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EVAN HAREINGTOK 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE MEREDITH, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE ORDEAL OF RICHARD FEVEREL, 
 
 "the shavixg of shaopat," etc. 
 
 IX THREE VOLOIES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LOXDOX : 
 BRADBURY Sz EVAXS, 11, BOUVERIE STREET. 
 
 1861. 
 
 [The Pu'jht f'f Translation is reserved.'] 
 
LONDON : 
 BRADBtmY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIAas. 
 
8^3 
 
 N/.l 
 
 y >■ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 o- 
 
 -♦- 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 .Above Buttons 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 H The Heritage of the Son 14 
 
 P CHAPTER III. 
 
 The Daughters of the Shears 27 
 
 '' CHAPTER lY. 
 
 On Board the Jocasta 43 
 
 ^ CHAPTER V. 
 
 ^ The Family and the Funeral 69 
 
 ^ CHAPTER VI. 
 
 tv» ^Iy Gentleman on the Road ^^ 
 
 CJt.' CHAPTER VII. 
 '^ Mother and Son 100 
 
IV CONTEXTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Introduces ax Eccentric l'2i 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The Countess in Low Society . ... l-iS 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 My Gentleman on the Koad again . . . . 160 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 Doings at an Inn 190 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 In avhicii Ale is shown to have one quality of 
 
 AViNE 211 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 The ;^L\TCH of Fallowfield against Beckley" . . 236 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 The Countess describes the Field of Action . . 271 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 A Capture • -290 
 
EVAN HAEEINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ABOVE BUTTONS. 
 
 Long after the hours when tradesmen are in the 
 habit of commencing business, the shutters of a 
 certain shop in the town of Lymport-on-the-Sea 
 remained significantly closed, and it became known 
 that death had taken Mr. Melchisedec Harrinofton, 
 
 O" 
 
 and struck one off the list of living tailors. 
 The demise of a respectable member of this class 
 does not ordinarily create a profound sensation. 
 He dies, and his equals debate who is to be his 
 successor : w^iile the rest of them who have come 
 in contact with him, very probably hear nothing 
 of his great launch and final adieu till the wind- 
 ing up of cash-accounts ; on which occasions we 
 may augur that he is not often blessed b}^ one or 
 other of the two great parties who subdivide this 
 universe. In the case of Mr. Melchisedec it was 
 otherwise. This had been a grand man, despite 
 his calling, and in the teeth of opprobrious 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
ii EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 epithets against his craft. To be both generally 
 blamed, and generally liked, evinces a peculiar 
 construction of mortal. Mr. Melchisedec, whom 
 people in private called the gi'eat ^lel, had been 
 at once the sad dog of Lymport, and the pride of 
 the town. He was a tailor, and he kept horses ; 
 he was a tailor, and he had gallant adventures ; 
 he was a tailor, and he shook hands with his cus- 
 tomers. Finally, he was a tradesman, and he 
 never was known to have sent in a bill. Such a 
 personage comes but once in a generation, and, 
 when he goes, men miss the man as well as 
 their money. 
 
 That he was dead, there could be no doubt. 
 Kilne, the publican opposite, had seen Sally, one 
 of the domestic servants, come out of the house 
 in the early morning and rush up the street to 
 the doctor's, tossing her hands ; and she, not dis- 
 inclined to dilute her giief, had, on her return, 
 related that her master was then at his last gasp, 
 and had refused, in so many words, to swallow 
 the doctor. 
 
 " ' I won't swallow the doctor ! ' he says, ' I 
 won't swallow the doctor ! ' " Sally moaned. " * I 
 never touched him,' he says, ' and I never 
 will.' " 
 
 Kilne angrily declared that, in his opinion, a 
 man who rejected medicine in extremity, ought 
 to have it forced down his throat : and consider- 
 
ABOVE BUTTOXS. 3 
 
 ing that the invalid was pretty deeply in Kilne's 
 debt, it naturally assumed the form of a dishonest 
 act on his part ; but SaUy scornfully dared any- 
 one to lay hand on her master, even for his own 
 good. " For," said she, " he's got his eyes awake, 
 though he do he so helpless. He mai'ks ye ! " 
 
 '• How does he look ? " said Kilne. 
 
 " Bless ye ! I only seen him once since he was 
 took," returned Sally. "' We're none of us allowed 
 to come anigh him — :/- ijissus." 
 
 " Ah I ah ! " went Kilne, and sniffed the aii*. 
 Sally then rushed back to her duties. 
 
 " Now, there's a man ! " Kilne stuck his hands 
 in his pockets and began his meditation : which, 
 however, was cut short by the approach of his 
 neighbour Barnes, the butcher, to whom he con- 
 fided what he had heard, and who ejaculated pro- 
 fessionally, '' Obstinate as a pig !" As they stood 
 together they beheld Sally, a figure of telegraph, 
 at one of the windows, implying that all was 
 just over. 
 
 *' Amen ! " said Barnes, as to a matter-of-fact 
 afiau'. 
 
 Some minutes after the two were joiaed by 
 Grossby the confectioner, who listened to the 
 news, and observed : 
 
 " Just like him I I'd have sworn he'd never 
 take doctors stuff;" and, nodding at Kilne, 
 '' liked his mediciue best, eh ? ' 
 
 b2 
 
4 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 " Had a — hem ! — good lot of it," muttered 
 Kilne, with a suddenl}^ serious brow. 
 
 " How does he stand on your books ? " asked 
 Barnes. 
 
 Kilne shouldered round, crying : " Who the 
 deuce is to know ? " 
 
 " / don't," Grossby sighed. " In he comes 
 with his ' Good morning, Grossby, — fine day for 
 the hunt, Grossby,' and a ten pound note. ' Have 
 the kindness to put that down in my favour, 
 Grossby.' And just as I am going to say, ' Look 
 here, — this won't do,' he has me by the collar, 
 and there's one of the regiments going to give a 
 sui^per partj^, which he's to order ; or the admiral's 
 wife wants the receipt for that pie ; or in comes 
 my wife, and there's no talking of business then, 
 though she may have been bothering about his 
 account all the night beforehand. Something or 
 other ! and so we run on." 
 
 " What I want to know," said Barnes the 
 butcher, "is where he got his tenners from ? " 
 
 Kilne shook a sagacious head : " No knowing ! " 
 
 " I suppose we shall get something out of the 
 fire ? " Barnes suggested. 
 
 " That depends ! " answered the emphatic 
 Kilne. 
 
 " But, you know, if the widow carries on the 
 business," said Grossby, " there's no reason why 
 we shouldn't get it all, eh ? " 
 
ABOVE BUTTONS. O 
 
 " There ain't two that can make clothes for 
 nothing, and make a profit out of it," said Kihie. 
 
 " That young chap in Portugal," added Barnes, 
 " he won't take to tailoring when he comes home. 
 D'ye think he will ? " 
 
 Kilne muttered : " Can't say ! " and Grossby, a 
 kindly creature in his wa}^ albeit a creditor, 
 reverting to the first subject of their discourse, 
 ejaculated, " But what a one he icas ! — eh ? " 
 
 " Fine ! — to look on," Kilne assented. 
 
 *' Well, he ^cas like a Marquis," said Barnes. 
 
 Here the three regarded each other, and laughed, 
 though not loudly. The}^ instantly checked that 
 unseemliness, and Kilne, as one who rises from 
 the depths of a calculation with the sum in his 
 head, spoke quite in a different voice : 
 
 " Well, what do you say, gentlemen ? shall we 
 adjourn ? No use standing here." 
 
 By the invitation to adjou.n, it was well under- 
 stood by the committee Kilne addressed, that 
 they were invited to pass his threshold, and par- 
 take of a morning draught. Barnes, the butcher, 
 had no objection wdiatever, and if Grossb}^ a man 
 of milder make, entertained an}^ the occasion and 
 common interests to be discussed, advised him 
 to waive them. In single file these mourners 
 entered the publican's house, where Kilne, after 
 summoning them from beliind the bar, on the 
 important question, what it should be ? and re- 
 
6 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 oeiving, first, perfect acquiescence in his views as 
 to what it slioukl be, and then feeble suggestions 
 of the drink best befittmg that early hour and the 
 speaker's particular constitution, poured out a 
 toothful to each, and one to himself. 
 
 *' Here's to him, poor fellow ! " said Kilne ; and 
 was deliberately echoed twice. 
 
 '' Now, it wasn't that," Kilne pursued, pointing 
 to the bottle in the midst of a smacking of lips, 
 " that wasn't what got him into difficulties. It 
 was exj)ensiYe luckshries. It was being above 
 his condition. Horses ! Wliat's a tradesman got 
 to do with horses ? Unless he's retired ! Then 
 he's a gentleman, and can do as he likes. It's no 
 use trying to be a gentleman if you can't pay for 
 it. It always ends bad. Wlij^ there w^as he, 
 consorting with gentlefolks — gay as a lark ! AVho 
 has to pay for it ? " 
 
 Kilne's fellow victims maintained a rather dole- 
 ful tributary silence. 
 
 " I'm not saying anything against him now," 
 the publican further observed. " It's . too late. 
 And there ! I'm sony he's gone, for one. He 
 was as kind a hearted a man as ever breathed. 
 And there ! perhaps it was just as much my 
 fault ; I couldn't say * No ' to him, — dash me, if 
 I could!" 
 
 Lymport was a prosperous town, and in pros- 
 perity the much despised British tradesman is 
 
ABOVE BUTTONS. 7 
 
 not a harsh, he is really a well-disposed, easy soul, 
 and requires but management, manner, occasional 
 instalments — ^just to freshen the account — and a 
 surety that he who debits is on the spot, to be a 
 right royal king of credit. Only the account must 
 never drivel. Stare aut crescere appears to be 
 his feeling on that point, and the departed Mr. 
 ]\[elchisedec undoubtedly understood him there ; 
 for, though the running on of the account looked 
 so deplorable and extraordinary now that Mr. 
 ]\[elchisedec was no longer in a position to run 
 on with it, it was precisely that fact which had 
 prevented it from being brought to a summary 
 close long before. 
 
 Both Banies, the butcher, and Grossby, the 
 confectioner, confessed that they, too, found it 
 hard ever to say " No " to him, and, speaking 
 broadly, never could. 
 
 *' Except once," said Barnes, " when he wanted 
 me to let him have a ox to roast whole out on the 
 common, for the Battle of Waterloo. I stood out 
 against him on that. 'No, no,' says I, 'I'll joint 
 him for ye, Mr. Harrington. You shall have him 
 in joints, and eat him at home ; ' — ha ! ha ! " 
 
 " Just like him ! " said Grossby, with true 
 enjoyment of the princely disposition that had 
 dictated that patriotic order. 
 
 "Oh! — there!" Kilne emphasised, pushing 
 
8 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 out his ann across the bar, as much as to say, 
 that in anything of that kind, tlie great Mel never 
 had a rival. 
 
 " That ' Marquis ' aifair changed him a bit," 
 said Barnes. 
 
 "Perhaps it did, for a time," said Kilne. 
 "What's in the grain, you know. He couldn't 
 change. He would be a gentleman, and nothing'd 
 stop him." 
 
 " And I shouldn't wonder but what that 3'oung 
 chap out in Portugal 11 want to be one, too ; 
 though he didn't bid fail* to be so fine a man as 
 his father." 
 
 " More of a scholar," remarked Kilne. " That 
 I call his worst fault — shilly-shallying about that 
 young chap. I mean his.'' Kilne sti'etched a 
 finger towai^ds the dead man's house. "First, 
 the young chap's to be sent into the navy ; then 
 it's the army ; then he's to be a judge, and sit on 
 criminals ; then he goes out to his sister in Portu- 
 gal ; and now there's nothing but a tailor open to 
 him, as I see, if w^e're to get our money." 
 
 " Ah ! and he hasn't got too much spirit to 
 work to pay his father's debts," added Barnes. 
 " There's a business there to make any man's 
 fortune — properly (directed, I say. But, I sup- 
 pose, like father like son, he'll be coming the 
 Marquis, too. He went to a gentleman's school, 
 and he's had foreign training. I don't know 
 
ABO^^: buttons. 9 
 
 what to think about it. His sister over there 
 — she's a fine woman." 
 
 " Oh ! a fine family, every one of 'em ! and 
 married well ! " exclaimed the publican. 
 
 " I never had the exact rights of that ' Marquis ' 
 affair," said Grossby; and, remembering that he 
 had previously laughed knowingly when it was 
 alluded to, pursued ; " Of course I heard of it at 
 the time, but how did he behave when he was 
 blown upon ? " 
 
 Barnes undertook to explain ; but Kilne, who 
 relished the narrative quite as well, and was 
 readier, said : 
 
 " Look here ! I'll tell you. I had it from his 
 own mouth one night when he wasn't — not quite 
 himself. 'He was coming down King William 
 Street, where he stabled his horse, you know, 
 and I met him. He'd been dining out — some- 
 where out over Fallowfield, I think it was ; and 
 he sings out to me, ' Ah ! Kilne, my good fellow ! ' 
 and I, wishing to be equal with him, says, ' A 
 fine night, my lord ! ' and he draws himself up — 
 he smelt of good company — says he, ' Kilne ! I'm 
 not a lord, as you know, and you have no excuse 
 for mistaking me for one, sir ! ' So I pretended I 
 had mistaken him, and then he tucked his arm 
 under mine, and said, ' You're no worse than 
 your betters, Kilne. They took me for one at 
 Squire Uploft's to-night, but a man who wishes 
 
10 EVAN HAEIIIN'GTON. 
 
 to pass off for more than he is, Kilne, and impose 
 upon people,' he says, ' he's contemptible, Kilne ! 
 contemptible ! ' So that, you know, set me 
 thinking about ' Bath ' and the ' Marquis,' and I 
 couldn't help smiling to myself, and just let slip 
 a question whether he had enlightened them a 
 bit. ' Kilne,' said he, ' you're an honest man, 
 and a neighbour, and I'll tell you what happened, 
 The Squire,' he says, ' lilies my company, and I 
 like his table. Now the Squire'd never do a 
 dirty action, but the Squire's nephew, Mr. George 
 Uploft, he can't forget that I earn my money, and 
 once or twice I have had to correct him.' And 
 I'll wager Mel did it, too ! Well, he goes on : 
 ' There was Admiral Sir Jackson Roseley and his 
 lady, at dinner, Squire Foulke of Hursted, Lady 
 Barrington, Admiral Combleman ' — our admiral, 
 that was ; Mr. This and That, I forget their 
 names — and other ladies and gentlemen whose 
 acquaintance I was not honoured with.' You 
 know his way of talldng. ' And there was a 
 goose on the table,' he says ; and, looking stern 
 at me, ' Don't laugh yet ! ' says he, like thunder. 
 Well, he goes on : ' Mr. George caught my eye 
 across the table, and said, so as not to be heard 
 by his uncle, "If that bird was rampant, you 
 would see your own arms. Marquis." ' And Mel 
 replied, quietly for him to hear, ' And as that bird 
 is couchant, Mr. George, you had better look to 
 
ABOVE BUTTONS. H 
 
 your sauce.' Conchant means squatting, you 
 know. That's 'eraldy ! Well, that wasn't bad 
 sparring of Mel's. But, bless you ! he was never 
 taken aback, and the gentlefolks was glad enough 
 to get him to sit down amongst 'em. So, says Mr. 
 George, ' I know you're a fire-eater, Marquis,' and 
 his dander was up, for he began marquising Mel, 
 and doing the mock-polite at such a rate, that, 
 by-and-by, one of the ladies who didn't know Mel 
 called him ' my lord ' and ' his lordship.' ' And,' 
 says Mel, ' I merely bowed to her, and took no 
 notice.' So that passed off: and there sits Mel 
 telling his anecdotes, as grand as a king. And, 
 by-and-by, young Mr. George, who hadn't for- 
 given Mel, and had been pulling at the bottle 
 pretty well, he sings out, ' It's Michaelmas ! the 
 death of the goose ! and I should like to drink the 
 Marquis's health ! ' and he di'ank it solemn. But, 
 as far as I can make out, the women part of the 
 company was a little in the dark. So Mel waited 
 till there was a sort of a pause, and then speaks 
 rather loud to the Admiral, 'By the way, Sir 
 Jackson, may I ask you, has the title of Marquis 
 anything to do with tailoring ? ' Now Mel was a 
 great favourite with the Admiral, and with his 
 lady, too, — they say — and the Admiral played 
 into his hands, you see, and, says he, ' I'm not 
 aware that it has, Mr. Hariington.' And he 
 begged for to know why he asked the question — 
 
12 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 called him, ' Mister,' you understand. So Mel 
 said, and I can see him now — right out from his 
 chest he spoke, with his head up — ' When I was 
 a younger man, I had the good taste to he fond of 
 good society, and the had taste to wish to appear 
 different from what I was in it.' That's Mel 
 speaking; everybody was listening; so he goes 
 on. ' I was in the habit of going to Bath in the 
 season, and consorting with the gentlemen I met 
 there on terms of equality ; and for some reason 
 that I am quite guiltless o/,' says Mel, * the hotel 
 people gave out that I was a Marquis in disguise ; 
 and, upon my honour, ladies and gentlemen — I 
 was 5'oung then, and a fool — I could not help 
 imagining I looked the thing. At all events, I 
 took upon mj'self to act the part, and with some 
 success, and considerable gratification ; for, in my 
 opinion,' says Mel, ' no real Marquis ever enjoyed 
 his title so much as I did. One day I was in my 
 shop — No. 193, Main Street, Lymport — and a 
 gentleman came in to order his outfit. I received 
 his directions, when suddenly he started back, 
 stared at me, and exclaimed : " My dear Marquis ! 
 I trust you will pardon me for having addressed 
 yovL with so much familiarity." I recognised in 
 him one of my Bath acquaintances. That circum- 
 stance, ladies and gentlemen, has been a lesson to 
 me. Since that time I have never allowed a false 
 impression with regard to my position to exist. 
 
ABOVE BUTTONS. 13 
 
 I desire,' says Mel, smilinj:^, 'to have my exact 
 measure taken everywhere ; and if the Michaelmas 
 bu'd is to be associated with me, I am sure I have 
 no objection ; all I can say is, that I cannot justify 
 it by letters patent of nobility.' That's how Mel 
 put it. Do you think they thought worse of him ? 
 I w^arrant you he came out of it in flying colours. 
 Gentlefolks like straight-forwardness in their 
 inferiors — that's what they do. Ah!" said 
 Kilne, meditatively, " I see him now, walking 
 across the street in the moonlight, after he'd told 
 me that. A fine figure of a man ! and there 
 ain't many Marquises to match him." 
 
 To this Barnes and Grossby, not insensible to 
 the merits of the recital they had just given ear 
 to, agreed. And with a common voice of praise 
 in the mouths of his creditors, the dead man's 
 requiem was sounded. 
 
 1 
 
14 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE HERITAGE OF THE SON. 
 
 Towards evening, a carriage drove up to the 
 door of the muted house, and the card of Lad}' 
 Roseley, bearing a hui'ried line in pencil, was 
 handed to the widow. 
 
 It was when you looked upon her that you 
 began to comprehend how great was the personal 
 splendour of the husband who could eclipse such a 
 woman. Mrs. Harrington was a tall and a stately 
 dame. Dressed in the high waists of the matrons 
 of that period, with a light shawl di'awn close over 
 her shoulders and bosom, she carried her head 
 well ; and her pale firm features, with the cast of 
 immediate affliction on them, had much dignitj^ : 
 dignity of an unrelenting physical order, which 
 need not express any remarkable pride of spirit. 
 The family gossips who, on both sides, were vain 
 of this rare couple, and would alwaj^s descant on 
 their beauty, even when they had occasion to 
 slander their characters, said, to distinguish them, 
 that Henrietta Maria had a Port, and Melchisedec 
 a Presence : and that the union of a Port and a 
 Presence, and such a Port and such a Presence, 
 
THE HERITAGE OF THE SON. 15 
 
 was SO uncommon, that you might search England 
 through and 5'ou would not find another, not even 
 in the highest ranks of society. There lies some 
 suhtle distinction here ; due to the minute per- 
 ceptions which compel the gossips of a family to 
 coin phrases that shall express the nicest shades 
 of a domestic difference. By a Port, one may 
 understand them to indicate something unsympa- 
 thetically impressive ; whereas a Presence would 
 seem to he a thing that directs the most affable 
 appeal to our j^oor human weaknesses. His 
 Majesty E^ng George IV., for instance, possessed 
 a Port : Beau Brummel wielded a Presence. 
 Many, it is true, take a Presence to mean no more 
 than a shirt-frill, and interpret a Port as the art 
 of walking erect. But this is to look upon 
 language too narrowl}^ 
 
 On a more intimate acquaintance with the 
 couple, you acknowledge the aptness of the fine 
 distinction. By birth Mrs. Harrington had claims 
 to rank as a gentlewoman. That is, her father 
 was a lawyer of Lymport. The lawyer, however, 
 since we must descend the genealogical tree, was 
 known to have man'ied his cook, who was the 
 lady's mother. Now Mr. Melchisedec was mys- 
 terious concerning his origin ; and, in his cups, 
 talked largely and wisely of a great Welsh family, 
 issuing from a line of princes ; and it is certain 
 that he knew enough of their history to have 
 
IG EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 instructed them on particular points of it. He 
 never could think that his wife had done him any 
 honour in espousing him ; nor was she the woman 
 to tell him so. She had married him for love, 
 rejecting various suitors, Squii'e Uploft among 
 them, in his favour. Subsequently she had com- 
 mitted the profound connubial error of trans- 
 ferring her affections, or her thoughts, from him 
 to his business, which, indeed, was much in want 
 of a mate ; and while he squandered the guineas, 
 she patiently picked up the pence. They had not 
 lived unhappily. He was constantly courteous to 
 her. But to see the Port at that sordid work 
 considerably ruffled the Presence — put, as it were, 
 the peculiar division between them ; and to behave 
 towai'ds her as the same woman who had attracted 
 his youthful ardours was a task for his magnifi- 
 cent mind, and may have ranked with hun as an 
 indemnit}^ for his general conduct, if his reflections 
 ever stretched so far. The townspeople of Lym- 
 port were correct in sa3ing that his wife, and his 
 wife alone, had, as they termed it, kept him 
 together. Nevertheless, now that he was dead, 
 and could no longer be ke23t together, they 
 entirely forgot their respect for her, in the out- 
 burst of their secret admiration for the popular 
 man. Such is the constitution of the inhabitants 
 of this dear Island of Britain, so falsely accused 
 by the Great Napoleon of being a nation of shop- 
 
THE HERITAGE OF THE SOX. 17 
 
 keepers. Here let anyone proclaim himself Above 
 Buttons, and act on the assumption, liis fellows 
 with one accord hoist him on their heads, and bear 
 him aloft, sweating, and groaning, and cursing, 
 but proud of him ! And if he can contrive, or has 
 any good wife at home to help him, to die with- 
 out going to the dogs, they are, one may say, 
 unanimous in crvincr out the same eulogistic 
 funeral oration as that commenced by Kilne, the 
 publican, when he was interrupted by Barnes, 
 the butcher, " Now, there's a man ! — " 
 
 Mrs. Harrington was sitting in her parlour 
 with one of her married nieces, Mrs. Fiske, and 
 on reading Lady Boseley's card, she gave word 
 for her to be shown uj) into the di'awing-room. 
 It was customary among Mrs. Harrington's 
 female relatives, who one and all abused and 
 adored the great Mel, to attribute his short- 
 comings pointedly to the ladies; which was as 
 much as if their jealous generous hearts had said 
 that he was sinful, but that it was not his fault. 
 Mrs. Fiske caught the card from her aunt, read 
 the superscription, and exclaimed : " The idea ! 
 At least she might have had the decency ! 
 She never set her foot in the house before — 
 and right enough too ! AVhat can she want 
 now ? I decidedly would refuse to see her, 
 aunt ! " 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
18 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 The widow's reply was simply, " Don't be a 
 fool, Ann ! " 
 
 Rising, she said : " Here, take poor Jacko, and 
 comfort him till I come back." 
 
 Jacko was a middle-sized South American 
 monkey, and had been a pet of her husband's. 
 He was supposed to be mourning now with the 
 rest of the family. Mrs. Fiske received him on a 
 shrinking lap, and had found time to correct one 
 of his indiscretions before she could sigh and say, 
 in the rear of her aunt's retreating figure, " I cer- 
 tainly never would let myself down so; " but Mrs. 
 Harrington took her own counsel, and Jacko was 
 of her persuasion, for he quickly released himself 
 from Mrs. Fiske's dispassionate embrace, and 
 was slinging his body up the balusters after his 
 mistress. 
 
 " Mrs. Harrington," said Lady Roseley, very 
 sweetly swimming to meet her as she entered 
 the room, " I have intruded upon you, I fear, 
 in venturing to call upon you at such a 
 time ? " 
 
 The widow bowed to her, and begged her to be 
 seated. 
 
 Lady Roseley was an exquisitely silken dame, 
 in whose face a winning smile was cut, and she 
 was still sufficiently j'outhful not to be accused of 
 wearing a flower too artificial. 
 
 " It was so sudden ! so sad ! " she continued. 
 
THE HERITAGE OF THE SON. 19 
 
 " We esteemed him so much. I thought j^ou 
 might be in need of sympathy, and hoped I 
 might — Dear Mrs. Harrington ! can you bear 
 to speak of it ? " 
 
 " I can tell you anj^thing you wish to hear, my 
 lady," the widow repHed. 
 
 Lady Roseley had expected to meet a w^oman 
 much more like what she conceived a tradesman's 
 wife would be : and the grave reception of her 
 proffer of sympathy slightly confused her. She 
 said : 
 
 " I should not have come, at least not so early, 
 but Sir Jackson, my husband, thought, and indeed 
 I imagined — You have a son, Mrs. Harrington ? 
 I think his name is — " 
 
 " Evan, m)^ lady." 
 
 " Evan. It was of him we have been speaking. 
 I imagined — that is, we thought, Sii' Jackson 
 might — you will be writing to him, and will let 
 him know we will use our best efforts to assist 
 him in obtaining some position worthy of his — 
 superior to — something that will secure him from 
 the harassing embaiTassments of an uncongenial 
 employment." 
 
 The widow listened to this tender allusion to 
 the shears without a smile of gratitude. She 
 replied : " I hope my son will return in time to 
 bury his father, and he will thank you himself, 
 my lady." 
 
 c2 
 
20 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 " He has no taste for — a — for anything in the 
 shape of trade, has he, Mrs. Harrington ? " 
 
 " I am afraid not, my lady." 
 
 *' Any position — a situation — that of a clerk 
 even — would be so much better for him ! " 
 
 The widow remained impassive. 
 
 " And many young gentlemen I know, who are 
 clerks, and are enabled to live comfortably, and 
 make a modest appearance in society ; and your 
 son, Mrs. Harrington, he would find it surely an 
 improvement upon — many would think it a step 
 for him." 
 
 " I am bound to thank you for the interest you 
 take in my son, my lady." 
 
 " Does it not quite suit your views, Mrs. Har- 
 rington ? " Lady Eoseley was surprised at the 
 widow's manner. 
 
 " If my son had only to think of himself, my 
 lady." 
 
 " Oh ! but of course," — the lady understood 
 her now — " of course ! You cannot suppose, Mrs. 
 Harrington, but that I should anticipate he would 
 have you to live with him, and behave to you in 
 every way as a dutiful son, surely ? " 
 
 " A clerk's income is not very large, my lady." 
 
 " No ; but enough, as I have said, and with 
 the management you would bring, Mrs. Harring- 
 ton, to produce a modest, respectable maintenance. 
 M}' respect for your husband, Mrs. Harrington, 
 
THE HERITAGE OF THE SOX. 21 
 
 makes me anxious to press my services upon 
 you." Lady Rosele}' could not avoid feeling hurt 
 at the widow's want of common gratitude. 
 
 " A clerk's income would not be more than 
 lOOl. a-year, my lady." 
 
 " To begin with — no ; certainly not more." Tlie 
 lady was growing brief. 
 
 *' If my son puts by the half of that yearly, he 
 can hardly support himself and his mother, my 
 lady." 
 
 " Half of that yearly, Mrs. Harrington ? " 
 
 " He would have to do so, and be saddled till 
 he dies, my lady." 
 
 " I really cannot see why." 
 
 Lad}^ Koseley had a notion of some excessive 
 niggardl}' thrift in the widow, which was ai'ousing 
 symptoms of disgust. 
 
 Mrs. Harrington quietly said : " There are his 
 father's debts to pay, my lady." 
 
 " His father's debts ! " 
 
 " Under 5000Z., but above 4000Z., my lady." 
 
 " Five thousand pounds ! Mrs. Harrington ! " 
 The lady's delicately gloved hand gently rose and 
 fell. " And this poor young man — " she pursued. 
 
 " ^ly son will have to pay it, my lady." 
 
 For a moment the lady had not a word to 
 instance. Presently she remarked : *' But, Mrs. 
 Harrington, he is sui'ely under no legal 
 obligation ? " 
 
22 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 " He is only under the obligation not to cast 
 disrespect on his father's memory, my lady ; and 
 to be honest, while he can." 
 
 " But, Mrs. Harrington ! surely ! what can the 
 2)Oor young man do ? " 
 
 " He will pay it, my lady." 
 
 " But how, Mrs. Harrington ? " 
 
 " There is his father's business, my lady." 
 
 His father's business ! Then must the young 
 man become a tradesman in order to show respect 
 for his father ? Preposterous ! That was the 
 lady's natural inward exclamation. She said, 
 rather shrewdly, for one who knew nothing of 
 such things : " But a business which produces 
 debts so enormous, Mrs. Harrington ! " 
 
 The widow replied : '* My son will have to 
 conduct it in a different way. It would be a 
 very good business, conducted properly, my 
 lady." 
 
 " But if he has no taste for it, Mrs. Harring- 
 ton ? If he is altogether superior to it ? " 
 
 For the first time during the interview, the 
 widow's inflexible countenance was mildly moved, 
 though not to any mild expression. 
 
 " My son will have not to consult his tastes," she 
 observed : and seeing the lady, after a short silence, 
 quit her seat, she rose likewise, and touched the 
 fingers of the hand held forth to her, bowing. 
 
 " You will pardon the interest I take in your 
 
THE HERITAGE OF THE SON. 23 
 
 son," said Lady Eoseley. " I hope, indeed, that 
 his relatives and friends Tvill procure him the 
 means of satisfying the demands made upon 
 him." 
 
 " He would still have to pay them, my lady," 
 was the widow's answer. 
 
 " Poor young man ! indeed I pity him!" sighed 
 her visitor. " You have hitherto used no efforts 
 to persuade him to take such a step, Mrs. 
 Harrington ? " 
 
 " I have written to Mr. Goren, who was my 
 husband's fellow apprentice in London, my lad)^ ; 
 and he is willing to instruct him in cutting, and 
 measuring, and keeping accounts." 
 
 Certain words in this speech were obnoxious to 
 the fine ear of Lady Eoseley, and she relinquished 
 the subject. 
 
 " Your husband, Mrs. Harrington — I should so 
 much have wished! — he did not pass away in — 
 in pain ? " 
 
 " He died very calmly, my lady." 
 
 " It is so terrible, so disfiguring, sometimes. 
 One dreads to see ! — one can hardlv distincfuish ! 
 I have known cases where death was dreadful ! 
 But a peaceful death is very beautiful ! There is 
 nothing shocking to the mind. It suggests 
 Heaven ! It seems a fulfilment of our prayers ! " 
 
 "Would your ladyship like to look upon him? " 
 said the widow. 
 
24 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 Lady Roseley betraj-ed a sudden gleam at 
 having her desire thus intuitively fathomed. 
 
 " For one moment, Mrs. Hanington ! We 
 esteemed him so much ! May I ? " 
 
 The widow responded by opening the door, and 
 leading her into the chamber where the dead man 
 lay. 
 
 At that period when threats of invasion had 
 formerly stirred up the military fire of us 
 Islanders, the great Mel, as if to sliow the great 
 Napoleon what character of being a British shop- 
 keeper really was, had, by remarkable favour, 
 obtained a lieutenancy of militia dragoons : in 
 the uniform of which he had revelled, and 
 perhaps for the only time in his life, felt that 
 cii'cumstance had suited him with a perfect fit. 
 However that may be, his solemn final commands 
 to his wife, Henrietta Maria, on whom he could 
 count for absolute obedience in such matters, 
 had been, that as soon as the breath had left his 
 body, he should be taken from his bed, washed, 
 perfumed, powdered, and in that uniform dressed 
 and laid out ; with directions that he should be 
 so buried at the expiration of three days, that 
 havoc in his features might be hidden from men. 
 In this array Lady Koseley belield him. The 
 curtains of the bed were drawn aside. The 
 beams of evening fell soft through the blinds of 
 
THE HERITAGE OF THE SON. 25 
 
 the room, and cast a subdued light on the figure 
 of the vanquished warrior. The Presence, dumb 
 now for evermore, was sadly illumined for its last 
 exliibition. But one who looked closely might 
 have seen that Time had somewhat spoiled that 
 perfect fit which had aforetime been his pride ; 
 and now that the lofty spirit had departed, there 
 had been extreme difficulty in persuading the 
 sullen excess of clay to conform to the dimensions 
 of those garments. The upper part of the chest 
 alone would bear its buttons, and across one 
 portion of the lower limbs an ancient seam had 
 started ; recalling an incident to them who had 
 known him in his brief hour of glory. For one 
 night, as he was riding home from Fallowfield, 
 and just entering the gates of the town, a mounted 
 trooper spurred furiously jDast, and slashing out 
 at him, gashed his thigh. IVIrs. Melchisedec 
 found him lying at his door in a not unwonted 
 way ; carried him up- stairs in her arms, as she 
 had done many a time before, and did not per- 
 ceive his state till she saw the blood on her gown. 
 The cowardly assailant was never discovered; but 
 Mel was both gallant, and, had in his military 
 career, the reputation of being a martinet. Hence, 
 divers causes were suspected. The wound failed 
 not to mend, the trousers were repaired : Peace 
 about the same time was made, and the aftair 
 passed over. 
 
20 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 Looking on the fine head and face, Lady 
 Ptoseley saw nothing of this. She had not looked 
 long before she found covert employment for her 
 handkerchief. The widow standing beside her 
 did not weep, or reply to her whispered excuses 
 at emotion ; gazing down on his mortal length 
 with a sort of benignant friendliness ; aloof, as 
 one whose duties to that form of flesh were well- 
 nigh done. At the feet of his master, Jacko, the 
 monkey, had jumped up, and was there squatted, 
 with his legs crossed, very like a tailor ! The 
 imitative wretch had got a towel, and as often as 
 Lady Roseley's handkerchief travelled to her 
 eyes, Jacko's peery face was hidden, and you saw 
 his lithe skinny body doing griefs convulsions : 
 till, tired of this amusement, he obtained posses- 
 sion of the warrior's helmet, from a small round 
 table on one side of the bed ; a casque of the 
 barbarous military- Georgian form, with a huge 
 knob of horse -hair projecting over the peak ; 
 and under this, trying to adapt it to his rogue's 
 head, the tricksy image of Death extinguished 
 himself. 
 
 All was very silent in the room. Then the 
 widow quietl}^ disengaged Jacko, and taking him 
 up, went to the door, and deposited him outside. 
 During her momentary absence. Lady Roseley 
 had time to touch the dead man's forehead with 
 her lips, unseen. 
 
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE SHEARS. 27 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE DAUGHTERS OF THE SHEARS. 
 
 Three daughters and a son were left to tlie 
 world by Mr. Melchisedec. Love, well endowed, 
 had already claimed to provide for the daughters : 
 first in the shape of a lean Marine subaltern, 
 whose days of obscuration had now passed, and 
 who had come to be a major of that coi'ps : 
 secondly, presenting his addresses as a brewer of 
 distinction : thirdly, and for a climax, as a Portu- 
 guese Count : no other than the Senor Silva Diaz, 
 Conde de Saldar : and this match did seem a far 
 more resplendent one than that of the two elder 
 sisters with Major Strike and Mr. Andrew Cog- 
 glesby. But the rays of neither fell visibly on 
 I^ymport. These escaped Eurydices never re- 
 appeared, after being once fairly caught away from 
 the gloomy realms of Dis, otherwise Trade. All 
 three persons of singular beauty, a certain refine- 
 ment, some Port, and some Presence, hereditarily 
 combined, they feared the clutch of that fell king, 
 and performed the widest possible circles around 
 him. Not one of them ever approached the house 
 of her parents. They were dutiful and loving 
 
28 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 children, and wrote frequently ; but of course they 
 had to consider their new position, and their hus- 
 bands, and their husbands' families, and the world, 
 and what it would say, if to it the dreaded rumour 
 should penetrate ! Lymport gossips, as numerous 
 as in other parts, declared that the foreign noble- 
 man would rave in an extraordinary manner, and 
 do things after the outlandish fashion of his 
 country : for from him, there was no doubt, the 
 shop had been most successfully veiled, and he 
 knew not of Pluto's close relationship to his 
 lovely spouse. 
 
 The marriages had happened in this way. Balls 
 are given in country towns, where the graces of 
 tradesmen's daughters may be witnessed and 
 admii'ed at leisure by other than tradesmen : by 
 occasional country gentlemen of the neighbour- 
 hood, with light minds : and also by small officers ; 
 subalterns wishing to do tender execution upon 
 man's fair enemy, and to find a distraction for 
 their legs. The classes of our social fabric have, 
 here and there, slight connecting links, and pro- 
 vincial public balls are one of these. They are 
 dangerous, for Cupid is no respector of class- 
 prejudice ; and if you are the son of a retired 
 tea-merchant, or of a village doctor, or of a half- 
 pay captain, or of anything superior, and visit one 
 of them, you are as likely to receive his shot as 
 any shopboy. Even masquerading lords at such 
 
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE SHEARS. 29 
 
 places, have been known to be slain out-right ; 
 and although Society allows to its highest and 
 dearest to save the honour of their families, and 
 heal their anguish, by indecorous compromise, 
 you, if you are a trifle below that mark, must not 
 expect it. You must absolutely give yourself for 
 what you hope to get. Dreadful as it sounds to 
 philosophic ears, you must marry. This, having 
 danced with Caroline Harrington, the gallant 
 Lieutenant Strike determined to do. Nor, when 
 he became aware of her father's occuj)ation, did 
 he shrink from his resolve. After a month's hard 
 courtship, he married her straight out of her 
 father's house. That he may have all the credit 
 due to him, it must be admitted that he did not 
 once compare, or possibly permit himself to reflect 
 on, the dissimilarity in their respective ranks, and 
 the step he had taken downward, till they were 
 man and wife : and then not in any great degree, 
 before Fortune had given him his majority ; an 
 advance the good soldier frankly told his wife he 
 did not owe to her. If we may be permitted to 
 suppose the colonel of a regiment on friendly 
 terms with one of his corporals, we have an 
 estimate of the domestic life of Major and Mrs. 
 Strike. Among the garrison males, his comrades, 
 he passed for a disgustingly jealous brute. The 
 ladies, in their pretty language, signalised him as 
 a " finick." 
 
30 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 Now, having achieved so capital a marriage, 
 Caroline, worthy creature, was anxious that her sis- 
 ters should not be less happy, and would have them 
 to visit her, in spite of her husband's protests. 
 
 " There can be no danger," she said, for she 
 was in fresh quarters, far from the nest of con- 
 tagion. The lieutenant himself ungrudgingly 
 declared that, looking on the ladies, no one for an 
 instant could suspect; and he saw many young 
 fellows ready to be as great fools as he had been : 
 another voluntary" confession he made to his wife ; 
 for the candour of which she thanked him, and 
 pointed out that it seemed to run in the family ; 
 inasmuch as ]\Ir. Andrew Cogglesby, his rich rela- 
 tive, had seen and had proposed for Harriet. 
 The lieutenant flatly said he would never allow 
 it. In fact he had hitherto concealed the non- 
 presentable portion of his folly very satisfactorily 
 from all save the mess-room, and Mr. Andrew's 
 passion was a severe dilemma to him. It need 
 scarcely be told that his wife, fortified by the 
 fervid brewer, defeated him utterly. What was 
 more, she induced him to be an accomplice in 
 deception. For though the lieutenant protested 
 that he washed his hands of it, and that it was a 
 fraud and a snare, he certainly did not avow the 
 condition of his wife's parents to Mr. Andrew, 
 but alluded to them in passing as " the country 
 people." He supposed "the country people" 
 
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE SHEARS. 31 
 
 must be asked, he said. The brewer offered to 
 go down to them. But the lieutenant drew an 
 mipleasant picture of the country people, and his 
 wife became so grave at the proposition, that Mr. 
 Andrew said, he wanted to marry the lady, and 
 not the " country people," and if she would have 
 him, there he was. There he was, behaving with 
 a particular and sagacious kindness to the raw 
 lieutenant since Harriet's arrival. If the lieu- 
 tenant sent her away, j\Ir. Andrew would infallibly 
 pursue her, and light on a discovery. Twice 
 cursed by Love, twice the victim of tailordom, our 
 excellent Marine gave away Harriet Harrington 
 in marriage to ]\[r. Andrew Cogglesby. 
 
 Thus Joy clapped hands a second time, and 
 Horror deepened its shadows. 
 
 From higher ground it was natural that the 
 concluding sister should take a bolder flight. Of 
 the loves of the fair Louisa Harrington and the 
 foreign Count, and how she first encountered him 
 in the brewer's saloons, and how she, being a 
 humorous person, laughed at his "loaf" for her, 
 and wore the colours that pleased him, and kindled 
 and soothed his jealousy, little is known beyond 
 the fact that she espoused the Count, under the 
 auspices of the affluent brewer, and engaged that 
 her children should be brought up in the faith of 
 the Catholic Church : which Lymport gossips 
 called, paying the Devil for her pride. 
 
82 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 The three sisters, gloriously rescued by their 
 own charms, had now to think of their one young 
 brother. How to make him a gentleman ! That 
 was their problem. Preserve him from tailor- 
 dom — from all contact with trade — they must ; 
 otherwise they would be perpetually linked to the 
 horrid thing they hoped to outlive and bury. A 
 cousin of ^Ir. Melchisedec's had risen to be an 
 admiral and a knight for valiant action in the old 
 war, when men could rise. Him they besought 
 to take charge of the youth, and make a distin- 
 guished seaman of him. He courteously declined. 
 They then attacked the married Marine — navy or 
 army being quite indifferent to them, as long as 
 they could win for their brother the badge of one 
 service, " When he is a gentleman at once ! " they 
 said, like those who see the end of their labours. 
 Strike basely pretended to second them. It 
 would have been delightful to him, of course, to 
 have the tailor's son messing at the same table, 
 and claiming him when he pleased with a famiUar 
 " All, brother ! " and prating of their relationship 
 everywhere. Strike had been a fool : in revenge 
 for it, he laid out for himself a masterly career 
 of consequent wisdom. The brewer — uxorious 
 Andrew Cogglesby — might and would have bought 
 the commission. Strike laughed at the idea of 
 giving money for what could be got for nothing. 
 He told them to wait. 
 
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE SHEARS. 33 
 
 In the meantime Evan, a lad of seventeen, 
 spent the hours not devoted to his positive pro- 
 fession — that of gentleman — in the ofl&ces of the 
 brewery, toying with big books and balances, 
 which he despised with the combined zeal of the 
 sucking soldier and emancipated tailor. 
 
 Two years passed in attendance on the astute 
 brother-in-law, to whom Fortune now beckoned 
 to come to her and gather his laurels from the 
 pig-tails. About the same time the Countess 
 sailed over from Lisbon on a visit to her sister 
 Harriet (in reality, it was whispered in the Cog- 
 glesby saloons, on a diplomatic mission from the 
 Court of Lisbon ; but that could not be made 
 ostensible). The Countess narrowly examined 
 Evan, whose steady advance in his profession 
 both her sisters praised. 
 
 "Yes," said the Countess, in a languid alien 
 accent. " He has something of his father's car- 
 riage — something. Something of his dehvery — 
 his readiness." 
 
 It was a remarkable thing that these ladies 
 thought no man on earth like their father, and 
 alwaj^s cited him as the example of a perfect 
 gentleman, and yet they buried him with one 
 mind, and each mounted guard over his sepulchre, 
 to secure his ghost from an airing. 
 
 *' He can walk, my dears, ceilainly, and talk — 
 a little. Tete-a-tete, I do not say. I should 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
/ 
 
 34 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 think there he would be — a stick ! All you English 
 are. But what sort of a bow has he got, I ask 
 you ? How does he enter a room ? And, then 
 his smile ! his laugh ! He laughs like a horse — 
 absolutely ! There's no music in his smile. Oh ! 
 you should see a Portuguese nobleman smile. 
 Oh ! Dios ! honeyed, my dears ! But Evan has it 
 not. None of you English have. You go so." 
 
 The Countess pressed a thumb and finger to 
 the sides of her mouth, and set her sisters 
 laugliing. 
 
 " I assure you, no better ! not a bit ! I faint 
 in yom' society. I ask myself — Where am I ? 
 Among what boors have I fallen ? But Evan is 
 no worse than the rest of you ; I acknowledge 
 that. If he knew how to dress his shoulders 
 properly, and to direct his eyes — Oh ! the eyes ! 
 you should see how a Portuguese nobleman can 
 use his eyes ! Soul ! my dears ! soul ! Can any 
 of you look the unutterable without being absurd ! 
 You look so." 
 
 And the Countess hung her jaw under heavily 
 vacuous orbits, something as a sheep might yawn. 
 
 "But I acknowledge that Evan is no worse 
 than the rest of you," she repeated. " If he 
 understood at all the management of his eyes and 
 mouth ! But that's what he cannot possibly learn 
 in England — not possibly ! As for your poor 
 husband, Harriet ! one really has to remember his 
 
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE SHEARS. 85 
 
 excellent qualities to forgive him, poor man ! And 
 that stiff handbox of a man of yours, Cai'oline ! " 
 addressing the wife of the Marine, " he looks as 
 if he were all angles and sections, and were taken 
 to pieces every night and put together in the 
 morning. He may he a good soldier — good any- 
 thing you will — but, Dios ! to be married to that ! 
 He is not civilised. None of you English are. 
 You have no place in the di'awing-room. You 
 are hke so many intrusive oxen — absolutely ! One 
 of your men trod on my toe the other night, and 
 what do 3'ou think the creatui-e did ? Jerks back, 
 then the half of him forward — I thought he was 
 going to break in two — then grins, and gi'unts, 
 ' Oh ! 'm sm'e, beg pardon, 'm sure ! ' I don't 
 know whether he didn't say, ma'am ! " 
 
 The Countess lifted her hands, and fell away in 
 laughing horror. When her humour, or her 
 feelings generally, were a little excited, she spoke 
 her vernacular as her sisters did, but immediately 
 subsided into the deliberate delicately-syllabled 
 di'awl. 
 
 " Now that happened to me once at one of our 
 gi'eat balls," she pursued. " I had on one side of 
 me the Duchesse Eugenia de Formosa de Fontan- 
 digua ; on the other sat the Countess de Pel, a 
 widow\ And we were talking of the ices that 
 evening. Eugenia, you must know, my dears, 
 was in love with the Count Belmaraiia. I was 
 
 1)2 
 
36 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 her sole confidante. The Countess de Pel — a 
 horrible creature ! Oh ! she was the Duchess's 
 determmed enemy — would have stabbed her for 
 Belmaraiia, one of the most beautiful men ! 
 Adored by every woman ! So we talked ices, 
 Eugenia and myself, quite comfortably, and that 
 horrible De Pel had no idea in life ! Eugenia had 
 just said, ' This ice sickens me ! I do not taste 
 the flavour of the vanille.' I answered, ' It is 
 here ! It must — it cannot but be here ! You 
 love the flavour of the vanille ? ' With her exqui- 
 site smile, I see her now saying, ' Too well ! it is 
 necessary to me ! I live on it !' when up he came. 
 In his eagerness, his foot just efllem'ed my robe. 
 Oh ! I never shall forget ! In an instant he was 
 down on one knee : it was so momentary that 
 none saw it but we three, and done with ineffable 
 gi'ace. ' Pardon ! ' he said, in his sweet Portu- 
 guese ; ' Pardon ! ' looking up — the handsomest 
 man I ever beheld ; and when I think of that 
 odious wretch the other night, with his ' Oh ! 'm 
 sui'e, beg pardon, 'm sure ! — 'pon my honour ! ' 
 I could have kicked him — I could indeed ! " 
 
 Here the Countess laughed out, but relapsed 
 into : 
 
 " Alas ! that Belmarana should have betrayed 
 that beautiful trusting creature to De Pel. Such 
 scandal ! — a duel ! — the Duke was wounded. For 
 a whole year Eugenia did not dare to api^ear at 
 
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE SHEARS. 37 
 
 court, but had to remain immured in her country- 
 house, where she heard that Belmarana had 
 married De Pel ! It was for her money, of course. 
 Rich as Croesus, and as wicked as the black man 
 below ! as dear papa used to say. By the way, 
 weren't we talking of Evan ? Ah, — yes ! " 
 
 And so forth. The Countess was immensely 
 admired, and though her sisters said that she was 
 *' foreignised " over-much, they clung to "her des- 
 peratel}'. She seemed so entirely to have eclipsed 
 tailordom, or " Demogorgon," as the Countess 
 pleased to call it. "Who could suppose this grand- 
 mannered lady, with her coroneted anecdotes and 
 delicious breeding, the daughter of that thing ? 
 It was not possible to suppose it. It seemed to 
 defy the fact itself. 
 
 They congratulated her on her complete escape 
 from Demogorgon. The Countess smiled on them 
 with a lovel}^ sorrow. 
 
 " Safe from the whisper, my dears ; the cease- 
 less dread ? If you knew what I have to endure ! 
 I sometimes envy you. Ton my honour, I some- 
 times wish I had married a fishmonger ! Silva, 
 indeed, is a most excellent husband. Polished ! 
 such polish as you know not of in England. He 
 has a way — a wriggle with his shoulders in com- 
 pany — I cannot describe it to you ; so slight ! so 
 elegant ! and he is all that a woman could desire. 
 But who could be safe in any part of the earth, 
 
38 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 my dears, while papa will go about so, and behave 
 so extraordinarily ? I was at dinner at the em- 
 bassy a month or two ago, and there was Admiral 
 Combleman, then on the station off Lisbon, Sir 
 Jackson Roseley's friend, who was the admiral at 
 L3Tnport formerly. I knew him at once, and 
 thought, oh ! what shall I do ! My heart was like 
 a lump of lead. I would have given worlds that 
 we might have one of us smothered the other ! 
 I had to sit beside him — it always happens ! 
 Thank heaven ! he did not identify me. And 
 then he told an anecdote of papa. It was the 
 dreadful old ' Bath ' story. I thought I should 
 have died. I could not but fancy the Admiral 
 suspected. Was it not natural? And what do 
 you think I had the audacity to do ? I asked 
 him coolly, whether the Mr. Harrington he men- 
 tioned was not the son of Sir Abraham Harring- 
 ton, of Torquay, — the gentleman who lost his 
 yacht in the Lisbon waters, last year ? I brought 
 it on myself. ' Gentleman, ma'am,' — Ma'am ! says 
 the horrid old creature, laughing, — ' gentleman ! 
 
 he's a ' I cannot speak it : I choke ! And 
 
 then he began praising papa. Dios ! what I 
 suffered. But, you know, I can keep my coun- 
 tenance, if 1 perish. I am a Harrington as much 
 as any of us ! " 
 
 And the Countess looked superb in the pride 
 with which she said she was what she would have 
 
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE SHEARS. 39 
 
 given her hand not to be. But few feelings are 
 single on this globe, and junction of sentiments 
 need not imply unity in our yeasty compositions. 
 
 " After it was over — my supplice," continued 
 the Countess, *' I was questioned by all the ladies 
 — I mean our ladies — not your English. They 
 wanted to know how I could be so civil to that 
 intolerable man. I gained a deal of credit, my 
 dears. I laid it all on — Diplomacy." The Coun- 
 tess laughed bitterly. " Diplomacy bears the 
 burden of it all. I pretended that Combleman 
 could be useful to Silva. Oh ! what hypocrites 
 we all are 1 " 
 
 The ladies listening could not gainsay this 
 favourite claim of universal brotherhood among 
 the select who wear masks instead of faces. 
 
 With regard to Evan, the Countess had far out- 
 stripped her sisters in her views. A gentleman 
 she had discovered must have one of two things 
 — a title or money. He might have all the breed- 
 ing in the world; he might be as good as an angel; 
 but without a title or money he was under eclipse 
 almost total. On a gentleman the sun must 
 shine. Now, Evan had no title, no money. The 
 clouds were thick above the youth. To gain a 
 title he would have to scale aged mountains. 
 There was one break in his firmament through 
 which the radiant luminary might be assisted to 
 
40 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 cast its beams on him still young. That divine 
 portal was matrimony. If he could but make a 
 rich marriage he would blaze transfigured ; all 
 would be well ! And why should not Evan many 
 an heiress, as well as another ? 
 
 *' I know a young creature who would exactly 
 suit him," said the Countess. " She is related to 
 the embassy, and is in Lisbon now. A charming 
 child — ^just sixteen ! Dios ! how the men rave 
 about her ! and she isn't a beauty, — there's the 
 wonder ; and she is a little too gauche — too English 
 in her habits and ways of thinking ; likes to be 
 admired, of course, but doesn't know yet how to 
 set about getting it. She rather scandalises our 
 
 ladies, but when you know her ! She will 
 
 have, they say, a hundred thousand pounds in her 
 own right ! Rose Jocelyn, the daughter of Sir 
 Franks, and that eccentric Lady Jocelyn. She is 
 with her uncle, Melville, the celebrated diplomate 
 — though, to tell you the truth, we turn him round 
 our fingers, and spin him as the boys used to do 
 the cockchafers. I cannot forget our old Fallow- 
 field school-life, you see, my dears. Well, Rose 
 Jocelyn would just suit Evan. She is just of an age 
 to receive an impression. And I would take care 
 she did. Instance me a case where I have failed ? 
 
 " Or there is the Portuguese widow, the Rostral. 
 She's thirty, certainly ; but she possesses millions ! 
 Estates all over the kingdom, and the sweetest 
 
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE SHEARS. 41 
 
 creature. But, no. Evan would be out of the 
 way there, certainly. But — our women are very 
 nice : they have the dearest, sweetest ways : but 
 I would rather Evan did not marry one of them. 
 And then there's the religion ! " 
 
 This was a sore of the Countess's own, and she 
 dropped a tear in coming across it. 
 
 *' No, my dears, it shaU be Rose Jocelyn ! " she 
 concluded : " I will take Evan over with me, and 
 see that he has opportunities. It shall be Rose, 
 and then I can call her mine ; for in verity I love 
 the child." 
 
 It is not my part to dispute the Countess's love 
 for Miss Jocelyn ; and I have only to add that 
 Evan, unaware of the soft training he was to 
 undergo, and the brilliant chance in store for him, 
 offered no impediment to the proposition that he 
 should journey to Portugal with his aun t (whose 
 subtlest flattery was to tell him that she should 
 not be ashamed to o\vn him there) ; and ultimately, 
 furnished with cash for the trip by the remon- 
 strating brewer, went. 
 
 So these Parcse, daughters of the shears, 
 arranged and settled the young man's fate. His 
 task was to learn the management of his mouth, 
 how to dress his shoulders properly, and to direct 
 his eyes — rare qualities in man or woman, I assure 
 you; the management of the mouth being espe- 
 cially admirable, and correspondingly diflicult. 
 
42 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 These achieved, he was to place his battery in 
 position, and win the heart and hand of an 
 heiress. 
 
 Our comedy opens with his return from Por- 
 tugal, in company with ]\Iiss Rose, the heiress ; 
 the Honourable Melville Jocelyn, the diplomate ; 
 and the Count and Countess de Saldar, refugees 
 out of that explosive little kingdom. 
 
ON BOARD THE JOCASTA. 4.3 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OX BOAED THE JOCASTA. 
 
 From the Tagus to the Thames the Govern- 
 ment sloop -of- war, Jocasta, had made a prosperous 
 voyage, bearing that precious freight, a removed 
 diplomatist and his family ; for whose uses let a 
 sufficient vindication be found in the exercise he 
 affords our crews in the science of seamanship. 
 She entered our noble river somewhat early on a 
 fine July morning. Early as it was, two young 
 people, who had nothing to do with the trimming 
 or guiding of the vessel, stood on deck, and 
 watched the double -shore, beginning to embrace 
 them more and more closely as they sailed onward. 
 One, a young lady, very young in manner, wore a 
 black felt hat with a floating scarlet feather, and 
 was clad about the shoulders in a mantle of 
 foreign style and pattern. The other you might 
 have taken for a wandering Don, were such an 
 object ever known ; so simply he assumed the 
 dusky sombrero and dangling cloak, of which one 
 fold was flung across his breast and drooped 
 behind him. The line of an adolescent dark 
 
44 EVAN HAREINGTON. 
 
 moustaclie ran along his lip, and only at intervals 
 could 3'ou see that his eyes were blue and of the 
 land he was nearing. For the j^outh was medi- 
 tative, and held his head much down. The young 
 lad}^ on the contrary, permitted an open inspec- 
 tion of her countenance, and seemed, for the 
 moment at least, to be neither caring nor tliinking 
 of what kind of judgment would be passed on her. 
 Her pretty nose was up, sniffing the still salt 
 breeze with vivacious delight. 
 
 " Oh ! " she cried, clapping her hands, " there 
 goes a dear old English gull ! How I have wished 
 to see him ! I haven't seen one for two years 
 and seven months. When I'm at home, I'll leave 
 my window open all night, just to hear the rooks, 
 when they wake in the morning. There goes 
 another dear old gull ! I'm sure they're not like 
 foreign ones ! Do you think they are ? " 
 
 Without waiting for a reply, she tossed up her 
 nose again, exclaiming : 
 
 " I'm sure I smell England nearer and nearer ! 
 Don't you ? I smell the fields, and the cows in 
 them. I declare I'd have given anything to be a 
 dairy-maid for half an hour ! I used to lie and 
 pant in that stifling air among those stupid people, 
 and wonder why anybody ever left England. Aren't 
 you glad to come back ? " 
 
 This time the fair speaker lent her eyes to the 
 question, and shut her lips : sweet, cold, chaste 
 
ON BOARD THE JOCASTA. 45 
 
 lips she had : a mouth that had not yet dreamed 
 of kisses, and most honest eyes. 
 
 The young man felt that they were not to be 
 satisfied by his own, and after seeking to fill them 
 with a doleful look, which was immediately suc- 
 ceeded by one of superhuman indifference, he 
 answered : 
 
 " Yes ! We shall soon have to part ! " and 
 commenced tapping with his foot the cheerful 
 martyr's march. 
 
 Speech that has to be hauled from the depths 
 usually betrays the effoii;. Listening an instant 
 to catch the import of this cavernous gasp upon 
 the brink of sound, the girl said : 
 
 " Part ? w^hat do you mean ? " 
 
 Apparently it required a yet vaster effort to 
 pronounce an explanation. The doleful look, the 
 superhuman indifference were repeated in due 
 order : sound a Httle more distinct, uttered the 
 words : 
 
 " We cannot remain as we have been, in 
 England ! " and then the cheerful martyr took a 
 few steps farther. 
 
 " Why, you don't mean to say you're going to 
 give me up, and not be friends with me, because 
 we've come back to England ? " cried the girl in 
 a rapid breath, eyeing him seriously. 
 
 Most conscientiously he did not mean it ; but 
 he repHed with the quietest negative. 
 
46 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 " No ? " she mimicked him. " AVliy do you say 
 * No ' like that ? Why are you so mysterious, 
 Evan ? Won't you promise me to come and stop 
 with us for weeks ? Haven't you said we would 
 ride, and hunt, and fish together, and read books, 
 and do all sorts of things ? " 
 
 He replied with the quietest affirmative. 
 
 " Yes ? ^^alat does ' Yes ! ' mean ? " She lifted 
 her chest to shake out the dead-alive monosyllable, 
 as he had done. " Why are jou so singular this 
 morning, Evan ? Have I offended you ? You 
 are so touchy ! " 
 
 The slur on his reputation for sensitiveness 
 induced the young man to attempt being more 
 explicit. 
 
 " I mean," he said, hesitating ; " why, we must 
 part. We shall not see each other every day. 
 Nothing more than that." And away went the 
 cheerful mart}^ in his sublimest mood. 
 
 " Oh ! and that makes you sorry ? " A shade 
 of archness was in her voice. 
 
 The girl waited as if to collect something in 
 her mind, and was now a patronising woman. 
 
 " Why, you dear sentimental boy ! You don't 
 suppose we could see each other every day for 
 ever ? " 
 
 It was perhaps the cruelest question that could 
 have been addressed to the sentimental boy from 
 her mouth. But he was a cheerful mai'tyr ! 
 
ON BOARD THE JOCASTA. 47 
 
 " You dear Don Doloroso ! " she resumed. " I 
 declare if you are not just like those young 
 Portugals this morning ; and over there you were 
 such a dear EngUsh fellow; and that's why I 
 liked you so much ! Do change ! Do, please, be 
 Uvely, and yourself again ! Or mind ! I'll call 
 you Don Doloroso, and that shall be your name in 
 England. See there ! — that's — that's ? — what's the 
 name of that place ? Hoy ! Mr. Skeme ! " She 
 hailed the boatswain, passing, " do tell me the 
 name of that place." 
 
 Mr. Skerne righted about to satisfy her 
 minutely, and then coming up to Evan, he 
 touched his hat, and said : 
 
 " I mayn't have another opportunity — we shall 
 be busy up there — of thankin' you again, sir, for 
 what you did for my poor drunken brother Bill, 
 and you may take my word I won't forget it, 
 sir, if he does ; and I suppose hell be drown- 
 ing his memory just as he was near drowning 
 himself." 
 
 Evan muttered something, giimaced civilly, and 
 turned away. The girl's observant brows were 
 moved to a faintly critical frovm., and nodding 
 intelligently to the boatswain's remark, that the 
 young gentleman did not seem quite himself, now 
 that he was nearing home, she went up to Evan, 
 and said : 
 
 " I'm going to give you a lesson in manners, to 
 
48 EVAN HABRINGTON. 
 
 be quits with you. Listen, sir ! TVTiy did you 
 turn away so ungi-aciously from Mr. Skenie, while 
 he was thanking you for having saved his brother's 
 life ? Now there's where you're too English. 
 Can't 3^ou bear to be thanked ? " 
 
 "I don't want to be thanked because I can 
 swim," said Evan. 
 
 "But it is not that. Oh! how you trifle!" 
 she cried. " There's nothing vexes me so much 
 as that way you have. Wouldn't my eyes have 
 sparkled if anybody had come up to me to thank 
 me for such a thing ? I would let them know 
 how glad I was to have done such a thing ! 
 Doesn't it make them hai)pier, dear Evan ? " 
 
 " My dear Miss Jocelyn ! " 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 Evan was silent. The honest grey eyes fixed 
 on him, narrowed their enlarged lids. She gazed 
 before her on the deck, saying : 
 
 " I'm sure I can't understand you. I suppose 
 it's because I'm a girl, and I never shall till I'm 
 a woman. Heigho ! " 
 
 A youth who is engaged in the occupation of 
 eating his heart, cannot shine to advantage, and 
 is as much a burden to himself as he is an 
 enigma to others. Evan felt this ; but he could 
 do nothing and say nothing ; so he retired deeper 
 into the folds of the Don, and remained pic- 
 turesque and scarcely pleasant. 
 
ox BOARD THE JOCASTA. 49 
 
 They were relieved by a summons to breakfast 
 from below. 
 
 She brightened and laughed. *'Now, what 
 will you wager me, Evan, that the Countess 
 doesn't begin : ' Sweet child ! how does she this 
 morning ? blooming ? ' when she kisses me ? " 
 
 Her capital imitation of his sister's manner 
 constrained him to join in her laugh, and he 
 said: 
 
 " I'll back against that, I get three fingers from 
 your uncle, and ' Morrow, young sir ! " 
 
 Down they ran together, laughing ; and, sure 
 enough, the identical words of the respective 
 greetings were employed, which they had to enjoy 
 with all the discretion they could muster. 
 
 Rose went round the table to her little cousin 
 Alec, aged seven, kissed his reluctant cheek, and 
 sat beside him, announcing a sea appetite and 
 great capabilities, while Evan silently broke 
 bread. The Count de Saldar, a diminutive tawny 
 man, just a head and neck above the tablecloth, 
 sat sipping chocolate and fingering dry toast, 
 which he would now and then dip in jelly, and 
 suck with placidity, in the intervals of a curt 
 exchange of French with the wife of the Hon. 
 Melville, a ringleted EngUsh lady, or of Portu- 
 guese with the Countess, who likewise sipped 
 chocolate and fingered dry toast, and was mourn- 
 fully melodious. The Hon. Melville, as became a 
 
 TOL. I. E 
 
50 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 tall islander, carved beef, and ate of it, like a 
 ruler of men. Beautiful to see was the compas- 
 sionate sympathy of the Countess's face when 
 Eose offered her plate for a portion of the world- 
 subjugating viand, as who should say : " Sweet 
 child ! thou knowest not yet of sorrows, thou 
 canst ballast thy stomach with beef ! " In any 
 other than an heiress, she would probably have 
 thought : " This is indeed a disgusting little 
 animal, and most unfeminine conduct ! " 
 
 Rose, unconscious of praise or blame, rivalled 
 her uncle in enjoyment of the fare, and talked of 
 her delight in seeing England again, and anything 
 that belonged to her native land. Mrs. Melville 
 perceived that it pained the refugee Countess, and 
 gave her the glance intelligible ; but the Countess 
 never missed glances, or failed to interpret them. 
 She said : 
 
 " Let her. I love to hear the sweet child's 
 prattle." 
 
 " It was fortunate " (she addressed the diplo- 
 matist) " that we touched at Southampton and 
 procured fresh provision ! " 
 
 " Very lucky for us ! " said he, glaring shrewdly 
 between a mouthful. 
 
 The Count heard the word " Southampton," 
 and wished to know how it was comprised. A 
 passage of Portuguese ensued, and then the 
 Countess said : 
 
ON BOARD THE JOCASTA. 61 
 
 " Silva, you know, desired to relinquish the 
 vessel at Southampton. He does not comprehend 
 the word ' expense,' but " (she shook a dumb 
 Alas !) " I must think of that for him now ! " 
 
 " Oh ! always avoid expense," said the Hon. 
 Melville, accustomed to be paid for by his country. 
 
 " At what time shall we arrive, may I ask, do 
 you think ? " the Countess gently inquired. 
 
 The watch of a man who had his eye on Time 
 was pulled out, and she was told it might be two 
 hours before dark. Another reckoning, keenly 
 balanced, informed the company that the day's 
 papers could be expected on board somewhere 
 about thi'ee o'clock in the afternoon. 
 
 "And then," said the Hon. Melville, nodding 
 general gratulation, " we shall know how the 
 world wags." 
 
 How it had been wagging the Countess's strain- 
 ing eyes under closed eyelids were eloquent of. 
 
 " Too late, I fear me, to w^ait upon Lord Lively- 
 ston to-night ? " she suggested. 
 
 " To-night ? " The Hon. MelviUe gazed blank 
 astonishment at the notion. " Oh ! certainly, too 
 late to-night. A — hum ! I think, madam, jou 
 had better not be in too great a hurry to see him. 
 Ptepose a little. Recover youi' fatigue." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed the Countess, with a beam 
 of utter confidence in him, " I shall be too happy 
 to place myself m your hands — believe me." 
 
 b2 
 
 U. ,r ILL Ua 
 
52 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 This was scarcely more to the taste of the 
 diplomatist. He put up his mouth, and said, 
 blandly : 
 
 " I fear — you know, madam, I must warn you 
 beforehand — I, personally, am but an insignificant 
 unit over here, you know ; I, personally, can't 
 guarantee much assistance to you — not positive. 
 What I can do — of course, very happy ! " And 
 he fell to again upon the beef. 
 
 " Not so very insignificant ! " said the Countess, 
 smiling, as at a softly radiant conception of him. 
 
 " Have to bob and bow like the rest of them 
 over here," he added, proof against the flattery. 
 
 " But that you will not forsake Silva, I 
 am convinced," said the Countess ; and, paying 
 little heed to his brief " Oh ! what 1 can do," 
 continued, " for over here, in England, we are 
 almost friendless. My relations — such as are left 
 of them — are not in high place." She turned to 
 Mrs. Melville, and renewed the confession with a 
 proud humility. " Truly, I have not a distant 
 cousin in the Cabinet ! " 
 
 Mrs. Melville met her sad smile, and retm-ned 
 it, as one who understood its entire import. 
 
 " My brother-in-law — my sister, I think, you 
 know — married a — a brewer ! He is rich ; but, 
 well ! such was her taste ! My brother-in-law is 
 indeed in Parliament, and he — " 
 
 " Very little use, seeing he votes with the 
 
ON BOARD THE JOCASTA. 53 
 
 opposite party," the diplomatist interrupted 
 her. 
 
 " Ah ! but he will not," said the Countess, 
 serenely. " I can trust with confidence that, if it 
 is for Silva's interest, he will assui^edly so dispose 
 of his influence as to suit the desiderations of his 
 family, and not in smy way oppose his opinions to 
 the powers that would mllingiy stoop to serve us! " 
 
 It was impossible for the Hon. ]Melville to 
 withhold a shglit grimace at liis beef, when he 
 heard this extremely alienised idea of the nature 
 of a member of the Parliament of Great Britain. 
 He allowed her to enjoy her delusion, as she 
 pursued : 
 
 '' No. So much we could offer in repaj^ment. 
 It is little ! But this, in verity, is a case. Silva's 
 wrongs have only to be known in England, and I 
 am most assured that the English people will 
 not permit it. In the days of his prosperity, 
 Silva was a friend to England, and England 
 should not — should not — forget it now. Had we 
 money ! But of that arm our enemies have 
 deprived us : and, I fear, without it we cannot 
 hope to have the justice of our cause pleaded in 
 the English papers. Mr. Redner, you know, the 
 correspondent in Lisbon, is a sworn foe to Silva. 
 And why but because I would not procure him 
 an invitation to Court ! The man was so horridly 
 vulgar ; his gloves were never clean ; I had to 
 
54 EVAN HAERINGTON. 
 
 hold a bouquet to my nose when I talked to him. 
 That, you say, was my fault ! Truly so. But 
 what woman can be civil to a low bred, preten- 
 tious, offensive man ? '* 
 
 Mrs. Melville, again appealed to, smiled perfect 
 sympathy, and said, to account for his cha- 
 racter : 
 
 " Yes. He is the son of a small shopkeeper of 
 some kind, in Southampton, I hear." 
 
 "A very good fellow m his way," said her 
 husband. 
 
 " Oh ! I can't bear that class of people," Rose 
 exclaimed. " I always keep out of their way. 
 You can always tell them." 
 
 The Countess smiled considerate approbation 
 of her exclusiveness and discernment. So sweet 
 a smile ! 
 
 " You were on deck early, my dear ?" she asked 
 Evan, rather abruptly. 
 
 Master Alec answered for him : " Yes, he was, 
 and so was Rose. They made an appointment, 
 just as they used to do under the oranges." 
 
 " Children ! " the Coimtess smiled to Mrs. 
 Melville. 
 
 " They always whisper when I'm by," Alec 
 appended. 
 
 *' Children ! " the Countess's sweetened visage 
 entreated Mrs. INIelville to re-echo ; but that lady 
 thought it best for the moment to direct Rose 
 
ON BOARD THE JOCASTA. 55 
 
 to look to her packing, now that she had done 
 breakfast. 
 
 " And I will take a walk with my brother on 
 deck," said the Countess. " Silva is too harassed 
 for converse." 
 
 The parties were thus di\4ded. The silent 
 Count was left to mediatte on his wrongs in the 
 saloon ; and the diplomatist, alone with his lady, 
 thought fit to say to her, shortly : " Perhaps it 
 would be as well to draw away from these people 
 a little. We've done as much as we could for 
 them, in briuging them over here. They may 
 be tr3'ing to compromise us. That woman's 
 absurd. She's ashamed of the brewer, and yet 
 she wants to sell him — or wants us to buy him. 
 Ha ! I think she wants us to send a couple of 
 frigates, and threaten bombard of the caj^ital, if 
 they don't take her husband back, and receive 
 him with honours." 
 
 " Perhaps it would be as well," said Mrs. 
 Melville. " Rose s invitation to him goes for 
 nothing." 
 
 " Piose ? inviting the Count ? down to Hamp- 
 shire ? " The diplomatist's brows were lifted. 
 
 " No, I mean the other," said the diplomatist's 
 wife. 
 
 " Oh ! the young fellow ! very good young 
 fellow. Gentlemanly. No harm in him." 
 
 " PerhajDS not," said the diplomatist's wife. 
 
56 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 ** You don't suppose he expects us to keep him 
 on, or provide for him over here — eh ? " 
 
 The diplomatist's wife informed him that such 
 was not her thought, that he did not understand, 
 and that it did not matter ; and as soon as the 
 Hon. Melville saw that she was hrooding some- 
 thing essentially feminine, and which had no 
 relationship to the great game of pubUc life, 
 curiosity was extinguished in him. 
 
 On deck the Countess paced with Evan, and 
 was for a time pleasantly diveHed by the admira- 
 tion she could, without looking, perceive that her 
 sorrow-subdued graces had aroused in the breast 
 of a susceptible naval Heutenant. At last she 
 spoke : 
 
 " My dear ! remember this. Your last word to 
 Mr. Jocelyn will be : ' I will do myself the honour 
 to call upon my benefactor ^arly.' To Rose you 
 will say : ' Be assured, Miss Jocelyn ' — Miss 
 Jocelyn is better just then — ' I shall not fail in 
 hastening to pay my respects to your family in 
 Hampshire.' You will remember to do it, in the 
 exact form I speak it." 
 
 Evan laughed : " What ! call him benefactor to 
 his face ? I couldn't do it." 
 
 '' Ah ! my child ! " 
 
 " Besides, he isn't a benefactor at all. His 
 private secretary died, and I stepped in to fill the 
 post, because nobody else was handy." 
 
ON BOAED THE JOCASTA. 57 
 
 '- And tell me of her who pushed you forward, 
 Evan ? " 
 
 " My dear sister, I'm sm-e I'm not ungrateful." 
 
 " No ; but headstrong : opinionated. Now these 
 people will endeavoui* — Oli ! I have seen it in a 
 thousand httle tilings — they wish to shake us off. 
 Now, if you will but do as I indicate ! Put your 
 faith in an older head, Evan. It is your only 
 chance of society in England. For your brother- 
 in-law — I ask you, what sort of people will you 
 meet at the Cogglesbys ? Now and then a noble- 
 man, very much out of his element. In short, 
 you have fed upon a diet which will make you to 
 distinguish, and painfully to know the difference ! 
 Indeed ! Yes, you are looking about for Rose. 
 It depends upon your behaviour now, whether 
 you are to see her at all in England. Do you 
 forget ? You wished orice to inform her of your 
 origin. Think of her words at the breakfast this 
 morning !" 
 
 The Countess imagined she had produced an 
 impression. Evan said : " Yes, and I should 
 have liked to have told her this morning that I'm 
 myself nothing more than the son of a — " 
 
 " Stop ! " cried his sister, glancing about in 
 horror. The admiring lieutenant met her eye. 
 Blandishingly she smiled on him : '' Most beau- 
 tiful weather for a welcome to dear England ? " 
 and passed with majesty. 
 
58 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 " Boy ! " she resumed, " are you mad ? " 
 
 ^' I hate being such a hj^pocrite, madam." 
 
 " Then you do not love her, Evan ? " 
 
 This may have been dubious logic, but it 
 resulted from a clear sequence of ideas in the 
 ladj^'s head. Evan did not contest it. 
 
 " And assuredly you will lose her, Evan. Think 
 of my troubles ! I have to intrigue for Silva ; I 
 look to your future ; I smile, Oh, Heaven ! how 
 do I not smile when things are spoken that pierce 
 mj heart ! This morning at the breakfast ! " 
 
 Evan took her hand, and patted it tenderly. 
 
 " What is your pitj^ ? " she sighed. 
 
 "If it had not been for you, my dear sister, I 
 should never have held my tongue." 
 
 " You are not a Harrington ! You are a 
 Dawley! " she exclaimed, indignantly. 
 
 Evan received the accusation of possessing 
 more of his mother's spirit than his father's in 
 silence. 
 
 " You would not have held your tongue," she 
 said, with fervid severity : " and j^ou would have 
 betrayed yourself ! and you would have said you 
 were that ! and 3"0u in that costume ! ^^^ly, 
 goodness gracious ! could j^ou bear to appear so 
 ridiculous ? " 
 
 The poor young man involuntarily surveyed his 
 person. The pains of an imposter seized him. 
 The deplorable image of the Don making con- 
 
ON BOARD THE JOCASTA. 59 
 
 fession became present to his mind. It was a 
 clever stroke of this female intriguer. She saw 
 him redden gi'ievously, and blink his eyes ; and 
 not wishing to probe him so that he would feel 
 intolerable disgust at his imprisonment in the 
 Don, she continued : 
 
 '' But you have the sense to see your duties, 
 Evan. You have an excellent sense, in the main. 
 No one would di'eam — to see you. You did not, 
 I must say, you did not make enough of your 
 gallantry. A Portuguese who had saved a man's 
 life, Evan, would he have been so boorish ? You 
 behaved as if it was a matter of course that you 
 should go overboard after anvbodv, in vour 
 clothes, on a dark night. So, then, the Jocelyns 
 took it. I barely heard one compliment to you. 
 And Eose — what an effect it should have had on 
 her ! But, owing to your manner, I do believe the 
 girl thinks it nothing but youi' ordinary business 
 to go overboard after anybody, in your clothes, 
 on a dark night. 'Pon my honoui', I believe she 
 expects to see you always dripping ! " The 
 Countess uttered a burst of hysterical humour. 
 " So you miss your credit. That inebriated sailor 
 should really have been gold to you. Be not so 
 young and thoughtless." 
 
 The Countess then proceeded to tell him how 
 foolishly he had let slip his great opportunity. 
 A Portuguese would have fixed the young lady 
 
60 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 long before. By tender moonlight, in captivating 
 language, beneath the umbrageous orange -groves, 
 a Portuguese would have accm-ately calculated 
 the effect of the perfume of the blossom on her 
 sensitive nostrils, and known the exact moment 
 when to kneel, and declare his passion sono- 
 rously. 
 
 " Yes," said Evan, " one of them did. She 
 told me." 
 
 " She told you ? And you — what did you 
 do?" 
 
 " Laughed at him with her, to be sure." 
 
 " Laughed at him ! She told jou, and you 
 helped her to laugh at love ! Have you no per- 
 ceptions ? Why did she tell you ? " 
 
 " Because she thought him such a fool, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 *'You never will know a woman," said the 
 Countess, with contempt. 
 
 Much of his worldly sister at a time was more 
 than Evan could bear. Accustomed to the 
 S}Tiiptoms of restiveness, she finished her dis- 
 course, enjoyed a quiet parade up and down 
 under the gaze of the lieutenant, and could find 
 leisure to note whether she at all struck the in- 
 ferior seamen, even while her mind was absorbed 
 by the multiform troubles and anxieties for which 
 she took such innocent indemnification. 
 
 The appearance of the Hon. Melville Jocelyn 
 
ON BOARD THE JO CASTA. 61 
 
 on deck, and without liis wife, recalled her to 
 business. It is a peculiarity of female diploma- 
 tists that they fear none save their own sex. 
 Men they regard as their natural prey : in women 
 they see rival hunters using their own weapons. 
 The Countess smiled a slowly-kindling smile up 
 to him, set her brother adiift, and delicately 
 linked herself to Evan's benefactor. 
 
 " I have been thinking," she said, " knowing 
 your kind and most considerate attentions, that 
 we may compromise jou in England." 
 
 He at once assured her he hoped not, he 
 thought not at all. 
 
 " The idea is due to my brother," she went on; 
 *' for I — women know so little ! — and most guilt- 
 lessly should we have done so. My brother 
 perhaps does not think of us foremost; but his 
 argument I can distinguish. I can see that, were 
 you openly to plead Silva's cause, you might 
 bring youi'self into odium, Mr. Jocelyn ; and 
 Heaven knows I would not that ! May I then 
 ask, that in England we may be simply upon the 
 same footing of private friendship ? " 
 
 The diplomatist looked into her uplifted 
 visage, that had all the sugary sparkles of a 
 crystallised preserved fruit of the Portugal clime, 
 and observed, confidentially, that, with every 
 willingness in the world to serve her, he did 
 thmk it would possibly be better, for a time, 
 
63 EVAN HAIIIIINGTON. 
 
 to be upon that footing, apart from political con- 
 siderations. 
 
 " I was very sure m}^ brother would apprehend 
 your views," said the Countess. " He, poor boy ! 
 his career is closed. He must sink into a dif- 
 ferent sphere. He will greatly miss the inter- 
 coiu'se with j^ou and your sweet family." 
 
 Further relieved, the diplomatist delivered a 
 high opinion of the young gentleman, his abilities, 
 and his conduct, and trusted he should see him 
 frequently. 
 
 By an apparent sacrifice, the lady thus obtained 
 what she wanted. 
 
 Near the horn- speculated on by the diploma- 
 tist, the papers came on board, and he, unaware 
 how he had been manoeuvred for lack of a wife 
 at his elbow, was quickly engaged in appeasing 
 the great British hunger for news ; second only 
 to that for beef, it seems, and equally acceptable 
 salted when it cannot be had fresh. 
 
 Lea\T.ng the devotee of statecraft with liis legs 
 crossed, and his face wearing the cognisant air of 
 one whose head is above the waters of events, to 
 enjoy the mighty meal of fresh and salted at dis- 
 cretion, the Countess dived below. 
 
 Meantime the Jocasta, as smoothly as before 
 she was ignorant of how the world wagged, 
 slipped up the river with the tide ; and the sun 
 hung red behind the forest of masts, burnishing 
 
ON BOARD THE JOCASTA. 63 
 
 a broad length of the serpentme haven of the 
 nations of the earth. A young Englishman re- 
 tm-ning home can hardly look on this scene 
 without some pride of kinship. Evan stood at 
 the fore part of the vessel. Rose, in quiet 
 English attire, had escaped from her aunt to join 
 liim, singing in his ears, to spm- his senses : '' Isn't 
 it beautiful ? Isn't it beautiful ? Dear old 
 England ! " 
 
 " AVhat do you find so beautiful ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, you dull fellow ! Why the ships, and 
 the houses, and the smoke, to be sure." 
 
 " The ships ? "VVTiy, I thought you despised 
 trade, mademoiselle ? " 
 
 " And so I do. That is, not trade, but trades- 
 men. Of coui'se, I mean shopkeepers." 
 
 " It's they who send the ships to and fro, and 
 make the picture that pleases you, neverthe- 
 less." 
 
 " Do they ? " said she, indifferently, and then 
 with a sort of fervour, " Why do you always 
 grow so cold to me whenever we get on this 
 subject ? " 
 
 " I, cold ? " Evan responded. The incessant 
 fears of his di2)lomatic sister had succeeded in 
 making him painfully jealous of this subject. He 
 tui-ned it off. "Why, our feelings are just the 
 same. Do you know what I was thinking when 
 you came up ? I was thinking that I hoped I 
 
64 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 might never disgrace the name of an English- 
 man." 
 
 " Now, that's nohle ! " cried the girl. " And 
 I'm sure you never will. Of an English gentle- 
 man, Evan. I like that better." 
 
 " Would you rather be called a true English 
 lady than a true English woman, Eose ? " 
 
 " Don't think I would, my dear," she answered 
 pertly; "but 'gentleman' alwaj-s means more 
 than * man ' to me." 
 
 " And what's a gentleman, mademoiselle ? " 
 
 " Can't tell you, Don Doloroso. Something 
 you are, sir," she added, survej^ing him. 
 
 Evan sucked the bitter and the sweet of her 
 explanation. His sister in her anxiety to put 
 him on his guard, had not beguiled him to forget 
 his real state. 
 
 His sister, the diplomatist and his lady, the 
 refugee Count, with ladies' maids, servants, and 
 luggage, were now on the main-deck, and Master 
 Alec, who was as good as a newspaper correspon- 
 dent for private conversations, put an end to the 
 colloquy of the young people. They were all 
 assembled in a circle when the vessel came to her 
 moorings. The diplomatist glutted with news, 
 and tliirsting for confirmations ; the Count dumb, 
 courteous, and quick-eyed ; the honourable lady 
 complacent in the consciousness of boxes well 
 packed ; the Countess breathing mellifluous long- 
 
ox BOARD THE JOCASTA. 65 
 
 drawn adieux that should provoke invitations. 
 Evan and Rose regarded each other. 
 
 The boat to convey them on shore was being 
 lowered, and they were preparing to move for- 
 ward. Just then the vessel was boarded by a 
 stranger. 
 
 " Is that one of the creatures of your Customs ? 
 I did imagine we were safe from them," exclaimed 
 the Countess. 
 
 The diplomatist laughingly requested her to 
 save herself anxiety on that score, while under 
 his wing. But she had drawn attention to the 
 intruder, who was seen addressing one of the mid- 
 shipmen. He was a man in a long brown coat 
 and loose white neckcloth, spectacles on nose, 
 which he wore considerably below the bridge and 
 peered over, as if their main use were to sight 
 his eye; a beaver hat, with broadish brim, on his 
 head. A man of no station, it was evident to the 
 ladies at once, and they would have taken no 
 further notice of him had he not been seen 
 stepping towards them in the rear of the young 
 midshipman. 
 
 The latter came to Evan, and said : "A fellow 
 of the name of Goren wants you. Sa^'s there's 
 something the matter at home." 
 
 Evan advanced, and bowed stiffly. 
 
 Mr. Goren held out his hand. " You don't 
 remember me, young man ? I cut out 3'our fii'st 
 
 TOL. I. F 
 
00 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 suit for you when you were breeched, though ! 
 Yes — ah ! Your poor father wouldn't put his 
 hand to it. Goren ! " 
 
 Embarrassed, and not quite alive to the chapter 
 of facts this name should have opened to him, 
 Evan bowed again. 
 
 " Goren ! " continued the possessor of the name. 
 He had a cracked voice that, when he spoke a 
 word of two syllables, commenced with a lugu- 
 brious crow, and ended in what one might have 
 taken for a curious question. 
 
 " It is a bad business brings me, young man. 
 I'm not the best messenger for such tidings. It's 
 a black suit, young man ! It's your father ! " 
 
 The diplomatist and his lad}^ gradually edged 
 back : but Rose remained beside the Countess, 
 who breathed quick, and seemed to have lost her 
 self-command. 
 
 Thinking he was apprehended, Mr. Goren said : 
 " I'm going down to-night to take care of the 
 shop. He's to be buried in his old uniform. 
 You had better come with me by the night-coach, 
 if 3^ou Avould see the last of him, young man." 
 
 Breaking an odd pause that had fallen, the 
 Countess cried aloud, suddenly : 
 
 ** In his uniform ! " 
 
 Mr. Goren felt his arm seized and his legs 
 hurrying him some paces into isolation. " Thanks ! 
 thanks ! " was murmured in his ear. " Not a 
 
ON BOARD THE JOCASTA. 67 
 
 word more. Evan cannot bear it. Oh ! you are 
 good to have come, and we are grateful. My 
 father ! my father ! " 
 
 She had to tighten her hand and wrist against 
 her bosom to keep herself up. She had to reckon 
 in a glance how much Rose had heard, or divined. 
 She had to mark whether the Count had under- 
 stood a syllable. She had to wliisper to Evan to 
 hasten away with the horrible man. She had to 
 enliven his stunned senses, and calm her own. 
 And with mournful images of her father in her 
 brain, the female Spartan had to turn to Rose, 
 and speculate on the girl's reflective brows, while 
 she said, as over a distant relative, sadlj^ but 
 without distraction : " A death in the family ! " 
 and preserved herself from weeping her heart 
 out, that none might guess the thing who did not 
 positively know it. 
 
 Evan touched the hand of Rose without meet- 
 ing her eyes. He was soon cast off in Mr. Goren's 
 boat. Then the Countess murmured final adieux ; 
 twilight under her lids, but yet a smile, stately, 
 affectionate, almost genial. Rose, her sweet 
 Rose, she must kiss. She could have slapped 
 Rose for appearing so reserved and cold. She 
 hugged Rose, as to hug oblivion of the last few 
 minutes into her. The girl leant her cheek, and 
 bore the embrace, looking on her with a kind of 
 wonder. 
 
 f2 
 
C8 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 Only when alone with the Count, in the 
 brewer's carriage awaiting her on shore, did the 
 lady give a natural course to her grief; well 
 knowing that her Silva would attribute it to the 
 darkness of their common exile. She wept : but 
 in the excess of her misery, two words of strangely 
 opposite signification, pronounced by Mr. Goren ; 
 two words that were at once poison and antidote, 
 sang in her brain ; two words that painted her 
 dead father from head to foot, his nature and his 
 fortune : these were the Shop, and the Uniform. 
 
 Oh ! what would she not have given to have seen 
 and bestowed on her beloved father one last kiss! 
 Oh ! how she hoped that her inspired echo of 
 Uniform, on board the Jocasta, had drowned the 
 memory, eclipsed the meaning, of that fatal 
 utterance of Shop ! 
 
THE FAMILY AND THE FUNERAL. 69 
 
 CHAPTEE Y. 
 
 THE FAMILY AND THE FUNERAL. 
 
 It was the evening of the second day since the 
 arrival of the black letter in London from Lvm- 
 port, and the wife of the brewer and the wife of 
 the Major sat di'opping tears into one another's 
 laps, in expectation of their sister the Countess. 
 Mr. Andrew Cogglesby had not yet returned fi'om 
 his office. The gallant Major had gone forth to 
 dine with General Sir George Freebooter, the 
 head of the Marines of his time. It would have 
 been difficult for the Major, he informed his wife, 
 to send in an excuse to the General for non- 
 attendance, without entering into particulars ; 
 and that he should tell the General he could 
 not dine with him, because of the sudden decease 
 of a tailor, was, as he let his wife understand, and 
 requested her to perceive, quite out of the ques- 
 tion. So he dressed himself carefully, and though 
 peremptory with his \^ife concerning his linen, 
 and requiring natural services fi'om her in the 
 button department, and a casual expression of 
 contentment as to his ultimate make-up, he left 
 her that day without any final injunctions to 
 
70 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 occupy her mind, and she was at liberty to weep 
 if she pleased, a privilege she did not enjoy un- 
 disturbed when he was present ; for the warrior 
 hated that weakness, and did not care to hide his 
 contempt for it. 
 
 Of the three sisters, the wife of the Major was, 
 oddly enough, the one who was least inveterately 
 soUcitous of concealing the fact of her parentage. 
 Reticence, of course, she had to study with the 
 rest; the Major was a walking book of reticence 
 and the observances ; he professed, also, in com- 
 pany with herself alone, to have had much trouble 
 in drilling her to mark and properly preserve 
 them. She had no desii*e to speak of her birth- 
 place. But, for some reason or other, she did 
 not share her hero's rather petulant anxiety to 
 keep the curtain nailed down on that part of her 
 life which preceded her entry into the ranks of 
 the Royal Marines. Some might have thought 
 that those fair large blue eyes of hers wandered 
 now and then in pleasant unambitious walks 
 behind the curtain, and toyed with little flowers 
 of palest memory. Utterly tasteless, totally 
 wanting in discernment, not to say gi'atitude, the 
 ^[ajor could not presume her to be ; and yet his 
 wits perceived that her answers and the conduct 
 she shaped in accordance with his repeated pro- 
 tests and long-reaching apprehensions of what he 
 called danger, betrayed acquiescent obedience 
 
THE FAMILY AND THE FUNERAL. 71 
 
 more than the connubial sympathy due to liim. 
 Danger on the field the ^lajor knew not of; he 
 did not scruple to name the word in relation to 
 his wife. For, as he told her, should he, some 
 day, as in the chapter of accidents might occur, 
 sally into the street a Knight Companion of the 
 Bath and become known to men as Sir Maxwell 
 Strike, it would be decidedly disagi-eeable for 
 him to be blown upon by a ^ind from LjTiiport. 
 Moreover, she was the mother of a son. The 
 Major pointed out to her the duty she owed her 
 offspring. Certainly the protecting aegis of his 
 rank and title would be over the lad, but she 
 might depend upon it any indiscretion of hers 
 would damage him in his future career, the Major 
 assured her. Young MaxweU must be con- 
 sidered. 
 
 For all this, the mother and wife, when the 
 black letter found them in the morning at break- 
 fast, had burst into a fit of grief, and faltered that 
 she wept for a father. Mrs. Andi'ew, to whom 
 the letter was addressed, had simply held the 
 letter to her in a trembling hand. The Major 
 compared their behaviour, with marked enco- 
 miums of Mrs. Andrew. Now this lady and her 
 husband were in obverse relative positions. The 
 brewer had no will but his Hamet's. His 
 esteem for her combined the constitutional 
 feelings of an insignificantly-built little man for 
 
72 EVAN HAERINGTON. 
 
 a majestic woman, and those of a worthy soul for 
 the wife of his bosom. Possessing, or possessed 
 by her, the good brewer was perfectly happy. 
 She, it might be thought, under these cu'cum- 
 stances, would not have minded much his hear- 
 ing what he might hear. It happened, how- 
 ever, that she was as jealous of the winds of 
 Lymport as the Major himself; as vigilant in 
 debarring them from access to the brewery as 
 now the Countess could have been. We are not 
 dissecting human nature : suffice it, therefore, 
 from a mere glance at the surface, to say that, 
 just as moneyed men are careful of their coin, 
 women who have all the advantages in a con- 
 junction, are miserly in keeping them, and 
 shudder to think that one thing remains hidden, 
 which the world they move in might put down 
 pityingl}^ in favour of their spouse, even though 
 to the little man 'twere naught. She assumed 
 that a revelation would dimmish her moral 
 stature ; and certainly it would not increase that 
 of her husband. So no good could come of it. 
 Besides, Andrew knew, his whole conduct was 
 a tacit admission, that she had condescended 
 in giving him her hand. The featm-es of 
 their union might not be changed altogether 
 by a revelation, but it would be a shock to 
 her. 
 
 Consequently, Harriet tenderly rebuked Caro- 
 
THE FAMILY AND THE FUNERAL. 73 
 
 line for her outcry at the breakfast-table ; and 
 Caroline, the elder sister, who had not since 
 marriage grown in so free an air, excused herself 
 humbly, and the two were weeping when the 
 Countess joined them and related what she had 
 just undergone. 
 
 Hearing of Caroline's misdemeanour, however, 
 Louisa's eyes rolled aloft in a paroxysm of tribu- 
 lation. It was nothing to Caroline ; it was com- 
 paratively nothing to Harriet ; but the Count 
 knew not Louisa had a father : believed that her 
 parents had long ago been wiped out. And the 
 Count was by nature inquisitive : and if he once 
 cherished a suspicion he Avas restless ; he was 
 pointed in his inquiries : he was pertinacious in 
 following out a clue : there never would be peace 
 with him ! And then Louisa cried aloud for her 
 father, her beloved father ! Harriet wept silently. 
 Caroline alone expressed regret that she had not 
 sei her eyes on him from the day she became a 
 wife. 
 
 " How could we, dear ? " the Countess patheti- 
 cally asked, under drowning lids. 
 
 " Papa did not vdsh it," sobbed Mrs. Andrew. 
 
 " I never shall forgive myself ! " said the wife 
 of the Major, drying her cheeks. Perhaps it was 
 not herself whom she felt she never could 
 forgive. 
 
 Ah ! the man their father was ! Incomparable 
 
74 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 Melcliisedec ! he might well be called. So 
 generous ! so lordly ! When the ram of tears 
 would subside for a moment, one would relate an 
 anecdote, or childish reminiscence of him, and 
 provoke a more violent outbm'st. 
 
 " Never, among the nobles of any land, never 
 have I seen one like him ! " exclaimed the Coun- 
 tess, and immediately requested Harriet to tell 
 her how it would be possible to stop Andrew's 
 tongue in Silva's presence. 
 
 " At present, you know, my dear, they may 
 talk as much as they like — they can't understand 
 one another one bit." 
 
 Mrs. Cogglesby comforted her by the assurance 
 that Andrew had received an intimation of her 
 vdsh for silence everjnvhere and towards every- 
 body ; and that he might be reckoned upon to 
 respect it, without demanding a reason for the 
 restriction. In other days Caroline and Louisa 
 had a little looked down on Harriet's alliance 
 with a dumpy man — a brewer — and had always 
 sweet Christian compassion for him if his name 
 were mentioned. They seemed now, by their 
 silence, to have a happier estimate of Andrew's 
 qualities. 
 
 While the three sisters sat mingling their 
 sorrows and alanns, their young brother was 
 making his way to the house. As he knocked at 
 the door he heard his name pronounced behind 
 
THE FAMILY AND THE FUNERAL. 75 
 
 him, and had no difficulty in recognising the 
 worthy brewer. 
 
 " "What, Van, my boy ! how are you ? Quite a 
 foreigner ! By jingo, what a hat ! " 
 
 Mr. Anch'ew bounced back two or three steps 
 to regard the dusky sombrero. 
 
 " How do you do, sir ? " said Evan. 
 
 " Sir to you ! " Mr. Andrew briskly replied. 
 " Don't they teach you to give youi' fist in 
 Portugal, eh? I'll 'sir' you. Wait till I'm 
 Sir Andrew, and then ' sir ' away. 'Gad ! the 
 women'll be going it then. Sir Malt and Hops, 
 and no mistake ! I say. Van, how did you get 
 on with the boj^s in that hat ? Aha ! it's a 
 plucky thing to wear that hat in London ! And 
 here's a cloak ! You do speak English still. Van, 
 eh ? Quite joUy, eh, my boy ? " 
 
 Mr. Andrew rubbed his hands to express that 
 state in himself. Suddenly he stopped, blinked 
 queerly at Evan, grew pensive, and said, " Bless 
 my soul ! I forgot." 
 
 The door opened, Mr. Andrew took Evan's 
 arm, murmm'ed a " hush ! " and trod gently along 
 the passage to his hbrary. 
 
 " We're safe here," he said. " There — there's 
 something the matter up-stairs. The women are 
 upset about something. Harriet — " Mr. Andrew 
 hesitated, and branched off: "You've heard we've 
 got a new baby ? " 
 
76 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 Evan congratulated him ; but another inqmry 
 was m Mr. Andrew's aspect, and Evan's calm, 
 sad manner answered it. 
 
 *' Yes," — Mr. Andrew shook his head dolefully 
 — "a splendid little chap ! a rare little chap ! a — 
 we can't help these things. Van ! They vaU 
 hapj)en. Sit down, my boy." 
 
 Mr. Andrew again interrogated Evan with his 
 eyes. 
 
 " My father is dead," said Evan. 
 
 " Yes ! " Mr. Andrew nodded, and glanced 
 quickly at the ceiling, as if to make sure that 
 none listened overhead. "My parliamentary 
 duties will soon be over for the season," he 
 added, aloud ; pursuing, in an under breath : 
 " Going down to-night. Van ? " 
 
 " He is to be buried to-morrow," said Evan. 
 
 " Then, of course, you go. Yes : quite right. 
 Love your father and mother ! always love your 
 father and mother ! Old Tom and I never knew 
 ours. Tom's quite well — same as ever. I'll," he 
 rang the bell, " have my chop in here with you. 
 You must try and eat a bit, Van. Here we are, and 
 there we go. Old Tom's wandering for one of his 
 weeks. You'll see him some day, Van. He am't 
 like me. No dinner to-day, I suppose, Charles ? " 
 
 This was addressed to the footman. He an- 
 nounced : " Dinner to-day at half-past six, as 
 usual, sir," bowed, and retired. 
 
THE FAMILY AND THE FUNERAL. 77 
 
 Mr. Andrew pored on the floor, and rubbed his 
 hair back on his head. " An odd world ! " was 
 his remark. 
 
 Evan lifted up his face to sigh : " I'm almost 
 sick of it ! " 
 
 " Damn appearances ! " cried Mr. Andrew, 
 jumping on his legs. 
 
 The action cooled him. 
 
 " I'm sorry I swore," he said. " Bad habit ! 
 The Major's here — you know that ? " and he 
 assumed the Major's voice, and strutted in imita- 
 tion of the stalwart marine. " Major — a — Strike ! 
 of the Ptoyal Marines ! returned from China ! 
 covered with glory ! — a hero, Van ! We can't 
 expect him to be much of a mourner. Van. And 
 we shan't have him to dine with us to-day — that's 
 something." He sunk liis voice : "I hope the 
 widow'll bear it." 
 
 " I hope to God my mother is well ! " Evan 
 groaned. 
 
 *' That'll do," said Mr. Andrew. "Don't say 
 any more." 
 
 As he spoke, he clapped Evan kindly on the 
 back. 
 
 A message was brought from the ladies, re- 
 quiring Evan to wait on them. He returned 
 after some minutes. 
 
 " How do you think Harriet's looking ? " asked 
 Mr. Andrew. And, not waiting for an answer, 
 
78 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 whispered, " Are they going down to the funeral, 
 my boy ? " 
 
 Evan's brow was dark, as he rephed : " They 
 are not decided." 
 
 " Won't Harriet go ? " 
 
 " She is not going — she thinks not." 
 
 "And the Countess — Louisa's up-stau's, eh? — 
 mil she go ? " 
 
 " She cannot leave the Count — she thinks not." 
 
 " Won't Caroline go. Caroline can go. She 
 — he — I mean — Caroline can go ? " 
 
 " The Major objects. She wishes to." 
 
 Mr. Andrew struck out his arm, and uttered, 
 "the Major!" — a compromise for a loud ana- 
 thema. But the compromise was vain, for he 
 sinned again in an explosion against appear- 
 ances. 
 
 " I'm a brewer, Van. Do you think I'm 
 ashamed of it ? Not while I brew good beer, my 
 boy ! — not while I brew good beer ! They don't 
 think worse of me in the House for it. It isn't 
 ungentlemanly to brew good beer, Van. But 
 what's the use of talking ? " 
 
 Mr. Andrew sat down, and murmured, " Poor 
 girl ! poor girl ! " 
 
 The allusion was to his wife ; for presently he 
 said : " I can't see why Harriet can't go. What's 
 to prevent her ? " 
 
 Evan gazed at him steadily. Death's levelling 
 
THE FAMILY AND THE FUNERAL. 79 
 
 influence was in Evan's mind. He was ready to 
 say why, and iuWj. 
 
 Mr. Andrew arrested liim with a sharp " Never 
 mind ! Harriet does as she likes. I'm ac- 
 customed to— hem ! — what she does is best, after 
 all. She doesn't interfere with m}^ business, nor 
 I with hers. !Man and wife." 
 
 Pausing a moment or so, Mr. Andrew intimated 
 that they had better be dressing for dinner. With 
 his hand on the door, which he kept closed, he 
 said, in a business-like way, " You know. Van, as 
 for me, I should be very willing — only too happy 
 — to go down and pay all the respect I could." 
 He became confused, and shot his head from side 
 to side, looking anywhere but at Evan. "Happy 
 now and to-morrow, to do anything in my power, 
 if Harriet — follow the funeral — one of the family 
 — anything I could do : but — a — we'd better be 
 dressing for dinner." And out the enigmatic 
 little man went. 
 
 Evan partly divined him then. But at dinner 
 his behaviour was perplexing. He was too cheer- 
 ful. He pledged the Count. He would have the 
 Portuguese for this and that, and make Anglican 
 efforts to repeat it, and laugh at his failures. He 
 would not see that there was a father dead. At 
 a table of actors, ^Ir. Andrew overdid his part, 
 and was the worst. His wife could not help 
 thinking him a heartless little man. 
 
80 EVAN HAimiNGTOX. 
 
 The poor sliow had its term. The ladies fled 
 to the houdoir sacred to grief. Evan was whis- 
 pered that he was to join them when he might, 
 without seeming mysterious to the Count. Before 
 he reached them, they had talked tearfully over 
 the clothes he should wear at Lymport, agreeing 
 that his present foreign apparel, heing black, 
 would be suitable, and would serve almost as 
 disguise, to the inhabitants at large ; and as Evan 
 had no English wear, and there was no time to 
 procure any for him, that was well. They 
 aiTanged exactly how long he should stay at 
 Lymport, whom he should visit, the manner he 
 should adopt towards the different inhabitants. 
 By all means he was to avoid the approach of the 
 gentry. For hours Evan, in a trance, half stupe- 
 fied, had to listen to the Countess's directions 
 how he was to comport himself in Lpnport. 
 
 " Show that you have descended among them, 
 dear Van, but are not of them. You have come 
 to pay the last mortal duties, wliich they will 
 respect, if they are not brutes, and attempt no 
 familiarities. Allow none : gently, but firmly. 
 Imitate Silva. You remember, at Dona Risbonda's 
 ball? When he met the Comte de Dartigues, and 
 knew he was to be in disgrace with his Court oh 
 the morrow ? Oh ! the exquisite shade of differ- 
 ence in Silva's behaviour towards the Comte. So 
 finely, dehcately perceptible to the Comte, and 
 
THE FAMILY AND THE FUNEEAL. 81 
 
 not a soul saw it but that wretclied Frencliman ! 
 He came to me : " Madame," he said, ' is a ques- 
 tion permitted ? ' I replied, ' As many as you 
 please, M. le Comte, hut no answers promised.' 
 He said : * May I ask if the Coimer has yet come 
 in ? ' * Nay, M. le Comte,' I replied, ' this is 
 diplomac3\ Inquire of me, or better, give me 
 an opinion on the new glace silk from Paris.' 
 ' Madame,' said he, bowing, ' I hope Paris may 
 send me aught so good, or that I shall grace half 
 so well.' I smiled, ' You shall not be single in 
 your hopes, M. le Comte. The gift would be 
 base that you did not embellish.' He lifted his 
 hands, French -fashion : ' ]\Iadame, it is that I 
 have received the gift.' ' Indeed ! M. le Comte.' 
 ' Even now from the Count de Saldar, your 
 husband.' I looked most innocently, ' From my 
 husband, M. le Comte ? ' ' From him, Madame. 
 A portrait. An Ambassador without his coat ! 
 The portrait was a finished performance.' I said: 
 ' And may one beg the permission to inspect it ? ' 
 * Mais,' said he, laughing : ' were it you alone, it 
 would be a privilege to me.' I had to check him. 
 ' Believe me, M. le Comte, that when I look upon 
 it, my praise of the artist wiU be extinguished by 
 my pity for the subject.' He should have stopped 
 there ; but 3'ou cannot have the last word with a 
 Frenchman — not even a woman. Fortunately the 
 Queen just then made her entry into the saloon, 
 
 VOL. I. O 
 
82 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 and his mot on the charity of our sex was lost. 
 We bowed mutually, and were separated." (The 
 Countess emploj^ed her handkerchief.) " Yes, 
 dear Van ! that is how you should behave. 
 Imply things. With dearest mamma, of course, 
 you are the dutiful son. Alas ! you must stand 
 for son and daughters. Mamma has so much 
 sense ! She will understand how sadty w^e are 
 placed. But in a week I will come to her for a 
 day, and bring you back." 
 
 So much his sister Louisa. His sister Harriet 
 offered him her house for a home in London, 
 thence to project his new career. His sister 
 Caroline sought a word with him in private, but 
 only to weep bitterly in his arms, and utter a 
 faint moan of regret at marriages in general. He 
 loved this beautiful creature the best of his three 
 sisters (partly, it may be, because he despised her 
 superior officer), and tried with a few smothered 
 words to induce her to accompany him : but she 
 only shook her fair locks and moaned afresh. 
 Mr. Andrew, in the farewell squeeze of the hand 
 at the street-door, asked him if he wanted any- 
 thing. Evan knew his brother-in-law meant 
 money. He negatived the requirement of any- 
 thing whatever, with an air of careless decision, 
 though he was aware that his purse barely con- 
 tained more than would take him the distance, 
 but the instincts of this amateur gentleman were 
 
THE FAMILY AND THE FUNERAL. 83 
 
 very fine and sensitive on questions of money. 
 His family had never known liim beg for a 
 farthing, or admit his necessity for a shiUing : 
 nor could he be made to accept money unless it 
 was thrust into his pocket. Somehow, his sisters 
 had forgotten this peculiarity of his. Harriet 
 only remembered it when too late. 
 
 " But I dare say Andrew has suppHed him," 
 she said. 
 
 Andrew being interrogated, informed her what 
 had passed between them. 
 
 *' And you think a Harrington would confess 
 he wanted money! " was her scornful exclamation. 
 " Evan would walk — he would die rather. It 
 was treating him like a mendicant." 
 
 Andrew had to shrink in his brewer's skin. 
 
 By some fatality all who were doomed to sit 
 and listen to the Countess de Saldar, were sure 
 to be behindhand in an appointment. 
 
 When the young man arrived at the coach- 
 office, he was politely informed that the vehicle, 
 in which a seat had been secured for him, was 
 in close alliance with time and tide, and being 
 under the same rigid laws, could not possibl}^ 
 have waited for him, albeit it had stretched a 
 point to the extent of a pair of minutes, at the 
 urgent solicitation of a passenger. 
 
 " A gentleman who speaks so, sir," said a 
 volunteer mimic of tlie office, crowing and 
 
 G 2 
 
84 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 questioning from his throat in Goren's manner. 
 " Yok ! yok ! That was how he spoke, sir." 
 
 Evan reddened, for it brought the scene on 
 board the Jocasta vividly to his mind. The 
 heavier business obliterated it. He took counsel 
 with the clerks of the office, and eventually the 
 volunteer mimic conducted him to certain livery 
 stables, where Evan, like one accustomed to 
 command, ordered a chariot to pursue the coach, 
 received a touch of the hat for a lordly fee, and 
 was soon rolling out of London. 
 
>nr GENTLEMAN ON THE KOAD. 85 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 MY GENTLEMAN ON THE EOAD. 
 
 The postillion had every reason to believe that 
 he carried a real gentleman behind him ; in other 
 words, a purse long and liberal. He judged by 
 all the points he knew of: a firm voice, a brief 
 commanding style, an apparent indifference to 
 expense, and the inexpHcable minor character- 
 istics, such as polished boots, and a striking 
 wTistband, and so forth, which show a creature 
 accustomed to step over the heads of men. He 
 had, therefore, no particular anxiety to part 
 company, and jogged easily on the white high- 
 way, beneath a moon that walked high and small 
 over marble cloud. 
 
 Evan reclined in the chariot, revolving his sen- 
 sations. In another mood he would have called 
 them thoughts, perhaps, and marvelled at their 
 immensity. The theme was Love and Death. 
 One might have supposed, from his occasional 
 mutterings at the pace regulated by the postillion, 
 that he was burning with anxiety to catch the 
 flying coach. He had forgotten it : forgotten 
 that he was giving chase to anything- A pair of 
 
86 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 wondering feminine eyes pursued him, and made 
 him fret for the miles to throw a thicker veil 
 between him and them. The serious level brows 
 of Rose haunted the poor youth ; and reflecting 
 whither he was tending, and to what sight, he 
 had shadowy touches of the holiness there is in 
 death; from which came a conflict between the 
 imaged phantoms of his father and of Eose, 
 and he sided against his love with some bitter- 
 ness. His sisters, weeping for their father and 
 holding aloof from his ashes, Evan swept from 
 his mind. He called up the man his father was : 
 the kindliness, the readiness, the gallant gaiety 
 of the great Mel. Youths are fascinated by the 
 barbarian virtues ; and to Evan, under present 
 influences, his father was a pattern of manhood. 
 He asked himself : Was it infamous to earn one's 
 bread ? and answered it very strongly in his 
 father's favour. The great Mel's creditors were 
 not by to show him another feature of the case. 
 
 Hitherto, in passive obedience to the indoc- 
 tiination of the Countess, Evan had looked on 
 tailors as the proscribed race of modem society. 
 He had pitied his father as a man superior to his 
 fate; but despite the fitfully honest promptings 
 with Rose (tempting to him because of the won- 
 drous chivalry they argued, and at bottom false 
 probably as the hypocrisy they affected to combat), 
 he had been by no means sorry that the world saw 
 
MY GENTLEMAN OX THE ROAD. 87 
 
 not tlie spot on himself. Other sensations heset 
 him now. Since such a man was banned by the 
 world, which was to be despised ? 
 
 The clear result of Evan's solitarj^ musing was 
 to cast a sort of halo over Tailordom. Death 
 stood over the pale dead man, his father, and dared 
 the world to sneer at him. By a singular caprice 
 of fancy, Evan had no sooner gi-asped this image, 
 than it was suggested that he might as well 
 inspect his purse, and see how much money he 
 was master of. 
 
 Are you impatient with this young man ? He 
 has httle character for the moment. Most youths 
 are like Pope's women ; they have no character at 
 all. And indeed a character that does not wait 
 for circmnstances to shape it, is of small worth in 
 the race that must be run. To be set too early, 
 is to take the work out of the hands of the Sculptor 
 who fashions men. Happily a youth is always at 
 school, and if he was shut up and without mark 
 two or three hours ago, he will have something to 
 show you now: as I have seen blooming sea- 
 flowers and other graduated organisms, when left 
 undisturbed to their own action. Where the Fates 
 have designed that he shaU present his figure in a 
 story, this is sure to happen. 
 
 To the postillion Evan was indebted for one of 
 Ills first lessons. 
 
 About an hour after midnight pastoral stillness 
 
88 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 and the moon begat in the postillion desire for a 
 l^ipe. Da3'light prohibits the dream of it to 
 mounted postillions. At night the question is 
 more human, and allows appeal. The moon smiles 
 assentingly, and smokers know that she really 
 lends herself to the enjoyment of tobacco. The 
 postillion could remember gentlemen who did 
 not object : who had even given him cigars. 
 Tui-ning round to see if haply the present inmate 
 of the chariot might be smoking, he observed a 
 head extended from the window. 
 
 " How far are we ? " was inquired. 
 
 The postillion numbered the milestones passed. 
 
 " Do you see anything of the coach ? " 
 
 " Can't say as I do, sir." 
 
 He was commanded to stop. Evan jumped out. 
 
 " I don't think I'll take you any farther," he 
 said. 
 
 The postillion laughed to scorn the notion of 
 his caring how far he went. \Yith a pipe in 
 his mouth, he insinuatingly remarked he could 
 jog on all night, and throw sleep to the dogs. 
 Fresh horses at HiQford ; fresh at Fallowfield : 
 and the gentleman himself would reach Lymport 
 fresh in the morning. 
 
 " No, no ; I won't take you any farther," Evan 
 repeated. 
 
 "But what do it matter, sir ? " urged the 
 postillion. 
 
MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD. 89 
 
 " I'd rather go on as I am. I — a — made no 
 arrangement to take you the whole way." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried the postillion, " don't you go 
 troubHn' youi'self about that, sii'. Master knows 
 it's touch-and-go about catchin' the coach. I'm 
 aU right." 
 
 So infatuated was the fellow in the belief that he 
 was dealing with a perfect gentleman, — an easy 
 pocket ! 
 
 Now you would not suppose that one who pre- 
 sumes he has sufficient, would find a difficulty in 
 asking how much he has to pay. "With an effort, 
 indifferently masked, Evan blurted : "By the way, 
 tell me — how much — what is the charge for the 
 distance we've come ? " 
 
 There are gentlemen-screws: there are consci- 
 entious gentlemen. They calculate, and remon- 
 strating or not, they pay. The postillion woidd 
 rather have had to do with the gentleman royal, 
 who is above base computation ; but he knew 
 the humanity in the class he served, and with 
 his conception of Evan, only partially dimmed, 
 he remarked : 
 
 "Oh-h-h! that won't hurt you, sii'. Jump 
 along in, — settle that by-and-by." 
 
 But when my gentleman stood fast, and renewed 
 the demand to know the exact chai'ge for the dis- 
 tance already traversed, the postiUion dismounted, 
 glanced him over, and speculated with liis fingers 
 
90 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 tipping up liis hat. IMeantime Evan drew out his 
 pui'se, a long one, certainly, but limp. Out of 
 this drowned-looking wretch the last spark of life 
 was taken by the sum the postillion ventured to 
 name ; and if paying your utmost farthing with- 
 out examination of the charge, and cheerfully 
 stepping out to walk fifty miles, penniless, consti- 
 tuted a postillion's gentleman, Evan would have 
 passed the test. The sight of povertj^, however, 
 provokes familiar feelings in poor men, if j^ou 
 have not had occasion to show them you possess 
 particular qualities. The postillion's eye was 
 more on the purse than on the sum it surrendered. 
 
 " There," said Evan, " I shall walk. Good 
 night." And he flung his cloak to step forward. 
 
 " Stop a bit, sir ! " arrested him. 
 
 The postillion rallied up sideways, with an 
 assumption of genial respect. " I didn't calc'late 
 myself in that there amount." 
 
 Were these w^ords, think you, of a character to 
 strike a young man hard on the breast, send the 
 blood to his head, and set up in his heart a derisive 
 chorus ? My gentleman could pay his money, 
 and keep his footing gallantly ; but to be asked for 
 a penny bej^ond what he possessed ; to be seen 
 beggared, and to be claimed a debtor — alack! 
 Pride was the one developed faculty of Evan's 
 nature. The Fates who moidd us, always work 
 from the main -spring. I will not say that the 
 
MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD. 91 
 
 postillion stripped off the mask for him, at that 
 instant completely; but he gave him the first 
 true glimpse of his condition. From the vague 
 sense of being an impostor, Evan awoke to the 
 clear fact that he was likewise a fool. 
 
 It was impossible for him to deny the man's 
 claim, and he would not have done it, if he 
 could. Acceding tacitly, he squeezed the ends 
 of his pm'se in his pocket, and with a " Let me 
 see," tried his waistcoat. Not too impetuously^ ; 
 for he was careful of betrapng the horrid empti- 
 ness till he was certain that the powers who w^ait 
 on gentlemen had utterly forsaken him. They 
 had not. He discovered a small coin, under 
 ordinary cii'cumstances not contemptible ; but he 
 did not stay to reflect, and was guilty of the error 
 of offering it to the postillion. 
 
 The latter peered at it in the centre of his palm ; 
 gazed queerly in the gentleman's face, and then 
 lifting the spit of silver for the disdain of his 
 mistress, the moon, he drew a long breath of 
 regret at the original mistake he had committed, 
 and said : 
 
 " That's what you're goin' to give me for my 
 night's work ? " 
 
 The powers who wait on gentlemen had only 
 helped the pretending j^outh to try him. A rejec- 
 tion of the demand would have been infinitely 
 wiser and better than this paltry compromise. 
 
92 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 The postillion would have fought it: he would 
 not have despised his fare. 
 
 How much it cost the poor pretender to reply, 
 " It's the last farthing I have, my man," the pos- 
 tillion could not know. 
 
 "A scabby sixpence?" The postillion con- 
 tinued his question. 
 
 " You heard what I said," Evan remarked. 
 
 The postillion drew another deep breath, and 
 holding out the coin at arm's length : 
 
 " Well, sir ! " he observed, as one whom mental 
 conflict has brought to the philosophy of the case, 
 " now was we to change places, I couldn't 'a done 
 it ! I couldn't 'a done it ! " he reiterated, pausing 
 emphatically. 
 
 " Take it, sir ! " he magnanimously resumed ; 
 " take it ! You rides when you can, and you 
 walks when you must. Lord forbid I should rob 
 such a gentleman as you ! " 
 
 One who feels a death, is for the hour lifted 
 above the satire of postillions. A good genius 
 prompted Evan to avoid the silly squabble that 
 might have ensued and made him ridiculous. 
 He took the money, quietly saying, " Thank you." 
 
 Not to lose his vantage, the postillion, though 
 a little staggered by the move, rejoined : "Don't 
 mention it." 
 
 Evan then said : " Good night, my man. I 
 won't wish, for your sake, that we changed places. 
 
MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD. 93 
 
 You would have to walk fifty miles to be in time 
 for your father's funeral. Good night." 
 
 *' You are it — to look at ! " was the postillion's 
 comment, seeing my gentleman depart with great 
 strides. He did not speak offensively ; rather it 
 seemed, to appease his conscience for the original 
 mistake he had committed, for subsequently came, 
 " IMy oath on it, I don't get took in again by a 
 squash hat in a hurry ! " 
 
 Unaware of the ban he had, by a sixpenny 
 stamp, put upon an unoffending class, Evan went 
 a-head, hearing the wheels of the chariot still 
 dragging the road in his rear. The postillion was 
 in a dissatisfied state of mind. He had asked and 
 received more than his due. But in the matter of 
 his sweet self, he had been choused, as he termed 
 it. And my gentleman had baffled him, he could 
 not quite tell how ; but he had been got the 
 better of; his sarcasms had not stuck, and 
 returned to rankle in the bosom of their author. 
 As a Jew, therefore, may eye an erewhile bonds- 
 man who has paid the bill, but stands out against 
 excess of interest on legal grounds, the postillion 
 regarded Evan, of whom he was now abreast, 
 eager for a controversy. 
 
 " Fine night," said the postillion, to begin, and 
 was answered by a short assent. *' Lateish for a 
 poor man to be out — don't you think, sir, eh ? " 
 
 '' I ought to think so," said Evan, mastering 
 
94 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 the slirewd unpleasantness he felt in the colloquy 
 forced on him. 
 
 " Oh, you ! you're a gentleman ! " the postillion 
 ejaculated. 
 
 " You see I have no money." 
 
 " Feel it, too, sir." 
 
 " I am sorry you should be the victim." 
 
 ** Victim ! " the postillion seized on an objec- 
 tionable word. " I ain't no victim, unless you 
 was up to a joke with me, sir, just now. Was 
 that the game ? " 
 
 Even informed him that he never played jokes 
 with money, or on men. 
 
 " 'Cause it looks like it, sir, to go to offer a 
 poor chap sixpence." The postilhon laughed 
 hollow from the end of his lungs. " Sixpence for 
 a night's work ! It is a joke, if 3^ou don't mean 
 it for one. Why, do you know, sir, I could go — 
 there, I don't care where it is ! — I could go before 
 any magistrate livin', and he'd make ye pay. It's 
 a charge, as custom is, and he'd make ye pay. 
 Or p'rhaps you're a goin' on my generosity, and 
 '11 say, he gev' back that sixpence ! Well ! I 
 shouldn't 'a thought a gentleman 'd make that 
 liis defence before a magistrate. But there, my 
 man ! if it makes ye happy, keej) it. But you 
 take my advice, sir. When j^ou hires a chariot, 
 see you've got the shiners. And don't 3'ou go 
 never again offerin' a sixpence to a poor man for 
 
MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD. 95 
 
 a niffht's work. Tliev don't like it. It hurts tlieir 
 feelin's. Don't 3^011 forget that, sir. Lay that 
 up in your mind." 
 
 Now the postillion having thus relieved him- 
 self, jeeringly asked permission to smoke a pipe. 
 To which Evan said, " Pray smoke, if it pleases 
 you." And the postillion, hardly mollified, added 
 " The baccy 's paid for," and smoked. 
 
 As will sometimes happen, the feelings of the 
 man who had spoken out and behaved doubtfully, 
 grew gentle and Christian, whereas those of the 
 man whose bearing under the trial had been irre- 
 proachable were much the reverse. The postillion 
 smoked — he was a lord on his horse ; he beheld 
 my gentleman trudging in the dust. Awhile he 
 enjoyed the contrast, dividing his attention be- 
 tween the footfarer and moon. To have had the 
 last word is always a great thing ; and to have 
 given my gentleman a lecture, because he shunned 
 a dispute, also counts. And then there was the 
 j)Oor young fellow trudging to his father's fmieral ! 
 The postillion chose to remember that now. In 
 reality, he allowed, he had not very much to com- 
 plain of, and my gentleman's com'teous avoidance 
 of provocation (the apparent fact that he, the 
 postillion, had humbled him and got the better 
 of him, equally, it may be), acted on his fine 
 English spirit. I should not like to leave out 
 the tobacco in this good change that was ^^TOught 
 
96 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 in him. However, he presently astonished Evan 
 by pulling np his horses, and crying that he was 
 on his way to Hillford to bait, and saw no reason 
 whj he should not take a lift that part of the 
 road, at all events. Evan thanked him briefly, 
 but declined, and paced on with his head bent. 
 
 " It won't cost you nothing — not a sixpence ! " 
 the postillion sang out, pursuing him. " Come, sir ! 
 be a man ! I ain't a hintin' at anything — jump in." 
 
 Evan again declined, and looked out for a side 
 path to escape the fellow, whose bounty was 
 worse to him than his abuse, and whose mention 
 of the sixpence was unluck3\ 
 
 "Dash it ! " cried the postillion, "you're going 
 down to a funeral — I think you said your father's, 
 sir — you may as well try and get there respect- 
 able — as far as I go. It's one to me whether 
 you're in or out ; the horses won't feel it, and I 
 do wish you'd take a lift and welcome. It's 
 because you're too much of a gentleman to be 
 beholden to a poor man, I suppose ! " 
 
 Evan's young pride may have had a little of 
 that base mixture in it, and certainly he would 
 have i^referred that the invitation had not been 
 made to him ; but he was capable of aj^preciating 
 what the rejection of a piece of friendliness in- 
 volved, and as he saw that the man was sincere, 
 he did violence to himself, and said : " Very well ; 
 then I'll jump in." 
 
MY GENTLEMAN ON THE EOAD. 97 
 
 The postillion was off his horse in a twinkling, 
 and trotted his band}^ legs to undo the door, as to 
 a gentleman who paid. This act of service Evan 
 valued. 
 
 " Suppose I were to ask you to take the six- 
 pence now ? " he said, tui^ning round, with one 
 foot on the step. 
 
 *' Well, sir," the postillion sent his hat aside to 
 answer. " I don^t want it — I'd rather not have 
 it ; but there ! I'll take it — dash the sixpence ! 
 and we'll cry quits." 
 
 Evan, surprised and pleased with him, dropped 
 the bit of money in his hand, saying : " It will 
 fill a pipe for you. While j^ou're smoking it, 
 think of me as in your debt. You're the only 
 man I ever owed a penny to." 
 
 The postillion put it in a side pocket apart, and 
 observed : "A sixpence kindly meant is worth 
 any crown -piece that's grudged — that it is ! In 
 3'ou jump, sir. It's a jolly night ! " 
 
 Thus may one, not a conscious sage, play the 
 right tune on this human nature of ours : by for- 
 bearance, put it in the wrong ; and then, by not 
 refusing the burden of an obligation, confer some- 
 thing better. The instrument is simpler than we 
 are taught to fancy. But it was doubtless 0"«dng 
 to a strong emotion in his soul, as well as to the 
 stuff he was made of, that the 3'outli behaved as 
 he did. We are now and then above our own 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 actions ; seldom on a level with them. Evan, I 
 dare say, was long in learning to draw any grati- 
 fication from the fact that he had achieved with- 
 out money the unparalleled conquest of a man. 
 Perhaps he never knew what immediate influence 
 on his fortune tliis episode efi*ected. 
 
 At Hillford they went tlieir diiferent ways. 
 The postillion wished him good speed, and Evan 
 shook his hand. He did so rather abruptly, for 
 the postillion was fumbling at his pocket, and 
 evidently rounding about a proposal in liis 
 mind. 
 
 My gentleman has now the road to himself. 
 Money is the clothing of a gentleman : he may 
 weai' it well or ill. Some, you will mark, carry 
 great quantities of it gracefully : some, with a 
 stinted supply, present a decent appearance : very 
 few, I imagine, will bear inspection, who are abso- 
 lutely stripped of it. All, save the shameless, 
 are toiling to escape that trial. My gentleman, 
 treading the white highway across the solitary 
 heaths, that swell far and wide to the moon, is, 
 by the postillion, who has seen him, pronounced 
 no sham. Nor do I think the opinion of any man 
 worthless, who has had the postillion's authority 
 for speaking. But it is, I am told, a finer test to 
 embellish much gentleman -apparel, than to walk 
 with dignity totally unadorned. This simply tries 
 the soundness of our faculties : that tempts them 
 
MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD. 99 
 
 in erratic directions. It is the difference between 
 active and passive excellence. 
 
 As there is hardly any situation, however, so 
 interesting to reflect upon as that of a man with- 
 out a penny in his pocket, and a gizzard full of 
 pride, we will leave Mr. Evan Harrington to 
 w^hat fresh adventures may befall him, walking 
 towards the funeral plumes of the firs, under the 
 soft midsummer flush, westward, where his father 
 lies. 
 
 n :i 
 
100 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 MOTHER AND SON. 
 
 Rare as epic song is the man who is thorough 
 in what he does. And happily so ; for in life he 
 subjugates us, and makes us bondsmen to his 
 ashes. It was in the order of things that the 
 great Mel should be borne to his final resting- 
 place b}^ a troop of creditors. You have seen 
 (since the occasion demands a pompous simile) 
 clouds that all day cling about the sun, and, in 
 seeking to obscure him, are compelled to blaze in 
 his livery : at fall of night they break from him 
 illumined, hang mournfully above him, and wear 
 his natural glories long after he is gone. Thus, 
 then, these worthy fellows, faithful to him to the 
 dust, fulfilled Mel's triumphant passage amongst 
 them, and closed his career. 
 
 To regale them when they returned, IMrs. Mel, 
 whose mind was not intent on greatness, was 
 occupied in spreading meat and wine. Mrs. 
 Fiske assisted her, as well as she could, seeing 
 that one hand was entirely engaged by her hand- 
 kerchief. She had already stumbled, and drojiped 
 a glass, which had brought on her sharp condem- 
 
MOTHER AND SON. 101 
 
 nation from her aunt, who hade her sit down, or 
 go up-staii's to have her cry out, and then return 
 to he serviceable. 
 
 " Oh ! I can't help it ! " sobbed Mrs. Fiske. 
 " That he should be carried away, and none of his 
 children to see him the last time ! I can under- 
 stand Louisa — and Harriet, too, perhaps ! But 
 why could not Caroline ? And that they should 
 be too fine ladies to let their brother come and 
 bury his father. Oh ! it does seem " 
 
 Mrs. Fiske fell into a chair, and surrendered to 
 grief. 
 
 " ^Vhere is the cold tongue ? " said Mrs. Mel 
 to Sally, the maid, in a brief under-voice. 
 
 " Please mum, Jacko ! " 
 
 " He must be whipped. You are a careless slut." 
 
 " Please, I can't think of everybody and every- 
 thing, and poor master " 
 
 Sally plumped on a seat, and took sanctuary 
 under her apron. Mrs. Mel glanced at the pair, 
 continuing her labour. 
 
 " Oh, aunt, aunt ! " cried Mrs. Fiske, " why 
 diclnt you put it off for another day, to give Evan 
 a chance ? " 
 
 " Master 'd have kept another two days, he 
 would ! " whimpered Sally. 
 
 " Oh, aunt ! to think ! " cried Mrs. Fiske. 
 
 " And his coffin not bearin' of his spiu's ! " 
 whimpered Sally. 
 
102 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 !Mrs. Mel interrupted them by commanding 
 Sally to go to the drawing-room, and ask a lady 
 there, of the name of Mrs. AVishaw, whether she 
 would like to have some lunch sent up to her. 
 Mrs. Fiske was requested to put towels in Evan's 
 bedroom. 
 
 " Yes, aunt, if you're not infatuated ! " said Mrs. 
 Fiske, as she prepared to obey, while Sally, seeing 
 that her public exhibition of sorrow and sympathy 
 could be indulged but an instant longer, unwound 
 lierself for a violent paroxysm, blurting between 
 stops : 
 
 " If he'd ony 've gone to his last bed comfort- 
 able! ... If he'd ony've been that decent as not 
 for to go to his last bed with his clothes on ! . . . 
 If he'd ony've had a comfortable sheet! ... It 
 makes a w^oman feel cold to think of him full 
 dressed there, as if he was goin' to be a soldier on 
 the Day o' Judgment ! " 
 
 To let people speak was a maxim of Mrs. iMel's, 
 and a wise one for any form of society when 
 emotions are very much on the surface. She 
 continued her arrangements quietly, and, having 
 counted the number of plates and glasses, and 
 told off the guests on her fingers, she sat down to 
 await them. 
 
 The first who entered the room was her son. 
 
 " You have come," said ]\Irs. Mel, flushing 
 slightly, but otherwise outwardly calm. 
 
MOTHER AND SON. lOS 
 
 " You didn't suppose I should stay away from 
 you, mother ? " 
 
 Evan kissed her cheek. 
 
 " I knew 3^0 u woukl not." 
 
 Mrs. Mel examined him with those eyes of hers 
 that compassed ohjects in a single glance. She 
 drew her finger on each side of her upper lip, and 
 half smiled, saying : 
 
 " That won't do here." 
 
 " What ? " asked Evan, and proceeded imme- 
 diately to make inquiries about her health, which 
 she satisfied with a nod. 
 
 *' You saw him lowered, Yan ? " 
 
 " Yes, mother." 
 
 " Then go and wash yourself, for you are dirty, 
 and then come and take your place at the head of 
 the table." 
 
 *' Must I sit here, mother ? " 
 
 " Without a doubt you must, Yan. You know 
 your room. Quick ! " 
 
 In this manner their first interview passed. 
 
 Mrs. Fiske rushed in to exclaim : 
 
 " So, you were right, aunt — he has come. I 
 met him on the stairs. Oh ! how like dear uncle 
 Mel he looks, in the militia, with that moustache. 
 I just remember him as a child; and, oh, ivhat a 
 gentleman he is ! " 
 
 At the end of the sentence Mrs. Mel's face 
 suddenly darkened : she said in a deep voice : 
 
104 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 " Don't dare to talk that nonsense before him, 
 Ann." 
 
 Mrs. Fiske looked astonished. 
 
 " What have I done, aunt ? " 
 
 ''He shan't he ruined by a parcel of fools," 
 said ^Irs. Mel. " There, go ! Women have no 
 place here." 
 
 *' How the wretches can force themselves to 
 touch a morsel, after this morning ! " j\Irs. Fiske 
 exclaimed, glancing at the table. 
 
 " Men must eat," said Mrs. Mel. 
 
 The mourners were heai'd gathering outside the 
 door. Mrs. Fiske escaped into the kitchen. Mrs. 
 Mel admitted them into the parlour, bowing much 
 above the level of many of the heads that passed her. 
 
 Assembled were Messrs. Barnes, Ivilne, and 
 Grossby, whom we know; Mr. Doubleday, the 
 ironmonger ; Mr. Joyce, the grocer ; Mr. Perkins, 
 commonly called Lawyer Perkins ; Mr. Welbeck, 
 the pier-master of Lymport; Bartholomew Fiske ; 
 Mr. Coxwell, a Fallowfield maltster, brewer, and 
 farmer; creditors of various dimensions all of them. 
 Mr. Goren coming last, behind his spectacles. 
 
 "My son will be with you directly, to preside," 
 said Mrs. Mel. "Accept my thanks for the 
 respect you have shown my husband. I wish 
 you good morning." 
 
 "Morning, ma'am," answered several voices, 
 and jMi's. i\Iel retired. 
 
MOTHER AND SON. 105 
 
 The mourners then set to work to relieve their 
 hats of the appendages of crape. An undertaker's 
 man took possession of the long black cloaks. 
 The gloves were generally pocketed. 
 
 " That's my second black pair this year," said 
 Joyce. " Thej^'ll last a time to come. I don't 
 need to buy gloves while neighbours pop off." 
 
 " Undertakers' gloves seem to me as if they're 
 made for mutton fists," remarked Welbeck; upon 
 which Kilne nudged Barnes, the butcher, with a 
 shai-p " Aha ! " and Barnes observed : 
 
 " Oh ! I never wear 'em — they does for my boys 
 on Simdays. I smoke a pipe at home." 
 
 The Fallowfield farmer held his length of crape 
 aloft and inquired : " AVhat shall do with tliis ? " 
 
 *' Oh, you keep it," said one or two. 
 
 Coxwell rubbed his chin. " Don't like to rob 
 the wider." 
 
 " What's left goes to the undertaker ? " asked 
 Grossby. 
 
 " To be sure," said Barnes ; and Kilne added : 
 " It's a job:'' Lawyer Perkins ejaculating con- 
 fidently, " Perquisites of office, gentlemen ; per- 
 quisites of office ! " which settled the dispute and 
 appeased every conscience. 
 
 A survey of the table ensued. The mourners 
 felt hunger, or else thirst ; but had not, it ap- 
 peared, amalgamated the two appetites as yet. 
 Thii'st was the predominant declaration ; and 
 
106 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 Grossby, after an examination of the decanters, 
 unctuously deduced the fact, which he announced, 
 that port and sherry were present. 
 " Try the port," said Kihie. 
 " Good ? " Barnes inquii'ed. 
 A very intelligent " I ought to know," with a 
 reserve of regret at the extension of his intimacy 
 with the particular' vintage under that roof, was 
 winked by Kilne. 
 
 Lawyer Perkins touched the arm of a mourner 
 about to be experimental on Kilne' s port : 
 
 "I think we had better wait till young Mr. 
 Harrington takes the table, don't you see ? " 
 
 "Yes, — ah!" croaked Goren. "The head of 
 the family, as the sa3ing goes ! " 
 
 " I suppose we shan't go into business to-day ? " 
 Joyce carelessly observed. 
 Lawyer Perkins answered : 
 "No. You can't expect it. Mr. Harrington 
 has led me to anticipate that he will appoint a day. 
 Don't you see ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I see,'' returned Joyce. " I ain't in 
 such a hurry. What's he doing ? " 
 
 Doubleday, whose propensities were waggish, 
 suggested " shaving," but half ashamed of it, 
 since the joke missed, fell to as if he were 
 soaping his face, and had some trouble to contract 
 his jaw. 
 
 The delay in Evan's attendance on the guests 
 
MOTHER AND SOX. 107 
 
 of the house was caused by the fact that Mrs. !Mel 
 had lain in wait for him descending, to warn him 
 that he must treat them with no supercilious 
 civility, and to tell him partly the reason why. 
 On hearing the potential relations in which they 
 stood towards the estate of his father, Evan hastily 
 and with the assurance of a son of fortune, said 
 they should be paid. 
 
 *' That's what they would like to hear," said 
 Mrs. Mel. "You may just mention it when 
 they're going to leave. Say you will fix a day to 
 meet them." 
 
 " Every farthing ! " pm'sued Evan, on whom 
 the tidings were beginning to operate. " What ! 
 debts ? my poor father ! " 
 
 " And a thumping sum, Van. You will open 
 your eyes wider." 
 
 " But it shall be paid, mother, — it shall be paid. 
 Debts ? I hate them. I'd slave night and day 
 to pay them." 
 
 Mrs. Mel spoke in a more positive tense : " And 
 so will I, Van. Now, go." 
 
 It mattered little to her what soii; of effect on 
 his demeanour her revelation produced, so long as 
 the resolve she sought to bring him to was nailed 
 in his mind ; and she was a woman to knock and 
 knock again, till it was firmly fixed there. With 
 a strong pui'pose, and no plans, there were few 
 who could resist what, in her circle, she willed ; 
 
108 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 not even a youth who would gaily have marched 
 to the scaffold rather than stand behind a counter. 
 A puq)ose wedded to plans may easily suffer ship- 
 wreck ; but an unfettered purpose that moulds 
 cii'cumstances as they arise, masters us, and is 
 terrible. Character melts to it, like metal in the 
 steady furnace. The projector of plots is but a 
 miserable gambler and votary of chances. Of a 
 far higher quality is the will that can subdue 
 itself to wait, and lay no petty traps for oppor- 
 tunity. Poets may fable of such a will, that it 
 makes the very heavens conform to it ; or, I may 
 add, what is almost equal thereto, one who would 
 be a gentleman, to consent to be a tailor. The 
 only person who ever held in his course against 
 Mrs. Mel, was Mel, — her husband ; but, with him, 
 she was under the physical fascination of her 
 youth, and it never left her. In her heart she 
 barely blamed him. What he did, she took among 
 other inevitable matters. 
 
 The door closed upon Evan, and waiting at the 
 foot of the stau's a minute to hear how he was re- 
 ceived, Mrs. Mel went to the kitchen and called 
 the name of Dandy, which brought out an ill- 
 built, low-browed, small man, in a baggy suit of 
 black, who hopped up to her with a surly salute. 
 Dandy was a bird i\Irs. Mel had herself brought 
 down, and she had for him something of a sports- 
 man's regard for his victim. Dandy was the 
 
MOTHER AND SON. 109 
 
 cleaner of boots and runner of errands in the 
 household of Melchisedec, having originally 
 entered it on a dark night by the cellar. Mrs. 
 ]\Iel, on that occasion, was sleeping in her 
 dressing-gown, to be ready to give the gallant 
 night-hawk, her husband, the service he might 
 require on his return to the nest. Hearing a 
 suspicious noise below, she rose, and deliberately 
 loaded a pair of horse -pistols, weapons Mel had 
 worn in his holsters in the heroic days gone ; and 
 with these she stepped down -stairs straight to the 
 cellar, carrpng a lantern at her girdle. She 
 could not only load, but present and fire. Dandy 
 was foremost in stating that she called him forth 
 steadily, three times, before the pistol was dis- 
 charged. He admitted that he was frightened, 
 and incapable of speech, at the apparition of the 
 tall, terrific woman. After the third time of 
 asking he had the ball lodged in his leg and fell. 
 Mrs. Mel was in the habit of bearing heavier 
 weights than Dandy. She made no ado about 
 lugging him to a chamber, where, with her own 
 hands (for this woman had some slight knowledge 
 of surgeiy, and was great in herbs and drugs) she 
 di-essed his wound, and put him to bed ; crying 
 contempt (ever present in Dandy's memory) at 
 such a poor creature undertaking the work of 
 housebreaker. Taught that he really was a poor 
 creature for the work, Dandy, his nursing over, 
 
110 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 begged to be allowed to stop and wait on Mrs. 
 Mel ; and she who had, like many strong natures, 
 a share of pity for the objects she despised, did 
 not cast him out. A jerk in his gait, owing to the 
 bit of lead Mrs. Mel had dropped into him, and a 
 little, perhaps, to her self-satisfied essay in surgical 
 science on his person, earned him the name he 
 went by. 
 
 When her neighbours remonstrated with her 
 for housing a reprobate, Mrs. Mel would say : 
 " Dandy is w^ell-fed and well -physicked : there's 
 no harm in Dandy;" by which she may have 
 meant that the food won his gratitude, and the 
 physic reduced his humours. She had observed 
 human nature. At any rate, Dandy was her 
 creature ; and the great Mel himself rallied her 
 about her squire. 
 
 " When were you drunk last ? " was Mrs. INIel's 
 address to Dandy, as he stood waiting for orders. 
 
 He replied to it in an altogether injured way : 
 
 " There, now ; you've been and called me away 
 from my dinner to ask me that. Why, when 
 I had the last chance, to be sure." 
 
 "And you were at dinner in your new black 
 suit ? " 
 
 "Well," growled Dandy, "I borrowed Sally's 
 apron. Seems I can't please ye." 
 
 Mrs. Mel neither enjoined nor cared for out- 
 ward forms of respect, where she was sure of 
 
MOTHER AND SON. Ill 
 
 complete subserviency. If Dandy went beyond 
 the limits, she gave him an extra dose. Up to 
 the limits he might talk as he pleased, in 
 accordance with Mrs. Mel's maxim, tliat it was a 
 necessary relief to all talking creatures. 
 
 *' Now, take off your apron," she said, " and 
 wash your hands, dirty pig, and go and wait at 
 table in there ; " she pointed to the parlour-door. 
 " Come straight to me when everybody has 
 left." 
 
 " Well, there I am with the bottles again," 
 returned Dandy. " It's your fault this time, 
 mind ! I'll come as straight as I can." 
 
 Dandy tiu'ned away to perform her bidding, 
 and Mrs. jNIel ascended to the drawing-room to sit 
 with Mrs. Wishaw, who was, as she told all who 
 chose to hear, an old flame of Mel's, and was 
 besides, what IMrs. Mel thought more of, the wife 
 of Mel's principal creditor, a wholesale dealer in 
 cloth, resident in London. 
 
 The con\iviality of the mourners did not dis- 
 turb the house. Still, men who are not accustomed 
 to see the colour of wine every day, will sit and 
 enjoy it, even upon solemn occasions, and the 
 longer they sit the more they forget the matter 
 that has brought them together. Pleading their 
 wives and shops, however, they released Evan 
 from his miserable office late in the afternoon. 
 His mother came down to him, and saying, "I 
 
112 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 see how j'ou did the journey — you walked it," 
 told him to follow her. 
 
 " Yes, mother," Evan yawned, " I walked part 
 of the way. I met a fellow in a gig about ten 
 miles out of Fallowfield, and he gave me a lift to 
 Flatsham. I just reached Lj-mport in time, thank 
 Heaven ! I wouldn't have missed that ! By the 
 way, I've satisfied these men." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Mrs. Mel. 
 
 " They wanted — one or two of them — what a 
 penance it is to have to sit among those people an 
 hour ! — they wanted to ask me about the business, 
 but I silenced them. I told them to meet me 
 here this day week." 
 
 Mrs. Mel again went " Oh ! " and, pushing into 
 one of the upper rooms, said, " Here's your bed- 
 room, Van, just as you left it." 
 
 " Ah, so it is," muttered Evan, eyeing a print. 
 " The Douglas and the Percy : ' he took the dead 
 man by the hand.' What an age it seems since I 
 last saw that. There's Sir Hugh Montgomery 
 on horseback — he hasn't moved. Don't you re- 
 member my father calling it the Battle of Tit- 
 for-Tat ? Gallant Percy ! I know he wished he 
 had lived in those days of knights and battles." 
 
 " It does not much signify whom one has to 
 make clothes for," observed Mrs. Mel. Her son 
 happily did not mark her. 
 
 •' I think we neither of us were made for the 
 
MOTHER AND SON. 113 
 
 days of pence and pounds," he continued. " Now, 
 mother, sit down, and talk to me about him. Did 
 he mention me ? Did he give me his blessing ? 
 I hope he did not suffer. I'd have given anything 
 to press his hand," and looking wistfully at the 
 Percy lifting the hand of Douglas dead, Evan's 
 eyes filled with big tears. 
 
 " He suffered very little," returned Mrs. IMel, 
 " and his last words were about you." 
 
 " What were they ? " Evan burst out. 
 
 " I will tell 3'ou another time. Now undress, 
 and go to bed. When I talk to you. Van, I want 
 a cool head to listen. You do nothing but yawn 
 yard-measui'es." 
 
 The mouth of the weary youth instinctively 
 snapped short the abhorred emblem. 
 
 " Here, I will help you, Van." 
 
 In spite of his remonstrances and petitions for 
 talk, she took off his coat and waistcoat, con- 
 temptuously criticising the cloth of foreign tailors 
 and theii' absurd cut. 
 
 " Have you heard from Louisa ? " asked Evan. 
 
 "Yes, yes — about your sisters by-and-by. 
 Now, be good, and go to bed." 
 
 She still treated him like a boy, whom she was 
 going to force to the resolution of a man. 
 
 Dandy's sleeping-room was on the same floor 
 as Evan's. Thither, when she had quitted her 
 son, she directed her steps. She had heard 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
11-4 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 Dandy tumble iip-stairs the moment his duties 
 were over, and knew what to expect when the 
 bottles had been in his way; for drink made 
 Dandy savage, and a terror to himself. It was 
 her command to him that, when he happened to 
 come across liquor, he should immediately seek his 
 bedi'oom and bolt the door, and Dandy had got 
 the habit of obeying her. On this occasion he 
 was vindictive against her, seeing that she had 
 dehvered him over to his enemy with malice 
 prepense. A good deal of knocking, and sum- 
 moning of Dandy by name, was requii'ed before 
 she was admitted, and the sight of her did not 
 delight him, as he testified. 
 
 " I'm drunk ! " he bawled. " WiU that do for 
 
 ye?" 
 
 ]\Irs. Mel stood with her two hands crossed 
 above her apron-string, noting his sullen lurking 
 eye with the calm of a tamer of beasts. 
 
 *' You go out of the room ; I'm drunk ! " Dandy 
 repeated, and pitched forward on the bed-post, in 
 the middle of an oath. 
 
 She understood that it was pure kindness on 
 Dandy's part to bid her go and be out of his 
 reach ; and therefore, on his becoming so abusive 
 as to be menacing, she, without a shade of anger, 
 and in the most unruffled manner, administered 
 to him the remedy she had reserved, in the shape 
 of a smart box on the ears, which sent him flat to 
 
MOTHER AND SON. 115 
 
 the floor. He rose, after two or three efforts, 
 quite subdued. 
 
 " Now, Dandy, sit on the edge of the bed." 
 
 Dandy sat on the extreme edge, and Mrs. ]\Iel 
 pursued : " Now, Dandy, tell me what your 
 master said at the table." 
 
 " Talked at 'em like a lord, he did," said 
 Dandy, stupidly consoling the boxed ear. 
 
 *' AVhat were his words ? " 
 
 Dandy's peculiarity was, that he never remem- 
 bered anything save when drunk, and Mrs. Mel's 
 dose had rather sobered him. By degrees, 
 scratching at his head haltingly, he gave the 
 context. 
 
 " ' Gentlemen, I hear for the first time, you've 
 claims against my poor father. Nobody shall 
 ever say he died, and any man was the worse for 
 it. I'll meet you next week, and I'll bind myself 
 by law. Here's Lawyer Perkins. No ; Mr. Per- 
 kins. I'll pay off every penny. Gentlemen, look 
 upon me as your debtor, and not my father.' " 
 
 Delivering this with tolerable steadiness, Dandy 
 asked, " Will that do ? " 
 
 " That T\ill do," said Mrs. Mel. " I'll send you 
 up some tea presentl3\ Lie down, Dandy." 
 
 The house was dark and silent when Evan, 
 refreshed by his rest, descended to seek his 
 mother. She was sitting alone in the parlour. 
 With a tenderness which Mrs. Mel permitted 
 
 i2 
 
116 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 rather than encouraged, Evan put his arm round 
 her neck, and kissed her many times. One of 
 the symptoms of heavy sorrow, a longing for the 
 signs of love, made Evan fondle his mother, and 
 hend over her j^earningl}^ Mrs. Mel said once : 
 " Dear Van ; good hoy ! " and quietly sat through 
 his caresses. 
 
 " Sitting up for me, mother ? " he whispered. 
 
 " Yes, Van ; we may as well have our talk 
 out." 
 
 " Ah ! " he took a chair close hy her side, " tell 
 me my father's last words." 
 
 " He said he hoped you would never he a tailor." 
 
 Evan's forehead wrinkled up. " There's not 
 much fear of that, then ! " 
 
 His mother turned her face on him, and 
 examined him with a rigorous placidity ; all her 
 features seeming to bear down on him. Evan did 
 not like the look. 
 
 " You object to trade, Van ? " 
 
 " Yes, decidedlj^, mother — hate it ; but that's 
 not what I want to talk to you about. Didn't my 
 father speak of me much ? " 
 
 " He desired that you should wear his Militia 
 sword, if you got a commission." 
 
 " I have rather given up the army," said 
 Evan. 
 
 Mrs. Mel requested him to tell her what a 
 colonel's full pay amounted to ; and again, the 
 
MOTHER AND SOX. 117 
 
 number of j-ears it required, on a rough calcu- 
 lation, to attain that grade. In reply to his state- 
 ment, she observed : " A tailor might realise 
 twice the sum in a quarter of the time." 
 
 " What if he does — double, or treble ? " cried 
 Evan, impetuously ; and to avoid the theme, and 
 cast off the bad impression it produced on him, 
 he rubbed his hands, and said : " I want to talk 
 to you about my prospects, mother." 
 
 " AMiat are they ? " Mrs, Mell inquired. 
 
 The severity of her mien and sceptical coldness 
 of her speech caused him to inspect them sud- 
 denly, as if she had lent him her eyes. He put 
 them by, till the gold should recover its natural 
 shine, saj'ing : " By the way, mother, I've written 
 the half of a History of Portugal." 
 
 " Have you ? " said Mrs. ]Mel. " For Louisa ?" 
 
 " No, mother, of course not : to sell it. Albu- 
 querque ! what a splendid fellow he was ! " 
 
 Informing him that he knew she abominated 
 foreign names, she said : " And your prospects 
 are, writing Histories of Portugal ? " 
 
 " No, mother. I was going to tell you, I expect 
 a Government appoiutment. Mr. Jocelyn likes 
 my work — I think he likes me. You know, I was 
 his private secretary for ten months." 
 
 " You write a good liand," his mother inter- 
 posed. 
 
 " And I'm certain I was born for diplomacy'. " 
 
118 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 " For an easy chair, and an ink-dish before you, 
 and lacqueys behind. What's to be your income. 
 Van?" 
 
 Evan carelessly remarked that he must wait 
 and see. 
 
 " A very proper thing to do," said Mrs. Mel ; 
 for now that she had fixed him to some explana- 
 tion of his prospects, she could condescend, in her 
 stiff way, to banter. 
 
 Slightly touched by it, Evan pursued, half- 
 laughing, as men do who wish to propitiate 
 common sense on behalf of what seems tolerably 
 absurd : " It's not the immediate income, you 
 know, mother : one thinks of one's futm-e. In 
 the dij)lomatic service, as Louisa says, you come 
 to be known to Ministei^ — gradually, I mean. 
 That is, they hear of you ; and if you show you 
 
 have some capacity Louisa wants me to throw 
 
 it up in time, and stand for Parhament. Andrew, 
 she thinks, would be glad to help me to his seat. 
 Once in Parhament, and known to Ministers, you 
 — your career is open to you." 
 
 In justice to Mr. Evan Harrington, it must be 
 said, he built up this extraordinar)^ card-castle to 
 dazzle his mother's mind : he had lost his right 
 grasp of her character for the moment, because of 
 an undefined suspicion of something she intended, 
 and which sent him himself to take refuge in 
 those flimsy structures; while the very altitude 
 
MOTHER AND SON. 119 
 
 he readied beguiled liis imagination, and made 
 liim hope to impress hers. 
 
 Mrs. Mel dealt it one fillip. *' And in the 
 meantime how are you to live, and i^ay the 
 creditors ? " 
 
 Though Evan answered cheerfully, *' Oh, they 
 will wait, and I can live on anything," he was 
 nevertheless floundering on the ground amid the 
 ruins of the superb edifice ; and his mother, 
 upright and rigid, continuing, " You can live on 
 anything, and they will wait, and call your father 
 a rogue," he started, giievously bitten by one of 
 the serpents of earth. 
 
 " Good Heaven, mother ! what are you saying? " 
 
 " That they will call your father a rogue, and 
 will have a right to," said the relentless woman. 
 
 " Not while I live ! " Evan exclaimed. 
 
 " You may stop one mouth with your fist, but 
 you won't stop a dozen, Van." 
 
 Evan jumped up and walked the room. 
 
 " AVhat am I to do ? " he cried. " I will pay 
 everything. I will bind myself to pay every 
 farthing. What more can I possibly do ? " 
 
 " Make the money," said Mrs. Mel's deep voice. 
 
 Evan faced her : " My dear mother, you are 
 very unjust and inconsiderate. I have been work- 
 ing and doing my best. I promise what do 
 
 he debts amount to ? " 
 
 " Something like £'5,000 in all, Van." 
 
120 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 "Very well." Youth is not alarmed by the 
 sound of big sums. " Very well — I will pay it." 
 
 Evan looked as proud as if he had just clapped 
 down the full amount on the table. 
 
 "Out of the History of Portugal, half written, 
 and the prospect of a Government appointment? " 
 
 Mrs. Mel raised her eyelids to him. 
 
 " In time — in time, mother ! " 
 
 " Mention your proposal to the creditors when 
 you meet them this day week," she said. 
 
 Neither of them spoke for several minutes. 
 Then Evan came close to her, sajdng : 
 
 " What is it you want of me, mother ? " 
 
 " I want nothing, Van — I can support myself." 
 
 " But what would you have me do, mother ? " 
 
 " Be honest ; do your duty, and don't be a fool 
 about it." 
 
 " I mil try," he rejoined. " You tell me to 
 make the money. "Wliere and how can I make it ? 
 I am perfectly willing to work." 
 
 "In this house," said Mrs. Mel; and, as this 
 was pretty clear speaking, she stood up to lend 
 her figure to it. 
 
 " Here ? " faltered Evan. " What ! be a " 
 
 " Tailor ! " The word did not sting her tongue. 
 
 " I ? Oh, that's quite impossible ! " said Evan. 
 And visions of leprosy, and Rose shrinking her 
 skirts from contact with him, shadowed out and 
 away in his mind. 
 
MOTHER AND SON. 121 
 
 *' Understand your choice ! " Mrs. Mel impe- 
 riously spoke. " Wliat«are brains given you for ? 
 To be plaj^ed the fool with by idiots and women ? 
 You have £5,000 to pay to save your father from 
 being called a rogue. You can only make the 
 money in one way, which is open to you. This 
 business might produce a thousand pounds a-year 
 and more. In seven or eight years you may clear 
 your father's name, and live better all the time 
 than many of your bankrupt gentlemen. You 
 have told the creditors you wiU pay them. Do 
 you think they're gaping fools, to be satisfied by 
 a History of Portugal ? If you refuse to take the 
 business at once, they will sell me up, and quite 
 right too. Understand your choice. There's Mr. 
 Goren has promised to have you in London a 
 couple of months, and teach you what he can. 
 He is a kind friend. Would any of your gentle- 
 men acquaintance do the like for you '? Under- 
 stand your choice. You will be a beggar — the 
 son of a rogue — or an honest man who has cleared 
 his father's name ! " 
 
 During this strenuously-uttered allocution, Mrs. 
 Mel, though her chest heaved but faintly against 
 her crossed hands, showed by the dilatation of her 
 eyes, and the light in them, that she felt her 
 words. There is that in the aspect of a fine 
 frame breathing hard facts, which, to a youth 
 who has been tumbled headlong from his card- 
 
122 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 castles and airy fabrics, is masterful, and like the 
 pressure of a Fate. Evaft drooj^ed his head. 
 
 " Now," said Mrs. Mel, " you shall have some 
 suj^per." 
 
 Evan told her he could not eat. 
 
 "I insist upon your eating," said Mrs. Mel; 
 " empty stomachs are foul counsellors." 
 
 "Mother! do you want to drive me mad?" 
 cried Evan. 
 
 She looked at him to see whether the string she 
 held him by would bear this slight additional 
 strain : decided not to press a small point. 
 
 " Then go to bed and sleep on it," she said — 
 sure of him — and gave her cheek for his kiss, for 
 she never performed the operation, but kept her 
 mouth, as she remarked, for food and speech, and 
 not for slobbering mummeries. 
 
 Evan returned to liis solitary room. He sat on 
 the bed and tried to think, oppressed by horrible 
 sensations of self-contempt, that caused whatever 
 he touched to sicken him. 
 
 There were the Douglas and the Percy on the 
 wall. It was a happy and a glorious time, was it 
 not, when men lent each other blows that killed 
 outright; when to be brave and cherish noble 
 feelings brought honom'; when strength of arm 
 and steadiness of heart won fortune ; when the 
 fair stars of eai'th — sweet women — wakened and 
 
MOTHER AND SON. 123 
 
 warmed the love of squires of low degree. This 
 legacy of the dead man's hand ! Evan would 
 have paid it with his blood ; but to be in bondage 
 all his days to it ; through it to lose all that was 
 dear to him ; to wear the length of a loathed 
 existence ! — we should pardon a young man's 
 wretchedness at the prospect, for it was in a 
 time before our joyful era of universal equality. 
 Yet he never cast a shade of blame upon his 
 father. 
 
 The hours moved on, and he found himseK 
 staring at his small candle, which struggled more 
 and more faintly with the morning light, like his 
 own flickering ambition against the facts of life. 
 
124 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 INTRODUCES AN ECCENTRIC. 
 
 At the Aurora — one of those rare antiquated 
 taverns, smelUng of comfortable thne and soHd 
 English fare, that had sprung up in the great 
 coffee days, when taverns were clubs, and had 
 since subsisted on the attachment of steady 
 bachelor Templars — there had been dismay, and 
 even sorrow, for a month. The most constant 
 I)atron of the establishment — an old gentleman 
 who had dined there for seven- and-twenty years, 
 four days in the week, off dishes dedicated to the 
 particular days, and had grown grey with the 
 landlady, the cook, and the head-waiter — this old 
 gentleman had abruptly withheld liis presence. 
 Though his name, his residence, his occupation, 
 were things only to be specidated on at the 
 Aurora, he was very well known there, and as 
 men are best to be known: that is to say, by 
 their habits. Some affection for him also was 
 felt. The landlady looked on him as a part of 
 the house. The cook and the waiter were 
 accustomed to receive acceptable compliments 
 from him monthly. His precise words, his 
 
INTRODUCES AX ECCENTRIC. 125 
 
 regular ancient jokes, bis pint of Madeira and 
 after-pint of port, his antique bow to tbe bmd- 
 lady, passing out and in, bis method of spreading 
 his table-napkin on his lap and looking up at the 
 ceiling ere he fell to, and how he talked to him- 
 self duiTDg the repast, and indulged in short 
 chuckles, and the one look of perfect felicity that 
 played over his featui'es when he had taken his 
 first sip of port — these were matters it pained 
 them at the Aurora to have to remember. For 
 three weeks the resolution not to regard him as 
 of the past was general. The Aurora was the old 
 gentleman's home. Men do not play truant from 
 home at sixty years of age. He must, therefore, 
 be seriously indisposed. The kind heart of the 
 landlady fretted to tliink he might have no soul 
 to nurse and care for him ; but she kept his 
 comer near the fire-place vacant, and took care 
 that his pint of Madeira was there. The belief 
 was gaining gi'ound that he had gone, and that 
 nothing but his ghost would ever sit there 
 again. Still the melancholy ceremony continued : 
 for the landlady was not without a secret hope 
 that, in spite of his reserve and the mystery 
 surrounding him, he would have sent her a last 
 word. The cook and head-waiter, interrogated 
 as to their dealings with the old gentleman, 
 testified solemnly to the fact of their having 
 performed their duty by him. They would not 
 
126 EVAN HAKRINGTON. 
 
 go against tlieir interests so much as to forget 
 one of his ways, they said — taking oath, as it 
 were, hy their lower nature, in order to be 
 credited : an instinct men have of one another. 
 The landlady could not contradict them, for the 
 old gentleman had made no complaint ; but then 
 she called to memory that fifteen years back, in 
 such and such a year, Wednesday's dish had 
 been, by shameful oversight, furnished him for 
 Tuesday's, and he had eaten it quietlj^, but 
 refused his port ; which pathetic event had 
 caused alann and inquirj^, when the error was 
 discovered, and apologised for, the old gentleman 
 merely saying, " Don't let it happen again." 
 Next day he drank his port, as usual, and the 
 wheels of the Aurora went smoothly. The land- 
 lady was thus justified in averring that something 
 had been done by somebody, albeit unable to 
 point to anything specific. Women, who are 
 almost as deeply bomid to habit as old gentle- 
 men, possess more of its spiritual element, and 
 are warned by dreams, omens, creepings of the 
 flesh, unwonted chills, suicide of china, and other 
 shadowing signs, when a break is to be antici- 
 pated, or has occurred. The landlady of the 
 Aurora tavern was visited by none of these, and 
 with that sweet and beautiful trust which habit 
 gives, and which boastful love or vainer earthly 
 qualities would fiiil in afi"ecting, she ordered that 
 
INTRODUCES AN ECCENTRIC. 127 
 
 the pint of Madeira stood from six o'clock in the 
 evening till seven — a small monument of con- 
 fidence in him who was at one instant the " poor 
 old dear ; " at another, the " naughty old gad- 
 about ; " fiu'ther, the " faithless old good-for- 
 nothing;" and again, the "blessed pet" of the 
 landladj^'s parlour, alternately and indiscrimi- 
 nately apostrox^hised by herself, her sister, and 
 dauo'hter. 
 
 On the last day of the month a step was heard 
 coming up the long alley which led from the 
 riotous, scrambling street to the plentiful, cheer- 
 ful heart of the Aurora. The landlady knew the 
 step. She checked the natural flutterings of her 
 ribbons, toned down the strong simper that was 
 on her lips, rose, pushed aside her daughter, and, 
 as the step approached, curtsied composedly. 
 Old Habit lifted his hat, and passed. AVith the 
 same touching confidence in the Am-ora that the 
 Aurora had in liim, he went straight to his 
 comer, expressed no surprise at his welcome by 
 the Madeii'a, and thereby apparently indicated 
 that liis appearance should enjoy a similar 
 immunity. 
 
 As of old, he called " Jonathan ! " and was not 
 to be disturbed till he did so. Seeing that 
 Jonathan smii'ked and twiddled his napkin, the 
 old gentleman added, " Thursday ! " 
 
 But Jonathan, a man, had not his mistress's 
 
128 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 keen intuition of the deportment necessitated by 
 the ease, or was incapable of putting the screw 
 upon weak excited nature, for he continued to 
 smii-k, and was remarking how glad he was, he 
 was sure, and something he had dared to think 
 and almost to fear, when the old gentleman called 
 to him, as if he were at the other end of the 
 room, " Will you order Thursday, or not, sir ? " 
 Whereat Jonathan flew, and two or three cosy 
 diners glanced up from their plates, or the paper, 
 smiled, and pursued their capital occupation. 
 
 " Glad to see me ! " the old gentleman mut- 
 tured, querulously. " Of course, glad to see a 
 customer ! Why do you tell me that ? Talk ! 
 tattle ! might as well have a woman to wait — 
 just ! " 
 
 He wiped his forehead largely with his hand- 
 kerchief, as one whom Calamity hunted a little 
 too hard in summer weather. 
 
 " No tumbling-room for the wine, too ! " 
 
 That was his next grievance. He changed 
 the pint of Madeira from his left side to his 
 right, and went under his handkerchief again, 
 feverishly. The world was severe with this old 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Ah ! clock wrong now ! " 
 
 He leaned back like a man who can no longer 
 carry his burdens, informing Jonathan, on his 
 coming up to place the roll of bread and fii'm 
 
INTRODUCES AN ECCENTRIC. 129 
 
 butter, that he was forty seconds too fast, as if it 
 were a capital offence, and he deserved to step 
 into Eternity for outstripping Time. 
 
 " But, I daresay, you don't understand the 
 importance of a minute," said the old gentleman, 
 bitterl}'. " Not you, or any of you. Better if 
 we had run a little ahead of your minute, perhaps 
 — and the rest of you ! Do you think j-ou can 
 cancel the mischief that's done in the world in 
 that minute, sir, by hurrying ahead like that ? 
 Tell me ! " 
 
 Eather at a loss, Jonathan scanned the clock 
 seriously, and observed that it was not quite a 
 minute too fast. 
 
 The old gentleman pulled out his watch. 
 
 " Forty seconds ! That's enough. Men are 
 hung for what's done in forty seconds. Mark the 
 hour, sir ! mark the hour, and read the newspaper 
 attentively for a year ! " 
 
 With which stern direction the old gentleman 
 interlaced his fingers on the table, and sounded 
 three emphatic knocks, while his chin, his lips, 
 nose, and eyebrows were pushed up to a regiment 
 of wrinkles. 
 
 " We'll put it right, sir, presently," murmured 
 Jonathan, in soothing tones ; " I'll attend to it 
 myself." 
 
 The old gentleman seemed not to object to 
 making the injury personal, though he com- 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 plained on broad grounds, for he grunted that a 
 lying clock was hateful to him ; subsequently 
 sinking into contemplation of his thumbs, — a 
 sign known to Jonathan as indicative of the old 
 gentleman's S3"stem having resolved, in spite of 
 external outrages, to be fortified with calm to 
 meet the repast. 
 
 It is not fair to go behind an eccentric ; but 
 the fact was, this old gentleman was slightly 
 ashamed of his month's vagrancy and cruel con- 
 duct, and cloaked his behaviour towards the 
 Aurora, in all the charges he could muster 
 against it. You see, he was very human, albeit 
 an odd form of the race. 
 
 Happily for his digestion of Thursday, the 
 cook, warned by Jonathan, kept the old gentle- 
 man's time, not the Aurora's : and the dinner 
 was correct ; the dinner was eaten m peace ; the 
 old gentleman began to address his plate vigor- 
 ousl}^ poured out his Madeira, and chuckled, as 
 the familiar ideas engendered by good wine were 
 revived in him. Jonathan reported at the bar 
 that the old gentleman was all right again. 
 
 One would like here to pause, while our worthy 
 ancient feeds, and indulge in a short essay on 
 Habit, to show what a sacred and admirable thing 
 it is that makes flimsy Time substantial, and con- 
 soUdates his triple life. It is proof that we have 
 come to the end of dreams, and Time's delusions, 
 
INTRODUCES AN ECCENTRIC. 131 
 
 and are determined to sit down at Life's feast and 
 carve for ourselves. Its day is the child of j-ester- 
 day, and has a claim on to-morrow. Whereas 
 those who have no such plan of existence and 
 sum of their wisdom to show, the winds blow 
 them as they list. Sacred, I say ; for is it not a 
 sort of aping in brittle clay of the everlasting 
 Kound we look to ? We sneer at the slaves 
 of Habit ; but may it not be the result of 
 a strong soul, after shooting vainly thither and 
 yon, and finding not the path it seeketh, lying 
 down weariedly and imprinting its great instinct 
 on the prison-house where it must serve its term ? 
 So that a boiled pullet and a pint of jMadeu*a on 
 Thursdays, for certain, becomes a solace and a 
 symbol of perpetuity ; and a pint of port every 
 day, is a noble piece of Habit, and a distinguish- 
 ing stamp on the body of Time, fore and aft ; one 
 that I, for my part, wish every man in these 
 islands might daily affix. Consider, then, merci- 
 fulh% the wrath of him on whom carelessness or 
 forgetfulness has brought a snap in the links of 
 Habit. You incline to scorn him because, his 
 slippers misplaced, or asparagus not on his table 
 the first day of a particular spring month, he 
 gazes blankly and sighs as one who saw the End. 
 To you it may appear small. You call to him to 
 be a man. He is: but he is also an immortal, 
 
 and his confidence in unceasing orderly pro- 
 
 k2 
 
132 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 gression is rudely dashed. Believe me, the 
 philosopher, whose optics are symbols, weeps for 
 him ! 
 
 But the old gentleman has finished his dinner 
 and liis Madeira, and says : " Now, Jonathan, 
 ' thock ' the port ! " — his joke when matters have 
 gone well : meant to express the sound of the 
 uncorking, probably. The habit of making good 
 jokes is rare, as you know : old gentlemen have 
 not yet attained to it: nevertheless Jonathan 
 enjoys this one, which has seen a generation in 
 and out, for he knows its purport to be, " My 
 heart is open." 
 
 And now is a great time with the old gentle- 
 man. He sips, and in his eyes the world grows 
 rosy, and he exchanges mute or monosyllable 
 salutes here and there. His habit is to avoid 
 converse ; but he will let a light remark season 
 meditation. 
 
 He says to Jonathan : " The bill for the 
 month." 
 
 " Yes, sir," Jonathan replies. " Would you not 
 prefer, su', to have the items added on to the 
 month ensuing ? " 
 
 " I asked you for the bill of the month," said 
 the old gentleman, with an irritated voice and a 
 twinkle in his eye. 
 
 Jonathan bowed ; but his aspect betrayed per- 
 plexity, and that perplexity was soon shared by 
 
INTRODUCES AX ECCENTRIC. 133 
 
 the landlady: for Jonathan said, he was convinced 
 the old gentleman intended to pay for sixteen 
 days, and the landlady could not bring her hand 
 to charge him for more than two. Here was the 
 dilemma foreseen by the old gentleman, and it 
 added vastly to the flavour of the port. 
 
 Pleasantly tickled, he sat gazing at his glass, 
 and let the minutes fly. He knew the paii: he 
 would act in his little farce. If charged for the 
 whole month, he would peruse the bill deliberately, 
 and perhaps cry out *' Hulloa ? " and then snap 
 at Jonathan for the interposition of a remark. 
 But if charged for two days, he would wish to be 
 told whether they were demented, those people 
 outside, and scornfully return the bill to Jonathan. 
 
 A slap on the shoulder, and a voice : " Found 
 you at last, Tom ! " violently shattered the excel- 
 lent plot, and made the old gentleman start. He 
 beheld Mr. Andrew Cogglesby. 
 
 " Drinking port, Tom ? " said jNIr. Andrew. 
 ** I'll join you : " and he sat dowa opposite 
 to him, rubbing his hands and pushing back 
 his hair. 
 
 Jonathan entering briskly \^•itll the bill, fell 
 back a step, in alarm. The old gentleman, whose 
 inviolacy was thus rudely assailed, sat staring at 
 the intruder, his mouth compressed, and three 
 fingers round his glass, which it was doubtful 
 whether he was not going to hurl at him. 
 
134 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 *' AV<aiter ! " Mr. Andrew carelessly hailed, " a 
 pint of this port, if you please." 
 
 Jonathan sought the countenance of the old 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Do you hear, sir ? " cried the latter, turning 
 his wrath on him. " Another pint ! " He added : 
 " Take back the bill ; " and away went Jonathan 
 to relate fresh marvels to liis mistress. 
 
 Mr. Andrew then addressed the old gentleman 
 in the most audacious manner. 
 
 " Astonished to see me here, Tom ? Dare say 
 you are. I knew you came somewhere in this 
 neighbourhood, and, as I wanted to speak to you 
 very particularly, and you wouldn't be visible till 
 Monday, why, I spied into two or three places, 
 and here I am." 
 
 You might see they were brothers. They had 
 the same bushy eyebrows, the same healthy colour 
 in their cheeks, the same thick shoulders, and 
 brisk way of speaking, and clear, sharp, though 
 kindly, eyes ; only Tom was cast in larger pro- 
 portions than Andrew, and had gotten the grey 
 fui'niture of Time for his natural wear. Perhaps, 
 too, a cross in early life had a little twisted him, 
 and set his mouth in a rueful bunch, out of which 
 occasionally came biting things. Mr. Andrew 
 earned his head up, and e^-ed every man living 
 with the benevolence of a patriarch, dashed with 
 the impudence of a London sparrow. Tom had a 
 
INTRODUCES AN ECCENTRIC. 135 
 
 nagging air, and a trifle of acridity on his broad 
 features. Still, any one at a glance could have 
 sworn they were brothers, and Jonathan unhesi- 
 tatingly proclaimed it at the Aurora bar. 
 
 Mr. Andrew's hands were working together, 
 and at them, and at his face, the old gentleman 
 continued to look with a firml}^ interrogating air. 
 
 " Want to know what brings me, Tom ? I'll 
 tell you presently. Hot, — isn't it ? " 
 
 " What the deuce are you taking exercise for ? " 
 the old gentleman burst out, and having unlocked 
 his mouth, he began to puff and alter his posture. 
 
 " There you are, thawed in a minute ! " said 
 Mr. Andrew. " What's an eccentric ? a child 
 grown grey. It isn't mine. I read it somewhere. 
 Ah, here's the port ! — good, I'll warrant." 
 
 Jonatlian deferentially uncorked, excessive com- 
 posure on his visage. He arranged the table-cloth 
 to a nicety, fixed the bottle with exactness, and 
 was only sent scudding by the old gentleman's 
 muttering of: " Eavesdropping pie ! " followed by 
 a short, " Go ! " and even then he must delay to 
 sweep off a particular crumb. 
 
 " Good it is ! " said Mr. Andrew, rolling the 
 flavour on his lips, as he put down his glass. " I 
 follow 3'ou in port, Tom. Elder brother ! " 
 
 The old gentleman also di'ank, and was mollified 
 enough to reply : " Shan't follow you in pai'lia- 
 ment." 
 
13G EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 " Haven't forgiven that yet, Tom ? " 
 
 *' No great harm done when you're silent." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! Well, I don't do much mischief, 
 then." 
 
 " No. Thank your want of capacity ! " 
 
 Mr. Andi'ew laughed good-humom-edly. " Capital 
 place to let off gas in, Tom." 
 
 " Thought so. I shouldn't he safe there." 
 
 " Eh ? Why not ? " 
 
 Mr. Andrew expected the grim joke, and 
 encoui'aged it. 
 
 " I do carry some light ahout," the old gentle- 
 man emphasised, and Mr. Andrew called him too 
 had ; and the old gentleman almost consented to 
 smile. 
 
 " 'Gad, you blow us up out of the House. 
 What would you do in ? Smithereens, I think ! " 
 
 The old gentleman looked mild promise of 
 Smithereens, in that contingency, adding : " No 
 danger." 
 
 " Capital port ! " said Mr. Andrew, rej^lenish- 
 ing the glasses. " I ought to have inquired where 
 they kept the best port. I might have known 
 you'd stick by it. By the way, talking of Parlia- 
 ment, there's talk of a new election for Fallow- 
 field. You have a vote there. Will you give it 
 to Jocelyn ? There's talk of his standing." 
 
 *' If he'll wear petticoats. Til give him my vote.'' 
 
 " There you go, Tom ! " 
 
INTRODUCES AN ECCENTRIC. 137 
 
 " I hate masquerades. You're penny trumpets 
 of the women. That tattle comes from the hed- 
 ciu'tains. AVhen a petticoat steps forward I give 
 it my vote, or else I button it up in my 
 pocket." 
 
 This was probably one of the longest speeches 
 he had ever delivered at the Aurora. There was 
 extra port in it. Jonathan, who from his place of 
 observation noted the length of time it occupied, 
 though he was unable to gather the context, 
 glanced at Mr. Andrew with a mixture of awe 
 and sly satisfaction. Mr. Andrew, laughing, 
 signalled for another pint. 
 
 " So you've come here for my vote, have you ? " 
 said the old gentleman. 
 
 " Why, no ; not exactly that, Tom," Mr. 
 Andrew answered^ bhnking and passing it by. 
 
 Jonathan brought the fresh pint, and the old 
 gentleman filled for himself, drank, and said 
 emphatically, and with a confounding voice : 
 
 *' Your women have been setting you on me, 
 sir!" 
 
 Mr. Andrew protested that he was entirely 
 mistaken. 
 
 " You're the puppet of your women ! " 
 
 *' Well, Tom, not in this instance. Here's to 
 the bachelors, and brother Tom at their head ! " 
 
 It seemed to be Mr. Andrew's object to help 
 his companion to carry a certain quantity of port, 
 
138 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 as if lie knew a virtue it had to subdue him, and 
 to have fixed on a particular measure that he 
 should hold before he addressed him specially. 
 Arrived at this, he said : 
 
 *' Look here, Tom. I know your ways. I 
 shouldn't have bothered you here ; I never have 
 before ; but we couldn't very well talk it over in 
 business hours ; and besides you're never at the 
 brewery till Monday, and the matter's rather 
 urgent." 
 
 " Why don't you speak like that in Parlia- 
 ment ? " the old man interposed. 
 
 " Because Parliament isn't my brother," replied 
 Mr. Andrew. " You know, Tom, you never quite 
 took to my wife's family." 
 
 " I'm not a match for fine ladies. Nan." 
 
 " Well, Harriet would have taken to you, Tom, 
 and will now, if you'll let her. Of course, it's a 
 
 pity if she's ashamed of hem ! You found it 
 
 out about the Lymport people, Tom, and you've 
 kept the secret and respected her feelings, and I 
 thank you for it. Women are odd in those things, 
 you know. She mustn't imagine I've heai'd a 
 whisper. I believe it would kill her.'.' 
 
 The old gentleman shook silently. 
 
 " Do you want me to travel over the kingdom, 
 hawking her for the daughter of a marquis ? " 
 
 " Now, don't joke, Tom. I'm serious. Are 
 you not a Eadical at heart ? Why do you make 
 
INTRODUCES AN ECCENTRIC. 139 
 
 such a set against the poor women ? What do 
 we spring from ? " 
 
 " I take off my hat, Nan, when I see a cohbler's 
 stall." 
 
 "And I, Tom, don't care a rush who knows 
 it. Homo — something ; but we never had much 
 schooling. We've thriven, and should help those 
 we can. We've got on in the world ..." 
 
 " Wife come back from Lymport ? " sneered 
 the old gentleman. 
 
 Mr. Andi'ew hurriedly, and with some con- 
 fusion, explained that she had not been able to 
 go, on account of the child. 
 
 " Account of the child ! " his brother repeated, 
 working liis chin contemptuously. " Sisters 
 gone ? " 
 
 " They're stopping with us," said Mr. Andrew, 
 reddening. 
 
 " So the tailor was left to the kites and the 
 crows. Ah ! hum ! " and Tom chuckled. 
 
 " You're angrj^ with me, Tom, for coming here," 
 said Mr. Andrew. " I see what it is. Thought 
 how it would be ! You're offended, old Tom." 
 
 " Come where you like," returned Tom, " the 
 place is open. It's a fool that hopes for peace 
 anywhere. They sent a woman here to wait on 
 me, this day month." 
 
 " That's a shame ! " said Mr. Andrew, pro- 
 pitiatingly. " Well, never mind, Tom : the 
 
140 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 women are sometimes in the way. — Evan went 
 dovm to bury his father. He's there now. You 
 wouldn't see him when he was at the brewery, 
 Tom. He's — upon my honour ! he's a good 
 young fellow." 
 
 " A fine young gentleman, I've no doubt. 
 Nan." 
 
 " A really good lad, Tom. No nonsense. I've * 
 come here to s-peak to jo\i about him." 
 
 Mr. Andrew drew a letter from his pocket, 
 pursuing: "Just throw aside your prejudices, 
 and read this. It's a letter I had from him this 
 morning. But first I must tell you how the case 
 stands." 
 
 *' Know more than you can tell me. Nan," said 
 Tom, turning over the flavour of a gulp of port. 
 
 " Well, then, just let me repeat it. He has 
 been capitally educated; he has always been used 
 to good society : well, we mustn't sneer at it : 
 good society's better than bad, you'll allow. He 
 has refined tastes : well, you wouldn't hke to live 
 among crossing-sweepers, Tom. He's clever and 
 accompUshed, can speak and write in three lan- 
 guages : I wish I had his abilities. He has good 
 manners : well, Tom, you know you like them as 
 well as anybody. And now — but read for j^ourself." 
 
 " Yah ! " went old Tom. " The women have 
 been playing the fool with him since he was a 
 baby. / read his rigmai'ole ? No." 
 
INTRODUCES AN ECCENTRIC. 141 
 
 Mr. Andrew shrugged his shoulders, and 
 opened the letter, sapng : " Well, listen ; " and 
 then he coughed, and rapidly skimmed the intro- 
 ductory part. " Excuses himself for addressing 
 me fonnally — poor boy ! Circumstances have 
 altered his position towards the world : found 
 his father's affairs in a bad state : only chance 
 of pacing off father's debts to undertake manage- 
 ment of business, and bind himself to so much a 
 year. But there, Tom, if you won't read it, you 
 miss the poor young fellow's character. He says 
 that he has forgotten his station : fancied he was 
 superior to trade, but hates debt ; and will not 
 allow anybody to throw dirt at his father's name, 
 while he can work to clear it ; and will sacrifice 
 his pride. Come, Tom, that's manly, isn't it? I 
 call it touching, poor lad ! " 
 
 Manl}^ it may have been, but the touching part 
 of it was a feature missed in Mr. Andrew's hands. 
 At any rate, it did not appear favourably to 
 impress Tom, whose chin had gathered its 
 ominous puckers, as he inquired : 
 
 "What's the trade ? he don't say." 
 
 Andrew added, with a wave of the hand : " Out 
 of a sort of feeUng for his sisters — I like him for 
 it. Now what I want to ask you, Tom, is, 
 whether we can't assist him in some way ! ^Miy 
 couldn't we take him into our office, and fix him 
 there, eh ? If he works well — we're both getting 
 
143 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 old, and my brats are chicks — we might, by- and - 
 by, give him a share/^ 
 
 *' Make a brewer of him ? Ha ! there'd be 
 another mighty sacrifice for his pride ! " 
 
 " Come, come, Tom," said Andrew, " he's my 
 wife's brother, and I'm your's ; and — there, you 
 know what women are. They like to preseiwe 
 appearances : we ought to consider them." 
 
 " Preserve appearances ! " echoed Tom : " ha ! 
 who'll do that for them better than a tailor ? " 
 
 ]Mr. Andrew was an impatient little man, fitter 
 for a kind action than to plead a cause. Jeering 
 jarred on him ; and from the moment his brother 
 began it, he was of small service to Evan. He 
 flung back against the partition of the compound, 
 rattUng it to the disturbance of many a quiet 
 digestion. 
 
 " Tom,"*' he cried, " I believe you^-e a 
 screw ! " 
 
 *' Never said I wasn't," rejoined Tom, as he 
 finished his port. " I'm a bachelor, and a person 
 — you're married, and an object. I w^on't have 
 the tailor's family at my coat-tails." 
 
 ** Do you mean to say, Tom, you don't like the 
 young fellow ? The Countess says he's half 
 engaged to an heiress ; and he has a chance of 
 appomtments — of course, nothing may come of 
 them. But do you mean to say, you don't like 
 him for what he has done ? " 
 
INTRODUCES AN ECCENTRIC. 143 
 
 Tom made his jaw disagreeably prominent. 
 *' 'Fraid Fm guilty of that crime." 
 
 " And you that swear at people pretending to 
 be above their station ! " exclaimed Andrew. " I 
 shall get in a passion. I can't stand this. Here, 
 waiter ! what have I to pay ? " 
 
 " Go," cried the time-honoured guest of the 
 Aurora to Jonathan, advancing. 
 
 Andrew pressed the very roots of his hair back 
 from his red forehead, and sat upright and reso- 
 lute, glancing at Tom. And now ensued a 
 curious scene of family blood. For no sooner 
 did elderly Tom observe this bantam-like 
 demeanour of his brother, than he ruffled his 
 feathers likewise, and looked down on him, 
 agitating his wig over a prodigious frown. 
 ^\^lereof came the following sharp colloquy ; 
 Andrew beginning : 
 
 " I'll pay off the debts out of my own pocket." 
 
 *' You can make a greater fool of yourself, 
 then ? " 
 
 " He shan't be a tailor ! " 
 
 " He shan't be a brewer ! " 
 
 " I say he shall live like a gentleman ! " 
 
 " I say he shall squat Like a Turk ! " 
 
 Bang went Andrew's hand on the table : *' I've 
 pledged my word, mind ! " 
 
 Tom made a counter demonstration: "And I'll 
 have my way ! " 
 
144 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 " Hang it ! I can be as eccentric as you," said 
 Andrew. 
 
 " And I as much a donkey as you, if I try 
 hard," said Tom. 
 
 Something of the cobbler s stall followed this ; 
 till waxing furious, Tom sung out to Jonathan, 
 hovering around them in watchful timidity, 
 " More port ! " and the words immediately fell 
 oily on the wrath of the brothers : both com- 
 menced wiping their heads with their handker- 
 chiefs : the faces of both emerged and met, with 
 a half-laugh : and, severally determmed to keep 
 to what they had spoken, there was a tacit accord 
 between them to drop the subject. 
 
 Like sunshine after smart rain, the port shone 
 on these brothers. Like a voice from the 
 pastures after the bellowing of the thunder, 
 Andrew's voice asked : " Got rid of that twinge 
 of the gout, Tom ? Did you rub in that 
 ointment ? " while Tom's replied : " Aj. How 
 about that ^'heumatism of yours ? Have you tried 
 that Indy oil ? " receiving a like assurance. 
 
 The remainder of the port ebbed in meditation 
 and chance remarks. The bit of storm had done 
 them both good ; and Tom especially — the 
 cynical, carping, grim old gentleman — was much 
 improved by the nearer resemblance of his 
 manner to Andrew's. 
 
 Behind this unaffected fraternal concord, how- 
 
INTRODUCES AN ECCENTEIO. 145 
 
 ever, the fact that they were pledged to a race in 
 eccentricit}-, was present. They had been rivals 
 before ; and anterior to the date of his marriage, 
 Andrew had done odd eclipsing things. But 
 Andrew required prompting to it; he requii'ed 
 to be put upon his mettle. ^Miereas, it was 
 more nature with Tom : natm*e and the absence 
 of a wife, gave him advantages over Andi'ew. 
 Besides, he had his character to maintain. He 
 had said the word : and the first vanity of 
 your born eccentric is, that he shall be taken 
 for infalhble. 
 
 Presently Andrew ducked his head to mark the 
 evening clouds flushing over the court-3'ard of the 
 Aurora. 
 
 " Time to be off, Tom," he said : " wife at 
 home." 
 
 " Ah I " Tom answered. " Well, I haven't got 
 to go to bed so early." 
 
 "AVhat an old rogue you are, Tom I " Andrew 
 pushed his elbows forward on the table amiably. 
 " 'Gad, we haven't drunk wine together since — by 
 Jingo ! well have another pint." 
 
 " Many as you like," said Tom. 
 
 Over the succeeding pint, Andrew, in whose 
 veins the port was merry, favom^ed his brother 
 with an imitation of Major Strike, and indicated 
 his dishke to that officer. Tom informed him 
 that Major Stiike was speculating. 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
140 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 " The ass eats at my table, and treats me with 
 contempt." 
 
 "Just tell him that you're putting by the bones 
 for him. He'll want 'em." 
 
 Then Andrew, with another glance at the 
 clouds, now violet on a grey sky, said he must 
 really be off. Upon which Tom observed : 
 '' Don't come here again." 
 
 *' You old rascal, Tom ! " cried Andrew, swing- 
 ing over the table : " it's quite jolly for us to be 
 hob-a-nobbing together once more. 'Gad ! — no, 
 we won't though ! I promised Harriet. Eh ? 
 What say, Tom ? " 
 
 " 'Nother pint. Nan ? " 
 
 Tom shook his head in a roguishly-cosy, irre- 
 sistible way. Andrew, from a shake of denial and 
 resolve, fell into the same ; and there sat the two 
 brothers — a jolly i:)icture ! 
 
 The hour was ten, when Andrew Cogglesby, 
 comforted by Tom's remark, that he, Tom, had a 
 wig, and that he, Andrew, would have a wigging, 
 left the Aurora; and he left it singing a song. 
 That he would remember his match that night, 
 few might Hke to wager. Tom Cogglesb}' had a 
 better- seasoned bachelor head. He still sat at his 
 table, holding before liim Evan's letter, of which 
 he had got possession ; and knocking it round ^ 
 and round with a stroke of the forefinger, to the 
 tune of, " Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, 'pothecar}^ 
 
THE COUNTESS IN LOW SOCIETY. 149 
 
 hear; and she reached her mother, having, at 
 least, cut off communication with the object of 
 conveyance. 
 
 The Countess kissed her mother, kissed Mrs. 
 Fiske, and asked sharply for Evan. Mrs. Fiske 
 let her know that Evan was in the house. 
 
 "AVhere?" inquired the Countess. "I have 
 news of the utmost importance for him. I must 
 see him." 
 
 " Where is he, aunt ? " said Mrs. Fiske. " In 
 the shop, I think ; I wonder he did not see you 
 passing, Louisa." 
 
 The Countess went bolt down into a chair. 
 
 " Go to him, Jane," said Mrs. ]Mel. " Tell him 
 Louisa is here, and don't return." 
 
 ]Mrs. Fiske departed, and the Countess smiled. 
 
 " Thank you, Mama ! you know I never could 
 bear that odious, vulgar little woman. Oh, the 
 heat ! You talk of Portugal ! And, oh ! poor 
 dear Papa ! what I have suffered ! " 
 
 Flapping her laces for air, and wiping her 
 eyes for sorrow, the Countess poured a flood 
 of sjTnpathy into her mother's ears and then 
 said: 
 
 " But you have made a great mistake, Mama, 
 in allowing Evan to put his foot into that place. 
 He — beloved of an heiress ! Why, if an enemy 
 should hear of it, it would ruin him — positively 
 blast him — for ever. And that she loves him I 
 
150 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 have proof positive. Yes ; with all her frankness, 
 the little thing cannot conceal that from me now. 
 She loves him ! And I desire you to guess, 
 Mama, whether rivals will not abound ? And 
 what enemy so much to be dreaded as a rival ? 
 And what revelation so awful as that he has 
 stood in a — in a — boutique ? " 
 
 Mrs. Mel maintained her usual attitude for 
 listening. It had occurred to her that it might do 
 no good to tell the gi-and lady, her daughter, of 
 Evan's resolution, so she simply said, " It is dis- 
 cipline for him," and left her to speak a private 
 word with the youth. 
 
 Timidly the Countess inspected the furniture 
 of the apartment, taking chills at the dingy articles 
 she saw, in the midst of her heat. That she 
 should have sprung from this ! The thought was 
 painful; still she could forgive Providence so 
 much. But should it ever be known she had 
 sprung from this ! Alas ! she felt she never could 
 pardon such a dire betrayal. She had come in 
 good spirits, but the mention of Evan's back- 
 sliding had troubled her extremely, and though 
 she did not say to herself. What was the benefit 
 resulting from her father's dying, if Evan would 
 be so base-minded? she thought the thing in- 
 definitely, and was forming the words on her 
 mouth. One Harrington in a shop is equal to all ! 
 when Evan appeared alone. 
 
THE COUNTESS IN LOW SOCIETY. 151 
 
 " Wh}^ goodness gi'acious ! wliere's your mous- 
 tache ? " cried the Countess. 
 
 " Gone the way of hair ! " said Evan, coldly 
 stooping to her forehead. 
 
 *' Such a distinction ! " the Countess continued, 
 reproachfully. " ^Yhy, mon Dieu ! one could 
 hardly teU you, as you look now, from the very 
 commonest tradesman — if you were not rather 
 handsome and something of a figure. It's a dis- 
 guise, Evan — do j^ou know that ? " 
 
 "And I've parted with it — that's all," said 
 Evan. '^Xo more disguises for me ! " 
 
 The Countess immediately took his arm, and 
 walked with him to a window. His face was 
 certainly changed. Mm'muring that the air of 
 Lj^mport was bad for him, and that he must leave 
 it instantly, she bade him sit and attend to what 
 she was about to say. 
 
 "While you have been here, degenerating, 
 Evan, day by day — as you always do out of my 
 sight — degenerating ! no less a word ! — I have 
 been slaving in your interests. Yes ; I have 
 forced the Jocelyns socially to acknowledge us. 
 I have not slept ; I have eaten bare morsels. Do 
 abstinence and vigils clear the wits ? I know 
 not ; but indeed they have enabled me to do more 
 in a week than would suffice for a lifetime. Hark 
 to me. I have discovered Rose's secret. Si! 
 It is so ! Piose loves you. You blush ; you blush 
 
152 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 like a girl. She loves you, and you have let your- 
 self be seen in a shop ! Contrast me the two 
 things. Oh ! in verity, dreadful as it is, one 
 could almost laugh. But the moment I lose sight 
 of you, my instructions vanish as quickly as that 
 hair on your superior lip, which took such time to 
 perfect. Alas ! you must grow it again immedi- 
 ately. Use any perfumer's contrivance. Rowland ! 
 I have great faith in Eowland. Without him, I 
 believe, there would have been many bald women 
 committing suicide ! You remember the bottle I 
 gave to the Count de YiUa Flor ? ' Countess,' he 
 said to me, ' you have saved this egg-shell from a 
 crack, by helping to cover it ' — for so he called 
 his head — the top, you know, was beginning to 
 shine like an egg. And I do fear me he would 
 have done it. Ah ! you do not conceive what the 
 dread of baldness is ! To a woman, death — death 
 is preferable to baldness ! Baldness is death ! 
 And a wig — a wig ! Oh, horror ! total extinction 
 is better than to rise again in a wig ! But you 
 are young, and i^lay with hair. But I was saying, 
 I went to see the Jocelyns. I was introduced to 
 Sir Franks and his lady and the wealthy grand- 
 mother. And I have an invitation for you, Evan ! 
 — you unmannered boy, that you do not bow ! A 
 gentle incline forward of the shouklers, and the 
 eyes fixed softl}^ your upper lids drooping tri- 
 fliugly, as if you thanked with gentle sincerity, 
 
THE COUNTESS IN LOW SOCIETY. 153 
 
 but were indifferent. Well, well, if you wiU not ! 
 An invitation for jon to spend part of the autumn 
 at Beckley Court, the ancestral domain, where 
 there will be company — the nobles of the land ! 
 Consider that. You say it was bold in me to face 
 them after that horrible man committed us on 
 board the vessel ? A Harrington is anything but 
 a coward. I did go — and because I am devoted 
 to your interests. That very morning, I saw 
 announced in the paper, just beneath poor 
 Anckew's hand, as he held it up at the breakfast- 
 table, reading it, I saw among the deaths. Sir 
 Abraham Harrington, of Torqua}^, Baronet, of 
 quinsy ! Twice that good man has come to my 
 rescue ! Oh ! I welcomed him as a piece of 
 Providence ! I turned and said to Harriet, ' I see 
 they have ])ui poor Papa in the paper.' Harriet 
 was staggered. I took the i^aper from Andi-ew, 
 and pointed it to her. She has no readiness. 
 She has had no foreign training. She could not 
 comprehend, and Andrew stood on tiptoe, and 
 peeped. He has a bad cough, and coughed himself 
 black in the face. / attiibute it to excessive bad 
 manners and his cold feelings. He left the room. 
 I rej^roached Harriet. But, oh ! the singularity 
 of the excellent fortune of such an event at such 
 a time ! It showed that our Harrington -luck had 
 not forsaken us. I hm-ried to the Jocelyns 
 instantly. Of course, it cleared away any sus- 
 
154 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 picions aroused in tliem by that horrible man on 
 board the vessel. And the tears I we^^t for Sir 
 Abraham, Evan, in verity they were tears of deep 
 and sincere gratitude ! What is your mouth 
 knitting the corners at ? Are you laughing ? " 
 
 Evan hastily composed his visage to the 
 melancholy that was no counterfeit in him just 
 then. 
 
 '* Yes," continued the Countess, easily reassured, 
 " I shall ever feel a debt to Sir Abraham Harring- 
 ton, of Torqua3\ I dare say we are related to 
 him. At least he has done us more service than 
 many a rich and titled relative. No one supposes 
 he would acknowledge poor Papa. I can forgive 
 him that ! Evan ! " the Countess pointed out her 
 finger with mom'nful and impressive majest}^ " as 
 we look down on that monkey, people of rank and 
 consideration in society look on what poor dear 
 Papa was." 
 
 This was partly true, for Jacko sat on a chair, 
 in his favourite attitude, copied accm'ately from 
 the workmen of the establishment at their labom' 
 with needle and thread. Growing cognisant of 
 the infamy of his postm-e, the Countess begged 
 Evan to drive him out of her sight, and took a 
 sniff at her smelling-bottle. 
 
 She went on : " Now, dear Van, you would hear 
 of 5"our sweet Kose ? " 
 
 " Not a word ! " Evan hastily answered. 
 
THE COUNTESS IN LOW SOCIETT. 155 
 
 '' "Why, what does this indicate ? Whims ! 
 Then j^ou do love ? " 
 
 *' I tell you, Louisa, I don't want to hear a 
 word of any of them," said Evan, with an angry 
 gleam in his eyes. " They are nothing to me, 
 nor I to them. I — my walk in life is not theirs." 
 
 " Faint heart ! faint heart ! " the Countess lifted 
 a proverbial forefinger. 
 
 " Thank Heaven, I shall have the consolation 
 of not going about, and bo\\ing and smirking like 
 an impostor ! " Evan exclaimed. 
 
 There was a wider intelligence in the Coun- 
 tess's arrested gaze than she chose to fashion 
 into speech. 
 
 " I knew," she said, " I knew how the air of 
 this horrible Lj-mport would act on you. But 
 while I live, Evan, you shall not sink in the 
 sludge. You, with all the pains I have lavished 
 on you ! and with your presence ! — for you have 
 a presence, so rare among young men in this 
 England ! You, who have been to a Court, and 
 interchanged bows with duchesses, and I know 
 not what besides — nay, I do not accuse you ; but 
 if you had not been a mere boy, and an English 
 boy — poor Eugenia herself confessed to me that 
 you had a look — a tender cleaving of the under- 
 lids — that made her catch her hand to her heart 
 sometimes : it reminded her so acutely of false 
 Belmarana. Could you have had a gi-eater com- 
 
156 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 pliment than that ? You shall not stop here 
 another day ! " 
 
 " True," said Evan, " for I'm going to London 
 to-night." 
 
 " Not to London," the Countess returned, with 
 a conquering glance, " but to Beckley Court — and 
 ■^^ith me." 
 
 *' To London, Louisa, with Mr. Goren." 
 
 Again the Countess eyed him largely ; but 
 took, as it were, a side -path from her broad 
 thought, sajdng : " Yes, fortunes are made in 
 London, if you would they should be rapid." 
 
 She meditated. At that moment Dand}^ knocked 
 at the door, and called outside : " Please, master, 
 Mr. Goren says there's a gentleman in the shop 
 — wants to see you." 
 
 " Very w^ell," replied Evan, moving. He was 
 swung violently round. 
 
 The Countess had clutched him by the arm. 
 A fearful expression was on her face. 
 
 " AVhither do you go ? " she said. 
 
 " To the shop, Louisa." 
 
 Too late to arrest the villanous word, she 
 pulled at him. " Are you quite insane ? Con- 
 sent to be seen by a gentleman there ? What 
 has come to you ? You must be lunatic ! Are 
 we all to be utterly ruined — disgraced ? " 
 
 *' Is my mother to starve ? " said Evan. 
 
 " Absui'd rejoinder! No! You should have 
 
THE COUNTESS IN LOW SOCIETY. 157 
 
 sold everytliing here before this. She can live 
 with Harriet — she — once out of this homble ele- 
 ment — she would not show it. But, Evan, you 
 ai'e getting away from me : you are not going ? — 
 speak ! " 
 
 " I am going," said Evan. 
 
 The Countess clung to liim, exclaiming : 
 " Never, while I have the power to detain you ! " 
 but as he was firm and strong, she had recourse 
 to her woman's aids, and burst into a storm of 
 sobs on his shoulder — a scene of which Mrs. Mel 
 was, for some seconds, a composed spectator. 
 
 *' ^\Tiat's the matter now ? " said Mrs. Mel. 
 
 Evan impatiently explained the case. Mrs. Mel 
 desired her daughter to avoid being ridiculous, 
 and making two fools in her family ; and at the 
 same time that she told Evan there was no occa- 
 sion for him to go, contrived, with a look, to 
 make the advice a command. He, in that state 
 of mind when one takes bitter delight in doing an 
 abhon-ed duty, was hardly willing to be submis- 
 sive ; but the despair of the Countess reduced 
 him, and for her sake he consented to forego the 
 sacrifice of his i)ride which was now his sad, sole 
 pleasure. Feeling him linger, the Countess re- 
 laxed her grasp. Hers were tears that di'ied as 
 soon as they had served their end ; and, to give 
 liim the full benefit of his conduct, she said : " I 
 knew Evan would be persuaded by me." 
 
158 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 Evan pitifully pressed her hand, and sighed. 
 
 " Tea is on the tahle down-stairs," said Mrs. 
 IMel. " I have cooked something for you, Louisa. 
 Do you sleep here to-night ? " 
 
 " Can I tell you, Mama ! " murmured the 
 Countess. " I am dependent on our Evan." 
 
 " Oh ! well, we will eat first," said Mrs. Mel, 
 and they went to the tahle helow, the Countess 
 begging her mother to drop titles in designating 
 her to the servants, which caused Mrs. Mel to 
 say : 
 
 " There is hut one. I do the cooking," and 
 the Countess, ever disposed to flatter, and he 
 suave, even when stung by a fact or a phrase, 
 added : 
 
 *' And a beautiful cook you used to be, dear 
 Mama ! " 
 
 At the table, awaiting them, sat Mrs. Wisliaw, 
 Mrs. Fiske, and Mr. Goren, who soon found 
 themselves enveloped in the Countess's gracious- 
 ness. Mr. Goren would taUv of trade, and com- 
 pare Lymport business with London, and the 
 Countess, loftily interested in his remarks, drew 
 him out to disgust her brother. Mrs. AYishaw, 
 in whom the Countess at once discovered a 
 frivolous pretentious w^oman of the moneyed 
 trading class, she treated as one who was aHve to 
 society, and surve3"ed matters from a station in 
 the world, leading her to think that she tolerated 
 
THE COUNTESS IN LOW SOCIETY. 159 
 
 Mr. Goren, as a lady- Christian of the highest 
 rank should tolerate the insects that toil for us. 
 Mrs. Fiske was not so tractable, for Mrs. Fiske 
 was hostile and armed. ]\[rs. Fiske adored the 
 great Mel, and she had never loved Louisa. 
 Hence, she scorned Louisa on account of her 
 late behaviour towards her dead parent. The 
 Countess saw through her, and laboured to be 
 friendly with her, while she rendered her dis- 
 agreeable in the eyes of jNIrs. ^Mshaw, and let 
 Mrs. Wishaw perceive that sympath}^ was possible 
 between them ; — manoeuvring a trifle too delicate, 
 perhaps, for the people present, but sufficient to 
 blind its keen-witted author to the sometliing that 
 was being concealed from herself, of which some- 
 thing, nevertheless, her senses apprehensively 
 warned her ; and they might have spoken to her 
 wits, but that mortals cannot, unaided, guess, or 
 will not, unless struck in the face by the fact, 
 credit, what is to their minds the last horror. 
 
 *' I came down in the coach, quite accidental, 
 with this gentleman," said ]Mrs. Wishaw, fanning 
 a cheek and noddini^ at Mr. Goren. " I'm an 
 old flame of dear Kiel's. I knew him when he 
 was an apprentice in London. Now, wasn't it 
 odd ? Yom- mother — I suppose I must call you 
 " ' my lady ? ' " 
 
 The Countess breathed a tender "spare me," 
 -^ith a smile that added, " among friends ! " 
 
IGO EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 ^Irs. Wishaw resumed : " Your mother was an 
 old flame of this gentleman's, I found out. So 
 there were two old flames, and I couldn't help 
 thinking ! But I was «o glad to have seen dear 
 Mel once more." 
 
 " Ah ! " sighed the Countess. 
 
 " He was always a martial -looking man, and 
 laid out, he was quite imposing. I declare, I 
 cried so, as it reminded me of when I couldn't 
 have him, for he had nothing but his legs and 
 arms — and I married Wishaw. But it's a com- 
 fort to think I have been of some service to dear, 
 dear Mel ! for Wishaw's a man of accounts 
 and payments, and I knew ^lel had cloth from 
 him, and," the lady suggested bills delayed, with 
 two or three nods, " you know ! and I'll do my 
 best for his son." 
 
 " You are kind," said the Countess, smiling 
 internally at the vulgar creature's misconception 
 of Evan's requirements. 
 
 " Did he ever talk much about IMary Fence ? " 
 asked Mrs. Wishaw. "Polly Fence, he used to 
 say, ' Sweet PoUy Fence ! ' " 
 
 " Oh ! I think so. Frequently," observed the 
 Countess. 
 
 Mrs. Fiske primmed her mouth. She had 
 never heard the gi'eat Mel allude to the name of 
 Fence. 
 
 The Goren-croak was heard : 
 
THE COUNTESS IN LOW SOCIETY. 161 
 
 " Painters have painted out ' Melcliisedec ' this 
 afternoon. Yes, — ah ! In and out — as the saying 
 goes." 
 
 Here was an opportunity to mortify the 
 Countess. 
 
 Mrs. Fiske placidly remarked : " Have we the 
 other put up in its stead ? It's shorter." 
 
 A twinge of weakness had made Evan request 
 that the name of Evan Harrington shoukl not 
 decorate the shop-front till he had turned his 
 back on it, for a time. Mrs. Mel crushed her 
 venomous niece. 
 
 " AVhat have you to do with such things ? 
 Shine in your own affairs first, Ann, before you 
 meddle with others." 
 
 Relieved at hearing that ' Melchisedec ' was 
 painted out, and unsuspicious of the announce- 
 ment that should replace it, the Countess asked 
 IMrs. Wishaw if she thought Evan like her dear 
 Papa. 
 
 " So like," returned the lady, " that I would 
 not be alone with him yet, for worlds. I should 
 expect him to be making love to me : for, you 
 know, my dear — I must be familiar — Mel never 
 could be alone with j^ou, without ! — It was his 
 nature. I speak of him before marriage. But, 
 if I can trust myself with him, I shall take charge 
 of Mr. Evan, and show him some London society." 
 
 *' That is indeed kind," said the Countess, glad 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
162 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 of a thick veil for the utterance of her contempt. 
 "Evan, though — I fear — will be rather engaged. 
 His friends, the Jocelj^ns of Beckley Court, will 
 — I fear — hardly dispense with him : and Lady 
 Splenders — jou. know her ? the Marchioness of 
 Splenders ? No ? — by repute, at least : a most 
 beautiful and most fascinating woman ; report of 
 him alone has induced her to say that Evan must 
 and shall form a part of her autumnal gathering 
 at Splenders Castle. And how he is to get out 
 of it, I cannot tell. But I am sure his multitu- 
 dinous engagements will not prevent his paying 
 due court to Mistress Wisliaw." 
 
 As the Countess intended, Mistress Wishaw's 
 vanity was reproved, and her ambition excited : a 
 pretty double-stroke, only j)ossible to dexterous 
 players. 
 
 The lady rejoined that she hoped so, she was 
 sure ; and forthwith (because she suddenly seemed 
 to possess him more than his son), launched upon 
 Mel's incomparable personal attractions. This 
 caused the Countess to enlarge upon Evan's vast 
 personal prospects. They talked across each 
 other a little, till the Countess remembered her 
 breeding, allowed Mrs. Wishaw to run to an end 
 in hollow exclamations, and put a finish to the 
 undeclared controversj^ by a traverse of speech, 
 as if she were taking up the most important 
 subject of their late colloquy. " But Evan is not 
 
THE COUNTESS IN LOW SOCIETY. 1G3 
 
 in his own hands — he is in the hands of a lovely 
 young woman, I must tell you. He belongs to 
 her, and not to us. You have heard of Rose 
 Jocelyn, the celebrated heiress ? " 
 
 " Engaged ? " Mrs. AVishaw whispered aloud. 
 
 The Countess, an adept in the he implied — 
 practised by her, that she might not subject her- 
 self to future punishment (in which she was so 
 devout a believer, that she condemned whole 
 hosts to it), deeply smiled. 
 
 *' Really ! " said Mrs. "Wishaw, and was about 
 to inquire why Evan, with these brilhant expec- 
 tations, could think of trade and tailoring, when 
 the young man, whose forehead had been growing 
 black, jumped up, and quitted them; thus break- 
 ing the harmony of the table ; and as the Countess 
 had said enough, she tiu-ned the conversation to 
 the always welcome theme of low societ3^ She 
 broached death and corpses ; and became ex- 
 tremely interesting, and very sympathetic : the 
 only difference between the ghostly anecdotes she 
 related, and those of the other ladies, beinoj that 
 her ghosts were all of them titled, and walked 
 mostly under the burden of a coronet. For 
 instance, there was the Portuguese IMarquis de 
 Col. He had married a Spanish wife, whose end 
 was mysterious. Undressing, on the night of 
 the anniversary of her death, and on the point of 
 
 getting into bed, he beheld the dead woman 
 
 m2 
 
164 EVAN HARRIXGTON. 
 
 lying on her back before liim. All night long he 
 had to sleep with this freezing phantom ! Re- 
 gularly, every fresh anniversar}% he had to endure 
 the same penance, no matter where he might be, 
 or in what strange bed. On one occasion, when 
 he took the live for the dead, a curious thing 
 occurred, which the Countess scrupled less to 
 relate than would men to hint at. Ghosts were 
 the one childish enjoyment Mrs. Mel allowed 
 herself, and she listened to her daughter intently, 
 ready to cap any narrative ; but Mrs. Fiske 
 stopi^ed the flood. 
 
 " You have improved on Peter Smithers, 
 Louisa," she said. 
 
 Tlie Countess turned to her mildly. 
 "You are certainly thinldng of Peter Smithers," 
 Mrs. Fiske continued, bracing her shoulders. 
 " Sureh% you remember poor Peter, Louisa ? 
 An old flame of your own ! He was going to kill 
 himself, but married a Devonshire woman, and 
 they had disagreeables, and she died, and he was 
 undressing, and saw her there in the bed, and 
 wouldn't get into it, and had the mattress, and 
 the curtains, and the countei-panes, and every- 
 thing biu'nt. He told us it himself. You must 
 remember it, Louisa ? " 
 
 The Countess remembered notliing of the sort. 
 No doubt could exist of its having been the Por- 
 tuguese Marquis de Col, because he had confided 
 
THE COUNTESS IN LOW SOCIETY. 165 
 
 to her the whole affair, and indeed come to her, 
 as his habit was, to ask her what he could 
 possibly do, under the cii'cumstances. If ^Irs. 
 Fiske's friend, who mariied the Devonshire 
 person, had seen the same thing, the coincidence 
 was yet more extraordinary than the case. Mrs. 
 Fiske said, it assuredly was, and glanced at her 
 aunt, who, as the Countess now rose, declaring 
 she must speak to Evan, chid Mrs. Fiske, and 
 wished her and Peter Smithers at the bottom of 
 the sea. 
 
 " No, no. Mama," said the Countess, laughing, 
 " that would hardly be proper," and before Mrs. 
 Fiske could reply, escaped to complain to Evan 
 of the vulgarity of those women. 
 
 She was not prepared for the burst of wrath 
 with which Evan met her. 
 
 " Louisa," said he, taking her wiist sternly, 
 " you have done a thing I can't forgive. I find it 
 hard to bear disgrace myself: I will not consent 
 to bring it upon others. ^Miy did you dai'e to 
 couple Miss Jocelyn's name with mine ? " 
 
 The Countess gave him out her arm's length. 
 " Speak on, Van," she said, admiring him with a 
 bright gaze. 
 
 " Answer me, Louisa ; and don't take me for a 
 fool any more," he pursued. "You have coupled 
 Miss JocehTi's name with mine, in company, and 
 I insist now upon your giving me your promise to 
 
1G6 EVAN HAERINGTON. 
 
 abstain from doing it anywhere, before any- 
 body." 
 
 " If she saw you at this instant, Van," 
 returned the incon'igible Countess, *' would she 
 desii'e it, think you ? Oh ! I must make you 
 angi'y before her, I see that ! You have your 
 father's frown. You surpass him, for jouv 
 delivery is more correct, and equally fluent. 
 And if a woman is momentarily melted by 
 softness in a man, she is for ever subdued by 
 boldness and bravery of mien." 
 
 Evan dropped her hand. "Miss Joceljoi has 
 done me the honour to call me her friend. That 
 was in other days." His lip quivered. *' I shall 
 not see Miss Jocelj^n again. Yes ; I would lay 
 down my life for her ; but that^s idle talk. No 
 such chance will ever come to me. But I can 
 save her from being spoken of in alliance with 
 jt me, and what I am, and I tell you, Louisa, I will 
 
 not have it." Sajing which, and while he looked 
 harshly at her, wounded i)ride bled through his 
 eyes. 
 
 She was touched. " Sit down, dear ; I must 
 explain to you, and make you happy against your 
 will," she said, in another voice, and an English 
 accent. " The mischief is done, Van. If j^ou 
 do not want Rose Jocelyn to love you, you must 
 undo it in your own way. 1 am not easily 
 deceived. On the morning I went to her house in 
 
THE COUNTESS IN LOW SOCIETY. 167 
 
 town, she took me aside, and spoke to me. Not 
 a confession in words. The blood in her cheeks, 
 when I mentioned 3^ou, did that for her. Ever}^- 
 thing about you she must know — how you bore 
 your grief, and alL And not in her usual free 
 manner, but timidly, as if she feared a surprise, 
 or feared to be wakened to the secret in her 
 bosom she half suspects. ' Tell him ! ' she said, 
 * I hope he will not forget me.' " 
 
 The Countess was interrupted by a gi-eat sob ; 
 for the picture of frank Eose Jocelj^n changed, 
 and soft, and, as it were, shadowed under a veil of 
 bashful regard for him, so filled the young man 
 with sorrowful tenderness, that he trembled, and 
 was as a child. 
 
 Marking the impression she had produced on 
 him, and having worn off that which he had pro- 
 duced on her, the Countess resumed the art in her 
 style of speech, easier to her than nature. 
 
 " So the sweetest of Eoses may be yours, dear 
 Van ; and you have her in a gold setting, to wear 
 on 3^our heart. Are you not enviable ? I will 
 not — no, I will not tell you she is i^erfect. I 
 must fashion the sweet young creature. Though 
 I am very ready to admit that she is much 
 improved by this — shall I call it, desired 
 consummation ? " 
 
 Evan could listen no more. Such a struggle 
 was lising in his breast : the effort to quench 
 
168 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 what the Countess had so fiercely kindled ; pas- 
 sionate desii'e to look on Rose but for one light- 
 ning flash : desii'e to look on her, and muffled 
 sense of shame twin-born with it : wild love and 
 leaden misery mixed : dead hopelessness and 
 vivid hoiie. Up to the neck in Purgatory, but 
 his soul saturated with visions of Bliss ! The 
 fair orb of Love was all that was wanted to 
 complete his planetary state, and aloft it sprang, 
 showing many faint, fair tracts to him, and piling 
 huge darlvuesses. 
 
 As if in search of something, he suddenly went 
 from the room. 
 
 " I have intoxicated the poor boy," said the 
 Countess, and consulted an attitude by the 
 evening light in a mirror. Approving the result, 
 she rang for her mother, and sat with her till 
 dark ; telling her she could not and would not 
 leave her dear Mama that night. At the supper- 
 table Evan did not appear, and Mr. Goren, after 
 taking counsel of Llrs. Mel, dispersed the news 
 that Evan was off to London. On the road again, 
 with a purse just as ill furnished, and in his 
 breast the light that sometimes leads gentlemen, 
 as well as ladies, astray. 
 
MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD AGAIN. 109 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD AGAIN. 
 
 Near a milestone, under the moonliglit, 
 crouched the figure of a woman, huddled with 
 her head against her knees, and careless hau' fall- 
 ing to the summer's dust. Evan came upon this 
 sight within a few miles of Fallowfield. At first he 
 was rather startled, for he had inherited supersti- 
 tious emotions from his mother, and the road was 
 lone, the moon full. He went up to her and spoke 
 a gentle word, which provoked no reply. He 
 ventured to put his hand on her shoulder, con- 
 tinuing softly to address her. She was flesh and 
 blood. Evan stooped his head to catch a whisper 
 from her mouth, but nothing save a heavier fall of 
 the breath she took, as of one painfully waking, 
 was heard. 
 
 A misery beyond our own is a wholesome 
 picture for youth, and though we may not for the 
 moment compare the deep with the lower deep, 
 we, if we have a heart for outer sorrows, can 
 forf]fet ourselves in it. Evan had iust been ac- 
 
 O o 
 
 cusing the heavens of conspu-acy to chsgrace him. 
 Those patient heavens had Listened, as is their 
 
170 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 wont. The}^ had viewed and had not been 
 disordered by his mental frenzies. It is certainly 
 hard that they do not come down to us, and con- 
 descend to tell us what they mean, and be dum- 
 founded by the perspicuity of our arguments — 
 the argument, for instance, that they have not 
 fashioned us for the science of the shears, and do 
 yet impel us to wield them. Nevertheless, they 
 to whom mortal life has ceased to be a long 
 matter perceive that our appeals for conviction 
 are answered, — now and then very closely upon 
 the call. When we have cast off the scales of 
 hope and fancy, and surrender our claims on 
 mad chance : when the wild particles of this 
 universe consent to march as they are directed, 
 it is given them to see — if they see at all — that 
 some plan is working out : that the heavens, icy 
 as they are to the pangs of our blood, have been 
 throughout speaking to our souls ; and, accordmg 
 to the strength there existing, we learn to com- 
 prehend them. But their language is an element 
 of Time, whom primarily we have to know. Thus 
 a gray tailor (for in our noble days we ma}' 
 suppose such a person gifted with that to which 
 they adcU'ess themselves), — a tailor in the flourish- 
 ing of the almond-tree, who looks back on a 
 period when he summoned the bright heavens to 
 consider his indignant protest against the career 
 they have marked out for him ; does he not hear 
 
MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD AGAIN. I7l 
 
 huge shouts of laughter echoing round and round 
 the blue ethereal dome ? Yet they listened, and 
 silently ! 
 
 Evan Harrington was young. He wished not 
 to clothe the generation. AVhat was to the re- 
 mainder of the exiled sons of Adam simply the 
 brand of expulsion from Paradise, was to him 
 hell. In his agony, anything less than an angel, 
 soft-voiced in his path, would not have satisfied 
 the poor boy, and here was this wretched outcast, 
 and instead of being relieved, he was to act the 
 reUever ! 
 
 Striving to rouse the desolate creature, he 
 shook her slightly. She now raised her head 
 with a slow, gradual motion, like that of a wax- 
 work, showing a white young face, tearless, — 
 dreadfully drawn at the lijos. After gazing at 
 him, she turned her head mechanically towards 
 her shoulder, as to ask him why he touched her. 
 He withdrew his hand saying : 
 
 " AVhy are you here ? Pardon me ; I want, if 
 possible, to help you." 
 
 A light sprang in her eyes. She jumped from 
 the stone, and ran forward a step or two, with 
 a gasp : 
 
 " Oh, my God ! I want to go and drown 
 myself." 
 
 Evan lingered behind her till he saw her body 
 sway, and in a fit of trembhng she half fell on his 
 
172 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 outstretched arm. He led her to the stone, not 
 knowing what on earth to do with her. There 
 was no sign of a house near; they were quite 
 soUtar}^ ; to all his questions she gave an unin- 
 telligihle moan. He had not heart to leave her, 
 so, taking a sharp seat on a heap of flints, thus 
 possibly furnishing future occupation for one of 
 his craftsmen, he w^aited, and amused himself 
 by marking out diagrams with his stick in the 
 thick dust. 
 
 His thoughts were far away, when he heard, 
 faintly uttered : 
 
 " Why do 3^ou stop here ? " 
 
 "To help you." 
 
 " Please don't. Let me be. I can't be helped." 
 
 *' My good creature," said Evan, " it's quite im- 
 possible that I should leave you in this state. 
 Tell me where you were going when your illness 
 seized 3^ou?" 
 
 " I was going," she commenced vacantly, " to 
 the sea — the water," she added, with a shivering 
 
 lip. 
 
 The foolish youth asked her if she could be cold 
 on such a night. 
 
 " No, I'm not cold," she replied, drawing closer 
 over her lap the ends of a shawl which would in 
 that period have been thought rather gaudy for 
 her station. 
 
 " You were going to Lymport ? " 
 
MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD AGAIN. 173 
 
 "Yes, — Lymport's nearest, I think." 
 
 "And why were you out travelling at this 
 hour ? " 
 
 She dropped her head, and began rocking to 
 right and left. 
 
 While they talked the noise of waggon -wheels 
 was heard approaching. Evan went into the 
 middle of the road and beheld a covered waggon, 
 and a fellow whom he advanced to meet, plodding 
 a little to the rear of the horses. He proved 
 kindly. He was a farmer's man, he said, and 
 was at that moment employed in removing the 
 fuiTiitm'e of the farmer's son, who had failed as a 
 corn-chandler in Lymport, to Hillford, which he 
 expected to reach about mom. He answered 
 Evan's request that he would afford the young 
 woman conveyance as far as Fallowfield : 
 
 " Tak' her in ? That I wiU." 
 
 " She won't hurt the harses," he pursued, point- 
 ing his whip at the vehicle : " there's my mat\ 
 Garge Stoakes, he's in ther', snorin' his turn. 
 Can't you hear'n a-snorin' thraugh the wheels ? 
 I can ; I've been laughin' ! He do snore that 
 loud — Garge do ! " 
 
 Proceedmg to inform Evan how George Stokes 
 had snored in that characteristic manner from 
 boyhood, ever since he and George had slept in a 
 hayloft together ; and how he, kept wakeful and 
 driven to distraction by George Stokes' nose, had 
 
174 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 been occasionally compelled, in slieer self-defence, 
 madly to start up and hold that pertinacious 
 alarum in tight compression between thumb and 
 forefinger ; and how George Stokes, thus severely 
 handled, had burst his hold with a tremendous 
 snort, as big as a bull, and had invariably uttered 
 the exclamation, " Halloa ! — same to you, my 
 lad ! " and rolled over to snore as fresh as ever ; — 
 all this with singular rustic comparisons, racy of 
 the soil, and in raw Hampshire dialect, the 
 waggoner came to a halt opposite the stone, and, 
 while Evan strode to assist the girl, addressed 
 himself to the great task of arousing the sturdy 
 sleeper and quieting his trumpet, heard by all ears 
 now that the accompaniment of the wheels was at 
 an end. 
 
 George, violently awakened, complained that it 
 was before his time, to which he was true ; and 
 was for going off again with exalted contentment, 
 though his heels had been tugged, and were 
 dangling some length out of the machine ; but 
 his comrade, with a determined blow of the lungs, 
 gave another valiant pull, and George Stokes was 
 on his legs, marvelling at the world and man. 
 Evan had less difficulty with the girl. She rose 
 to meet him, i)ut up her arms for him to clasp her 
 waist, whispering sharply on an inward breath : 
 " What are you going to do with me ? " and 
 indifferent to his verbal response, trustingly 
 
MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD AGAIN. 175 
 
 3'ielded her limbs to his guidance. He could see 
 blood on her bitten underHp, as, with the help of 
 the waggoner, he lifted her on the mattress, 
 backed by a portly bundle, which the sagacity of 
 Mr. Stokes had selected from his couch. 
 
 The waggoner cracked his whip, laughing at 
 George Stokes, who 5'awned and settled into a 
 composed plough-swmg, without asking questions; 
 apparently resolved to finish his nap on his legs. 
 
 " Wam't he Uke that Myzepper chap, I see at 
 the succus, bound athert gray mare ! " chuckled 
 the waggoner. " So he'd 'a gone on, had ye 'a 
 let'n. No wailves waddn't wake Garge till he'd 
 slept it out. Then he'd say, ' marnin' ! ' to 'm. 
 Are ye 'wake now, Garge ? " 
 
 The admii'able sleeper preferred to be a quiet 
 butt, and the waggoner leisurely exhausted the 
 fun that was to be had out of him ; returning to 
 it with a persistency that evinced more concentra- 
 tion than variety in his mind. At last Evan 
 said: "Your pace is rather slow. They'll be 
 shut up in Fallowfield. I'll go on ahead. You'll 
 find me at one of the inns — the Green Drafjon." 
 
 In return for this speech, the waggoner favoured 
 him with a stare, followed by the exclamation : 
 
 " Oh, no ! dang that ! " 
 
 " Why, what's the matter ? " quoth Evan. 
 
 " You en't goin' to be ofi", for to leave me and 
 Garge in the lurch there, with that ther' young 
 
17G EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 woman, in that tlier' pickle ! " returned the 
 waggoner. 
 
 Evan made an appeal to his reason, hut finding 
 that impregnable, he j)ulled out his scanty purse 
 to guarantee his sincerity with an offer of pledge - 
 money. The waggoner waived it aside. He 
 wanted no money, he said. 
 
 " Look heer," he went on ; " if you're for a 
 start, I tells ye plain, I chucks that ther' j^oung 
 woman int' the road." 
 
 Evan bade him not to be a brute. 
 
 " Nack and crop ! " the waggoner doggedly 
 ejaculated. 
 
 Very much surprised that a fellow who appeared 
 sound at heart, should threaten to behave so 
 basel}^ Evan asked an explanation : upon which 
 the waggoner demanded to know what he had 
 eyes for : and as this query failed to enlighten 
 the youth, he let him understand that he was a 
 man of family experience, and that it was easy to 
 tell at a glance that the complaint the young 
 woman laboured under was one common to the 
 daughters of Eve. He added that, should an 
 emergency arise, he, though a family man, would 
 be useless : that he always vacated the premises 
 while those incidental scenes were being enacted 
 at home ; and that for him and George Stokes to 
 be left alone with the young woman, why they 
 would be of no more service to her than a couple 
 
MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD AGAIN. 177 
 
 of babies new-born themselves. He, for his part, 
 he assured Evan, should take to his heels, and 
 relinquish waggon, and horses, and all ; while 
 George probably would stand and gape ; and 
 the end of it would be, the}' would all be had up 
 for murder. He diverged from the alarming 
 prospect, by a renewal of the foregoing alternative 
 to the gentleman who had constituted himself the 
 young woman's protector. If he parted company 
 with them, they would immediately part company 
 with the young woman, whose condition was 
 evident. 
 
 " ^^^ly, couldn't you tall that? " said the wag- 
 goner, as Evan, tingling at the ears, remained 
 silent. 
 
 " I know nothing of such things," he answered, 
 hastily, like one hurt. 
 
 I have to repeat the statement, that he was a 
 youth, and a modest one. He felt unaccountably, 
 unreasonably, but horribly, ashamed. The thought 
 of his actual position swamped the sickening dis- 
 gust at tailordom. AVorse, then, might happen to 
 us in this extraordinary world ! There was some- 
 thing more abhorrent than sitting with one's legs 
 crossed, publicly stitchmg, and scoffed at ! He 
 called vehemently to the waggoner to whip the 
 horses, and hurry a-head into Fallowfield ; but 
 that worthy, whatever might be his dire alarms, 
 had a regular pace, that was conscious of no spur : 
 
 VOL. I. X 
 
178 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 the rei^ly of " All right ! " satisfied him at least ; 
 
 and Evan's chaste sighs for the appearance of an 
 
 assistant petticoat round a turn of the road, were 
 
 offered up duly, to the measure of the waggoner's 
 
 steps. 
 
 Suddenly the waggoner came to a halt, and 
 
 said : " Blest if that Garge hain't a snorin' on his 
 
 pins I 
 
 Evan lingered by him with some curiosity, 
 
 while the waggoner thumped his thigh to, " Yes 
 
 he be ! no he hain't ! " several times, in eager 
 
 hesitation. 
 
 " It's a fellow calling from the downs,^' said 
 Evan. 
 
 *' Ay, so ! " responded the waggoner. " Dang'd 
 if I. didn't think 'twere that Garge of our^n. Hark 
 awhile." 
 
 At a rej)etition of the call, the waggoner stopped 
 his team. After a few minutes, a man appeared 
 panting on the bank above them, down which he 
 ran precipitately, knocked against Evan, apolo- 
 gised with the little breath that remained to him, 
 and then held his hand as to entreat a hearing. 
 Evan thouglit him half-mad ; the waggoner was 
 about to imagine him the victim of a midnight 
 assault. He undeceived them by requesting, in 
 rather flowery terms, conveyance on the road and 
 rest for his limbs. It being explained to him that 
 the waggon was ah'eady occupied, he comforted 
 
irZ GENTLEMAN ON THE EOAD AGAIN. 179 
 
 himself aloud with the reflection that it was some- 
 thing to be on the road again for one who had 
 been belated, lost, and wandering over the downs 
 for the last six hours. 
 
 " Walcome to git in, when young woman gits 
 out," said the waggoner. " 111 gi' ye my sleep 
 on t'Hillford." 
 
 " Thanks, worthy fiiend," returned the new 
 comer. " The state of the case is this — Fm 
 happy to take from humankind whatsoever I can 
 get. If this gentleman will accept of my company, 
 and my legs hold out, all will yet be well." 
 
 Though he did not wear a petticoat, Evan was 
 not sorry to have him. Next to the interposition 
 of the gods, we pray for human fellowship when 
 we are in a mess. So he mumbled politely, 
 dropped with him a little to the rear, and they all 
 stepped out to the crack of the waggoner's w^hip. 
 
 " Rather a slow pace," said Evan, feeling bound 
 to converse. 
 
 " Six hours on the downs, sir, makes it 
 extremely suitable to me," rejomed the stranger. 
 
 " You lost your way ? " 
 
 " I did, sir. Yes ; one does not court those 
 
 desolate regions wittingly. I am for life and 
 
 society. The embraces of Diana do not agi*ee 
 
 with my constitution. INIy beUef — I don't know 
 
 whether you have ever thought on the point — but 
 
 I don't hesitate to say I haven't the slightest 
 
 h2 
 
180 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 doubt Endj'mion was a madman ! I go farther : 
 I say this : that the farmer who trusted that 
 young man with his muttons was quite as bad. 
 And if classics there be who diifer from me, and 
 do not reserve all their sympathy for those hap- 
 less animals, I beg them to take six hours on the 
 downs alone with the moon, and the last prospect 
 of bread and cheese, and a chaste bed, seemingly 
 utterly extinguished. I am cured of my romance. 
 Of course, sir, when I say bread and cheese, I 
 speak figurativel3\ Food is implied.''^ 
 
 Evan stole a glance at his companion. 
 
 " Besides, sir," the other continued, with an 
 inflexion of grandeur, " for a man accustomed to 
 his hunters, it is, you will confess, somewhat 
 unpleasant for such a man — I speak hypotheti- 
 cally — to be reduced to his legs to that extent 
 that it strikes liim shrewdly he will run them into 
 stumps. Nay, who shall say but that he is 
 stumped ? " 
 
 The stranger laughed, as if he knew the shrew- 
 ness of his joke, and questioned the moon aloud : 
 " What sayest thou, Queen of lunatics ? " 
 
 The fair lady of the night illumined his face, 
 like one who recognised a subject. Evan thought, 
 too, that he knew the voice. A curious, uncon- 
 scious struggle therein between native facetious- 
 ness and an attempt at dignit}^ appeared to Evan 
 not unfamiliar; and the egregious failure of 
 
MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD AGAIN. 181 
 
 ambition and triumph of the instinct, helped him 
 to join the stranger in his mirth. 
 
 " Pardon me," cried the latter, suddenl}'. " Will 
 you favour me by turning your face to the 
 moon ? " 
 
 Evan smiled at him. 
 
 He was silent for some paces, and then cried 
 in brave simplicity : " Won't you give your fist to 
 a fellow ? " 
 
 It needed but a word or two further for two old 
 schoolmates to discover one another. Evan 
 exclaimed, " Jack Eaikes ! Sir John ! " w4iile he 
 himself was addressed as " Sir Amadis, Viscount 
 Harrington ! " In which, doubtless, they revived 
 certain traits of their earlier days, and with a 
 brisk shaking of hands, and interrogation of coun- 
 tenances, caught up the years that had elapsed 
 since they parted company. 
 
 Mr. John Eaikes stood about a head under 
 Evan. He had extremely mobile features ; thick, 
 flexible eyebrows ; a loose, voluble mouth ; a 
 ridiculous figure on a dandified foot. He repre- 
 sented to you one who w^as rehearsing a part he 
 wished to act before the world, and was not 
 aware that he perpetuallj'' took the world into his 
 confidence. 
 
 " Me, then, you remember," said Jack, cordially. 
 " You are doubtful concerning the hat and general 
 habiliments ? I rcgi^et to inform you that they 
 
182 EVAN nARRINGTON. 
 
 are the same" He gave a melo- dramatic sigh. 
 " Yes ; if there is any gratification in outliving 
 one's hat, that gratification should be mine. In 
 this hat, in this coat, I dined you the day before 
 you voyaged to Lisboa's tide. Changes have 
 since ensued. AVe complain not ; but we do 
 deplore. Fortune on Jack has turned her back ! 
 You might know it, if only by my regard for the 
 nice distinctions of language. The fact is, IVe 
 spent my money. A mercurial temperament 
 makes quicksilver of any amount of cash. Mine 
 uncle died ere I had wooed the maiden. Pleasure, 
 and transformed her into the hag, Experience \" 
 
 The hand of Mr. Raikes fell against his thigh 
 with theatrical impressiveness. 
 
 " But how," said Evan — " it's the oddest thing 
 in tlie world our meeting like this — how did you 
 come here ? " 
 
 " You thought me cut out for an actor — didn't 
 you ? " asked Jack. 
 
 Evan admitted that it was a common opinion 
 at school. 
 
 " It was a horrible delusion, Harrington ! My 
 patrimony gone, naked I sought the stage — as the 
 needle the pole. Alas ! there is no needle to that 
 pole. I was hissed off the boards of a provincial 
 theatre, and thus you see me ! " 
 
 " Why," said Evan, " you don't mean to say you 
 have been running over the downs ever since ?" 
 
3MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD AGAIN. 183 
 
 Mr. Raikes punned bitterly. " No, Harring- 
 ton, not in your sense. Spare me the particulars. 
 Ruined, the last ignominy endured, I fled from 
 the gay vistas of the Bench — for they live who 
 would thither lead me ! and determined, the day 
 before the yesterday — what think'st thou ? why to 
 go boldly, and offer mj^self as Adlatus to blessed 
 old Cudford ! Yes ! a little Latin is all that 
 remains to me, and I resolved, like the man I am, 
 to turn hie, hcsc, hoc, into bread and cheese, and 
 beer. Impute nought foreign to me, in the matter 
 of pride." 
 
 " Usher in our old school — poor old Jack ! " 
 exclaimed Evan. 
 
 " Lieutenant in the Cudford Academy ! " the 
 latter rejoined. " I walked the distance from 
 London. I had my interview with the respected 
 principal. He gave me of mutton nearest the 
 bone, which, they say, is sweetest ; and on sweet 
 things you should not regale in excess. Endymion 
 watched the sheep that bred that mutton ! He 
 gave me the thin beer of our boyhood, that 
 I might the more soberly state my mission- 
 That beer, my friend, was brewed by one who 
 wished to form a study for pantomimic masks. 
 He listened with the gravity which is all his 
 own to the recital of my career ; he pleasantly 
 compared me to Phaeton, congratulated the 
 river Thames at my not setting it on fire in 
 
184 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 my rapid descent, and extended to me the three 
 fingers of aifectionate farewell. I am the victim 
 of my antecedents ! " 
 
 Mr. Eaikes uttered this with a stage groan, and 
 rapped his breast. 
 
 " So you were compelled to go to old Cudford, 
 and he rejected you — poor Jack ! " Evan inter- 
 jected commiseratingly. 
 
 " Because of my antecedents, Harrington. I 
 laid the train in boyhood that blew me up as 
 man. I put the case to him clearly. But what's 
 the use of talking to an old fellow who has been 
 among boys all his life ? All his arguments are 
 prepositions. I told him that, as became a 
 manly natm'e, I, being stripped, preferred to 
 stand up for myself like a bare stick, rather than 
 act the parasite — the female ivy, or the wanton 
 hop ! I joked — he smiled. Those old cocks 
 can't see j^ou're serious through a joke. What 
 do you think ! He reminded me of that night 
 when you and I slipped out to hear about the 
 prize-fight, and were led home from the pot-house 
 in glory. Well ! I replied to him — ' Had you 
 educated us on beer a little stiffer in quality, 
 sir — ' ' Yes, yes,' says he ; 'I see you're the same 
 John Eaikes whom I once knew.' I answered 
 with a quotation : lie corrected my quantity, and 
 quoted again : I capped him. I thought I had 
 him. ' Glad,' says he, ' you beai* in your head 
 
MY GENTLEMAN ON THE EOAD AGAIN. 185 
 
 some of the fruits of my teaching.' ' Fruits, sir/ 
 says I, ' egad ! they're more like nails than fruits ; 
 I can feel now, sir, on a portion of my person, 
 which is anywhere hut the head, your praise- 
 worthy perseverance in knocking them in.' There 
 was gratitude for him, hut he would treat the 
 whole affair* as a joke. * You an usher, a rearer 
 of youth, IMr. Raikes ? Oh, no ! Oh, no ! ' 
 That was all I could get out of him. 'Gad ! 
 he might have seen that I didn't joke with the 
 mutton-hone. If I winced at the beer it was im- 
 perceptible. Now a man who can do that is what 
 I call a man in earnest. But, Cudford avaunt ! 
 Here I am." 
 
 " Yes," said Evan, suppressing a smile. " I 
 want to know how you came here." 
 
 " Short is the tale, though long the way, friend 
 Harrington. From Bodley is ten miles to Beck- 
 ley. I walked them. From Beckley is fifteen 
 miles to Fallowfield. Them I was traversing, 
 when, lo ! towards sweet eventide a fan* horse- 
 woman riding with her groom at her horse's heels. 
 ' Lady, or damsel, or sweet angel,' says I, address- 
 ing her, as much out of the style of the needy as 
 possible, 'will you condescend to direct me to 
 FaUowfield ? ' ' Are you going to the match ? ' 
 says she. I answered boldly that I was. ' Beck- 
 ley's in,' says she, ' and you'll be in time to see 
 them out, if vou cut across the downs there.' I 
 
18G EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 Kfted my hat — a desperate measure, for the brim 
 won't bear much — but honour to women though 
 we perish ! She bowed : I cut across the downs. 
 Ah ! lovely deceiver ! Had I not cut across the 
 downs, to my ruin, once before ? In fine, Har- 
 rmgton, old boy, I've been wandering among 
 those downs for the last seven or eight hours. I 
 was on the point of turning my back on the road 
 for the twentieth time, I believe — when I heard 
 your welcome vehicular music, and hailed you; 
 and I ask you, isn't it luck for a fellow who 
 hasn't got a penny in his pocket, and is as hungry 
 as five hundred hunters, to drop on an old friend 
 like this ? " 
 
 Evan answered, briefly, " Yes." 
 
 Mr. Raikes looked at him pacing with his head 
 bent, and immediately went behind him and came 
 up on the further side. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " said Evan, like one in 
 a dream. 
 
 "I was only trying the other shoulder," re- 
 marked his friend. 
 
 Evan pressed his hand. 
 
 " My dear Jack ! pray forgive me. I have a 
 great deal to think about. Whatever I possess 
 I'm happy enough to share with you. I needn't 
 tell you that." He paused, and inquired. 
 " Where was it you said you met the yoimg 
 lady ? " 
 
MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD AGAIN. 187 
 
 " In the first place, 0, Amadis ! I never said 
 she was young. You're on the scent, I see." 
 
 " What was she hke ? " said Evan, with forced 
 gentleness. 
 
 " My dear fellow ! there's not the remotest 
 chance of our catching her now. She's a-bed and 
 asleep, if she's not a naughty girl." 
 
 *' She went on to Beckley, you said ? " 
 
 Jack dealt him a slap. 
 
 " Ai'e you going to the Bar ? " 
 
 " I only wanted to know," Evan observed, 
 meditatively progressing. 
 
 He was sure that the young lady Jack had met 
 was his own Rose, and if Jack thought himself 
 an unlucky fellow, Evan's opmion of him was very 
 different. 
 
 *' Did you notice her complexion ? " 
 
 This remark, feebly uttered after a profound 
 stillness, caused Jack to explode] 
 
 " Who called you Amadis, Harrington ? I meet 
 a girl on horseback ; I tell you a word or two she 
 says, and you can't be quiet about her. Why, 
 she was only passably pretty — talked more like a 
 boy than a girl — opened her mouth wide when 
 she spoke — rather jolly teeth." 
 
 Mr. Raikes had now said enough to paint Rose 
 accurately to the lover's mind, and bring contempt 
 on his personal judgment. Nursing the fresh 
 image of his darhng in his heart's recesses, Evan,, 
 
188 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 as they entered Fallowfield, laid the state of his 
 purse before Jack, and earned anew the epithet 
 of Amadis when it came to be toki that the 
 occupant of the waggon was likewise one of its 
 pensioners. 
 
 Sleep had long held its reign in Fallowfield. 
 Nevertheless, Mr. Raikes, though blind windows 
 alone looked on him, and nought foreign was 
 to be imputed to him in the matter of pride, had 
 become exceedingly solicitous concerning his pre- 
 sentation to the inhabitants of that quiet little 
 country town ; and while Evan and the waggoner 
 consulted — the former with regard to the chances 
 of procuring beds and supper, the latter as to his 
 prospect of beer and a comfortable riddance of the 
 femmine burden weighing on them all, Mr. Raikes 
 was engaged in persuading his hat to assume 
 something of the gentlemanly polish of its youth, 
 and might have been observed now and then fur- 
 tively catcliing up a leg to be dusted. Ere the 
 wheels of the waggon stopped he had gained that 
 ease of mind which the knowledge that you 
 have done all that man ma}^ do and circumstances 
 warrant, establishes. Capacities conscious of their 
 limits may repose even proudly when they reach 
 them ; and, if Mr. Raikes had not quite the air of 
 one come out of a bandbox, he at least proved to 
 the discerning intelligence that he knew what sort 
 of manner befitted that happy occasion, and was 
 
MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD AGAIN. 189 
 
 enabled by the pains he had taken to glance with 
 a cheerful challenge at the sign of the hostehy, 
 under which they were now ranked, and from 
 which, though the hour was late, and Fallowfield 
 a singularly somnolent little town, there issued 
 signs of life approaching to festivity. 
 
190 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 DOINGS AT AN INN. 
 
 "What every traveller sighs to find, was palat- 
 ably fui'nislied by the Green Dragon of Fallow - 
 field — a famous inn, and a constellation of 
 wandering coachmen. There pleasant smiles 
 seasoned plent}^, and the bill was gilded in a 
 manner imknown to ' om: days. Whoso drank of 
 the ale of the Green Dragon kept in his memor}*- 
 a place apart for it. The secret that to give a 
 warm welcome is the breath of life to an inn was 
 one the Green Dragon boasted, even then, not to 
 share with many Bed Lions, or Cocks of the 
 Morning, or Kings' Heads, or other fabulous 
 monsters ; and as if to show that when you are 
 in the right track you are sure to be seconded, 
 there was a friend of the Green Dragon, who, on 
 a particular night of the j^ear, caused its renown 
 to enlarge to the dimensions of a miracle. But 
 that, for the moment, is my secret. 
 
 Evan and Jack were met in the passage by a 
 chambermaid. Before either of them could 
 speak, she had turned and fled, with the words : 
 
 " More coming ! " which, with the addition of 
 
DOINGS AT AN INN. 101 
 
 " My goodness me ! " were echoed by the hostess 
 in her recess. Hurried directions seemed to be 
 consequent, and then the hostess sallied out, and 
 said, with a cui'tsey : 
 
 " Please to step in, gentlemen. This is the 
 room, to-night." 
 
 Evan lifted his hat ; and bowing, requested to 
 know whether they could have a supper and 
 beds. 
 
 " Beds, sir ! " cried the hostess. " What am I 
 to do for beds ! Yes, beds indeed you may have, 
 but hed-rooms — if you ask for them, it really is 
 more than I can supply you with. I have given 
 up my own. I sleep with my maid Jane to- 
 night." 
 
 " Anything will do for us, madam,^' replied 
 Evan, renewing his foreign courtesy. "But there 
 is a poor young woman outside." 
 
 " Another ! " the hostess instantly smiled down 
 the inhospitable outcry. 
 
 " She," said Evan, " must have a room to 
 herself. She is iU." 
 
 " Must is must, sir," returned the gracious 
 hostess. " But I really haven't the means." 
 
 " You have bed-rooms, madam ? " 
 
 " Every one of them engaged, sir." 
 
 " By ladies, madam ? " 
 
 " Lord forbid, sir ! *' she exclaimed with the 
 honest energy of a woman who knew her sex. 
 
192 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 Evan bade Jack go and assist the waggoner to 
 bring in the girl. Jack, who had been aU the 
 time pulling at his wristbands, and settling his 
 coat- collar by the dim reflection of a window of 
 the bar, departed, after, on his own authority, 
 assuring the hostess that fever was not the young 
 woman's malady, as she protested against admit- 
 ting fever into her house, seeing that she had to 
 consider her guests. 
 
 " AWre open to all the world to-night, except 
 fever," said the hostess. *' Yes," she rejoined to 
 Evan's order that the waggoner and his mate 
 should be supplied with ale, " they shall have as 
 much as they can drink," which is not a speech 
 usual at inns, when one man gives an order for 
 others, but Evan passed it by, and politely begged 
 to be shown in to one of the gentlemen who had 
 engaged bed-rooms. 
 
 " Oh ! if you can persuade any of them, sir, 
 I'm sure Tve nothing to say," observed the 
 hostess. "Pray donH ask me to stand by and 
 back it, that's all." 
 
 Had Evan been familiar with the Green 
 Dragon, he would have noticed that the landlady, 
 its presiding genius, was stiffer than usual ; the 
 rosy smile was more constrained, as if a great 
 host had to be embraced, and were trying it to 
 the utmost stretch. There was, however, no 
 asperity about her, and when she had led him to 
 
DOINGS AT AN INN. 193 
 
 the door he was to enter to prefer his suit, and 
 she had asked whether the young woman was 
 quite common, and he had replied that he had 
 picked her up on the road, and that she was 
 certainly poor, the hostess said : 
 
 " I'm sure you're a very good gentleman, sir, 
 and if I could spare your asking at all, I 
 would." 
 
 AVith that she went hack to encounter Mr. 
 Eaikes and his charge, and prime the waggoner 
 and his mate. 
 
 A noise of laughter and talk was stilled 
 gradually, as Evan made his how into a ^^acious 
 room, wherein, as the tops of pines are seen 
 swimming on the morning mist, ahout a couple 
 of dozen guests of divers conditions sat partially 
 revealed through wavy clouds of tobacco-smoke. 
 By their postures, which Evan's appearance h^^no 
 means disconcerted, jon read in a glance men 
 who had been at ease for so many hours that they 
 had no troubles in the world save the two 
 ultimate perplexities of the British Sybarite, 
 whose bed of roses is harassed by the pair of 
 problems : first, what to do with his legs ; 
 secondly, how to imbibe liquor with the slightest 
 possible derangement of those members subordi- 
 nate to his upper structm'e. Of old the Sybarite 
 complained. Not so our self-helpful islanders. 
 Since they could not, now that work was done 
 
 VOL. I. o 
 
194 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 and jollity the game, take off tlieir legs ( a 
 mechanical contrivance overlooked by Natui'e, 
 who should have made Britons like the rest of 
 her children in all things, if unable to suit us 
 in all), they got away from them as far as they 
 might, in fashions original or imitative : some 
 by thrusting them out at full length ; some by 
 cramping them under their chairs : while some, 
 taking refuge in a mental effort, forgot them, a 
 process to be recommended if it did not involve 
 occasional pangs of consciousness to the legs of 
 their neighbours. AVe see m our cousins West 
 of the great water, who are said to exaggerate 
 our j)eculiarities, beings labouring under the same 
 difficulty, and intent on its solution. As to the 
 second problem : that of drinking without dis- 
 composure to the subservient hmbs: the com- 
 pany present worked out this republican prin- 
 ciple ingeniously, but in a manner beneath the 
 attention of the Muse. Let Clio record that 
 mugs and glasses, tobacco and pipes, were strewn 
 upon the table. But if the guests had arrived at 
 that stage when to reach the arm, or arrange the 
 person, for a sip of good stuff, causes moral 
 debates, and presents to the mind impediments 
 equal to what would be raised in active men by 
 the prospect of a gi'eat excursion, it is not to be 
 wondered at that the presence of a stranger 
 produced no immediate commotion. Two or 
 
DOINGS AT AN INN. 195 
 
 three heads were half turned ; such as faced him 
 imperceptibly lifted their eyelids. 
 
 "Good evening, sir," said one who sat as 
 chau'man, with a decisive nod. 
 
 *' Good night, ain't it ? " a jolly-looking old 
 fellow queried of the speaker, in an under- voice. 
 
 " 'Gad, you don't expect me to be wishing 
 the gentleman good-bye, do you ? " retorted the 
 former. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! No, to be sure," answered the old 
 boy ; and the remark was variously uttered, that 
 " Good night," by a caprice of om' language, did 
 sound like it. 
 
 " Good evening's ^ How d'ye do ? ' — ' How are 
 ve ? ' Good night's * Be off, and be blowed to 
 you,' " observed an interpreter with a positive 
 mind ; and another, whose intelligence was not 
 so clear, but whose perceptions had seized the 
 point, exclaimed : '' I never says it when I hails 
 a chap ; but, dash my buttons, if I mightn't 'a 
 done, one day or another ! Queer ! " 
 
 The chaii'man, wanned by his joke, added, 
 with a sharp wink : " Ay ; it would be queer, if 
 vou hailed ' Good night ' in the middle of the 
 day ! " and this among a company soaked in ripe 
 ale, could not fail to run the electric circle, and 
 persuaded several to change their positions ; in 
 the rumble of which, Evan's reply, if he made 
 any, was lost. Few, however, were there who 
 
 o2 
 
196 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 could think of him, and ponder on that glimpse 
 of fmi, at the same time ; and he would have been 
 passed over, had not the chairman said : " Take 
 a seat, sir ; make j'ourself comfortable." 
 
 *' Before I have that pleasure," replied Evan, 
 
 U T " 
 
 " I see where 'tis," burst out the old boy who 
 had previously superinduced a diversion : " he's 
 going to ax if he can't have a bed ! " 
 
 A roar of laughter, and " Don't you remember 
 this day last year ? " followed the cunning guess. 
 For awhile explication was impossible ; and Evan 
 coloured, and smiled, and waited for them. 
 
 " I was going to ask — " 
 
 " Said so ! " shouted the old boy, gleefully. 
 
 " — one of the gentlemen who has engaged a 
 bed-room to do me the extreme favour to step 
 aside with me, and allow me a moment's speech 
 with him." 
 
 Long faces were drawn, and odd stares were 
 directed towards him, in reply. 
 
 " I see where 'tis ; " the old boy thumped his 
 knee. " Ain't it now ? Speak up, sir ! There's 
 a lady in the case ?" 
 
 " I may tell you thus much," answered Evan, 
 " that it is an unfortunate young woman, very ill, 
 Nvho needs rest and quiet." 
 
 " Didn't I say so ? " shouted the old boy. 
 
 But this time, though his jolly red jowl turned 
 
DOINGS AT AX INN. 107 
 
 all round to demand a confirmation, it was not 
 generally considered that he had divined so 
 correctly. Between a lad^^ and an unfortunate 
 young woman, there seemed to be a strong dis- 
 tinction, in the minds of the company. 
 
 The chairman was the most affected by the 
 communication. His bushy e^'ebrows frowned at 
 Evan, and he began tugging at the brass buttons 
 of his coat, like one preparing to arm for a 
 conflict. 
 
 " Speak out, sir, if you please," he said. 
 " Above board — no asides — no taking advantages. 
 You want me to give up my bed-room for the use 
 of your young woman, sir ? " 
 
 Evan replied quietl}^ : " She is a stranger to 
 me ; and if you could see her, sir, and know her 
 situation, I think she would move your pit3^" 
 
 " I don't doubt it, sir — I don't doubt it," 
 returned the chau'man. " They all move our 
 pity. That's how they get over us. She has 
 diddled you, and she would diddle me, and diddle 
 us all — diddle the devil, I dare say, when her 
 time comes. I don't doubt it, sir." 
 
 To confront a vehement old gentleman, sitting 
 as president in an assembly of satellites, requires 
 some command of countenance, and Evan was not 
 browbeaten : he held him, and the whole room, 
 from where he stood, under a serene and serious 
 eye, for his feehngs were too deeply stirred on 
 
198 EVAN nARRINGTON. 
 
 behalf of the girl to let him think of himself. 
 That question of hers, " What are 3'ou going to 
 do witli me ? " imj)lying such helplessness and 
 trust, was still shaq^ on his nerves. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, " I humbly beg your 
 pardon for disturbing j-ou as I do." 
 
 But with a sudden idea that a general address 
 on behalf of a particular demand must necessarily 
 fail, he let his eyes, rest on one there, whose face 
 was neither stupid nor repellent, and who, though 
 he did not look up, had an attentive, thoughtful 
 cast about the mouth. 
 
 " May I entreat a word apart with you, sir ? " 
 
 Evan was not mistaken in the index he had 
 perused. The gentleman seemed to feel that he 
 was selected from the company, and, slightly 
 raising his head, carelessly replied : " IMy bed is 
 entirely at your disposal," resuming his contem- 
 plative pose. 
 
 On the point of thanking him, Evan advanced 
 a step, when up started the irascible chairman. 
 
 " I don't permit it ! I won't allow it ! " And 
 before Evan could ask his reasons, he had rung 
 the bell, muttering : " They follow us to our inns, 
 now, the baggages ! The}" must harry us at our 
 inns ! AVe can't have peace and quiet at our 
 inns ! 
 
 In a state of combustion, he cried out to the 
 waiter : '' Here, Mark, this gentleman has brought 
 
DOINGS AT AN INN. 199 
 
 in a dirty wencli : pack her up to my bed-room, 
 and lock her in : lock her in, and bring down the 
 key." 
 
 Agreeably deceived in the old gentleman's in- 
 tentions, Evan could not refrain from joming 
 the murmured hilarity created by the conclusion of 
 his order. The latter glared at him, and added : 
 " Now, sir, you've done your worst. Sit down, 
 and be merr3^" 
 
 Eeplying that he had a friend outside, and 
 would not fail to accept the iuAitation, Evan 
 retii'ed. He was met by the hostess with the 
 rej)roachful declaration on her lips, that she was 
 a widow woman, wise in appearances, and that he 
 had brought into her house that night work she 
 did not expect, or bargain for. Rather (since I 
 must speak truth of my gentleman) to silence her 
 on the subject, and save his ears, than to i:)ro- 
 pitiate her favour towards the girl, Evan drew 
 out his constitutionally lean purse, and dropped it 
 in her hand, praj-ing her to put ever}^ expense 
 incurred to his charge. She exclaimed : " If Dr. 
 Pillie has his full sleep this night, I shall be 
 astonished ; " and Evan hastily led Jack into the 
 passage to impart to him, that the extent of his 
 resources was reduced to three shillings and a few 
 pence. Jack made a wry face, but regained his 
 equanimity, saying : " Well, we can't be knights 
 of chivalry and aldermen too. The tiling was 
 
200 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 never known. Let me see. I've almost forgotten 
 liow to reckon. Beds, a shilling a piece — tlie rest 
 for provender. To-morrow we die. That's a 
 consolation to the stumped ! Come along, Har- 
 rington ; let us look like men who have had 
 pounds is their pockets ! " 
 
 Mr. Raikes assumed the braver features of this 
 representation, and marched into the room witliout 
 taking off his hat, which was a part of his con- 
 fidence in company. He took his seat at a small 
 table, and began to whistle. His demeanour 
 signified : " I am equal to any of j'ou." His 
 thoughts were : '* How shall I prove it upon 
 three shillings ? " 
 
 " I see 3^ou're in mourning as well as myself, 
 Jack," said Evan, calUng attention to his hat. 
 
 Mr. Raikes did not displace it, as he replied, 
 *' Yes," with the pre-occupied air of a man who 
 w^ould be weeping the past had he not to study the 
 present. 
 
 Eyes were on him, he could feel. It appeared 
 to him that the company awaited his proceedings ; 
 why they should he did not consider; but the 
 sense of it led him to stalk with affected gravity 
 to the bell, which he rang consequentialh' ; and, 
 telling Evan to leave the ordering to him, sat 
 erect, and scanned the measure and quaUty of the 
 stuff in the glasses. 
 
 " Mind you never mention about my appl3'ing 
 
DOINGS AT AN INN. 201 
 
 to old Ciulforcl," he whispered to Evan, hurriedly. 
 " Shouldn't like it known, you know — one's 
 family I — Here, waiter ! " 
 
 IMark, the waiter, scudded past, and stopped 
 before the chairman to say : " If yoB. please, sir, 
 the gentlemen up -stairs send their compliments, 
 and will be happy to accept." 
 
 " Ha ! " was the answer. " Thought better of 
 it, have they ! Lay for three more, then. Pretty 
 nearly ready ? " 
 
 " It will be another twenty minutes, su\" 
 
 " Oh, attend to that gentleman, then." 
 
 Mark presented himself to the service of Mr. 
 Raikes. 
 
 "R-r-r-r — a — " commenced Jack, "what have 
 you got — a — that you can give a gentleman for 
 supper, waiter ? " 
 
 " Receive the gentleman's orders ! " shouted the 
 chairman to a mute interrogation from Mark, who 
 capitulated spontaneously : 
 
 " Cold veal, cold beef, cold duck, cold — " 
 
 " Stop ! " cried Mr. Raikes, " It's summer, I 
 know ; but cold, cold, cold ! — really ! And cold 
 duck ! Cold duck and old peas, I suppose ! I 
 don't want to come the epicure exactly, in the 
 country. One must take what one can get, I 
 know that. But some nice little bit to captivate 
 the appetite ?" 
 
 Mark suggested a rarebit. 
 
202 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 Mr. Eaikes shook his head with melancholy. 
 
 " Can you let us have some Maintenon cutlets, 
 waiter ? — or Soubise ? — I ask for some dressing, 
 that's all — something to make a man eat." He 
 repeated to* Evan : " Maintenon ? Soubise ? " 
 whispering : " Anything will do ! " 
 
 "I think you had better order bread and 
 cheese," said Evan, meaningl}^ in the same tone. 
 
 " You think, on the whole, you prefer Soubise ? " 
 cried Jack. " Very well. But can we have it ? 
 These out-of-the-way places — we must be modest ! 
 Now, 111 wager you don't know how to make an 
 omelette here, waiter ? Plain English cookery, of 
 course ! " 
 
 " Our cook has made 'em, sir," said Mark. 
 
 " Oh, that's quite enough ! " returned Jack. 
 " Oh, dear me ! Has made an omelette ! That 
 doesn't by any means sound cheerful." 
 
 Jack was successful in the eifect he intended to 
 I)roduce on the company. The greater number of 
 the sons of Britain present gazed at him with the 
 respectful antagonism peculiar to them when they 
 hear foreign words, the familiarity with which 
 appears to imply wealth and distinction. 
 
 " Chij)polata pudding, of course, is out of the 
 question," he resumed. " Fish one can't ask for. 
 Vain were the call ! A composition of eggs, floiu*, 
 and butter we dare not trust. What are we to 
 do?" 
 
DOINGS AT AN INN. 203 
 
 Before Evan could again recommend bread and 
 cheese, the chairman had asked Mr. Raikes 
 whether he reall}- liked cutlets for supper ; and, 
 ui")on Jack replying that they were a favourite 
 dish, sung out to Mark : " Cutlets for two ! " and 
 in an instant ]\[ark had left the room, and the 
 friends found themselves staring at one another. 
 
 " There's three shillings at a blow ! " hissed 
 Jack, now taking off his hat, as if to free his dis- 
 tressed mind. 
 
 Evan, red in the face, reproached him for his 
 folly. Jack comforted him with the assurance 
 that they were in for it, and might as well comport 
 themselves with dignity till the time for payment. 
 
 " I shall do nothing of the sort," said Evan, 
 getting up to summon 'Mark afresh. " I shall sup 
 on bread and cheese." 
 
 " My lord ! my lord ! " cried Jack, laying hold 
 of his arm, and appearing to forget some private 
 necessity for an incognito. 
 
 "Well," he added, as the bell rang, "perhaps 
 at this late hour we ought to consider the house. 
 We should bear in mind that a cook, however 
 divine in bounties, is mortal, like the rest of us. 
 We are not at Trianon. I'm not the Abbe Dubois, 
 nor you the Due d'Orleans. Since they won't let 
 us cook for ourselves, which I hold that all born 
 gentlemen are bound to be able to do, we'll e'en 
 content ourselves with modest fare." 
 
204 EA^VN HARRINGTON. 
 
 " My good Jack," said Evan, less discreetly 
 than it pleased his friend to hear, " haven't you 
 done Inlaying at ' lords ' yet ? It was fun when we 
 were hoys at school. But, let me tell you, you 
 don't look a bit like a lord." 
 
 *'I'm the son of a gentleman," returned Jack, 
 angrily. 
 
 " I'm sorry to find yourself compelled to tell 
 everybody of it," said Evan, touched by a nettle. 
 
 "But what's the use of singing small before 
 these fellows ? " Jack inquired. 
 
 The chairman was doubled in his seat with 
 laughter. Among a portion of the guests there 
 had been a return to common tallv, and one had 
 observed that he could not get that " Good Even- 
 ing,*' and " Good Night," out of his head : which 
 had caused a friend to explain the meanmg of these 
 terms of salutation to him : while another, of a 
 philosophic turn, pursued the theme : " Ye see, 
 when we meets, we makes a night of it. So, when 
 we parts, it's Good Night — natural ! ain't it ? " A 
 in'oposition assented to, and considerably dilated 
 on ; but whether he was laughing at that, or what 
 had aroused the fit, the chamnan did not say. 
 Evan countermanded the cutlets, and substituted 
 an order for bread and cheese. Jack adding, with 
 the nod of a patron to the waiter : 
 
 " We think — since it's late — we won't give you 
 the trouble to-night. AVe'll try the effect of bread 
 
DOINGS AT AN INN. 205 
 
 and cheese for once in a vr^y. Nothing hke new 
 sensations ! " 
 
 At this the chairman fell right forward, gi'asp- 
 ing the anns of his chair, and shouting. 
 
 Jack unconsciously put on his hat, for when 
 you have not the key to current laughter — and 
 especiallj^ when you are acting a part, and act- 
 ing it, as you think, with admii'able truth to 
 nature — it has a hostile sound, and suggests 
 devilries. 
 
 The lighter music of mirth had succeeded the 
 chainnan's big hursts, by the time the bread and 
 cheese appeared. 
 
 In the rear of the provision came three young 
 gentlemen, of whom the foremost lumped in, sing- 
 ing to one behind him, — " And you shall have little 
 Ptosey ! " 
 
 They were clad in cricketing costume, and 
 exhibited the health and manners of youthful 
 Englishmen of station. Frolicsome young bulls 
 bursting on an assemblage of sheep, they might be 
 compared to. The chaiiTQan welcomed them a 
 trifle snubbingh^ The colour mounted to the 
 cheeks of Mr. Raikes as he made incision in the 
 cheese, under their eyes, knitting his brows 
 fearfully, as if at hard work. 
 
 " What a place ! " he muttered. *' Nothing 
 but bread and cheese ! Well ! We must make 
 the best of it. Content ourselves with beer, too ! 
 
20 G EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 A drink corrupted into a likeness of wine ! Due 
 to our Teutonic ancestry, no doubt. Let fancy 
 beguile us ! " And Mr. Raikes, with a grand air 
 of good' nature, and the loft}^ mind that makes the 
 best of difficulties, offered Evan a morsel of cheese, 
 saying : '' We dispense with soup. We com- 
 mence with the entrees. May I press a patty upon 
 you." 
 
 " Thank j^ou," said Evan, smiling, and holding 
 out his plate. 
 
 "Yes, 3'es ; I understand j^ou," continued Mr. 
 Raikes. " We eat, and eke we swear. We'll be 
 avenged for this. In the interim let sweet fancy 
 beguile us ! " 
 
 Before helping himself, a thought appeared to 
 strike him. He got up hastily, and summoned 
 Mark afresh. 
 
 " R-r-r-r — a — what are the wmes here, waiter ? " 
 he demanded to know. 
 
 It was a final efibrt at dignity and rejection of 
 the status to which, as he presumed, the sight of 
 a gentleman, or the son of one, pasturing on plain 
 cheese, degraded him. It was also Jack's way of 
 repelling tlie tone of insolent superiority in the 
 bearing of the three young cricketers. 
 
 " What are the wines in this establishment ? " 
 he repeated peremptorily, for Mark stood smooth- 
 ing his mouth, as if he would have enjoyed the 
 liberty of a grin. 
 
DOINGS AT AN INN. '207 
 
 " Port, — sir, — sherry." 
 
 " All — the old stor}'," returned Mr. Eaikes. 
 " Dear ! dear ! dear ! " 
 
 " Perliaps, sir," insinuated Mark, " j^ou mean 
 foreign wines ? " 
 
 " None of j^our infamous home-concoctions, 
 waiter. Port ! I helieve there's no Port in the 
 countr}^ except in half-a-dozen private cellars — 
 of which I know thi-ee. I do mean foreign wines." 
 
 Now Mark had served in a good family, and in 
 a London hotel. He cleared his throat, and 
 mutely begging the attention of the chainnan, 
 thus volubly started : " Foreign wines, sir, yes ! 
 Pihine wines ! we have Eudesham ; we have 
 Maregbrun; we have Steenbug — Joehannisbug 
 — Libefromil — Asmyhaus, and several others. 
 Claret ! — we have Lafitte ; we have Margaw ; we 
 have Piose ; — "Fitte — Margaw — Rose — Julia — 
 Bodo. At your disposal, sir." 
 
 Jack, with a fiery face, blinked wildly under 
 the torrent of vintages. 
 
 Evan answered his plaintive look : " I shall 
 diink ale." 
 
 " Then I suppose I must do the same," said 
 Jack, with a miserable sense of defeat and pro- 
 voked humiliation. " Thank you, waiter, it goes 
 better with cheese. A pint of ale." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Mark, scorning to stop and 
 enjoy his victory. 
 
208 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 Heaving a sad " Ileiglio ! " and not daring to 
 glance at the buzzing company, Mr. Raikes cut a 
 huge bit of crust off the loaf, and was preparing 
 to encounter it. The melancholy voracity in his 
 aspect was changed in a minute to surprise, for 
 the chairman had started out of a fit of com- 
 pressed merriment to arrest his hand. 
 
 " Let me offer you vengeance on the spot, sii'." 
 
 " How ? " cried Jack, angrily ; " enigmas ? " 
 
 The chairman entreated Evan to desist from 
 the cheese ; and, pulling out his watch, thun- 
 dered : " Time ! " 
 
 The company generall}^ jumped on their legs ; 
 and, in the midst of a hum of talk and laughter, 
 the chairman mformed Evan and Jack, that he 
 invited them cordially to a supper up-stairs, and 
 would be i)leased if they would partake of it, and 
 in a great rage if they would not. 
 
 " Sii'," said Jack, b}^ this time quite recovered, 
 " the alternative decides me. The alternative is 
 one I should so deeply grieve to witness, that, in 
 short, I — a — give in my j)ersonal adliesion, with 
 thanks." 
 
 " You are not accustomed to this poor fare, 
 sir," remarked the chairman. 
 
 *'You have aptly divined the fact, sir," said 
 Jack ; " nor I, nor this, my friend. The truth is, 
 that where cometh cheese, and nothing precedeth 
 it, there is, to the cultivated intelligence, the 
 
DOINGS AT AN INN. S09 
 
 sense of a hiatus which may promote digestion, 
 but totally at the expense of satisfaction. Man, 
 by such means, is sunk below the level of the 
 ruminating animal. He cheweth — " 
 
 The stentorian announcement of supper inter- 
 rupted ]\[r. Raikes ; and the latter gentleman, to 
 whom ghbness stood for greatness of manner, 
 very well content with the effect he conceived he 
 had produced on the company, set about per- 
 suading Evan to join tlie feast. For several 
 reasons, Evan would have preferred to avoid it. 
 He was wretched, inclined to enjoy a fit of j^outh- 
 ful misanthropy; Jack's dramatic impersonation 
 of the lord had disgusted him ; and bread and 
 cheese S3'mbolled his condition. The chau-man, 
 catching indications of reluctance, stooped for- 
 ward, and said : " Sir ! must I put it as a positive 
 favour?" 
 
 "Pra}^ do not," replied Evan, and relinquished 
 the table with a bow. 
 
 The door was open, and the company of jolly 
 }-eomen, tradesmen, farmers, and the like, had 
 become intent on obsei'^ang all the ceremonies of 
 precedence : not one would broaden his back on 
 the other ; and there was bowing, and scraping, 
 and grimacing, till Farmer Broadmead was hailed 
 aloud, and the old boy stepped forth, and was 
 summarily pushed through : the chainnan calling 
 from the rear, " Hulloa ! no names to-night ! " to 
 
 VOL. I. P 
 
210 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 which was answered lustily : " All right, Mr. 
 ToDi ! " and the speaker was reproved with, 
 " There 3^011 go ! at it again ! " and out and up 
 thej' hustled. 
 
 The chainnan said quietly to Evan, as they 
 were ascending the stairs : " We don't have 
 names to-night: may as well drop titles." 
 Which presented no peculiar meaning to Evan's 
 mind, and he smiled the usual smile. 
 
 To Jack, at the door of the supper-room, the 
 chau'man repeated the same ; and Jack, with 
 extreme affability and alacrity of abnegation, 
 rejoined, " Oh, certainly! " 
 
 No wonder that he rubbed his hands with more 
 delight than aristocrats and people with gentle- 
 manly connections are in the habit of betraying 
 at the prospect of refection, for the release from 
 bread and cheese was rendered overpoweringly 
 glorious, in his eyes, by the bountiful contrast 
 exhibited on the board before him. 
 
ALE HAS ONE QUALITY OF WINE. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 IN WHICH ALE IS SHOWN TO HAVE ONE 
 QUALITY OF WINE. 
 
 To proclaim that yon ribs of beef, and yonder 
 ruddy Britons have met, is to furnish matter for 
 an hour's comfortable meditation. 
 
 Digest the fact. Here the Fates have put their 
 seal to something Nature clearly devised. It was 
 intended ; and it has come to pass. A thing has 
 come to pass which we feel to be right ! The 
 machinery of the world, then, is not entirely 
 dislocated : there is harmony, on one point, 
 among the mysterious powers who have to do 
 with us. Discordant as the individual may have 
 become, the condition of the universe is vindicated 
 by this great meeting of beef and Biitons. We 
 have here a basis. I cherish a belief that, at 
 some future day, the speculative Teuton and 
 experimental Gaul will make pilgrimages to this 
 island solely to view this sight, and gather 
 strength from it. 
 
 Apart from its eloquent and consoling philo- 
 sophy, the picture is pleasant. You see two rows 
 of shoulders resolutely set for action : heads in 
 
 p2 
 
212 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 divers degrees of proximity to their plates : eyes 
 variously twinkling, or hypocritically composed : 
 chaps in vigorous exercise. Now leans a fellow 
 right back with his whole face to the firmament : 
 Ale is his adoration. He sighs not till he sees 
 the end of the mug. Now from one a laugh is 
 sprung ; but, as if too early tapped, he turns off 
 the cock, and serenely primes himself anew. 
 Occuj)ied by their own requirements, these 
 Britons allow that their neighbours have rights : 
 no ciu'sing at waste of time is heard when plates 
 have to be passed : disagreeable, it is still duty. 
 Field- jMai'shal Duty, the Briton's star, shines 
 here. If one usurps more than his allowance of 
 elbow-room, bring your charge against them that 
 fashioned him : work away to arrive at some 
 compass yom'self. 
 
 Now the mustard has ceased to travel, and the 
 salt : the guests have leisure to contemplate their 
 achievements. Laughs are more prolonged, and 
 come from the depths. 
 
 Now Ale, which is to Beef what Eve was to 
 Adam, threatens to take possession of the field. 
 Happy they who, following Natm'e's direction, 
 admitted not bright ale into their Pai'adise till 
 their manhood was strengthened with beef. 
 Some, impatient, had thirsted ; had satisfied their 
 thirst ; and the ale, the light though lovely spii'it. 
 
ALE HAS ONE QUALITY OF WINE. 218 
 
 with nothing to hold it down, had mounted to 
 their heads ; just as Eve will do when Adam is 
 not mature : just as she did — Alas ! Gratitude 
 forbid that I should say a word against good ale ! 
 I am disinclined to say a word in disfavour of 
 Eve. Both Ale and Eve seem to speak imperi- 
 ously to the soul of man. See that they be good, 
 see that they come in season, and we bow to the 
 consequences. 
 
 Now, the ruins of the feast being removed, and 
 a clear course left for the flow of ale, farmer 
 Broadmead, facing the chairman, rises. He 
 speaks : 
 
 " Gentlemen ! 'Taint fust time you and I be 
 met here, to salbrate this here occasion. I say, 
 not fust time, not by many a time, Haint. Well, 
 gentlemen, I ain't much of a speaker, gentlemen, 
 as you know. Hows'ever, here I be. No denyin' 
 that. I'm on my legs. This here's a strange 
 enough world, and a man as 's a gentleman, I 
 say, we ought for to be glad when we got 'm. 
 You know : I'm coming to it shortly. I ain't 
 much of a speaker, and if you wants somethin' 
 new, you must ax elsewhere : but what I say is — 
 dang it ! here's good health and long life to Mr. 
 Tom, up there ! " 
 
 '* No names ! " shouts the chairman, in the 
 midst of a tremendous clatter. 
 
 Farmer Broadmead moderately disengages his 
 
214 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 breadth from the seat. He humbly asks pardon, 
 wliich is accorded. 
 
 Ale (to Beef what Eve was to Adam), circulates 
 beneath a dazzling foam, fair as the first woman. 
 
 Mr. Tom (for the breach of the rules in men- 
 tioning whose name on a night when identities 
 thereon dependent are merged, we offer sincere 
 apologies every other minute), Mr. Tom is toasted. 
 His parents, who selected that day sixty years 
 ago, for his bow to be made to the world, are 
 alluded to with encomiums, and float down to 
 posterity on floods of liquid amber. 
 
 But to see all the subtle merits that now begin 
 to bud out from Mr. Tom, the chairman and 
 giver of the feast ; and also rightly to appreciate 
 the speeches, -we require to be enormously charged 
 with Ale. Mr. John Baikes did his best to keep 
 his head above the surface of the rapid flood. 
 He conceived the chairman in brilliant colours, 
 and probably owing to the energy called for by 
 his brain, the legs of the 3'oung man failed him 
 twice, as he tried them. Attention was demanded. 
 Mr. John Baikes addressed the meeting. 
 
 The three 3'omig gentlemen- cricketers had 
 liitherto behaved with a certain propriety. It 
 did not ofl'end Mr. Baikes to see them conduct 
 themselves as if they were at a play, and the rest 
 of the company paid actors. He had likewise 
 taken a position, and had been the first to laugh 
 
ALE HAS ONE QUALITY OF WINE. 215 
 
 aloud at a particular slip of grammar ; while his 
 shrugs at the aspirates transposed and the 
 pronunciation prevalent, had almost established 
 a free-masonry between him and one of the three 
 young gentlemen- cricketers — a fair-haired youth, 
 with a handsome reckless face, who leaned on the 
 table, humorously eyeing the several speakers, 
 and exclianging bye-words and laughs with his 
 friends on each side of him. 
 
 But Mr. Raikes had the disadvantage of 
 having come to the table empty in stomach — 
 thirsty, exceedingly ; and, I repeat that as, with- 
 out experience, 3'ou are the victim of divinely- 
 given Eve, so, with no foundation to receive it 
 upon, are you the victim of good sound Ale. Mr. 
 Raikes very soon lost his head. He would other- 
 wise have seen that he must produce a wonder- 
 fully-telling speech if he was to keep the position 
 he had taken, and had better not attempt one. 
 The three young cricketers were hostile from the 
 beginning. All of them leant forward, calling 
 attention loudl}^ humming a roll of Rhine wines, 
 laughing for the fun to come. 
 
 " Gentlemen ! " he said; and said it twice. The 
 gap was wide, and he said, " Gentlemen ! " again. 
 
 This commencement of a speech proves that 
 3"0U have made the plunge, but not that you 
 can swim. At a repetition of " Gentlemen ! " 
 expectancy resolved into cynicism. 
 
216 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 " Gie'n a heli)," sung out a son of the plough 
 to a neighbour of the orator. 
 
 *' Dang it ! " murmured another, " we ain't such 
 gentlemen as that comes to." 
 
 Mr. Raikes was politely requested to " tune his 
 pipe." 
 
 With a gloomy curiosity as to the results of 
 Jack's adventurous undertaking, and a touch of 
 anger at the three whose bearing throughout had 
 displeased him, Evan regarded his friend. He, 
 too, had drunk, and upon emptiness. Bright ale 
 had mounted to his brain. A hero should be 
 held as sacred as the Grand Llama : so let no 
 more be said than that he drank still, nor marked 
 the replenishing of his glass. 
 
 Jack cleared his throat for a final assault : he 
 had got an image, and was dashing ofi"; but, un- 
 happily, as if to make the start seem fair, he was 
 guilty of the reiteration of " Gentlemen." 
 
 Everybody knew that it was a real start this 
 time, and indeed he had made an advance, and 
 had run straight through half a sentence. It was 
 therefore manifestly unfair, inimical, contemp- 
 tuous, overbearing, and base, for one of the three 
 young cricketers at this period to fling back 
 weariedly and exclaim : " By jingo ; too many 
 gentlemen here ! " 
 
 Evan heard him across the table. Lacking the 
 key of the speaker's previous conduct, the words 
 
ALE HAS ONE QUALITY OF WINE. 217 
 
 might have passed. As it was, they, to the ale- 
 invaded head of a young hero, feeling himself 
 the world's equal, and condemned nevertheless to 
 hear through life the insignia of Tailordom, not 
 unnaturally struck with peculiar offence. There 
 was arrogance, too, in the young man who had 
 interposed. He was long in the body, and, 
 when he was not refreshing his sight by a 
 careless contemplation of his finger-nails, looked 
 down on his company at table, as one may do 
 who comes from loftier studies. He had what is 
 popularly known as the nose of our aristocracy : 
 a nose that much culture of the external graces, 
 and affectation of suavity, are required to soften. 
 Thereto were joined thin lips and hot brows. 
 Birth it was i)Ossible he could boast : hardly 
 brains. He sat to the right of the fair-haired 
 youth, who, Tvith his remaining comrade, a quiet 
 smiling fellow, appeared to be better liked by 
 the guests, and had been hailed once or twice, 
 under correction of the chairman, as Mr. Harry. 
 The tln-ee had distinguished one there by a few 
 friendly passages ; and this was he who had 
 offered his bed to Evan for the service of the 
 girl. The recognition they extended to him did 
 not affect him deeply. He was called Drummond, 
 and had his place near the chairman, whose 
 humours he seemed to relish. 
 
 Now the ears of Mr. Kaikes were less keen at 
 
218 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 the moment than Evan's, hut his openness to 
 ridicule was that of a man on his legs solus, amid 
 a compan}^ sitting, and his sense of the same — 
 when he saw himself the victim of it — acute. 
 His face was rather comic, and, under the shadow 
 of embarrassment, twitching and working for 
 ideas — might excuse a want of steadiness and 
 absolute gravit}" in the countenances of others. 
 
 " Gentlemen," this inveterate harper resumed. 
 
 It was too much. Numerous shoulders fell 
 against the backs of chairs, and the terrible 
 rattle of low laughter commenced. Before it 
 could bui'st overwhelmingly. Jack, with a dra- 
 matic visage, leaned over his glass, and looking, 
 as he spoke, from man to man, asked empha- 
 tically : "Is there any i^erson present whose 
 conscience revolts against being involved in that 
 denomination ? " 
 
 The impertinence was at least a saving sign 
 of wits awake. So the chamnan led off, in reply 
 to Jack, with an encomraging " Bravo ! " and 
 immediately there ensued an agricultural chorus 
 of ''Brayvos!" 
 
 Jack's readiness had thus rescued him in 
 extremity. 
 
 He nodded and went ahead cheerily. 
 
 " I should be sorry to think so. AVhen I said 
 * Gentlemen,' I included aU. If the conscience 
 of one should impeach him, or me — " Jack 
 
ALE HAS ON'E QUALITY OF WINE. 219 
 
 eyed the lordly contemplator of his nails, on 
 a pause, adding, " It is not so. I rejoice. I 
 was about to observe, then, that, a stranger, 
 I entered this hospitable establishment — I and 
 my friend — " 
 
 " The gentleman ! " their now recognised an- 
 tagonist inter[)osed, and turned his head to one of 
 his comrades, and kept it tiu'ned — a proceeding 
 similar in tactics to striking and running away. 
 
 " I thank my honourable — a — um ! I thank 
 the — a — whatever he may be ! " continued Jack. 
 " I accept his suggestion. My friend, the gentle- 
 man ! — the real gentleman ! — the true gentleman ! 
 — the undoubted gentleman ! " 
 
 Further iterations, if not amplifications, of the 
 merits of the gentleman would have followed, had 
 not Evan, strong in his modesty, pulled Jack into 
 his seat, and admonished him to be content with 
 the present measure of his folly 
 
 But Jack had more in him. He rose, and 
 flourished off: "A stranger, I think I said. 
 What I have done to deserve to feel Hke an 
 alderman I can't say ; but — " (Jack, falling into 
 perfect good-humour and sincerity, was about to 
 confess the cordial delight his supper had given 
 him, when his eyes met those of his antagonist 
 superciliously set) : " but," he resumed, rather to 
 the perplexity of his hearers, " this sort of heavy 
 fare of course accoimts for it, if one is not 
 
220 EVAN IIARIllNGTON. 
 
 accustomed to it, and gives one, as it were, the 
 civic crown, which I aj^prehend to imply a 
 surcharged stomach — in the earlier stages of the 
 entertainment. I have been at feasts, I have 
 even given them — yes, gentlemen — " (Jack shd 
 suddenly down the slopes of anti-climax), " you 
 must not judge by the hat, as I see one or two 
 here do me the favoui' to do. By the bye," he 
 added, glancing hurriedly about, " where did I 
 clap it down when I came in ? " 
 
 His antagonist gave a kick under the table, 
 saying, with a sneer, " What's this ? " 
 
 Mr. Raikes dived below, and held up the 
 battered decoration of his head. He returned 
 thanks with studious politeness, the more So as 
 he had forgotten the context of his speech, and 
 the exact state of mind he was in when he broke 
 from it. " Gentlemen ! " again afflicted the ears 
 of the companj'-. 
 
 " Oh, by Jove ! more gentlemen ! " cried Jack's 
 enemy. 
 
 " No anxiety, I beg ! " Jack rejoined, always 
 brought to his senses when pricked : " I did not 
 include you, sir." 
 
 " Am I in your way, sir ? " asked the other, 
 hardening his under lip. 
 
 " Well, I did find it difficult, when I was a boy, 
 to cross the Ass's Bridge ! " retorted Jack — and 
 there was laughter. 
 
ALE HAS ONE QUALITY OF \VINE. 221 
 
 The chairman's neighbour, Driimmond, whis- 
 pered him : " Laxley will get up a row with that 
 fellow.'^ 
 
 " It's young Jocelyn egging him on," said the 
 chaii'man." 
 
 " Um ! " added Drummond : " it's the friend of 
 that talkative rascal that's dangerous, if it comes 
 to anything." 
 
 Mr. Raikes perceived that his host desired him 
 to conclude. So, lifting his voice and swinging 
 his arm, he ended : " Allow me to propose to you 
 the Fly in Amber. In other words, our excel- 
 lent host embalmed in brilliant ale ! Drink him ! 
 and so let him live in our memories for ever! " 
 
 Mr. Eaikes sat down very well contented Tvdth 
 himself, very little comprehended, and applauded 
 loudly. 
 
 '' The Flyin' Number ! " echoed fanner Broad- 
 mead, confidently and with clamour ; adding to a 
 friend, when both had drunk the toast to the 
 di'egs, " But what number that be, or how many 
 'tis of 'em, dishes me ! But that's ne'ther here 
 nor there." 
 
 The chairman and host of the evening stood 
 up to reply, welcomed by thunders, and " There 
 ye be, Mr. Tom ! glad I lives to see ye ! " and 
 " No names ! " and " Long Ufe to him! " 
 
 This having subsided, the chaii'man spoke, first 
 nodding. 
 
222 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 " You don't want many words, and if you do, 
 you won't get 'em from me." 
 
 Cries of " Got something better ! " took up the 
 blunt address. 
 
 " You've been true to it, most of j^ou. I like 
 men not to forget a custom." 
 
 " Good reason so to be," and " A jolly good 
 custom," replied to both sentences. 
 
 " As to the beef, I hope j^ou didn't find it 
 tough : as to the ale — I know all about that/ " 
 
 " Aha ! good ! " rang the verdict. 
 
 " All I can say is, that this day next year it 
 will be on the table, and I hope that every one of 
 you will meet Tom — will meet me here punctually. 
 I'm not a Parliament man, so that'll do — " 
 
 The chairman's breach of his own rules 
 drowned the termination of his speech in an 
 uproar. 
 
 Re- seating himself, he lifted his glass, and 
 proposed : " The Antediluvians ! " 
 
 Farmer Broadmead echoed : " The Antedi- 
 loovians ! " appending, as a private sentiment, 
 " And dam rum chaps they were ! " 
 
 The Antediluvians, undoubtedly the toast of 
 the evening, were enthusiastically di'unk, and in 
 an ale of treble brew. 
 
 "When they had quite gone down, Mr. Raikes 
 ventured to ask for the reason of tlieii' receiving 
 such honour from a posterity they had so little to 
 
ALE HAS ONE QUALITY OF T^TNE. 223 
 
 do with. He put the question mildly, but was 
 impetuously snap2-)ed at by the chairman. 
 
 " You respect men for their luck, sir, don't 
 you ? Don't be a hypocrite, and say you don't — 
 you do. Very well : so do I. That's why I 
 drink ' The Antediluvians ! ' " 
 
 *' Our worthy host here " (Drummond, gravely 
 smiling, undertook to elucidate the case) " has a 
 theory that the constitutions of the Postdilu\dans 
 have been deranged, and their lives shortened, by 
 the miasmas of the Deluge. I believe he carries 
 it so far as to say that Noah, in the light of a 
 progenitor, is inferior to Adam, owing to the 
 shaking he had to endure in the ark, and which 
 he conceives to have damaged the patriarch and 
 the nervous systems of his sons. It's a theory, 
 you know." 
 
 " They lived close on a thousand 3'ears, hale, 
 hearty — and no water ! " said the chairman. 
 
 " Well ! " exclaimed one, some way down the 
 table, a young farmer, red as a cock's comb : " no 
 fools they, eh, master ? Where there's ale, 
 would you drink water, my hearty ? " and back 
 he leaned to enjoy the tribute to his wit; a wit 
 not remarkable, but nevertheless sufficient in the 
 noise it created to excite the envy of Mr. John 
 Raikes, who, inveterately silly when not engaged 
 in a contest, now began to play on the names of 
 the sons of Noah. 
 
2*24 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 The chairman lanced a keen light at him from 
 beneath his bushy eyebrows. 
 
 " Ought to have excused this humble stuff to 
 you, sir," he remarked. " It's the custom. We 
 drink ale to-night : any other night happy to 
 offer you your choice, sir — Joehannisberg, Rudes- 
 heim, Steenberg, Libefreemilk, Asmannshauser, 
 Lafitte, La Rose, Margaux, Bordeaux : Clarets, 
 Rhine wines, Burgundies — drinks that men of 
 your station are more used to." 
 
 Mr. Raikes stammered : " Thank you, thank 
 3'ou ; ale will do, sir — an excellent ale ! " 
 
 But before long the chairman had again to call 
 two parties to order. Mr. Raikes was engaged 
 in a direct controversy with his enemy. In that 
 young gentleman he had recognised one of a 
 station above his own — even what it was in the 
 palmy days of bank-notes and naughty suppers ; 
 and he did not intend to allow it. On the other 
 hand, Laxley had begun to look at him very 
 distantly over the lordly bridge of his nose. To 
 Mr. Raikes, Laxley was a puppy : to Laxley, 
 Mr. Raikes w^as a snob. The antagonism, there- 
 fore, was natural : ale did but put the match to 
 the magazine. But previous to an explosion, 
 Laxley, who had observed Evan's disgust at 
 Jack's exliibition of himself, and had been led to 
 think, by his conduct and clothes in conjunction, 
 that Evan was his own equal ; a gentleman con- 
 
ALE HAS ONE QUALITY OF WINE. 225 
 
 descending to the society of a low-bom acquaint- 
 ance ; had sought with sundry propitiations — 
 calm, intelligent glances, light shrugs, and such 
 like — to divide Evan from Jack. He did this, 
 doubtless, because he partly sympathised with 
 Evan, and to assure him that he took a separate 
 view of him. Probably Evan was already 
 offended, or he held to Jack, as a comrade 
 should, or else it was that Tailordom bellowed 
 in his ears, every fresh minute : " Nothing 
 assume ! " I incline to think that the more ale 
 he drank the fiercer rebel he grew against con- 
 ventional ideas of rank, and those class -barriers 
 which we scom so vehemently when we find oiu'- 
 selves kicking at them. Whatsoever the reason 
 that prompted him, he did not respond to 
 Laxley's advances ; and Laxley, deferentially 
 disregarding him, dealt with Jack alone. 
 
 In a tone plainly directed at Mr. Eaikes, he 
 said : " Well, Harry, tired of this ? The agii- 
 culturals are good fun, but I can't stand much of 
 the small cockney. A blackguai'd who tries to 
 make jokes out of the Scriptures ought to be 
 kicked ! " 
 
 HaiTy rejoined, with wet lips : " '\Voi:)ping 
 stuff, this ale ! Who's that you want to kick ? " 
 
 " Somebody who objects to his bray, I suppose," 
 Mr. Eaikes struck in, across the table, negligently 
 thrusting out his elbow to support his head. 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 "Did you allude to me, sir?" Laxley in- 
 quii'ed. 
 
 " I alluded to a donkey, sir." Jack lifted liis 
 eyelids to the same level as Laxley's : " a pass- 
 ing remark on that interesting animal." 
 
 Laxley said nothing; but the interjection 
 " blackguard ! " was perceptible on his mouth. 
 
 *'Did you allude to me, sir?" Jack inquired, 
 in his turn. 
 
 " Would you like me to express what I think 
 of a fellow who listens to private conversations ? " 
 was the answer. 
 
 " I should be happy to task your eloquence 
 even to that extent, if I might indulge a hope for 
 grammatical results," said Jack. 
 
 Laxley thought fit to retire upon his silent 
 superiority. His friend Harry now came into the 
 ring to try a fall. 
 
 " Are you an usher in a school ? " he asked, 
 meaning by his looks what men of science in fisti- 
 cufis call business. 
 
 Mr. Raikes started up in amazement. He 
 recovered as quickly. 
 
 " No, su', not quite ; but I have no doubt I 
 should be able to instruct you upon a point or 
 two." 
 
 " Good manners, for instance ? " remarked the 
 thu'd young cricketer, without disturbing his 
 habitual smile. 
 
ALE HAS ONE QUALITY OF WINE. 227 
 
 " Or what comes from not observing them," 
 said Evan, unwilling to have Jack over-matched. 
 
 " Perhai^s you'll give me a lesson now ? " 
 Harry indicated a readiness to rise for either of 
 them. 
 
 At this juncture the chairman interposed. 
 
 "Harmony, my lads ! — harmony to-night." 
 
 Farmer Broadmead, imagining it to be the signal 
 for a song, retmTied : 
 
 " All right, Mr. Mr. Chair ! but we an't 
 
 got pipes in yet. Pipes before harmony, you know, 
 to-night." 
 
 The pipes were summoned forthwith. System 
 appeared to regulate the proceedings of this 
 particular night at the Green Dragon. The 
 pipes charged, and those of the guests who 
 smoked, well fixed behind them, celestial Har- 
 mony was invoked through the slowly curling 
 clouds. In Britain the Goddess is coy. She 
 demands pressui'e to appear, and great gulps of 
 ale. Vastly does she swell the chests of her island 
 children, but with the modest}^ of a maid at the 
 commencement. Precedence again distm-bed the 
 minds of the company. At last the red-faced 
 young farmer led off with " The Rose and the 
 Thorn." Tn that da}^ Chloe still lived : nor were 
 the amorous transports of Strephon quenched. 
 Mountainous inflation — mouse -lilve issue charac- 
 terised the young farmer's first verse, En- 
 
 q2 
 
228 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 couraged by manifest approbation he now told 
 Chloe that he " by Heaven ! never woukl plant in 
 that bosom a thorn," with such volume of sound 
 as did indeed show how a lover's oath should be 
 uttered in the ear of a British damsel to subdue 
 her. 
 
 " Good ! " cried Mr. Eaikes, anxious to be 
 convivial. 
 
 Subsiding into impertinence, he asked Laxley, 
 " Could you tip us a Strephonade, sir ? Rejoiced 
 to listen to you, I'm sure ! Promise you my 
 applause beforehand." 
 
 HaiTy replied hotly : " Will you step out of the 
 room with me a minute ? " 
 
 *' Have you a confession to make ? " quoth 
 Jack unmoved. " Have you planted a thorn in 
 the feminine flower-garden ? Make a clean breast 
 of it at the table. Confess openly and be absolved. 
 'Gad, there's a j'oung woman in the house. She 
 may be Chloe. If so, all I can say is, she may 
 complain of a thorn of some magnitude, and \Nill 
 verj^ soon exhibit one." 
 
 While Evan spoke a word of angry reproof to 
 Mr. Raikes, Harry had to be restrained by his two 
 friends. Jack's insinuation seemed to touch him 
 keenly. By a strange hazard they had both 
 glanced close upon facts. 
 
 Mutterings amid the opposite party of " Sit 
 down," "Don't be an ass," "Leave the snob alone," 
 
ALE HAS ONE QUALITY OF WINE. 229 
 
 were sufficiently distinct. The rest of the com- 
 pany looked on with curiosity ; the mouth of the 
 chaii'man was bunched. Drummond had his eyes 
 on Evan, who was gazmg steadily at the three. 
 Suddenly " The fellow isn't a gentleman ! " 
 struck the attention of Mr. Kaikes with alarm- 
 ing force. 
 
 I remember hearing of a dispute between two 
 youthful clerks, one of whom launched at the 
 •other's head accusations that, if true, would have 
 warranted his being expelled from society : till, 
 having exhausted his stock, the youth gently 
 announced to his opponent that he was a num- 
 skull : upon which the latter, hitherto full of 
 forbearance, shouted that he could bear anything 
 but that, — appealed to the witnesses generall}^ for 
 a corroboration of the epithet, and turned back 
 his wristbands. 
 
 It was with similar sensations, inexplicable to the 
 historian, that Mr. Eaikes — who had borne to have 
 imputed to him frightful things — heard that he 
 was not considered a gentleman : and as they 
 who are themselves, perhaj)s, doubtful of the fact, 
 are most stung by the denial of it, so do they 
 take refuge in assertion, and claim to establish it 
 by violence. 
 
 Mr. John Kaikes vociferated : "I'm the son of 
 a gentleman ! " 
 
 Drummond, from the head of the table, saw 
 
230 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 that a diversion was imperative. He leaned for- 
 ward, and with a look of great interest, said : 
 
 " Are you really ? Pray never disgrace your 
 origin, then." 
 
 He spoke with an apparent sincerity, and Jack, 
 absorbed by the three in front of him, and de- 
 ceived by the mildness of his manner, continued 
 glaring at them, after a sharp turn of the head, 
 like a dog receiving a stroke while his attention is 
 taken by a bone. 
 
 " If the choice were offered me, I think I would 
 rather have known his father," said the smiling 
 fellow, yawning, and rocking on his chair. 
 
 " You would, possiblj^ have been exceedingly 
 intimate — with his right foot," said Jack. 
 
 The other merely remarked : " Oh ! that is the 
 language of the son of a gentleman." 
 
 Jack's evident pugnacity behind his insolence, 
 astonished Evan, as the youth was not famed for 
 bravery at school ; but this is what dignity and 
 ale do for us in the world. 
 
 The tumult of irony, abuse, and retort, went on 
 desi)ite the efforts of Drummond and the chair- 
 man. It was strange ; for at farmer Broadmead's 
 end of the table, friendship had grown maudlin : 
 two were seen in a drowsy embrace, with crossed 
 pipes ; and others were vowing deep amity, and 
 offering to fight the man that might desire it. 
 
 ** Are ye a friend ? or are ye a foe ? " was heard 
 
ALE HAS ONE QUALITY OF WINE. 231 
 
 repeatedly, and consequences to tlie career of 
 the respondent, on his choice of affirmatives to 
 either of these two interrogations, emphatically 
 detailed. 
 
 It was likewise asked, in reference to the row 
 at the gentlemen's end : " Why doan' they stand 
 up and have't out ? " 
 
 " They talks, they speechifies — why doan' they 
 fight for't, and then be friendly ? " 
 
 " Where's the yarmony, Mr. Chair, I axes — so 
 please ye ? " sang out farmer Broadmead. 
 
 " Ay, ay ! Silence ! " the chau-man called. 
 
 Mr. Raikes begged permission to pronounce his 
 excuses, but lapsed into a lamentation for the 
 squandering of property bequeathed to him by his 
 respected uncle, and for which — as far as he was 
 intelligible — he persisted in calling the three 
 offensive young cricketers opposite to account. 
 
 Before he could desist, Harmony, no longer coy, 
 burst on the assembly from three different sources. 
 " A Man who is given to Liquor," soared aloft with 
 " The Maid of sweet Seventeen," who partici- 
 pated in the adventures of " Young Molly and the 
 Kicking Cow ; " while the guests selected the 
 chorus of the song that first demanded it. 
 
 Evan probably thought that Harmony was her- 
 self only when she came single, or he was wearied 
 of his fellows, and wished to gaze a moment on 
 the skies whose arms were over and around his 
 
232 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 young beloved. He went to tlie window and 
 threw it up, and feasted his sight on the moon 
 standing on the downs. He could have wept at 
 the bitter ignominy that severed him from Rose. 
 And again he gathered his pride as a cloak, and 
 defied the world, and gloried in the sacrifice that 
 degi'aded him. The beauty of the night touched 
 him, and mixed these feelings with a strange 
 mournfulness. He quite forgot the bellow and 
 clatter behind. The beauty of the night, and 
 heaven knows what treacherous hope in the 
 depths of his soul, coloured existence very 
 
 warmly. 
 
 He was roused from his reverie by an alterca- 
 tion unmistakeably fierce. 
 
 Mr. Eaikes had been touched on a tender 
 point. In reply to a bantering remark of his, 
 Laxley had hummed a list of Claret and Ehenish : 
 " Liebfraumilch — Johannisberg — Asmannshauser 
 — Steinberg — Chateau Margaux — La Eose — 
 Lafitte," over and again, amid the chuckles of 
 his comrades, and Mr. Eaikes, unfortunately at 
 a loss for a biting retort, was reduced to that 
 plain confession of a lack of wit; he offered 
 combat. 
 
 " I'll tell you what," said Laxley, " I never soil 
 my hands with a blackguard ; and a fellow who 
 tries to make fun of Scripture, in my opinion is 
 one. A blackguard — do you hear ? But, if you'U 
 
ALE HAS ONE QUALITY OF WINE. 233 
 
 give me satisfactory proofs that 3^011 really are 
 what I have some difficulty iii believing — the son 
 of a gentleman — I'll meet you when and where 
 you please sir." 
 
 " Fight him, anyhow," said Harry. " I'll take 
 him myself after we finish the match to-morrow." 
 
 Laxley rejoined that Mr. Eaikes must be left to 
 him. 
 
 " Then I'll take the other," said Harry. " Where 
 is he ? " 
 
 Evan walked round to his place. 
 
 " I am here," he answered, " and at jour 
 service." 
 
 " Will you fight ? " cried Harry. 
 
 There was a disdainful smile on Evan's mouth, 
 as he replied: "I must first enlighten you. I 
 have no pretensions to blue blood, or yellow. If, 
 sir, you will deign to challenge a man who is not 
 the son of a gentleman, and consider the expres- 
 sion of liis thorough contempt for your conduct 
 sufficient to enable you to overlook that fact, you 
 may dispose of me. My friend here has, it seems, 
 reason to be proud of his connections. That you 
 may not subsequently bring the charge against 
 me of having led you to 'soil your hands' — as 
 your friend there terms it — I, with all the wil- 
 lingness in the world to chastise you or him for 
 your impertinence, must — as I conceive I am 
 bound to do — first give you a fail' chance of 
 
234 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 escape, by telling j^ou that my father was a tailor, 
 and that I also am a tailor." 
 
 The countenance of Mr. Raikes at the conclu- 
 sion of this speech was a painful picture. He 
 knocked the table passionatel}^ exclaiming : 
 
 " Who'd have thought it ? " 
 
 Indeed, Evan could not have mentioned it, but 
 for the ale. It was the ale in him expelling truth ; 
 and certainly, to look at him, none would have 
 thought it. 
 
 " That will do," said Laxley, lacking the mag- 
 nanimity to despise the advantage given him, 
 " you have chosen the ver}' best means of saving 
 your skins." 
 
 " We'U come to you when our supply of clothes 
 runs short," added Harry. " A snip ! " 
 
 " Pardon me ! " said Evan, with his eyes slightly 
 widening, "but if you come to me, I shall no 
 longer give you a choice of behaviour. I wish 
 you good-night, gentlemen. I shall be in this 
 house, and am to be found here, till ten o'clock 
 to-morrow morning. Sir," he addressed the chair- 
 man, "I must apologise to you for this interrup- 
 tion to your kindness, for which I thank you very 
 sincerely. It's ' good-night,' now, sir," he pm'sued, 
 bowing, and holding out his hand, with a smile. 
 
 The chairman grasped it : " You're a hot- 
 headed }■ oung fool, sir : you're an iU-tempered 
 ferocious young ass, sir. Can't you see another 
 
ALE HAS ONE QUALITY OF WINE. 235 
 
 young donkey without joining company in kicks 
 — eh ? Sit clown, and don't dare to spoil the fun 
 any more. You a tailor ! Who'll helieve it ? 
 You're a nohleman in disguise. Didn't joixr 
 friend say so ? — ha ! ha ! Sit down." He pulled 
 out his watch, and proclaiming that he was horn 
 into this world at the hour about to strike, called 
 for a bumper all round. 
 
 Wliile such of the company as had yet legs and 
 eyes unvanquished by the potency of the ale, 
 stood up to drink and cheer, IMark, the waiter, 
 scurried into the room, and, to the immense stupe- 
 faction of the chainnan, and amusement of his 
 guests, spread the news of the immediate birth^of 
 a little stranger on the premises, who was declared 
 by Dr. PilUe to be a lusty boy, and for whom the 
 kindly landlady solicited good luck to be drunk. 
 
236 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE MATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKLEY. 
 
 The dramatic proportions to which ale will 
 exalt the sentiments within us, and our delivery 
 of them, are apt to dwindle and shrink even helow 
 the natural elevation when we look back on them 
 from the hither shore of the river of sleep — in 
 other w^ords, wake in the morning: and it was 
 with no very self-satisfied emotions that Evan, 
 dressing by the full light of day, reviewed his share 
 in the events of the preceding night. Why, since 
 he had accepted his fate, should he pretend to 
 judge the conduct of people his superiors in rank ? 
 And where was the necessity for him to thrust 
 the fact of his being that abhorred social pariah 
 down the throats of an assembly of worthy good 
 fellows? The answer was, that he had not 
 accepted his fate : that he considered liimself as 
 good a gentleman as any man living, and was in 
 absolute hostility with the i)rejudices of society. 
 That was the state of the case ; but the evapora- 
 tion of ale in his brain caused him to view his 
 actions from the humble extreme of that delightful 
 
I^IATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKLEY. 237 
 
 liquor, of which the spirit had flown and the 
 corpse remained. 
 
 Having revived his system with soda-water, 
 and finding no sign of his antagonist below, Mr. 
 Raikes, to disperse the sceptical cUmples on his 
 friend's face, alluded durmg breakfast to a deter- 
 mination he had formed to go forth and show on 
 the cricket-field. 
 
 " For, you know," Jack observed, ".they can't 
 have any objection to fight me.'' 
 
 Evan, slightly coloming, answered : " ^Tiy, 
 you said up-stairs, you thought fighting duels 
 disgraceful folly." 
 
 " So it is, so it is ; everybody knows that," 
 returned Jack ; " but what can a gentleman do ? " 
 
 " That's decisive," said Evan. 
 
 " What can a gentleman do ? " Jack reiterated. 
 
 " Be a disgraceful fool, I suppose," said Evan : 
 and Jack went on with his breakfast, as if to be 
 such occasionally was the distinguished fate of a 
 gentleman, of which others, not so happy in their 
 birth, might well be envious. 
 
 Mr. Piaikes could not help betraying that he 
 bore in mind the main incidents of the festival 
 over-night; for when he had enquii-ed who it 
 might be that had reduced his friend to wear 
 mourning, and heard that it was his father (spoken 
 by Evan with a quiet sigh), Mr. Eaikes tapped an 
 egg, and his flexible brows exhibited a whole Bar 
 
238 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 of contending arguments within. More than for 
 the love of pleasure, Mr. Raikes had spent liis 
 mone}^ to be taken for a gentleman. He naturally- 
 thought highly of the position, having bought it. 
 But Mr. Raikes appreciated a capital fellow, and 
 felt warml}" to Evan, who, moreover, was feeding 
 liim. To put Evan in countenance, he said, with 
 genial facetiousness, that was meant to mark his 
 generous humility : 
 
 " And I, Harrington, I mourn my hat. He is 
 old^ — I mourn him yet living. The presence of 
 crape on him signifies — he ne'er shall have a gloss 
 again ! Naj^ more — for thus doth veritable 
 sorrow serve us — it conceals one or two striking 
 defects, my friend ! I say ! my family would be 
 rather astonished to see me in this travesty — in 
 this most strange attu'e, eh ? " 
 
 The latter sentence was uttered indirectly for 
 the benefit of the landlady, who now stood smiling 
 in the room, wishing them good morning, and 
 hoping they had sle]pt well. She handed to Evan 
 his purse, telling him she had taken it last night, 
 thinking it safer for the time being in her pocket ; 
 and that the chairman of the feast paid for all in 
 the Green Dragon up to twelve that day, he 
 having been born between the hours, and liking 
 to make certain : and that every year he did the 
 same ; and was a seemingly rough old gentleman, 
 but as soft-hearted as a chicken. His name must 
 
MATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKLEY. 289 
 
 positively not be inquired, she said ; to be thankful 
 to him was to depart, asking no questions. 
 
 " And with a dai't in the bosom from those 
 eyes — those eyes!" cried Jack, shaking his head 
 at the landlady's resistless charms. 
 
 " I hope you was not one of the gentlemen who 
 came and disturbed us last night, sir ? " she 
 turned on him sharply. 
 
 Jack dallied with the imputation, but denied 
 his guilt. 
 
 " No ; it wasn't your voice," continued the 
 landlady. " A parcel of young puppies calling 
 themselves gentlemen ! I know him. It's that 
 young Mr. Laxley : and he the nephew of a 
 Bishop, and one of the Honourables ! and then 
 the poor gals get the blame. I call it a shame, I 
 do. There's that poor young creature up -stairs — 
 somebody's victim she is : and nobody's to suffer 
 but herself, the Httle fool ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Jack. " Ah ! we regret these 
 things in after life ! " and he looked as if he had 
 many gentlemanly burdens of the kind on his 
 conscience. 
 
 " It's a wonder, to my mind," remarked the 
 landlady, when she had placidly surveyed Mr. 
 Raikes, "how young gals can let some of you 
 men-folk mislead 'em." 
 
 " It is a wonder," said Jack ; "but pray don't be 
 pathetic, ma'am — I can't stand it." 
 
240 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 The landlady turned from hini huffilj^ and 
 addressed Evan : " The old gentleman is gone, sir. 
 He slept on a chair, breakfasted, and was off 
 before eight. He left word, as the child was born 
 on his birthnight, he'd provide for it, and pay the 
 mother's bill, unless you claimed the right. I'm 
 afraid he suspected — what I never, never — no ! 
 but by what I've seen of you — never will believe. 
 For 3^ou, I'd say, must be a gentleman, whatever 
 j^our company. She asks one favour of you, 
 sir: — for you to go and let her speak to you 
 once before you go awaj^ for good. She's asleep 
 now, and mustn't be disturbed. Will you do it, 
 by and b}^ ? Please to comfort the poor creature, 
 sii'." 
 
 Evan consented. I am afraid also it was the 
 landlady's flattering speech made him, without 
 reckoning his means, add that the young mother 
 and her child must be considered under his care, 
 and their expenses charged to him. The landlady 
 was obliged to think him a wealthy as well as a 
 noble youth, and admiringly curtsied. 
 
 Mr. John Raikes and jNIr. Evan Harrinoton 
 then strolled into the air, and through a long 
 couiii-j'ard, with brewhouse and dairy on each 
 side, and a pleasant smell of baking bread, and 
 dogs winking in the smi, cats at the corners of 
 doors, satisfied with life, and turkeys parading, and 
 fowls, strutting cocks, that overset the dignity of 
 
MATCH OF FALLOWFLELD AGAINST BECKLEY. 241 
 
 Mr. Raikes by awakening his imitative propen- 
 sities. Certain white-capped women, who were 
 washing in a tub, laughed, and one observed : 
 " He's for all the world like the little bantam 
 cock stickin' 'self up in a crow against the 
 Spaniar'." And this, and the landlady's marked 
 deference to Evan, induced Mr. Raikes contemptu- 
 ously to glance at our national blindness to 
 the true diamond, and worship of the mere plumes 
 in which a person is dressed. 
 
 " Strip a man of them — they don't know you," 
 said Jack, despondentl3\ 
 
 "You ought to carry about your baby-linen, 
 stamped ' gentleman born,' " said Evan. 
 
 Jack returned : "It's all very well for you to 
 joke, but — " his tardy delicacy stopped him. 
 
 They passed a i)retty flower-garden, and enter- 
 ing a smooth- shorn meadow, beheld the downs 
 beautifully clear under sunlight and slowly-sailing 
 images of cloud. At the foot of the do^Tis, on a 
 plain of grass, stood a white booth toj^ped by a 
 flag, wliich signalled that on that spot Fallowfield 
 and Beckley were contending. 
 
 " A singular old gentleman ! A ver}- singular 
 old gentleman, that!" Jack observed, following 
 an idea that had been occupying him. " We did 
 wrong to miss him. "We ouglit to have waylaid 
 him in the morning. Never miss a chance, 
 Harrington." 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
242 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 " What chance ? " Evan inquired. 
 
 " Those old gentlemen are very odd," Jack pur- 
 sued : " very strange. He wouldn't have judged 
 me by my attire. Admetus' flocks I guard, yet 
 am a god ! Dress is nothing to those old cocks. 
 He's an eccentric. I know it; I can see it. 
 He's a corrective of Cudford, who is abhorrent 
 to my soul. To give you an instance, now, of 
 what those old boys will do — I remember m.j 
 father taking me, when I was quite a youngster, 
 to a tavern he frequented, and we met one night 
 just such an old fellow as this; and the waiter 
 told us afterwards that he noticed me parti- 
 cularly. He thought me a very remarkable bo}^ 
 — predicted great things. For some reason or 
 other ni}^ father never took me there again. I 
 remember our having a "Welsh rarebit there for 
 suj^per, and when the waiter last night mentioned 
 a rarebit, 'gad he started up before me. I gave 
 chase into my early youth. However, my father 
 never took me to meet the old fellow again. I 
 believe it lost me a fortune.'^ 
 
 Evan's thoughts were leaping to the cricket- 
 field, or he would have condoled with Mr. Raikes 
 for a loss that evidently afflicted him still, and of 
 which he was doubtless frequent!}^ reminded on 
 occasions when, in a bad hat, he gazed on a glit- 
 tering company from afar. 
 
 " Shall we go over and look at them ? " Evan 
 
MATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKLEY. 213 
 
 asked, after "watcliing the distant scene wist- 
 fuUy. 
 
 " Hem ! I don't know," Jack replied. *' The 
 fact is, my hat is a burden in the staring crowd. 
 A hat like this should counsel solitude. Oh ! " he 
 fired up, " if you think I'm afraid, come along. 
 Upon my honour ! " 
 
 Evan, who had been smiling at him, laughed 
 and led the way. 
 
 Now it must be told that the lady's-maid of 
 Mrs. Andrew Cogglesby, borrowed temporarily by 
 the Countess de Saldar for service at Beckley 
 Court, had slept in charge of the Countess's boxes 
 at the Green Dragon : the Countess having told 
 her, with the candour of high-born dames to their 
 attendants, that it would save expense ; and that, 
 besides, Admiral Combleman, whom she was going 
 to see, or Sir Perkins Eipley (her father's old 
 friend), whom she should visit if Admiral Comble- 
 man was not at his mansion — both were likely to 
 have full houses, and she could not take them by 
 storm. An ari'angement which left her U2:)wards 
 of twelve hours' liberty, seemed highly proper to 
 Maria Conning, this lady's-maid, a very demure 
 yomig person. She was at her bed-room window, 
 as Evan passed up the court -yard of the inn, and 
 recognised him immediately. " Can it be him 
 they mean that's the low tradesman ?" was ^Maria's 
 mysterious exclamation. She examined the paii', 
 
 b2 
 
244 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 and added : " Oh no. It must be the tall one 
 they've mistook for the small one. But Mr. 
 HaiTm^ton ouGjht not to demean himself bv 
 keeping company with such, and my lady should 
 know of it." 
 
 My lady, alighting from the Lymport coach, 
 did know of it, within a few minutes after Evan 
 had quitted the Green Dragon, and turned pale, 
 as high-born dames naturally do when they hear 
 of a relative's disregard of the compan}^ he keei)s. 
 
 " A tailor, my lad}^ !" said scornful Maria; and 
 the Countess jumped and complained of a pin. 
 
 " How did 3'ou hear of this. Conning ? " she 
 presently asked with composure. 
 
 " Oh, my lady, he was tipsy last night, and 
 kept swearing out loud he was a gentleman." 
 
 " Tipsy ! " the Countess mui-mured in terror. 
 She had heard of inaccessible truths brought to 
 light b}" the magic wand of alcohol. Was Evan 
 intoxicated, and his dreadful secret unlocked last 
 night ? 
 
 *' And who maj^ have told you of this. Con- 
 ning ? " she asked. 
 
 Maria plunged into one of the boxes, and was 
 understood to say that nobody in particular had 
 told her, but that among other flying matters it 
 had come to her ears. 
 
 " My brother is Charity itself," sighed the 
 Countess. " He welcomes high or low." 
 
MATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKLEY. 245 
 
 *' Yes, but, my lady, a tailor ! " Maria repeated, 
 and the Countess, agi-eeing with her scorn as she 
 did, could have killed her. At least she would 
 have liked to have run a bodkin into her, and 
 made her scream. In her position she could not 
 always be Charity itself : nor is this the required 
 character for a high-born dame : so she rarely 
 affected it. 
 
 *' Order a fly : discover the direction Mr. Har- 
 rington has taken ; spare me further remarks," 
 she said ; and Maiia humbl}^ flitted from her 
 presence. 
 
 When she was gone, the Countess covered her 
 with her hands. " Even this creature would 
 despise us ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 The 3"oung lady encountered by Mr. Eaikes on 
 the road to Fallowfield, was wrong in sapng that 
 Beckley would be seen out before the shades of 
 evening caught up the ball. Not one, but two 
 men of Beckley — the last two — carried out their 
 bats, cheered handsomely by both parties. The 
 wickets pitched in the morning, they carried them 
 in again, and plaudits renewed proved that their 
 fame had not slumbered. To stand before a field, 
 thoroughly aware that every successful stroke you 
 make is adding to the hoards of applause in store 
 for you — is a joy to yom' friends, an exasperation 
 to your foes ; — I call this an exciting situation, 
 and one as proud as a man may desii-e. Then 
 
246 EVAX HARRINGTON. 
 
 again, the two last men of an eleven are twins : 
 they hold one life between them ; so that he who 
 dies extinguishes the other. Your faculties are 
 stirred to their dej^ths. You become engaged in 
 the noblest of rivalries : in defending your own, 
 you fight for your comrade's existence. You are 
 assured that the dread of shame, if not emulation, 
 is making him equally wary and alert. 
 
 Behold, then, the two bold men of Beckley 
 fighting to preserve one life. Under the shadow 
 of the doTSTis they stand, beneath a glorious day, 
 and before a gallant company. For there are 
 ladies in carriages here, there are cavaliers ; good 
 county names may be pointed out. The sons of 
 first-rate families are in the two elevens, mingled 
 with the yeomen and whoever can best do the busi- 
 ness. Fallowfield and Beckle}", without regard to 
 rank, have drawn upon their muscle and science. 
 One of the bold men of Beckley at the wickets is 
 Nick Frim, son of the gamekeeper at Beckley 
 Court ; the other is young Tom Copping, son of 
 Squire Copping, of Dox Hall, in the parish of 
 Beckley. Last year, you must know, Fallowfield 
 beat. That is why Nick Frim, a renowned out- 
 hitter, good to finish a score brilliantly with a 
 pair of threes, has taken to blocking, and Mr. 
 Tom cuts with caution, though he loves to steal 
 his runs, and is usually dismissed by his remark- 
 able cunning. 
 
MATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKLEY. 247 
 
 The field was rinrfncf at a stroke of Nick 
 Frim's, who had lashed out in his old familiar 
 style at last, and the heavens heard of it, when 
 Evan came into the circle of spectators. Nick 
 and Tom were stretching from post to jiost, might 
 and main. A splendid four was scored. The 
 field took breath with the heroes ; and presume 
 not to doubt that heroes they are. It is good to 
 win glor}^ for your country ; it is also good to 
 win glory for 3'our village. A IMember of Par- 
 liament, Sir George Lowton, notes this emphati- 
 cally, from the statesman's eminence, to a group 
 of gentlemen on horseback round a carriage 
 wherein a couple of fair ladies reclined. 
 
 " They didn't shout more at the news of the 
 Battle of Waterloo. Now this is our peculiarity, 
 this absence of extreme centralisation. It must 
 be encouraged. Local jealousies, local rivalries, 
 local triumphs — these are the strength of the 
 kinordom." 
 
 "If 5^ou mean to say that cricket's a " the 
 
 old squire speaking (Squire Uploft of Fallowfield) 
 remembered the saving presences, and coughed — 
 " good thing, I'm one with ye. Sir George. En- 
 couraged, egad ! They don't want much of that 
 here. Give some of 3'our lean London straws a 
 strip o' clean grass and a bit o' liberty, and you'll 
 do 'em a service." 
 
 " What a beautiful hit ! " exclaimed one of the 
 
248 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 ladies, languidly watching the ascent of the 
 ball. 
 
 *' Beautiful, d'3'e call it ? " muttered the squire. 
 
 The ball, indeed, was dropping straight into 
 the hands of the long-hit-off. Instantly a thunder 
 rolled. But it was Beckley that took the joyful 
 treble — Fallowfield the deeply-cursing bass. The 
 long-hit-off, he who never was known to miss a 
 catch — butter-fingered beast ! — he has let the ball 
 slip through his fingers. 
 
 Are there gods in the air ? Fred Linnington, 
 the unfortunate of Fallowfield, with a whole year 
 of unhappy recollection haunting him in prospect, 
 ere he can retrieve his character — Fred, if he 
 does not accuse the powers of the sky, protests 
 that he cannot understand it, which means the 
 same. Fallowfield's defeat — should such be the 
 result of the contest — he knows now will be laid 
 at his door. Five men wdio have bowled at the 
 indomitable Beckleyans think the same. Albeit 
 they are Britons, it abashes them. They are not 
 the men they were. Their bowling is as the 
 bowling of babies ; and see ! Nick, who gave the 
 catch, and pretends he did it out of commiser- 
 ation for Fallowfield, the ball has flown from his 
 bat sheer over the booth. If they don't add six 
 to the score, it will be the fault of their legs. 
 But no : they rest content with a fiver. Yet more 
 they mean to do, and cherish their wind. Success 
 
MATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKLEY. 249 
 
 does not turn the heads of these Britons, as it 
 woidd of yoiu' frivolous foreigners. 
 
 And now small boys (who represent the Press 
 here) spread out from the marking-booth, an- 
 nouncing foremost, and in larger type, as it were, 
 quite in Press style., their o^oinion — which is, that 
 Fallov,'field will get a jolly good hiding ; and 
 vociferating that Beckley is seventy -nine ahead, 
 and that Nick Frim, the favourite of the field, 
 has scored fifty-one to his own cheek. The boys 
 are boys of both villages : but they are British 
 boys — they adore prowess. The Fallowfield boys 
 wish that Nick Frim would come and Hve on their 
 side; the boys of Beckley rejoice in possessing 
 him. Nick is the wicket-keeper of the Beckley 
 eleven ; long-limbed, wiry, keen of eye. His 
 fault as a batsman is, that he will be a slashing 
 hitter. He is too sensible of the joys of a grand 
 spanking hit. A short life and a merry one, has 
 hitherto been his motto. 
 
 But there were reasons for Nick's rare display 
 of skill. That woman may have the credit due to 
 her (and, as there never was a contest of which 
 she did not sit at the springs, so is she the soui'ce 
 of all superhuman efi'orts exliibited by men), be it 
 told that PoUy Wheedle is on the field ; Polly, 
 one of the upper housemaids of Beckley Court ; 
 Polly, eagerly courted by Fred Linnington, 
 humbly desired by Nick Frim — a pert and bloom- 
 
250 EVAN HARRINGTOX. 
 
 ing maiden — "svlio, while her suitors combat hotly 
 for an midivided smile, improves her holiday by 
 instilling similar unselfish aspirations into the 
 breasts of others. 
 
 Between his enjoj-ment of society and the 
 melancholy it engendered in his mind by reflect- 
 ing on him the age and decrepitude of his hat, 
 Mr. John Eaikes was doubtful of his happiness 
 for some time. But as his taste for happiness was 
 sharp, he, with a great instinct amounting almost 
 to genius in its pursuit, resolved to extinguish his 
 suspicion by acting the perfectl}" bappj^ man. To 
 do this, it was necessary that he should have 
 listeners : Evan was not enough, and was besides 
 unsympathetic. He had not responded to Jack's 
 cordial assurances of his friendship " in spite of 
 anything^'' uttered before they came into the field. 
 
 Mr. Eaikes tried two or three groups. There 
 is danger, when you are forcing a merry counte- 
 nance before the mirror presented to you by jowr 
 kind, that your features, unless severely i)ractised, 
 will enlarge beyond the artistic limits and dege- 
 nerate to a grimace. Evan (hardly a fail' judge, 
 perhaps) considered the loud remarks of Mr. 
 Eaikes on popular pastimes, and the expression 
 of his approval of popular sports, his determi- 
 nation to uphold them, his extreme desire to see 
 the day when all the lower orders would have 
 relaxation once a week, and his unaffected willing- 
 
MATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKLEY. 2.">1 
 
 ness to stoop to join their sports, exaggerated, 
 and, in contrast with his attii-e, incongruous. He 
 allowed Mr. Raikes but a few minutes in one spot. 
 He was probably too much absorbed in himself to 
 see and admire the sublime endeavour of the 
 imagination of Mr. Raikes to soar beyond his hat. 
 
 Heat and lustre were now poured from the sky, 
 on whose soft blue a fleet of clouds sailed hea\dly. 
 Nick Frim was very wonderful, no doubt. He 
 deserved that the gods should recline on those 
 gold-edged cushions above, and lean over to 
 observe him. Nevertheless, the ladies were begin- 
 ning to ask when Nick Frim would be out. The 
 small boys alone preserved then' enthusiasm for 
 Nick. As usual, the men took a middle position. 
 Theirs was the pleasure of critics, which, being 
 founded on the judgment, lasts long, and is with- 
 out disappointment at the close. It was sufficient 
 that the ladies should lend the inspiration of their 
 bonnets to this fine match. Their presence on 
 the field is another beautiful instance of the 
 generous yielding of the sex simply to grace our 
 amusement, and their acute perception of the part 
 they have to play. 
 
 Mr. Raikes was rather shy of them at first. 
 But his acting rarely failing to deceive himself, 
 he began to feel himself the perfectly happy man 
 he impersonated, and where there were ladies 
 Jack went, and talked of days when he had credit- 
 
252 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 ably handled a bat, and of a renown in the 
 annals of Cricket cut short by mysterious 
 calamity. The foolish fellow did not know that 
 they care not a straw for cricketing fame. Jack's 
 gaiety presently forsook him as quickly as it had 
 come. Instead of remonstrating at Evan's rest- 
 lessness, it was he who now dragged Evan from 
 spot to spot. He sj)oke low and nervously. By- 
 and-by he caught hold of Evan's arm, and 
 breathed in an awful voice the words : 
 
 " We're watched ! " 
 
 " Oh, are we ? " said Evan carelessly. *' See, 
 there are your friends of last night." 
 
 Laxley and Harry Jocelyn were seen addressing 
 Miss Wheedle, who apparently had plenty of 
 answers for them, and answers of a kind that 
 encouraged her sheepish natural courtiers (whom 
 the pair of j^outhful gentlemen entirely over- 
 looked) to snigger and seem at their ease. 
 
 " Will you go over and show ? " said Evan. 
 
 Mr. Eaikes glanced from a corner of his eye, 
 and returned, with tragic emphasis and brevity : 
 
 *' We're watched. I shall bolt." 
 
 " Very well," said Evan. "Go to the inn. 
 I'll come to you in an hoiu' or so, and then we'll 
 w^alk on to London, if you like." 
 
 "Bailiffs do take fellows in the country," 
 murmured Jack. " They've an extraordinary 
 scent. I fancied them among ni}- audience when 
 
MATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKLEY. 253 
 
 I appeared on the boards. That's what upset 
 me, I thmk. Is it much past twelve o'clock? " 
 
 Evan drew forth his watch. 
 
 "Just on the stroke." 
 
 " Then I shall just be in time to stick up 
 something to the old gentleman's birthday. 
 Perhaps I may meet him ! I rather think he < 
 noticed me favourably. Who knows ? A sprightly 
 half-hour's conversation might induce him to 
 do odd things. He shall certainly have my 
 address." 
 
 Mr. Raikes, lingering, caught sight of an object, 
 cried " Here he comes : I'm off," edged through 
 the crowd, over whose heads he tried — standing 
 on tip -toe — to gain a glimpse of his imaginary 
 persecutor, and dodged away. 
 
 Evan strolled on. A long success is better 
 when seen at a distance of time, and Nick Frim 
 was beginning to suffer from the monotony of his 
 luck. Fallowfield could do nothing with liim. 
 He no longer blocked. He lashed out at every 
 ball, and far flew every ball that was bowled. 
 The critics saw in this return to his old practices, 
 promise of Nick's approaching extinction. The 
 ladies were growing hot and weary. The little 
 boys gasped on the grass, but like cunning cii'cu- 
 lators of excitement, spread a report to keep it up, 
 that Nick, on going to his wickets the previous 
 day, had sworn an oath that he would not lay 
 
254 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 clown his bat till he had scored a hundred. So 
 they had still matter to agitate their youthful 
 breasts, and Nick's gradual building up of tens, 
 and prophecies and speculations as to his chances 
 of completing the hundred, were still vehemently 
 confided to the field, amid a general mopping of 
 
 faces. 
 
 Evan did become aware that a man was 
 following him. The man had not the look of a 
 dreaded official. His countenance w^as sun-bm-nt 
 and open, and he was dressed in a countryman's 
 holiday suit. When Evan met his eyes they 
 showed perplexity. Evan felt he was being 
 examined from head to heel, but by one unaccus- 
 tomed to his part, and without the courage to 
 decide what he ought consequently to do while a 
 doubt remained, though liis inspection was verging 
 towards a certainty in his mind. 
 
 At last, somewhat annoyed that the man 
 should continue to dog him wherever he moved, 
 he turned on him and asked him what he 
 wanted ? 
 
 " Be you a IMuster Evv'n Harrington, 
 Esquire ? " the man drawled out in the rustic 
 music of inquiry. 
 
 *' That is my name," said Evan. 
 
 " Ay," returned the man, " it's somebody 
 lookin' like a lord, and has a small friend wi' 
 shockin' old hat, and I see ye come out o' the 
 
MATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKLEY. 255 
 
 Green Drag'n tliis mornin' — I don't reck'n 
 there's e'er a mistaak, but I likes to make cock 
 sui'e. Be you been to Poortigal, sir ? " 
 
 *' Yes," answered Evan, " I Lave been to 
 Portugal." 
 
 *' What's the name o' the capital o' Poortigal, 
 sir ? " The man looked immensely shi-ewd, and 
 nodding his consent at the laughing reply, 
 added : 
 
 " And there you was born, sir? You'll excuse 
 my boldness, but I only does what's necessary." 
 
 Evan said he was not born there. 
 
 " No, not born there. That's good. Now, sir, 
 did you happen to be born anywheres within 
 smell o' salt water ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Evan, " I was born by the 
 sea." 
 
 " Not far beyond, fifty mile fi'om FaH'field here, 
 sii' ? " 
 
 " Something less." 
 
 " All right. Now I'm cock sure," said the 
 man. " Now, if you'll have the kindness just to 
 oblige me by — " he sped the words and the 
 instrument jointly at Evan, " — takin' that there 
 letter. 111 say good-b^'e, sir, and my work's done 
 for the day." 
 
 Saying which, he left Evan with the letter in his 
 hands. 
 
 Evan tui'ned it over curiously. It was 
 
250 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 addressed to " Evan Hamngton, Esquire, T 
 
 of Lymport." 
 
 A voice paralysed liis j&ngers : the clear ringing 
 voice of a young horsewoman, accompanied by a 
 little maid on a pony, who galloped up to the 
 carriage upon which Squii'e Uploft, Sir George 
 Lowton, Hamilton Jocelyn, and other cavaliers, 
 were in attendance. 
 
 " Here I am at last, and Beckley's in still ! 
 How d'ye do. Lady Roseley ? How d'ye do. Sir 
 George. How d'ye do, everybody. Your ser- 
 vant, Squire ! AVe shall beat you. Harry says 
 we shall soon be a hundred a-head of jou. 
 Fancy those hojs ! they would sleep at Fallow- 
 field last night. How I wish you had made a bet 
 with me, Squke." 
 
 "Well, my lass, it's not too late," said the 
 Squire, detaining her hand. 
 
 "Oh, but it wouldn't be fair now. And I'm 
 not going to be kissed on the field, if you please, 
 Squire. Here, Dorry will do instead. Dorry ! 
 come and be kissed by the Squire." 
 
 It was Eose, living and glowing ; Rose, who 
 was the brilliant young Amazon, smoothing the 
 neck of a mettlesome gray cob. Evan's heart 
 bounded up to her, but his limbs were 
 motionless. 
 
 The Squire caught her smaller companion in 
 his arms, and sounded a kiss upon both her 
 
MATCH OF FALLOWTIELD AGAINST BECKLEY. 257 
 
 cheeks ; then settled her in the saddle, and she 
 went to answer some questions of the ladies. 
 She had the same lively eyes as Rose ; quick 
 saucy lips, red, and open for prattle. Rolls of 
 auhurn liaii- fell down her back, for being a child 
 she was allowed privileges. To talk as her 
 thoughts came, as well as to wear her hair as it 
 grew, was a special privilege of this young person, 
 on horseback or elsewhere. 
 
 " Now, I know what you want to ask me, Aunt 
 Shome. Isn't it about my papa ? He's not 
 come, and he won't be able to come for a week. 
 — Glad to be with cousin Rosey ? I should 
 think I am ! She's the nicest girl I ever could 
 suppose. She isn't a bit spoiled by Portugal ; 
 only browned ; and she doesn't care for that ; no 
 more do I. I rather like the sun when it doesn't 
 freckle 3'ou. I can't bear freckles, and I don't 
 believe in milk for them. People who have them 
 are such a figure. Drummond Forth has them, 
 but he's a man, and it doesn't matter for a man 
 to have freckles. — How's my uncle Mel ? Oh, 
 he's quite well. I mean he has the gout in one 
 of his fingers, and it's swollen so, it's just like a 
 great fat fir cone ! He can't write a bit, and 
 rests his hand on a table. He wants to have me 
 made to write with my left hand as well as my 
 right. As if I was ever going to have the gout in 
 one of my fingers ! " 
 
 TOL. I. 8 
 
258 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 Sir George LoAvton observed to Hamilton 
 Jocelyn, that Melville must take to liis tongue 
 now. 
 
 " I fancy lie will," said Hamilton. " My 
 father won't give up his nominee ; so I fancy 
 he'll try Fallowfield. Of course, we go in 
 for the agricultural interest; but there's a can- 
 tankerous old ruffian down here — a brewer, or 
 something — he's got half the votes at his bidding. 
 We shall see." 
 
 " Doroth}^, my dear child, are you not tired ? " 
 said Lady Roseley. " You are very hot." 
 
 "Yes, that's because Eose would tear along 
 the road to get here in time, after we had left 
 those tiresome Copping people, where she had to 
 make a call. ' What a slow little beast j^our 
 pony is, Dorry ! ' — she said that at least twenty 
 times." 
 
 " Oh, you naughty puss ! " cried Rose. "Wasn't 
 it, ' Eosey, Rosey, I'm sure we shall be too late, 
 and shan't see a thing : do come along as hard as 
 you can : 
 
 " I'm sure it was not," Miss Dorothy retorted, 
 with the large e3^es of innocence. "You said you 
 wanted to see Nick Frim keeping the wicket, and 
 Ferdinand Laxley bowl. And, oh ! you know 
 something you said about Drummond Forth." 
 
 " Now, shall I tell upon you ? " said Rose, 
 
 " No, don't ! " hastily replied the little woman, 
 
MATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKI.EY. 259 
 
 blushing. And the cavaUers Laughed out, and 
 the ladies smiled, and Dorothy added : "It isn't 
 mucli, after all." 
 
 " Then, come ; let's have it, or I shall be 
 jealous," said the Squire. 
 
 " ShaU I teU ? " Rose asked slily. 
 
 " It's unfair to betray one of j'our sex, Rose," 
 remarked the sweetly-smiling lady. 
 
 "Yes, Lady Roseley — mayn't a woman have 
 secrets ? " Dorothy put it with great natui'al 
 earnestness, and they all laughed aloud. *' But I 
 know a secret of Eosej^'s," continued Miss 
 Dorothy, " and if she tells upon me, I shall tell 
 upon her." 
 
 " They're out ! " cried Rose, pointing her whip 
 at the wickets. " Good night to Beckley ! Tom 
 Copping's run out." 
 
 Questions as to how it was done passed from 
 mouth to mouth. Questions as to whether it was 
 fair sprang from Tom's friends, and that a doubt 
 existed was certain ; the whole field was seen 
 converging towards the two umpires : Fai'mer 
 Broadmead for FaUowfield, Master Xat Hodges 
 for Beckley. 
 
 " It really is a mercy there's some change in 
 
 the game," said ]\Irs. Shorne, waving her parasol. 
 
 " It's a charming game, but it wants variety — 
 
 a little. AVhen do you return. Rose ? " 
 
 " Not for some time," said Rose, primly. " I 
 
 s2 
 
S60 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 like variety very well, but I don't seek it by 
 running away the moment I've come." 
 
 " No, but, my dear,*' Mrs. Sliorne negligently 
 fanned her face, " you will have to come with us, 
 I fear, when we go. Your uncle accompanies us. 
 I really think the Squire will, too ; and Mr. 
 Forth is no chaperon. Even you understand 
 that." 
 
 " Oh, I can get an old man — don't be afraid," 
 said Eose. " Or must I have an old woman, 
 aunt ? " 
 
 The lady raised her eyelids slowly on Rose, 
 and thought : "If you were soundly whipped, 
 my little madam, what a good thing it would be 
 for 3^ou." And that good thing Mrs. Shorne was 
 willing to do for Rose. She turned aside, and 
 received the salute of an unmistakeable curate on 
 foot. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Parsley, you lend your countenance 
 to the game, then ? " 
 
 The Curate observed that sound Churchmen 
 unanimously supported the game. 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried Rose. " How I like to hear 
 you talk like that, Mr. Parsley. I didn't think 
 you had so much sense. You and I will have a 
 game together— single-wicket. AVe must play for 
 something — what shall it be ? " 
 
 "Oh — for nothing," the Curate vacuously 
 remarked. 
 
MATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKLEY. 261 
 
 " That's for love, you rogue ! " exclaimed the 
 Squire. " Come, come, none o' that, sir ! — ha ! 
 ha ! •' 
 
 " Oh, very well; we'll play for love," said 
 Rose. 
 
 " And I'll hold the stakes, my dear — eh ? " 
 
 " You dear old naught}- Squire ! — what do you 
 mean ? " Eose laughed. But she had all the 
 men surrounding her, and INIrs. Shorne talked of 
 departing. 
 
 "Why did not Evan bravely march away ? Why, 
 he asked himself, had he come on this cricket- 
 field to be made thus miserable ? AVhat right 
 had such as he to look on Eose ? Consider, 
 however, the young man^s excuses. He could 
 not possibly imagine that a damsel who rode one 
 day to a match, would return on the following 
 day to see it finished : or absolutely know that 
 unseen damsel to be Eose Jocelyn. And if he 
 waited, it was only to hear her sweet voice once 
 a^•ain, and go for ever. As far as he could 
 fathom his hopes, they were that Eose would not 
 see him : but the hopes of youth are deep. 
 
 Just then a toddling small rustic stopped in 
 front of Evan, and setup a howl for his '"fayther." 
 Evan lifted him high to look over people's 
 heads, and discover his wandering parent. The 
 urchin, when he had settled to his novel position, 
 surveyed the field, and shouting, '' Fayther, 
 
262 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 faytlier ! here I bes on top of a gentleman ! " 
 made lusty signs, which attracted not his father 
 alone. Rose sang out, " Who can lend me a 
 penny ? " Instantly the Curate and the Squire 
 had a race in their pockets. The Curate was 
 first, but Rose favoured the Squire, took his 
 money with a nod and a smile, and rode at the 
 little lad, to whom she was saying : " Here, 
 bonny boy, this will bu}^ you — " 
 
 She stopped and coloured. 
 
 "Evan!" 
 
 The child descended rapidl}^ to the ground. 
 
 A bow and a few murmured words replied to 
 her. 
 
 " Isn't this just like you, my dear Evan ? 
 Shouldn't I know that whenever I met you, you 
 would be doing something kind ? How did you 
 come here ? , You were on joux way to Beckley ! " 
 
 " To London," said Evan. 
 
 " To London ! and not coming over to see me 
 —us ? " 
 
 Here the little fellow's father intervened to 
 claim his offspring, and thank the lady and the 
 gentleman ; and, with his penny firmly grasped, 
 he who had brought the lady and the gentleman 
 togetlier, was borne off a wealthy human creature. 
 
 Before much further could be said between 
 tliem, the Countess de Saldar drove up. 
 
 " My dearest Rose ! " and " My dear Coim- 
 
MATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKLEY. 2G3 
 
 tess ! " and not " Louisa, then ? " and, " I am very 
 glad to see j'ou ! " without attempting the endearing 
 " Louisa " — passed. 
 
 The Countess de Saldar then admitted the 
 presence of her hrother. 
 
 " Think ! " said Rose. " He talks of going on 
 straight from here to London." 
 
 " That pretty feminine pout will alone suffice 
 to make him deviate, then," said the Countess, 
 with her sweetest open sl3^ness. " I am now on 
 the point of accepting j'our most kind invitation. 
 Our foreign habits allow us to visit — thus early ! 
 He will come with me." 
 
 Evan tried to look firm, and speak as he was 
 trying to look. Rose fell to entreaty, and from 
 entreaty rose to command ; and in both was 
 utterly fascinating to the poor youth. Luxuriously 
 — while he hesitated and dwelt on this and that 
 faint objection — his spirit drank the delicious 
 changes of her face. To have her face before him 
 but one day seemed so rich a boon to deny him- 
 self, that he was beginning to w-onder at his con- 
 stancy in refusal ; and now that she spoke to him 
 so pressingly, devoting her guileless eyes to him 
 alone, he forgot a certain envious feeling that had 
 possessed him while she was rattling among the 
 other males — a doubt whether she ever cast a 
 thought on Mr. Evan Harrington. 
 
 " Yes : he will come," cried Rose ; , '' and h^ 
 
2G4 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 shall ride home 'with me and my friend Drum- 
 mond ; and he shall have my groom's horse, if he 
 doesn't mind. Bob can ride home in the cart 
 with Polly, my maid ; and he'll like that, because 
 Polly's always good fun — when they're not in love 
 with her. Then, of course, she torments them." 
 
 " Naturally," said the Countess. 
 
 Mr. Evan Harrington's final objection, based on 
 his not having clothes, and so forth, was met by 
 his foreseeing sister. 
 
 " I have your portmanteau packed, in with me, 
 my dear brother ; Conning has her feet on it. I 
 divined that I should overtake you." 
 
 Evan felt he was in the toils. After a struggle 
 or two he yielded ; and, having yielded, did it 
 with grace. In a moment, and with a power of 
 self-compression equal to that of the adept 
 Countess, he threw off his moodiness as easily 
 as if it had been his Spanish mantle, and assumed 
 a gaiety that made the Countess's eyes beam 
 rapturously upon him, and was pleasing to Rose, 
 apart from the lead in admiration the Countess 
 had given her — not for the first time. We 
 mortals, tlie best of us, may be silly sheep in 
 our likes and dislikes : where there is no pre- 
 meditated or instinctive antagonism, we can be 
 led into warm acknowledgment of merits we have 
 not sounded. This the Countess de Saldar knew 
 right well. 
 
MATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKLEY. 2G5 
 
 Rose now intimated her wish to perform the 
 ceremony of introduction between her aunt and 
 uncle present, and the visitors to Beckley Court. 
 The Countess smiled, and in the few paces that 
 separated the two gi'oups, whispered her brother : 
 " Miss Jocehjn, my dear." 
 
 The eye-glasses of the Beckley group were 
 dropped with one accord. The ceremony was 
 gone tlu'ough. The softly-shadowed differences of 
 a grand manner addressed to ladies, and to males, 
 were exquisitely accomplished by the Countess de 
 Saldar. 
 
 " HaiTington ? Harrington ? " her quick ear 
 caught on the mouth of Squire Uploft, scanning 
 Evan. 
 
 Her accent was very foreign, as she said aloud : 
 " We are entirelv strano^ers to vour game — vour 
 creecket. My brother and myself are scarcely 
 EngUsh, Nothing save diplomacy are we adepts 
 in!" 
 
 " You must be excessively dangerous, madam," 
 said Sir George, hat in air. 
 
 " Even in that, I fear, we are babes and suck- 
 lings, and might take many a lesson from you. 
 Will you instruct me in your creecket ? What 
 are they doing now ? It seems very unintelli- 
 gible — indistinct — is it not ? " 
 
 Inasmuch as Farmer Broadmead and blaster 
 Nat Hodges were sun'ounded by a clamorous 
 
20 6 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 mob, shouting both sides of the case, as if the 
 loudest and longest-winded were sure to wrest a 
 favourable judgment from those two infallible 
 authorities on the laws of cricket, the noble game 
 was certainl}' in a state of indistinctness. 
 
 The Squire came forward to explain, piteously 
 entreated not to expect too much from a woman's 
 inapprehensive wits, which he plainly promised 
 (under eyes that had melted harder men) he 
 would not. His forbearance and bucolic gal- 
 lantry were needed, for he had the Countess's 
 radiant full visage alone. Her senses were dancing 
 in her right ear, which had heard the name of 
 Lad}^ Eoseley pronounced, and a voice respond to 
 it from the carriao^e. 
 
 Into what a pit had she suddenly plunged ! 
 You ask why she did not drive away as fast as 
 the horses would cslyyj her, and fly the veiled 
 head of Demogorgon obscuring valley and hill and 
 the shining firmament, and threatening to glare 
 destruction on her ? You do not know an 
 intriguer. She relinquishes the joys of life for the 
 joys of intrigue. This is her element. The 
 Countess did feel that the heavens were hard on 
 her. She resolved none the less to fight her way 
 to her object; for where so much had conspired 
 to favour her — the decease of the generous Sir 
 Abraham Harrington, of Torquay, and the invita- 
 tion to Beckley Court — could she believe the 
 
MATCH OF FALLO^^TIELD AGAINST BECKLEY. 2G7 
 
 heavens in league against her ? Did she not 
 nightly pray to them, in all humhleness of body, 
 for the safe issue of her cherished schemes ? And 
 in this, how unhke she was to the rest of man- 
 kind ! She thought so ; she relied on her devout 
 observances ; they gave her sweet confidence, and 
 the sense of being specially shielded even when 
 sj^ecially menaced. Moreover, tell a woman to 
 put back, when she is once clearly launched ! 
 Timid as she may be, her light bark bounds to 
 meet the tempest. I speak of women who do 
 launch : they are not numerous, but, to the wise, 
 the minorities are the representatives. 
 
 "Indeed, it is an intricate game!" said the 
 Countess, at the conclusion of the Squire's expla- 
 nation, and leaned over to Mrs. Shorne to ask her 
 if she thoroughly understood it. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose I do," was the reply ; " it 
 — rather than the amusement they find in it." 
 This lady had recovered Mr. Parsley from Rose, 
 but had onlv succeeded in makmo" the Curate 
 unhappy, without satisfying herself. 
 
 The Countess gave her the shrug of secret 
 sympathy. 
 
 '•'AVe must not say so," she observed aloud, 
 most artlessly, and fixed the Squire with a be- 
 witching smile, under which her heart beat 
 thickly. As her eyes travelled from Mrs. Shorne 
 to the Squire, she had marked Lady Roseley look- 
 
2G8 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 ing singularly at Evan, wlio was mounting the 
 horse of Bob the groom. 
 
 " Fine young fellow, that," said the Squire to 
 Lady Roseley, as Evan rode off with Rose. 
 
 "An extremely handsome, well-bred young 
 man," she answered. Her eyes met the Countess's, 
 and the Countess, after resting on their surface 
 with an ephemeral pause, murmured : " I must 
 not praise my brother," and smiled a smile which 
 was meant to mean : "I think with you, and 
 thank j^ou, and love you for admiring him." 
 
 Had Lady Roseley joined the smile and spoken 
 with animation afterwards, the Countess would 
 have shuddered and had chills of dread. As it 
 was, she was passably content. Lad}^ Roseley 
 slightl}^ dimpled her cheek, for courtesj^'s sake, 
 and then looked gravely on the ground. This 
 was no promise ; it was even an indication (as the 
 Countess read her), of something bej^ond suspicion 
 in the lady's mind ; but it was a sign of delicacy, 
 and a sign that her feelings had been touched, 
 from which a truce might be reckoned on, and no 
 betrayal feared. 
 
 She heard it said that the match was for honour 
 and glory. A match of two days' duration under 
 a broiling sun, all for honour and glory ! AVas it 
 not enough to make her despise the games of 
 men ? For something better she plaj^ed. Her 
 game was for one hundred thousand pounds, the 
 
MATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKLEY. 269 
 
 liappiiiess of her brother, and the conceahiient of 
 a horror. To win a game like that was worth the 
 trouble. Whether she would have continued her 
 efforts, had she known that the name of Evan 
 Harrington was then blazing on a shoj^-front in 
 Lj'mport, I cannot tell. The possessor of the 
 name was in love, and did not reflect. 
 
 Smiling adieu to the ladies, bowing to the gen- 
 tlemen, and apprehending all the homage they 
 would pour out to her condescending beauty when 
 she had left them, the Countess's graceful hand 
 gave the signal for Beckley. 
 
 She stopped the coachman ere the wheels had 
 rolled off the muffling turf, to enjoy one glimpse 
 of Evan and Eose riding together, with the little 
 maid on her pony in the rear. How suitable they 
 seemed ! how happy ! She had brought them 
 together after many difficulties : — might it not be ? 
 It was surely a thing to be hoped for ! 
 
 Rose, galloping freshl}', was saying to Evan : 
 " Why did you cut off your moustache ? " 
 
 He, neck and neck with her, replied: ''You 
 complained of it in Portugal." 
 
 And she : " Portugal's old times now to me — 
 and I always love old times. I'm sorry ! And, 
 oh, Evan ! did you really do it for me ? " 
 
 And really, just then, flying through the air, 
 close to the darling of his heart, he had not the 
 courage to spoil that delicious question, but 
 
270 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 dallying "svitli the lie he looked in her eyes 
 lingeringly. 
 
 This picture the Countess contemplated. Close 
 to her carriage two young gentlemen-cricketers 
 ■svere strolling, while Fallowfield gained breath to 
 decide which men to send in first to the wickets. 
 
 One of these stood suddenly on tiptoe, and 
 pomting to the pair on horseback, cried, with the 
 vivacity of astonishment : 
 
 " Look there ! do you see that ? What the 
 deuce is little Rosey doing with the tailor-fellow ? " 
 
 The Countess, though her cheeks w^ere blanched, 
 gazed calml}^ in Demogorgon's face, took a mental 
 impression of the speaker, and again signalled for 
 Beckley. 
 
COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION. 271 
 
 CHAPTER Xn^ 
 
 THE COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION. 
 
 Now, to clear up a point or tAvo : You may 
 think the Comic Muse is straining human nature 
 rather toughly in making the Countess de Saldar 
 rush open-eyed into the jaws of Demogorgon, 
 dreadful to her. She has seen her hrother pointed 
 out unmistakably as the tailor-fellow. There is 
 yet time "to cast him off or fly with him. Is it 
 her extraordinary heroism impelling her onward, 
 or infatuated rashness ? or is it her mere animal 
 love of conflict ? 
 
 The Countess de Saldar, like other adventurers, 
 has her star. They who possess nothing on earth, 
 have a right to claim a portion of the heavens. 
 In resolute hands much may be done Avitli a star. 
 As it has empires in its gift, so may it have 
 heiresses. The Countess's star had not blinked 
 balefully at her. That was one reason why she 
 went straight on to Beckley. 
 
 Again : the Countess was a bom general. 
 ^Yith her star above, with certain advantages 
 secured, with battalions of lies disciplined and 
 zealous, and with one clear prize in view, besides 
 
272 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 other undeveloped benefits dimlj^ shadowing forth, 
 the Countess threw herself headlong into the 
 enemy's country. 
 
 But, that you may not think too highly of this 
 lady, I must add that the trivial reason was the 
 exciting cause — as in many great enterprises. 
 This was nothing more than the simple desire to 
 be located, if but for a day or two, on the footing 
 of her present rank, in the English country-house 
 of an offshoot of our aristocracy. She who had 
 moved in the fii'st society of a foreign capital — who 
 had married a count, a minister of his sovereign 
 — had enjoyed delicious high-bred badinage with 
 refulgent ambassadors — could boast the friend- 
 ship of duchesses, and had been the amiable recep- 
 tacle of their pardonable follies — she who, more- 
 over, heartily despised things English : — this lady 
 experienced thrills of proud pleasure at the pro- 
 spect of being welcomed at a third-rate English 
 mansion. But then, that mansion was Beckley 
 Court. AVe return to our first ambitions, as to our 
 first loves : not that they are dearer to us, — quit 
 that delusion : our ripened loves and mature 
 ambitions are probably closest to our hearts, as 
 they deserve to be — but we return to them because 
 our youth has a hold on us which it asserts when- 
 ever a disappointment knocks us down. Our old 
 loves (with the bad natures I know in them) are 
 always lurking to avenge themselves on the new 
 
COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION. 273 
 
 by tempting us to a little retrograde infidelitj*. 
 A schoolgirl in Fallowfield, the tailor's daughter, 
 had sighed for the bliss of Beckley Court. 
 Beckley Court was her Elysium ere the ardent 
 feminine brain conceived a loftier summit. Fallen 
 from that attained eminence, she sighed anew for 
 Beckley Court. Nor was this mere spiritual 
 longing; it had its material side. At Beckley 
 Court she could feel her foreign rank. Moving 
 with our nobility as an equal, she could feel that 
 the short dazzling glitter of her career was not 
 illusory, and had left her something solid; not 
 coin of the realm exactly, but yet gold. She 
 could not feel this in the Cogglesby saloons, 
 among pitiable bourgeoises — middle-class people 
 daily soiled by the touch of tradesmen ! They 
 dragged her down. Their very homage was a 
 mockery. 
 
 Let the Countess have due credit for still allow- 
 ing Evan to visit Beckle}^ Court to follow up his 
 chance. If Demogorgon betrayed her there, the 
 Count was her protector : a woman rises to her 
 husband. But a man is what he is, and must 
 stand upon that. She was positive Evan had 
 committed himself in some manner. But as it 
 did not suit her to think so, she at once encou- 
 raged an imaginary conversation, in which she 
 took the argument that it was quite impossible 
 Evan could have been so mad, and others 
 
 VOL. I. T 
 
274 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 instanced his j'outh, his wrong-headed perversity, 
 his ungenerous disregard for his devoted sister, and 
 his known weakness : she replj'ing, that undoubt- 
 edly they were right so far : but that he coukl not 
 have said he himself was that horrible thing, 
 because he was nothing of the sort : which faith 
 in Evan's steadfast adherence to facts, ultimately 
 silenced the phantom opposition, and gained the 
 day. 
 
 With admiration let us behold the Countess 
 de Saldar alighting on the gravel -sweep of 
 Beckley Coui^t, the footmen and butler of the 
 enemy bowing obsequious welcome to the most 
 potent visitor Beckley Court has ever yet 
 embraced. 
 
 The despatches of a general being usually 
 acknowledged to be the safest sources h'om which 
 the historian of a campaign can draw, I proceed to 
 set forth a letter of the Countess de Saldar, for- 
 warded to her sister, Harriet Cogglesby, three 
 mornings after her arrival at Beckley Court ; and 
 •which, if it should prove false in a few par- 
 ticulars, does nevertheless let us into the state of 
 the Countess's mind, and gives the result of that 
 general's first inspection of the field of action. 
 The Countess's epistolary English does small 
 credit to her Fallowfield education ; but it is 
 feminine, and flows more than her ordinary 
 
COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION. 275 
 
 speech. Besides, leaders of men have always 
 notoriously been above the honours of grammar. 
 
 " My DEAREST Harriet, 
 
 " Your note awaited me. No sooner my 
 name announced, than servitors in yellow liver}^ 
 with powder and buckles started before me, and 
 bowing one presented it on a salver. A venerable 
 butler — most impressive ! led the way. In future, 
 my dear, let it be de Saldar de Sancorvo. That is 
 our title hy rights, and it may as well be so in 
 England. English Countess is certainly best. 
 Always put the de. But let us be systematic, as 
 my poor Silva says. He would be in the way 
 here, and had better not come till I see something 
 he can do. Silva has great reliance upon me. 
 The farther he is from Lymport, my dear ! — and 
 imagine me, Harriet, driving through Fallowfield 
 to Beckley Court ! I gave one peep at Dubbins's, 
 as I passed. The school still goes on. I saw 
 three little girls skipping, and the old swing-pole. 
 Se^unary for young ladies as bright as ever ! 
 I should have lilced to have kissed the children 
 and given them bonbons and a holiday. 
 
 " How sparing you English are of your crests 
 and arms ! I fully expected to see the Jocelyns' 
 over my bed ; but no — four posts totally without 
 ornament ! Sleep, indeed, must be the result of 
 dire fatigue in such a bed. The Jocelyn crest is 
 
 T 2 
 
27G EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 a hawk in jesses. The Elburne arms are, Or, three 
 falcons on a field, vert. How heraldry reminds 
 me of jioor papa ! the evenings we used to spend 
 with him, when he sta3^ed at home, studying it 
 so diligently under his directions ! We never shall 
 again ! Sir Frank Jocelyn is the tliird son of 
 Lord Elburne, made a Baronet for his patriotic 
 support of the Ministry in a time of great trouble. 
 The people are sometimes grateful, my dear. Lord 
 Elburne is the fourteenth of his line — originally 
 simple country squires. They talk of the Roses, 
 but we need not go so very far back as that. I 
 do not quite understand why a Lord's son should 
 condescend to a Baronetcy. Precedence of some 
 sort for his lady, I suppose. I have yet to learn 
 whether she ranks by his birth, or his present 
 title. If so, a 3'oung Baronetcy cannot possibly 
 be a gain. One thing is certain. She cares 
 very little about it. She is most eccentric. But 
 remember what I have told you. It will be 
 serviceable when you are speaking of the 
 family. 
 
 " The dinner-hour, six. It would no doubt be 
 full seven m Town. I am convinced you are half- 
 an-hour too early. I had the post of honour to 
 the right of Sir Franks. Evan to the right of 
 Lady Jocelyn. IMost fortunately he was in the 
 best of spirits — quite brilliant. I saw tlie eyes of 
 that sweet Rose glisten. On the other side of me 
 
COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION. 277 
 
 sat my pet diplomatist, and I gave liira one or two 
 political secrets wliicli astonished him. Of course, 
 my dear, I was wheedled out of them. His con- 
 tempt for our weak intellects is ineffable. But a 
 woman must now and then ingratiate herself at 
 the expense of her sex. This is perfectly legiti- 
 mate. Tory policy at the table. The Opposition, 
 as Andrew says, not represented. So to show 
 that we were human beings, we differed among 
 ourselves, and it soon became clear to me that 
 Lady Jocelyn is the rankest of Radicals. My 
 secret suspicion is, that she is a person of no birth 
 whatever, wherever her money came from. A 
 fine woman— T3^es ; still to be admired, I suppose, 
 by some kind of men ; but totally wanting in the 
 essentially feminine attractions. 
 
 " There was no part}', so to say. I will describe 
 the people present, beginning with the insigni- 
 ficants. 
 
 " First, Mr. Parsley, the curate of Beckley. 
 He eats everything at table, and agrees with 
 everything. A most excellent orthodox young 
 clergyman. Except that he was nearly choked 
 b)' a fish-bone, and could not quite conceal his 
 distress — and really Rose should have repressed 
 her desire to laugh till the time for our retirement 
 — he made no sensation. I saw her eyes water- 
 ing, and she is not clever in turning it off. In 
 that nobody ever equalled dear papa. I attribute 
 
278 EVAN HARRINGTON, 
 
 the attack almost entirely to the tightness of the 
 white neckcloths the young clergymen of the 
 Established Church wear. But, my dear, I have 
 lived too long away from them to wish for an 
 instant the slightest change in anything they 
 think, say, or do. The mere sight of this young 
 man was most refreshing to my spirit. He may 
 be the shepherd of a flock, my dear, this poor 
 Mr. Parsle}^ but he is a sheep to one young 
 person. 
 
 " ]\Ir. Drummond Forth. A great favourite of 
 Lady Jocelyn's ; an old friend. He went with 
 them to the East. Notliing improper. She is too 
 cold for that. He is fan-, with regular features, 
 very self-possessed, and ready — your English 
 notions of gentlemanly. But none of your men 
 treat a woman as a woman. We are either angels, 
 or good fellows, or heaven knows what that is 
 bad. No exquisite delicacy, no insinuating soft- 
 ness mixed with respect, none of that hovering 
 over the border, as papa used to say, none of that 
 liapp}" indefiniteness of manner which seems to 
 declare ' I would love you if I might,' or ' I do, 
 but I dare not tell,' even when engaged in the 
 most trivial attentions — handing a footstool, 
 remarking on the soup, &c. You none of you 
 know how to meet a woman's smile, or to engage 
 her eyes without boldness — to slide off tJiem, as it 
 were, gracefully. Evan alone can look between 
 
COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION. 279 
 
 the eyelids of a woman. I have had to correct 
 liim, for to me he quite exposes the state of his 
 heart towards dearest Rose. She listens to Mr. 
 Forth with evident esteem. In Portugal we 
 do not understand young ladies having male 
 friends. 
 
 "Hamilton Jocelyn — all politics. The stiff 
 EuGflishman. Not a shade of manners. He 
 invited me to drink wine. Before I had finished 
 my bow his glass was empty — the man was telling 
 an anecdote of Lord Livelyston ! You may be 
 sure, my dear, I did not say I had seen his 
 lordship. 
 
 " Seymour Jocelyn, Colonel of Hussars. He 
 did nothincf but si^h for the cold weather, and 
 
 CO 
 
 hunting. All I envied him was his moustache 
 for Evan. Will you believe that the ridiculous 
 boy has shaved ! 
 
 '' Then there is Melville, my dear diplomatist ; 
 and here is another instance of our Harrington 
 luck. He has the gout in his right hand ; he can 
 only just hold knife and fork, and is interdicted 
 Port- wine and penmanship. The dinner was 
 not concluded before I had arranged that Evan 
 should resume (gratuitously, you know) his i^ost 
 of secretary to him. So here is Evan fixed at 
 Beckley Court as long as Melville stays. Talking 
 of him, I am horrified suddenly. They call him 
 the great Mel ! 
 
280 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 " Sir Franks is most estimable, I am sure, as a 
 mail, and redolent of excellent qualities — a beau- 
 tiful disposition, very handsome. He has just as 
 much and no more of the English polish one 
 ordinarily meets. When he has given me soup 
 or fish, bowed to me over wine, and asked a 
 conventional question, he has done with me. I 
 should imagine his opinions to be extremely good, 
 for they are not a multitude. 
 
 " Then his lady — but I have not grapi:)led ^ith 
 her yet. Now for the women, for I quite class 
 her with the opposite sex. 
 
 " You must know that before I retired for the 
 night, I induced Conning to think she had a bad 
 head-ache, and Rose lent me her lad3^'s-maid — 
 they call the creature Polly. A terrible talker. 
 She would tell all about the family, Eose has 
 been speaking of Evan. It would have looked 
 better had she been quiet — but then she is so 
 English!" 
 
 Here the Countess breaks off to say that, from 
 where she is writing, she can see Rose and Evan 
 walking out to the cypress avenue, and that no 
 eyes are on them; gi'eat praise being given to the 
 absence of suspicion in the Jocel3'n nature. 
 
 The communication is resumed the night of 
 the same day. 
 
 *' Two days at Beckley Court are over, and that 
 
COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION. 281 
 
 strange sensation I had of being an intruder 
 escaped from Dubbins's, and expecting eveiy 
 instant the okl schoohnistress to call for me, and 
 expose me, and take me to the dark room, is quite 
 vanished, and 1 feel quite at home, and quite 
 happy. Evan is behaving ver}^ well. Quite the 
 young nobleman. With the women I had no fear 
 of him — he is really admirable with the men — 
 easy, and talks of sport and politics, and makes 
 the proper use of Portugal. He has quite won 
 the heart of his sister. Heaven smiles on us, 
 dearest Harriet ! 
 
 " We must be favoured, my dear, for Evan is 
 very troublesome — distressingly inconsiderate ! I 
 left him for a day — remaining to comfort poor 
 mama — and on the road he picked up an object 
 he had known at school, and this creature in 
 shameful garments, is seen in the field where 
 Hose and Evan are riding — in a dreadful hat — 
 Rose might well laugh at it ! — he is seen running 
 away from an old apple tcoman, whose fruit he 
 had consumed without means to liquidate ; but, 
 of course, he rushes bolt up to Evan before all 
 his grand company, and claims acquaintance, and 
 Evan was base enough to acknowledge him ! He 
 disengaged himself so far well by tossing his 
 purse to the wretch, but if he knows not how to 
 cut, I assure him it will be his ruin. Resolutely 
 he must cast the dust off his shoes, or he will 
 
282 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 be dragged down to their level. Aj^ples, my 
 deal' ! 
 
 " Looking out on a beautiful lawn, and the 
 moon, and all sorts of trees, I must now tell you 
 about the ladies here. 
 
 " Conning undid me to-night. While Conning 
 remains unattached, Conning is likely to be ser- 
 viceable. If Evan would only give her a crumb, 
 she would be his most faithful dog. I fear he 
 cannot be induced, and Conning will be snapi:)ed 
 up by somebody else. You know how susceptible 
 she is behind her primness — she will be of no 
 use on earth, and I shall find excuse to send her 
 back immediately. After all, her appearance here 
 was all that was wanted. 
 
 " Mrs. jMelville and her dreadful juvenile are 
 here, as you may imagine — the complete English- 
 woman. I smile on her, but I could laugh. To 
 see the crow's-feet under her eyes on her white 
 skin, and those ringlets, is really too ridiculous. 
 Then there is a Miss Carrington, Lad}^ Jocelyn's 
 cousin, aged thirty-two — if she has not tampered 
 with the register of her birth. I should tliink her 
 equal to it. Between dark and fair. Always in 
 love with some man, Conning tells me she hears. 
 Rose's maid, Polly, hinted the same. She has a 
 little money. 
 
 " But my sympathies have been excited by a 
 little cripple — a niece of Lady Jocelyn's, and the 
 
COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION. 283 
 
 favourite grand-daughter of the rich okl Mrs. 
 Bonner — also here — Juliana Bonner. Her age 
 must be twenty. You would take her for ten. 
 In spite of her immense expectations, the Jocelyns 
 hate her. They can hardly be civil to her. It is 
 the poor child's temper. She has already begun 
 to watch dear Evan — certainly the handsomest 
 of the men here as j^et, though I grant you, they 
 are well- grown men, these Jocelyns, for an 
 untravelled EngUshwoman. I fear, dear Harriet, 
 we have been dreadfully deceived about Eose. 
 The poor child has not, in her own right, much 
 more than a tenth part of what we supposed, I 
 fear. It was that Mrs. Melville. I have had 
 occasion to notice her quiet boasts here. She said 
 this morning, ' when jNItel is in the jMinistry ' — 
 he is not yet in Parliament ! I feel quite angry 
 with the woman, and she is not so cordial as she 
 might be. I have her profile very frequently 
 while I am conversing with her. 
 
 " With Grandmama Bonner I am excellent 
 good friends, — venerable silver hair, high caps, 
 &c. More of this most interesting Juliana Bonner 
 by-and-by. It is clear to me that Rose's fortune 
 is calculated upon the dear invalid's death ! Is 
 not that harrowing ? It shocks me to think 
 of it. 
 
 " Then there is Mrs. Shorne. She is a Jocelyn 
 — and such a history ! She married a wealthy 
 
284 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 manufacturer — bartered her blood for his money, 
 and he failed, and here she resides, a bankrupt 
 widow, petitioning any man that may be willing 
 for his love and a decent home. And — I say in 
 charity. 
 
 " Mrs. Shorne comes here to-morrow. She is 
 at present with — guess my dear ! — with Lady 
 Roseley. Do not be alarmed. I have met Lady 
 Roseley. She heard Evan's name, and by that 
 and the likeness I saw she knew at once, and I 
 saw a truce in her eyes. She gave me a tacit 
 assurance of it — she was engaged to dine here 
 yesterday, and put it ofif — probably to grant us 
 time for composure. If she comes I do not fear 
 her. Besides, has she not reasons ? Providence 
 may have designed her for a staunch ally — I will 
 not say, confederate. 
 
 " Would that Providence had fixed this beau- 
 tiful mansion five hundred miles from L , 
 
 though it were in a desolate region ! And that 
 reminds me of the Madre. She is in health. She 
 always will be overbearingly robust till the day 
 we are bereft of her. There was some secret in 
 the house when I was there, which I did not 
 
 trouble to penetrate. That little Jane F was 
 
 there — not improved. 
 
 " Pray be firm about Torquay. Estates mort- 
 gaged, but hopes of saving a remnant of the 
 property for poor Evan ! Iliird son ! Don't 
 
COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION. 285 
 
 commit yourself there. We dare not baronetise 
 him. You need not speak it — imply. More can 
 be done that way. 
 
 " And remember, dear Harriet, that you must 
 manage Andrew so that we ma}^ jiositively promise 
 his vote to the IMinistry on all questions when 
 Parliament next assembles. I understood from 
 Lord Livelyston, that Andrew's vote would be 
 thought much of. A most amusing nobleman ! 
 He pledged himself to nothing ! But we are 
 above such a thing as a commercial transaction. 
 He must countenance Silva. Women, my dear, 
 have sent out armies — why not fleets ? Do not 
 spare me your utmost aid in my extremit}'', my 
 dearest sister. 
 
 " As for Strike, I refuse to speak of him. He 
 is insufferable and next to useless. How can one 
 talk with any confidence of relationship with a 
 Major of Marines ? When I reflect on what he 
 is, and his conduct to Caroline, I have inscrutable 
 longings to slap his face. Tell dear Carry her 
 husband's friend — the chairman or something of 
 that wonderful company of Strike's — 3'ou know — 
 the Duke of Belfield is coming here. He is a 
 blood-relation of the Elburnes, therefore of the 
 Jocelyns. It will not matter at all. Breweries, 
 I find, are quite in esteem in your England. It 
 was highly commendable in his Grace to visit 
 you. Did he come to see the Major of Marines ? 
 
286 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 Caroline is certainly the loveliest woman I ever 
 beheld, and I forgive her now the pangs of jealousy- 
 she used to make me feel. 
 
 " Andrew, I hope, has received the most kind 
 invitations of the Jocelyns. He must come. 
 Melville must talk with him about the votes of 
 his abominable brother in Fallowfield. We must 
 elect Melville and have the family indebted to us. 
 But pray be careful that Andrew speaks not a 
 word to his odious brother about our location here. 
 It would set him dead against these hospitable 
 Jocelyns. It will perhaps be as well, dear Harriet, 
 if you do not accompany Andrew. You would 
 not be able to account for him quite thoroughly. 
 Do as you like — I do but advise, and j^ou know I 
 may be trusted — for our sakes, dear one ! Adieu ! 
 Heaven bless your babes ! " 
 
 The night passes, and the Countess pursues : 
 
 " Awakened by your fresh note from a dream 
 of Evan on horseback, and a multitude hailing 
 him Count Jocelyn for Fallowfield ! A morning 
 dream. They might desire that he should change 
 his name ; but ' Count ' is preposterous, though 
 it may conceal something. 
 
 " You say Andrew will come, and talk of his 
 bringing Caroline. Anything to give our poor 
 darling a respite from her brute. You deserve 
 great credit for your managing of that dear little 
 
COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION. 287 
 
 good-natured piece of obstinate man. I will at 
 once see to prepare dear Caroline's welcome, and 
 trust her stay may be prolonged in the interests 
 of common humanity. They have her story here 
 ah'eady. 
 
 " Conning has come in, and says that young 
 Mr. Harry Jocelyn will be here this morning from 
 Fallowfield, where he has been cricketing. The 
 family have not spoken of him in my hearing. 
 He is not, I think, in good odour at home — a 
 scapegrace. Rose's maid, Polly, quite flew out 
 when I happened to mention him, and broke one 
 of my laces. These English maids are domes- 
 ticated savage animals. 
 
 " My chocolate is sent up, exquisitely con- 
 cocted, in plate of the purest quality — lovely 
 little silver cups! I have already quite set the 
 fashion for the ladies to have chocolate in bed. 
 The men, I hear, complain that there is no lady 
 at the breakfast- table. They have Miss Carring- 
 ton to superintend. I read, in the subdued 
 satisfaction of her eyes (completely without 
 colour), how much she thanks me and the 
 institution of chocolate in bed. Poor Miss 
 Carrington is no match for her opportunities. 
 One may give them to her without dread. 
 
 " It is ten on the Sabbath morn. The sweet 
 church-bells are ringinf^. It seems like a dream. 
 There is nothing but the religion attaches me 
 
288 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 to England ; but that — is not that ever3'thing ? 
 How I used to sigh on Sundays to hear them in 
 Portugal ! 
 
 " I have an idea of instituting toilette-recep- 
 tions. They will not please Miss Carrington so 
 well. 
 
 " Now to the peaceful village church, and 
 divine worsliip. Adieu, my dear. I kiss my 
 fingers to Silva. Make no effort to amuse him. 
 He is always occupied. Bread ! — he asks no 
 more. Adieu ! Adieu ! " 
 
 Filled with pleasing emotions at the thoughts 
 of the service in the quiet village church, and 
 worshipping in the principal pew, under the 
 blazonry of the Jocelj^n arms, the Countess 
 sealed her letter and addressed it, and then 
 examined the name of Cogglesby; which plebeian 
 name, it struck her, would not sound well to the 
 menials of Beckley Court. While she was 
 deliberating what to do to conceal it, she heard, 
 through her open window, the voices of some 
 young men laughing. She beheld her brother 
 pass these young men, and bow to them. She 
 beheld them stare at him without at all returning 
 liis salute, and then one of them — the same who 
 had filled her ears with venom at Fallowfield — 
 turned to the others and laughed outrageously, 
 crying : 
 
COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION. 289 
 
 " By Jove ! this comes it strong. Fancy the 
 snipocracy here — eh ? " 
 
 What the others said tlie Countess did not 
 wait to hear. She put on her bonnet hastily, 
 tried the effect of a pecuHar smile in the mirror, 
 and lightly ran down stairs. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
290 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A CAPTURE. 
 
 The three j^ouths were standing in the portico 
 when the Countess appeared among them. She 
 singled out him who was speciall}" ohnoxious to 
 her, and sweetly inquired the direction to the 
 village i^ost. With the renowned gallantry of his 
 nation, he offered to accompany her, hut pre- 
 senth^ with a different exhihition of the same, 
 proposed that they should spare themselves the 
 trouble by dropping the letter she held promi- 
 nently, in the bag. 
 
 '' Thanks," murmured the Countess, " I will 
 go." Upon whicli his eager air subsided, and he 
 fell into an awkward silent march at her side, 
 looking so like the victim he was to be, that 
 the Countess could have emulated his power of 
 laughter. 
 
 " And you are Mr. Harry Jocelyn, the very 
 famous cricketer ? " 
 
 He answered, glancing back at His friends, that 
 he was, but did not know about the " famous." 
 
 *' Oh ! but I saw you — I saw you hit the ball 
 most beautifully, and dearly wished my brother 
 
A CAPTURE. 291 
 
 had an equal ability. Brought up in the Court 
 of Portugal, he is barely English. There they 
 have no manly sports. You saw him pass you ? " 
 
 " Him ! Whom ? " asked Harry. 
 
 " My brother, on the lawn, this moment. 
 Your sweet sister's friend. Your Uncle Mel- 
 ville's secretary." 
 
 " What's his name ? " said Harr}^ in blunt 
 perplexity. 
 
 The Countess repeated his name, which in her 
 pronunciation was " Hawington/' adding, " That 
 was my brother. I am his sister. Have you 
 heard of the Countess de Saldar ? " 
 
 " Countess ! " muttered Harry. *' Dash it ! 
 here's a mistake." 
 
 She continued, with elegant fan-like motion of 
 her gloved fingers : " They say there is a likeness 
 between us. The dear Queen of Portugal often 
 remarked it, and in her it was a compliment to 
 me, for she thought my brother a model ! You 
 I should have known from 3'oui' extreme resem- 
 blance to your lovely young sister." 
 
 Coarse food, but then Harry was a youthful 
 Englishman ; and the Countess dieted the vanity 
 according to the nationaUt}'. With good wine to 
 wash it down, one can swallow anything. The 
 Countess lent him her eyes for that purpose ; 
 eyes that had a liquid glow under the dove-like 
 drooping Hds. It was a principle of hers, 
 
 u2 
 
292 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 pampering our poor sex with swinish soUcls or 
 the lightest ambrosia, never to let the ac- 
 companying cordial be other than of the finest 
 quality. She knew that clowns, even more than 
 ai'istocrats, are flattered by the mebriation of 
 delicate celestial liquors. 
 
 " Now," she said, after Harry had gulped as 
 much of the dose as she chose to administer 
 direct from the founts, " you must accord me the 
 favour to tell me all about yourself, for I have 
 heard much of you, Mr. Harry Jocelyn, and you 
 have excited my woman's interest. Of me you 
 know nothing." 
 
 " Haven't I ? " cried Harry, speaking to the 
 pitch of his new warmth. " My Uncle Melville 
 goes on about you tremendously — makes his wife 
 as jealous as fire. How could I tell that was 
 your brother ? " 
 
 " Your uncle has deigned to allude to me ? " 
 said the Countess, meditatively. "But not of 
 him — of you, Mr. Harry ! What does he say ? " 
 
 " Says you're so clever you ought to be a 
 man." 
 
 "Ah! generous!" exclaimed the Countess, 
 " The idea, I think, is novel to him. Is it not?" 
 
 " Well, I believe, from what I hear, he didn't 
 back vou for much over in Lisbon," said veracious 
 Harry. 
 
 *' I fear he is deceived in me now. I fear I am 
 
A CAPTURE. 293 
 
 but a woman — I am not to be ' backed/ But 
 3"0U are not talking of yourself." 
 
 " Oh ! never mind me," was Harry's modest 
 answer. 
 
 " But I do. Try to imagine me as clever as a 
 man, and talk to me of your doings. Indeed I 
 ^^ill endeavour to comprehend you." 
 
 Thus humble, the Countess bade him give her 
 his arm. He stuck it out with abrupt eagerness. 
 
 " Not against my cheek." She laughed for- 
 givingly. " And you need not start back half-a- 
 mile,'^ she pursued with plain humour, " and 
 please, do not look irresolute and awkward — it is 
 not necessary," she added. " There ! " and she 
 settled her fingers on him, " I am glad I can find 
 one or two things to instruct you in. Begin. 
 You are a great cricketer. What else ? " 
 
 Ay ! what else ? Harr}^ might well say he had 
 no wish to talk of himself. He did not know 
 even how to give his arm to a lady ! The first 
 flattery and the subsequent chiding clashed in 
 his elated soul, and caused him to deem himself 
 one of the blest suddenly overhauled by an 
 inspecting angel and found wanting : or, in his 
 own more accurate stjde of reflection, " What a 
 rattling fine woman this is, and what a deuce of a 
 fool she must think me ! " 
 
 The Countess leaned on his arm with dainty 
 languor. 
 
294 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 " You walk well," slie said. 
 
 Harry's backbone straightened immediately. 
 
 " No, no ; I do not want you to be a drill- 
 sergeant. Can you not be told you are perfect 
 without seeking to improve, vain boy ? You can 
 cricket, and you can walk, and will very soon 
 leam how to give your arm to a lady. I have 
 hopes of you. Of your friends, fi'om whom I 
 have ruthlessly dragged you, I have not much. 
 Am I personally offensive to them, Mv. Harry ? 
 I saw them let my brother pass without returning 
 his bow, and they in no way aclaiowledged my 
 presence as I passed. Are they gentlemen ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Harry, stupefied by the question, 
 '•' One's Ferdinand Laxley, Lord Laxley's son, 
 heir to the title ; the other's William Harvey, 
 son of the Chief Justice — both friends of mine." 
 
 "But not of your manners," interposed the 
 Countess. " I have not so much compunction as 
 T ought to have in divorcing you from your 
 associates for a few minutes. I think I shall 
 make a scholai' of you in one or two essentials. 
 You do want polish. Have I not a right to take 
 you in hand ? I have defended you already." 
 
 " Ue ? " cried Harry. 
 
 "None other than Mr. Harry Jocelyn. Will 
 he vouchsafe to me his pardon? It has been 
 whispered in my ears that his ambition is to be 
 the Don Juan of a country district, and I have 
 
A CAPTURE. 295 
 
 said for him that, however grovelling his un- 
 directed tastes, he is too truly noble to plume 
 himself upon the reputation they have procured 
 him. Why did I defend you ? Women, you 
 know, do not shrink from Don Juans — even pro- 
 vincial Don Juans — as they should, perhaps, for 
 their own sakes ! You are all of you dangerous, 
 if a woman is not strictly on her guard. But 
 you will respect your champion, will you not ? '* 
 
 Harry was about to reply with wonderful brisk- 
 ness. He stopped, and murmured boorishly that 
 he was sure he was very much obliged. 
 
 Command of countenance the Countess pos- 
 sessed in common with her sex. Those faces on 
 which we make them depend entirel}^ women can 
 entirel}^ control. Keenly sensible to humour as 
 the Countess was, her face sidled up to his im- 
 movably sweet. Harry looked, and looked away, 
 and looked again. The poor fellow was so pro- 
 foundly aware of his foolishness that he even 
 doubted whether he was admired. 
 
 The Countess trifled with his English nature ; 
 quietly watched him bob between tugging humility 
 and airy conceit, and went on : 
 
 " Yes ! I will trust you, and that is saying very 
 much, for what protection is a brother ? I ana 
 alone here — defenceless ! " 
 
 Men, of course, grow virtuously zealous in an 
 instant on behalf of the lovely dame who tells 
 
290 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 them bewitchinglj^, she is alone and defenceless, 
 with pitiful dimples round the dewy mouth that 
 entreats their guardianship and mercy ! 
 
 The provincial Don Juan found words — a sign 
 of clearer sensations within. He said : 
 
 " Upon my honour, I'd look after you better 
 than fifty brothers ! " 
 
 The Countess eyed him softly, and then allowed 
 herself the luxury of a laugh. 
 
 " No, no ! it is not the sheep, it is the wolf I 
 fear." 
 
 And she went through a bit of the concluding 
 portion of the drama of Little Red Riding Hood 
 very prettily, and tickled him so that he became 
 somewhat less afraid of her. 
 
 " Are you truly so bad as report would have 
 you to be, Mr. Harry ? " she asked, not at all in 
 the voice of a censor. 
 
 "Pray, don't think me — a — anything you 
 wouldn't have me," the j'outh stumbled into an 
 aj^t response. 
 
 " We shall see," said the Countess, and varied 
 her admiration for the noble creature beside her 
 with gentle ejaculations on the beauty of the deer 
 that ranged the park of Beckley Court, the gi'and 
 old oaks and beeches, the clumps of flowering 
 laurel, and the rich air swarming summer. 
 
 She swept out her arm. " And this most mag- 
 nificent estate will be yours ? How happy will 
 
A CAPTURE. 207 
 
 she be who is led hither to reside by you, Mr. 
 Harry ! " 
 
 " Mine ? No ; there's the bother," he answered, 
 with unfeigned chagrin. " Beckley isn't Elbunie 
 property, you know. It belongs to old Mrs. 
 Bonner, Rose's gi'andmama." 
 
 " Oh ! " interjected the Countess, indifferently. 
 
 " I shall never get it — no chance," Harry pur- 
 sued. " Lost my luck with the old lady long 
 ago." He waxed excited on a subject that drew 
 him from his shamefacedness. " It goes to Juley 
 Bonner, or to Rosey ; it's a toss-up which. If I'd 
 stuck up to Juley, I might have had a pretty fair 
 chance. They wanted me to, that's why I scout 
 the premises. But fancy Juley Bonner ! " 
 
 " You couldn't, upon your honour ! " rhjTned 
 the Countess. (And Harry let loose a dehghted 
 " Ha ! ha ! " as at a fine stroke of wit.) " Are 
 we enamoured of a beautiful maiden, Sefior 
 Harry ? " 
 
 " Not a bit," he assured her, eagerl3\ " I don't 
 know any giil. I don't care for 'em. I don't, 
 really." 
 
 The Countess impressively declared to him that 
 he must be guided by her ; and that she might 
 the better act his monitress, she desired to hear 
 the pedigi'ee of the estate, and the exact relations 
 in which it at present stood towards the Elburne 
 family. 
 
298 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 Glad of any theme he could speak on, Hariy 
 informed her that Beckley Court was bought by 
 his grandfather Bonner from the proceeds of a 
 successful oil speculation. 
 
 " So we ain't much on that side," he said. 
 
 " Oil ! " was the Countess's weary exclamation, 
 " I imagined Beckley Court to be your ancestral 
 mansion. Oil ! " 
 
 Harry deprecatmgly remarked that oil was 
 money. 
 
 " Yes," she replied ; " but you are not one to 
 mix oil \\ith your Elburne blood. Let me see — 
 oil ! That, I conceive, is grocery. So, you are 
 grocers on one side ! " 
 
 " Oh, come ! hang it ! " cried Harry, turning red. 
 
 "Am I leaning on the grocer's side, or on the 
 lord's ? " 
 
 Harry felt dreadfully taken down. *^ One ranks 
 with .one's father," he said. 
 
 " Yes," observed the Countess ; " but you 
 should ever be careful not to exj)ose the grocer. 
 When I beheld my brother bow to jou, and that 
 your only return was to stare at him in that 
 singular way, I w^as not aware of this, and could 
 not account for it." 
 
 " I declare I'm verj^ sorry," said Harry, with a 
 nettled air. "Do just let me tell j^ou how it 
 happened. We were at an inn, where there was 
 an odd old fellow gave a supper ; and there was 
 
A CAPTURE. 299 
 
 your brother, and another fellow — as thorough an 
 ujostart as I ever met, and infernally impudent. 
 He got drinking, and wanted to fight us. Now I 
 see it ! Your brother, to save his friend's bones, 
 said he was a tailor ! Of course no gentleman 
 could fight a tailor; and it blew over with my 
 sajdng we'd order our clothes of him." 
 
 " Said he was a ! " exclaimed the Countess, 
 
 gazing blankly. 
 
 "I don't wonder at your feeling annoyed," 
 returned Harry. "I saw him with Rosey next 
 da3% and began to smell a rat then, but Laxley 
 won't give up the tailor. He's as proud as 
 Lucifer. He wanted to order a suit of your bro- 
 ther to-day; but I said not while he's in the 
 house, however he came here." 
 
 The Countess had partially recovered. They 
 were now in the village street, and Harry pointed 
 out the post-office. 
 
 "Your divination -with regard to my brother's 
 most eccentric behaviour was doubtless correct," 
 she said. " He wished to succour his wretched 
 companion. Anywhere — it matters not to him 
 what ! — he allies himself with miserable mortals. 
 He is the modern Samaritan. You should tliank 
 him for saving you an encounter with some low 
 creature." 
 
 Swaying the letter to and fro, she pursued 
 archly : " I can read your thoughts. You are 
 
300 EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 dj^ng to know to whom this dear letter is ad- 
 dressed ! " 
 
 Instantly Harry, whose eyes had previously 
 been quite empty of expression, glanced at the 
 letter wistfulty. 
 
 " Shall I tell you ? " 
 
 *'Yes, do." 
 
 " It's to somebody I love." 
 
 "Are you in love then ? " was his disconcerted 
 rejoinder. 
 
 " Am I not married ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but every woman that's married isn't in 
 love with her husband, j^ou know." 
 
 " Oh ! Don Juan of the provinces! " she cried, 
 holding the seal of the letter before him in playful 
 reproof. " Fie ! " 
 
 " Come ! who is it ? " Harry burst out. 
 
 " I am not, sureh% obliged to confess my cor- 
 respondence to you ? Remember ! " she laughed 
 lightty. " He already assumes the airs of a lord 
 and master ! You are rapid, Mr. Harrj^" 
 
 " Won't you really tell me ? " he pleaded. 
 
 She put a corner of the letter in the box. 
 " Must I ? " 
 
 All was done with the archest elegance : the 
 bewildering condescension of a goddess to a 
 boor. 
 
 " I don't say you must, j^ou know ; but I 
 should like to see it," returned Harry. 
 
A CAPTURE. 301 
 
 " There ! " She showed him a glimpse of 
 " Mrs.," cleverly concealing plebeian " Cog- 
 glesby," and the letter slid into darkness. " Are 
 you satisfied ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Harry, wondering why he felt a 
 relief at the sight of " Mrs." written on a letter by 
 a lady he had only known half an hour. 
 
 "And now," said she, "I shall demand a boon 
 of you, Mr. Harry. ^Vill it be accorded ? " 
 
 She was hurriedly told that she might count 
 upon him for whatever she chose to ask; and 
 after much trifling and many exaggerations of the 
 boon in question, he heard that she had selected 
 him as her cavalier for the day, and that he was 
 to consent to accompany her to the village church. 
 
 " Is it so great a request, the desire that jou 
 should sit beside a solitary lady for so short a 
 space ? " she asked, noting his rueful visage. 
 
 Harry assured her he would be very happ}^ but 
 hinted at the bother of having to sit and listen to 
 that fool of a Parsley : again assuring her, and 
 with real earnestness, which she now affected to 
 doubt, that he would be extremely happy. 
 
 " You know, I haven't been there for ages," he 
 explained. 
 
 " I hear it ! " she sighed, aware of the credit 
 his escort would bring her in Beckley, and espe- 
 cially with Harry's grandmama Bonner. 
 
 They went together to the villafre church. The 
 
302 . EVAN HARRINGTON. 
 
 Countess took care to be late, so that all e3'es 
 beheld her stately march up the aisle, with her 
 captive beside her. Nor was her captive less 
 happy than he professed he would be. Charming 
 comic side-play, at the expense of Mr. Parsley, 
 she mingled with exceeding devoutness, and a 
 serious attention to Mr. Parsley's discourse. In 
 her heart this lady really thought her confessed 
 daily sins forgiven her by the recovery of the lost 
 sheep to Mr. Parsley's fold. 
 
 The results of this small passage of arms were 
 that Evan's disclosure at Fallowfield was annulled 
 in the mind of Harry Jocelyn, and the latter 
 gentleman became the happy slave of the Countess 
 de Saldar. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BRADBUliV AND KVANS, rKINTr.KS, WHITF.FBIAR.S. 
 
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