 spark had fled ! There could be no mistaking 
 that cold, fixed aspect of death. Frank sunk 
 beside the corpse, still clasping his father's 
 hand — his dear father, dearer to him from his 
 sufferings — now dearer to him from his loss !
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 239 
 
 It is impossible to describe tlie intensity of 
 that young heart's suffering ! 
 
 A raging delirium was the consequence, and 
 the same men of medicine attended the sur- 
 viving member of the family who had adminis- 
 tered their ineffectual aid to the dead ! They 
 did not arrive until after the death of their 
 patient, and the apothecary and his colleague 
 sat down in the dining room — to which the 
 butler had brought, from habit, the usual re- 
 freshment — to talk over the affair. There 
 was something so melancholy in the house of 
 death ; the calamity had been so sudden, and 
 the delirious sorrow of the young man was so 
 touching, that it was with difficulty the apo- 
 thecary could bring himself to partake of the 
 morning meal. 
 
 " It is a sad thing," he began, playing with
 
 240 THE MAN 
 
 the drumstick of a cold roast fowl, in a melan- 
 choly manner, in his hand, ^' these two deaths 
 — both at once! That young man was so 
 attached to his father . and mother ! I've 
 known him since he was a child." 
 
 " Very sad," said his brother practitioner, 
 speaking with difficulty, with a mouth full of 
 toast and butter, — *^ very sad — but it's what 
 we must all come to ! I had a case yesterday 
 sadder than this, though ; for there — ^the poor 
 widow! — her husband died young — (a case of 
 phthisis) — the poor widow, as I was saying, 
 is left without a single penny to comfort her, 
 and with a large family. I really couldn't take 
 my fee, although I know it was unprofessional. 
 There was something to cry for there ; but 
 here — a fat sorrow, you know, old buck, is a 
 good sorrow! An old proverb, and a very 
 true one — as I have had abundant opportunity
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 244 
 
 of observing. Another cup of coffee, little 
 Bolus?" 
 
 ^' If you please; put a little more sugar in 
 it. This business has quite upset me. I de- 
 clare, I can scarcely eat ! Let me send you a 
 bit of this fowl, Doctor; here's a wing left; 
 here are sausages, too — and very good they 
 are." 
 
 " None, thank you; Fm doing very well 
 with this cold beef and liam. I say, this 
 young fellow comes into a good property. 
 There's nothing like money, is there, my boy 
 Blister?" 
 
 " It is a very nice property ; four thousand 
 a year good. I suppose we shall have a match, 
 by and by, with tlie parson's daughter. Keep 
 the world a-going, eh. Doctor?" 
 
 " Tlie parson's daughter! I heard tliat 
 young Coverley was engaged to one of the 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 THE MAN 
 
 Miss Carltons; that girl with the staring 
 eyes. Sir Matthew has been here this morn- 
 ing. Nothing like looking out in time. Every 
 one for himself in this world — eh, little Pill- 
 box?" 
 
 " Mr. Honeywater, I wish you would not 
 use nicknames in that way. It was all very 
 well when we were young fellows at the 
 hospital, but it's not the thing now. Besides, 
 it makes ignorant people suppose that I really 
 do send more draughts and things than they 
 want." 
 
 " What! do you mean to say that you don't 
 stick it in 'em, when you get a good job witli 
 a fat one?" 
 
 " Not more than others in the profession. 
 But what can an apothecary do? People 
 wont pay us for our time and trouble, and 
 so we're obliged to get paid through our
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 243 
 
 physic. But never mind that. Any bad cases 
 lately?" 
 
 *^ Not one worth speaking of — just the old 
 cases; people will stuff themselves, and then 
 they come to us to cure them of the conse- 
 quence of their greediness. This poor man's 
 is the worst that I have had for some time — 
 that is, so far as the result is concerned. The 
 poor gentleman there" — pointing towards the 
 part of the house where its deceased owner was 
 lying — " gave us no time to do anything." 
 
 " And what do you really think was the 
 cause of his death?" inquired the apothecary ; 
 " people, you know, will be asking, and it 
 would be best for us to give the same 
 opinion." 
 
 " Upon my life, it's difficult to say exactly; 
 perhaps it will be best to set it down as an 
 affection of the heart." 
 
 m2
 
 244 THE MAN 
 
 ^' I've no objection," said the apothecary; 
 " it's a very good reason to give; and, in- 
 deed, I often give it in my own practice, as I 
 find that people like it ; and it's ascribing an 
 out-of-the-way sort of aristocratic cause for a 
 death ; and it's pleasanter, too, for the women 
 to talk of. They don't like to have it said of 
 them that they died of diseases in their livers 
 and kidneys and that. But an affection of 
 the Iieart is a genteel sort of thing to die of, 
 particularly for young ladies." 
 
 ^^ The shock of his wife's dying," resumed the 
 Doctor, " no doubt, helped to tlie poor gen- 
 tleman's sudden death. But between you and 
 me, I never knew a case in all my practice in 
 which such a circumstance produced, by itself, 
 the fatal result which has taken place in the 
 present instance. Indeed, I have sometimes 
 known it to have quite a contrary effect."
 
 AVITHOUT A PROFESSION. 215 
 
 " That's true enough," observed the apothe- 
 cary, for I myself have known many cases in 
 which the patient enjoyed as good, nay, better 
 health and spirits than before, from some 
 sort of reaction, I suppose, in the system." 
 
 " It is remarkable," replied the Doctor; 
 " and it sheAvs how Providence ' tempers the 
 wind to the shorn lamb,' as the saying is, but 
 I never knew a husband die of grief for the 
 death of his wife." 
 
 " Talking of wives," said the apothecary, 
 " I assure you it is quite a mistake to suppose 
 that young Coverley is booked for one of the 
 Carlton girls. I know that he is over head 
 and ears in love with Lesley's daugliter. Any 
 body can sec that, except her father, who is 
 always poring over his Greek books. And the 
 young folks — of course, they suppose that it is 
 impossible for any one to suspect them of
 
 246 THE MAN 
 
 loving each other. It's always the way in 
 such cases. But that Miss Lesley is a very 
 superior girl, and, depend upon it, we shall 
 see her mistress of this place." 
 
 " With all my heart — it's no affair of mine; 
 but there were designs on foot — that's all I 
 can say. And now, I must be off. This coun- 
 try practice, after all, is very wearing ; but we 
 must work to make the pot boil. By the bye, 
 I'll pop in on old Colonel Yelloley as I go home ; 
 he is always glad to have a visit, though he is 
 rather a queer fish to deal with : I look on these 
 East Indians, with their whims and their rupees, 
 as godsends sent by a special providence for the 
 sustenance of the profession. And I'll call on 
 that poor widow as I go by. Poor thing ! she 
 was quite heart-broken when I left her, and one 
 of her children is in a bad way. A friendly
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 247 
 
 word and a kind look cheer up at such times 
 — and it's not far out of my way. So saying, 
 the two friends left the house, giving directions 
 to the nurse — who was now transferred to Frank, 
 to be very careful in her attendance — to let 
 him drink plentifully of toast and water — (the 
 apothecary promising to send some draughts 
 immediately, to be taken every half hour if the 
 patient felt inclined) — and not to leave him for 
 a moment. 
 
 The same evening brought another visit 
 from Sir Matthew Carlton, who had been in- 
 formed of the melancholy death of Mr Cover- 
 ley, and who, after a consultation with Lady 
 Carlton, took on himself, in the absence of any 
 relative of the deceased — and Frank not being 
 in a condition to give orders — to make arrange- 
 ments for the double funeral, which he directed
 
 248 THE MAN 
 
 to be conducted in a manner suitable to the 
 rank of the deceased, as one of the principal 
 gentlemen in the county. 
 
 In the meantime, events were preparing in 
 London, of which poor Frank was quite un- 
 suspicious. Those respectable functionaries, 
 Messrs. Huntham and Skinnom, were already 
 on the alert. It was the former of these 
 worthies who, four days after, first caught the 
 news of Mr Coverley's death in a provincial 
 paper. 
 
 He immediately ran with it to his partner. 
 
 " I say, Skinnom, Coverley's off." 
 
 " Off!" exclaimed Skinnom, in a fright; "off! 
 where?" 
 
 " Off the hooks." 
 
 "What— dead!" 
 
 " Yes : dead as mutton. That is, if this paper 
 speaks truth."
 
 WITHOUT A rilOFESSlON. 240 
 
 *' Let me look : — ' Died on Friday last, Mar- 
 garet, and shortly afterwards, from the shock 
 of his wife's sudden death, John Coverley, Esq. 
 of Ooverley Hall. He is succeeded in his estate hy 
 his son, Mr. Francis Coverley, not yet of age.' " 
 
 " Oh! dead; depend upon it it's true. He 
 is too important a person for a country paper 
 to make a mistake about. We must look sharp, 
 or the young 'un may holt with some of the 
 valuables." 
 
 " What bills have we got of his overdue?" 
 asked Huntham. 
 
 "Lots: here they are; four thousand four 
 Imndred and eighty pounds; judgment con- 
 fessed; execution taken out: here are the 
 writs ; all right. We mustn't lose any time in 
 making a grab," added the gentle Skinnom. 
 
 "Who shall we send down?" 
 
 "Oh, Gripe; that's the man for a genteel 
 M 3
 
 250 THE MAN 
 
 grab. Nobody like old Joe. He's a merry old 
 rascal that, and takes a pleasure in introduc- 
 ing himself into the pantries of the nobs." 
 
 " Then do you see to it," said Hunthara. 
 " And I say, don't you think you had better 
 go down yourself ? In afriendly way, youknow — 
 and then you can see that there's no gammon." 
 
 *^ I don't mind; it's fine weather; and it 
 will be doing the thing respectably ; and per- 
 haps it will prevent the young chap from run- 
 ning rusty. I am afraid, after all, we have 
 done wrong in letting that Coverley have money 
 so low as forty per cent. However, a good ac- 
 tion " 
 
 " Come — no gammon — call Ferrett." 
 
 The head clerk, Mr. Ferrett, was immediately 
 summoned, and every precaution was taken to 
 be armed with all the power of the law in the 
 projected visitation.
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 251 
 
 The late events were treated in the county 
 after the fashion of the place. The five Miss 
 Carltons assembled in the music-room as usual, 
 under the superintendence of their thoughtful 
 mother. 
 
 " I am so sorry ! mamma," began the sen- 
 timental Louisa. " Sally says that Mr Francis 
 Coverley is not expected to live. He is quite 
 delirious, and in a very high fever ! Poor fel- 
 low ! it is very hard to die so young, and when 
 he is just come into his property too." 
 
 " You should not say Mr. Francis Cover- 
 ley," propounded the blue-stocking of the fa- 
 mily; "his father being dead, he is now 
 Mr. Coverley." 
 
 " My dears," said Lady Carlton; " it really 
 is a very shocking affair ; and I confess I can't 
 account for it. But one thing is quite sure ; 
 young Mr. Coverley comes into a very liand-
 
 252 THE MAN 
 
 some property ; and lie is so nearly of age, that 
 he may be considered to be in possession of it 
 at once. Sir Matthew is attending to various 
 little matters — the funeral, and that — and it 
 is his intention to invite Mr. Coverley, imme- 
 diately after the funeral, to spend a few days 
 here ; as change of scene, we think, may tend 
 to cheer his spirits after his late distressing 
 loss. My dear Louisa, how very red your nose 
 is looking ! I wish, my love, you would not 
 keep pulling it about all day. Nothing looks 
 worse in a young person than a red nose ! 
 Don't you remember how Mr. Coverley laughed 
 at the villager with the red nose in your Ita- 
 lian picture?" 
 
 " If I was her, I would put a poultice on it," 
 said Miss Carlton, maliciously. 
 
 " That would make it look like old Colonel 
 Yelloley's nose," said another.
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 253 
 
 They all laughed at this. 
 
 '' My dear girls," said the prudent mother, 
 " I wish you would get rid of that habit of 
 ridiculing people as you do ; that is, respectable 
 people. Colonel Yelloley is a gentleman of for- 
 tune, and he is not very old either, only fifty- 
 six. I know more than one girl who would 
 jump at an offer from Colonel Yelloley. If he 
 has got rather a portly nose — I think myself 
 it looks well in a man — he has money enough 
 to'gild it." 
 
 " Lord, mamma, I have heard of swallowing 
 a gilded pill — but I never heard of swallowing 
 a gilded nose." 
 
 The party laughed louder than ever at this 
 sally, excepting always the sage of the family, 
 who protested that she could not bear laugh- 
 ter at people for their personal defects; and 
 that, in her opinion, Colonel Yelloley was a
 
 254 THE MAN 
 
 very sensible man, and that she always listened 
 to his interesting stories of India and the Pun- 
 jaub with peculiar satisfaction. 
 
 The other four sisters looked at one another 
 with mock seriousness at this moral rebuke, and 
 hummed a little air a-piece, with humorous 
 gravity. 
 
 " Where is Mr. Coverley to sleep, mamma, 
 when he comes here ? I shan't like to give up 
 my room." 
 
 " There is no occasion, my dear, for any 
 one of you to give up her room ; but now I 
 think of it, as Louisa's room looks into the 
 garden, that one may be more cheerful for Mr. 
 Coverley ; and Louisa, my dear, you need not 
 remove any of your books — that is, the best 
 ones ; I will look them out. And I think it 
 would be as well to have your picture taken 
 from your father's study, where it is only
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 255 
 
 getting spoiled with tlie dust, and hung up in 
 your own room, dear; it will hide the black 
 wall, and make the place look more comfort- 
 able. And perhaps you had better have it all 
 done at once, my love, and then it will look 
 natural and usual when he arrives. And do 
 be more particular with your hair ; it looks as 
 if it had not been arranged since the deluge. 
 I think curls become you best, dear; and don't 
 wear short dresses, long ones are more becom- 
 ing, particularly for you. And of course I 
 need not remind you to be very attentive to 
 poor young Mr. Coverley, and you can talk to 
 him soothingly, and play and sing to him ; as 
 it is the duty of us all, my love, to endeavour 
 to comfort the afflicted." 
 
 With this pious observation, the lady ended 
 her admonitions, and dismissed her daughters 
 to their amusements ; but Louisa, from a laud-
 
 256 THE MAN 
 
 able desire to improve her mind and under- 
 standing, set herself down to the harp and the 
 piano for the remainder of the day, to practise 
 the latest airs and songs of the season, it being 
 notable that she selected in preference those of 
 a plaintive and sentimental cast. 
 
 All this time Frank lay on his sick bed, in- 
 sensible to the various plans and contrivances 
 which were in progress in his favor or against 
 him; and Coverley Hall, with closed shutters 
 and silent inmates, presented the aspect of a 
 house of mourning.
 
 WITHOUT A TROEESSION. 257 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 " Physician. 
 
 Restrain her not ; — let sorrow find its vent 
 In tears — a woman's solace. Rather help 
 The bland restorative which nature gives 
 To over -bursting hearts. 
 
 Countess. 
 Oh ! tell me not to ease my heart with tears : 
 Tears cannot reach a grief so deep as mine ! 
 Bid others weep — and with their tears wash out 
 Their lesser sorrows :— mine are all dried up !" 
 
 Old Play. 
 
 The tolling of the village bell, on the morning 
 of the sixth day after the mournful deaths at 
 Coverley Hall, announced that the mortal re-
 
 258 THE MAN 
 
 mains of some pilgrim of the earth were about 
 to be consigned to their last resting-place. 
 
 Certain signs and tokens which were visible 
 in the conduct of the proceedings, manifested to 
 the eye practised in funeral rites that the pre- 
 parations were being made for the interment of 
 a personage above the common rank ; and the 
 unusual width and amplitude of the grave indi- 
 cated that the earth had been disturbed for 
 more than one unconscious tenant. 
 
 The villagers suspended for a while their 
 usual avocations, and grouped themselves in 
 various parties to witness the pomp and so- 
 lemnities of an aristocratic burial ; and as the 
 deceased gentlefolks had been most popular 
 among the poor, from the unostentatious hos- 
 pitality of the one, and the practical charity 
 of the other, there was more than one honest 
 rustic who regarded with sincere sorrow and
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 259 
 
 melancholy looks the preparations for the 
 coming ceremony. 
 
 Among others, the disabled veteran, now so 
 far advanced in years as to be himself trem- 
 bling on the verge of his own grave, was the 
 most conspicuous. He sat on an adjacent 
 tombstone, his wooden leg projecting over the 
 rank grass of the church-yard, and his crutch 
 lying by his side. It was evident, from the 
 short and irregular puffs that he emitted from 
 his stunted pipe, that his mind was troubled 
 by some unusual agitation. 
 
 " Well, Tom," said the grave-digger, as he 
 rested on his spade, " this is a job that I didn't 
 expect at this time. The poor lady and gen* 
 tleman have had a sudden time of it. It's all 
 very well when people go off in a natural way ; 
 but these poor folks have gone out suddenly, 
 as one may say, like a lighted pipe that falls
 
 260 THE MAN 
 
 down, and smashes all at once, and there's no 
 picking up the pieces." 
 
 The grave-digger was a crony of the vete- 
 ran's ; he kept a shop in the village, wliere he 
 sold odd things — gingerbread and sweet-stuff 
 for the children, and pipes and tobacco for tlie 
 seniors, which latter article he professed occa- 
 sionally to supply to the crippled soldier at 
 less than the common price. 
 
 The veteran took the pipe from his moutli, 
 and laid it gently on the tombstone, the bowl 
 resting against his crutch, so as to maintain it 
 in a perpendicular position. He removed his 
 cap with his only arm, and placing it on his 
 knees, swept the grey hairs from his wrinkled 
 forehead. His lips moved, but he did not 
 speak ; but as his eyes, already dim with age, 
 grew moist, he put his military cap on again, 
 settling it, but witli difficulty more than was
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 2G1 
 
 liis wont, over his streaming eyes. Then 
 searching for his short pipe, he replaced it in 
 his mouth. 
 
 ^' I see," said the grave-digger ; " this lias 
 cut you up a bit, Tom ; you have lost a kind 
 friend in the good lady. But you're smoking, 
 man, when your pipe is out! And I really 
 must say, Tom Hodges, that it isn't regular 
 and proper to smoke in a church-yard; a 
 church-yard is a part like of the church." 
 
 Old Tom Hodges took the pipe from his 
 mouth ; inspected it as he would the touch- 
 hole of a fire-lock; felt it with his finger — 
 probed it — and threw it down. 
 
 ^' It's out — and soon I shall be out too — like 
 a pipe that's smoked away. But Ralph, as to 
 smoking in a churchyard ! Lord help me — 
 I've smoked in a bigger death-field tlian this — 
 wliere thousands have lain dead, waiting for
 
 262 THE MAN 
 
 their rough burial — and nobody found fault 
 with me. But it's pleasanter to be buried this 
 way, I think now. It must be a great satis- 
 faction to have the prayers read over one in a 
 regular way, with the parson at the head, and 
 the clerk as fugleman, and one's friends drawn 
 up in ranks to give a last salute. But I think 
 we do it better in the army, when we have 
 time, for then we fire three rounds over the 
 soldier's grave, and the sound of the old fire- 
 locks pleases the poor fellow." 
 
 The grave-digger mused. He was not a 
 philosopher; and the notion of its being 
 soothing to a corpse to be buried in this or 
 that particular way, puzzled him. He made 
 no answer ; but with his hob-nailed lialf-boots 
 diligently cleaned his ancient spade, encum- 
 bered with the fat mould of the churchyard. 
 
 '' They say Mr. Frank Coverley is very
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 263 
 
 bad," said he. " It would be odd now, if he 
 was to die too! Deaths generally come to- 
 gether! And then, although it would be a 
 sad pity, poor young gentleman — ' the natural 
 sympathy of the man struggling with the pro- 
 fessional pride of the grave-digger' — I might 
 say what few could say — that I have buried 
 father, mother, and son in the same grave — 
 it's not every one of my trade that could say 
 that." 
 
 '' He's a good-hearted and an open-hearted 
 gentleman, is young Mr. Frank," replied the 
 veteran; " but young hearts don't die of grief 
 — they pine a bit — as he will, poor boy ; but 
 there's all the world before them; and God 
 gives strength to children to bear the loss of 
 their parents." 
 
 " Tliat's true," returned the grave-digger. 
 " I've buried many a child now in this church-
 
 264 THE MAN 
 
 yard; there's one, poor little thing," said he, 
 pointing with his spade, "lies there; and Tve 
 noticed that the parent sorrows long and long 
 for its child, because, you see, it's not natural 
 for the child to die. But when the parent 
 dies, it's only in the regular way, d'ye see; 
 and it is what is always expected. But there's 
 Sir Matthew Carlton going by, to Coverley 
 Hall, no doubt. It's he that has given direc- 
 tions about the funeral, and it's all to be done 
 very liberal and handsome ; — only private — so 
 I suppose the hearse will soon be coming up, 
 and I'll go and get a drop of beer and be 
 ready." 
 
 In the meantime, strange and unexpected 
 events took place at Coverley Hall. 
 
 Frank had been restored to mental con- 
 sciousness by the skill and attention of his 
 medical attendants, but he still remained in an
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 2G5 
 
 exceedingly weak state. The preparations for 
 the approaching funeral, however, could not 
 be concealed from him; and he insisted on 
 being raised up and dressed, in order to pay 
 the last melancholy duties to his deceased 
 parents. His flice was Hushed, and his eye 
 was restless, but he would not be restrained ; 
 and with the assistance of the domestics, he 
 reached the drawing-room. 
 
 He had hardly been placed on the sofa, 
 before a hasty arrival was announced, and in 
 a few seconds afterwards a postchaise, contain- 
 ing Mr. Lesley, who had performed a hasty 
 journey from Wales on hearing of the sudden 
 deatli of Mrs. Coverley, drew up before tlie 
 door. 
 
 Frank was alone ; and on the worthy clergy- 
 man's approach, he trembled violently. 
 
 The good man sliook him silently l>y tlie 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 THE MAN 
 
 hand. He knew that at such times words of 
 consolation are useless ; that grief must have 
 its course, and that the pedantry of philosophy 
 is useless in stifling the cries of nature. 
 
 ^^ Where is Clara?" 
 
 " In Wales — and well. I left her, as you 
 may suppose, sorely stricken with these sad 
 tidings." 
 
 Frank burst into tears. His nerves had 
 become so weak from his energies having been 
 overstrained, and from the effects of his de- 
 lirious fever, that he could not bear the 
 slightest shock. He wept long and bitterly ; 
 the clergyman did not attempt to restrain him, 
 but he held his hand and let nature take its 
 course. Frank tried to restrain his tears — 
 for it was not through such channels that his 
 manly heart was used to express his sorrows —
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 267 
 
 but he could not stop them. They flowed 
 faster and faster — and leaning on his old 
 friend's shoulder, he gave way to the most 
 passionate bursts of grief. 
 
 " I will not try to check your tears," said 
 Mr. Lesley, " for they are natural. Even I — old 
 as I am, and with calmness and resignation, 
 which my duty teaches me to preach to others, 
 — I, my dear Frank, can feel for you and weep 
 with you. But 1 trust, my dear boy, that my 
 lessons to you have not been so thrown away, 
 but that your religion will make you believe 
 that God has not permitted these sufferings in 
 vain. Short-sighted mortals as we are, we see 
 only part of the designs of Providence in its 
 mysterious ways. We do not know what 
 grief and pain, unimagined by us, may have 
 been spared to your poor mother and your ex- 
 n2
 
 2G8 THE MAN 
 
 cellent father ; nor how much greater sorrows 
 the present seeming misfortune may have pre- 
 vented." 
 
 *' It may be so," said Frank, with the tears 
 still falling from his eyes ; " but I cannot rea- 
 son now — I can only lament the strange fate 
 of my dear father and mother." 
 
 The clergyman was silent. 
 
 It was not long before they were joined by 
 Sir Matthew Carlton, who, out of respect to 
 the deceased, had prepared for following in the 
 funeral procession. 
 
 Frank briefly expressed his thanks to him 
 for his kindness, and the three sat down to- 
 gether in mournful silence. 
 
 But their silence was presently disturbed by 
 the bustle of a new arrival, and there was the 
 sound of voices raised high in altercation in 
 the hall, which jarred on the nerves of the
 
 WITHOUT A ITvOrESSION. 2G9 
 
 party assembled in the drawing-room, as nn- 
 usual and indecent at a time of such solem- 
 nity. 
 
 The butler coming to the door, requested to 
 speak to Mr. Lesley, and after a short absence 
 the clergyman returned, and beckoning out Sir 
 Matthew, they proceeded to the hall, which 
 was the scene of the uproar. 
 
 They beheld there the whole of the servants 
 staring, with Avondering and frightened looks ; 
 and in the midst of them two men of singular 
 appearance and repulsive aspect, who stood 
 witli a dogged and stubborn air, as if long used 
 to such resistance as was now attempted, and 
 hardened to all the rudeness and vituperation 
 that could be cast upon them. 
 
 One of them, and, it seemed, tlie superior 
 of the two, if superiority could exist among 
 creatures of such a cast, was a short, stout
 
 270 THE MAN 
 
 man, in a briglit blue coat and metal buttons, 
 red waistcoat, white corduroy breeches, and top 
 boots. A large fat face, very round and very 
 red, was surmounted by a white hat with a 
 broad brim, which he was prevented, perhaps, 
 from removing, from the circumstance of one 
 hand being occupied by a thick stick of a sus- 
 picious looking character, and the other by a 
 long, narrow slip of dirty paper, on which ap- 
 peared certain mysterious hieroglyphics, partly 
 in print and partly in a round sort of hand- 
 writing, and which he flourished in the faces 
 of his antagonists. 
 
 His companion might have been guessed, 
 from his personal exterior, to be a workhouse 
 attendant at paupers' funerals. Ilis body was 
 very long and very thin, as if attenuated and 
 drawn out by unceasing vigils and mortifying 
 fasts, to which his lank lean face lent sym-
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 271 
 
 patliy. That visage was one which, once looked 
 on, never could be forgotten; it was of that 
 lantern-shaped and cadaverous cast which in- 
 spired the idea of its owner never being at 
 rest. It was furnished with two small gray 
 eyes, apparently not made to shut, and whose 
 sharp glance seemed to take in and mentally 
 to enumerate all the furniture in the place, 
 and to have a cognizance of what was passing 
 behind as well as before them. 
 
 A suit of exceedingly rusty black, shoes 
 with dingy white stockings, and a marvellously 
 dirty white cravat, which long usage had con- 
 verted into a sort of rope convenient for the 
 summary hanging of the wearer, completed the 
 costume of the attendant satellite of one of 
 the most celebrated of the executioners of tlic 
 law. 
 
 Such were the uninvited visitors who pre-
 
 272 THE MAN 
 
 sented themselves so unceremoniously >vithin 
 the domestic precincts of Coverley llall. 
 
 " I have told the man," said the butler, 
 whose dignity was monstrously offended at the 
 presumption of the intruders, " that a funeral 
 is now actually going forward, but he won't 
 go out." 
 
 " No, no," said the fat bailiff, with a know- 
 ing look — " can't go. Yery sorry to ill-con- 
 wenence any gen'leman ; but when once in 
 possession, you know, it would never do to 
 quit, 'cept according to law. Nobody can say 
 that Joe Gripe ever let go what he once got 
 hold of!" 
 
 *' But who is this strange man?" asked Mr. 
 Lesley, " and what does he mean by this im- 
 proper language?" 
 
 " Mean !" said the doughty man of writs. 
 " My meaning is generally understood easy 
 enough — sometimes too easy, for the matter of
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 273 
 
 that. But I twig you're a parson, Mister — 
 hope no offence — and not up to these here 
 goes ! And this gentleman p'rhaps is a rehi- 
 tion of the family?" 
 
 " This gentleman," said Mr. Lesley, in a 
 tone intended to cast awe into the soul of the 
 familiar bailiff, " is Sir Matthew Carlton, one 
 of the magistrates of tlie county !" 
 
 " A magistrate ! Oh, then it's all safe ! 
 Sir, I make hold," shuffling his hat from his 
 carroty head, " to ask your honor's protection. 
 I've got a fi-fa (that's a writ of execution, as 
 your honor knows) against tliese premises; 
 and I call youi' honor to witness that I've 
 got legal possession of the goods and furniture, 
 me and my man. That's Tim, Sir Matthew, 
 and a quiet genteel cretur he is, and never 
 makes any unpleasantness to any gen'leman as 
 is civil." 
 
 n3
 
 274 THE MAN 
 
 It is impossible to describe the various sen- 
 sations of the party in the hall at this extra- 
 ordinary announcement — the speechless won- 
 der of the clergyman, the perplexity of Sir 
 Matthew Carlton, and the amazement of the 
 domestics. 
 
 *'By whose authority do you come here?" 
 asked Sir Matthew, at a loss to understand 
 the meaning of such a proceeding in the man- 
 sion of a gentleman of the reputed affluence of 
 its late master. 
 
 " You must be making a mistake, my good 
 man," said the clergyman. " This is Coverley 
 Hall. The late Mr. Coverley, I may almost ven- 
 ture to affirm, did not owe a single sixpence." 
 
 " No mistake at all, your reverence. My 
 writ is against the goods of John Coverley, of 
 Coverley Hall, and it's backed all regular by 
 the county sheriff; and the sum is" — reading
 
 WITHOUT A TROFESSION. 275 
 
 from the narrow slip of paper — '' four thou- 
 sand four hundred and eighty pounds, eighteen 
 shillings and a penny; and if the friends of 
 the gentleman are agreeable to pay four thou- 
 sand four liundred and eighty pounds, eighteen 
 shillings, (never mind the penny,) and the 
 expenses of the levy, why, then, in course, it 
 will be all right, and I shall toddle off, me 
 and Tim together. Mr. Skinnom is at the 
 Green Dragon, just up yonder, and the matter 
 can be settled at once." 
 
 " And who is Mr. Skinnom?" 
 
 " Not know Mr. Skinnom! AVhy, he's the 
 partner of the great house of Huntham and 
 Skinnom, of Cobwell Court, Dismal Buildings, 
 the greatest and the sharpest house as is in 
 all Lunnun for these here sort of goes." 
 
 Sir Matthew, without saying a word, im- 
 mediately wrote a note to Mr. Skinnom, re-
 
 276 THE MAN 
 
 questing that gentleman to do liim the favour 
 to come over to Coverley Hall, and mention- 
 ing the circumstance of the funeral of the late 
 Mr. and Mrs. Coverley being in the act of 
 taking place. He wrote a note, also, and 
 despatched it by his own groom, requesting the 
 immediate presence of his solicitor, who resided 
 at the town about nine miles off; and after a 
 consultation with Mr. Lesley, at which it was 
 agreed that it would be better not to mention 
 the occurrence to Frank until after the cere- 
 mony, they waited in the parlour for Mr. 
 Skinnom. 
 
 That respectable gentleman was not long 
 in arriving. He saluted Sir Matthew with 
 a very good air, and bowed low and re- 
 spectfully to the clergyman. He expressed 
 the most unqualified surprise to hear of the 
 lamentable deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Coverley,
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 277 
 
 and protested that nothing on earth should 
 have induced him to allow a writ of execution 
 to issue could he have imagined the distressed 
 state of the family. lie was not aware, he 
 said, that the writ had been issued, until in- 
 formed by his partner, who had done it in his 
 absence, as their client, Mr. Snatchitt, was 
 obliged, from his own severe necessities, to 
 obtain money at all hazards. He would with- 
 draw it, he said, at once, and with pleasure ; 
 but as the writ had been executed, he could 
 not take upon himself that responsibility with- 
 out consulting his partner in London. lie 
 concluded, with strongly recommending that 
 tlie friends of the family should come forward 
 and relieve the distress by paying the amount. 
 After this brief conference. Sir Matthew 
 Carlton and the clergyman could no longer 
 doubt that the process was legal, although
 
 278 THE MAN 
 
 they could form no conception of the cause of 
 it, which they attributed to some accident 
 which time would explain. And as the cere- 
 mony had already been delayed beyond the 
 appointed time, Mr. Lesley immediately set 
 out for the village, to prepare for the reading 
 of the funeral service, leaving Frank, of whom 
 he took a hasty leave, to follow with Sir 
 Matthew. 
 
 Poor Frank was supported, accordingly, to 
 the carriage, occupying, as the only relative, 
 the principal mourning-coach alone ; and, fol- 
 lowed by Sir Matthew Carlton, the procession 
 began to move. 
 
 "Beg pardon," said the bailiff, to the 
 attorney; "but no tricks, eh?" pointing to 
 the family carriage, which was taking part in 
 the procession. 
 
 " Egad, I forgot that." And without losing
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 279 
 
 a moment, the wily man of law, seizing a spare 
 crape hatband witli one hand, and with the 
 other displaying a white pocket-handkerchief, 
 caused a momentary stoppage, while he inducted 
 himself into the barouche, in which he edified 
 the spectators by the extreme propriety of his 
 demeanour, and the exhibition of his unaffected 
 sorrow on the melancholy occasion. 
 
 Most of the servants had left the house to 
 follow their late master and mistress to the 
 grave, and the place was left in charge of the 
 butler only, who thought it right, under the 
 suspicious circumstances of the two intruders, 
 to remain at his post, to watch their pro- 
 ceedings. 
 
 They prowled about the house for a short 
 time till they came to the drawing-room, in 
 which was spread out the customary cake and 
 wine. The man in black eyed the eatables
 
 280 THE MAN 
 
 wistfully, but some feeling held him back, and 
 he contented himself with poking his finger 
 into one of the pieces of tlie untouched cake ; 
 which, after smelling, he mechanically passed 
 over his mouth. Some fragments, which had 
 adhered to his greasy finger, found their way to 
 his palate, and the savoury flavour stimulating 
 those organs of taste, he protruded, like a 
 hungry hound, a tongue resembling a slip of 
 leather, which performed a rapid flourish round 
 his chops, including within its vortex all the 
 stray crumbs in its vicinity. 
 
 This was too much for the self-denial of the 
 man of fasts to bear. He first pinched a bit 
 out of the corner of a slice ; then broke a slice 
 in half, which he eagerly swallowed; and at 
 last, losing all control over his feelings, he 
 stretched out the lengths of his bony fingers, 
 and made a general grab at a plateful. He
 
 WITHOUT A ITvOFESSION. 281 
 
 was proceeding to a second glass of wine, when 
 Lis enjoyment was interrupted by tlic butler, 
 who, indignant at this profanity committed on 
 the funeral refreshments, suddenly removed 
 them from the table. 
 
 " I say, old feller," said the bailiff, who had 
 regarded the proceedings of his satellite with 
 a doubtful air, and as one who was accustomed 
 to have his civility propitiated by tlie best that 
 the houses to which he paid his visits could 
 afford, — " I say, old feller, haven't you got 
 any grub in the house?" 
 
 Old feller ! The worthy butler Iiad never 
 l)een addressed in a manner so disparaging 
 since he was a footboy. 
 
 " Grub," he replied, looking with much 
 contempt on the ignoble person of Joe Gripe — 
 " Grub ! Yes. Coverley Hall is never with- 
 out grub, as you call it. But I should think
 
 282 THE MAN 
 
 the servants' hall was the place you're most 
 used to eat it in." 
 
 ^' Oh, anywhere; we're not particular, are 
 we, Tim ? But you needn't be coming Captain 
 Grand over us, old feller, 'cause that's no go." 
 
 It went much against the grain for the but- 
 ler to set provisions before the bailiffs, but the 
 habit of the hospitality of Coverley Hall pre- 
 vailing, he introduced them to an enormous 
 round of beef, which Mr. Gripe was pleased to 
 regard with complacent looks, and at the sight 
 of which the water streamed from the famished 
 chops of the hunger-faced Tim. To this was 
 added a tankard of strong ale. 
 
 Tim, chuckling at the plethoric size of the 
 vessel, breathed a . long breath, that he might 
 imbibe more largely a draught of the generous 
 liquor ; but the proverb of " there's many a 
 slip 'tween the cup and the lip," received
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 283 
 
 another verification in the instance of the dis- 
 appointed Tim. 
 
 Mr. Gripe, partly from offence at the want 
 of deference to himself which this attempt ex- 
 hibited, and partly from the apprehension that 
 his deputy would become too much fuddled to 
 exercise the necessary vigilance of his vocation, 
 seized the bottom of the tankard with his 
 brawny fist, and forcibly drew it down from 
 the lips of the thirsting Tim, which vainly 
 followed the brimming ale in its descent. 
 
 ^' No, Tim ! — 'gainst the rules. You've had 
 two glasses of wine already. Notliing makes 
 a man buzzy, Tim, like ale ! And this," taking 
 a long draught himself, and smacking his lips, 
 which were slightly glued together, from the 
 richness of the liquor — " and this stuff is un- 
 common strong. No, Tim; when a man has 
 'sponsible duties to perform, like you, Tim —
 
 284 THE MAN 
 
 it's well to remember that ' a clear head makes 
 sharp eyes/ So this," pouring out a miserable 
 modicum of the beer, and handing it to his 
 attendant with his left hand, while he kept 
 fast hold of the tankard with his right — " this 
 is the last pull till supper, that's poz !" 
 
 The dolorous Tim, whom repeated mortifi- 
 cations had reduced to a strict submission to 
 the mandates of his superior, and whom his 
 own necessities did not allow him openly to 
 disobey, made a rueful grimace at this authori- 
 tative injunction ; but v/ithout reply, he forth- 
 with proceeded to solace himself with huge 
 slices of the beef, and nothing but the positive 
 exhaustion of his jaws brought his exertions to 
 a close, his appetite remaining, to all appear- 
 ance, as sharp-set at the end as at the 
 beginning. 
 
 This snack, as Joe Gripe called it, being
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 285 
 
 ended, the butler, disdaining to liold converse 
 with the creatures, though lie fed them — the 
 unsatisfied Tim casting a look of poignant 
 regret at the tankard — returned to tlie hall ; 
 and Mr. Gripe, chucking on his white hat, and 
 thrusting his hands into his pockets, with his 
 stick tucked under his arm, posted himself 
 at the window to watch the return of Mr. 
 Skinnom.
 
 286 THE MAN 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " He gazed upon those ancient walls ; 
 He looked — but could not speak : 
 And as he left his father's halls, 
 He thought his heart would break ! 
 
 " He shed no tear — he breathed no sigh — 
 Though sore that heart was riven : 
 Shrouding his grief from mortal eye, 
 He placed his trust in Heaven." 
 
 Old Tale. 
 
 It was not until his return from the fulfilment 
 of his pious duties, that Frank became aware 
 of the arrival of the London attorney, and his
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 287 
 
 attendant myrmidons ; and Sir Matthew Carl- 
 ton and Mr. Lesley found themselves under 
 the necessity of explaining the cause of their 
 unwelcome presence. 
 
 " It is with the most sincere regret, sir," 
 said Mr. Skinnom, addi'essing Frank, in his 
 mildest accents — " it is with sorrow, sir, that I 
 fmd it impossible to express, that I learnt on 
 my arrival the distressing circumstances — 
 and no one can deplore them with more sorrow 
 than myself — which have occurred in your 
 family; and I am sure, sir, Mr. Huntham, 
 my respectable partner, will feel as I do, 
 when " 
 
 But this specimen of the inimitable blarney 
 of the pathetic Skinnom was cut short by the 
 arrival of a gentleman on horseback, who, 
 from the appearance of the animal covered 
 with foam, had lost no time in attending to 
 the summons of Sir Matthew Carlton.
 
 288 THE MAN 
 
 ^' Mr. Ilartwcll — Mr. Skinnom; ]\Ir. Skin- 
 nom — Mr. Hartwell." 
 
 After excessive bowing on both sides, the 
 matter in hand was briefly explained to ]\Ir. 
 Hartwell, by Mr. Skinnom, with professional 
 technicality. 
 
 *' Will you let me see the writ?" asked Mr. 
 Hartwell. 
 
 The ready Gripe appeared. 
 
 *' This is all regular enough; and the best 
 tiling to do is to get rid of the execution at 
 once. The amount is " 
 
 '' Four thousand four hundred and eighty- 
 two pounds odd," replied Skinnom. 
 
 " Eather large to produce on the instant. 
 Nothing else, I hope, Mr. Skinnom?" 
 
 " This is all on the present /^;/?/, but there's 
 the mortgage, which of course you're aware 
 of."
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 289 
 
 " Mortgage!" exclaimed all present, even 
 Frank's attention being roused by this omi- 
 nous word. 
 
 " This is the most extraordinary thing I 
 ever heard," said Sir Matthew Carlton. 
 '^ Have you any knowledge of this matter, 
 Mr. Lesley?" 
 
 " It passes my comprehension," replied the 
 clergyman, looking with concern at Frank. 
 
 " Stay a moment," said Frank, a recollec- 
 tion of the . bundle of papers, which he had 
 taken from his father's room on that never-to- 
 be-forgotten night, flashing across his mind. 
 
 Leaning on Mr. Lesley's arm, he immedi- 
 ately proceeded to his bureau, in which he 
 had deposited the mysterious packet. He 
 broke the seal. A glance at the contents re- 
 vealed to him the terrible secret of his father's 
 sufferings, and of his own changed state. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 290 THE MAN 
 
 He placed it in the hands of Mr. Lesley . 
 
 " Can tliis be real?" said the clergyman; 
 " or was your poor father's mind disordered?" 
 
 "It is too true, I fear," said Frank, with 
 singular calmness. " I have no doubt of its 
 truth; other reasons confirm it. My poor 
 mother was at least spared this dreadful 
 blow!" 
 
 They requested the presence of Mr. Hart- 
 well. That gentleman — a plain-speaking, but 
 honest and straightforward man — did not hesi- 
 tate, though with a visible concern, to lay 
 bare the exact state of the case. 
 
 " It is best," he said to Mr. Lesley, " how- 
 ever painful, to let young Mr. Coverley know 
 the truth. Mr. Skinnom has communicated 
 to Sir Matthew Carlton and myself, that the 
 late Mr. Coverley mortgaged the estate to
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 291 
 
 the amount of nearly ninety thousand pounds, 
 and that these people hokl for themselves 
 and their client, other securities, in the form 
 of acceptances, to a large amount. It is my 
 duty to tell you," he added, " that Mr. Skin- 
 nom has exhibited sufficient documents to 
 convince me — if there is nothing wrong, and 
 nothing irregular appears on the face of them — 
 that the claims for themselves and their 
 clients amount to more than the value of the 
 whole estate, including the total of the per- 
 sonal effects. But of course," Mr. Ilartwell 
 observed, " the present Mr. Coverley's legal 
 advisers will enter into a strict investigation 
 of claims so unexpected and so extraordinary." 
 Frank could not help feeling a sinking of 
 the heart at this information, the general cor- 
 rectness of which he did not dare to doubt,
 
 292 THE MAN 
 
 confirmed as it was by the papers containing 
 his father's confession of the real state of his 
 affairs. lie frankly communicated to Mr. 
 Lesley his conviction of the legality of the 
 claims. 
 
 . " Well, my dear boy, whether it is alto- 
 gether correct or not," said the good clergy- 
 man, " this is not the place for you to stay 
 in after what has occurred. You must take 
 up your abode with me. There is a room 
 vacant, fortunately; and now the sooner we 
 go the better." 
 
 Frank gladly acquiesced ; Sir MatthcAv Carl- 
 ton took his leave ; Mr.Hartwell undertook to 
 attend to the legal part of the proceedings at 
 the Hall ; and Frank, supported by the cler- 
 gyman's arm, left his paternal home, which he 
 was never again to enter as its master, and
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 293 
 
 slowly took his way, across tlie well-known 
 fields, to the clergyman's cottage. 
 
 That night he slept in Clara's bed, and the 
 whirl in his brain became gradually appeased. 
 He rapidly revolved all the events of his 
 young life, his schoolboy days, his father's 
 joyous hospitality, his mother's countenance 
 beaming with kindness and afiection, his 
 sports with his early playmate in the happier 
 Jiours of their infancy — all seemed a dream. 
 But then his thoughts rested on Clara's love, 
 and he repeated to himself her last words in 
 the garden, and recalled her last look by 
 the soft moonlight, when they parted. The 
 mild melancholy which this remembrance 
 raised, soothed his troubled spirits, and lie 
 slept. 
 
 Before he had retired to rest, he had a con-
 
 294 THE MAN 
 
 versation with his old friend on the sudden 
 change in his prospects. 
 
 " You are very kind," said Frank, in reply 
 to the good clergyman's attempts to cheer 
 him, " but I feel too much stunned to be able 
 to think clearly. I have not yet strength of 
 mind to face the difficulties of my future 
 course; but I cannot disguise from myself 
 that I am in the most unfortunate and em- 
 barrassing position of all grades in society — 
 that of a poor gentleman without a profession. 
 But still, somehow" — his eyes resting on 
 Clara's drawing materials — '' 1 feel I shall 
 not lose courage.'* 
 
 '' I will pray to God," said the clergyman, 
 ^' to give it to you." 
 
 Firm as that young heart was, and confident 
 in its own strength, Frank Coverley would
 
 WITHOUT A PROFESSION. 295 
 
 perhaps have lost his courage that night, 
 could he have foreseen that the present 
 calamity, terrible as it was in its cutting 
 severity, was only the beginning of his many 
 trials. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 T. C. SavilJ, Priulcr, 107, St. Martio'e Laiie.
 
 3 0112 076126512